Icons. Margaret Stohl

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СКАЧАТЬ up, Buttons.” Ro is panicking, which is dangerous.

      I put my other hand on his wrist. “We can do this. We have to. We don’t have a choice.”

      Now I see the ropes falling into the water, all around us. Sympas are about to drop from the sky, along with the rain.

      Then I say the words Ro doesn’t want to hear most of all. “We have to trust him. We have nowhere else to go.”

      “Give me the gun, Ro.” Lucas is shouting now. He holds out his hands. I feel Lucas reaching toward Ro. I feel the warmth unfolding, the rush of his influence.

      Lucas is intoxicating.

      Ro’s fingers flex on the grip. Dazed, he takes a step backward, trying to brace himself. But I already know it’s no use.

      Ro lets go. I stumble from the weight of the gun, almost knocking Lucas over. I press the gun into his hands and step away, just as the cave fills with Sympas.

      Armed and masked.

      Now the tracking dots are on our foreheads, dancing between our eyes.

      “Took you long enough. Bring them in, boys. I’m beat. Stubborn Grass. Had to hold them here all afternoon.” Lucas lurches out from the rocks, splashing through the water. He stops, steadying himself. “One thing. I don’t want anybody talking to them without my permission.” He shoots Ro a meaningful look. You don’t have to read minds to know what he’s saying. Shut the hell up.

      Then it’s my turn.

      “And careful with the girl. She needs medical attention. They both do. Send them straight up to Doc when we land.”

      Lucas speaks with authority, more than his years, more than he has. The Sympas salute as he passes. Only I know he barely has the strength to hold his gun.

      “Mr. Amare.” An angry-looking man in a heavily decorated military coat stands next to Lucas.

      I recognize the wings on his jacket, and the bile rises in my throat.

      He was there, in the chapel. He is one of the Sympas who killed the Padre. Their leader.

      I swallow. I try to get my breath, but it feels like there isn’t enough oxygen in the air.

      I watch him speak. The words are civil but the tone is not. Lucas reddens, and I realize the words were meant to remind him he is not a Sympa soldier at all. He only wants to be.

      Lucas nods. “Colonel.”

      The man’s eyes move over him, taking in the blood on Lucas’s face. The wet clothes. The swaying weakness in his body, how he’s not standing quite right.

      The Colonel’s head is completely bald, and a jagged scar interrupts the sheen of his skin. As if someone has taken a knife and sliced halfway around the top of his head, as if he were a jack-o’-lantern.

      His coat has a strange collar, like a priest’s. I see in a glance that he has nothing to do with any church, on any planet.

      He doesn’t acknowledge us, though I know he feels me staring at him. I tentatively reach out for him in my mind, but I feel a shock of cold, like I have been repelled by freezing water.

      He fingers the buttonless edge of Lucas’s jacket. Lucas says nothing. Then, slowly, the Colonel raises his eyes to me. They are the color of dirty ice.

      I shiver and stop trying to see behind them.

      Lucas and the Jack-o’-Lantern Man turn back to the waiting command Chopper, sleek and silver and emblazoned with letters and numbers that somehow spell out wealth and importance. The Chopper is deceptively small for something worth more than a year of wages for everyone in the Hole combined.

      As they climb in, I notice a slender girl standing next to the Chopper. She wears the same uniformed coat as Lucas, but her hair is silver and severe, with a slash of bangs cropped against her forehead. It’s possible that I wouldn’t have seen her at all in the crowd of Sympas that surround the Chopper.

      I do, though, not because of how she looks, which is striking enough, but because of the way her eyes track Lucas.

      Like a predator locked on her prey. A king snake, maybe, or a rattler.

      I close my eyes. I can’t sense my way through to her, not in the chaos and the noise of the scene.

      In a second the opportunity is gone. The girl falls into step behind Lucas and the Colonel, and they rise into the clouds with a few flashing twists of blades, without so much as a look goodbye.

      I glance over at Ro, next to me, as they cuff him. He resists, but a Sympa guard kicks the back of his legs, and he falls awkwardly to the ground. Another Sympa yanks him up with a threatening scowl. “You want a fight, boy?” The others laugh. Ro is seething, looking at me accusingly. I hold his eyes, pleading. He turns and shakes his head, climbing onto the transport. He is miserable, his eyes dark and wet. I try to remember if this is the first time I have ever seen him cry.

      I think it is.

      I hope I’m not wrong to trust Lucas and let them take us. I hope Ro’s not right.

      Out here in the rain, as I board the transport, I can’t feel anything but scared.

      RESEARCH MEMORANDUM: THE HUMANITY PROJECT

      CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET / AMBASSADOR EYES ONLY

      To: Ambassador Amare

      From: Dr. Huxley-Clarke

      Subject: Icon Children Mythology

      Subtopic: Lover

      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.

       8

       Doc

      “Dol, wake up. You drifted off.” I turn to see Lucas, his face framed by the water, rough on every side.

      “Where’s Ro?” I turn to look for him, but all I can see is Lucas. His eyes, and broad swaths of sand and sea.

      “He’s fine. It’s you I’m worried about.” He pushes up his sleeve and holds out his naked wrist. “I want you to feel better, Dol.” Four dots. Four blue dots.

      The blood is gone now. So is his shirt.

      Lucas puts his hands inside the bottom of my sweater, tugging at it. He looks at me, questioningly, before gently pulling it over my head. I shiver.

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