Veneer (26 page)

“You think Deron killed himself because they broke up?” It was laughable, but coming from such an official source, Sebo couldn’t bring himself to smile.

“No, no,” said the agent, waving the suggestion away. “Our current focus is on whether Deron is still in the city. He doesn’t show up on any of our systems: presence-sense, security posts, you name it. Can you think of any reason why he might want to go on vacation?”

Sebo shook his head, lost in thought.

Agent Ruiz sat back in his chair and tried to effect a more casual attitude. “Last Saturday, you two were going to Paramel, right?”

“Yeah,” replied Sebo, wondering if the agent could sense his omissions.

“And did you meet anyone there? Perhaps...” He paused, making a show of it. “Russo Rivera?”

Sebo narrowed his eyes at the mention of the name. “Why would we meet with him? He practically—”

“Practically what? Practically killed Deron? Say what you will about the police force, but the people I work for actually do some investigating. Approximately three weeks ago, Deron was involved in an altercation with this Russo, was he not?”

“I don’t know.” He spoke the words quickly to avoid being interrupted again.

With a sigh, the agent changed his tone yet again. “Look, Sebo. I’m trying to help Deron. I know he hasn’t identified Russo as his attacker yet and I know you think you’re protecting him by lying to me. But what you don’t realize is that Russo’s been missing a lot of school lately. In my business, we call this putting two and two together. Deron is missing. Russo is truant. Two boys unaccounted for with a history of violence between them. You see how it all reconciles?”

Deron would never do that, thought Sebo. Not even in his diminished mental state would he try to confront Russo on his own.

“Of course, this is only one of many theories we’re pursuing and I admit it doesn’t fit with some of the things we know. But after I talk to your classmates, I should have a better picture to work with. In the meantime, I guess I’ll just keep watching the streets.” He paused, scrolled through a few screens on his palette. After reconciling some notes, he stood and walked to the window. The last bell had long ago rung and the previously crowded plaza was now deserted. The two uniforms were outside, leaning against their cruiser and laughing about something probably inappropriate.

“Question,” said Sebo.

Agent Ruiz nodded without looking back.

“Why are agents involved in this? Shouldn’t the police department be handling missing persons?”

The agent chuckled in response. “Look at those two cavemen out there. Would you want
them
in charge of bringing your friend home safe?” He turned and put his hands behind his back. “In all honesty, I volunteered my assistance because I recognized your friend’s face from the other night. You two seem like good kids.”

Maybe it was cynicism, maybe it was simple distrust of authority figures, but a small part of Sebo doubted the agent’s sincerity.

“My card,” said Agent Ruiz, crossing the distance and offering a small, veneered rectangle. “If you hear from Deron or think of anything else that might be useful in this investigation, I would appreciate a call.”

“Okay,” he replied, unsure. He slipped the card into his pocket without examining it.

“Well, I suppose that is all for now. Thank you for your time, Sebo.” He feigned a bow and retreated to the doors.

Sebo leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. He held his breath as he asked, “Are you going to arrest Russo for what he did?”

“Naturally,” replied the agent.

“He’ll resist.”

Agent Ruiz scoffed. “I’m sure he’ll come quietly. They always do.”

“No,” said Sebo, looking up and locking eyes. “You’re not hearing me. He
will
resist arrest.”

Recognition flashed on the agent’s veneer and he chuckled. “No promises, kid.”

33 - Deron

The sun was up and blazing by the time Deron rolled out of the unfamiliar bed and walked to the window. His entire body felt weak, not just from the lack of sleep but for the distance he had walked the night before. It was still dark when they made it back to town and Valentin had urged him to get as much rest as possible. The Path from Easton, as he put it, had broken stronger men than Deron. But even though the bed was somewhat comfortable, he couldn’t ignore the questions running through his mind or the ache of his calves as he tried to peer out through the dirty glass.

While waiting for his eyes to adjust, Deron looked around the room and saw things as they should have been—in color. There were toys and trinkets on the desk and on the shelves, charred pieces of plastic and wood that looked ancient in the dusty light. There was nothing quite like it in Easton, not when the veneer could obscure the very suggestion of age, on objects as well as people. Deron thought of his mother, of the lines he had seen the morning before, and wondered if she even knew they were there, plotting and growing beneath her veneer.

