Othermoon (16 page)

“That’s the location of the accelerator?” I asked, wondering suddenly if Morfael had
chosen the school’s location for a reason other than the thinness of the veil. Could
he have suspected somehow the Tribunal facility was nearby?

“That’s the entrance,” he said, touching the spot with his finger. “It leads to a
series of underground tunnels. The base actually spreads out over an area about this
big. . . .” His finger traced a part of the map beyond the lines denoting the air
force base.

“You tunneled under a government base?” I looked up at him. We’d moved close to each
other to view the map. I noticed a cut on his lower lip that had just started to heal.
He smelled like clean skin and fresh-laundered clothes. I took a half-step back.

“That was deliberate,” he said. “The accelerator is a circle.” He pulled out a second
sheet of paper, which showed the floor plan of a complex comprised of a series of
rooms and halls clustered on the western edge of a large ring. He ran his finger around
the ring. “This is a large circular steel tube to conduct the subatomic particles.
We aim them at each other at something close to the speed of light, and when they
smash into each other, they break apart into smaller particles and release energy.
I’m only just starting to understand what our scientists are talking about.”

“This goes under the testing range,” I said. “It was once a
nuclear
testing range.”

“I know,” he said. “When our workers were building certain parts of the conductor,
they had to wear special gear in case of radiation, but it’s not dangerous in this
area. Where we live.” He tapped the rooms next to the accelerator ring. “It’s just
so dark. I miss the sun.”

Clearly, Lazar hadn’t been taught by Morfael. “The U.S. government exploded nearly
a thousand nuclear bombs on this range,” I said. “Don’t you know the effect that has
on the veil?”

He pursed his lips, mulling over what I’d said. “You mean like the Tunguska explosion
in Siberia?” he asked. At the word “Siberia” I got a chill. That’s where I’d been
found as an infant. “That was a meteor, not a nuclear bomb, but it nearly ripped apart
the veil between the worlds. Are you saying the veil near our base was torn by the
bombs?”

So Lazar was quick, like his siblings. “Yes,” I said. “So my next question is: Why
build an accelerator close to where the veil is thin?”

His eyes narrowed, glittering with speculation. “I’m not sure, but as particle colliders
go, it’s small. Nowhere near as large as the one under Switzerland. Being close to
Othersphere might make up for its small size and somehow augment the tests they’re
doing.”

“And why are they conducting tests?” I fixed my eyes on him, looking for any sign
of a betrayal.

“Somehow it involves your DNA,” he said.

So far he was being honest with me. I could see it in his posture, his face, the tone
of his voice. He’d made no attempt to manipulate me with his voice, as objurers were
trained to do. “That’s what we suspected.”

“I figured you’d know that’s what we were after that night I was in your house. But
I don’t understand how the accelerator ties into the DNA, or what my father is planning.”
His eyes narrowed with genuine irritation. “He won’t tell me, and the science is too
advanced. I’ve been able to hack briefly into some of the scientists’ files, but I
don’t know what they mean.”

“Did you include those files here?” I rifled through the pages in the envelope, but
there weren’t many more, and they all looked like floor plans and maps.

“I couldn’t copy them. They were too well protected, and I didn’t have much time.”
At my skeptical look, he raised his eyebrows, a rueful smile across his lips. “You
try sneaking around a closed complex full of paranoid fanatics in the middle of the
night, hacking into their top-secret plans. See how much information you get.”

I looked away from him for a moment, scanning the room for any signs of trouble to
give myself a minute to think. A thumping wash of distant music pounded through the
walls, underscoring the distant scrape of the ball falling into place in a roulette
wheel and the electronic simulation of slots clanging into place. The fountain show
outside must have started. A woman in a Christmas sweater at the blackjack table squealed
with delight as she scraped two towers of chips closer.

I looked back at Lazar. He’d delivered on his promise. But he wasn’t going to like
what I had to say.

“You have to go back,” I said. “Tonight.”

Incredulity washed over his face, followed swiftly by anger. “Go back? But I brought
you everything you asked for. . . .”

