Metaltown (17 page)

The bird trilled again, and she could hear the accusation in his song.
Then why haven't you told Otto or your father what you did? Why haven't you been able to stop thinking about the look on Colin's face when you fired his friend?

“I don't have anything to be ashamed of,” she said, hating the defensiveness in her tone. “In fact, I'll go downstairs right now and tell Father.” The idea lifted her spirits—maybe this would show him that she cared more about the company than Otto. She quickly changed into some casual slacks and a soft, blue blouse, and was padding down the stairs barefoot before she remembered that she wasn't wearing gloves.

She hesitated, but didn't stop. Riding high on momentum, she searched the second floor, not finding him in his bedroom or his office. Perplexed, she returned to the stairway, taking the steps down to the ground floor, and passed through the kitchen with its broad marble countertops and cherry cabinets. The sound of muffled voices in the parlor froze her in her tracks. It was late, but not unreasonable for her father to hold a meeting. Still, she was usually informed of such things so she would know to stay out of the way.

Curiosity had her tiptoeing to the swinging door. She pushed it gently, ears attuned to the conversation in the next room.

“For five hundred units, I'll expect a little more, my friend.” There was ice in her father's tone.

“A little more,” sputtered another man. “I get the feeling it's always a little more with you, isn't it, Hampton?” Lena recognized the voice but couldn't place it.

“War's expensive.”

“That it is.” A sigh, and the clink of ice in a glass. “The business of war,” he mused. “Tell me, Hampton, are you as cunning with the Eastern Federation as you are with your own people?”

Lena's stomach tightened. Her father had no contact with the Eastern Fed. The two federations had been in hostile negotiations over food and water rights since before she'd been born. When he'd served on the Assembly, he'd supported legislation to increase the North's military, to keep their way of life protected. A defensiveness rose within her. To suggest her father was communicating with the enemy was to imply he was a traitor.

“My business with the Eastern Fed is my own,” answered her father. “Tonight, let's focus on what we can do for each other.”

The other man laughed, and placed himself in Lena's memory. The stranger who had watched her sing and asked why he should enter into business with her father.

“Very well,” he said. “In order to keep our little rebellion in action, we'll need five hundred units of artillery, delivered by railway, in unmarked crates to Billington. It's quiet there; we'll run no risk of this going public. Oh, and
without
armed security this time, if you please. I'd hate to have our shipment steered toward your front lines. That hardly does us any good.” Another clink of ice within a glass.

“General Akeelah was pleased with the last shipment, I take it.”

Akeelah.
Lena recognized the name. He was the leader of the Advocates.

A cold dread whispered across her nerves.

“I assume so. He did take the product, didn't he?” The man gave a short laugh.

The breath locked in Lena's throat.

The groaning of a leather chair—someone was getting up. “Half of the payment now, half upon receipt,” the man continued. “That ought to fuel this damn war for another eight months, at least.”

Lena's hand slipped, and the door whined softly on the hinges before she caught it. She eased it back on the jamb, wincing as a second passed in silence.

“And if it doesn't,” said Lena's father, “then we'll be in touch.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

The meeting was drawing to a close, and Lena had heard enough. Heart pounding, she darted silently to the stairs, and ran up to the top floor. Only in the safety of her room did she finally release the breath burning inside her lungs.

Billington was in the Northern Federation, near the border of the Yalan Mountains. Her father was arranging to ship weapons there, quietly, in order to support a rebellion. And not just any rebellion. He was supporting the Advocates, the very group responsible for destroying the Northern military's supply train. The radicals who would see the North—her father's
own federation
—fall, and turned over to a bunch of starving farmers who had no business running it.

Even as she processed this, she doubted it. Her father was a powerful man, maybe the most powerful in the Northern Federation. He employed thousands of workers, and supported their military with weapons and supplies. He was a patriot. It made no sense to betray his own people—no sense to fund the group who would see him taken from power in the name of fairness and equal rights.

Unless he then planned on sending more weapons the other way—shifting the tides back and forth at will.

War was a business, as the man had said. Her ears could not deny what they had heard. Her heart could not deny the dread squeezing it.

Hampton Industries was selling weapons to their enemies to keep itself in business.

Business is good.

Footsteps on the stairs stopped her from pacing, and automatically, she pulled back her hair and inhaled several deep, composing breaths. It was likely the maid, checking to see if she needed anything. She could not appear flustered. Nothing could appear out of order until she figured out what was going on.

Two successive knocks, and her father pushed into the room.

Lena's eyes shot to the floor, and she concentrated on slowing her heart.

“Up late, aren't we?” he asked. “Oh. Are your gloves in the laundry?”

She hurried to the dresser and slipped an extra pair on from the drawer. As she picked up her comb, her hands shook. She couldn't think of what to say.

Her father wandered to the window, unbuttoning his suit jacket and leaning down to face her bird. “Do you remember when I got you this?”

She unlatched her long braid and began combing through the strands, watching him in the mirror's reflection. “Yes, sir.”

“You were so happy that day. As a child should be. A songbird for my songbird.”

Her shoulders lowered an inch. “We built the cage together.”

He laughed. “Yes, we did. I'm surprised you remember.”

“Of course I remember,” she said quietly. When he smiled, she felt the blush stain her cheeks. This was not the man she'd heard downstairs. In a surge of relief, she realized she'd misheard. Her father was a good man, a
grateful
man, like he'd told her. She was wrong not to trust him.

“Your mother used to sing to you as a baby,” he said wistfully.

Lena felt her heart skip a beat. He never shared anything about her mother. “She did?”

“Yes,” he said. “You were so little. You'd fit right here, in my arm.” He crooked his arm to show her. “The first time I saw you, I couldn't believe how much you looked like her. How fragile you were.”

