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Eighteen

 

March 15

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Ear-ul, happy birthday to you."

Earl could feel the heat from eighty candles as Marcia placed the cake before him on the table.

"All right, stand back," Earl said, getting to his feet. "This is going to take some extra effort." He took careful aim, filled his lungs in a long inhale. He blew for several seconds, sweeping the air stream back and forth until every candle winked out. Cheers erupted and he grinned as he sat down again.

"Last year at the nursing home, they had four candles on the cake," he said. "I couldn't get all four in one breath. Now look: eighty, all at once." He flexed his arm. "Anyone wanna arm wrestle?"

Everyone laughed but there were no takers. Marcia began removing the candles as Earl picked up the cake knife. He cut off a small corner, placed it on a paper plate festooned with printed flowers. "You all can share this. This piece"—he indicated the main cake—"is mine."

"Now Earl," Marcia said with mock severity, "be nice now and share."

"Don't wanta."

"Well, you hafta."

"Oh, all right." He pretended to grumble as he began slicing the cake into squares. He glanced at Marcia, who smiled.

This whole shindig had its genesis about a month ago during a Sunday dinner when Walter had said, "Beware the Ides of March."

"Why?" Marcia asked.

"Earl's birthday."

"Oh." She got a strange look in her eye. When the time came, she had invited perhaps thirty people, friends, neighbors, colleagues, co-workers. Outside of the family, a total of eight showed up.

Even so, someone laughed and others talked as he continued to cut the cake, a good-sized chocolate rectangle with banana cream sandwiched between the two layers. Marcia doled out chocolate ice cream, the good kind, unadulterated, heavy on the cream.

Just as he began slicing through the E of his name, a loud crash rattled through the house, followed by another. Something small but heavy whizzed through the dining room above Earl's head and thumped off of the wall. More glass crashed in a constant chorus.

"Everyone down!" Walter shouted. Tom and a teenage friend crawled through the living room, avoiding the shards of glass spread across the rug from the shattered living-room picture window. They opened the front door slowly; the glass in the storm door already had been knocked out. Suddenly, Tom and the friend leaped up and charged out.

"Be careful!" Marcia's voice quavered just slightly as her oldest disappeared.

"Back, too," Walter said, and he and two male friends crawled to the sliding doors, then dashed out.

"Dad, be careful," Jennifer hollered.

After a couple of minutes in which no more crashes were heard, Marcia stood slowly. "All right. Keep an eye out. Jennifer, Lucas, put on shoes, go upstairs. I think I heard glass breaking up there, too."

The other guests slowly got to their feet, began taking stock. Earl emerged from under the table, stuck the knife into the center of the cake and sat down heavily. More and more and more . . ..

Walter stepped back into the room.

"Some boys, young, maybe teens, maybe a little older. They climbed over the fence and ran off through the Brantlys' yard."

"Look." One of the men who'd run out with Walter held a small, barrel-shaped lump in his hand.

"Yes," one of the women said. "We found them in the living room, too."

"Strong glass in your patio doors. They didn't break."

"Lead pellets," Marcia asked, holding one up. "From guns?"

"No," said the visitor, "probably slingshots."

"Every window upstairs is broken," Lucas said as he came around a corner.

"Even the bathroom," Jennifer said. "And in my room." She handed her mother a pellet. "They hit the glass vase grandma sent me from Switzerland."

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry."

Lucas held up a piece of plastic. "Shot down the Enterprise I had hanging from the ceiling."

"Sounds like they target—"

A clamor from the front door cut the visitor off. Tom, sweating and breathing hard, dragged a swearing youngster into the living room. He had a strong grip, and needed it, because the boy flailed and kicked.

"The o-others got away, but we—ow—managed to catch this one."

"They had a car waiting," Tom's friend said. "They sped off when they saw Tom tackle this runt." He handed Walter a sculpted red-plastic slingshot with a wrist loop for stability. "That's what they were using."

Walter showed it to his friend.

"Take him out to the patio," Marcia said. "I don't want him in my house."

"Sharkjaw!" Lucas blurted.

The boy stopped struggling, glared at Lucas.

"You know this brat?" Walter said as Tom pushed the boy along.

"Yeah, he's one of the Barracudas we play VR games with in Kihei."

"Well, that'll come to an end," Marcia said.