“You’ll do us a lot more good inside than out,” I said.

“So you believe me.” Annoyance and maybe a bit of sadness edged his expressive voice.
“But still it isn’t enough.”

“We’re going to need to get into this complex of yours,” I said. “If you’re inside,
you can get us inside too.”

He shook his head at me, exhaling hard in frustration. “I held up my end of this bargain.
Now you need to step up and help me get away from the Tribunal.”

“I will personally give you a thousand dollars to start a new life,” I said. “But
only after you help us put an end to whatever your father is planning.”

Lazar got very still, except for his warm brown eyes, which flitted back and forth
between mine, as if looking for weakness. “You know it’s a huge risk for me to go
back there after bringing you this information,” he said. “If my father finds out
I’ve betrayed him, he’ll kill me.”

“The way you killed Caleb’s mother,” I said, my voice cold. “Without a second thought.”

He inhaled sharply, trying to keep his face unreadable without success. “I understand,”
he said. “Nothing is ever good enough.”

“It will be,” I said. “Soon.”

He was looking at me, faint horror in his eyes. “Now I get it,” he said. “I didn’t
see it before because you’re this beautiful girl, and he’s my father, but . . .” He
shook his head, disbelief now battling with amusement in his face. “You and Ximon
are a lot alike.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I said, not happy with how my voice rose in anger.
“I am nothing like him.”

“Every day was like a test with him,” Lazar said. “A test of my loyalty, my skill,
my commitment to the cause. Nothing I did was ever good enough because of when I—”
He broke off, lips going white, and looked away.

“When you what?” I asked. The expression on his face sent my anger leaking away. Whatever
he was thinking, it had nothing to do with me.

“Never mind,” he said. “I didn’t really mean that about you being like my father.”

“I think you did mean it,” I said. “But you don’t have to love me. You just have to
help us.”

“Love you!” The words tumbled out of him, his face suddenly flooding with color. “I
never said that I lo—I never said that!”

“I didn’t say you said it,” I said, starting to confuse myself. Why had that phrase
so flummoxed him? “I just mean—”

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he interrupted, putting up both of his hands and taking
a step back. A maddening look of condescension took over his face. “Just because I
said you were beautiful, and I saw you . . . enjoying yourself with my brother in
the back of that car, and I agreed to meet you here alone doesn’t mean I give a damn
about you personally. You’re just a means to an end.”

I flushed again at the reminder of how he’d found us nearly naked in the car. “Fine,”
I said curtly. “Then we feel the same way about each other.”

“Good,” he said.

“Good,” I said. “But if you’re too scared to go back to the Tribunal and do more,
I understand.”

“Scared?” He spat the word out in surprise.

“I can give you a hundred dollars right now if you’d rather just run away on your
own,” I said. He’d responded exactly the way I’d hoped. “And good luck to you.”

He spun away, took two steps, then paced back to me, clearly furious and not knowing
what to do with it. He smiled tightly. “You
are
an ingenious bitch.”

I smiled back up at him. “Sweet-talker.”

He opened his mouth to retort when, in a blur of motion, Amaris appeared out of nowhere,
nearly cannoning into us, her face flushed. “I saw a Tribunal member. I recognized
him, coming through the lobby. He’ll be here any second.”

“An objurer here, now?” I turned on Lazar, fury blazing through me. “What the hell
have you done?”

“I didn’t know,” Lazar said, his face draining of all color. “I swear I looked for
anyone following me.”

“He hasn’t spotted us yet,” Amaris said between quick breaths. “He’s got a GPS or
something. He’s looking at it and following it toward us, any second now. . . .”

“They must have planted a device on me without my knowing it,” Lazar said. “I promise
you, I had no idea.”

I had only a split second to decide what to do. Despite everything, I believed him.

“This way!” I grabbed Lazar by the arm, pulling him away from the open area in front
of the bowling alley, toward an area crowded with slots and cubicles featuring individual
monitors. “Amaris, get to the car! Like we planned. We’ll lose this guy, then find
you. Don’t let him see you.”

“Got it!” She angled away from us, back toward the reception area, but taking the
long way around the edge of the room.

