Lise, DM Arnold [bearly read books .TXT] 📗

the door.

A pair of constable's deputies stepped inside. “Is there Zero-One-Zero ... a Lise here?”

“That's me,” Lise said, standing.

“Would you please come with us?”

“Is she in trouble?” Megan asked.

“No. We just want to talk with her.”

XVII

Lise half expected cuffs to be put on her wrists, but they weren't. One of the deputies opened the rear door of the squad car. She slid onto the seat and noticed a young man seated. He wore a dress shirt with the three scrolls of the clerical caste embroidered over his left collarbone.

“Lise,” he said, “My name is Bryce Nath. I'm Lord Bromen's attorney. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

The car pulled from the curb and headed toward downtown.

“How do you do, Mr Bryce?”

“No, Lise. Just Bryce. If you'd like to be formal, you can call me Squire Nath.” She rolled her eyes in thought. “No? Bryce is fine.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. Nothing at the moment. I wanted to make my introductions to you, because it's likely we'll be doing business together.”

“What sort of business?”

“Time will tell, won't it?”

The squad pulled into the underground garage of the safety palace. Bryce escorted Lise to a lift. They walked down a corridor and were gestured into an interview room by a deputy.

“Have a seat, Lise.”

Lise sat and noticed another man leaning back in a chair, his head resting against the wall.

A door on the opposite side of the room opened and a guard led Thom in. He had cuffs on wrists and ankles and a chain ran between them and around his waist.

Thom sat across from Lise. “Bryce, that will be all for now.” The attorney nodded to Thom and left the room. “Lise, I wanted a private conversation with you.”

She glanced toward the man in the corner. “How can it be private?”

“That is Brocton Mees, attorney at law.”

“I thought Bryce...”

“Bryce is my solicitor. Broc is a trial lawyer, an expert in criminal law. So long as he is in this room, our conversation is privileged. That means the constables are prohibited from eavesdropping. Broc has assured me he will hear nothing.”

“Nothing,” the man repeated.

“Believe me, our conversation is more private with Broc here than if he were absent.” Thom regarded Lise through narrowed eyes for a long moment. “Lise, were you the one who betrayed me? The more I think about it, it's the only explanation.”

“Didn't you betray all of us?” She shook her head. “Look at the mess you created -- the Zone in flames and innocent novonids being hunted and shot on sight.”

“I was negotiating an amnesty,” Thom replied.

“How many more innocents would die while you negotiated to save the guilty? Do you really think you'd be granted an amnesty after bombing the police station?”

“That wasn't my idea,” Thom protested. “When I heard about it I tried to change their minds.”

“Did you provide the explosives and the weapons?”

“She sounds like a prosecutor,” Broc remarked.

Thom sighed. “Yes... They were to be used for defensive purposes, only. I suppose in hindsight supplying munitions was a bad idea.”

“Why is it so important you know if it was I?”

“It has a bearing on the statement I intend to make to the media,” Thom replied.

“Yes, Thom. I turned you in.”

Thom nodded. “I thought so. Believe me, I'm not angry with you for what you did. I was coming 'round to the notion that turning myself in was the only solution. I believe everything happens for a reason. Perhaps the reason you were sent to my house was to put an end to this. Have you been watching the news?”

“I try not to. Not now, at least.”

“They haven't released any details regarding my capture. The reason is, Broc here has been drafting a statement -- one that implies I did turn myself in. Lise -- there are novonids who admire Mott, and who might decide to harm whoever betrayed him. We can't have you becoming a pariah. That would ruin everything.”

“I appreciate your concern,” she said coldly.

“It's more than that. You've been thrust into a role, Lise. Animosity toward you would complicate the situation considerably.”

“What sort of a role?”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves. What our statement will do is to give our cause something of value -- something the authorities don't want but will have to accept as part of ending this. We will give those in the Zone a martyr.”

“You?”

“Mott. I'm not getting out of this one alive, Lise. I've resolved myself to that fact. A hundred years from now, novonids will talk of Mott. He'll drive the cause forward.”

“Thom, I think you've gone a little crazy.”

“Maybe I have.”

“Will you answer one question for me, Thom?”

“I'll answer any and all of your questions, Lise.”

“Why? Why did you do this? Why impersonate a novonid? If it weren't you, Thom -- I'd be offended. I'm not sure -- maybe I AM offended.”

“I became Mott in order to have access to the Green Zone. You know what happens to whites who wander in there. I got to know the people -- some of the desperate ones, the ones being mistreated. Those I targeted for Novonid Rescue. Mott became a savior. His reputation grew, as someone who could help. I bought property adjacent to the Zone -- quite economically I might add ... built the House on the Hill -- all in order to be near your people ... my people ... Mott's people. Mott began to spend more and more time there. The more I learned about the Zone, the more radical he became. In some ways he's become his own personality.

“Did you kill Glinda's owner?”

“Careful...” Broc advised.

“No comment.”

“What made you think we needed someone from the white world to organize us ... to strike?”