Earl watched as Tom and his friend forced the Barracuda to sit in a chair next to a round table. Tom leaned forward and showed the boy a fist, and it took no imagination to figure out what he was saying.

"Oh, Marcia, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it was so bad. What are you going to do?"

"Call the police, I guess."

"Wait a moment." Earl stepped out onto the deck. The boy stared down at his lap while Tom and friend kept vigil on each side. Earl stopped near the table, continued to look at the boy. Finally he looked up, then away.

"Sharkjaw, what the hell are you doing?" Earl said.

No answer.

"Who put you up to this?"

Nothing.

"Well, we'll call the police, and then tell them you're a Barracuda. They'll go out round 'em all up, of course, and then you'll all be together at juven—"

"The Barracudas didn't have anything to do with this!"

"Oh, sure."

"It's true! This was—was something else."

"Who then? Who told you to come over here and smash windows with your fancy slingshot? You and your hoodlum friends got every window in this house. Does that make you proud? And someone who's a real good shot broke Lucas's Enterprise." He leaned closer to the boy's face. "How'd you like it if someone came over to your house and broke your Enterprise, eh? You little shit. You act so tough. But this wasn't tough, this was cowardice. You're a coward, you're yellow."

"I am not!"

"Sure you are. Who put you up to it? Not the Barracudas, then who? Your father?" The boy's hand jerked. "Uh, huh. And the minister at your church? Told you I was a monster, didn't they, said a monster lived in Lucas's house. They said you could send a message to the monster that he wasn't wanted, so they gave you a slingshot and told you to smash the windows at Lucas's house, didn't they? So you came, you and your yellow, cowardly, chickenshit friends. They all got away, but you didn't. We got you and you're going to pay for every broken window and Lucas's Enterprise and Jennifer's vase. You, all by your little self."

The boy's lower lip quivered. Earl had seen it a hundred times—when resistance fails, the lip goes first.

"And I know what you've been doing, too, you dirty-minded little sot. You've been on the net, haven't you, and you found those photos of me and the others. And you downloaded them and you and your friends sniggered and giggled over them, didn't you? Oh, boy, naked girls, yes, sir. And you can see everything! Did you get a good look, Slackjaw? Did you see how tiny my thing is now? And all the other guys, huh, all puny and useless? Did you get a good look?"

"We d-didn't mean any harm—" Tears flowed down the boy's cheek

"Oh, of course not. They were available so you peeked. Giggle, giggle, snigger, snigger." Earl straightened. "What else did you see?"

"What d-do you mean?"

"Well, we're monsters, right? Did you see the horns sprouting from our heads? The claws between our fingers? The tails sprouting from the bases of our spines? Did you see my forked penis?" He slammed his hand on the table. "Well, did you?"

"N-no—"

"What did we look like? Well?"

"You looked like us—"

"Like you? Then why in God's name did you come over here to smash windows, scare Lucas and his sister and his mother and his father and his brother and all the guests? You could've hit somebody with those goddamn pellets, hurt someone. You could've put Lucas's eye out. Why?"

Sharkjaw looked down, stifled a sob.

"We played together, Sharkjaw." Earl softened his tone. "Remember when I blew up your big armored vehicle in VR? With you in it? What did we do afterward? Went out for sodas. We talked about many things. You gave me skateboarding tips, remember? I taught you how to play marbles. We hung out together. For a while, anyway. And then they started telling you I was a monster, that the aliens did something nasty to me, that I'm going to gut someone and eat their liver raw and suck on their intestines. Yum."

Earl heard Jennifer gag, but he kept his eyes on the boy.

"Look at me."

No response.

Earl slammed both hands on the table. "Look at me!"

The boy jumped back, stared with wide eyes.

"What do you see?"

"Uh, uh—"

"What—do—you—see?"

"I see a boy with red hair!"

"What have you been told you see?"

"A-an a-al-alien." He burst into tears. "Dad t-told me you were evil, that the a-aliens had done something awful and you weren't a man any m-m-more—"

"Wrong, Sharkjaw. I am just that: an old man. Someone, something, somehow reversed the tape of my life and now it's playing forward again. But I'm still an old man. That's all." He put a hand on his shoulder. "You have nothing to fear from me."

