22
Moving in took all of ten minutes. Carver, Carey, and her father helped. They shook hands all around, then the Havillands returned to their home with the professor’s arm around his daughter’s shoulders.
Carver announced, “I’ve rented a place nearby that you can use for transiting. If you do it here, vanishing when people expect you to be home, it could raise questions we don’t want.”
Dillon was still watching the space that Carey had last occupied. His voice was not dreamy, but it came close. “What kinds of questions?” Which earned him exasperated looks from both Sean and Carver. Dillon blushed. “Oh. Right.”
“Pay attention,” Carver said. “This is the only time I will be around to show you.”
When Carver started toward the stairs, Sean said to his brother, “Yeah, pay attention, why don’t you.”
“You’re so not good,” Sean countered. “This is important, Dillon.”
They drove past the shopping area and entered the district known as Cameron Village. The rental car smelled of stale perfume and somebody else’s sweat. But Sean didn’t miss the Charger at all.
The Cameron Apartments were square, red-brick structures dating from the fifties, four dwellings to each building. The units were rented mostly to young families and grad students and newly singles and hourly wagers who worked in local stores and didn’t want a long commute. Most of the cars were either Korean or older models with big snouts and fading paint jobs. The streets were a maze that forced the traffic down to a crawl.
They parked in front of a building that was showing its age. Carver removed a For Rent sign from a ground-floor screen door and let them inside. “If anyone asks, you know the drill. The phone number for me will continue to work. But call only if the need is critical.”
The living room held three desks, chairs, laptops, and a half-dozen shelves with books on military stuff. Enough to satisfy a casual visitor. The kitchen had the same new IKEA basics. The lone bedroom held a futon and dresser. As empty as a theater stage and just as welcoming. The AC in the living room window gave off a constant metallic cough.
Carver said, “You need to buy bicycles. Come here, transit out. That’s the norm. But we’ll practice transits to and from your loft as well.”
Dillon broke in with, “Are Carey and her father safe?”
“Yes. They are.”
“I need to know you’re not blowing smoke here.”
Carver was clearly not accustomed to being questioned by his recruits. “Blowing smoke?”
“Some little song and dance you’re giving us. A few words to fill the moment.” Dillon sounded as hard as Sean had ever heard. “I’m not accepting a level of safety like how we were supposed to be safe before. I don’t want to wake up some morning and see a hole in the ground where their home was.”
“There are Watchers on duty around the clock,” Carver said. “A squad of Praetorians on full alert.”
“For how long?”
“As long as I say. Probably until we locate the Examiner.”
“And if it isn’t the Examiner who’s behind this?”
Carver did not reply. Sean found himself unable to say who had the harder gaze, his brother or their instructor.
Dillon finally said, “I guess that’s okay.”
Carver remained as he was, focused fully on his brother. “You care for her. This young woman.”
“Carey,” Dillon replied. “Her name is Carey.”
“What have you told her?”
“Nothing. Yet. Why, is that good for a mind-wipe?”
“I told you. That phase of training is over.”
“So what are the rules on telling somebody?”
“The rules are . . . vague.”
“Then I can do it?”
“In theory, it is your decision. You should have my approval. But it is not absolutely necessary . . . Will you tell me?”
“Okay.”
“Before you tell her?”
“I’ll think about it.” Dillon waved aside Carver’s protest, the gesture right from their instructor’s book. “Enough. Let’s get started here.”
The practice session took them well past midnight. Carver shunted them around, their instructor in full military mode. Intent on bringing them to a point where the actions came without thought. When they stopped for infrequent breaks, he hammered on the same core themes. They were moving from what came natural. They were no longer heading out to a place they had chosen during childhood. This was a crucial juncture, being able to transit to destinations that were assigned to them. This was the first step to becoming Messengers. And Messengers formed the backbone of the service . . .
On and on it went. They transited together, alone, roped, unlinked, loft to this apartment, loft to the Examiner’s school, school to the loft, over and over until they could do it in their sleep, and almost did. All they saw of the school was a windowless transit chamber painted matte grey with some monochrome symbol on one wall, about as interesting as the principal’s waiting room. Sean grew so exhausted he forgot to ask what Carver and the Counselor thought of their joining the Examiner’s school. And by the time they called it quits, he no longer cared.
The next morning they rode their new bikes over to the apartment complex and found Tatyana waiting with Carver, deep in discussion over some chart they rolled up and stowed away. Tatyana gave Sean a ten-second blast from those imperious eyes, then said, “Your task is to learn. Not investigate. Do you hear me?”
Maybe it was how Dillon had stood up to Carver the day before. Or maybe it was just how exhausted Sean still felt. Whatever the reason, he wasn’t interested in taking more of her orders. “It would be a lot easier to agree if you took Dillon’s information seriously.”
“We’ve been through this before. I have the word of senior Watchers who say otherwise.”
“Oh. Right. The same guys who sat back and watched us get toasted. You’re talking about them?”
She clearly disliked that. “I don’t have time for this.”
Carver said, “You are still in the earliest stage of your training, and not in any position—”
“If Dillon says it wasn’t the Examiner who blasted us, you need to listen.”
Tatyana said to Carver, “Perhaps this is not a good idea, sending them to the Examiner’s school.”
“We have to shift them somewhere,” Carver said.
“How was their transit?”
“They performed faultlessly.”
Sean persisted, “You promised us answers. I’m still waiting to hear who it was that tried to take us out in the Charger.”
Tatyana swatted at the words. “You will remember your stations and you will obey.”
Sean smoldered. Dillon muttered, “Just like a principal.”
“The proper response,” Carver snapped, “is ‘Yes, Counselor.’”
They fumed in silence.
Carver commanded, “Say it.”
They did. Sort of.
Tatyana said, “Let’s get this over with.”