30

BRIDGER

MARCH 30, 2147

“Bridger, hurry up. Your grandmother is waiting for us outside the DTA building,” Mom says over her shoulder as we exit the Maglev.

Mom and Shan are just ahead of me as we join the heavy crowd outside the station and start weaving our way through the thousands of people crowding the streets today. We’re headed to downtown New Denver for the annual Unity Day celebrations. It’s a huge national holiday that commemorates the end of the Second Civil War and the formation of the North American Federation. Basically, we honor the death and destruction by stuffing ourselves with too much food, partying at concerts, reliving the horrors of the war in Sim Games, and listening to politicians blather on about the greatness of our country.

I’d rather stay home, but Mom insisted. Lately, she’s been on a huge we-need-family-time kick, especially since Shan was hurt in the shooting last month. I’m surprised that she’s willing to risk letting him out in public, but apparently she thinks it’s safer now. Two weeks ago, the news reported that the feds had apprehended a lot of the people responsible for the museum shootings. Even Lincoln’s wife and sick child were taken into custody. They were discovered hiding out at a rural farm in Georgia thanks to an anonymous tip. The only ones to escape were the gunmen—the Space Benders—and their leader, Jode Lincoln.

Some people thought the festivities should have been cancelled this year, in light of all the unrest. But President Tremblay disagreed. He said we needed this celebration. We need the reminder that we’re one nation— that we’re all in this together. Which I find ironic, considering that he still refuses to repeal the Responsible Citizen Act. I’m beginning to think the president isn’t too bright.

All the businesses and portable booths set up in the streets are flying the NAF’s flag—the white rectangle with the colored triple rings. I cringe looking at them. Just add a ring of blue flame around the rings and you’d have the graffiti that the terrorists put up the day of the shooting. At least there are still hundreds of police and military officers on patrol.

Ahead of me, Shan flinches when someone bumps into him. Physically, he’s fine. But mentally, not so much. He keeps looking back and forth, as if he expects someone to start shooting at him again. And it’s not just today; he does that every time we’re out in public. My fists clench and unclench. It’s not fair. The feds may have captured those responsible, but no one can undo the damage they caused.

We finally arrive at the DTA building. We’re going to attend a Unity Day luncheon here, then head to the grounds around the Civic Center a few blocks from here. That’s where the majority of the celebrations will take place.

Grandma beams when she spots us entering the courtyard. “You’re late,” she says.

Mom gives her an exasperated look. “You know how the boys are. Never in a hurry to go anywhere unless it’s something they want to do.”

“I know what you mean,” Grandma says, laughing.

I still can’t get over the fact that they’re getting along. Ever since the shooting, when Mom realized that Grandma was serious about wanting to be a part of our lives, they’ve been nothing but cordial to each other. We’ve even all had lunch together a few times. It’s weird, but I like it. It’s been too long since we’ve had a stable family.

I wish Dad could be here with us. But he promised that, as soon as he’s finished with his plan to keep everyone safe from the Purists, we’ll all be together again.

I hope that’s soon. I’m tired of waiting. Tired of not seeing him. He hasn’t been in contact since the night of the shooting.

After we get through the security scan, we take the elevator to the top floor of the DTA building. The entire top level is nothing but a banquet hall, complete with a huge kitchen in the wings where chefs prepare food on site. It’s been a few years since we’ve been to the Unity Day banquet here, but it still looks the same. Black-and-white marble floor, tall pillars reaching up to the ceiling, round tables scattered around the room, and a white stage behind a long rectangular table that’s set up for guests of honor.

While Mom and Grandma stop to talk to someone they know, I glance at Shan. “Let’s check out the view.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing the new scar on his cheek.

We make our way to the glass wall and stare down at the city around and below us. A few shuttles soar by overhead. Sunlight glints off skyscrapers. And we can just make out the heart of the city, where the Civic Center stands in a cluster of other government buildings. The people below us look like ants crawling on the ground, hunting for food and fun.