Earl stepped away from the sobbing boy, past the silent observers and into the house. Walter followed. Earl took two plates, grabbed the knife and sliced his name in half, which still left two fairly good-sized pieces for each plate. He checked the ice cream; it had melted around the edges but the core still was solid. He scooped out a couple healthy dollops for each plate.

"What do you want us to do with this shark character?" Walter asked.

Earl shrugged. "That's your decision. I suppose we should call the police. After all, they did do a lot of damage."

Earl picked up both plates, two spoons.

"And you? What happens to you now?"

"I give this family peace. I pack my bags and leave."

As he reached the patio doors, Walter said, "Fat chance." Earl looked back, smiled slightly, headed on out.

"Here," he said, placing one of the plates in front of Sharkjaw. "It's my birthday today, did you know that? Eighty years old. Eighty candles, can you imagine?" He pulled a chair over, sat down. "Cake looked like a brush fire. Damn near set the whole place ablaze."

The boy giggled through his tears.

"Dig in. Mrs. Othberg makes the best chocolate cake this side of the Pacific."

The boy tentatively scooped out a small dab of ice cream, slipped it into his mouth.

"So Sharkjaw," Earl said, swallowing some cake, "tell me about yourself. Your real name, for instance. You have any brothers?"

 

* * *

 

"I feel like we did when we ran away from the clinic," Marian said as she finished fastening a flap on her backpack. "Only a lot more guilty."

"I know," Aaron said, setting his backpack on the floor. "We're not running from enemies this time."

Marian didn't answer; instead she concentrated on adjusting a strap for the fifth time.

"Time?" Aaron said.

She pulled her watch out of a jacket pocket. "Four thirty-three."

"All right. The bus leaves at six. That gives us a little time. The station is just a couple blocks over so we can wait a while longer."

"We still have to get past the sentries."

"I know." He looked at her. "It won't be as easy as last time. In more ways than one."

Tontine had clamped down hard since the kidnapping attempt, and for good reason—two weeks later the captors tried again. This time they had worked more subtly, recruiting allies within Grid Manor. Aaron, playing poker in the women's floor with Virginia, Miguel, and a former card dealer just laid off from one of the local Indian casinos, hadn't even been aware anything was wrong until Slick Suit, Dark Suit and two orderlies walked in, Dark Suit with a firm grip on Marian and Slick Suit prodding Tontine with a gun.

"Let's go, Aaron," Slick Suit said with a sneer.

"Wait, I have to play this hand." He laid his cards down. "Four aces," which was a lie, but in the movement, he palmed Virginia's laser pointer.

"Everybody else just stay put." Dark Suit looked around at the group, all now standing, watching. Aaron stepped forward and one of the orderlies fell in behind him as they moved into an open room, heading for the ramps. Three men stood to one side, one holding a bat, the others two-by-fours. White King Sam stood opposite, rubbing his hands and staring at Dark Suit.

"Just stay where you are," the latter said, "or I'll hurt her."

"Then I get to hurt you," Sam said with a grin.

Aaron was behind and to the left of Dark Suit. He knew Tontine was waiting for a diversion, just the slightest chance—and Aaron aimed to create one. Blinding someone with the tiny laser was out; that chance had passed already. One other chance was coming up. He'd been teasing Merlin with the pointer again just before the card game; now he hoped the cat had gone back to one of its favorite observation spots atop a tall metal cabinet they had to pass before getting to the ramp. Please be there, Aaron prayed. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the cat's crouched form as still as a porcelain figurine except for one twitch in the tail.

All right, cat, don't be asleep. Pay attention.

Using his thumb as a guide, he aimed the pointer. The dot slid up Dark Suit's back and danced on his cheek.

The cat reacted instantly, leaping onto Dark Suit's shoulder, staggering him. In grabbing for the animal, he let go of Marian. Feline reflexes took over; claws dug into cheek and man and beast yowled. In the next second, White King Sam hurtled in from the side, knocking both down. Aaron caught a glimpse of cat streaking up the ramp and Marian racing up after. Action swirled around him: Tontine already had knocked Slick Suit's gun aside and was slamming a knee into his gut. Sam slammed Dark Suit's head onto the floor. Miguel wrestled with the orderly. The other one started to raise his gun, but a bat flying at his head forced him to duck. In an instant, the boardholders were upon him. Black King Leo and Ken raced down the ramp.

"Aaron!" Tontine barked. "Up! Go! Go!"

