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Rhodes, Riviera, and Rio were playing games with their Lamadoo holos on the gold parquet floor. And Jizelle was on her first breakfast scotch. Her black hair was crabbed out every which way as I told her how Petra Cardinale had strung up Rico by the balls and put Dove and me on a kind of chemical detention.
“It’s like she headed off a palace coup,” Jizelle said. “I DO love my brother, but sometimes it’s hard to remember that.”
“I can see why.”
Jizelle took a gulp, then a bite of brioche that was spread with apricot jam as she thought it through. "There are things about your powers that you don't know. Rico hasn't let on all the reasons why you're stronger than Dove."
“What’d he hold back?”
“You speak more from the heart than the Fuck Puppet does. Whenever you do that, it REALLY sends your powers sky high.”
She always made me squirm when she called Dove “Fuck Puppet,” but I held my peace. It had to do with how Dove handled breakups. When he got tired of women, he was like the three R girls tossing off toys. One second a certain woman could be in the sun of his love, and the next second, he was outta there. The poor girl’s world went cold as a desert at midnight. Jizelle had personal experience on that front. She had a right to call him anything she damn pleased.
“You heard from your bro?” I asked.
"No. Thank GAWD. The last thing I need is Rico in a black mood."
Black mood? Boiling rage seemed more likely. Rico had gone MIA after Petra Cardinale’s meeting.
It was a pretty good bet that Jarat Ellington was the one who got that holo recording in the boss lady’s hands. I was pretty sure she knew that Jarat could do that invisible spook trick. Rico was no fool. He must have figured out everything too.
“Listen, Hon,” Jizelle said. “Petra’s pretty solid. You did the right thing with that apology.”
“No! No! No!” the triplets cried as Caldonia the nanny bot grabbed them in three sets of arms and thrust them toward Jizelle for a boozy kiss before carting them off to the park.
I waited until after they left to ask: “You know Petra?”
“I’ve paid a lot of attention to the women that the Fuck Puppet gets close to.”
“He did her?”
Jizelle shrugged. "Just going off a few of Rico's hints." Her mobile let out a whoop whoop. "Well, how do you like that?" She waved her air screen out of privacy mode so I could see. A face filled the screen: Magz Malloy, the journalist from the memorial party.
"Hello, everyone," Magz said. "Welcome to my latest pop-up news blast. Today I'm introducing you to somebody that's part of that rebel group, Theseus."
Jarat? Was he there? The camera view zoomed out to reveal a petite blonde bombshell with fangs. My heart did a nosedive. Memories of the tunnel escape flooded back. Venice, that was her name. A dominatrix who specialized in cops and politicians. She’d asked one too many questions about my techniques and the chems. But that was okay. It was all in the name of sexual professionalism.
She seemed really fragile now. “Jarat Ellington was attacked last night,” she said. “He nearly lost his life.”
“What happened, exactly?” Magz asked.
“They firebombed his place.”
“Who did it?”
“My sources say it was someone within Nuhope. But he’s still alive. Jarat Ellington is fighting for the rights of all people. He’s working for all of us—just like Andrew Massot did, and Luko Alvarez.” Her voice broke when she said her husband’s name.
Rico. Fucking Rico had gone after Jarat. I was sure of it. Jizelle looked like she was thinking the same thing.
“What’s your guess: will Jarat Ellington come out and declare his candidacy for President of the UA? Isn’t that what people are asking for?” Magz asked.
"You don't understand. One of the things that Theseus wants is an election process where Presidential candidates are carefully selected, seasoned pros that know how to get things changed in Washington. We don't want somebody that's chosen like a burger at a fast-food joint, because they're popular and have said something that's wildly amaz."
“What about some other elected office that’s lower on the totem pole?”
“Maybe, yeah. If he doesn’t get killed first—if people show how much they want him, and he thinks he can make a difference. Unlike most people whose popularity has blown up, Jarat Ellington is one selfless dude. It’s ridic. He really wants to turn the plight of the Chavs around, more than anything.”
