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  “Why not? Because William Watson runs the minute things go haywire. William Watson could be in the next room phonin’ up the GAP himself, if it cleared up his own rubbish name. William Watson won’t get his hands dirty, and it’s a dirty world, right about now.”

  “Tell us what you really think, why don’t you?” Bibi stands in the doorway with a stack of rolled white towels. “You can wash up in the student house, down the next hall. My housekeeper is in there now, filling the baths.” He gestures with his head, tossing the towels at us. “The Merk and I have some catching up to do.”

  Fortis nods. “That’s an understatement.”

  “I’m a monk. I try to avoid excess. I walk the Middle Path.”

  Fortis raises a brow. Bibi looks from his fist to his enormous belly. “Ah yes. Well. Three out of four vows ain’t bad.”

  “I’d say you’re lookin’ at around two, tops,” Fortis says, reaching out to pat Bibi’s belly.

  Bibi shrugs.

  “Off you go, then,” says Fortis, without so much as looking our way.

  And so we do.

  Out of sight, but not out of earshot.

  This monk nearly took down a Merk, just for knocking on his door.

  Not one of us will pass up the chance to find out why.

  GENERAL EMBASSY DISPATCH: EASTASIA SUBSTATION

  MARKED URGENT

  MARKED EYES ONLY

  Internal Investigative Subcommittee IIS211B

  RE: The Incident at SEA Colonies

  Note: Contact Jasmine3k, Virt. Hybrid Human 39261.SEA, Laboratory Assistant to Dr. E. Yang, for future commentary, as necessary.

  PRIVATE RESEARCH NOTES

  PAULO FORTISSIMO

  08/23/2066

  MORE IDEAS ABOUT HOW MY “INSTRUMENTS” MAY BE ABLE TO HELP MY CAUSE. OUR CAUSE.

  THE CONCEPT IS RESONANT FREQUENCIES. EMOTIONS ARE EXPRESSED AND FELT VIA ENERGY, WITH A UNIQUE WAVELENGTH. IF MY CHILDREN CAN BROADCAST THIS ENERGY AT INCREDIBLE “VOLUME,” WHAT EFFECT WILL IT HAVE ON THOSE AROUND THEM? SOUND WAVES CAUSE NEARBY WALLS TO VIBRATE. A STONE DROPPED IN A POOL CREATES RIPPLES THAT EXTEND TO THE FARTHEST EDGES.

  TO RETURN TO THE INSTRUMENT ANALOGY, IF A CHILD CAN PLAY AN EMOTIONAL NOTE SO LOUDLY, SO CLEARLY, SO PURELY, IT SHOULD INFLUENCE ALL PERSONS WITHIN THE IMMEDIATE ENVIRONMENT. THEY WOULD ALL ADOPT THE SAME VIBRATION, WOULD THEY NOT?

  SURELY A HYPOTHESIS WORTH TESTING.

  21

  OLD NEWS

  Once we are out of the room, none of us moves any farther than a few steps behind the doorway curtain. None of us wants to miss what comes next.

  I crouch next to one wall, Tima hovers along the other. Lucas and Ro stand between us, behind the hanging fabric—all of us inclined toward the words being exchanged in the next room.

  We don’t make a sound.

  “What’s wrong? Did you run out of soap, then?” Fortis grabs Ro by the ear.

  “Ow,” Ro protests.

  But it’s no use, and within minutes, the door of the student house slams behind us before we can talk our way out of it.

  Our tubs are really just old wooden barrels standing in a row and separated by colorful, well-worn curtains strung up along clothesline.

  “Let’s get naked,” Ro shouts, gleefully.

  “Let’s get clean,” Tima answers.

  “You’re no fun,” Ro laughs.

  “And you stink,” she answers, calmly.

  Lucas says nothing. Knowing him, he’s sunk all the way under the water, just so he doesn’t have to listen to Ro. I wish I could tune it all out myself.

  I can’t.

  Still, the water is steaming hot, and as I relax my neck against the rough wooden edge of the tub, I try to remember the last time I was clean.

  Before the ship.

  Before the attack on the Idylls.