Aaron didn't wait, scrambling up the ramp. Eddie and Kilkenny waited at the top.

"Marian?"

"Around by the back wall." Eddie pointed.

Aaron hurried over, found her sitting on the floor, back to wall, stroking Merlin.

"Is he OK?" He slumped down beside her.

"Had some hair ripped out, I think, but otherwise he's fine."

Aaron rubbed the cat's head. "I'm sorry, Merlin, I really am, but it was a desperation move."

Marian touched Aaron's cheek lightly. "It's all right. Pretty quick thinking."

The cat pushed itself out of Marian's grasp, took a few steps, shook itself, then sat and began licking its side.

"Cool cat."

Marian smiled. After a moment, she said, "Aaron—"

Gunfire erupted from below.

"Oh, God."

The gunfire turned out to be a couple more thugs who had raced in to help. They missed, giving manorites a chance to pile on the shooters. The kidnappers suddenly found themselves surrounded by angry people wielding bats, boards and knives. Both Dark Suit and Slick Suit barely could move from the beatings. Retreat had been the only option, a fast one, down the ramps and into the van and a car with bullet holes in the rear door. Some exmanorites also fled.

And so, three weeks later—a nerve-wracking three weeks in anticipation of another attempt that never came—Marian and Aaron prepared to leave. Albeit reluctantly.

"We'll endanger whoever we take shelter with," she had said in one of their innumerable arguments.

"True, but if we keep moving, the danger won't last. Plus, we leave this place, we'll be getting away from the abductors, too, taking the heat off Grid Manor."

"Well, I suppose."

Aaron watched as Marian opened a battered trunk near the foot of her bed and dropped her backpack in.

She picked up his and did the same, closed the lid. She sat on it and looked back at him, seated on the narrow metal-frame bed.

"Doubts?" he said.

She shrugged. "All the time. I just wish I knew if we were doing the right thing."

"It's hard to know in any case. And it's hard to leave our friends behind."

She gave him a sharp look. "I can remember when you denigrated a lot of these people because they were jobless and liked it that way."

"That was my old self speaking," he said. "I owe my life to them, and I'm not sure I can repay them. Running away seems a bit . . . ungrateful."

"If what you say is true about deflecting the captors, you are repaying them, by leaving."

"Yeah." He looked at his hands in his lap, then back at her. "I am very confused, perhaps even more than I was after the change. And you're partly to blame."

"Yeah, like I was responsible for the Holn."

"You said something on Christmas Eve that got me thinking. When you wondered about the reactions of the people in the encampment as they watched the ship leave. All I thought of was money. You saw the other aspects. What was it? Hopes and dreams, probably unfulfilled."

She came over and sat down next to him, bright eyes looking into his. "'The unexamined life is not worth living.'"

Aaron held up a hand. "Socrates."

She smiled. "That's what you're going through."

"I suppose I am." He shook his head. "And if this hadn't happened to me, would I ever have examined it?"

"You're just looking for ans—" She stopped. Footsteps filtered in from the far end of the room, and someone whistled an old Beatles tune he couldn't remember the name of. They stared at each other a second, then stripped their jackets off and she stuffed them into the trunk, then rejoined him on the bed. A few seconds later, Ken appeared around the dividing curtain.

"Heigh-ho, you two, what's up?" he said.

"Just talking," Aaron said, and trying not to look guilty.

"I'm sure."

Aaron frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think you'd better come with me."

The two shot a glance at each other.

"Why? Where?" Marian said.

"Down-ramp. Let's go."

They looked at each other again, got up slowly. Aaron's uneasy feelings were confirmed when they found at least eight persons waiting for them. Ken pointed to the same couch they sat on the first night they'd arrived. Tontine sat in a chair directly in front, Virginia off to his side.

"Your trip's been canceled," Tontine said.

"What trip?" Aaron said brazenly.

"Bus trip to Kansas City, Missouri." Tontine pulled out what looked like several bills folded over, handed them to Marian. "Refund of the bus fare."

She clasped the bills with two fingers, sighed and looked down, face flushing.

"What bus fare?" Aaron said.

"The tickets you went through the elaborate ruse to buy during the shopping trip last week."

"I see." Aaron pulled the tickets out of his shirt pocket. "Didn't work, eh?"

"Oh, it worked," Tontine said. "Damn near succeeded. Unfortunately, you bought them from a friend of mine at the bus station."