Magz looked directly at the camera. “Take this newscast and spread it. Let me know if you want Jarat Ellington to run for public office. A congressman representing the New York Zone? That might be a nice political starter-kit for him. Let’s give him a show of what people think.”
Venice looked dead-on into the camera as well. “Whatever you do, boycott Nuhope channels. And don’t vote for Ralph Zinder! There’s plenty of other candidates waiting in the wings. Let’s really look at who they are and elect a U.A. President that we can trust to make things better for all U.A. citizens!” The screen went dark as the news spot ended.
Jizelle looked grim. “Be careful, Luscious, whatever you do next. I know my brother. I know what he’s capable of.”
# # #
THERE WERE A ZILLION guards outside Nuhope with high-power DirecWep rifles when I got to work. Kind of put a dent in the “Jarat is alive!” song in my head.
The only thing to do right now was to play dumb—keep the regular routine and watch for Rico's next move, or whatever the boss lady might do. I joked around and waved hello to everyone in the halls. Then I dropped into the gravity-reduction chamber, and space tumbled through some exercises. But I bumped into my friends more often than usual on account of thinking about everything going on. Everybody just laughed.
We were a bunch of roly-poly clowns in our spacesuits. That's how it seemed on the surface. But darkness was underneath everything. If Jarat was still alive, then Rico wasn't done with him.
After class, it seemed like a good idea to check in with Dove. He'd looked shaky with guilt yesterday during that awful meeting. He had to be getting twitchy about Petra's drug rationing. If he was like me, then he had one injection left. There hadn't been any word yet on when we'd get more.
He wasn't in his studio, so I went to his dressing room. A couple of his assistants were tidying up the ashtrays, empty bottles, and plates of half-eaten fish tacos with hot sauce that were starting to smell. Disgusting.
Dove’s third assistant, Esmereld, was looking like an animated mouse in a state of euphoria. So he’d been playing with her. Hellz. Girlfriend gave me an intensely resentful look. She might as well just say it out loud: “What the hell do you mean to Dove? And how come you’re so damned pretty?”
I flicked my eyes from brown to liquid gold. “Gosh. There’s something about you that’s so hot,” I said. “Are you an athlete? ’cause I bet you’d make a great space tumbler. Ever think about that?”
Esmereld melted like butter on Gram’s hot stove. “Always wanted to.”
“If the slave drivers around here ever give me enough time off, I’m gonna take a tumbling vacation at the Bird of Eden Satellite Resort,” I said. “Been getting a lot of holo ads for that place lately.”
“That would be off the hook.”
“Want to do it together?”
“Yeah!”
“Say, you know where Dove went? I can’t get him on the mobile.”
“I’m not supposed to tell.”
“Dang. There’s this programming exec that’s spitting tacks. Dove’s got to talk to him right away.”
“Oh.”
“I’d hate to see him in trouble.”
"Oh, Christ. Oh, Christ. Well. He's with Mr. Reingold in Studio G. But don't say I said so."
I zipped my lips. “Cone of silence. Bird of Eden, girly girl! You and me!”
# # #
THE SMELL OF INDUSTRIAL cleaner was strong enough to curl nostrils as I glided down the shimmery tiles toward Studio G. There were some big signs warning the regular staff to keep off the floor that day. I just brushed past them. Guards with DirecWeps were all over the place. They had infrared sensors on them too. Seeing the guns outside the building was bad enough but on the inside? That was something new. Too many people could get fried.
A bunch of the guards tried to block me. So I cranked up my charm level and told them I wanted to speak to the head of security on urgent business.
Alfonce Santiago’s white hair looked pink as he stood in a murderous glow of red light in front of Studio G, an alert that a recording session was in progress. The security chief had so many bags under his eyes like he hadn't slept in days, but he crumpled into sweetness at the sight of me.
"Hey, Lush," he said. "I'm sorry, but you can't stick around."
“What’s the big deal? And why all the war gear?”
“Orders from Zinder. It’s not safe for you to be here.”
“Oh, come on. What’s going on?”
