wariness into a sort of trance. When one of the green house workers or Elizabeth’s grandmother interrupted his reverie, he would shake his head almost imperceptibly and nod toward the Line. “Worth every cred that thing costs,” he would say, “every last one.” He never spoke of what it was he feared, what it was he thought the Line was keeping out.
Tonight Jonathan’s eyes had looked like her grandfather’s did then: full of fear, searching for some unknown danger he was certain lurked in the darkness, just beyond the dim light of his own understanding.
CHAPTER 11
R ACHEL HAD BEEN sitting in the greenhouse over an hour, waiting for she didn’t know what, watching the sun set, and thinking about her father. She did check her seedlings; they were a special cross she had germinated all by herself. She thought they might be beautiful if they lived. She knew they would be unique—something that had never existed before she made them. But she hadn’t really come to check on the seedlings. She had come to see if anyone might really be out there, somewhere near the greenhouse, waiting for help.
It was different being in the greenhouse at night. The glass between her and the Line seemed less solid; it sort of disappeared in the dark. It was quiet too; the silence in the shadows around her was deeper somehow than it was in daylight. Even the orchids seemed to radiate a strange luminescence. Rachel felt like she was sitting in some kind of alien garden.
Earlier she had played the corder message back a few times, but she couldn’t get any more out of it than she did that morning. Just that whoever it was needed help, and that they would wait near the edge of something at sunset. Her eyes were getting achy from staring out past the Line, and it was hard to see anything clearly. She thought she had seen something right before the sun disappeared—a flicker of light in the distance—but there hadn’t been anything more.
She hoped her mother was okay. She had seemed better by the time Rachel left for the greenhouse. At least she hadn’t been crying anymore. Rachel knew Vivian was worried about her, but she thought, considering everything, that she was fine. Now that she had had a chance to think about things, the fact that her parents were collaborators actually made her feel better. She had always wondered how her mother could be so anti-government and yet so proud of her dad for going to fight some stupid war that the U.S. probably deserved to lose.
She had read everything she could find on the war with Samarik since she was little, trying to find out if there was any way her dad might have survived. Even though most of the records she read were filled with propaganda and double-talk put out by the U.S., it still sounded to her like they were actually the bad guys. She had never known how to feel about the fact that her own father had been a part of something that seemed so obviously wrong.
Her parents’ collaboration also explained why Vivian was so scared all of the time. She tried to hide it, but it still showed; all her warnings about staying low profile in town and keeping their business private and avoiding any trouble. The way she watched what Rachel researched on the streamer. She said she wanted Rachel to think for herself, so it had always seemed strange that she was so strict about Rachel’s site visits. Vivian always cautioned her to use a fake screen name if she entered a site that required registration, and any sort of chat room was totally off-limits.
Rachel used to think Vivian was worried that she would stumble upon some porn site, but now she realized that her mother had been worried about tracking. There were government agencies where people sat all day counting up hits on unapproved sites, flagging names for follow-up if they appeared too many times. The streamer at the guesthouse was in Ms. Moore’s name, but Rachel could have easily slipped up and mentioned her own name.
Vivian must have
Tonight Jonathan’s eyes had looked like her grandfather’s did then: full of fear, searching for some unknown danger he was certain lurked in the darkness, just beyond the dim light of his own understanding.
CHAPTER 11
R ACHEL HAD BEEN sitting in the greenhouse over an hour, waiting for she didn’t know what, watching the sun set, and thinking about her father. She did check her seedlings; they were a special cross she had germinated all by herself. She thought they might be beautiful if they lived. She knew they would be unique—something that had never existed before she made them. But she hadn’t really come to check on the seedlings. She had come to see if anyone might really be out there, somewhere near the greenhouse, waiting for help.
It was different being in the greenhouse at night. The glass between her and the Line seemed less solid; it sort of disappeared in the dark. It was quiet too; the silence in the shadows around her was deeper somehow than it was in daylight. Even the orchids seemed to radiate a strange luminescence. Rachel felt like she was sitting in some kind of alien garden.
Earlier she had played the corder message back a few times, but she couldn’t get any more out of it than she did that morning. Just that whoever it was needed help, and that they would wait near the edge of something at sunset. Her eyes were getting achy from staring out past the Line, and it was hard to see anything clearly. She thought she had seen something right before the sun disappeared—a flicker of light in the distance—but there hadn’t been anything more.
She hoped her mother was okay. She had seemed better by the time Rachel left for the greenhouse. At least she hadn’t been crying anymore. Rachel knew Vivian was worried about her, but she thought, considering everything, that she was fine. Now that she had had a chance to think about things, the fact that her parents were collaborators actually made her feel better. She had always wondered how her mother could be so anti-government and yet so proud of her dad for going to fight some stupid war that the U.S. probably deserved to lose.
She had read everything she could find on the war with Samarik since she was little, trying to find out if there was any way her dad might have survived. Even though most of the records she read were filled with propaganda and double-talk put out by the U.S., it still sounded to her like they were actually the bad guys. She had never known how to feel about the fact that her own father had been a part of something that seemed so obviously wrong.
Her parents’ collaboration also explained why Vivian was so scared all of the time. She tried to hide it, but it still showed; all her warnings about staying low profile in town and keeping their business private and avoiding any trouble. The way she watched what Rachel researched on the streamer. She said she wanted Rachel to think for herself, so it had always seemed strange that she was so strict about Rachel’s site visits. Vivian always cautioned her to use a fake screen name if she entered a site that required registration, and any sort of chat room was totally off-limits.
Rachel used to think Vivian was worried that she would stumble upon some porn site, but now she realized that her mother had been worried about tracking. There were government agencies where people sat all day counting up hits on unapproved sites, flagging names for follow-up if they appeared too many times. The streamer at the guesthouse was in Ms. Moore’s name, but Rachel could have easily slipped up and mentioned her own name.
Vivian must have
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