Unseen

  A cell phone, small and cheap. A small, bound number of bills. A blank business card with a number written on it in pen--not a phone number but a five-digit number.

  "The cell won't make outgoing calls," the woman said. "It only receives calls. When you get a call, give them that number on the back of the card."

  I looked up as she snapped shut the latches on her briefcase. "What do I do now?"

  "Whatever you want," she said. "We'll find you."

  She dumped her cup and walked out into the bright morning sunlight. I watched her from the window as she hailed a taxi and was gone in only a minute.

  The phone, I was reasonably certain, functioned as a tracking device. I considered shorting it out, but that seemed unwise, given the circumstances. Instead, I put the money and phone in my pocket, along with the business card, and set out to walk the streets until I was called.

  It took two days, during which I slept at cheap motels and ate even cheaper food; even with the frugality, my money didn't last long, and my stomach was growling in frustration as I considered the dollar left to support me through the night. I was carefully weighing the options between fat, sugar, or both when a new sound filtered up from my pocket.

  The cell phone.

  I pulled it out, pushed TALK, and heard a businesslike voice say, "Identification number, please."

  I recited it from memory. There was a short pause, and then the voice said, "Go directly to the Trenton bus station where you came in and wait. Someone will be along."

  It was dark, and chilly. I could have thickened the material of my coat, but it occurred to me that they would have been photographing and observing me these past few days. Anything out of the ordinary would be noticed.

  I would, as Rostow had said, be dropped.

  At the bus station, motionless people slept sprawled in chairs and on benches, or wandered aimlessly. There was a minivan parked outside, and a man beckoned to me as he slid back the door. Inside were four others. One was Merle, but he looked at me blankly, and I forced myself to give him the same basic regard as I dropped into a seat in front of him. The driver shut the door, climbed behind the wheel, and drove us on into the dark. Nobody spoke.

  "Phone." I hadn't noticed, but someone was sitting in the passenger seat in the front, and was now turned toward me and holding out her hand. It was the woman I'd last seen in the coffee shop. Funny, I should have seen her; again, I felt the telltale tingle of some kind of power. She'd veiled herself--I was almost sure of it. I found my cell phone and handed it over, along with the business card. She tossed the phone into a bag with others. "Put on your seat belt, Laura."

  I nodded and fastened it as the van sped on into the unknown.

  To my surprise, we were not taken to the encampment that the FBI had been observing. We were taken instead to an old building on the outskirts of the city, which seemed to be unsettlingly isolated--I worried not so much for myself as for the others, excluding Merle, who seemed as expressionless as before. Our companions seemed to be honestly frightened for their safety.

  I was not sure they were wrong.

  "Inside," said the driver, and shoved open the front door. Light spilled out in a blinding fan, and we were hustled through quickly, not given time for our eyes to adjust. Merle, who was in the lead, suddenly froze and held up his hands in a position of surrender. I saw why, a second later; there were two men in the room, each in a separate corner, pointing guns at us.

  Large guns.

  "Sit," said the driver, and pushed the last woman into the room before slamming the door behind himself and locking it. Merle settled into one of the four dented chairs, and I sank down next to him, followed by our other two recruits

  "One of you is a spy," the driver said, and walked in front of us. He was a big man, and it was hard to focus on his face. I realized that once again I'd lost track of the woman in the business suit. She was here, somewhere; I could feel her presence. With a little effort I could have broken through her veil, but I let it stand.

  Nobody had responded to the big man's declaration, so he said it again. "One of you is a spy, sent by the government. I'll give you one chance: Say who you are, and we'll let you go."

  I felt a perverse sense of relief. With two of us infiltrating, his supposedly insider knowledge seemed a throw of the dice at best. I almost glared at him, and remembered my timid exterior at the last second. Instead, I glared down at my own frail, shaking hands lying impotently in my lap.

  "Ain't me," said the man on my left, a rawboned young man with smooth, dark skin and big, wickedly amused eyes. "Don't suppose they'd have me, anyway."