Santiago blushed with a bashfulness. All his sorry luck with women seemed to be in it. The wife that two-timed him. The high school girls that snubbed his pimply face. The date that only went out with him so she could go to fancy restaurants. He'd been hurt and hurt bad. And he didn't like the way his pulse was quickening just at the sight of me. "This is top-clearance stuff."
“You look so thirsty. Want some?” I pulled a bottle of water out of my purse.
He took it. Our fingers barely touched. Heart, that’s what counted, Jizelle had said. I turned my bright compassion on him, silently saying: “I so respect everything about you. It could be the best thing you have ever done in your life, to tell me. Please just open up.”
The guards stared, probably wondering what the hell was going on. Santiago ignored them and took me to a corner where we could talk privately. "Dove Brown's shooting a commercial for Vice President Zinder. Going out across all the channels, and we can't let anybody stop this recording. Especially this slimeball." He pulled up an image of Jarat on his screen. "He's got technology that makes him go transparent."
“Wha? You can’t see him?”
“Normal people can’t.” He glanced at the infrared sensor on his DirecWep. “If he shows up today, we’ll nail him. The gunfire could get pretty bad, so I don’t want you around.”
“Okay.” My fingers touched him again as he gave the bottle back. “No one will know you told me anything. It’s all perfectly safe.”
Waving to the other guards, I took off. Fuck a goddamned duck. I had to warn Jarat. He'd see the DirecWeps outside the building. Maybe he'd get past them somehow. But what about the studio floor? What about this damned recording that Dove was doing for Zinder? Dove could brainwash people like they'd never been brainwashed before if Rico gave him extra chems. It could be like me and that Riggles commercial, only worse.
Where was Jarat now?
After grabbing a sandwich from the canteen, I moseyed back outside. I crossed the street to the bench where Jarat had put me down the night of the anniversary party. I put on the little bead necklace and started munching away like I just wanted to eat alone. People tried to talk to me, but I fended them off, watching all the armed guard activity in front of Nuhope.
The sun burned through the grey sky cover, up near the top of the sky. My air screen jangled something fierce. People were looking for me. There was a big meeting with the Trois Freres peeps at 2 about doing a new commercial. Which was about the last thing I wanted. But the head of sales was dead set.
“That’s quite an arsenal they got going on outside.” Jarat’s voice.
A thrill went through me. I pretended I was talking to someone on my mobile. “Inside, too. Around Studio G.”
A lightning flash streaked past, a centimeter from my left ear. “Jesus!” I swung around. Rico and a bot guard walked toward me. The bot shot his DirecWep again and again at a bright red shadow in the shape of a man on the ground near my feet. Jarat!
He had to be dead. It didn't seem like there was any way around it. It took every ounce of strength not to cry out. I went all confused and naive. Couldn't let Rico know how upset I was.
“Did you really think you do anything without me finding out?” Rico said.
“Anytime you want to watch me talk on my mobile and eat lunch is just fine with me. I had no idea that – that spy was here.”
Rico wasn’t buying it. “How long have you known him?” He had this eerie calm going on.
I looked shocked. “What are you talking about?”
Hatred poured out of him like a firehose. He pulled up an image on his screen, a satellite recording of a taxi stand, time-stamped. It zoomed in, and I popped into view inside the car, face all black with a white smile.
“You look like a 19th-century chimney sweep." Jarat was invisible, but his voice was unmistakable. The whole world knew what it sounded like now, from his recorded message.
Rico’s lip curled up in disdain. “Sabotage me? I don’t think so.”
I gave him some fury. "That's totally ridic. Obviously, you're not interested in an explanation, so as far as I'm concerned, this conversation is over." I steamed away. Rico grabbed me, and the bot swung around, aiming his gun directly at me.
“Fucking creeps!” I yelled.
“No!” Rico roared at the bot. It turned back toward Jarat’s corpse. But there was no red shadow anymore. He was gone. Rico looked like someone had just thrown a pail of paint on him, he was so dumbstruck. Then he turned to me, black eyes cold and lifeless as the moon. “How thrilling for you.”
“Are you accusing me of helping him escape?”
“No. You’re not that clever.” Rico nodded at the bot. One of the machine’s steel tentacles punched me in the head.
