The Elders (8 page)

Ah. She’s looking at pictures of her dead sister—my mom.

I approach her and look over her shoulder. Like before, I don’t feel anything more than curiosity when I look at pictures of Margret, who, in
most of these, looks very young. I can’t even begin to understand what Hillary must be feeling as she looks down at these smiling faces.

“She was very pretty,” I say uncomfortably.

“I was jealous of her,” Hillary says. “She was so beautiful.”

I put my hand on her shoulder and just stand there as she slowly turns the rest of the pages.

With an audible sniffle, Hillary jackknifes to her feet.
“Okay, let’s get back to business.” Her voice is overly chipper.

She makes her way back to the kitchen, and I follow, trying not to trip on the carpeted stairs.

“Why don’t we bring George in, so your parents can’t overhear us?” I suggest when we’re back in the kitchen.

“Good idea.” She walks over to him.

“Wait. Are you still doing the talking?”

“No, you can do it,” she says. “If there’s one
family trait we share, it’s our ability to skirt around the truth.”

“Don’t forget awesome looks.” I’m glad she seems to be back to her normal self, at least outwardly.

“Right, and our supreme modesty.”

I chuckle and watch her bring George in. When he materializes, George crosses his arms and looks at us expectantly.

“Darren needs your help,” Hillary says. “Darren, please explain your situation
to him.”

I proceed to tell George the story in the way Hillary and I discussed. I don’t mention irrelevant things, such as dating a Reader girl, or things that could get me in trouble, like killing Kyle. I stress the things I suspect Guides would care about, focusing mostly on the fact that Thomas, another Guide, was kidnapped by the Enlightened.

At the mention of the Enlightened, I can tell
I have George’s undivided attention.

“The Elders will want to hear about this,” he says, his eyes gleaming. “The Enlightened fascinate them, and if they took Thomas, of all people—”

“Wait,” Hillary says. “How would the Elders even know who Thomas is? He’s not exactly powerful.”

“We like to keep tabs on Guides who have, or could have in the future, access to powerful Unencumbered individuals.”

Hillary looks confused, but I know what George is insinuating. “This is about Thomas being in the Secret Service, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Your nephew shares your wit,” George says approvingly. “Yes, indeed. The Unencumbered do not get any more powerful than the so-called Leader of the Free World.”

“So the rumors are true,” Hillary says. “Ambassadors do control human affairs at the Elders’ bidding.
That’s why you’re keeping an eye on any potential competition.”

“I will not dignify rumors with a response.”

“Knowing you, that means yes,” Hillary says, frowning.

“All I can say is, if we Guided the Unencumbered, the world would be a better place for it.” George smiles at my aunt. I wonder if he still has some kind of feelings for her—assuming he ever had them, that is. He might’ve also been
getting pressure from his family for this alliance.

Hillary snorts. “In that case, I guess you’re
not
Guiding them, since the world is turning to shit.”

“We’re only speaking hypothetically. But you’re wrong. The world is getting more peaceful as of late, a happenstance that would imply someone is looking out for everyone’s interests.”

“Really?” Hillary gives him a disbelieving look. “With all
the violence happening everywhere?”

George’s smile fades. “Human society is an extremely complex system that would be very difficult, if not close to impossible, to Guide perfectly, especially for a tiny group such as ours. Still, again hypothetically, you are being unfair. Violence has diminished compared to other times in history.”

“Violence is down?” Hillary lifts her eyebrows. “Maybe in
the Elders’ secret hideout, but not in the world I live in.”

“That’s a common misconception,” George says. “The media makes things seem much worse than they really are. Trust me, compared to humanity’s turbulent past—a past where no one, hypothetically, Guided the direction of world events—things have steadily improved.”

My aunt is wearing a scornful expression. “Oh, please. You consider the
Holocaust a decrease in violence?”

“No.” George’s face tightens. “That horrible event and the nuclear proliferation that soon followed are times when someone, hypothetically, decided to step in to ensure similar events would not repeat themselves.”

 
“But we had those atrocities in Uganda,” Hillary argues as I listen in fascination. “And all the acts of terrorism and the wars in the Middle East.”