"Fuck," Aaron muttered as he tore the tickets in half and let the pieces flutter to the floor.

"We figured something was up anyway. Virginia got suspicious at the withdrawals from the account."

Marian sighed. "I thought I was being careful."

"Just what did you hope to accomplish?" Virginia said.

Marian rested an elbow against the couch arm. "Resolution."

"I was going to contact some people, friends, when we got to Kansas City, people I could trust, stay with them a while, then move on again—"

"You don't trust us Aaron?" Tontine leaned forward. "We're not capable of sheltering you, or meet—"

"That's not the point!" Aaron felt his face flush deep red. "It's about safety. Our staying here just puts all of you at risk. We thought that by leaving, we could spare you possible injury. Without us around, they wouldn't have any reason to hurt you."

"And we have no say in deciding this."

Aaron just looked at Tontine.

"Besides," Ken said from above Marian, "you were about to leave something precious behind." A ball of fur was thrust into her arms, causing the money to flip out of her fingers and join the ticket halves on the floor.

"Oh . . . Merlin would have been all right. You guys would have loved him." The cat turned and stared at her through unblinking eyes. "And I would have sent for you eventually, so stop looking at me like that."

"Mrow."

"All right, what's next?" Aaron shrugged. "Sent to our rooms? To bed without supper? Grounded for six weeks? A session with a belt, perhaps?"

"We ought to, I suppose," Tontine said. "There's been a long period of half-done or sloppy chores, short tempers and generally reckless behavior that's been getting on more than a few nerves here."

"Why haven't you said anything?" Marian said. "I didn't realize—"

"It doesn't matter, really," Virginia said.

"I—"

Tontine leaned forward. "What really hurts is the idea you two would plan this behind our backs. We are not your captors."

"But you do have power over us!" Marian blurted. "All well and good for you to cancel our trip and keep us inside here. You can do it. Like Dorothy said, we're just small and meek. You can push us around and order us around with impunity because we can't fight back, and you know it!" She buried her face into the cat.

"All right, you two listen to me." Virginia sat down between them. "We are not interested in pushing you around no matter what it looks like to you. That's just not true. Small and meek? Look at yourselves, you are small and—well, I wouldn't say meek. Small, though, and, yes, powerless. I know what you're feeling, really I do, although I certainly haven't been put in this extraordinary situation. Some of us have been, still are, in pretty powerless positions ourselves. Pain and frustration, fear and bewilderment, we've seen it in your faces, heard it in your voices—and we've felt it. So we have a pretty good idea of why you tried this.

"But as Tontine said, what angers us the most is your excluding us. We're your friends, for Christ's sake! Look at these people here. There's Carlos, who plays his guitar for you, and White King Sam and Black King Leo who taught you to play chess. And Maria, and Ella, and Anna. And Betty, your personal hair care expert, and Kilkenny, and Chastity, who's learned a lot about sewing from Marian, and Chris, who isolated himself from the rest of us until Aaron taught him how to make and fly a kite, and the others here in this room. They're your friends—believe it, you two. We had a meeting yesterday, discussed the situation, the danger to us—yes, we are aware of that, we are aware of the resentment our security measures have caused. And we had a vote—ask you to leave, allow you to stay." Virginia looked at Aaron and Marian each in turn. "The vote was unanimous: stay."

"Which is a miracle in itself." Ken rocked himself as he spoke. "Homeless people are notorious for their independence and rejection of most authority. Many live this way because they want too, because they're sick of rules and regulations and taxes and whatever. Not all, of course, some are victims of circumstances and others are victims of mental troubles, but even many of them will go their own way when the urge strikes."

Something is different here. Aaron studied Ken's face as he spoke. The look in his eyes was sharp as he gazed back. His speech was clear and focused, and his hands were animated.

"Suddenly, you have this group, a rowdy bunch if there ever was one, coming together with a single purpose in mind. That purpose is to help you see this thing through. You have—temporarily, mind you—unified this place."

He's not drunk.

"That vote could get you killed," Marian said. "The attacks on the others, the violent deaths, the farce in the street, the near-success of the last one—don't they mean anything to you? Our captors are probably still after us. We can't ask you—"

"You don't have to ask," Tontine said. "It will be done if it becomes necessary. Don't argue. You can't go this alone. Both of you have been rejected, tossed out, thrown into the hands of strangers. But—you're among friends now. You need help, we will provide it."

