The Nexus Series: Books 1-3 (12 page)

14

WHEN
she went out into the hallway, she saw her possessions neatly boxed and stacked
by the door.  Only then did she remember she was still wearing a business
suit.  She pulled her stuff into the room and exchanged the suit for jeans
and a T-shirt.  Then she headed for the lounge.

It was the last
place she wanted to go.  Corey Stone was the last person she wanted to
see.  She’d rather head back up the elevator and face GoCom security
again.  But she had to see him, had to try and say something to ease the
tension between them.

She’d used
him—lied to him—to get out of jail.

He’d held a gun
to her head earlier that morning. 

How did you
salvage a relationship that had gotten off to a start like that?

Jill tried to
rehearse some lines as she headed down the stairs out of the girls’ dorm
area.  Nothing she came up with sounded that good.  Even if it had,
these things never go like you plan them anyway.  You just have to start
talking and see what happens.

She stepped into
the lounge.  He didn’t see her.  He was pretty preoccupied with the
striking blonde sitting on the couch next to him.

The first thing
Jill felt was jealousy.

The next thing
was anger—at herself.  She had no right to be jealous.  Where had
that feeling come from, anyway?

Next, fear. 
Corey was looking at her now.

But he didn’t
seem mad—maybe even a little victorious?  “Jill!  Meet your fellow
new recruit.  This is Amber Phoenix.”

The blonde girl
stood up to greet Jill.  She might as well have just stepped out of a
fashion magazine.  Her hair fell perfectly about her neck and
shoulders.  She had a perfect outfit, perfect skin, a perfect figure.

Jill tried not to
look as disgusted as she felt.  “Nice to meet you, Amber.”

“You too.  I
think I’m in the room next to yours.”

“Really? 
Cool.”  Thank heaven Dizzie was on the other side.

“Amber will be on
our field team,” said Corey.  He talked about her like she was his sister
or his girlfriend or his protégée or something—like he hadn’t just met her five
minutes ago, which he had.  “She should come in handy.  She’s a
martial arts expert.”

Amber smiled,
blushing a little.

Jill wanted to be
sick.  “Great.”

“I’d better get
going,” said Amber, “settle in and all that.”

“I should get
back to my room, too,” said Corey, standing.  “See you tomorrow at orientation.”

“You’ll be
there?”

“Yeah, I’m
helping the director show you around.”

“Cool.  See
you then.  Nice meeting you, Jill.”

“You too.” 
Not nice at all, actually.

Corey nodded a
slight goodbye to Jill before heading up to the guys’ dorm.  She thought
about calling his name, asking him to talk, trying to get a helpful
conversation going.  She thought about it.

But she didn’t
say anything.

THE
rest of the afternoon basically consisted of unpacking.  There wasn’t
much, but Jill was moving really slowly for some reason.  Maybe because
everything was still sinking in.  Maybe because she still didn’t feel like
this was really happening, like she was really here...like she
should
be
here.

The thing that
took longest was figuring out where to put the photo—the one photo she’d ever
bothered to keep and to frame.  It was a picture of her and her
mother.  More than that it was a picture of another time of life. 
Another life altogether, almost.  The smiles in the picture were innocent.

Jill barely
remembered what innocence felt like anymore.

Should it go by
the bed?  On her desk by her computer?  On the dresser?

Before she could
decide, it was suddenly seven o’clock.  There was a knock at her door.

She set the
picture down on the bed.  “Come in.”

Dizzie was as
smiley and bubbly as ever.  The girl behind her—Mandy, apparently—was
studious-looking, with bangs and horn-rimmed glasses.  They were carrying
grocery bags.

“Ready to feast?”
said Dizzie.

THEY
started chatting while the macaroni boiled.  Other than the three of them,
the kitchen/dining loft was empty and silent, as was the lounge below. 
Everyone was at the cafeteria.

“Thank heaven
we’re doing this tonight,” said Mandy.  “It’s meatloaf at the
caf
.”  She seemed nice.  A lot calmer and quieter
than Dizzie, that was for sure.  No big surprise, there.

“You’re...an
analyst, is that what you said?” Jill asked Mandy.

“That’s
right.  I look at whatever information Sherlock wants me to look at, and
see if anything needs further investigation or response.”