“Extremely complex system, remember?” George leans against a wall and crosses his arms. “If you look at statistics, wars don’t happen as often and are resolved with less bloodshed. We haven’t had nuclear war. Despots lose their power much faster than ever before, and people don’t get tortured by their states as much. Even the murder rate is down.”

“How can you say this about torture when the
truth about enhanced interrogation just came out?” Hillary glares at him.

“Again, read your history,” George says. “Rectal feeding is nothing compared to, say, the rack, which was extremely common in the Middle Ages. Not to mention that until recently, torture was done legally and openly, and now it’s a condemned practice that only the fringe—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I say, getting tired
of this, “but I really think we should get going soon.”

“Right,” George says, straightening away from the wall. “I tend to get carried away when the subject of history comes up. Hillary, perhaps we can discuss this further once we get to our destination?”

“I’m not going with you,” Hillary says.

“You’re not?” George and I say in unison.

“I’m staying here, at least until Darren is done.”

George
looks vaguely disappointed, but says, “I understand and respect your decision, even if I would’ve liked to talk some more. Also, Mary would’ve loved to see you.”

“Mary is still alive?” Hillary asks. When she sees my questioning look, she adds, “Mary is my grandmother—your great-grandmother.”

“She has Alzheimer’s, I’m afraid,” George says. “But they arrange for her to be brought into the Mind
Dimension when she’s lucid. This way, her lucidity can last for many, many years.”

“That’s incredible,” I say, impressed both by the strategy and the fact that I have a living great-grandmother. Hillary never talked about her before.

“Family is extremely important to me,” George says. “Hillary knows this.”

“You better go,” my aunt says.

In the uncomfortable silence that follows, I phase out.

Hillary goes into the master bedroom and comes back with Anne.

“You’re leaving so soon?” Anne looks at George. “I didn’t even get a chance to feed you.”

“I’m sorry,” George says. “For what it’s worth, Hillary will stay here.”

Anne’s eyes widen.

“It was nice to meet you,” I say to Anne.

“He really
is
going to see the Elders,” Anne whispers to Hillary. “I thought you—”

“Bye,” I say gently
and exit the house. I don’t envy Hillary this reunion.

George exits after me and walks across the street. I follow him. He gets inside a BMW in the neighbor’s driveway and starts the car, then opens the passenger door for me.

“Where to now?” I ask, getting into the passenger’s seat.

“The airport,” he says.

“Oh, back to Jacksonville?”

“No, my plane is parked at the local airport.”

As he drives,
I check my phone for updates from Bert. According to Bert’s email, in the hours it took Hillary and me to reach Florida, he and Eugene managed to set up the mobile lab.

“This is Pandora,” George says when the car stops next to an airfield.

Pandora is a Challenger 600. If a Ferrari had a sister that was a plane, she would be Pandora. Compared to commercial airliners, the plane’s small, but for
a private jet, it’s huge.

A woman is standing next to the plane. She’s wearing military-looking boots and a tight leather outfit that makes her look like either Catwoman or a dominatrix. Something odd is sticking out from behind her shoulder, a black handle of some kind. I notice all of this peripherally, because what stands out most is her overly symmetrical face, with piercing gray eyes that
seem as weirdly old as George’s.

“Kate, this is Darren,” George says to her. “He’s going to the Island.”

“Are you carrying any weapons, Darren?” Kate asks, looking amused.

“Please cooperate with Kate,” George says to me. “She’s part of our security force.”

With that, he waltzes onto the plane.

“No, I’m unarmed,” I answer.

Suddenly, the world goes silent, and a second Kate is standing in
front of me. She pulled me into the Quiet for some reason.

“Why did—”

Before I can finish my question, she reaches behind her head for that black handle and pulls out an honest-to-God sword. She throws it on the ground, where I get a better look at it. It appears to be one of those katana swords, though I’m no expert when it comes to weapons.

Entranced, I watch Kate bow to me.

As she leaps
toward me, my body reacts before my mind can catch up. I move to block the attack, unsuccessfully.