The world snuffed out.
# # #
"YOU SURE SHE FAINTED?" Dove's voice. I was lying on my back, eyes shut, the left side of my head pulsing with jackhammer pain.
“Oh yeah. Hit the pavement pretty hard. Poor kid,” Rico said, calm and carefree. “The chems don’t seem to work that well for her anymore.”
Fuck you, Rico. Fuck you to hell!
“Really?” Dove said. “I thought she was stronger than me.”
"Was. Not anymore. I didn't want to bring her in here, but I need to keep her under observation. Can't slow down the production."
“Okay.”
Steel tentacles were around my ankles, keeping my legs up high above my middle. Probing light made the inside of my eyelids red. Didn’t want to open them. Must be from a nurse bot hovering over me, light blazing. Tried to move, but something was holding me in place. My fingers did a search. I was bound by some kind of plastic straps to a cot. Damnit! My eyes sprang open.
"There she is! Back among the living," Dove said. "Hiya, kid."
“Hi.” I turned to the dog-headed bot with the searchlight in its forehead. “Please. Shut it off.” Rico motioned at it, and the blaze disappeared.
“Let her legs down too,” Rico ordered.
The bot did what he asked, saying, “I should see if she can stand.”
“No. She stays right where she is,” Rico ordered.
“Yessir.”
“Strapped down? Isn’t that a bit much?” Dove asked.
“No. Not now.”
“Could I just talk to you for a minute?” I asked Rico.
He signaled Dove and the bot to move away. Dove shot me a leery look before he walked off.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” I said. Goddamn, I hated lying. “That spy was following me all over the place. I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve got so much else going on—you know, with Zinder and now that freaking Cardinale woman. So I decided to see if I could turn the spy. I went after him. I just wanted to help.” Tears flooded my beseeching eyes.
Rico curled his lip like I was the most despicable person he'd ever laid eyes on.
“Why would I ever do anything against you? Why? You created me. You’re the most amaz guy I’ve ever met!”
He marched away. I wouldn't swear to it, but it seemed like I made a titch of progress.
“Could I at least sit up?” I asked the bot. It paused a split second, computer analyzing Rico’s settings, then two of its limbs grasped the back of the cot above my head and raised it.
A gigundo black space lurched into view. Studio G. Off in a corner, Dove was charming Glory, his favorite makeup artist, as she did her thing. He gave me a playful wink as if to say, “You’ll be okay. I’ll smooth things over.” But he couldn’t hide his trepidation. Trep-i-da-tion. It kinda gripped the tongue.
Vice President Zinder walked in.
"Hello, Mr. Vice President," Rico said, hands trembling with nervousness. He stuffed them in his pockets. I could just barely make out what he said: "What we're about to do will blow your mind."
“Really?” Zinder said. He was still pissed off at Rico, you could tell. But he lit up at the sight of Dove.
A thin man walked up to them—Rico's former No. 2, Jameson Erlick. He had the still-fresh face of a 25-year-old, but a swish of graying hair. A company memo had gone out late yesterday from Petra Cardinale announcing that Jameson was taking over the creative sciences department, and Rico was moving on to "special assignments."
If Rico could have bashed Jameson in the head and got away with it, he probably would have done it right then and there. But he just kept talking to the Veep. “What I think we should make here is a news announcement, not a commercial. We’ll present everything as fact, not a promotion.”
“Okay.”
“Now, Dove has two injections of chemicals a day as a general rule. That’s his state of normal. You saw how the girl charged up people in that gum commercial. Well, she did that with three hits. I’m going to give Dove five.”
“What?” I blurted. “FIVE?”
“Shut up,” Rico snapped.
Dove hadn't been paying attention to the conversation before then. But now, it was like my words were gunshots.
“You can’t!” I cried.
Rico came toward me. He had totally lost it, was a split second away from slapping me when Zinder asked, “Why not?”
The Vice President and Jameson Erlick looked from Rico to me with surprised curiosity.
“I was sick as a dog after three bumps.”
“Why is she tied down?” Jameson asked Rico.
