UnSouled

“Where did they take you?” a wide-eyed stork asks.

“Into the sky,” Starkey tells him. “And we have friends in very high places.”

56 • Hayden

Supplies come like manna from the heavens. The food is far superior to anything they’ve been subsisting on. Vacuum-packed roasts that need no refrigeration. Vegetables in such quantities they don’t need to ration. Hayden finds his inventory job becomes a full-time endeavor. But it’s the other things that these new “partners” bring that is deeply disturbing to Hayden. There are weapons coming in that are like nothing Hayden’s ever seen. Things like bazookas and what looks like handheld missile launchers that are heavier than the kids who are supposed to wield them. Starkey has said nothing about who these new benefactors are, and Hayden wonders who would be insane enough to arm angry teenagers with weapons that were clearly meant for armies. More terrifying, though, is how Starkey might use them.

Starkey doesn’t bother with Hayden anymore. As far as Starkey is concerned, Hayden’s a nonentity, too small to be concerned with but too dangerous to let go.

“Why haven’t you escaped yet?” Bam asks Hayden. “There were so many times you could have slipped away from that one inept guard.”

“And leave all you fine people?” Hayden says. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The fact is, as much as he wants to bolt from this nightmare and save himself, he can’t do it knowing that he’s leaving all these kids to burn in the furnace of Starkey’s ego. Yes, many of them worship the ground Starkey walks on, but only because they desperately need a hero. Hayden has no desire to be a hero. He just wants to survive and spread some of that survival around.

As Hayden feared, Starkey picks the Stork Brigade’s next target quickly. Jeevan has broken down and used his skills to get through the firewalls. Now they have all the information they need for an attack. This time it won’t be a subtle, secret attack, or even a mad dash at the gate. The storks will be going in with an iron fist. Hayden considers himself smart, crafty even, but he can’t figure out a way to stop Starkey short of putting a bullet in his head, which Hayden just can’t do.

Bam had asked Hayden to bend her ear and tell her what he thinks, as well as what he knows—and so as Starkey prepares his storks for the next attack, Hayden takes Bam to the computer room and shows her some of the things he’s been finding out there in the world.

He begins to pull up one political advertisement after another. “There have been more and more of these online and on TV. They’re blitzing the airwaves.” He shows her impassioned calls to rescind the Cap-17 law and allow older teens to be unwound again.

There are advertisements about measures, propositions, and initiatives on the ballots calling for the mandatory unwinding of teenaged “undesirables,” the further downsizing of state orphanages through unwinding, state bonds to build more harvest camps, and more.

Bam dismisses it. “So what? There are always a ton of those ads out there. There’s nothing new about that.”

“Yes, but look at this.” He shows her a graph depicting the frequency the ads have been appearing. “Look how the ads started to flood the airwaves right after the Cold Springs liberation—and then they almost doubled after MoonCrater.” Hayden takes a moment to look around to make sure they’re unobserved but speaks in a whisper anyway. “Everything the Stork Brigade does might be freeing kids from harvest camps, but people out there are getting scared, Bam—and all of these laws that didn’t have a hope in hell of passing a few months ago are now gaining more and more support. Starkey wants a war, right? But as soon as people see it as war, they’ll have to choose sides, and the more fear there is, the more people lean toward the side of the Juvenile Authority. Which means that if it turns into a war . . . we lose.”

Hayden can already imagine the results. Martial law would be declared against juveniles, just as it had during the teen uprising. Kids will be dragged from their homes and unwound for the slightest infractions, and the public will allow it to happen, out of fear.

“For every harvest camp we bring down, two more will pop up in its place.” He leans close to her, trying to drive the point home. “Starkey’s not stopping unwinding, Bam. All he’s doing is making sure it never, ever ends!”

He can see by the pale look on Bam’s face that she’s finally getting it. He continues. “These people funding Starkey’s war may want to mess with the system, but that kind of messing will only make the system stronger and give the Juvenile Authority more power.”

Then Bam says something that Hayden hasn’t even considered. “What if that’s what they want? What if the people funding Starkey want the Juvies to have more power?”

And Hayden shivers, because he realizes Bam may have just found a vein in this old mine that leads right to the mother lode.

57 • Lev

All is peaceful. All is calm. The oasis of the Arápache Rez hides the reality of what’s going on beyond its gates and walls. Calls to rescind Cap-17 and raise the legal age of unwinding back to eighteen and possibly beyond. Removing the brains of convicted criminals and unwinding the rest of their bodies. Allowing people to voluntarily submit themselves to unwinding for cash. It’s all looming on the horizon, and any or all of it might come to pass, and worse, if it’s not stopped. Like Connor, he knows he must do something.

