Icons. Margaret Stohl

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Dol?”

      I swallow and say nothing. I am finding it hard to breathe. I don’t know what I think.

      Ro doesn’t have that problem. Ever.

      He raises the blade and brings it slashing down, again and again.

      I can’t look, until Ro turns to me, holding out the proof of his latest violence. A handful of brass Embassy buttons.

      “What?”

      “Evidence of what we’ve got. Now we decide. Do we kill him here, or take him back to La Purísima?” Ro isn’t talking about the Mission. He’s talking about the Grass rebels.

      Spluttering, the boy tries to sit up out of the water. I pull his head forward and lean it against my knees.

      “How could we get him back up the Tracks? Did you see how many Sympas were out there? It would be impossible to hop a car without them seeing us. If the Tracks are even running.”

      Ro thinks, tracing his blade against his leg. “Yeah, and if you’re right about Brass Buttons here, it’s only going to get worse.”

      “Grass and Brass. It’s not a good mix.” I try not to think about what will happen to the boy when we get back to the Mission. If we get back to the Mission. What Ro will do to him. What I will let Ro do to him.

      I shake my head, pulling the boy closer up into my lap in the water. “No.”

      “Get away from him, Dol.”

      “Don’t.”

      “Now.”

      His voice is cracking. I can see the changing situation is overwhelming him. He loses control as we lose control.

      Which we have.

      We did when I saw that button.

      “Please.” I’m talking to Ro, but I look at the boy.

      His eyes fix on mine, just for a moment.

      He moves his hand toward me, a desperate gesture, like a raccoon caught in one of Biggest’s traps, flopping against the metal door one last time before it surrenders.

      I start, and Ro shoves the weapon closer.

      A dot of red light—the targeting mechanism of the boy’s own Sympa gun—dances at the bridge of his nose.

      The boy doesn’t react.

      Maybe he doesn’t think that Ro will do it.

      I know he will. He’s done it before. Sympas are a personal threat to his existence. And mine.

      The hand stretches again, nearer to me. “I’m warning you. Don’t move.” Ro growls the words, and as usual, it’s his tone that tells you everything.

      The boy’s fingers uncurl, slowly, touching my knees in the water.

      “Sweet Blessed Lady.” It’s all I can think to say.

      There, beneath the half-undone leather wrist cuff, beneath the ripped sleeve of a muddy Embassy military jacket, beneath the bloodstained uniform shirt soaked with ocean water—

      Four blue dots, forming a perfect square.

      In that second, the world of two people, of Ro and me, shatters into a world of three.

      Now I understand what I was feeling.

      Now I understand who this boy is. Or more to the point, what he is.

      He’s an Icon Child, like Ro and me.

      There are more of us.

      My heart is pounding. I knew there were stories—rumors of other Icon Children—but I never really believed there could be more than me and Ro.

       Had the Padre known?

      If I had only read the book when I had the chance.

      “What is it?”

      Ro hasn’t seen.

      My mind races.

       He showed me his markings.

       Why?

       Had he seen mine, here in the water?

       Could he have been conscious when Ro and I bound hands?

       No.

      I had been there when Ro smashed him in the face with his own weapon, knocking him out.

      I was there when he fell.

      I saw his eyes roll back in his head before anything happened.

       No.

       He showed me because he knew about me.

       He knows about us.

       He knows.

      “What’s wrong?” Ro tightens his grip on the gun.

      “They’ve come for us, Ro.”

      “Of course they have. What do you think that was all about back there, on the train? They send out their fat, lazy Sympas to drag us into their stupid Projects, just like the other Remnants. I told the Padre we needed to arm ourselves, we needed better defenses. He wouldn’t listen.”

      I shake my head and try again. “They’ve found us, Ro.”

      I hold up the boy’s wrist, and I unwrap mine.

      The resemblance is undeniable. The distance of the dot from the palm, the size of the mark. Next to each other, we are perfect matches.

      Just like Ro and me.

      RESEARCH MEMORANDUM: THE HUMANITY PROJECT

      CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET / AMBASSADOR EYES ONLY

      To: Ambassador Amare

      From: Dr. Huxley-Clarke

      Subject: Icon Children Mythology

      Subtopic: Rager

      Catalogue Assignment: Evidence recovered during raid of Rebellion hideout

      The following is a reprint of a recovered page, thick, homemade paper, thought to be torn from an anti-Embassy propaganda tract titled Icon Children Exist! Most likely hand-published by a fanatical cult or Grass Rebellion faction.

      Text-scan translation follows.

СКАЧАТЬ