So I gesture to the envelope instead. “What did you put in here? Besides the tablets?” He shrugs. “Not much. I was mostly trying to hide the tablets. A couple of newrose blooms, like the ones we planted. They won’t last long. I printed a copy of one of the Hundred Paintings from the port, that picture you did a report on a long time ago. That won’t last long either.” He’s right; the paper from the ports always deteriorates quickly. Xander looks at me, sad. “You’l have to use al of it in the next couple of months.”
“Thank you,” I tel him. “I didn’t get anything for you—everything happened so fast this morning—” I fal silent again. Because I used what time I did have for Ky. I chose him, again, over Xander.
“It’s al right,” he says. “But maybe—you could—”
He looks into my eyes, deep, and I know what he wants. A kiss. Even though he knows about Ky. Xander and I are stil connected; this is stil good-bye. I know already that that kiss would be sweet. It would be what he would hold on to, as I hold on to Ky’s.
But that’s something I don’t think I can give. “Xander—”
“It’s al right,” he says, and then he stands up. I do, too, and he reaches for me, pul s me close. Xander’s arms are as warm and safe and good around me as they have always been.
We both hold on, tight.
Then he lets go and walks down the path, without another word. He doesn’t look back. But I watch him go. I watch him al the way home.
The journey to our new home is fairly straightforward: ride the air train to the City Center, change to a long-distance air train for the Farmlands of Keya Province. Most of our belongings fit into one smal case each; the few things that don’t wil be sent later.
As the four of us walk to the air-train stop, neighbors and friends come out to say good-bye and wish us wel . They know we’re being Relocated but they don’t know why; it isn’t considered polite to ask. As we come to the end of the street we see that a new sign has been hammered into place: Garden Borough. Without the trees and without the name, Mapletree Borough is gone. It’s as though it never existed. The Markhams are gone. We are gone. Everyone else wil live on here in Garden Borough. They’ve already added extra newroses to al the flower beds.
The quickness with which Ky disappeared, with which the Markhams disappeared, with which we wil disappear, makes me cold. It is as if we never happened. And I suddenly remember a time back when I was smal , when I used to look for the air train home to Stony Borough and we had paths made of low flat stones that led to our doors.
This happened before. This Borough keeps changing names. What other bad things lie beneath the surface of our Borough? What have we buried underneath our rocks and trees and flowers and houses? That time Xander won’t talk about, when we al took the red tablet—what happened? When other people left, where did they real y go?
They could not write their names, but I can write mine, and I wil again, somewhere where it wil last for a long, long time. I wil find Ky, and then I wil find that place.
Once we are on the long-distance air train, my mother and Bram both fal asleep, exhausted from the emotion and exertion of the journey.
I find it strange, with everything else that happened, that it was my mother’s obedience which spel ed the need for our Relocation. She knew too much and she admitted it in that report. She couldn’t do otherwise.
The ride is long and there are other travelers. No soldiers like Ky. They keep them on their own trains. But there are tired families who look much like ours, a group of Singles who laugh and talk excitedly about their jobs, and, in the last car, a few rows of young women about my age going on a work detail for a few months. I watch these girls with interest; they are girls who did not get work positions and therefore wil float around wherever they are needed for a time. Some of them seem sad and faded, disappointed. Others have faces turned to the windows with interest in their eyes. I catch myself glancing over at them more than I should. We’re supposed to keep to ourselves. And I need to concentrate on finding Ky. I have equipment now: blue tablets, the artifact cal ed a compass, knowledge of the Sisyphus River, memories of a grandfather who did not go gentle.
My father notices me watching the girls. While my mother and Bram sleep he says softly, “I don’t remember what happened yesterday. But I know the Markhams left the Borough and I think that has hurt you.”
I try to change the subject. I glance over at my sleeping mother. “Why didn’t they use a red tablet on her? Then we wouldn’t have had to leave.”
“A red tablet?” my father asks, surprised. “Those are only for extreme circumstances. This isn’t one of them.” Then, to my surprise, he says more.
He speaks to me like an adult; more than that, like an equal. “I’m a sorter by nature, Cassia,” he says. “Al the information adds up to something being wrong. The way they took the artifacts. Your mother’s trips to the other Arboretums. The gap in my memory from yesterday. Something is wrong. They are losing a war and I can’t tel who it’s against—people on the inside or people on the outside. But there are signs of cracking.” I nod. Ky told me almost the same thing.
But my father goes on. “And I’ve noticed other things, too. I think you’re in love with Ky Markham. I think you want to find him, wherever he’s gone.” He swal ows.
I glance over at my mother. Her eyes are open now. She looks at me with love and understanding, and I realize: She knows what my father did.
She knows what I want. She knows and even though she would not destroy a tissue sample or love someone who was not her Match, she stil loves us, even though we have done those things.
My father has always broken the rules for those he loves, just as my mother has always kept them for the same reason. Perhaps that is yet another reason why they make a perfect Match. I can trust in my parents’ love. And it strikes me that that is a big thing to trust, a big thing to have had, no matter what else happens.
“We can’t give you the life you want,” my father says, his eyes wet. He looks at my mother and she nods at him to continue. “We wish we could.
But we can help you have a chance to decide which life you want.”
I close my eyes and ask the angels and Ky and Grandfather for strength. Then I open them and look straight at my father. “How?” CHAPTER 32