Текст книги "The Variables"

Автор книги: Shelbi Wescott

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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Huck pointed to a big and black concert grand piano, walked over to it, and ran his hand over the top of the open lid. It was the most majestic piece of musical equipment Grant had ever seen. It had an ebony gloss finish and the keys were achingly pristine.

“I hear you play,” the old man said to Grant.

With his hands shoved deep in his pockets, Grant shrugged. He tried to take in the full grandeur of the entire room. Ornate, detailed, with beautiful touches—and a view of the shore, just out of reach. Bookshelves held large leather-bound volumes of classic literature, and the walls held frames for an array of artwork and photographs. It was stately, clean, and classic.

Hanging on one of the closest walls was a prominent frame with a wrinkled drawing that looked not unlike the Kymberlin towers. Large pillars rose from the ocean shaded in muted colors. Someone had tried to iron out the creases, but it was worse for wear: dirt-smeared, a dollop of red rust in the corner, wrinkles running through the penciled labels.

“I guess?” Grant answered Huck like a question. He looked at the man’s eagerness and cleared his throat. “I mean, yes. Sometimes. I play.”

The guards had dumped him into the room without fanfare—led him past Huck’s young secretary—and left him to fend for himself against the leader, who had been sitting alone at a big oak desk covered in papers. He rose when he saw Grant and had walked straight over to him and pointed to the piano. No other salutation, no niceties. The time for that had passed.

“Play something for me,” Huck said, and he reached down and pulled out the piano stool, patting it and motioning for Grant to sit.

“I’m not that good,” Grant tried to defer, but he realized that Huck was not going to take no for an answer.

“I don’t play at all,” Huck replied with a gentle smile. “Even if you play Mary Had a Little Lamb, I’m sure it would sound amazing on this piano.”

Grant slid onto the bench and ran his fingers over the keys lightly, and he played a chord to hear the richness of the vibrations. He thought of the song he had made up in Leland Pine’s living room. The notes had just come to him then and they had fallen right into place. It was a sad sort of melody, with strong minor chords: a reflection on his sadness at the time, his longing and worry. He closed his eyes and tried to remember how it started, and as soon as his fingers began to play, the song came back. He played and played, with his eyes closed, forgetting Huck was listening, forgetting everything except the ivory keys and the feeling of his foot against the pedal.

When he finished, he kept his hands on the piano for a long time, and then slid them into lap, afraid to look up.

“That was,” Huck started, and then he dropped his voice to a whisper, “simply amazing. Did you write that?”

Grant nodded.

“Beautiful.” Huck shook his head. “I’m impressed.”

“It’s just chords,” Grant replied. “It’s just an illusion. Like a parlor trick.”

“And so humble, too.” Huck laughed and tapped Grant on the shoulder, pointing toward a chair by his desk.

He wasn’t trying to be humble. Once his mother took him to a special show in Portland. It was right downtown, the big illuminated Portland sign on Broadway welcoming them into the heart of the city. They came to listen to a piano player who wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo with tails that hung off the bench; he sat under a solo spotlight playing the great composers with wild abandon. It was the most remarkable thing Grant had ever heard. His mother had listened to the entire concert with her eyes closed and her hands white-knuckling the program. When he wasn’t watching the man play, he was watching her.

She died not too long after that. A year, maybe two.

He would never play the piano the way that pianist had.

“Blair told me that you saved her life.”

Grant found the courage to look at Huck. He was almost entirely gray, and wrinkles were deeply etched into his forehead. There was a pair of glasses on his desk, untouched, atop a stack of manila file folders. Grant couldn’t imagine what kind of paperwork Huck needed to review.

“I don’t remember it that way,” Grant replied honestly. “She saved my life, probably.”

“That’s not the story I heard,” Huck pushed.

“It was messy down there. It’s hard to remember what happened and what didn’t.” He stopped. “I’m just trying to be accurate...”

Maybe it was a trap, he thought.

“I see.” Huck turned his chair to face away from Grant and look out over the ocean. They were high above the sea; Grant felt wary of the building, as if a strong gust of wind would topple them straight over. “You are an enigma, my dear Grant. Do you realize the issues you’ve created?”

“No. Not really,” Grant answered honestly.