Kate’s slender fist goes right into my stomach.

Chapter 7

I
t takes all my willpower not to cry out. I’ve been hit a lot lately, too much in fact and by a variety of people, but this has to be one of the most debilitating punches yet. Considering Kate’s lean build, the hit seems disproportionally painful. If Mike Tyson had hit me, this would make more sense. Pain aside, the place where her hand made contact with my body becomes the focal
point of an excruciating, yet numbing sensation. Did she damage an internal organ?

I block her next hit, or at least I try to. When she sees my elbow rising for the block, she taps it with the knuckle of her right index finger, a sly smile touching her eyes.

The result is as familiar as it is unbearable. She hit my funny bone. For the record, there’s nothing funny about hitting your funny bone,
nor is it a bone. I believe it’s actually a nerve that’s close to the surface of the elbow region.

The pain reminds me of what she did to my stomach. Did she go for this effect on purpose?

I retreat and she follows me. The way she moves is really strange. Every large movement consists of smaller sub-movements that are pieced together unnaturally. Every little twitch of her body is like a piece
in a strange mosaic, all erratic and hard to respond to. For the first time in a while, I have no clue what this style of fighting is, or even whether it’s a type of martial arts or a weird, avant-garde dance. Her movements are fractal—which is a mathematical concept that, according to Bert, is responsible for the way most music players’ visualizations work, as well as clouds and tree leaves. How
does a person learn to move this way?

I move to dodge her right-handed strike to my neck, so she hits me with her left hand instead.

I fall to the ground, my body completely numb.

I wonder whether I’m lucky enough to have already met the Super Pusher. Could Kate be the one? Could she have been Guiding Kyle? That would mean she’s about to make me Inert, and afterwards, she’ll likely kill me.
Given how good she is, I don’t understand why she would bother making me Inert first.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her walking toward her body.

In the next instant, the strange paralysis is gone and I’m back on my feet, the sounds of the world around us again.

She phased us out.

“What was that about?” I ask Kate carefully. I’m cognizant of that sword, which, in the real world, is still
sheathed behind her back.

“Weapons can be of different kinds,” she says.

“I told you I’m unarmed.”

“One’s body can be used as a weapon, so I had to test you.”

Though it goes against my best interests, I say, “Actually, I can hold my own in a fight, so I’m not sure if you should dismiss me as—”

“My only concern is your potential as a threat to the Elders. Given their capabilities, you do not
pose a threat. Now follow me,” she says and starts walking toward the plane.

As I follow her, I don’t argue about my fighting skills, since winning this argument might result in me not being allowed to see the Elders. Instead, I ask, “Did you have to make that test hurt so much?”

“Inflicting pain was necessary to ensure you weren’t pretending to be uncoordinated. Your suffering was an unfortunate
side effect.” She runs up the small staircase and ducks to enter through Pandora’s small, round door.

I follow her inside, making sure I don’t accidentally bang my head on the door and thus confirm what she said. Even Caleb, the rudest person I know, never called me uncoordinated.
 

Once inside, I mumble, “A pretty significant side effect.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you weren’t actually
that
bad—for a layman,” she says, her eyes looking younger for a moment. “There are some Ambassadors whose asses you could kick, though that’s not saying much.”

Yeah, okay. “Where do I sit?” I look around the Spartan, military-looking fuselage, which, at a glance, has about a dozen seats.

“First, I need you to take this.” She pulls something out of her pocket.

I gingerly approach and look at
her upturned palm. She’s holding a pill bottle.

“What is that? Why should I take it?”

She opens the bottle and fishes out a pill. “It’s zolpidem.”

“Oh,” I say. “Good old zol-cyanide. Why didn’t you say so before?”

“It’s also known as Ambien.” She walks over and grabs a water bottle off the seat near the entrance before returning to me. “It’s a sleeping pill,” she explains, “and it’s harmless.”

“You don’t want me to know where the Elders live,” I guess, remembering the shot Caleb gave me when he kidnapped me to bring me to the Enlightened. “Thanks for making this voluntary.”

“Go ahead,” Kate says. “Please.”