UnWholly

But there are some things Co

“If she hadn’t, from what I understand an i

“So? Let him be unwound!”

The Admiral quietly bristles. “I’m going to forget you said that.”

Co

“I stand behind my decision. You see yourself as failing—but that’s not what I see. Sure, when you’re in the midst of your own suffering, it’s easy to convince yourself that you’re no good—but we are all tested in this life, Co

Co

“Admiral, have you heard of something called Proactive Citizenry?”

The Admiral thinks about it. “Sounds somewhat familiar. Don’t they fund some of those blasted pro-unwinding advertisements?” He shakes his head in disgust. “They remind me of the old ‘terror generation’ ads.”

That catches Co

“You know—the Teen Uprisings? The Feral Flash riots?”

“I’m drawing a total blank.”

The Admiral looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Good God—don’t they teach you anything in those poor excuses for schools anymore?” Then he calms down, but only a little. “No, I suppose they wouldn’t. History is written by the victors—and when there are no victors, it all winds up in corporate shredders.” He looks out the window with the sad resignation of a man who knows he’s too old to change the world.

“You must educate yourself, Mr. Lassiter,” he says. “They may not teach it, but they can’t blot it out entirely. It’s the very reason why people were so willing to accept the Unwind Accord. The very reason for our twisted way of life.”

“Sorry to be so ignorant,” Co

“Don’t be sorry. Just do something about it. And if you’re curious about this Proactive Citizenry, educate yourself on that, too. What is it you’ve heard about them?”

Co

“Nothing,” Co

“Then leave it to those who have nothing better to do than gossip,” the Admiral tells him. “Now man up, get the hell out of my limo, and save these kids’ lives.”

•   •   •

Once the Admiral is gone, Trace respectfully requests a private meeting with Co

They ride down one of the eastern aisles, past rows of fighter jets so dusty the cockpit windows don’t even look like glass. They’re far enough away from any activity in the Graveyard that their meeting is very private.

“You need to know that things are brewing,” Trace tells him.

“What kinds of things?”

“From what intelligence I’ve been able to gather, there’s dissent in the Juvenile Authority. There are some who want to take this place out—they just need a reason.”

“If they want to take us out, the fact that we’re here is reason enough.”

“I said some want to take us out. The suits I work for don’t—and as long as everything stays smooth here, they can keep the Juvies muzzled. I’ve been a good little stool pigeon and continue to tell them that Elvis Robert Mullard is ru

Co

“None whatsoever—and I’ve given them no reason to doubt my word.” Trace pauses for a moment. “Did you tell the Admiral about me?”

“No,” Co

“Good. A leader should know things no one else does, and spoon out information on a need-to-know basis.”

“Spare me the military classroom,” Co

“There’s more.”

They reach the end of the aisle, and Trace stops before turning into the next one. He pulls out a slip of paper from his pocket and hands it to Co

“Is this someone I’m supposed to know?” Co

“No. He’s someone nobody’s supposed to know.”

Co

“That’s the point,” Trace says. “He is a riddle.” He puts the Jeep in gear, and they turn down the next aisle.

“Do you remember the other week when I went up to Phoenix to get components for the Dreamliner’s electrical system?”

“You didn’t go to Phoenix,” Co

Trace seems a bit surprised, then a bit pleased. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know whether you trusted me.”

“I don’t.”

“Fair enough. Anyway, it was different this time. They didn’t just meet with me, they flew me out to their main headquarters in Chicago. They had me give a full report to a packed conference room. Of course I left out some key things, like our escape plan. I told them the Dreamliner is a new dormitory jet, and that the cockpit was dismantled and sold.”

“Oh, so it’s not just me that you lie to?”

“They’re not lies. It’s disinformation,” Trace says. “After the meeting, I did some snooping. There was a marble wall in the lobby commemorating former presidents of the organization—some names you’d probably recognize—giants of business both before and after the war . . . but there was one name missing. It had been gouged right out of the marble, with no attempt to patch it up. And then again, out in the garden there was a sculpture of the founders. Five of them, but clearly the pedestal was built for six. There were still rust stains from where that sixth statue had once been.”

“Janson what’s-his-face?”

“Rheinschild.”

Co

“Because,” says Trace. “They didn’t just want to disappear him . . . they wanted to make sure their members never forgot that they disappeared him.”

Co

“Before they flew me back, a couple of the friendlier suits took me to their private club—a place that served the kind of alcohol you can’t even get on the black market. Real Russian vodka. Tequila from before the agave extinction. Stuff that must cost thousands of dollars a shot, and they were guzzling it like water. When they were fairly wasted, I asked about the missing statue. One of them blurted out the name Janson Rheinschild, then became worried that he had said it. After that, they changed the subject, and I thought it was over. . . .” Then Trace stops the Jeep so he can look Co