California(75)

Peter was nodding.

“What about the Vote? It’s supposed to happen next week.”

“Since nothing is conclusive,” Micah said, “we want to keep it out of the decision.”

“But what happens if it is conclusive? What if she’s pregnant?”

Peter said nothing.

Micah continued to fiddle with the nail, his fingers poised clawlike, and he bit his lower lip in concentration.

“Micah? I asked you a question.”

He looked up. “There are options.”

“What does that mean? Do you guys have an abortion clinic set up here? Or do you send women to a Community to take care of it?”

Peter sighed. “Most Communities don’t allow abortions. Didn’t you know that? Those f*cking Christians.”

“So what if Frida’s pregnant? What then? Will you guys just bring out the wire hangers?”

“Stop it,” Peter said. “You’re being paranoid, once again.”

“Options is a generic term,” Micah said. “Your response is a bit of a Rorschach test, no?”

“Fuck off, Micah. Why don’t you just tell me the whole story? Why aren’t kids allowed here? Sailor told me the party line about containment. But that doesn’t really explain it.”

“It doesn’t?” Micah said. “It seems perfectly logical to me.”

“It’s a long story,” Peter said.

“So tell it. Where else do I have to be?”

“The Land has to stay contained, Cal,” Micah said, “so that word of this outpost doesn’t grow. I’m supposed to be dead, remember?”

“Forget about that,” Peter said. “Have you ever thought about how hard it would be to raise a kid out here?”

Cal heard something sorrowful in Peter’s voice, and he thought of Jane and Garrett. Burying them. He stood, and his knees cracked. It sounded like a branch breaking.

“Listen, Cal,” Peter said. “This is in your best interest. We want you to work with us. And if Frida is pregnant, then we’ll discuss it when the time comes. I’m just not convinced she is.”

“But why risk it?”

“Because,” Micah said. “There are options.”

“We want the baby.”

No one said anything. Why did Cal feel like Micah didn’t believe him?

“I still don’t get why you want me and Frida here. It seems like all we’re doing is causing you all a lot of trouble.”

Peter smiled at Micah. “That’s what I kept asking.”

“‘Kept’? Why did you stop?”

Peter nodded at Micah.

“My sister,” Micah said. “She’s here.”

“So you’re human after all,” Cal said. “Is that it?”

Peter actually laughed. It was such a clear, pure thing. Cal could see the man respected him. “This is why we need you in our morning meetings! To put Mikey in his place.”

Micah practically growled. “I realize you and Frida are a package deal, whether I like it or not. If you’re here, we might as well use that noggin of yours. Our garden isn’t doing well— the irrigation system is clogged. Go make yourself useful.”

Meeting adjourned. Cal used the footholds on the way down, and Peter told him he could find his own way back. Cal was flattered that Peter had that much confidence in his sense of direction. He was also smart enough to know that Peter was aware of this.

Before Cal left the woods, Peter told him to talk to Frida himself, and as soon as he could. “She should have no problem with keeping the secret,” he’d added, and smirked. Cal wanted to spit in his face for that, even though it seemed like Peter had been on his side in the tree house. He was probably the only reason Cal hadn’t pushed Micah out of the tree. And, anyway, Peter was right: Frida was having fun with her little secrets. Hopefully, for once, she would do what Cal asked and keep her mouth shut. She could be so selfish sometimes. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Peter said. “At our meeting.” He smiled. “You’re in the cabal, Mr. Paranoid. Get ready.”

There it was. Tomorrow morning he would head to the Church along with the influential men. The move would be noted by everyone else on the Land. After that, wasn’t voting just a formality? If the others wanted him and Frida to leave, wouldn’t Micah step in to veto their decision?

He would go to the meeting tomorrow because he wanted to understand how the machine worked. Micah had intuited that immediately. He’d give Cal what he wanted, but Cal would have to pay for it. Cal just had to figure out the price.



Working in the garden, Cal felt the foul mood that had threatened to take over all morning crouching in again. His hands were muddy, a blade of grass had dug itself into his thumbnail, and it seemed the woman he was working with, Rachel, knew next to nothing about…well, about anything, really. But that wasn’t any excuse for his being so rude. He was sighing like a sullen teenager every few minutes. Rachel didn’t deserve his crabbiness; after all, she had to sit in the dirt, too. At least the canal would be cleared soon, and then she could go sit at a table with someone more pleasant.

“That does it,” he said, and they both got to their feet.

“Thanks, Calvin,” she said.