“First of all... I organized no one. The organization came from within -- for and by those living in the Zone. All I did was to facilitate and to motivate. It's what a boss does, and it's all I've ever done -- for my own company and for Novonid Rescue. The people in the Zone did the organizing and the planning.”

“It wouldn't have happened without you.”

“Maybe not. Maybe it would. Secondly... I am not from the white world. I'm from yours, Lise. I am one of you.”

“No, you're not. You have a white man's features... Except for your ... condition, you are a human, not a novonid.”

“It's not for lack of trying, Lise. I attempted to inoculate myself with photoptertheron organules, but to no avail. My matrix is incompatible.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I can't believe you want to be one of us.”

“No, Lise -- I AM one of you. I'm surprised you haven't figured it out, yet. You're such a smart girl. How much do you know of the history of our world?”

“Some... What I've read.”

“Then, the time has come for clarification. You know there are three epochs in Varadan history, each lasting about a thousand standard years. We are now in the third epoch.

“First, our world was colonized. For a couple hundred years we were a planetary outpost. Then, for various reasons, the decision was made to abandon the colony. The inhabitants were given the choice to leave or to stay. About half decided to stay.

“Varada at the time was a paradise. The colonists had brought Earth plants -- wheat, fruit trees, vegetables. The climate was ideal for these crops and they grew in abundance. The society became agrarian, and technology was abandoned. We lived an idyllic life, plucking food from nature and sleeping under the stars.”

“What does this have to do with you?”

“Lise, if you look at the big picture, how the individual pieces fit becomes clear. Be patient.” Lise shifted in her chair. “About a thousand years after colonization the first epoch came to a sudden end. A comet collided with Varada. The impact threw enormous clouds of dust into the air. The result changed the climate and destroyed the Earth crops. The comet bombed Varada into a stone age.

“Finally the skies began to clear. We managed to salvage some wheat, which we replanted, but it was a long, dark age in which we entered. After a thousand years we had almost rebuilt the civilization that the comet had nearly wiped out. Then, the second epoch came to an end with the pomma invasion.

“There had always been pomma on this world. It was a spontaneous genetic mutation that bred an invasive variety that inexorably overran our wheat fields. Now, that strain is the dominant life form on this world. We had a choice -- learn to cultivate pomma or starve.

“Learn we did, but it is a labor-intensive industry. Our society adapted by becoming stratified. The castes were established and we created a class of slaves for field work. Involuntary servitude was the only way to cultivate pomma without it becoming an economic black hole.

“After a few hundred years of this, the slaves rebelled. They did what Mott's gang attempted to do -- they permitted the pomma to shoot into seed and go dormant for a season. It led to some lean times, and the powers that were resolved never to permit something like that to happen again. The slaves were freed and paid a fair wage for their efforts. They received what they wanted -- money in their pockets. But with so much of the nation's currency diverted, the rest of the economy suffered. The result was inflation, followed by an economic depression.

“A committee was formed to devise a better solution. A member of that committee was a distinguished geneticist, and he had an idea. Why not create the perfect field worker? This scientist had been studying adapting the photosynthetic process into animals. We could create a new species, designed for cultivating pomma. They'd derive their nutrition from the sun, and being built for a purpose would never care about wages or advancement in society.”

“Hence the genesis of novonids,” Lise remarked.

“Precisely. The name of that scientist was Abel Bromen.”

“Your ancestor?”

“How else do you think I came by all that original source material from the dawn of your kind?”

“I hadn't thought about it.”

“It's in the family archives for hundreds of years. Abel Bromen used his own family as his base gene pool. He would clone gametes, make genetic modifications, combine egg and sperm and grow the embryos in culture chambers, the same ones he invented for the production of synthetemeat. Using that technique he could collapse the generations. Many fetuses were not viable, and many more were sacrificed. It took him twenty standard years to get the photosynthesis working -- to modify the human matrix to support the photoptertheron chloroplasts; and twenty more before he had the first fertile prototypes.

“When he died, others took over the project. Eventually, a breeding population was created and they were introduced into the farms. Abel was rewarded for his efforts with a lordship.”

“I had no idea your family's association with novonids extended so far back.”

“It's more than you think. Aside from green skin, what single characteristic do you think of when you think novonid?”

“Hairlessness,” Lise replied.

“Precisely. Where do you think they got the gene for hairlessness?”

Lise gazed at Thom's bald head and her jaw dropped. “You mean...”

“Lise ... you and every other novonid share a direct line to my ancestor -- Goss Bromen, son of Abel. He suffered congenital alopecia. His genetic material formed the foundation for all novonids. Everything else was done by tweaking his genetic pattern. Your DNA and mine differ by less than one half of one percent. You and I are cousins, Lise. I am more closely related to you than to anyone else on this planet. You are my family.”

“Thom...”

“And, that's why I did it.” She could see anger building in his face. “How would you respond if your family was being mistreated? Enslaved? Hunted like animals?” Thom rose to his feet. “It filled me with rage, Lise... Rage when I realized what it all meant. My family enslaved. And, my father, becoming wealthy on the sweat of his nieces and nephews. My whole line, back to Abel, stained brown with novonid blood. When my