might be the only ones left with enough political power to stand up for the One-Timers.
Of course, the other One-Timers never saw it that way.
Dad wouldn’t think twice about all this, I know. He’d confront my brother, Russell, in a heartbeat, ask him what the hell was going on. Why did this Stringer have a marker? Why had that goon been following me? And who did he know over at Fresh Start?
But underneath all of it, I still had a feeling, one of those stupid gut-intuition things. I couldn’t believe Russ was involved in this. I mean, he’d made a few bad business decisions in the past several years, but he’d never actually crossed the line, never broken the law.
I was the one who always got stuck with the dirty work.
The café au lait was gone and I wiped cookie crumbs from my face as I stood in the doorway to Angelique’s bedroom. I was going to have to use a couple of Keys I usually avoid. And do something that could get me thrown in jail.
“Sleep, Angelique,” I said. “Deep sleep.”
She sighed, rolled over on her back. She lay perfectly still, almost not breathing. It was creepy.
I took her right hand.
“No Pain.” My words were clear, loud, firm.
She smiled.
I ran a tracker over the back of her hand, made a mental note of where the marker was. Swabbed her skin with disinfectant. Held my breath while I made a small laser incision, then carefully removed a tiny metal and plastic chip with tweezers. Fortunately, it didn’t have long tentacles like Fresh Start markers, but there was more blood than I expected. I wrapped her hand in one of the hotel towels, pressed it tight enough to stop the bleeding.
She just continued to smile.
Once the bleeding stopped, I put a flesh patch on top of the incision. Then I cursed softly. The color wasn’t quite right. Well, I hadn’t planned on doing minor surgery tonight. It made perfect sense to me that the skin patch wasn’t the right shade. I just hoped that Angelique didn’t freak out and decide to press charges in the morning.
I slipped the marker into a plastic bag and stuffed it in my jacket pocket.
I honestly had no idea what to do next. I was too hyped up on caffeine, sugar and adrenaline to sleep. So I decided to do what came naturally.
I went out on the balcony and played my sax.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Chaz:
I was eleven years old the first time I saw a Newbie, the first time I saw life and death trade places. I guess my life had been pretty sheltered up to that point.
A state-appointed teacher came to our cell, wearing one of those government suits with the high collar, his breath a mixture of coffee and mint. My brother Russell and I, we sat in the back and pretended to pay attention while the guy peddled the Ideal Plan, we even made faces at each other behind his back. We only had seven kids in our cell, but we could tell that we made him nervous. Seven kids in one room was enough to unnerve almost anyone. I’d heard of cells with as many as sixteen kids, but personally, I don’t know if I really believe it.
We each had two bodyguards inside the room, armed and able to kill with their bare hands in less than three seconds if necessary. And outside the room there were at least fifteen more. A crackle of handset communications buzzed continuously between the teacher’s sentences, a hoarse whisper of monotone voices.
“—Sadie took her medicine, yes, I will get her there in time—”
“—piano lessons at three. Of course—”
“—Jeffrey is listening to the teacher, Mrs. Damotta—”
The Ideal Plan had been enforced for the past fifteen years, so I had to study it just like everybody else, whether I wanted to or not. The teacher did his best to explain everything, all the way from Life Number One to Life Number Nine, covering everything from sterilization to college to the legal procedures involved in fighting a death cert case; then he gave us each a contract. My best friend, Pete Laskin, signed his that same day. I heard that his mother cried for a week when she found out, but it didn’t matter. They kept us separated from our parents for a full month, so we could think about it without their influence. Sadie Thompson, a twelve-year-old dream come true who barely knew my name, laughed and signed hers almost