“You like it?”

“I like it all
right.  So what about you?  What’s your story—you know, how you ended
up here, and all?”

The question
caught Jill by surprise.  No one ever asked her anything like that. 
She found herself inexplicably wanting to tell everything—her father, her
mother, her downward spiral, all of it.  All that came out was:  “Oh,
you know...I was an errander.  Director Holiday thought this would be a
good opportunity for me.”

“How do you like
it?”

“I just got here,
really.  But it seems like a cool place.”

“Oh, it is!”
chirped Dizzie.  “I’m
gonna
make us a salad, I
think.”

“My mom always
tried to make me eat salad,” said Mandy, “and I always tried to get out of
it.  I would even feed it to the dog when she wasn’t looking.  Now I
love a good salad.  It’s weird how when you get out on your own you do a
lot of the things your parents always wanted you to do and they don’t seem so
bad anymore.”

“Yeah,” laughed
Dizzie.

Jill forced a
smile.  Her mother had never tried to get her to eat a salad.  Her
mother had never tried to get her to do much of anything—go to bed on time,
stop running with the wrong crowd, finish her homework.  She’d just gotten
her into her career, that’s all.  “What about you, Mandy?  How did
you end up here?”

“My parents were
both involved in an embezzlement scandal.  They’re in prison, now. 
The courts weren’t sure what to do with me, put me in foster care or send me
back to my grandparents on the Home Planet.  Director Holiday found me and
offered me a position here since I’m good with computers.  I jumped at
it.  I’ve been here almost two years, now.”

“Good choice,”
said Dizzie, now furiously chopping carrots.  “I wish I’d had any choice
other than foster care when my parents got busted!”

“Bad experience?”
asked Jill.

“The worst! 
Actually, I had one foster mom that was pretty amazing.  She would have
been great to stay with longer, I think.  But by then I was in too much
trouble.  It was go to jail or work here—like a lot of us here at the
department.”

“There must be
hundreds of kids like us on Anterra,” said Jill.  “How does the director
decide which ones to go after?”

Dizzie shook her
head.  “Not sure.”

“He has his
methods, I suppose,” said Mandy.  “He’s a little mysterious, our beloved
director.  The macaroni’s ready!”

“Salad, too,”
said Dizzie.

“I didn’t help,”
said Jill sheepishly.

“It’s cool.
 You’re new.  This is like your little welcome party!”

“I still could
have done something.”

“You could grab
us drinks from the fridge,” Mandy suggested.

It was a relief
to have something to contribute, even a small thing.  “Okay.  What’ll
it be?”

“OJ, please,”
said Mandy.

“With dinner?”
asked Dizzie.

“And Desiree
would like grape soda, as usual,” said Mandy, ignoring Dizzie’s comment.

“Never call me
Desiree.  Ever.  And yes, I would like grape soda, please!”

Jill grabbed a
bottle of water for herself too.  “Listen, it’s really great of you two to
let me join you.”

“Of course!”
beamed Dizzie.  “We didn’t want you to have to endure
caf
meatloaf your first night.”

“Plus, too many
new people all in one place,” said Mandy.

“Yeah, I remember
my first dinner here,” said Dizzie with a scowl.  “It was like so
overwhelming!  I had no idea where I should sit, or who I should sit by,
or anything.  I ended up sitting in a corner by myself.  No one even
said hi.  It sucked royally.”

“Is everyone here
that unfriendly?” asked Jill.

“Not anymore,”
said Mandy.  “We have a lot of great people working here, now.”

They started
digging in.

“So, Mandy,”
Dizzie asked with her mouth full, “what’s Sherlock been sending your way
tonight so far?”

“Nothing
interesting yet,” she said.  “Not like last night.”

“Mandy caught a
guy with an unregistered weapon,” Dizzie told Jill.

“I heard about
that.  Nice going.”

“Thanks. 
Every once in a while I’ll have an exciting shift like that.  Not all the
time, of course, but often enough to feel like my job is worthwhile.  What
are you working on tonight, Dizzie?”

She wrinkled her
nose.  “Paperwork, mostly.  I hate it when there’s no mission. 
If I had it my way, I’d run com on missions all shift every shift.  But
any time you run com for a mission you have to make a detailed report of
everything you witnessed.”

