2

Chase and Mel followed the crowd to the command center. Already pulling data from computers in the town’s police station, the exoself found nothing to indicate a problem. Of course, WR Feds would use their own systems. Chase searched for a connection.

His mother worked in front of a large transparent monitor. Her fingers glided across the screen, moving data from one position to another, much as Dr. Fiender had done when he first showed Chase the exoself. No need for such a display now—Chase could read the data flowing inside him without the visual aids. He located four VirtuPads registered to the WR. Communication passed between them and Chase processed the voice transcripts:

No reason to believe he’s still in this hole of a town. The old woman said she gave him clean clothes and sent him on his way—said he was looking for a farm or something.

Chase didn’t need to hear anything else. They’d questioned Molly, the sweet elderly lady who’d helped him when he first arrived in town. No telling what they did to her. His strength sensor activated and he threw back his shoulders.

“I have to go.” He headed for the door that opened to stairs leading upward.

Mel reached for him but he pulled away. She hurried after him. “What do you mean you have to go? You can’t go up top.”

He faced her. “They’ve been to see Molly.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just know.” He swiped his hand through his hair. “Look, Mel, I can read their communication. I know what they’re doing.”

“So, what are they doing?”

“Looking for me, of course. I’ve got to see if Molly is all right.”

“I’ll go.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” a man said from behind them. Amos, a short, balding man in his fifties—the leader of this group.

As Bear had been the head of the underground in Atlanta, Amos was the overseer of Blue Sky Field. But this was the location that managed all the branches in the world. The man in charge had an awesome responsibility. Chase had only seen him once before the meeting today. He seemed to spend a lot of time in his private quarters. They hadn’t even been introduced. Now it appeared they’d skip the handshake and get right to work.

Amos sat at a computer station. “They know who you are, Melody. If they catch you, they’ve got Chase. They know he’ll come after you.”

“Of course I would come after her, and I’m going to check on Molly,” Chase said. “They could have killed her.”

“That’s entirely possible.” Amos’s words held little emotion.

Chase spun around and rushed for the door.

Switchblade blocked the exit, his feet spread apart, his arms crossed. “Can’t let you go up there. I’ll go to Molly’s. She likes me. Brings me those muffins of hers every time she comes to a meeting.”

Chase stiffened. “I feel responsible.”

“You are responsible.” Switchblade lunged forward and pointed a finger close to Chase’s face. “But I’m going. Check your brain, Charlie. See if those deputies up there know anything about me.” He pulled the hood of his jacket over his close-shaved head and put on a pair of mirrored glasses. “They don’t know me from Adam. As far as they can tell, I’m just an out of place punk who never did nothin’ for the WR, ‘cause the WR never did nothin’ for me. I’m good to go.”

Chase folded his arms and lifted his chin. “What’s your real name?”

Switchblade stepped close, lowered the glasses, and glared down into Chase’s eyes. “Don’t care to divulge that information, Charlie. You got anything in that exoself to read my iris? Not much of a computer man if you don’t.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it. Stop calling me Charlie.” He did a quick sweep of WR job assignments, schools, housing, prisons—this guy had to have a record. But no, as far as the government knew, he was just another lost cause out of the system. No name—just a vague record of him being born in Cleveland, and his age—thirty-two.

Wait, there was a former job assignment. He spent two years as a bodyguard for Synvue.

“You worked for Synvue? When?” Chase asked. “And why don’t you have a name?”

The man shoulder’s tightened and his upper lip twitched. “I’m going up now.”

He faced the door and flipped open the locks.

“I got all the way here from the Southwest Territory without getting caught,” Chase said. “I’m going with you.”

“No,” Amos said. “Switchblade will contact us as soon as he knows anything. You’re here to help us. What would it profit for you to get caught?”

The man was right. Chase watched the hooded wannabe hero take the stairs three at time.

“Come on, boss. Let’s go check the data. Maybe we can find something.” Mel took his hand and led him back into the command center.

His mom had the same consoling smile she’d given him twenty-five years ago when he struck out in a Little League game. He started toward to her, but then focused instead on the monitors near the other side of the room. It wouldn’t do anything for these people’s confidence to see him running to his mommy.

He’d gathered extensive data from the four WR VPads. A group assembled as he sat at a keypad to categorize the information. His mother joined them. Had she caught the way he’d avoided her? Her wink and half-smile said that she had and she wasn’t offended.

“They can’t track me using traditional methods because of the exoself.” Chase leaned back and dropped his hands from the keys. “But I may have made a mistake.”

“What mistake?” Amos asked.

“I met up with my show’s producer in NYC. She found me there and I told her what I was doing—that I wanted to help the Underground Church. Not the smartest thing to say.”

“You saw Kerstin?” Mel’s tone darkened. “Why would you tell her that? Why would you tell her anything?”

“She was sick and I…” He hadn’t told these people, not even his mother, everything he could do. Of course, Mel knew. She was there when the scientists installed the device enabling him to detect illness simply by touching a person.

“She needed a kidney, and I told her to go to Robert. Then I asked her to let me go. And she did.”

Mel drew back from the crowd as she lowered her gaze to the floor. Was she angry with him for trying to save a life?

“You told this woman you were coming here?” Amos didn’t overreact. The leader seemed like he could handle anything.

“No. Just that I was going to try to find your group. She must have notified the Feds to look for anybody transporting believers. Your communication about moving goods and people is lacking security measures. But I can take care that.” Chase searched beyond the twenty or so people standing around him. Mel sat alone at a station, typing on a keypad. “If it’s not too late.”

“How did they find Molly?” Mom asked.

“A few questions in town led the deputies to a lady living in the outskirts who takes in strangers and frequents unregulated meetings. That made her a suspect to harboring believers.”

Amos circled the group and poked a screen at another station. “She was one of only five believers in town who hadn’t joined us here. The ones up top are essential. The WR may have gotten all five. What a loss.” The man blinked his droopy blue eyes. “But…to die is gain.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chase looked at Mel. “The incoming data doesn’t indicate anyone’s been killed.”

But something was there in the communication between the agents and superiors. It wasn’t good. Chase kept his eyes on Mel until she looked at him.

“What is it?” she asked.

“They’re on their way to a detention camp. All five of them. Somebody get in touch with Switchblade. You can do that, can’t you?”

Amos pulled a VPad from the pocket of his brown vest.

“Tell him not to go near Molly’s,” Chase said. “It’s a trap.”

The leader prompted the call. “Might be too late.”