It looks so normal, and yet so wrong. I have this sick feeling in my gut, like something could happen.

But that’s ridiculous. Ellis said he would come back and warn us before the bioweapon attack, and Dad is working to stop it as well. And the Purists responsible for the shooting have been caught. So we’re safe, for now.

Then I hear Professor March’s voice from behind us. “Well, I haven’t talked to you two together in a long time.”

Shan jumps, and his head jerks around. That bothers me so furing much. I hate that he reacts like that now.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to bite,” the professor says, his eyes shifting from Shan to me and back again. “I just wanted to talk to you for a bit.” He leans a little closer to examine Shan’s scar. “That looks better than the last time I saw it.”

“When was that?” I ask. Professor March instructs Level 4 cadets, and Shan is Leven 1. So Professor March wouldn’t have time to see Shan during the day. And he hasn’t been on Warden Duty at the residence hall since before the shooting.

“I stopped by your mom’s apartment once a week. I wanted to make sure Shan was doing okay.”

That surprises me. Mom has never liked Professor March. Secretly, I think she was jealous of how close he and Dad were during their marriage. “And my mom actually let you in?”

Professor March grins. “She did. I was quite shocked, but I think she was grateful that I was with the two of you the day of the shooting. Your mom has mellowed out quite a bit over the past year, Bridger. That’s a good thing.”

A woman’s voice interrupts us over the intercom system. “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. We’re about to begin.”

I can see Mom over Professor March’s shoulder, waving us over to the table where she and Grandma are already sitting. Shan mumbles a goodbye and walks past him, but Professor March places his hand on my shoulder.

“Are you staying out of trouble?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah. I just want to get good grades and get to Level 6 on time,” I say.

“That’s good. I know I’ve said it before, but let me know if I can help with anything.”

I meet his eyes for a few seconds. I know Professor March is sincere now. I just wish I knew why Dad was so paranoid about him. His rationale was weak. Not how he used to be.

I join Mom, Grandma, and Shan at our table. Professor March strides to the front of the banquet hall and takes a seat at the Guest of Honor table, between his sister, Olivia March, and his mother, Rashida March. I remember his mother from when I was a kid. Dad didn’t take us around the professor’s mom too much because she was always busy with work, but the few times he did she was always kind.

General Anderson stands at the podium and says, “We have a special honor today. Not only are we celebrating Unity Day, but we’re also celebrating the exemplary career of Brigadier General Rashida March, who has decided to retire from the Department of Temporal Affairs.”

I’m surprised to hear that she’s retiring. Professor March never said anything to me. Maybe he thought I had too many problems of my own to deal with. Still, I can’t help but wonder why she’s retiring now. I wonder if she could have been forced out—maybe because she’s still advocating for creating more Dual Talents, while I know Anderson hates them.

Anderson goes on to state a long list of General March’s accomplishments, but nothing about Project Firebird, which isn’t really a surprise. I wonder what happened with that project after the day that Alora and I witnessed. From what Alora said, Anderson was leading the opposition, while General March was heading up the group that was adamantly for it. And now Anderson is the head of the entire military division. So maybe I can guess what happened to Firebird.

I wish I knew what Anderson wants with my dad. Why bother cloning him, out of all the deceased Time Benders out there? What made him so special?

I hear a loud sigh. Glancing to my left, I see that Grandma is sitting with her chin cupped in the palm of her hand. Her elbows are propped on the black tablecloth. “What a pompous ass,” she mutters.

I smother a laugh. She’s definitely right about that. But why does she hate Anderson so much? Her reaction to seeing him and Chancellor Tyson in my room after my panic attack last month was so extreme. Does she know something about him that I don’t?

I wonder if she would answer me if I ask her.