“You must have a tracking device on you—take this off.” I yanked on the shoulder of
his jacket. “Now!”

“Okay, okay!” He started to shed the jacket. “I understand that you’re eager to get
boys’ clothes off, but this is ridiculous.”

I rounded on him furiously, and then stopped, arrested by a thought. He was about
to toss the jacket away, but I grabbed it, hustling him deeper into the casino. “Wait.
Are you a good actor? Could you convince him you just came here to gamble?”

He immediately saw where I was going. “Because he probably already reported to the
others that I’m AWOL.”

“If he hasn’t seen you with me yet, then maybe you can convince him you’re just a
simple sinner. . . .”

“Not a traitor.” He nodded. “Worth a try.” He shouldered back into his jacket. “I’ll
find a spot here.” He indicated our area, which had several large-screen TVs and a
few men seated at desks in front of smaller screens, pressing buttons. A sign overhead
said SPORTS BOOK. “You hide.”

“I’ll be watching.” I caught him by the sleeve as he began to move toward a cubicle.
“If this works, you’ll go back there and be our inside man?”

“You knew all along I would.” He flashed his perfect teeth in a perfect smile and
strode over to a desk with a large monitor. His fake confident walk was as good as
mine.

I slunk over to the right, down a different row of cubicles, and slithered down at
one. Its monitor featured a shot of a jockey in salmon-pink silks on top of a shiny
black mare. Large boards covered in names and numbers loomed overhead, showing me
the odds.
Horse races, at this hour?
Then I saw they were broadcasting from Australia.

I put my hand on the mouse and pretended to watch, hoping nobody would notice the
sixteen-year-old girl supposedly betting on the horses. The wizened old man in a shapeless
hat next to me didn’t even look up from his screen as I slumped in my seat for cover.
So far so good.

Two rows behind me sat Lazar. I tuned my hearing in his direction, willing myself
not to look behind me. Fortunately, my ears were sensitive enough to catch a heavy
tread of footsteps moving toward him.

A nasal male voice said, “I thought you were too good to be true.”

“Oh!” Lazar faked surprise fairly well. But he was an objurer and knew how to manipulate
his voice. “Michael. I . . . This isn’t what it looks like.”

Michael snorted. “I can’t wait to tell your father you said that. Come on.”

There was a rustle of clothes as Lazar got to his feet. “You don’t have to tell him,
do you? Does anyone else know that you found me?”

“No, but don’t expect me to lie to the Bishop for you. It’s not like you ever did
anything nice for me.” Michael began to walk away.

Lazar took a step. “Maybe I could.”

Michael’s footsteps halted. “What does that mean?”

“I could give you some of my winnings.”

“You won some money?” Michael’s voice arced upwards, interested.

“I made a bundle on tonight’s big game.”

My heart sank. It was midweek in mid-January. There were no big games except the football
playoffs on the weekend. Lazar’s sheltered upbringing was showing.

“Big game?” Michael paced back toward Lazar. “Which big game?”

“You know—this last horse race game. I bet on the long odds.”

I nearly thunked my head down onto the desk of my cubicle. Lazar should have shut
up while he was ahead. Even I knew the correct term was long shot, and horse races
weren’t called “games.”

“You bet on the long odds?” Michael’s voice was soft, and I knew he hadn’t been fooled.
I turned, keeping my head low, and peered under the desks behind me. Lazar’s brown
boots stood about ten feet away, blocked by two desks. A pair of white running shoes
walked right up to him. “Did you win the exacta?”

“Exactly.” Lazar was vamping now, trying to be clever with puns.

The old man in the cubicle next to me turned his head curiously as I hunkered down
on all fours and scuttled under the desk behind me, where no one was sitting. Fortunately,
my observer shrugged and turned back to his monitor. I lost sight of him as I neared
the back of Lazar’s cubicle. Over its wall I could see the top of Lazar’s blond head,
and the graying hair of another, shorter man facing him. Michael.

“Which horses did you pick?” Michael was asking. His head tilted as he looked up at
the big board on the wall above us.