  Before the Bishop died, and Fortis came back.

  The thought makes me sit up in the tub with a splash.

  “Dol? You okay?”

  “Sure. Yeah. It’s nothing.”

  I lean back and close my eyes, reaching out. I feel my way past the four of us and out toward the school. I can tell by the chaotic clash of inner noise when I’m getting close—and then, suddenly, I see them.

  The picture has never been so clear.

  Face-to-face, Fortis and Bibi. Only a teapot between them.

  I can see them perfectly clearly—which is something new. It’s as if I’m standing in the room.

  “You had no business bringing them here.” Bibi’s voice booms, though he tries to moderate it. He can’t help himself.

  “Why not? Your own little lad there just said you were expectin’ us. And I know our reputation precedes us.” Fortis looks smug.

  “Of course the Colonists have talked of nothing else since your little trick at the Hole. Word spreads like the plague. Which is about how pleasant it is to see you again.” Bibi is red-faced.

  “Why aren’t you happy to see me, William? Don’t you want me to liberate you?” Fortis’s voice sounds strange, almost as if he is taunting the monk.

  “No. I want to keep my heart beating and my head attached to my body, thank you very much. Or I should say, no thanks to you.”

  Fortis is reproachful. “For a monk, you’re not very hospitable, Beebs. Especially considering that they’re just children. Children who have traveled a very long way to get here.” He clicks his tongue—a mock scolding.

  “Since when did you play the nanny, Fortis?”

  “I’m hardly a nanny. More of a parent, if you think about it. As are you. We were there, after all, when the plans were laid. You, me, Yang, Ela.”

  My heart is hammering. I grab the edge of the tub, steadying myself as I listen. I keep my eyes squeezed tightly shut.

  I have no choice but to listen.

  A long silence follows.

  I realize I’m holding my breath. Because it’s us. They’re talking about us. The plans that were laid to create us. I remember our conversations back at Santa Catalina, the discovery that we weren’t simply born like normal children.

  That we were designed.

  Manufactured.

  Created in advance of the Lords’ arrival, as if we had something to do with the whole thing.

  I have been able to put it out of my mind, but hearing them talk about it in such matter-of-fact voices makes my head hurt.

  “No,” Bibi says. “It can’t be. Not these children. You are not telling me that.”

  “I am.”

  “Impossible. The Humanity Project was not successful. There were no viable specimens produced.”

  “And yet here they are. Four Icon Children, true to form.”

  I push my shoulder harder against the rim of the tub.

  Fortis keeps going. “Just looking for a little help from an old friend. Or from family, you might say.”

  He sounds like he’s teasing, but I know differently. He’s deadly serious.

  Bibi sounds incredulous. “If what you’re saying is true, they’re not just children. Not only children. I don’t know what they are.” His voice is so low, now, I have to strain to hear it. “I heard the rumors. What happened in the Hole. I just never believed it. I didn’t even let myself truly believe the Icon in the Hole was destroyed. I couldn’t accept what that might mean—if it were them.” He shakes his head. “It’s unimaginable. The power they have. The things we created.”

  Things.

  That’s what we are.

  “I was there in the Hole,” says Fortis, gloating, as if he’s savoring every moment of Bibi’s reaction. “We did it. It’s more than imaginable—it’s believable. So believe it.”

  There is a pause so long I think the conversation is over—until I hear a drawn-out sigh. I press harder, pushing until I can once again see a face.

  It’s Bibi. “Fine. They can stay as long as they like. But not you, Merk.”

  “Now, William. I’m starting to think you want to pretend we didn’t work side by side in a lab t
ogether? In the glory days of our youth?”

  “And all that time, I had no idea what a rat I was involved with.”

  How big a rat, Fortis?

  What did you do?

  What did you do and who did you do it for?

  “You make rat sound like such a pejorative term. I prefer to say flexible realist.” Fortis’s voice is so cold, now. “I am, after all, a Merk. I never said I wasn’t.”

  A pause. Then Bibi adds, “Speaking of which, I’ve never understood. What was in it for you, with all this? Our little Humanity Project?”

