But it was too early, and probably not a good idea to spread such news around when any phone call was risky.
She stood by the window looking out over Baltimore and thought about Stella in Arizona, wondering how she was doing, and how long it would be until she saw her again.
Something snapped and she heard herself making little growls, like a fox. For a moment, clutching the coffee cup in her trembling hand, Kaye felt a blind, helpless rage. “ Give me back my daughter,you FUCKHEADS,” she rasped. Then she dropped back into the nearest chair, shaking so hard the coffee spilled. She set the cup on a side table and wrapped herself in her arms. With the thick terry sleeve of her robe, she wiped tears of helplessness from her eyes. “Calm down, dear,” she said, trying to copy Mrs. Hamilton's strong contralto.
It was not going to be an easy day. Kaye strongly suspected she was going to be put at liberty. Fired. Ending her life as a scientist forever, but opening up her options so she could go get her daughter and reunite her family.
“Dreamer,” she said, with none of the conviction of Luella Hamilton.
27
ARIZONA
They pumped a thick strawberry smell into the dorm at eight in the morning. Stella opened her eyes and pinched her nose, moaning.
“What now?” Celia asked in the bunk below.
The humans did that whenever they wanted to do something the children might object to. Shots, mass blood samples, medical exams, dorm checks for contraband.
Next came a wave of Pine-Sol, blowing in through the vent pipes slung under the frame roof. The smell came in through Stella's mouth when she breathed, making her gag.
She sat on the edge of the bed in her nightgown, her stomach twisting and her chest heaving. Three men in isolation suits walked down the center aisle of the dormitory. One of the men, she saw, was not a man; it was Joanie, shorter and stockier than the others, her blank face peering through the plastic faceplate of the floppy helmet.
Joanie reminded Stella of Fred Trinket's mother; she had that same calm, fated expectancy of everything and anything, with no emotional freight attached.
The suited trio stopped by a bed four down from Stella's. The girl in the top bunk, Julianne Nicorelli, not a member of Stella's deme, climbed down at a few soft words from Joanie. She looked apprehensive but not scared, not yet. Sometimes the counselors and teachers ran drills in the camp, odd drills, and the kids were never told what they were up to.
Joanie turned and walked deliberately toward Stella's bunk. Stella slid down quickly, not using the ladder, and flattened her nightgown where it had ridden up above her knees. She hid her chest with her hands; the fabric was a little sheer, and she didn't like the way the men were looking at her.
“You, too, Stella,” Joanie said, her voice hollow and hissy behind the helmet. “We're going on a trip.”
“How many?” Celia asked.
Joanie smiled humorlessly. “Special trip. Reward for good grades and good behavior. The rest get to eat breakfast early.”
This was a lie. Julianne Nicorelli got terrible grades, not that anyone cared.
28
BALTIMORE
“Heads up. Marge will be here in twenty minutes,” Liz Cantrera said. “Ready?”
“Ready as I'll ever be,” Kaye said, and took a deep breath. She looked around the lab to see if there was anything that could be put away or cleaned up. Not that it mattered. It was her last day.
“You look fine,” Liz said sadly, straightening Kaye's lapels.
Marge Cross understood the messy bedrooms of science. And Kaye doubted that she wanted to check up on their housekeeping.
Around Kaye, Cross was almost always cheerful. She seemed to like Kaye and to trust her as much as she trusted anybody. Today, however, Cross was saying little, tapping her lip with her finger and nodding. She lifted her head to peer at the pipes hanging from the ceiling. She seemed to study a series of red tags hanging from various pressurized lines.
Only three people accompanied Cross. Two handsome young men in charcoal gray suits made notes on e-tabs. A slender young woman with long, thin blonde hair and a short, upturned nose took photos with a pen-sized camera.
Liz kept to the background, conspicuously allowing Kaye the point position. She gave them all a brief tour, well aware they were taking inventory in preparation for a transfer or a shutdown.
“We've lost,” Cross said. “Everything this company has been charged to do by the government and by the people has turned into a can of worms,” she added quietly, and chewed her lower lip. “I hear you did a good job on the Hill this week.” Cross regarded Kaye with a faint smile.
“It went okay.” Kaye shifted her eyes to one side and shrugged. “Rachel Browning tried to pull down my shorts.”
“Did she succeed?” Cross asked.
“Got them down to my curlies,” Kaye said.
The young men looked ready to appear shocked, should Cross be. Cross laughed. “Jesus, Kaye. I never know what I'm going to hear from you. You drive my PR folks nuts.”
“That's why I try to keep my head down and stay quiet.”
“We're not learning how to stop SHEVA,” Cross said reflectively, still examining the ceiling pipes.
“That's true,” Kaye said.
“You're glad.”
Once again, Kaye felt it was not her place to answer, that she had responsibilities to others besides herself.
“La Robert is failing, too, but he won't admit it,” Cross said. She waved her hands at the others in the lab. “Time to go, kiddies. Leave us sacred monsters alone for a while.”
The young men filed through the door. The slender blond tried to remind Cross of appointments later in the morning.
“Cancel them,” Cross instructed her.
Liz had stayed behind, solicitous of Kaye. The way she twitched, Kaye thought her assistant might try to physically intervene to protect her.
Cross smiled warmly at Liz. “Honey, can you add anything to our duet?”
“Not a thing,” Liz admitted. “Should I go?” she asked Kaye.
Kaye nodded.
Liz picked up her coat and purse and followed the blond through the door.
“Let's take the express to the top floor,” Cross suggested pleasantly, and put her arm around Kaye's shoulder. “It's been far too long since we put our heads together. I want you to explain what happened. What you thought you'd find in radiology.”
The Americol boardroom on the twentieth floor was huge and extravagant, with a long table cut lengthwise from an oak trunk, handmade William Morris–style chairs that seemed to float on their slender legs, and walls covered with early twentieth-century illustrative art.
Cross told the room what to do and two of the walls folded up, revealing electronic whiteboards. Sections of the table rose up like toy soldiers, thin personal monitors.
“If I were starting over again,” Cross said, “I'd turn this into a kindergarten classroom. Little chairs and wagons with little cartons of milk. That's how ignorant we are. But . . . We do cling to our beauty and wealth. We like to feel we are in control and always will be.”
Kaye listened attentively, but did not respond.
Cross pushed another button and the whiteboards replayed long strings of scrawled notes. Kaye guessed these were a frozen record of several late-night and early-morning pacing sessions, Cross alone up here in the heights, wielding her little pen wand, moving along the boards like a sorcerous queen scattering spells on the walls of her castle.
Kaye could decipher very few of the scrawls. Cross's handwriting was notorious.
“Nobody's seen this,” Cross murmured. “It's hard to read, isn't it?” she asked Kaye. “I used to have perfect penmanship.” She held up her swollen knuckles.
Kaye wondered where Cross intended to go with this. Was it all some devious way of letting her go gracefully, with a hearty handshake?