More of us should look as stunned as Emmanuel, sitting beside me and staring slack-jawed out the side window.
"Ever been here before?" I offer, trying to be sociable.
"First time." He shakes his head. "It's nothing like Dome 1. How can these people live in such...squalor?"
I shrug. "It's all they know. Dust and the Link keep most of them from rising up against the status quo." I give him a nudge. "Maybe the next Chancellor can change that."
As Hawthorne's aide, he's seen how it's done. Who else would be better suited to take her place?
Luther would probably say I'm being too simplistic. The political gears have turned a certain way for decades, and change cannot happen overnight. But I have to wonder: why not? If the underclass were to rise up with a plethora of superhuman abilities, the ruling elites would be powerless to stop them.
"The way you move," Emmanuel says, frowning as he weighs his words. "How is that humanly possible?"
I grin. "It's really not."
"These spirits of the earth…" He glances at the back of his father's head. "They helped you over there." He waves vaguely toward the Mediterranean, glistening under the sun outside Dome 10. "They kept you alive."
"Some of us." My smile disappears. "The rest of us are determined to reunite our friends with their children."
"The Twenty."
He's been paying attention. Another trait of a good leader. "That's right."
"For what purpose?"
"How do you mean?"
"Why is Luther intent on meeting his biological offspring? Does he plan to usurp the role of their parents? Upset their families?"
That question has crossed my mind from time to time. Yet neither Luther, Daiyna, Samson, or Shechara seem interested in insinuating themselves where they don't belong.
"You were lied to, Emmanuel. The government told you that your father had died."
"They told us he was a hero." He raises his chin. "That much was true."
Maybe I was wrong about him. He's been around politicians so much that he can't help smelling like them.
"But you deserved to know the truth. To see your father again. And he sure as hell deserved to see you." I pause, knowing the next part will be tough to hear. "Your government's lie broke your mother's heart."
He clenches his jaw but doesn't disagree. "And now Luther is determined to break the hearts of twenty more mothers. Each one was carefully selected and partnered with a spouse to raise a member of the Twenty. Their well-functioning households have produced twenty-year-old citizens who've contributed greatly to our society. You seek to threaten their cohesion, and in so doing, the cohesion of Eurasia itself."
I give him a moment to listen to himself. Then I reply, "You haven't had long to process what's happening. And you don't know Luther very well. The man's had everything taken from him—even his gift from the spirits—yet he remains hopeful for the future. The world out there, what remains of it, never broke him. He's damaged—hell, we all are. But he'd never go out of his way to damage anybody else. So if you think he plans to wreak havoc here in Eurasia, you're dead wrong." I pause. "He wants you to know the truth, so it will set you free."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I shrug. "Maybe that you've been living a lie, forced upon you by your government. But once the truth gets out, things are going to change around here. At first, it might not seem for the better..." I take a different tack. "Aren't you glad to finally know the truth about your dad?"
Emmanuel nods slowly, watching his father. He doesn't say anything more.
"Change of venue." Bishop shows Mara a new set of coordinates on his device. "Drasko needs an evac, and he's got company. Two of the Twenty."
The aerocar pitches toward the starboard side—I learned that bit of lingo on the Argonaus—and Mara takes us north in a sharp trajectory, leaving the sea at our backs.
"Not the best area," she says, keeping her eyes on the windscreen and the glowing display. "Are any of you armed?"
"Negative," Bishop says, "but Milton—"
"Last resort." She glances over her shoulder at me. "Things are unstable enough right now without adding a superhuman to the mix."
"Understood." I get it.
But depending on the situation, nothing's going to stop me from doing what I do best.
We land on the roof of a nondescript building where a blue and white aerocar sits, powered down with two bullet holes punched through its windscreen and a dead clone slumped over in the passenger seat. A single bloody headshot gapes from the front of its helmet.
"Can you fly?" Mara glances back at Emmanuel as she steps out under her rising door.
"I'm a little rusty," he admits, but he ducks his head and climbs into the pilot seat anyway.
"Good enough." Mara draws her sidearm and grips it in both hands, pointed at the ground. "Keep the engine warm and be ready to gun it as soon as we're aboard."
Her brother nods.
I hit the door release for the cargo compartment and leap out of the vehicle, floating until my boots make contact. No one seems to notice. Probably for the best; nobody likes a showoff. Luther follows me out, and Bishop is already at his daughter's side.
"Stay behind me. This could be one of those roving dens we hear about." She looks at her father and frowns. Wishing he was armed, probably worried that he's putting his life in danger. But with his military training, he's a real asset right now.
"Roving den," Luther echoes. "Criminals who migrate their base of operations, I take it."
Mara nods with a glance toward the shot-up aerocar. On the backseat sit two surveillance drones that look like miniature flying saucers. "Not sure what happened here. We may be too late."
Bishop points at the stairwell door. "Only one access point. We didn't spot them on the street. My bet: Drasko and the kids are still somewhere inside."
He's always referred to them that way. The kids. Luther and Daiyna's kids, Samson and Shechara's kids.