A knock at the door made Deron take a step back. It was a louder sound than Valentin could have made and that meant someone else wanted to talk to him. His mind raced; he had taken Valentin at his word that he was out looking for refugees from Easton. But what if he had made it all up? What if this little town with a name Deron could translate wasn’t open to newcomers? They lived in the outland without access to modern amenities. Maybe they didn’t need another mouth to feed.

The knock came again, softer this time.

A gritty voice called, “Are you up yet?”

Deron opened the door and found a tall man blotting out the sunlight.

“Good morning,” he said. “My son tells me you come from Easton.”

Deron nodded in response.

“My name is Timo.” He extended his hand. “And you?”

The man’s grip was rough and strong. “Deron Bishop.”

“What say we get some breakfast, Deron?”

“Alright,” he replied, slipping into the shoes he had left by the door. He followed Timo out into the sunlight and immediately felt his skin begin to sizzle.

“This is the center of Dos Presas,” said Timo, motioning to a large open patch of dirt surrounded by grass. “See how all the buildings form a circle around us? They go out in all directions, with shops, a cafeteria, and a clinic. Houses form the second and third rings.” He turned to Deron. “We have about six hundred people the last time we counted. Some come and go, but most live here full-time.” He gestured with his hand into the distance. “Beyond the homes are farms and beyond those, the river borders.”

Timo led him to a grouping of picnic tables on the edge of the circle. They reminded Deron of the parking lot dining room in Easton except these were not uniform, as if they had all been built from scratch.

“Mornin’, Deron!” Valentin looked different in the daylight, much less menacing than his silhouette suggested. He had been sitting at the table but got up and approached with a smile when he saw Deron.

Timo interrupted the greeting. “Go fetch our friend some breakfast. Tell Carrie it’s for a new arrival.”

Valentin nodded obediently and set off towards a building whose sign read
Cafeteria
. It was a good thing there were signs since everything had that same log cabin kind of feel to it. Deron was sure these people had heard of evercrete, but most likely they didn’t have the knowledge or resources to make it. He sure didn’t.

“Have a seat, Deron,” said Timo, indicating one of the tables. He sat down on the opposite bench, put his elbows on the table, and folded his hands. For a moment, he said nothing, just let his eyes drift off as he tried to think of how to begin the speech that Deron felt coming.

“Easton,” he said at last. “I hear that place is becoming more and more like Sonora every day. But I guess that’s what they do. Gotta keep that iron fist tight, right?”

Deron shrugged, unsure what Timo was referring to.

“You’re lucky you got away when you did. I left Sonora after the lockdown. You don’t even want to know how I got out of there.”

“Did you lose your magic too?”

Timo chuckled, eyed Deron playfully. “Yeah, I lost my magic. I stopped reconciling when I was twenty-three, some kind of ocular chip failure.”

“Did you walk from Sonora?”

“Yeah. One hundred and fifty miles. Now that sucked.”

Deron laughed and felt the ache in his abs and stomach. He caught sight of Valentin coming out of the cafeteria carrying a plate in one hand and shooing the flies away with the other. He had a grin on his face as if he could sense Deron’s hunger at a distance. With a flourish, he set the plate on the table.

“Bacon, eggs, and diced potatoes. Carrie says hi too.”

“Thanks,” he replied, picking up the fork. The first bite tasted a little off, but as he chewed, he sensed the familiar flavors. “It’s good,” he concluded.

“Go tell Carrie he says it’s good. That woman feeds on praise.”

Again, Valentin nodded without saying anything. It was a father-son dynamic that Deron was unfamiliar with. He had always questioned his dad, always talked back and disobeyed at random. Even after he left to chase after other women, the problems didn’t cease. The only reason they didn’t fight as much now was because he travelled all the time.

“So how did it happen?” asked Timo. He tapped the back of his neck. “For you, I mean.”

Deron thought of the scars on his face and neck, the lingering reminders of Russo’s anger that the veneer had been hiding.