“Throw a stone in a river, and it just sinks to the bottom,” Elina tells him, “Put a boulder in its path and the river just flows around. What happens will happen, no matter what you do.”

Elina has many fine qualities, but her passive, fatalistic view of the world is not one of them. Unfortunately, too many people on the rez share it.

“Enough boulders builds a dam,” Lev counters.

Elina opens her mouth to deliver another metaphoric salvo—perhaps about how dams burst, causing floods worse than a river—but she thinks better of it and instead says, “Have some breakfast; you’ll be less cranky.”

Lev complies, munching down on yam cakes that, according to Elina, used to be served with agave syrup, but since the agave extinction, they’ve had to make due with maple. Lev can’t deny that part of his choice to stay here was to be sheltered from the world, among people whom he genuinely cares for, and genuinely care for him, but there was a larger purpose for it.

There’s an expression among ChanceFolk. “As go the Arápache, so go the nations.” As the most financially successful, and arguably the most politically important ChanceFolk tribe, policy that’s put in place here often spreads to other tribes. While the Arápache are still the most isolationist, instituting borders that require passports, many other tribes—particularly the ones that don’t rely on tourism—have made their territory harder to access as well, taking their lead from the Arápache. On the outside, most people have no idea how many boulders are already in the river. If Lev can find a way to pull those boulders together, the course of history may very well change.

The problem is Wil Tashi’ne and what happened the first time Lev was here.

Like Una, the Arápache see Lev as a harbinger of doom. A victim of his own society perhaps, but like a bearer of the plague, he brings to them a taste of things they’d rather not know about. If he’s going to have any sway here, he’s going to have to win them over.

• • •

On Saturday he tells the Tashi’nes he’s going into town.

“There’s a band playing in Héétee Park,” he tells them. “I’d like to hear them.”

“Do you think it’s wise to be so visible?” Chal asks him. “The council is happy to look the other way as long as you keep a low profile, but the more visible you are, the more likely they are to take issue with your presence.”

“I can’t hide forever,” he tells him. He keeps to himself what he’s really planning.

Although Kele begs to come, he’s been grounded for cursing in Arápache—something he thought he could get away with, but didn’t. A good thing too. The last thing Lev wants is to put Kele in the middle of this. He needs to go alone.

• • •

The concert has already started when Lev arrives. There are maybe two hundred people spread out on blankets and lawn chairs picnicking and enjoying the warm August day. The band is good. They play a curious mix of traditional native music, pop, and oldies. Something for everyone.

Lev lingers, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but he sees the occasional person spot him and whisper to the person beside them. Well, they’ll have plenty more to gossip about in a few minutes.

Lev makes his way toward the front, and as soon as the band finishes their first set, he pulls two pieces of paper from his pocket and climbs to the stage. He pulls the lead singer’s microphone down a few inches so he can speak without it blocking his face.

“Excuse me,” he says. “Excuse me, can I have your attention!” He’s startled by how loud and resonant his voice sounds. “My name is Levi Jedediah Garrity—but you probably know me as Lev Calder. I was a Mahpee taken in by the Tashi’ne family.”

“We know who you are,” someone shouts dismissively from the audience. “Now get off the stage.”

A smattering of agreement—some derisive laughter. He ignores it all. “I was there when Wil Tashi’ne offered himself to parts pirates in exchange for more than a dozen lives—including mine. Although one of the parts pirates died there, the two who lived took Wil, sold him to be unwound, and got away.”

“Yeah, tells us something we don’t know,” yells another heckler.

“I plan to,” Lev says. “Because I’ve found out their names, and I know where to find them.”

Then he holds out the two pieces of paper—each one featuring an enlarged image of a parts pirate. One with a missing ear, the other with a face like a goat.

Suddenly the entire crowd is silent.

“Chandler Hennessey and Morton Fretwell. They hunted AWOLs for a while in Denver, but now they’re trolling Minneapolis.” Then he puts the pictures down and gets as close to the microphone as he can. “I’m going to track them down and bring them back here to face justice.” And then, in perfect Arápache:

“Who will help me?”

The silence continues.

“I said, who will help me?”

For a long moment, Lev thinks no one will come forward, but then he hears a single voice—a woman’s voice—from the back of the crowd.

“I will,” she says in Arápache.

It’s Una. Lev hadn’t even seen her here. He’s both grateful and troubled. He was hoping to put together a good old-fashioned posse. If it’s just the two of them, what chance do they have of bringing in these pirates? What chance do they have of even surviving the attempt?

As Una moves through the crowd toward the stage, someone shouts, “C’mon! Clap for the clapper!”