“That’s certainly what they tell us,” Maj said.
“By the way,” her father said, “James tells me that apparently someone tried to get into Laurent’s accounts the other night.”
Maj was horrified. “Did they?”
“Of course not. Those accounts are apparently on Net Force’s own servers, and they’ve got firewalls like the Great Wall of China. God Himself would have to call their sysop and ask her for a password.” He sighed. “All the same, I don’t like it. Leaving aside the matter of his father’s capture, they’re snooping around Laurent pretty actively…and Laurent is here.”
“This extra security, this surveillance…do you think it’s enough?”
“I think maybe the less said about that, the better,” her father said softly. “But I’m told we’re safe, honey.”
“It’s not us I’m worried about,” said Maj. “It’s Laurent.”
The look her father gave her was just slightly humorous, the first normal-looking expression he had produced in this conversation. “Fortunately,” he said, “I know what you meant by that. But my concerns are elsewhere, too. Your mother. You and Rick. The Muffin.”
Maj swallowed. The thought of someone from that country’s intelligence services coming here to try to get Laurent, and possibly hurting the Muffin instead — It was too horrifying to think about….
“And I always knew that this might happen,” her dad said. “So we just need to keep our eyes open, all of us. Except the Muf, whose composure I’m not going to disturb with all of this, for reasons you’ll understand. A six-year-old has enough to do, coping with the world we’re living in nowadays, without thinking that the bad people might actually come to her house and try to kidnap someone she reads to.”
He sighed. “And as for Laurent, I’m not sure this is exactly the best time to break this news to him, either.”
Maj flushed hot suddenly. “Daddy,” she said, “he’s not a child.”
“Uh, excuse me, O ancient of days…but he is a child.”
“You know what I mean! You were the first one to suggest that he was a little ‘older’ in the brain than usual. You can’t keep this from him. Someone’s going to have to tell him eventually!”
Her father rubbed his face. “Yes,” he said. “I agree with you. But not right this minute, all right?” He looked up at her then. “Besides…there’s always the possibility that something may happen.”
“‘Something’?” She looked at him.
He stood up, turned away from her. “Don’t ask me for details,” he said. “I can’t give them to you. But in the meantime, let’s just sit on this piece of information for a day or so and hope that it changes.”
He dumped the cold coffee out in the sink. “Mom will be here today,” he said. “You’ll be back before she and I have to go out again. Just keep an eye on things, and don’t get all panicky, all right?”
“I won’t panic,” she said. “I don’t usually.”
“I know you don’t,” her father said, and kissed her on the top of the head in passing; then went on down to the bedroom again to get dressed.
Maj sat there for a good while, with her chin propped on her enlaced fingers, and cursed the unfairness of the world. Then she too got up and got dressed to go to school.
The day was sheer hell. Maj could not keep her mind on anything. Her shattered concentration cost her many points on a math test for which she had had great hopes, having studied for the stupid thing for a good chunk of the last week — but Venn diagrams seemed strangely useless to her today. And it was Laurent’s father, more than anything else, whose case was on her mind. Laurent might be sick, but he was safe. His father was in that little bare room with a light trained on his face, now, by the bad guys — the “bad room” from all those old movies…and there was nothing that could be done about it. Think how you would feel if your dad were in that room…. Maj thought. Dad’s right. It’s too awful. Let Laurent wait awhile to find out…until he feels better, anyway.
But she knew…and she was not going to feel any better. It was all profoundly depressing. Maj dragged herself from class to class all day, causing a couple of her teachers to ask her what was the matter with her. She used the excuse that it was “something physiological,” which was vague enough to be true, since it was someone else’s physiology on her mind, but also served to make them stop asking her questions. When the last bell went, she tore out of the place and headed for the bus home. It was delayed, which drove her wild — but she waited for it, rode it the whole way, and then got off and forced herself not to run the last couple of blocks…because she was afraid of who might be watching.
It was five o’clock when she walked in the door. Her Mom met her there; she was in the process of getting ready to go out to her consultants’ meeting.
“Laurent’s still under the weather. It could very well be the flu,” her mother said, putting a loose-leaf full of printouts into her carry bag. “I gave him some more aspirin, and the antiviral. The fever came down a little. But he doesn’t have much appetite. It’s a good thing he’s not showing any sensitivity to light, or I’d be a lot more worried.”
That made Maj feel a little better. “Has Daddy been back yet?” Maj said.
“Been and gone,” her mom said, “just to pick up his suit. He’ll be back first, I bet.” It was a grumble.
“I don’t know, Mom….” Maj smiled a little.
“I gave the Muffin a little early dinner,” her mother said, picking up the big shoulder bag full of printouts and loose-leaf notebooks, and her portable Net machine with her consultancy-business files in it. “Let’s see…” She stopped in the front doorway to see if she needed anything else. “Nope, all together. These people are living in the information age, for pity’s sake, I don’t see why they insist on making me come out to their pestilent meetings when we could all sit comfortably in our homes and have them.”
“It’s a power trip,” Maj said. “They’re all relics…they’ll retire soon, I bet.”
“From your mouth to the Great Programmer’s ear,” Maj’s mother said. She kissed her daughter and said, “Lock up, now.” She glanced down the hall, toward Laurent’s room.
“I will,” Maj said.
Her mom pushed the door open. “Oh, and I forgot, there’s a letter from Auntie Elenya there for you….”
“A letter? Wow,” Maj said, as her mother pulled the door shut. “See you, Mom….”
The car revved up outside, whirred away. Maj threw the solenoid bolt on the front door and turned to the little table where the paper mail sat when it had come in. Sure enough, there was an airmail paper envelope — Maj picked it up, saw her name at the top of the typed address.
“How about that,” she said. The letter was postmarked WIEN — that was where they lived, she and Maj’s uncle, the Mad Cartographer. She tore it open, unfolded the thin airmail paper with pleasure. It was unusual to get paper mail from the relatives anymore, now that they were all online. Mostly it came in the form of postcards, they—
“Dear Madeline,” the first sheet said in English. “I have sent this note to you for my son. It seemed more likely to reach you without interference—”
Maj nearly dropped it — then took a breath, and started to fold it up again — then stopped herself and opened it once more. It was addressed to me, after all. He would have realized I would probably read at least some of it—