Greg Bear - Darwin's Children

“We are,” the man said. “Strays and runaways. We protect them until the truck comes and takes them to where they can be taken care of. Where they belong.”

Mitch looked at the trooper from beneath lowered, bushy brows. He had always possessed what amounted to a single eyebrow over his eyes and with age, the woolly caterpillar of hair had thickened and gone wild. At the best of times, he looked formidable, even a little crazy. “Our daughter is not a runaway,” he said. “She was kidnapped.”

The big trooper approached with Kaye and the two collectors close behind. “Where are the children?” he asked.

“Round back,” said the man in shorts. “Sir, my name is Fred Trinket. I’m a longtime resident, and my mother has lived here all her life.”

“To hell with that,” the big trooper said. “Show us the kids, now.”

Something whickered over their heads like a big insect. They all looked up.

“Damn,” the younger trooper said, flinching and dropping his shoulders. “Sounds like federal surveillance.”

The big trooper drew himself up and circled his eyes warily around the dark skies. “I do not see a thing,” he said. “Let’s go.”

LEESBURG

The arrival of the troopers did not please Rachel Browning.

“I think we should alert the Frederick County office,” she said. She blew her nose again. “And let’s get the state’s attorney general in on this. She’ll want to know what her people are up to.”

“There won’t be time,” Augustine said. “It’s Virginia, Rachel. They don’t like the feds telling them what to do. And the situation is highly irregular, even for an official kidnapping.”

Browning tilted her head to one side, jerking her gaze between Augustine and the displays. “I didn’t hear what the big guy said.” The Little Bird had backed off about fifty feet and was hovering. Its little fuel cell would be depleted soon, and it would have to return or be retrieved by the command vehicle.

“The trooper said his son was taken,” Augustine told her. “He is not likely to be sympathetic.”

“Shit,” Browning said. “You’re happy about this, aren’t you?”

Augustine did not smile, but his lips twitched.

“I will not take responsibility,” Browning insisted.

“Your own machines are recording everything,” Augustine said, pointing at the console. “Better whisk Little Bird out of there, and quickly, if you want to escape a district court spanking.”

“You’re as culpable as I am,” Browning said.

“I’ve never authorized bounty,” Augustine reminded her. “That’s your division.”

The phone on the desk wheedled.

“Whoops,” Augustine said. “Someone’s been tuning in.”

Browning answered. She covered the mouthpiece and looked up desperately at Augustine. “It’s the surgeon general,” she said, eyes wide.

Augustine expressed his sympathy with a lift of his brows and a sigh. Then he turned and walked toward the door. The rubber tip of his cane made squeaking noises on the hard floor.

23

SPOTSYLVANIA COUNTY

Fred Trinket gently pushed his mother aside as he led the group around the right side of the house. Mitch hated this place, the plump man in khaki shorts, the collectors. His head was like a balloon filled with gasoline waiting to be torched off.

Kaye felt his anger like heat from a stove. She gripped his arm. If Stella was harmed, in any way, then… If their daughter was harmed, then…

She could not finish that sequence of thoughts.

“We’ve fed the runaways a chicken lunch, very nutritious,” Trinket explained. His face was like blotchy marble and he was sweating like a stuck pig. He was beginning to realize the big trooper did not like the way Trinket made money.

Mitch made a jerk in Trinket’s direction. Kaye drew him back and squeezed his arm until he winced. He did not object, just looked at the gray, square board face of the long building behind the house, the asphalt shingled roof, the steel door with its tiny window and concrete stoop.

“We keep good, clean facilities,” Trinket said. He had moved ahead of Mitch and Kaye and flanked the big trooper. The younger trooper and the collectors took up the rear. “We’ve had a number of runaways through here,” Trinket continued, louder now with the distance to the door decreasing, his secret soon to be revealed. “We’re a conscientious clearing house. We take good care of them.”

“Shut up,” Kaye demanded.

“Keep your temper, ma’am, please,” the big trooper requested, but his own voice was shaky.

Stella heard the lock in the big steel door and rushed from Elvira’s side down the hall to the inner cage gate. She stood there as the lights came on in the first little room, with the boxes, and saw a big man in a leather jacket and a khaki uniform and behind him, Fred Trinket.

Stella smelled Kaye and Mitch almost immediately.

“Mommy,” she said, as if she were three years old again.

“Open that door,” the big trooper ordered Trinket. There were tears on the trooper’s cheeks. Stella had not seen many police officers in her life, and she had certainly never seen one cry.

Trinket mumbled and drew the brass key on its string.

“Mommy, she’s dead!” Stella cried. “She just died, just right now/ We couldn’t do anything!” Her voice split and she spoke in two high-pitched, singing, weirdly beautiful streams, as if two young girls stood by the mesh gate, one inside the other. Kaye could not understand, but her heart almost exploded with joy and grief.

“Open it now!” Kaye shouted, pushing through. Her fingernails raked Fred Trinket’s cheek. He recoiled, dropped the key and squealed in protest.

Kaye tried to reach Stella through the mesh. The distance between the two doors separated them.

“Lord almighty,” the younger trooper said. Mitch scooped up Trinket’s key and tossed it to Kaye, then grabbed the man and held him. The big trooper stood back. Kaye opened the mesh gate and then the inner gate and grabbed Stella.

“Get the others,” Stella said.

“How many?” the big trooper asked Trinket.

“Five,” Trinket said.

“Sir, it’s our duty to assemble and transport all virus children,” the stocky collector asserted, shouldering into the first room. Her tall, thin colleague remained outside, staring at the ground, the steps, anything but what was happening within the long building.

Kaye, Mitch, and the big trooper walked down the hall. Stella followed her mother closely. Mitch gave his daughter a squeeze around the shoulders and she hugged him close. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Mabel and Kevin sat on the couch. Will stood by Elvira. The television blared an old episode of I Love Lucy. Kaye bent beside the prone girl and examined her, face wrinkling in pity. She saw the bloody crust under the girl’s nose, turned her head gently, found more crust behind her ears, felt the lumps under her jaw and in her armpits.

“How long?” Kaye asked Stella.

“Five, six minutes,” Stella said. “She just coughed real bad and lay still.”

Kaye looked over her shoulder at Mitch and the big trooper. Trinket winced but wisely kept quiet.

“Let me see,” the stocky collector said. She knelt briefly beside the girl. Then she pushed to her feet with a whuff of air and a sharp look at the others and stumbled hastily back down the hall.

“Is she sick?” Trinket asked. “Can you help her?”

“What the hell do you care?” the big trooper asked.

Kaye heard the collector calling for the first aid kit. “It’s too late,” she murmured.