"We know the reasons why you decided to leave," Virginia said. "We all agree this situation cannot continue. What we're asking is that you let us help you, let us work with you, to sort it out and find the next path. We're not so completely out of it we can't make rational decisions." She put a hand on Aaron's shoulder. "We do this because we love you." He felt a sloppy kiss smack his cheek.

"Eeyew," he said, rubbing it quickly with his sleeve as laughter peppered the room.

He looked across her to Marian and they regarded each other for a moment. "Why do I feel like a fool?" he said.

"Because you are," she said. "Unfortunately, you're not alone."

"Yeah." He looked at Tontine, inside feeling like the child his physical stature suggested. "If I've said anything derogatory or offensive, I apologize forthwith."

"Yes, please forgive us," Marian said, looking first at Virginia, then Ken, then Tontine. "We have been blind and stupid, so wrapped up in ourselves we didn't . . . didn't recognize the true value of the friendships we've made here." She looked at Aaron, who nodded. "We accept your help. Again."

"Yes!" Kilkenny leaped over a table as the small group applauded. Tontine smiled, Virginia hugged Aaron. Ken, still rocking, said, "The signs were against you anyway."

"What do you mean?" Marian asked.

"Beware the Ides of March."

"That's today." She shrugged. "I guess my horoscope would be against me, too."

"And your tea leaves," Aaron said.

Conversation died into an awkward silence, except for a low rumbling from Marian's end of the couch. Aaron looked down at the cat sprawled in her lap.

"Man, I wish I could find that much contentment."

 

* * *

 

March 21

Miranda let out a long sigh, wishing Avram were more than an image on a twenty-one-inch monitor. Facing her in a colleague's office were Sumo and the Harpy, who'd come to Los Angeles but left Avram in Washington. It had to have been planned that way, and she had refused to meet with them until he had been contacted.

"Frankly, we are a bit disappointed," Harrison was saying. "We had hoped to see more progress than what has been achieved."

"The progress is there," Miranda said. "It's all in the reports. You have to read them to find it."

"That's the other thing," Radmilla said. "Your attitude. Nothing but sarcasm and an unwillingness to cooperate."

Miranda slowly stood up, suddenly certain she knew where this was going. "I get sarcastic when I get frustrated. I get frustrated when I am unable to complete my job because of interference from outside."

"Well, you won't have to put up with the frustration or interference any longer," Harrison said, lightly sliding his hands together. "We are removing you from your position on the Holn Effect Task Force effective immediately. We feel we should appoint someone who is more respons—"

"Pardon me," said Avram from the monitor, "but shouldn't you check first with the administrator of the project?"

"We felt we didn't have time to consult you because we are at a critical junction," Conroy said. "We are sure, when we present the facts to you, you will go alon—"

"Baloney, you big bag of jelly. You flew out there to fire her so I wouldn't be around—"

"Avram, don't push it—"

"Well, I will," Miranda said, turning on Harrison. "Being that it doesn't look like I have much to lose. Tell me why you're firing me. The true, unexpurgated, unadulterated, real reason."

"I told you, your lack of coo—"

"I will not be trifled with, Dr. Conroy. I'll tell you what the real reason is. It's because I failed to sweep this thing under the rug, to get it out from in front of the TV lenses. I failed to protect your precious president from being bumped off the air because of the group. It won't go away, though, will it? Every month, there's something else—someone getting killed, someone being thrown out of the house, someone being attacked. More and more, every month. And I have reports from the FBI about incidents not yet on TV. Two of the group are missing, guardians of two others have lost their jobs directly because they harbor group members, and there's a whole list of threats mailed, faxed, called and sent in by rock. It's just a matter of time until someone finds out—and then it'll be more bad publicity."

"We did not consider that as a reason—" Radmilla began.

"No, it's more than that. Your policy failed, Radmilla, failed. And you want a scapegoat. You want to shift the blame so you won't have to wake up in the morning and feel guilty—"

"I categorically rejec—"

Miranda turned to her with such vehemence Radmilla stepped back. "Of course you reject it, but face the fact, Radmilla, if you had done what we suggested, Myra Caslon would not be dead and that family would not be grieving. But no, you bureaucrats had the answer. You wouldn't listen to us. What are we, just a bunch of eggheads? We did know there was going to be death and fear and hatred. And I refuse—refuse—to take the blame for that."