“She had a bad fall. Shouldn’t move ar—"
“Took me days and days, not to feel sick,” I said. “God knows what five bumps would do.” My heart worked on Jameson: “Please untie me. Please let me up.”
Rico gave the nurse bot a furious command, and it came at me with a cloth band to muzzle my mouth.
“No,” Jameson said. The nurse backed off.
“She’s not right in the head,” Rico said. “I can’t let her disrupt this—”
“We should listen to her, Mr. Vice President, I believe that dosage might kill him,” Jameson said, then turned back to Rico. “I’ll allow you three for this spot, but that’s it.”
“Well, how do you like that?” Rico blazed. “I groomed this man like he was my own son. And now he’s dictating the use of a chemical formula that I perfected. He doesn’t know jack shit about it.”
“I know all I need to,” Jameson said.
I threw out one of my dewy-eyed looks at Zinder. “Please don’t let him.”
The Veep gazed at me. I could feel his longing rising, but he wanted Dove's power for that message they were making so badly. "Surely, Dove can handle a little more than the girl, given his body weight," he said.
“You’ll have plenty of reaction with three,” Jameson said.
Rico glared at Jameson. “I do believe it’s in your best interests—and Petra Cardinale’s—to make sure that Ralph Zinder is the next President of United America.”
Dove had the same lost look on his face that I'd seen when he told me about Rico's plans for him. His spirit was all slumped over. He was fighting despair at the idea of all these drugs, what they might do. Zinder and Jameson didn't see how he was, but his feelings were as big as the lights in Times Square to me. And they must have been to Rico, the way he said, "Are you ready, Dove?" a little too loud.
Dove roused himself, hellbent all of a sudden, like he knew he didn’t have a choice, like he was tossing aside his life. “Sure. Let’s do this thang.” He half danced across the studio. He was the closest thing to a big brother I ever had. Sure, he could be a royal pain in the neck sometimes. And he wasn’t exactly innocent, but he wasn’t evil. I couldn’t give up yet. I just couldn’t.
Rico knew it, too, the way he looked at me. There was only one thing to do: get rid of all my anger toward him, just send out all the warmth in my heart that I could muster. Heart. That was my power. I couldn’t forget that.
“I’m not your enemy. It was just a foolish mistake, going anywhere near Jarat Ellington. Please listen to me.” My silent words were enough to make him come closer. That was a start. Everyone else was far enough away for me to talk with him alone.
“I know I’m not clever. Not clever at all. But I do know one thing: Dove’s our guy.” I turned my eyes a little gold—so carefully, not enough to make him flinch at what I was doing. Rico’s eyelids drooped just a little. I could feel what he usually hid so carefully—all his cravings to tear off my clothes and take me hard and long. I went on, whispering, “You don’t want to hurt Dove. I know you don’t. He’s your best friend. How’s it going to help Zinder if he ends up dead?”
Rico froze like he was remembering himself, remembering what I was doing. I could feel him fighting off my effects. His expression became so diseased, filled with such loathing. "This just gets better and better. A nothing Chav thinks she knows more about my experiments than I do."
“No, never.”
Rico raised his voice. "There's something that none of you know. Since the Riggles commercial, I've come up with a new drug solution that will allow Dove to take more of the enhancing chemicals with fewer side effects." Rico looked at Jameson triumphantly and pulled a vial out of his pocket. “That’s right. You thought you found everything I had. But you didn’t.”
It was a rose liquid, whatever was in the glass tube that Rico held. The Vice President was thrilled., but Jameson asked Rico a bunch of questions, so quiet and careful. They spewed chemistry terms back and forth between them. I couldn’t understand them. And there was a smell coming off Rico, of sweat and foul breath, of defeat that hadn't been discovered, the stench of a bad story that he wanted everyone to believe.
As the two men talked on, a miracle idea swelled in me, a fierce hope rising. It was almost like being in the car over Mirror Lake, staring down at the ice, ready to jump through the hole and go after little Bobby and Felicity. The jibbity jibs were coming on. But I didn’t know when I’d find the right moment to make my move.