“You have no family.”

He thought of his dad. Waiting for him. He wanted to tell Huck right then: I do have a family. I have a father who came all this way for me. “I have Lucy.”

“What if you and Lucy have a falling out? It could happen, you are young. Although I’m sure you cannot see that now. But then, without a girlfriend to keep you grounded, you lose sight of this visionary world...and then you want out. What then?”

“I want to marry Lucy,” Grant said. Then he regretted giving Huck those words, the specialness of them, the meaning they had for him. And he looked to the ground again, wishing he could take it back and keep that desire for himself a little while longer.

Huck hummed a sigh. “Marry her? How quaint and old-fashioned. And so very romantic and sweet,” he said. “And when you picture your future with our darling and passionate Lucy King...do you see yourself here? On my Islands?”

“Yes, I think I do,” Grant answered, unsure of what he was supposed to say to keep himself alive.

“It’s a future you could support.” Huck didn’t say it like a question and Grant shuffled his feet again along the dotted carpet. “Well, this is a beautiful place to stay...a home you could be proud of. Don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Grant replied. “But, you know, what will you say when people want to leave?” he asked.

“Leave?” Huck repeated as if he didn’t understand the question. “No, no. That’s not the plan. The earth must heal—”

“No one will ever want to leave?” Grant looked at Huck and tried not to look as incredulous as he felt. Yes, Kymberlin was a gorgeous architectural feat; its scientific advances were the things of Grant’s dad’s science fiction books. It felt warm and light, even if people were still wearing blue jeans and not starchy white uniforms with imbedded tracking systems or walking around with robot best friends. He thought about those who had arrived here and may not have viewed their watery home as a viable living space for generations.

“Where?” Huck said. “Where are they? These people who don’t want to stay here. I don’t have people lined up to see me with complaints...my appointment book is empty of dissenting voices.”

“I don’t know,” Grant said as he shifted from one foot to another.

“They don’t exist, Grant. The people on my Islands, some of them have been part of this process for a long time. They gave up a different life to be here, and it was a sacrifice they made willingly. They said goodbye to friends and family and familiar comforts and agreed to join this journey. They are not here out of force. They are here of their own free will. And don’t you think that’s the difference between them and you?”

Huck turned his chair back around. His hands were in his lap, and he paused, expecting Grant to challenge him.

“Wait, what’s different?” Grant asked. “I’m not here of my own free will?”

He felt like a student expected to know the answer about something they hadn’t studied: caught in class, with all eyes on him, hoping to have someone let him off the hook.

“Grant.” Huck kept saying his name, pulling him in with his soft tones and his generous manner. A hundred extra pounds and a big fluffy beard and Huck could be Santa Claus. “My people want to stay here. My people. Each generation after this one will want to stay without dissent because their families will cultivate our creed, our mission. My world has everything they could need...”

“But you don’t want me to stay?” Grant asked him. If Lucy were here, she would have challenged Huck, and pushed back on his idealized creation. She would have pointed out that his subjects lacked freedom, and she would have questioned his motives. He wished he could put her in his pocket and carry her around with him, and if he needed her voice and her words, he could call on her to take over. This conversation was exhausting him and he felt confused. He didn’t know what Huck wanted him to say and yet, somehow, he knew his time here was coming to a close.

“Do you want to stay?” Huck asked, leaning forward. “Or if I gave you the option to go back...live outside my walls, do it on your own...would you do it?”

Grant could sense the trap this time. He coughed and looked Huck in the eye. “There is nothing for me anywhere else,” he said. “My only chance for a home is here. With Lucy. And I’ve earned it.”

“How? By saving my daughter’s life? Which you say you don’t remember...”

“No, because...” Grant stumbled. He looked back over to the beautiful piano. It was the first time he had ever played a piano that nice; first time he had seen one up close and not on a stage. Sometimes he went to the music stores downtown and played their pianos until someone, usually a mousy employee with bad facial hair, kindly asked him to move on. The upright piano at his house was out of tune and rundown, six of the keys were dead, and the pedal stuck. “I don’t have a reason,” he admitted. “I don’t have answers...”

“Because you don’t really want to be here,” Huck replied, snapping his fingers as if he caught Grant in an elaborate lie.