“How often do
missions happen?” asked Jill.

“Depends. 
We have several teams that do missions.  Sometimes it seems like there’s
one after another for days on end.  Sometimes we’ll go a couple days or so
without any.”

“So what will my
job be when I’m not on a mission?”

“Director Holiday
will find something for you to do.  Don’t worry, you won’t be bored!”

“Do we have time
off?”

“Oh, yeah! 
We never work more than six days in a row.”

“Can we
leave?  Like, leave the base?”

“You have to get
permission, but yeah.”

“We all have
lives outside of the department,” said Mandy.  “The director makes sure
this is just our job, not our life.”

“So what do you
guys like to do when you’re off?”

“Play guitar!”
Dizzie said without hesitation.

“You should hear
the Lawn Flamingos—that’s Dizzie’s band,” said Mandy.  “They’re pretty
good.”

“We usually get a
couple gigs a month, or so,” said Dizzie.

“Cool.  What
about you, Mandy?”

“
Rawlie
-boy!” Dizzie giggled.

Mandy blushed a
little.  “What
Desiree
,” she emphasized the name with a glare, “is
trying to say is that she thinks I spend a little too much time with my
boyfriend.”

“Only if
practically every waking hour is too much,” said Dizzie.  “His name is
Broderick Sebastian Rawlings, or so he tells us.  He’s a lawyer.”

Mandy rolled her
eyes.  “Other than that, I like to do photography.”

“Check out her
room sometime,” said Dizzie.  “She’s got a bunch of her photos on the
wall.  They’re amazing!”

“What do you like
to do, Jill?”

Another question
no one had asked her in a long time.  What
did
she like to
do?  It had been so long since she had a hobby or a social life...

“I like museums,”
she said at last.  “And I like reading.  Biographies, mostly. 
At least, I used to.  I haven’t had a chance to read much lately.” 
She laughed shyly.  “I’m a little nerdy, I guess.  Oh, and bowling. 
I haven’t bowled in a couple years, but I used to love it.”

“No way!” burst
Dizzie.  “The Lawn Flamingos’ next gig is at a bowling alley.”

“You should go,”
said Mandy.  “I’ll be there with Broderick.  I’ll bowl against you,
Jill.  But I have to warn you, I’m pretty darn good.”

“You’re on,” said
Jill.

“I’m terrible,”
said Dizzie, smiling widely as if she were proud of the fact.

“You’re also
incredibly purple,” said Mandy with eyebrows raised.

“Am I?” she
asked, taking another huge swig of grape soda and then sticking out her tongue.

Jill snorted,
then burst out laughing.  “Um, yes, you are.”

There was more
chatting and laughing while they did the dishes.  Then Dizzie and Mandy’s
break was over, and they had to head back to HQ.

Jill stood alone
in the kitchen loft.  The only sound was the news coming from the TV in
the corner of the kitchen.  It hadn’t been much, Jill thought as she dried
off the plates.  It was just a simple meal with simple conversation.

It was also the
best time Jill could remember having in a long, long time.  Maybe ever.

“...only fifteen
years old,” the news anchor on TV was saying as she put away the last plate,
“making him the youngest known fatality caused by the new illegal substance
known to users as ‘hysteria.’”

Jill’s eyes
drifted to the screen.  It showed a grainy

photo of a boy with shoulder-length
red hair and a decent case of acne.  His mouth was sort of smiling; his
eyes were sad, desperate.

“Police are still
tracking the ring of criminals who have been smuggling the substance from the
Home Planet,” the anchor went on.  “Officials believe the man ultimately
responsible for the distribution of the drug on high school campuses is
thirty-seven year old Robert
Zinn
.”

Now the TV was
showing the kid’s parents.  There were tears in their eyes.  Jill
couldn’t hear what they were saying.

Her vision was
blurring.

She was having
trouble breathing.

Unsteadily she
made her way as quickly as she could back to her room.

SHE’D
forgotten about the picture.

When she walked into
her room she picked it up off the bed and looked at it again.  She stared
into her mom’s eyes for a minute.  Then she stared into her own innocent
eleven-year-old eyes.