"You won't have to, Miranda," Avram said. He held two envelopes next to his face on the monitor. "In here is my letter of resignation. In here is a letter signed by every member of the Holn Effect Task Force. Not just the group leaders, but everyone. The letter says that if Miranda Sena is dismissed or demoted, all signees will quit immediately. My letter says the same thing."

"Blackmail, Avram?" Harrison snorted. "I thought you were better than that."

"Not when it comes to the integrity of scientific endeavor. We'd heard rumblings you were going to try this, and I and the other task force members have decided the stakes are too great. Now, consider this. The task force is not interested in the squabbles you people have among yourselves about who is responsible for the way things turned out. You chose not to listen to us. The consequences are out of our hands. However, if these squabbles threaten to overwhelm the scientific process, then it is over. And once free of the task force, you have no control over what the ex-members say or to whom. That's another part of the pledge. The moment the resignations are official, ex-task force members will hit every newsroom they can get to and make it clear what Miranda just did: A scientific recommendation was made but the government chose to ignore it. There are seventy-two members of the immediate task force, so I think you can imagine the resultant brouhaha."

"In fact," Miranda said, looking at her watch, "I'm going on the air live in ten minutes. Nightline. I'm sure Kevin Cooper would love to have the scoop on the firing of the scientific director of the Holn Effect Task Force."

"Avram, you can't do this!"

"We mean what we say, Harrison. Time to make a decision."

Miranda planted herself in front of Harrison, feet apart, hands on hips, eyes locked on his. "Well?"

 

* * *

 

When the producers had called, she'd said only if they came to her. To her a astonishment, they did, setting up in her office. She realized she would have enjoyed spilling the beans about her near-firing, but it hadn't come to pass—yet.

The field producer raised a hand. "Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . cuing opening." As the show's theme song played, Miranda had a sudden thought and looked at the monitor of herself and tried to see what books were showing in the background. A Brief History of Time. Good. Wonderful Life. Appropriate. Origin of Species. Excellent. A tattered paperback copy of The Human Brain by Isaac Asimov, a book she had read a long time ago and that perhaps had gotten her started on this long trail. Chuck Amuck. Oops. So that's where that silly book went . . . too late now . . .

"I'll, uh, I'll be watching you on TV tonight," Avram had said after Sumo and the Harpy stormed out.

"I might not be able to say anything, not with Lakewood and Sam Innes as the other guests."

Avram smiled. "You have our work cut out for you."

As she had feared, after a taped roundup on the status of the Rewound Children (not mentioning the missing two—Jack had insisted that be kept quiet), the host spent most of the early part of the show with van Kellin.

"Mr. Cooper and all the others had figured the story would have faded by now, but with all these things happening we can't seem to ignore it," the field producer said during a commercial.

"These things are happening because people are afraid, and they're listening to other people who are afraid, so we have an endless cycle going."

"Why don't you say that on the air?"

"When is your Mr. Cooper going to get me on the air?"

"Well, he wants to make some points—"

"You contact your Mr. Cooper and tell him if he has something to ask me, do it now, or I'll chase you guys out of here before the next commercial."

"Dr. Sena," Kevin Cooper turned his well-coiffed visage to her camera within a minute after the show returned, "what is your position on these Rewound Children? Do you agree with Reverend van Kellin that they pose a risk?"

"These are people, humans," she said to the flawless image. "They've been through an extraordinary experience, an experience like no one else has in the history of mankind, but that does not change their basic humanity one whit."

"I don't understand how anyone with one whit of humanity can sit there and say that." The Rev. van Kellin adjusted himself carefully in the monitor. "One of your own scientists, an eminent scholar in his own right and a known Biblical expert, has said many times these children are threats to humanity—"

"I have never said they should be killed, you bloated son of a scum-sucking gnat." Dr. Innes's expostulation caught everyone off-guard; before the switch could be made, viewers were treated to van Kellin's jaw dropping and his face going deep red. "I said they needed to be studied. I said we had to be aware of any changes that could presage a competition between human and other species. I said if that were the case, we needed to take careful measures to isolate and observe. I have never—never—advocated killing or otherwise harming those people." So deep was his voice it rumbled out of the small speaker on the monitor.