“I do,” Grant said. He did. He didn’t. If his father wasn’t alive, if Darla wasn’t waiting for Teddy, if Lucy seemed content, then of course he’d stay where there was luxury and safety. Food and comfort. The world’s best doctors, scientists, thinkers, builders. And if he left, what was waiting for him back on land? Disease, devastation, and disaster. His dad. Darla. Freedom from feeling like his life was constantly in danger.

“We’ll see,” Huck replied. He opened up one of the manila folders and put it under his arm. “Follow me.”

Looking out the large picture window one last time, hoping for a glimmer of the amusement park, Grant turned. Dark clouds were rolling in from the ocean and settling over the shore. All that Grant could see were vague outlines of hills, and nothing else.

“A summer storm,” Huck said. “Good for waves.”

Grant assumed that meant something; he shuffled out of the room and into an adjoining one with no windows, just a long metal table. Huck placed the thick folder on the table with a splat and then let his hand linger on top of the stack.

“It’s a test. Take your time.” Huck left. There was a thick click of a lock sliding into place. Grant checked the door, extending his hand out and turning the knob, but it didn’t budge. Without any other option, he went back to the folder and opened up his test. In front of him were pages and pages of questions about situational ethics, his past histories, and his loyalties to friends. Grant flipped through, answering honestly and thinking of Lucy. And then to his father and the promise he had made him.

“I’ll come back,” Grant had said.

He hoped he could make that promise come true.

It took him an hour, and when he finished, the door opened magically, as if the room itself sensed his completion. He stuck his head out into the small space and saw Huck’s secretary waiting. She didn’t have a computer or a phone; she simply sat with a robotic interest in the cheery robin’s egg blue wallpaper that covered the walls.

“Oh. You’re done,” she said and tapped her desk three times. Grant stood on his toes and looked over the blank expanse, noticing that she had a computer inside her desk, visible only to her at her angle in the chair. “Okay, you may go in,” she announced and closed out of the screen.

“That’s fancy,” Grant said, pointing at the desk.

“Uh-huh,” she answered in a chipper voice, her eyes narrowing. “Very fancy.”

He backed away and walked back into Huck’s office; the lights had dimmed since he had left, and Huck stood looking out his window again—his back to Grant.

“I finished,” Grant announced, and he stepped forward with the papers, his hands outstretched.

“Put them on the desk,” Huck answered him without turning.

“And then can I go?”

It started small at first, barely audible, and then it grew into a roar—a loud, hoarse laugh. And when Huck turned, his shoulders rolling, he put his hands across his stomach as though the laughing was tearing him apart from the inside out. “No,” Huck said, calming down. He walked to Grant and snatched the test from his hands and flipped through the pages. “No. No. You may not go.” He let one single page fall to the floor. “Generous. Kind. A real people-pleaser you are.” Another page fluttered to the ground. “Trusting.” Huck spat the word like a curse and tossed a third page to the floor. “Optimistic. Sensitive.”

Instinctively, Grant moved backward toward the door as the test created a trail of white along Huck’s carpet. With a flurry of movement, Huck tossed the entire stack of multiple choice questions and short answers into the air, and the rustling sheets sounded like wind through the trees as they danced and fluttered around him before landing still.

“Did I do it wrong?” Grant asked, his voice had weakened by Huck’s display.

“No,” the old man answered sadly.

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “I don’t understand. I can do it again.”

The door swung open behind him and Grant felt cool air rush forward at hit the nape of his neck.

“What’s the emergen—” Scott said as he tumbled into the room holding a small first aid box in gloved hands. “Grant. What’s Grant doing here?” Scott walked right past him and into the center of the room, staring at Huck with his mouth drawn tight. “You said it was an emergency.”

“Dispose of him,” Huck commanded. “Do it quickly. No mess. My carpet is brand new.”

“No,” Grant breathed and he took another step backward toward the door. He had expected it. He had waited for this moment, and yet he couldn’t believe it was happening. He looked to Scott and shook his head. “Wait—”

“You called me down here to infect Grant?” Scott asked again. He pointed his hand behind his body, but kept his eyes on his boss. “But Grant—”

“Survived,” Huck said. “And we discussed this earlier, don’t act so surprised.”