An hour into the banquet, I’m ready to slam my head against a wall. We’ve been subjected to speeches by General Anderson, Iliana Lopez—the head of the DTA’s civilian division and Mom’s boss—and Chancellor Tyson. It took forever before they even let General March say her words of thanks. But at least we got to eat during all that yapping. We were served real roast chicken with potatoes smothered in a creamy sauce and asparagus spears. Dessert was a choice of apple crumb pie or caramel cake; Shan and I took one of each. I haven’t had anything that good since I stayed with Alora’s Aunt Grace last year. And, well, Shan just likes to eat.

Thinking of Alora makes my stomach sink. I haven’t talked to her since our fight last month. I have no idea if she wound up trying to contact her father. If she did, then it seems that nothing came of it. I haven’t heard anything about him on the DataNet feed—and I’m sure I would have, if she’d found him.

The truth is that I’m not even mad at her. I never really was. Well, the way she reacted to what I said irritated me, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. No, the reason I’ve stayed away is because of my father and his threat to turn her in.

I suppress a sigh. I still don’t agree with Dad on that. I love him and would do anything for him, willingly, but forcing my hand like this isn’t like him. But what can I do? I don’t want Alora to get in trouble. So severing ties with her was all I could do.

My DataLink chimes. It’s Elijah.

“Can I talk to him?” I ask Mom.

She seems unsure at first, then says, “Fine. Take it out to the hallway. But make it quick. It sounds like they’re about to make the closing remarks, and I want to beat the crowd out of here.”

“It’s about time you replied, man,” Elijah says. “How much longer are you gonna be stuck at that banquet?”

“Not too much longer. Why?”

“See if you can come out with Zed and me for a while. We haven’t had a chance to go out together in weeks.”

He’s right about that. Since the shooting, Mom and Grandma won’t let us go anywhere without one of them chaperoning us. It sucks, but what can I do? Even Dad asked me to lie low until he can implement his plan.

I peek back into the banquet hall. Anderson is blabbing at the podium again. That man must really love the sound of his own voice. I finish talking to Elijah, then take my seat again and whisper to Mom, “Can I go celebrate with Elijah and Zed for a while?”

Mom shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

My stomach sinks. Normally I’d have a sarcastic response, but I know why she’s so hesitant, and I can’t really blame her.

So I’m surprised when Grandma speaks up. “Morgan, let the poor boy go for a while. He’s been cooped up with us for weeks. And besides, most of the perps from the shooting last month were caught. He should be fine.”

Mom seems uncertain, so I say, “I have my DataLink, so you’ll know where I am at all times.”

She huffs out a sigh. “Oh, all right. But if you see anything suspicious, get to an officer immediately to report it.”

“Thank you,” I say, jumping up again. I notice Shan watching me. “Do you want to come, too?” I ask him.

He quickly shakes his head. “No, I’d rather stay here,” he says.

That doesn’t surprise me, either. It makes me sad, though.

Elijah said that he and Zed would wait for me in the courtyard in front of the DTA building. Once I’m outside, Zed slides his left arm around my shoulders. “Dude, I can’t believe Morgan set you free. I could cry.”

“Knock it off, Zed,” Elijah says. “We haven’t been able to go out, either, until today.”

“But at least we’ve been together most weekends. Poor, poor Bridger has suffered alone.”

I find myself grinning. It’s good to get out with them today. It’s not the same just hanging out at the Academy. This is real freedom. I’ve missed it.

As soon as we get to the square where the main Unity Day activities take place, Elijah says, “Hey, I think I see Tara over there.” He points to a small clearing between the trees planted around the exterior of the square, towards the area next to a stage that boasts a band playing a song that was popular just before the Second Civil War broke out. Ironic, because the song talks about what you need to sacrifice to have peace. Apparently, nobody listened to it carefully.

We have to push through way too many people to get close to the stage. I’m starting to wonder how Elijah even saw Tara through this mess when we reach the clearing.

But then I understand. He didn’t see Tara. He already knew she was there.

Because she’s not alone. Tara is there with another girl with bright pink hair, sitting on a bench on the outskirts of the crowd.

And Alora is with them.