Miranda blinked. Dr. Innes was on the main monitor now, gray hair catching points of light, head and face erect on square shoulders. "You have been taking my words out of context and twisting them to suit your needs. Just like you accuse the liberal left-leaning media of doing. I have had enough of you, Lakewood, and I want it to stop right now."

"Now just a minute," van Kellin said, matching the volume but not the resonance of Dr. Innes's voice. Miranda listened with half an ear; the rest of her mind was taken up with the turn of events. Dr. Innes had remained mute throughout the early part of the program, betraying nothing about what was going through his mind.

" . . .science means we are searching for answers. Objectivity is our goal, but of course, we do not always achieve it. Things get in our way. Our beliefs. Our politics. Our humanity. Our culture. And now, the paradigm every scientist has learned in school and practiced through the process of being alive himself—that is, being born, growing up, aging, and dying—has been assaulted by this event. Small wonder there's dissension and disagreement among us. For Christ's sake, we are just human.

"It is much more difficult to be a scientist than a preacher. All a preacher has to do is make up his mind to believe. A scientist has to have proof, proof that will stand up to careful scrutiny of colleagues, many of whom are strangers."

"Now just a minute. It is not that easy—"

"Gentlemen, I believe the topic is the humanity of the Rewound Children, not the merits of science versus religion. Dr. Innes, how exactly do you think the Reverend van Kellin has distorted your views?"

"Very simple, Kevin. In his pronouncements of death sentences upon the children."

"I have never called for their deaths. It is a matter of survival of the human—"

"Would you like us to play tapes of your sermons when you talk about eradicating the devil's spawn? You pissant! You have not done a thing to help anyone come to terms with this. People turn to you for solace and guidance in a world knocked askew and all you have to offer is fear and loathing, to borrow a phrase. And you use my words, my research, my name, to do it! Damn you! Worm! Yellow-bellied coward! I denounce you, right here in front of God, Mr. Cooper, Dr. Sena, and all the people watching. I denounce you as a coward and your preaching as hateful and your beliefs suspect. You are scum, sir!"

The picture switched to van Kellin, who was a case study in apoplexy: red face, veins bulging, choking on his words, eyes wide. In the next second, the picture switched to Miranda, nearly making her jump.

"Dr. Sena, why do the Rewound Children spark these kinds of reactions?"

"Uh, Dr.—Samuel just said why. He talked about scientific paradigms being assaulted. Well, that certainly applies to all of us. It goes right to our very cores, the essence of our existence, does it not? As humans, as men and women—and as children. Everything we've been taught about ourselves, about growing up, reaching maturity, aging, preparing for death, the progression of life—it's all been tossed out the window. What these creatures did was challenge our conception of life, challenge us right out of our complacency. Of course, the idea of an ordered universe has been under attack before. Well, here's a new twist."

"It's a struggle, I can tell you." Dr. Innes rumbled again. He came back on the monitor as calm as if nothing had happened. "I have seen the task force people study the data, go through them line by line, bit by bit, searching desperately for answers, getting frustrated and losing their tempers and throwing things." In her office, off-camera, Miranda grinned. "It is a tremendous struggle, Mr. Cooper, more than most of you people will ever know."

Miranda felt a thrill shoot through her body. She didn't know why or how long it would last, but she was ecstatic to have Dr. Samuel Innes on her side.

"This also challenges us on how we think of our own children," she said out loud.

"How do you mean?" She was live again.

"Watch the video-return slots at your local video store. A car comes up, adult driving, passenger, a kid between the ages of six and eighteen. Who gets out to put the tape back, no matter what the weather, no matter how bad the traffic, no matter what the crime rate? And who stays in the cool/warm/dry/safe car, waiting? That's what I mean. Free labor, no rights, no pull against the big and powerful adults.

"And so when some adults are transformed into beings the size of children, we think nothing of stripping them of their rights, their responsibilities, their property, their savings, their families—their dignity—because that's how the culture thinks of little humans. Just things to be tolerated as long as they stay in their place. Then we have idiots like van Kellin telling us to fear them and that jackass Goth counting down their deaths and we act surprised when someone loses control and does some harm. What hypocrisy!

"What is going on here? Are we so afraid of these people we have to kill them all? For God's sake, they're the size of ten-year-old kids! Have we lost all our compassion? Have we lost our sense of wonder? Are we a nation of cowards now?"

 

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Framed