“I got in a fight,” he replied. “I was in the hospital for a while.”

“Is that what did it?”

“Did what?”

Timo gestured to the world around them. “Is that what opened your eyes to all this?”

“Oh,” said Deron, thinking back. “I don’t remember being able to see after that. It was only...” An alien blob flashed in his mind. “I hit my head a couple days ago and haven’t been able to reconcile since.”

“Hmm. It must have been a controller failure. I’m guessing you didn’t tell anyone?”

Deron shook his head.

Timo’s face went solemn, a transition smoother than anything reconciliation could provide. “I understand the fear. We all share a common experience here, Deron. All that uncertainty, thinking the world’s come to an end. But it’s not the end. People do live without the veneer.”

“But not in the cities?”

“No,” said Timo. “People like us are dangerous there, not only to ourselves but to the system. When you’ve been around people long enough, you begin to see just how much you were missing before.”

Deron stared at his food. He thought of his mom, of Rosalia and Sebo. Timo was right; he hadn’t realized how much he missed them.

“You’ve had a rough go,” said Timo, folding his hands on the table. “Dos Presas is a safe place. We’re surrounded on three sides by a river that forks around us. East of us, the two dams create another border. The only way in or out is by one of two bridges or by boat. You could try to swim across, but I’d be surprised if you made it. Point is, we’ve been living here for decades without any trouble and we intend to keep it that way. We have laws just like anywhere else. Kill another man, damage property, or put the town at risk, and we’ll drop you on the road back to Easton faster than you can say reconciliation.”

The word made Deron think about home. “Do you guys have any tech?”

Timo flashed a smile. “That’s Abernathy’s department. He gets all the electronics we salvage, though they’re not much use to us out here. Lot of it requires reconciliation and as you know, that skill’s in short supply in this town.”

Deron nodded in agreement even as the soft blue color crept out from under his hand. It followed his gaze and settled under his plate, making the stained tin suddenly pearly white. Surprised by the sudden change, he looked up to see if Timo had noticed.

“Good eats, huh?” he asked.

“Just like mom makes,” replied Deron.

Timo looked away. “I left my parents and a sister in Sonora. You?”

“My mom. And dad, but he’s never there anyway.”

“I can’t tell you how to decide, but I can say it’ll be difficult. Leaving your mother...”

“Have you ever gone back to see them?”

“No.” His eyes became stern. “The veneer is no friend of ours anymore.”

“But what if our magic comes back?” Deron looked at the fork in his hand as it sparkled gold for half a second.

Again, a hearty laugh from Timo. “Maybe we should save the tour for later. I think you need to meet Abernathy.”

“Why?” asked Deron, biting a piece of bacon.

“Because there’s no such thing as magic.”

34 - Rosalia

It wasn’t possible to reconcile a fever, but Rosalia had no trouble changing the hue of her skin to appear flush. After that, all she needed was a reddening of the eyes to convince her dad that she was too sick to attend school. There was something in the way he looked at her when he agreed, some hint that he knew she was lying but that it was okay.

After he and Lynn left for work, Rosalia reconciled herself a pink t-shirt and blue jeans and left the house to catch the tram. It was waiting for her at the end of the street and she managed to step on before it took off towards Parker Avenue. There, rush hour was clogging the streets with pedestrians. They were all older than her, but in their distraction, took no notice of the sullen-faced girl sitting alone in the back row of the tram. They all had their own lives to lead with their own problems and excuses. She almost wanted one of them to ask her why she wasn’t in school. It would have been just the thing to set her off, make her yell and scream and wave her hands around like a lunatic.

It was no business of theirs whether she went to school or not. They didn’t know what was going on in the world; they just kept getting on and off the tram like the little lemmings they were.

As the tram moved further southwest, the number of passengers and stops began to dwindle, until finally it was just Rosalia and a frail man with a vintage veneer but a body that had been ravaged by too many years on Earth. He was hunched over, making Rosalia wonder if she too would reach a point where her body would be on the verge of collapsing like a termite-ridden house with a fresh coat of paint. Before she could worry too much about it, the tram came to a stop at Walsh Street. Rosalia disembarked and waved to the waiting Ilya.