Lena's hand had paused midstroke. Her father had never before spoken so tenderly.

“You're still so fragile,” he said.

He undid the latch, and in a quick move, grabbed the bird, holding it firmly in his hand.

The brush fell from Lena's hand with a clatter, and she quickly righted it. Forcing herself to be calm, she crossed the room to where her father stood, a serene look on his face. Softly, he stroked the bird's belly while its head twitched side to side.

A sob rose in her throat.

“Do you have what it takes to be a Hampton, Lena?”

“Yes. Of course,” she said, her voice cracking. Her eyes stayed glued to her little yellow bird. The friend who sang with her, who listened when she needed to talk. Who she never once had dared to touch. His chest was rising and falling too fast.

“Please,” she said. “You're hurting him.”

“You will hurt people, Lena.”

“I can…”
I did. Just this week.

“I thought you said you wanted to learn about the business,” he said, squeezing tighter. “I thought you wanted me to teach you.”

“Please, Daddy,” she pleaded, the tears stinging her eyes.

“Then you must be willing to learn.”

One clench of his fist, and the bird's neck was broken.

Lena's hands covered her mouth, the tears streaming down over her covered fingers. She stared at her bird's poor lifeless body as her father placed it back in the bottom of the cage, and latched the door, leaving it there for her to gaze upon.

 

16

COLIN

In Ty's absence, Minnick temporarily moved a kid named Henry up the assembly line until he could hire a replacement. Henry was big, Colin's height, but built like a tree trunk. Perfect for Plastics, which was where he'd come from, but crap for the intricate work that fuses required. He was all thumbs, which meant Colin ended up doing both their jobs.

He'd had it good with Ty. She was quiet, efficient, and dependable on the job. She knew when to talk and when to get busy, and best of all, he didn't have to explain every little thing to her.

Part of him thought he should just let it go. Meet half his quota, and blame the loss on Henry. Maybe they'd let Ty back then. But what did that prove? That he'd been all talk last night at Lacey's. That he didn't really give a damn about anyone but himself. Which made him just like all these other cowards who wouldn't stand up for one of their own.

Hell, if he was really Ty's friend, maybe he would have quit with her.

But two missing workers didn't make an impact like fifty. Or a hundred.

There had to be a way to get them to see.

He was still mulling over options when Martin's voice carried over from Batteries: “On the floor!”

A moment later the foreman appeared, red in the face and practically steaming. He stomped down the stairs and yelled across the belt to Colin and Henry.

“Think he wants you,” said Henry morosely.

Colin tensed. Apparently this day
could
get worse. As much as he'd wanted to stand up for Ty, getting fired was about as much fun as a kick to the face. “Damn.”

He grabbed his handkerchief from the table and stuffed it in his pocket, then wiped the white chalk on his hands off on his shirt. Minnick turned back up the stairs without an explanation, and as Colin followed, he tried to think of how he was going to explain to his ma why he couldn't help her with rent.

At the top of the stairs, he followed Minnick into the office, raising a brow at the big foreigner—Lena's bodyguard—standing with his arms crossed across his massive chest.

You're lucky she doesn't have you jailed for menacing,
Ty had said. His muscles grew tight, his spine straight as a ramrod. Little greenback had sure taken her time telling Daddy. He never should've talked to her.

“Let's get this over with,” Colin said. No point in sitting down or making himself comfortable. Getting cut loose was one thing, but if she wanted him jailed she had another thing coming. He studied his exits, ready to bolt.

“Someone wants to see you,” said Minnick. Not quite as freakishly happy as when the boss was around, but not his normal, sneering self either.

“I can see that.”

“Outside,” said the bodyguard. He looked angry.

“Oh, right,” said Colin. “I get it. I just step outside and then what?”

Minnick's jaw twitched. “You tell us, kid.”

“Miss Hampton would like a word with you,” said the man. “And you'll treat her with the utmost respect.”

“Or else?” Colin taunted.

“Or else I'll break your legs,” said the man.

“Like that wasn't the plan all along,” he muttered. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Lena wanted to see him? Right. More like this guy and a few of his friends wanted to send a message. Where was Ty when he needed her? He was glad his boots were already laced up tight, because he doubted they were going to let him go back to the lockers to get his knife.

He might not have been a Bakerstown pansy, but he could still run.

“Let's go,” he said, adrenaline pumping.

The man disappeared through the door that led to the front of the building, but before Colin could follow, Minnick snagged his forearm.

“What's your game, rat?”

“I'd tell you, Minnick,” said Colin. “But I don't think you'd understand.”

Minnick squeezed Colin's wrist until his fingers started to tingle. His other fist was ready to strike. If he was going down, he might as well go down in flames.

“I understand that you're stepping on toes, rat. Big toes. Jed Schultz kind of toes. Heard he's gunning for you. What'd you say, huh? What's got the white knight all riled up?”

Colin jerked out of his grasp, feeling the blood drain from his face. “Don't know what you're talking about.”

Minnick smirked. “Sure you don't.”

Someone had gone to Schultz after last night. They'd probably told him about the meeting, how Colin wanted to start his own Brotherhood. How he'd said he didn't care what Jed thought. As if he weren't on bad enough terms with the man already.

Colin turned away and pushed through the door. This wasn't the time to lose focus. He had more pressing issues.

It occurred to him that maybe the Brotherhood was who would be waiting outside.

Slowly, he entered the empty lobby of the building. There was nothing here for him to grab, nothing to use as a weapon. He looked outside, but the street was empty. Hiding, he thought. Someone's out here waiting. But all he saw was that sleek electric car parked on the street, and the Hamptons' man standing beside it.

Warily, he pushed through the doors outside, feeling the cold air punch all the sweat-soaked patches in his shirt. His heart was pounding.