  He seemed strangely cheerful about it. Maybe he found having a gun pointed at him exciting, which I found curious; I could count on surviving such an encounter. He couldn't. When the man kept focusing on him, the younger man lost his smile. "Dawg, you think you're scary? I been shot by grannies scarier than you."

  "Show me," the man said. The young man stared at him for a second, then grinned in a flash of perfect teeth, stood up, and skinned his shirt up to hang around his neck.

  "This one I got in a drive-by when I was ten," he said, pointing to a scarred dimple low on his right side. "Got this one two years ago." The other scar was both more recent and more impressive; it was in his chest, and it looked dire. He also had tattoos, a lot of them, subtle and dark against the tone of his skin. It reminded me irresistibly of Luis and his flame tattoos.

  "All right. It isn't you," the man said. "Put your shirt back on."

  The young man laughed and yanked it down as he sat. I risked a quick glance up to find that the gunman was staring at me. I looked down again and folded my trembling hands together. From my peripheral vision, I saw him shake his head. "Not you, either."

  Merle sat back, arms folded. Unlike me, he was staring straight at the man, as stone-faced and immovable as ever. He didn't say anything. The gunman assessed him for a long moment, and then jerked his head suddenly to stare at the last one in our little group, a woman. "You," he said. "Talk."

  She was an older woman, gray in her hair, heavy and tired. I didn't need to be a Djinn to read the hardness of her life, the pain, the struggle. When she spoke, she had an accent--Eastern European, I thought. "I don't like police," she said. "I just want to have peace."

  The young man, the one who was so scarred, looked sharply at her, and I could see in him in that moment that he wanted the same thing. Peace. A place to be safe.

  It made me angry that Pearl was betraying them.

  The gunman prolonged his drama a few seconds longer, then made a show of clicking the safety on his gun and holstering it on his belt. "All right," he said. "Wait here."

  He walked away, into the shadows at the end of the room. I stared after him, and willed the shadows to fade, just for an instant--long enough to see the woman I'd met in the coffee shop in the veil. She'd been reading us, of course, monitoring our heart rates, our aetheric pulses. Earth Wardens were difficult to fool when they were focused on determining the truth.

  He came back another moment later and said, "Get up." We did, with varying degrees of reluctance. "Go change your clothes. Strip down and leave everything, and I mean everything. Watches, jewelry, underwear, socks. You leave it all behind."

  It was a wise precaution, and it wouldn't matter to me. I supposed Merle was prepared for it as well. I followed the gray-haired woman into the room indicated, and found that there were two stacks of clothing. I expected the fabric to be uncomfortable, but it felt surprisingly good against my skin. I left behind the items I'd been wearing--almost as colorless as what I had been given--and walked back to join the others. Merle and the young man were already in their chairs, dressed identically to me and, in another moment, the older woman.

  Our driver then had us each stand up, and searched us, by hand. At the end of each search, he looked over his shoulder into the shadows, where the Earth Warden--or whatever she was--would be scanning us on the aetheric for any hint of concealed items. Me
rle was clean, as was I. The young man had tried to keep a thin, flexible knife, which was found in the search. The older woman had kept pictures, old and faded, of young children. She wept at giving them up, but give them up she did.

  We drove a long, weary way.

  When the van finally parked, I knew we were there. I felt the tingle of power hissing around us, exhilarating and menacing at once. None of the others seemed to notice it, and I was careful not to react outwardly. I was in the heart of the enemy, and if Pearl wanted to destroy me, it would be hideously easy for her, hardly as much effort as slapping a bug. My only defense was anonymity.

  But it was difficult not to feel a fierce surge of adrenaline. I was here. I was going inside, and I would have a chance, just a chance, to end this.

  I missed Luis. I missed knowing that he was with me, connected to me, caring for me. It hurt to feel so alone, but it would all be worth it if this worked.

