Coming of Age (15 page)

She checked her watch. Five after seven.

And suddenly she could stand it no longer. Glancing around her one last time, she flew quickly to the top of the nearest tree and wedged her book securely between two branches. Then, dropping back to the ground, she headed off at a rapid walk.

There were a fair number of pedestrians out—it
was
Friday evening, after all—and Lisa did her best to check the faces she passed. But neither Daryl nor the blonde woman she'd seen him with that once passed by her; and a few minutes later she was standing in front of the squat shape of Lee Intro.

For a moment she hesitated, her mind flashing back to her nervousness the first evening she'd walked up to that door and realizing dimly that what she was about to do could land her in
real
trouble. But concern for Daryl pushed aside all other considerations. Resolutely, she strode forward; but this time, instead of entering, she turned sideways at the door and disappeared behind the decorative bushes lining the walls. Keeping low, she circled around toward the rear of the building.

She had long ago found out from Daryl which of the rear-facing second-floor windows was his. The line of bushes continued around the side of the building and a couple of meters along the rear wall, allowing her to get within eyesight of his room without coming into the open. At that point, though, two problems immediately presented themselves. Like the courtyard back at Dayspring, the area behind Lee Intro was set up as a recreational area, and under the bright floodlights a good twenty teens were running about in what seemed to be a two-dimensional version of raiders. In addition, as nearly as she could tell from the angle she was at, Daryl's window was closed and, presumably, locked.

Lisa's hands were trembling with both tension and an ever-increasing sense of urgency as she looked around her. Obviously, with nearly two dozen teens throwing and kicking a ball nearby, there was no way she was going to get to Daryl's window without being seen. The floodlights—perhaps if she teeked out the power lines at the light posts' bases and plunged the rec area in darkness? But that would leave dangerous cables loose where someone might accidentally touch them … besides which, the thought of doing that much damage—even for something this important—grated against her hive training.

She was still trying to figure out a plan when inspiration and opportunity dropped simultaneously into her lap. One of the teens, trying to get rid of the ball before he was tackled, gave the twenty-centimeter sphere a tremendous kick in the direction of the school building … and even as it was still rising, Lisa had it in a firm teekay grip, adding just a shade more lift and range and giving it the slightest bit of sideways guidance until, with a horrendous crash, it disappeared squarely through one of the first-floor windows.

Some things, at least, did not change with Transition. The teens stood, rooted in horror for a split second and then took off madly in all directions. Within seconds, the rec area was deserted.

Lisa was at Daryl's window before the sound of running feet had faded into the night breeze. The room was dark, but the curtains were still open, and enough light was scattering in from the rec area for her to see that both beds were empty. She teeked tentatively at the window; it was, as she'd guessed, locked.

It would have been easy enough to break it, but the noise would bring people there much too quickly. But there might be another way, if the adults who would surely be coming to investigate that broken window held off for another minute. With a quick glance behind her, Lisa turned back to the window and teeked the top drawer out of the nearest dresser. Moving it close to the window, she gave its contents a quick scan. She was in luck; setting down the drawer, she teeked out a small hand mirror and brought it up to hover next to the window's lock. Like most locks, this one was shielded from outside view as a routine precaution against teekay opening. But with the mirror Lisa could see enough of the lock's works; and as the outside door beneath her slammed open the window slid up and she slipped inside.

Heart pounding in her ears, she peeked back out the window. Four or five older teens and adults were in the rec area, but none of them was looking up toward her. Quickly, she replaced the dresser drawer and closed both window and curtains. Switching on the light, she made sure the door was locked. Then, feeling excruciatingly vulnerable, she began looking around the room.

Having only the vaguest idea what she was looking for, she stumbled on the vital clue purely by accident. Taped to the wall by each of the two desks was a piece of paper divided up into rectangles, with days of the week printed across the top and hours of the day down the left-hand side. Inside the rectangles were incomprehensible letter-and-number combinations, and it took Lisa a long minute to realize they were the occupants' class schedules. Wondering if Daryl had unexpectedly been given a Friday night assignment, she checked both schedules—and it was only luck that she happened to look at the names on them.

