“I’m not your puppet!”
“No,” says Trace, “you’re my commanding officer. Act like it.”
Another kid comes clambering down the stairs to use the portable. He catches sight of Trace and Connor, and the two kids still rag-dolled on the ground. “What’s the deal?” the kid says as he takes in the situation.
“When it’s your business, I’ll tell you,” Connor says.
Then he sees the gun in Connor’s hand. “Yeah, sure, no problem,” he says, and goes back up the stairs.
Connor realizes the distraction would have given Trace plenty of time to turn the tables again, but he didn’t. It moves them one step closer to trust. Connor gestures to Trace with a wave of the gun. “Walk.” But at this point the gun is just a prop, and they both know it. They move farther from the main aisle and down an aisle of mothballed fighter jets. No Whollies here to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“If you work for them,” Connor asks, “then why did you tell me all the things you told me?”
“Because I’m their eyes and ears, but my brain is my own—and whether you believe it or not, I like what you’re doing here.”
“What have you told them about this place?”
Trace shrugs. “Mostly what they already know. That things are under control here. That a new shipment of AWOLs arrives every few weeks. I assure them that the place is not a threat, and no one’s planning to blow up any more harvest camps.” Then Trace stops walking and turns to Connor. “What’s more important are the things I don’t tell them.”
“Which are?”
“I don’t tell them about your rescue missions, I don’t tell them about your escape plan . . . and I don’t tell them that you’re still alive.”
“What?”
“As far as they know, this place is being run by Elvis Robert Mullard, a former security guard from Happy Jack—because if anyone knew that you were the one in charge, the Juvey-cops would raid this place in an instant. The Akron AWOL is too much of a threat for them to ignore. So I make this place sound like a nursery, and I make you sound like a nanny. It keeps them happy, and it keeps all these kids alive.”
Connor looks around them. They’re far from the main aisle now. If Trace wanted to, he could probably break Connor’s neck and bury him, and no one would ever know. Does that mean that Connor actually trusts Trace in spite of his obvious betrayal? He isn’t sure of anything anymore, not even his own motivations.
“None of this changes the fact that you’re working for the Juvey-cops.”
“Wrong again. I don’t work for the Juvies, I work for the people who own them.”
“No one owns the Juvenile Authority.”
“All right, then, maybe not own, but control. You want to talk about puppets? Every single Juvey-cop is on a string they don’t even know about. Of course I don’t know who’s pulling the strings. All I know is that I got taken away from a promising future in the air force and got sent here.”
Connor grins in spite of himself. “Sorry to mess with your career track.”
“The point is, I don’t report to anyone in the air force; I report to civilians in suits, and that ticks me off. So I did a little research and found out that I work for a company called Proactive Citizenry.”
“Never heard of it.”
Then Trace drops his voice to a whisper. “I’m not surprised—they keep a low profile, and that provides a cover that gives the military plausible deniability. Think about it; if the brass don’t know who they’re actually working for, then if something goes wrong, the military can always claim ignorance, court-martial me, and come away clean.”
Now things are becoming a little clearer to Connor, or at least clearer as to why Trace decided to play both sides. They turn and begin walking back toward the main aisle.
“I’m disillusioned, Connor. The way I see it, you’ve been more fair and more trustworthy than whoever it is I work for. Character counts for a lot in this world, and when it comes to Proactive Citizenry, shady doesn’t even begin to describe them. So I’ll do my job for them, but I put my trust in you.”
“How do I know you’re not lying to me now?”
“You don’t. But so far you’ve survived because of your instincts. What do your instincts tell you right now?”
Connor thinks about it and realizes the answer is easy. “My instincts tell me that I’m screwed no matter what I do. But that’s normal for me.”
Trace accepts his answer. “We have more to talk about, but I think that’s enough for one day. You should probably put some ice on that shoulder. I wrenched it pretty hard.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Connor lies.