  The van door slid open on a brilliant clear sky, and warmer air rushed inside, smelling of freshly turned earth and trees. Instead of the armed driver, there were two young people smiling at us from the other side--dressed in identical outfits to what we now wore, but accessorized with bits of color: a red and white kerchief over the girl's smooth brown hair, and a bright orange braided belt on the boy. They both looked well, happy, and eerily content. "Welcome," the girl said, and held out her hand to help the older woman out of the van. "You're very welcome here. I know the trip was a little scary, but you're safe now. You're with friends."

  She hugged the older woman, who seemed surprised, then hugged her back quickly and awkwardly, as if she'd forgotten the skill. I'd never really known it, but when the hug came for me, I was ready. No hug for Merle, who shook hands with the boy as he got out. The last one out was our younger companion on the journey, who was offered a handshake, too, and a hug. He seemed to enjoy the hug more. So did the girl.

  The boy greeter produced a clipboard, consulted it, and said, "Merle?" Merle raised his hand. "You're going to be in the second lodge. Kale?" That was our younger companion. "First lodge. Laura Rose?" I slowly raised my hand, not very high. "Third lodge. Oriana, you're in third lodge, too. Everything's in there for you--clothes, toiletries, a little gift to welcome you to the family."

  The girl took up the patter, smiling brightly. "A few rules before we let you go," she said. "I know, rules, we come here to get away from them--but these are simple, I promise. We share work and resources, but don't take anyone else's personal things without permission. There's no alcohol, drugs, or smoking allowed, because we believe in good health. We work hard, but we do have fun, too. Oh, and stay away from the fences. If you see any of the Outsiders, don't talk to them. Just come and get one of us wearing colors; we'll take care of it for you. Clear?"

  The young man who'd come in with us, Kale, looked at her and said, very directly, "We got to go to church, too?"

  "You don't have to," she said. "But we'd like it, of course. The Church is the core of our community. We're not all true believers, though, and we don't reject people just because they don't worship as we do. We believe our truth will become clear."

  He looked doubtful, but also a little relieved. "And what about work?"

  "We expect you to pull your weight, Kale. Nobody gets a free ride here; we're not the Outside. But you do the work you can do, and want to do. We all pull together here, and we have a duty to one another and to our community."

  "We get paid?"

  This time she laughed. "No, we don't get paid. But we all get what we need. We've proved that you don't need money to have a society; you just need community."

  She had the light and sparkle of a true believer, and even Kale--who I felt was probably as cynical as Merle, in his way--seemed charmed into agreement, at least for now.

  "Oh, I forgot to tell you my name," the girl said. "It's Georgie. And this is Marcus."

  And that, it seemed, concluded our introduction. Georgie and Marcus walked away to talk to another group. The four of us, momentarily bonded by our shared experience, looked at one another, and then Merle, with a nod, set off for his lodge--a long, barracks-style building clearly marked with a number. Kale shrugged and followed, and Oriana and I headed for the third building.

  The compound was both what I'd observed from the outside and a great deal different. The smell, for one thing--it had a rich, healthy sort of smell, of growing things, flowers, grasses, trees, the dark spice of fertilizer. I hadn't expected the explosions of color--flower beds planted neatly along the paths, bordered with carefully arranged stones. The grass was kept clean and evenly trimmed.

  It looked ... peaceful.

  The people didn't look the same as those I'd seen at the other encampments, either; they seemed to be happy, healthy, moving with purpose, and--when speaking or working with another--kind as well.

  And there were children.

  I felt sick at the sight of them, here, in this place, but they were everywhere--dressed in bright colors, though in similar patterns to what the adults wore. I remember the feral children I'd seen in Colorado, but there was no evidence of that abuse here; these boys and girls ran and played happily. A guardian (or teacher) followed groups of them, but it didn't appear to be a sinister sort of caretaking.

  It took me a few moments to spot the underlying pattern, but when I did, the dread grew stronger. The groups of children were not, as I'd first assumed, random. No, they were all composed of the same number of children--eight--and within each group there were four sets, two wearing blue, two wearing orange, two wearing green, and two wearing a golden yellow. They weren't organized by age, either; I saw older children and younger wearing the same color. Nor were they organized in any way by the gender of the child. In some groups, boys and girls were evenly distributed, but in others there was a predominance of one or the other.

