Just then Sal showed up in front of the house with an older-model multitransport. “Max is on his way.”
A man emerged from a building I hadn’t noticed before. “What’s that?” I asked.
“The Lodge. NonCons who need to lay low for a while stay there. That other house”—Sal pointed behind the log home to a smaller version of it—“is where Grindy and Mobley live. They’re the horse handlers. Dammit… I forgot.” He turned to Rita. “I was going to show her the horses.”
“That will have to wait until next time,” Rita said. “I have things to take care of. And so do you.” She gave Sal a peck on the cheek and me a hug, then disappeared into the house.
Sal and I hopped into the back of the multi and Max got in on the driver’s side. I stared out the window until I couldn’t see the house or the valley anymore. I felt further from my dad and Ginnie than ever.
We hopped a trans outside the express station. When we got to my stop, Sal looped his arm in mine. “Let’s walk to the river. I don’t want to let you go yet.” We ended up at the DZ oasis.
“This isn’t as nice as where we were,” I said.
“Nice enough for me. You’re here.”
He pulled me close and kissed me. His lips were warm and soft. I wanted to get lost in his kisses, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my dad.
Sal must’ve been able to tell I was preoccupied. We just sat together, my head on his shoulder, watching the murky green water of the Chicago River until the sun disappeared and night crept in.
“Can I meet Gran and Pops?” he asked.
When we walked into the apartment, I could hear Gran, busy in the kitchen preparing supper.
“Is there enough for one more?” I called down the hall.
“Yes.”
“Who’s that?” Pops looked up from his zine. His artificial leg was propped on the floor beside the chair.
Oh great, I thought. The leg, right off the bat. I took a deep breath. “Pops, this is Sal.”
“Excuse me for not gettin’ up.” Pops chuckled. “Ain’t got a leg to stand on. Do I, now, Little Bit?”
I could feel my face reddening, but I forged ahead. He was, after all, my grandfather, and I loved him.
“Doesn’t look like you do, Pops. So, you’d better stay sitting.”
“Smart girl—just like her father.” He and Sal shook hands. “Sit, sit.” Pops motioned us to the couch. “We’ve got company, Edith,” he yelled.
Gran came out of the kitchen, dish towel in hand. She plonked Pops right on top of his head with the towel. “Don’t go hollering at me, old man. Think this pile of reconstituted sand and sludge is soundproof? I heard ’em come in, I’m not deaf. But I will be if you keep shouting every time anything happens around here.”
She tucked the towel in her waistband. When she saw Sal she paled, reaching for the arm of Pops’s chair.
I leaped up and grabbed her. “Gran, are you okay?”
“Fine, I’m fine.” She shook free and waved me back to my seat. When she regained her composure, she said, “You’ve got to be Brock’s son. My Lord… the spitting image. He and my son, Alan, were friends in school. I thought I’d stepped back in time.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s not your fault—you had no way of knowing how the resemblance… well, uncanny, that’s what it is.” She wiped her glasses on the towel, adjusted them on her nose, and studied Sal.
“I knew I looked like him,” he said. “But it’s been ages since I’ve seen his high school pictures.”
“I heard the news,” Gran said. “Four years ago—wasn’t it?”
“Yes. They were on assignment, researching Nina’s father.”
“Lost in the ocean, wasn’t it? Leviton went down—no survivors.”
“That was the story.” I was startled by the bitterness in his voice.
“Damn lie,” Pops muttered.
“What? Speak up,” Gran prodded him.
“Lies, I said. Everyone knows that Media used a suicide robot for that flight. No one was supposed to survive. Anyone gets too close to the truth about Alan…” He made a cutting motion across his throat.
Sal was half smiling, but I saw his jaw muscles working beneath the surface. Pops could be as bad as Sandy sometimes, blurting out things that hurt other people without thinking.
Gran looked at us and almost imperceptibly shook her head. I realized there could be surveillance.
I jumped off the couch, grabbing Sal’s arm. “Let’s go to my room? You don’t mind, do you, Pops?”
“Go on with you.” He waved us away. “Kids don’t care nothin’ about nothin’ anymore, anyway.” He reached for his zine, burying his nose in it.
Gran accompanied us partway down the hall. “Ignore the crazy talk from that old man. His leg’s been bothering him so much lately. I gave him some pain medicine half an hour ago; it obviously affected his head. I am very sorry about your parents, Sal. Go on now.” She motioned toward my room. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready”
“Where’s Dee?”
“She’s doing her homework with a friend.”
I panicked. “Gran! You let her go out?”
“She’s on PAV in her room.” Gran pinched my cheek. “Wasn’t born yesterday, dear.”
Even if Ed was after me, and not Dee, I wasn’t taking any chances where she was concerned. I peeked into Dee’s room and waved to her, just to be sure she was there.
Dinner was minus Pops. The pain meds had knocked him out for the night. Sal helped me get him into bed after we ate. Then I walked Sal to the elport.
“I have so much to think about,” I said. “I don’t know what to do, what to think…”
The doors opened, Sal kissed me and stepped inside. “I have just one thing to think about,” he said. “You.”
The doors closed.
When I got back to the apartment, Gran was waiting for me. “Nina. Something was taken during the break-in.” Her voice was strained.
My thoughts flew—Gran hadn’t said if she and Pops had a second scrambler, or something else illegal. Something that could mean really big trouble for Pops if the authorities found it. And Gran had filed a police report. My “what?” came out more like a squeak than a word.
“Your FeLS contract is missing. I doubt I would’ve even noticed, but I had this feeling that I should put it in a safer spot. When I went to get it—it was gone.”
The tiniest shiver of fear started at the base of my neck. “Maybe you just misplaced it, Gran.” I didn’t mention her advanced age and that old people sometimes forget things. “Besides, the FeLS agency will have a record of the buyout, right?”
I could see the relief spread across her face. “Of course they will. I didn’t think of that. I’ll call first thing on Monday.” She patted her cheeks. “Silly to get all upset now. Everything will be fine.”
She breathed easier, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to think about what could happen, what might be… It all felt too much, almost too much to handle.
When I went to my room, instead of going to bed, I took out my pad of paper and a special rapido Ginnie’d given me when I started art classes. I sat at the window and drew the shapes of the buildings outside. Rectangles and squares stacked side by side and up to the sky. Neat, orderly, controllable. The complete opposite of my life.
If the FeLS agency didn’t have a record of my contract buyout, I would have to apply to the program. Unless I was able to get my Creative designation before the Choosing. My birthday was coming up, but I didn’t know when the Choosing was going to be, or when I’d be able to get my designation. I stacked the last square on the paper and went to bed.