“We discussed the issue of his survival, but we didn’t decide on a solution,” Scott answered. “Huck, this is a Board decision at this juncture. People know he’s back...”

“The news of Copia must not spread!”

“He won’t tell anyone!” Scott pleaded.

Grant watched them.

“Your power on the Board has been stripped. Effective immediately,” Huck said. He walked over the paper on the floor and it crinkled under his feet. “You have committed treason against the Elektos. Grant was supposed to die twice in the System and he has survived, and while I understand why...” Huck paused as if he were going to give a chance for Scott to explain, but when Scott opened his mouth, he continued. “You don’t want to break Lucy’s heart. You’ve let some short-sighted teenage puppy love cloud your judgment.”

“My integrity as a scientist has nothing to do with my daughter’s love life. I believed Grant was an outlier and I was wrong...you can’t possibly believe I did that on purpose. And this? This is not the right thing to do,” Scott said. He set the first aid kit down on the nearest surface and stripped his hands of his rubber gloves. Turning back to Grant, his eyes were wide. He spun back to Huck. “Blair’s been telling people he saved her from an unruly revolt. He’s a hero, Huck. He’s a kid. And the people down there know it.”

“He is not one of us and he never will be!” Huck seethed. “I want this. I want this the way I planned it. And you have no authority to say no. Dispose of him or I’ll do it myself...the hard way.”

Spinning, Scott pushed his way past Grant and opened the door to the foyer. He snapped his fingers at the girl and when she looked up at him, he motioned to her flat desk. “Call Gordy.”

“Did Mr. Truman confirm the request?” she asked with a toothy smile.

“Get Gordy here, now,” Scott said again and he slammed the door.

“She won’t do anything without my approval. Like a good employee.” He paused.  “Now...let me say a few things to dear Grant while you ready the vials. Get your gloves back on.” With steady, rhythmic steps, Huck slid over to Grant. Scott stayed stationary behind him with his arms crossed, unwavering. “This isn’t a personal choice. You don’t deserve to die. It’s simply that I will not make room for you here. That’s always been my fear, child, that everything I have worked on for so long will crumble because of an oversight, a crack. Lucy loves you, and why shouldn’t she?”

Grant’s mind drifted to the night he spent alone in Scott King’s bed. The brown sheets were soft and clean, and the downy comforter cocooned him against the hard mattress. He hadn’t slept that night because he was waiting for the virus to overtake his body. And all he could think about was seeing his mom again, and how grateful he was that she wasn’t alive to witness this. He had believed his father to be dead, too. Without people on the earth to love him, Grant waited for death with calm serenity. It wasn’t about Lucy then, or even about dying. It was about understanding how his death could have affected others.

And it wouldn’t have. Not really.

Not the way his death would affect Lucy now. Or his dad, alive, and waiting. It was different now than it had been before, and Grant wanted to scream that he deserved to live, so let him live. But his voice was stuck.

Even now, as Huck stormed forward, the determination set in the lines between his brows, he knew that if he thought too much about the aftermath of his passing, it would make his last few moments full of fear and longing. How many times had he been spared? At what point would a call for his life become a joke with a muddied punch line?

This time it was Gordy’s chance to come through Huck’s doors, and the moment the father made eye contact with his son, his fury shifted direction.

“She called you anyway? Demote her...”

“No, Dad,” Gordy said. “As a matter of fact, she tried to keep me from coming inside,” he shot a glare through the closing door. “But I got wind you had called for Scott and I couldn’t possibly understand why...seeing as how we discussed putting a moratorium on any changes to our Island populations for right now.”

“You decided that. I have remained constant in my desires. He’s not supposed to be here,” Huck said with a flippant flick of the wrist. “He’s not for my cause. He’s a danger...”

“Those things aren’t true, Dad,” Gordy said, unable to hide his contempt. “You’ve overstepped.”

“Are you out of your mind? You were the one cheerleading Copia...”

“And Copia is done.”

“You agreed...”