The names were
Mart Kolowitz
and
Ling Spongier.

Lisa's first, horrible thought was that she'd goofed and got the wrong room. But a heartbeat later she remembered Daryl's mentioning his roommate Mart. So the room was right. Only—?

She never had a chance to try and figure it out. Even as she stared at Ling's schedule, the sound of a key in a lock came from the door.

Lisa reacted instantly, throwing herself in a sort of teekay-assisted jump to a sheltered position by the other desk. Teeking off the light, she ducked down as the door swung open, throwing a wedge of hall light into the darkness. An instant later the room was brightly lit once more, and Lisa peeked around the back of the desk chair to see a tall, dark-haired teen turn back to close the door. The panel clicked shut, and Lisa pounced.

Her teekay leap landed her practically on his back. One hand touched his left arm, which she promptly froze in a teekay grip; the other arm snaked around his right shoulder and came to rest with her hand over his mouth. Simultaneously, she flicked a glance to the wall and again teeked off the light.

The teen jerked, probably with both shock and fear, but Lisa held him easily. One leg kicked back inexpertly and was promptly captured in its own invisible vise. Teeth clenched hard, Lisa waited silently for his struggles to end, wondering what in blazes she was going to do next. Her attack had been pure reflex—modeled, no doubt, after the action movies she'd loved as a kid—and now that she had the other, she had no idea what to do with him.

“Keep quiet,” she muttered, making her voice as deep and masculine as she could. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

The other went almost limp. Encouraged, she tried a question. “What's your name?”

She left her fingers on his lips, just in case, but he was either too scared or too smart to try yelling for help. “Mart Kolowitz,” he answered in a husky whisper. “What do you want?”

“I'm looking for Daryl Kellerman,” she said, only then realizing the sinister interpretation Mart would probably put on the words, given the circumstances. “I'm a friend of his,” she hastened to add, “and I think something might have happened to him.”

“Well, I don't know where he is,” Mart said defensively. “His stuff was gone when I got back from morning classes.”

Lisa blinked. That Daryl might have left so abruptly was something that hadn't occurred to her. “When did you last see him?”

“At breakfast this morning.”

“Did he say anything about leaving, or was he angry or upset at all?”

Mart shook his head minutely in the teekay hold. “Nope. Said he'd meet me at four for a fast 'pong game, even. Didn't show up, though.”

“Look, people don't just disappear,” she hissed. “Didn't you ask where he'd gone?”

“The floor supervisor just said not to worry about him.”

Lisa exhaled slowly through clenched teeth, apprehension churning her stomach. What could have happened to Daryl that the school would react like this? It was almost as if—

As if they were trying to pretend Daryl had never existed?

Her thoughts flicked to Daryl's story of Hari's attempted suicide, and to the way the school had reacted to his questions about his friend. But—
No. Daryl wouldn't do something like
that.

“Who are
you?
” Mart cut into her thoughts. “What do you want with Daryl, anyway?”

His tone was confident, almost insolent, and Lisa realized with a start that she was running out of time here. Mart's masculine pride was beginning to overcome his caution, and any minute now he might try something foolish. She could probably handle any attack he could come up with, but if he raised the alarm and someone got a good look at her face …”All right,” she whispered, “I'm leaving now. Don't try to turn around until I'm gone. And don't tell anyone I was here.”

Maintaining her grip, Lisa glanced around and teeked the curtains aside. With the extra light from the rec area floodlights she could see Mart clearly enough. Backing carefully to the window, keeping a teekay hold on the teen's arms and head, she fumbled blindly for the catch and slid the pane open. Adult voices were still audible outside, but there was nothing she could do about that except to hope they wouldn't look up. Reaching up, she smoothed her hair back, plastering it against her head and shoulders with teekay to disguise its length. Then, taking a deep breath, she turned and dived out the window.