  I went back to the colors--blue, orange, green, gold.

  Blue for water--Weather Wardens. Orange must be Fire, and green reserved for Earth.

  But that left gold. And I didn't know what it meant.

  We reached the lodge marked with our number, and entered. Inside, it was exactly what I'd expected--a long, low building, filled with two-level cots. Each cot was neatly made, and contained exactly the same things--sheets, a pillow, a blanket, and a small black pouch hanging from the end like a saddlebag. There were warm woven rugs on the bare floor, and gooseneck lamps at each bed. The windows were plentiful, and sunlight poured in to make the room feel almost comfortable. It smelled pleasantly of herbs and soap.

  A middle-aged woman came forward, wiping her hands on a red-checked towel, and smiled as she offered me her hand. Her grip was firm and a little moist. "Hello, you must be Laura Rose. And Oriana?" She repeated the handshake. "Wonderful to have you join us. Please, come with me. I'll show you your bunks."

  Our beds were near the middle of the room, and each of us had been given a top berth. It occurred to me that placing us so, in the middle and up high, made it very difficult for us to do anything unobserved, or to easily slip out. Their warm welcome to the contrary, they didn't yet trust us.

  Under other circumstances, I would have approved of their caution.

  On each bed was the same black saddlebag that I saw slung at the foot of each of the others in the room, but ours were sitting squarely in the center of the bed, and each had a small bouquet of flowers leaning against it.

  "My name's Willa," our greeter said. "I'm the manager of the lodge, so if there's anything you need, anything you see that needs to be fixed or causes you concern, please come to me. Just ask anybody for Willa; they'll know me. Oh, and your kit there has soap, toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, lotion, washcloths, towels. There are robes and slippers in the lockers at the back, so find some you like and put your name on the door. Any personal items you don't have that you need, let me know--that includes medications, okay? We have a library in the center of the camp if you need reading material."

  Oriana looked nervous, but she sa
id, "My doctor says I should take vitamins."

  "Of course. What kind? I can pull them from the stores."

  While Oriana stammered out her requests, I opened my saddlebag and examined the contents. One thing that Willa hadn't mentioned was that they had included feminine hygiene in their welcome kit, and--surprisingly--a pack of condoms. I took it out, examining it, and held it up to show Willa. She laughed.

  "We're not prudes," she said. "And we're not crazy. Our rules are against people getting hurt, that's all. If you meet someone special here, you should be able to enjoy that."

  Curious.

  I dropped the condoms back into the saddlebag, closed it, and draped it at the end of the bed, fiddling until it matched the others in the room. Then, when Oriana turned away, I said, "So what do we do now?"

  Willa was making a note on a clipboard, but she glanced up to say, "What do you want to do?"

  "Sleep," I said, and yawned to prove it.

  "Then you should go ahead. You can always start your orientation tomorrow, if you'd like. I'll wake you up for dinner."

  Willa did not seem the harsh taskmistress I'd expected. Oriana tentatively said that she, also, would like to rest, and Willa readily agreed to that as well. I took off my shirt and pants and shoes, and climbed up on the bunk. It was comfortable enough--better than I'd expected. The blankets were thick and warm, and the pillow soft, and to my surprise, I was almost immediately sleepy. It had, in fact, been a hard few days, and here, despite that low-level tingle of power, I felt ... peaceful. There was none of the ever-present noise that I'd come to associate with the modern human world; here, there was silence, except for Willa's footsteps and the creak of metal as Oriana climbed up to her own rest. I heard the wind against the roof, and the sighing of trees. The distant murmur of voices, and laughter.

  Before I slipped off into the darkness, I reached out and located Agent Rostow. It was more difficult connecting with an ungifted human at this distance, but I'd taken care to memorize his aetheric signature. I didn't waste a lot on the report. Arrived, I vibrated the tiny bones in his ear to say. No trouble. I couldn't think of anything more to say. If he had questions--and I was sure he would--I wouldn't be able to hear them in any case.