  Fortis’s voice is almost gleeful. “Ah, see, now? You’re curious. Beneath all this monk rot an’ all this teacher rubbish, you’re no different than I am. You want to know if it’s working? What we started?” He’s practically shouting. “Because you’ve heard about the Hole. And you know what they can do, what they’ve done. You know something’s going on, now, don’t you? Something bigger than what we started, all those years ago.”

  Bibi is defensive. “I don’t want to know anything. Not at the price of falling in with you again. I’ve learned that lesson.”

  “Fine, then. Don’t.” Fortis laughs.

  “I won’t. And it seems like this conversation is over,” Bibi says.

  “You’d think, wouldn’t you? Except for one thing,” Fortis answers.

  “And here it goes. Like clockwork,” Bibi says. “Let me guess. You need my help.”

  “You know the Colonies better than anyone.” Fortis is irritated. I can hear it in his voice. “You or Yang. Especially now that Ela’s out of the picture.”

  “Ah yes. I heard as much. So very strange, really. For a survivor like Ela.”

  “It does limit my options.”

  “Considerably. Especially since, as much as I hate you, Yang hates you more.” Bibi sighs.

  Fortis practically growls. “Laugh all you like. There’s someone I need to find. We need to find. One more, like the others. If she exists. The fifth.”

  “My god.”

  Another long silence.

  Fortis clears his throat. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  When he speaks, Bibi sounds bitter. “Yes, well. You always say that, and yet somehow, I always end up on the losing end of your propositions.”

  Fortis is pacing; I can hear how the floor creaks beneath his feet.

  Bibi raises his voice. “What do they know? The so-called Children.”

  “They’re hardly children, I’ll agree with you there. After what they’ve seen. Done.”

  “What you do changes you. You of all people know that, Merk.”

  “As do you, William.”

  “And?”

  “They know what they are, more or less. They know why they’re here—at least, part of it. As much as they can.”

  I freeze. I can’t believe I’m hearing the words, and from Fortis’s own mouth.

  He thinks I know what I am and why I’m here? More or less?

  And how is he having this conversation with a stranger, rather than with me?

  My heart is pounding like feet on a pavement. Running. Racing.

  Fleeing.

  I can’t breathe.

  I feel like my head will explode.

  I’m blacking out.

  “Dol? Dol, are you okay?” It’s Tima, grabbing me by the arm. I open my eyes.

  It’s over.

  The next thing I know, I’m back in the bath, dumping bowls of water over my head. It does not make me feel clean, no matter how many rose petals and lime slices and fragrant strips of lemongrass Bibi’s housekeeper has floated in the tubs for us.

  It does not make me feel refreshed or better or more like myself. My old self.

  Nothing can.

  Bibi and Fortis.

  Yang and Ela, whoever they are.

  And then Tima and Lucas and Ro and me.

  Tima and Lucas and Ro and me and the little jade girl.

  How do we fit together? These men who treat us like children and yet insist that we are not?

  What do they have to do with us?

  And whatever it is, how is it that they know? Why won’t Fortis tell me? Why do I care as much as I do?

  I dump the water over my face and down my back and past my burning eyes.

  If there are tears they won’t know it.

  If there are tears I won’t say.

  “Are you okay?” Tima reaches for my hand. Without the usual layers of grime, she seems softer, more vulnerable. She stands at the doorway to the garden, now wearing the loose yellow-gold robes of Bibi’s students, as we all do.

  For some reason, she has waited for me.

  Probably for the same reason, I find myself waiting for Lucas and Ro.

  And then I tell them what I have heard. All of them. About what I’ve seen. About the Icon Children book.

  I tell them everything.

  Lucas is the first to answer. “Don’t let on that you heard them.” His voice is low and steady. “All right? Not yet. Don’t act like we know anything. Not until we figure out what to do.”

  He pulls me toward him, and I feel his head, warm and damp against mine. I want to burst into tears, curl up in his arms, fall asleep crying against his side.

  I don’t do any of those things. I can’t. He can’t. That time is over. At least for now.

  We look each other in the eye.

  “Buttons is right. We wait. That way, when we make our move, he won’t see it coming.” For Ro and Lucas to actually agree on something is strangely sobering.