“To killing Grant when it could be easily covered up. Not anymore. To everyone on Kymberlin, the Copia crowd is enjoying their first night on their new Island. You think if word gets out that you’re offing members of our community that you won’t face a revolt? Muuez and Shay are dead because people could no longer trust them. If you misstep here, you are inviting the same demise. You don’t think this kid knows where he stands? You don’t think he understands the fragility, the precariousness of his life?” Gordy turned to Scott. “You won’t be needed. You may go. But I want to talk to the boy.”

“Gordy,” Scott said. “Your father mentioned that I’ve been...”

“This is clearly not the time, Scott,” Gordy snapped. “I have never been a fan of your waffling and your weak temperament. Your work is celebrated, but I’m not losing sleep over considering our partnership over. It’s not even that you cared about the boy. It’s that you lied. And continued to lie. And your lies cost us time, men, and energy.”

“I didn’t lie—”

Gordy gave a knowing stare and shook his head. “Don’t you think you’ve earned enough from us? Leave your credentials with the secretary on your way out. You won’t be called for any more late night emergencies.”

“I was promised a leadership role for my...”

“You have received everything you were promised,” Huck yelled. “And you’ve done nothing but work behind our backs.”

“That’s not true...”

“I’ve spared the child,” Gordy said wearily and he pointed to Grant. “But I will not go to bat for you. You are finished with the Elektos and your security clearance is revoked. Go enjoy some time as a civilian, Scott—your services with our government are no longer needed.”

Scott hesitated. He looked at Grant and then to Gordy, and he looked confused. Without another word, he grabbed his kit, but Gordy cleared his throat.

“Leave the virus, Scott,” he said.

Setting it back down, Scott looked at Grant and then to Gordy and Huck, and without another word, he made a swift exit, leaving Grant alone and exposed, the storm clouds gathering energy, rain spitting against the glass.

“You’re not dead because my sister somehow wants to tout you as some war hero...so, you’re safe today,” Gordy said. “Safe for now. But let’s understand something…we are watching you. You will champion Kymberlin and the Truman regime as long as you have breath. Your life depends on it.”

Both of them turned to the sound of shattering glass. Grant saw that Huck had ripped down the framed piece of creased, stained paper and tossed it to the ground. The glass in the frame broke into dozens of tiny shards, and Huck stared at the mess, pointing a long finger at the paper inside.

“It will crumble,” Huck said. He had gone trancelike, taciturn, vaguely inhuman. “And it will be your fault.” He turned to Gordy, his lips trembling.

“I’ll get someone to pick that up for you, Dad,” Gordy said smoothly. “You want me just to kill everyone? Just you and me living in your tower made of glass. We have fail-safes imbedded into each building, so you just say the word and I’ll knock us all down. Done. No more humans. Don’t forget that was Kymberlin’s plan. Not your muddled version...your perverted, warped sense of how this was supposed to work.”

“He’s a variable—” Huck hissed.

“So am I, Dad,” Gordy said in a near whisper. “I’m just not the type you prepared for. Give it up, Father. Just give it up.” He turned to Grant, sighed, and rubbed his eyes.

“Grant,” he continued, “I think it’s time to go home. Not a word. Am I clear?”

“Oh,” was all Grant could say. He looked at the broken glass and Huck’s twisted grimace. “Go home?”

“Yes.” Gordy pointed to the door. “Leave before I let him murder you. That usually involves hurrying.”

Nodding, Grant walked to the door, casting a long look at the grand piano for the last time, and then slipped out into the hall. He stood with his hand still on the knob long after he had heard the thick click, Gordy and Huck’s voices still carried on through the wood.

“Can I help you?” Huck’s secretary said. She was still chipper, but wary.

“I was told...to go home,” Grant told her with a frown.

“Housing questions can be directed to the concierge on the top floor of Kymberlin’s sky bridges. Two floors up. Can’t miss it.” She stared at him and he started to walk toward the elevator. With his back to her, she added, “Have a fantastic evening.”

Grant approached the sky bridge level concierge just like the woman had told him, but he could tell that something was wrong. As he walked toward her table, the woman froze, her face scrunched, and she seemed to undergo a moment of panic. It was very fleeting, almost imperceptible, and yet Grant could see it on her face as he got closer: she was surprised to see him. When he reached the table, she stammered out a kind hello and took a noticeable glance at the security camera above her head.

