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“Please, Caleb, can we just listen to Dad? He looks so mad.”
Caleb flinched. That mewling voice was his own. One of the duplicates had broken ranks with the others and was half doubled over like he might vomit from nervousness, wringing his hands together and staring pleadingly at Caleb.
It’d been months since Caleb had last allowed his feelings to overwhelm him and lost control of one of the clones. For a while Caleb had thought his duplicates had minds of their own—or at least that’s what he tried to convince himself—but really they were like emotional release valves. Too much pressure in Caleb’s head and one of them could act out.
Of course it would happen right after his big moment of triumph over his brothers. They were both smirking now, Chris snickering behind his hand even though he was still half hiding behind the couch. With every second that the duplicate fretted and whined, Caleb’s dad looked less angry and more mystified.
His mom, meanwhile, cooked dinner in the kitchen, pretending nothing was going on. Like always.
The duplicate made a wet sucking noise, flapping its lower lip like it was trying to keep itself from crying.
The embarrassment was too real. Caleb shot to his feet and absorbed the duplicates. Not making eye contact with any of them, he stormed out of the room. His father let him go. Too weirded out, probably.
“Did you see that?” he heard Charles ask Chris.
“He’s a goddamn mental case,” Chris replied. Caleb grabbed his coat and walked right out of the house.
He only made it as far as the porch.
It was freezing outside, no more than twenty degrees, a dusting of frost on everything. Caleb’s fingers tingled and his cheeks stung. What was he doing? Running away from home? He’d already kind of accomplished that.
No. He was just getting some air. That was the manly thing to do. Cool down, let it blow over.
He sat down on the porch swing, the wooden slats freezing on the backs of his legs, the metal chains creaking at his weight. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and blew out a cloud of mist. He shivered.
This was miserable, but he’d stay out here all night if he had to. Skip dinner. Wait for everyone to go to bed. Get out of here in the morning.
That was a good plan.
A set of headlights lit up the quiet block. Caleb watched them come. They belonged to a black SUV, the kind with heavily tinted windows and armor plating down on the sides. A government vehicle for sure, which wasn’t such an unusual sight being so close to the military base. He’d been driven from the airport in a car just like it, the UN Peacekeepers not breaking off until he was safely ensconced with his family. He glanced down the block; his bodyguards were still there, parked at a respectful distance to keep watch. He felt sympathy for the small detachment of Peacekeepers who had to spend the day sitting around a nothing block in Omaha. At least someone was having a worse Christmas than him.
To Caleb’s surprise, the SUV pulled into his driveway. For a moment, he let himself hope that this was his ride to the airport and they’d come to collect him early.
Then, the SUV’s back door opened and his uncle stepped out.
“Did I miss dinner?”
Retired General Clarence Lawson wore a fur-trimmed black parka that hung open, revealing a tacky Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants beneath. He rubbed his hands together, breathed into them, then hastily zipped up his coat. His silver buzz cut stood out in the night, accentuated by his leathery tan.
Uncle Clarence didn’t come to Christmas in Omaha. Ever. Either he was too busy with work or, after he retired, he was too busy enjoying golf courses drenched in the Florida sun. He was Caleb’s mom’s older brother and, at other family events over the years, Caleb had occasionally perceived some tension between Clarence and his father. That was to be expected. They were both military men, but Caleb’s dad’s career had plateaued at sergeant, whereas Clarence was once the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The highest-ranking officer in the country.
He was now something of an American hero. Uncle Clarence had been called out of retirement during the invasion to coordinate the resistance against the Mogadorians and was widely credited for unifying the world’s many governments, not to mention the Loric, around a cohesive battle strategy.
At first, Caleb was surprised to see him there. But then it dawned on him that this was exactly why he’d gotten special dispensation to come home for Christmas. The general wanted to see him.
“You frozen to death?” General Lawson asked as he clomped up the steps onto the porch. “Or did you not hear me?”
Caleb blinked, then shrugged in response to his uncle’s original question. “They might be eating. I don’t know.”