  “Which is?” Tima looks skeptical. “What move?”

  “I don’t know. Run away? Join up with the Grass Rebellion in another Embassy City? Or maybe just have an intervention and tell Daddy our feelings are hurt.” Ro runs his hand through his spiky brown hair. It’s his tell—he’s as frustrated as the rest of us.

  Lucas agrees. “Whatever we do, one thing is clear. Don’t trust the Merk.” He shrugs. “At least now we know.”

  Ro pushes open the doorway, motioning to us. It is time to rejoin the group.

  Scrubbed clean and nearly dry, we look like different people. That much is true.

  And so we are, but I’m not sure the bath has anything to do with it.

  Fortis knows more than he’s saying. We’ve always known that. And technically, what I saw does nothing more than confirm it. What, then, has changed?

  Everything.

  “So,” says Bibi, brightly, when we enter the garden. “I understand you’re looking for someone. We’re going to make a little trip to town tomorrow. I have a friend who I think can be of some help to you.”

  He nods at Fortis, as if the two of them have been doing nothing but laughing about old times.

  “Yes,” Fortis says. “Bibi has graciously agreed to act as our guide. For old times’ sake.”

  Bibi grunts. “Old times,” he says, distastefully, as if the words are sour as the plate of slivered green mango in front of him. “Of course. But first, we eat.”

  Wonderful.

  Plates of fresh and dried fruit cover the low table between us. Dried bananas the size of human tongues—which is exactly what they look like—pile against smaller dried strawberries, scarlet-colored and sweet, and even smaller dried longan, golden and tasting like a cross between raisins and nuts. Round rolls are studded with raisins and slathered with coconut and mango jam. Golden curls of noodles float in bowls of richly scented broth, next to plates of fluffy rice. Round green eggplants quartered into sticky sweet sauces compete with spears of green morning glory, slivered with massive discs of ginger, and crispy fried sheets of kale.

  Bibi’s no Remnant.

  He must have money, I think. Protection. A reason he didn’t end up in the Projects like Ro and I would have, without the Padre.

  Because this is a feast for kings, and we have not really eaten in more than a week now. Still, none of us can manage a bite. Our appetites have been stolen with our trust, all in a few moments of illicitly intercepted conver
sation.

  Bibi notices our empty plates. He pours tea from an iron set, dripping lychee and longan honey across it. “At least let me offer you some tea. The bees are from my own yard. Out back, in my garden.”

  “Where you meditate?” Tima watches him pour.

  “Yes, well. I mean to meditate, but I have a tendency to percolate and ultimately infuriate.” Bibi smiles. “So mostly, my garden is the place where I can safely throw rocks.” He sighs.

  “He’s not kidding,” says Fortis, unscrewing a flask and splashing amber-colored liquid into his tea. Merk-style.

  Bibi nods. “I am still working on cultivating the patience required by the Middle Path.”

  We laugh, and then I realize Fortis is watching us all with a deeper interest than usual. Us, and our empty plates. So I force myself to pick up a pair of slender silver chopsticks. “I’m starving. It’s almost like I’ve forgotten how to eat,” I say, lamely.

  Come on, I think, looking at Lucas and Tima.

  They’ll notice. He’ll notice.

  Tima nods, slightly, and Lucas follows. Soon we are stirring green and red and yellow curries into rice on our plates—pushing fruit and vegetables around as if, between us, we will consume the entire royal feast.

  Fortis sits back in his seat, resting against a propped silken pillow. He drops his napkin on the table—but still, he never takes his eyes off me.

  I know because I never take mine off him.

  GENERAL EMBASSY DISPATCH: EASTASIA SUBSTATION

  MARKED URGENT

  MARKED EYES ONLY

  Internal Investigative Subcommittee IIS211B

  RE: The Incident at SEA Colonies

  Note: Contact Jasmine3k, Virt. Hybrid Human 39261.SEA, Laboratory Assistant to Dr. E. Yang, for future commentary, as necessary.

  PRIVATE RESEARCH NOTES

  PAULO FORTISSIMO