Concentrating on speed and the necessity of getting her hands up in front of her face, she misjudged the size of the opening and banged her right knee painfully against the sill. She gasped as the shock of it made her falter; but before any of the people grouped around the broken window below could react to the sound she was above the floodlights and out of sight. Still she climbed, fear adding impetus to her flight, until the cool mist of a thin cloud layer on her face jolted her back to reality. With a start, she realized she was a good two or three kilometers above the now hazy lights of the city.

Exhaling a lungful of air, she let herself coast to a stop, her muscles limp with relief. She'd done it—had gotten in and out of the school, probably without being recognized. For the moment, anyway, she was safe.

But how long would that last?

Gazing down at the city far below, she rubbed her sore knee. Daryl had vanished … and deep down she was sure she knew why.
They caught him giving me books,
she thought, the panic beginning to bubble up within her once more.
It really
is
illegal. They arrested Daryl, and they're going to arrest
me,
too! I have to run away!

She stared outward, her eyes picking out the moonlit peaks of the Tessellate Mountain range, cutting its solemn way southeast across the continent. Beyond them, much of the territory was still untouched by man …

But a moment later her common sense stubbornly reasserted itself.
Mart said Daryl's things were moved out before lunchtime. If he's in trouble because of the books, why haven't they already picked me up? I was at the hive at noon and for supper, too.

Relief washed over her like a hot shower in wintertime, dispelling chills she hadn't realized were there. And yet … if Daryl hadn't disappeared because of that, what
had
happened to him? Had he been injured or perhaps come down with some kind of sickness, and been moved secretly to a hospital? No, that didn't make any sense. Had he seen some sort of criminal activity, then, and been hidden as a witness? Again the thought of Hari's suicide attempt rose into view—

Lisa shook her head hard. There was no sense letting her imagination run away with her. For now, all she could do would be to retrieve the book she'd left in the park and go back home. Tomorrow … well,
someone
had to know where Daryl was. If she could find that someone and ask the right questions …

Slowly, and then with increasing speed as she left the damp fog of the clouds, Lisa headed down toward the city. Her chances, she recognized, were poor; but she had to make the effort. She owed him at least that much.

Especially,
a dark voice still whispered at the base of her mind,
since the whole thing
could
be your fault.

Gritting her teeth, she swooped low to orient herself and then headed for the park.

T
HE YOUNG ACOLYTE TAPPED
once on the open door to Omega's private tabernacle quarters. “Senior Acolyte Axel Schu, O Prophet,” he fluted, a trace of nervousness apparent in his face and manner.

“Thank you, young Heir,” Omega nodded solemnly. “Let him enter.”

The Ten stepped back, and the tall preteen strode in, his eyes still puffy with sleep above his hive-issue robe. “You sent for me, O Prophet?” he asked. His voice, at least, was respectful.

“Close the door, Acolyte Schu, and sit down,” Omega invited him, waving to the ornate chair opposite his own.

Axel chose to obey the orders in reverse order, settling himself in the chair before turning his head and teeking the panel closed. “Normal daytime hours not long enough for you?” he asked, a little grumpily.

“You didn't give the messenger a hard time, did you?” Omega frowned, recalling the acolyte's nervousness.

“Whatever I gave him he deserved,” Axel said shortly. “I thought being a senior acolyte was supposed to keep me from being woken up at—” he squinted at the desk clock—“at two in the gracking morning. I don't stay here on Saturday sleepover very often; I don't appreciate being interrupted when I do.”

“Even when the Prophet of Truth has need of you?” Omega asked softly.

Axel emitted a short bark of a laugh. “Oh, come on—you don't have to pull that earwash on
me
. I figured you out months ago.”

“Oh, really?” Sitting back comfortably, Omega crossed his legs and eyed the preteen with interest. “And what exactly did you figure me to be?”