“Good evening,” the concierge said in a singsong voice. “I’m so terribly sorry...but I don’t know you. And I’m afraid that means there’s been a horrific oversight.”

“I’m Grant Trotter,” Grant said, helpfully. He pointed to himself and smiled brightly, flashing his single dimple and raising his eyebrows in hopes that she would help him. “You don’t have to know me—”

“Oh no.” She flapped her hands, wildly gesticulating, her face frozen somewhere between saccharine friendliness and total panic. “I do have to know you. That’s my job. I know all the Kymberlin residents. By name and by sight. Along with two or three interests, who their relatives are…”

“That’s...” Grant paused and tilted his head, “crazy.”

“No,” she smiled right back, “what’s crazy is that I don’t know you.” She laughed a high-pitched, obnoxious, embarrassed laugh and then seemed self-aware that it had sounded incongruous with the situation and she let it slowly die. “I’m sorry. Grant Trotter you said? What a horrible misunderstanding. And you’re sure you’re on the right Island.” A statement, not a question.

“I was originally a resident of Copia.” He refrained from telling the woman that Copia didn’t exist.

“Oh dear. Well, then to Copia you must go. No, no, no. There is a Copia concierge. She trained with me and her name is Susan...she would know you. That’s her job. She’s on Copia, of course. So, that doesn’t help us now. But, goodness, how did you end up here? I’m so confused. Was it an accident? That’s so strange...”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Grant said. He was tiring of the conversation, and he could feel a headache brewing behind his left eye. Still, he smiled. “Blair brought me here. I just came from a meeting with Gordy and Huck...they told me to go home.”

“But your home is Copia.”

“Copia—” Grant stopped. “I need a place to stay here. On Kymberlin. I can stay with the Kings if you tell me where they are living—”

“That’s private information. For Kymberlin residents only. I’m afraid I’ll need to call someone about this.”

“But I am a Kymberlin resident now.”

“Just a second, please,” she said as she held up a finger and hit a button on a small headset in her ear. “Yes, thank you. I have a young man here who says he’s from Copia.” A pause, a nervous laugh. “Well, I thought so, too. But thank you, I’ll wait for confirmation.” She hit the button again. “It will be just a second.”

Soft orchestral music played in the background. The woman swayed gently to the sound.

Grant tried to smile as he waited. He could smell a thick stink of sweat and adrenaline pouring off of his own body and he knew he needed a shower. Was it only this morning he had woken up in the System? Only this morning that Dylan had invited him to breakfast? The hours seemed longer, and the events seemed a world away. When the concierge answered a phone call, Grant didn’t even budge or look. He was lost in thought, watching the elevators ascend and descend.

“Grant?”

He didn’t hear her.

“Mr. Trotter? Excuse me, Grant Trotter?”

He turned.

“I apologize for both the delay and the complications. So, we don’t have a room for you...a horrific oversight. But I’m assured you are a Kymberlin resident now. Such a relief. There is an interior room on floor 10. Room 105. Follow Sky Bridge C to reach your stairs. It won’t have any of your luggage—”

He thought of his lost Romero poster. “I don’t have any luggage.”

She raised her eyebrows for just a second and then flashed a bright grin. “Then I can make it up to you for being so callous earlier and not knowing who you were—”

“But I wasn’t supposed to be here,” he offered in a gentle voice. “It’s okay. No need to make up anything.”

“Fresh toiletries and some pajamas.”

“I don’t need pajamas, ma’am,” Grant said and he took a step away from her and turned toward Sky Bridge C. He turned back, “Can you tell me what room Lucy King is in?”

“Oh, no. It’s so late. I’m so sorry. I’d have to call and confirm and I prefer not to call so late,” she said and she frowned and grimaced. “I’ll pass along a note to the family to let them know where you are staying. I’m assuming you would like me to tell them if they ask?”

He nodded. He nodded and nodded, and turned away.

She called after him about sending down a toothbrush, some floss, but he ignored her and kept walking. Lucy was somewhere in this ocean city; the last image she had of him was of him being taken away by Huck’s guards. She would already have killed him in her cute paranoid brain. It wasn’t fair to let her spend the night worried, but unless he knocked on every door, he wouldn’t see her tonight.

He felt like he might, maybe, almost, cry.