“Don’t care if you’re missing dinner, huh?” Clarence glanced towards the front door, frowning. “They up your ass already?”
Caleb shrugged again. His uncle was trying to be all jocular and friendly, but Caleb didn’t buy it. The last time they’d seen each other had been at a military base on an island—Guantanamo, Nigel always theorized—where they put the Garde no one knew what to do with while the Academy was built. Things there hadn’t been great.
Nonetheless, Clarence sat down on the swing next to Caleb.
“Going to make an old man sit out here and freeze? Okay. That’s your prerogative.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a long metal case, producing a cigar from within. “You want one?”
“No thanks.”
“Hmm. There was a time that would’ve been ‘no thank you, sir.’”
Clarence was half joking with the criticism, but Caleb bristled. It was too close to something his dad would say. Caleb felt the sudden urge to release one of his duplicates and fought it back. Meanwhile, the general held a Zippo to his cigar, puffing obliviously until a thick cloud of fragrant smoke wafted up from the tip.
“How are things at the Academy?” Clarence asked as he settled in next to Caleb.
“Fine.”
“Heard you got in a bit of trouble. Unauthorized departure from campus. Maybe some more serious violations of Garde protocol.”
“Why did you bring me here?” Caleb asked sharply. When his uncle didn’t answer right away, he pressed on. “You did bring me here, right? Pulled strings.”
“I am your uncle, Caleb.”
“I haven’t heard from you in more than a year,” Caleb replied. “You must want something.”
The general’s eyes narrowed. He tapped ash off his cigar.
“They’ve changed you at that place. Used to be you were loyal. Eager to please.” Caleb opened his mouth to reply, but Clarence raised his cigar to stop him. “Not saying it’s a bad thing. It’s good you’re becoming your own man. I thought we understood each other but if you’ve got a problem with me—”
“You made us give away our Chimærae,” Caleb blurted. “And I helped you. I can’t believe I helped you do that. What was I thinking?”
“You were following an order, just like I was,” Lawson replied quietly. “We didn’t know what might happen with those creatures . . .”
Caleb looked his uncle in the eyes. “Are they dead? Or are they, like, getting poked and prodded in a laboratory somewhere?”
Lawson met his gaze steadily. “Honestly, son, I don’t know. I could look into it for you.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” Caleb replied, looking away.
Clarence silently puffed away on his cigar for a few cold seconds.
“I’ll be straight with you,” he said at last. “I got you this little vacation from the Academy so I could be the one to tell you. They’re promoting you to Earth Garde.”
Caleb’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“I’ve still got friends in the organization; they gave me the heads-up. Prevailing w
isdom after your skirmish with those Harvester folks is that you’re ready for fieldwork. Not to mention, reports from the psychiatrist there have greatly improved.”
Caleb’s whole body felt numb, and not from the cold. “I’m . . . I’m leaving the Academy?”
“Should go through in the next week or so. You’re going to be on a detachment with Melanie Jackson herself.”
The prospect of working alongside the president’s daughter did nothing to diminish the dread Caleb was feeling. They were doing important work at the Academy, planning against the Foundation. He couldn’t leave. Not yet.
“I’m not . . . I’m not ready.”
“Earth Garde seems to think otherwise.” Clarence paused and leaned forward to make eye contact with Caleb. “Thing is, I’m also here to ask you for a favor.”
“A favor.”
“Like I said, I’ve still got colleagues involved with the Earth Garde program. Some of them have approached me about concerns they’re having.”
“What kind of concerns?”
Now his uncle got cagey. “Nothing they can put their finger on, exactly. Just oddities here and there. Strange allocations of resources. Preferential treatment. That sort of thing. You remember why they called me out of retirement in the first place? Back during the invasion?”
“Because the Mogs had corrupted too many people in the government,” Caleb answered distractedly. “They needed someone they could trust.”
“That’s right,” Clarence replied. “Authorities made a lot of arrests in the year after the invasion. But suppose . . . suppose they didn’t catch them all, huh? Maybe there’s still some MogPro people out there. What would they be doing now, do you think?”
