“Anti-Improvement?” said Jesse. “No, Counter-Improvement. That’s better.”
“But we only mention Improvement and the damage it does,” Clair said. “That’s important. Anything else will make us look crazy. Really crazy, I mean.”
“Even though it’s true?” said Arcady.
“Let’s not overcomplicate things. No one will believe us until they see it with their own eyes. If the dupes come out of the shadows to take us down—that’ll do it. If they don’t and we get to VIA with the body—that’ll do it too. Either way, it’ll all come out. When VIA says it’s happening, everyone will believe.”
“What if VIA’s involved?” asked Turner. “The dupes have to be directed by someone.”
“Do they? I really don’t think VIA would be so stupid as to attack their own system—”
“But if they are, what then?”
She thought for a second. “They’ll still let us come. Their best shot will be to discredit us, not destroy us. As long as we stay in the public eye and don’t use d-mat, they can’t engineer an accident or dupe us. They can’t do either without exposing the truth or breaking parity, so we’ll be safe.”
“What about peacekeepers?” asked Arcady.
“Technically, we haven’t done anything wrong,” she said. “They’ve got no grounds to bring us in, and we’ve seen no sign that they’re likely to. Maybe they’ll turn a blind eye if we’re in trouble, maybe we can’t entirely trust them, but they won’t act openly against us.”
“And what about you?” asked Jesse. “Your reputation is also at stake. What’s everyone going to think when you out yourself as . . . well . . . one of us?”
“It’s only temporarily, and I reckon my reputation is pretty shot already.” She offered him a smile but didn’t look any lower than his neck. He still hadn’t put a shirt on and she didn’t want to blush again, not when she was busy arguing her case. “Thanks, though. Maybe we can show the world that being controversial is not such a bad thing when you’re right.”
“I think . . . ,” Gemma started to say, then stopped when people looked at her. She raised her chin. “I think we should do it.”
Clair stared at her. She was the last person Clair had expected to come out in favor of the idea.
“Really?” asked Ray. He looked as startled as Clair felt.
“Yes. It’s better than sitting here waiting for the hammer to fall.”
“I agree,” said Turner, and Clair was doubly amazed.
“We need to go for one simple reason,” he explained. “If VIA won’t listen, WHOLE will be there to take direct action.”
“Uh . . . what does that mean?” asked Jesse.
“It means whatever it needs to mean.”
“I’m not a terrorist,” said Clair.
“No one’s asking you to be one,” Turner said.
There was a tense silence around the table, but Clair felt that was as close to a consensus as she was ever going to get.
“All right, then. Great. So how do we get there?” she asked. “We certainly can’t walk.”
“I know a way,” said Arcady. “You can hitch a ride with train hobbyists.”
“You’re kidding, right?” said Jesse.
“No. We use them all the time. There’s a line running right across our property, and engines go by once a day—east at dawn, back west at dusk. You catch the next one, you’ll be on the east coast in two days, maybe sooner.”
“What happens then?” asked Gemma. “We swim?”
“We won’t have to,” said Turner. “We’re going to take a submarine.”
“Now you’ve got to be kidding,” said Clair.
“I am not.” He folded his arms, his expression betraying no trace of humor. “You want a spectacle, that’s exactly what you’re going to get.”
56
THEY WERE READY to move within the hour. Clair showered and changed out of her soiled farmer’s shirt into a new one and put on her overalls and sneakers. The bodies were taken away, all except for Libby’s, which was hermetically sealed and zipped up in a makeshift plastic shroud. Evidence. Packs were distributed. Clair began to get a camping vibe from the exercise, reinforced when she saw how much gear she was expected to carry. Among the packets of freeze-dried food, canteens, a sleeping bag, and a bedroll were a pistol and two boxes of ammunition. She remembered exactly how heavy they were from lugging similar ones halfway across California.
Instead of complaining, she asked Arcady to show her how to load the pistol. It was smaller than the one Q had made for her, fitting neatly into the palm of her hand as though designed for it. He promised less of a kick and not greatly reduced accuracy at close range.
“You won’t need to clean it today,” he said. “But you might want to test fire it if there’s time before you leave.”
She did so, deriving a nervous satisfaction from the solid kick of the weapon into her palm. She hoped against hope her plan would hold, and she wouldn’t need to use it.
The sky was lightening when they piled their gear into a sturdy farm vehicle on four fat wheels, and the expedition prepared to set out. There was a tense farewell on the Farmhouse’s broad steps. Arcady hugged Clair, his beard tickling her check, and gravely shook Turner’s hand.
“You’ll remember everything I told you?” he said.
“Of course.” Turner nodded. “I’m grateful to you.”
“Give us a good show. We’ll be watching.”
Their four-wheeler had a flatbed on the back, which Clair shared with Jesse and Ray and two heavy bags that made metallic sounds with every bump. Watching the Farmhouse recede as they sped up the dirt track through the orchard, she tried to think of their departure less as abandoning somewhere safe, more as progressing boldly toward a solution to everyone’s problems.
“I grew up on a farm like this,” said Ray out of nowhere, and Clair could tell that he was wrestling with similar demons. “There’s nothing like getting your hands dirty.”
“I used to love working in our kitchen garden back home,” Jesse said. “Dad and I never managed to keep the bugs out of our asparagus, no matter what I tried.”
“You should have coplanted with coriander,” Ray suggested. “It attracts ladybugs, which eat the asparagus beetles.”
“We never thought of that.”
Clair zoned out while Ray and Jesse swapped gardening tips. She was even less interested in growing produce than she was in cooking it. Besides, her hands were shaking, and she was afraid her voice might start shaking too. This was the first chance she’d had to sit still since the dupes attacked. She could feel a rush of anxiety building behind the walls she’d built, pushing outward, threatening to overwhelm her. She couldn’t afford to break down now, she told herself. She had to be strong.
The feeling passed, but she knew it was only a temporary reprieve.
The journey to the edge of the farm took over an hour. There, they turned onto the old Route 94, now a green strip with one broad lane for farm traffic, and headed west across the prairie for the town of Mandan on the bank of the Missouri River, where the train was due to stop.
The landscape was wild and green, an endless tangle of low trees and undergrowth where it hadn’t been cultivated. Clair saw deer and something large and lumbering that might have been a bear. Birds were everywhere, startling out of trees and settling back down in their wake. She didn’t know their names or the names of the trees they inhabited. When the Air returned, she could find out if she wanted to.
Her connection was jammed as far as Route 94. As soon as Clair could, she contacted Q.
Or tried to.