“We grew up together, about five blocks from here,” Mr. Jenkins said.
“Don’t forget Sal’s dad,” Wei said.
“Yes, Brock lived on that block, too. In fifth grade we called ourselves the Outlanders, after the Resistance in Mars Rising. Do you know that story?”
“Yes,” I said. “The B.O.S.S. agents confiscated our copy after Ginnie’s death.”
“What it’s all come to.” Mr. Jenkins sighed and shook his head. “I remember Brock’s mother sewed us Outlander costumes to wear to school on Imagination Day.”
“I have a picture of my dad in a cape with a big E on his chest. What was he like?” I wanted details. I knew how he looked; I wanted to know what kind of person my father was.
Mr. Jenkins laughed. “We were crazy kids, but…” His eyes got serious. “That was only the beginning.”
“All the girls in school were crazy about Alan,” Mrs. Jenkins said. “He was so handsome. Friends with everyone, but he only loved Ginnie.”
I felt a stabbing sadness in my heart. My mother had a man who loved her like that and then… then she chose to be with Ed. If my father was in fact still alive, why hadn’t she stayed with him? More than ever, I had to know what happened, why he’d left.
“Being a charmer was not his most important quality.” Mr. Jenkins laughed. “He was clever, intelligent, and definitely had a way with words. As captain of the debate team, he could persuade nearly anyone to see his side of an argument. In tenth grade the Media recruited him to be prime anchor for their Chicago network. That was a plum tier-ten job. They awarded him a full-ride scholarship to college and drew up the contracts to be ready when he graduated.”
“Was he nice?” I needed him to be a good person. Ginnie deserved to have been loved by someone who treated her good.
“To a fault,” Mrs. Jenkins said. “That’s what got him in trouble. He helped anyone less fortunate than himself. He couldn’t pass a homeless person without stopping to ask if they needed any credits or food.” She turned to her husband. “Remember when he tried to start that soup kitchen?”
“I sure do,” Mr. Jenkins said. “Media found out about that side of him and, even though legally they had to make good on the scholarship, there was no job waiting for him after college.”
They were talking so freely that I began to worry. “Is it safe? You know…”
“Surveillance? Don’t worry,” Mrs. Jenkins said. “It’s perfectly safe here.”
That’s what Wei had said before, in the hallway. I wondered if they had a scrambler. Before I could ask, Mr. Jenkins started talking again.
“Alan won the Chicago regional debate of 2132,” he said. “His name’s engraved on a plaque in the Education Administration building on State and Adams in the Hall of Winners. It’s in a display case halfway down the main hallway on the left.” He winked at me, as if he knew I’d go looking for it. “Media tried to have it removed in 2135, but their plan backfired. The flurry of publicity around their efforts simply put him and his ideals more in the public eye.”
“That was the debate about media versus free will, wasn’t it?” There was that picture in Gran’s album of my dad and his medal.
“Yes. He wasn’t afraid to take on Media versus the rights of citizens; he strongly believed in government by the people, not by the Media.”
“But you work for Media, don’t you?” I didn’t understand how a person could be associated with someone, or in this case, a business that they didn’t trust or believe in.
“Yes, I do.” Pausing, Mr. Jenkins unhurriedly traced the patterned fabric of his armchair. Finally, he raised his eyes and looked straight into mine. “Over three thousand years ago a famous Asian general, Sun-tzu, said, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ Those are good words to live by.”
He sounded like Ginnie. The only real enemy I had was Ed. The thought of being close to him sickened me.
“Dad,” Wei said, “can you give Nina a chip of her father’s debate? He explains it so well.”
“You know I can’t,” Mr. Jenkins said. “Alan’s speeches and debates are so radical they’re considered contraband. If you’re found with them, you can be arrested. Reassimilation is the usual course of remediation.”
“Alan was on the Governing Council’s watch list,” Mrs. Jenkins explained. “His every move was scrutinized from the time he started openly debating against Media—and winning. If he’d never won, he’d be alive. If he hadn’t died, he would’ve been reassimilated.”
Since the start of our conversation, something had been nagging at the fringes of my brain.
“Wait—there was a vert disruption downtown the other day by a guy Derek said was the Eliminator. Is that my dad? Ginnie told me she thought he was alive and in Chicago.” My pulse was racing so fast I felt light-headed. “She was right, wasn’t she? That had to have been him. You said you guys called yourselves the Outlanders. One of them was the Eliminator. Dad’s costume had a big E on it. It has to be him.” I felt like I’d just won the Interstellar Lottery.
All three of them stared at me—then looked at each other.
No one said a word. I took a deep breath and explained more. “Before Ginnie died, she told me my father was still alive. The other night Sal asked me if I’d ever thought he might not be dead and said that my father was a NonCon leader. Gran says Alan wasn’t a radical, that he changed things by talking. Whatever the truth is—I need to know. Ginnie left me something to give to him. She said it had all the answers. Answers to what, I don’t know. But if you know where he is, please tell me.”
“I was there the night your father drowned,” Mr. Jenkins said. “Alan and I were meeting at one of the oases. I arrived first and saw your father crossing the bridge. The streets were icy; a trannie swerved and knocked him off the bridge into the river. I think it was deliberate. The trannie disappeared down the street and your father disappeared into the water. I told the police what I had seen. Alan’s body was never recovered.”
“Ginnie wouldn’t lie. And what about Sal?” I searched their faces for some glimmer of hope, but there was none.
“I’m so sorry, Nina.” Mrs. Jenkins hugged me. This time it didn’t make me feel anything at all.
“If we had more time tonight I would let you hear one of your father’s speeches. But it’s late. Next time you’re over, if I’m not here, Wei knows where they are. You’ll be sixteen soon and you need to know the things your father believed,” Mrs. Jenkins said. “These are the things he would die for.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you filled out your FeLS application yet,” Mrs. Jenkins asked.
“Ginnie bought my contract,” I said. “It was one of the last things she did.”
“I am so glad. Keep that contract in a safe place. We don’t believe that FeLS is exactly what the GC would like us to believe it is. I know that neither your mother nor your father would want you to end up in FeLS training.”
“Gran’s got it,” I said. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Make sure it is secure,” Mr. Jenkins said. “I’m sure the government would love to have Alan Oberon’s daughter in their FeLS program. As if that might give it some respectability in the eyes of those who don’t trust the government.”
“My friend Sandy wants more than anything to be a FeLS. She thinks it’s the only way she can get out of the low tiers. She even asked me to talk to Ed for her.”
“Who’s Ed?” Mr. Jenkins asked.
“He was Ginnie’s boyfriend. She started seeing him when I was four or five. He got her pregnant with Dee and we moved out of Gran and Pops’s. When Ed was transferred to Cementville, we went, too.” I wasn’t quite sure how much to say, but Wei’s parents had been so kind, I kept on. “Ginnie kept us away from him as much as possible. He was abusive and mean. I don’t know how she stood being around him.”