Among the Free

Chapter Twenty-Four

The first time Luke had come to the Population Police headquarters building, when it was still the Grant family's private home, he'd spent a lot of time wandering around wondering who he was supposed to be and how he was supposed to act. After he finished his scrambled eggs breakfast, he found himself doing the same thing. Before, he'd been plagued by servants watching him, asking him questions about his math grades and scolding him for not changing into his tuxedo in time for dinner. Everyone acted as if they knew everything about him, and he worried that they really did. He worried that they knew he was a fraud.

This time, no one seemed to take any notice of him at all. He was just another kid without an identity in a country full of kids whose identities had been erased.

"I suppose we can be anyone we want to now," Luke overheard a girl saying as he walked through the crowd outdoors.

"And we can do anything we want. That's freedom, isn't it?" the boy beside her said. He leaned over and gave her a kiss, dipping her down as if they were dancing.

"Or not," the girl said as soon as he released her. She wiped the back of her hand against her lips, as if she were trying to wipe away his kiss.

Wandering past, as good as invisible, Luke wondered if this really was freedom, this sense of being lost. A year ago, hiding, he'd felt like he'd had no choices; now he felt like he had too many. He could keep wandering, he could go back to the horse stable, he could go to Mr. Hendricks's house, he could go home, he could go find Oscar…

What's the right thing to do? he wondered.

Now that he'd seen Oscar on TV, heard him claim credit for the coup, Luke didn't feel like he could leave. In his mind, Luke kept seeing Oscar as he'd looked on the TV screen: powerful, confident, his muscles bulging, his hair slicked back. He'd been wearing a suit. Luke kept holding that image up against the way he himself had looked on TV, huddled in the quilt, his hair in disarray, his voice cracking as he tried to say, "Then I'm free not to talk."

Again and again Luke told himself, Obviously Oscar has everything under control. It's not like he needs your help. But there was always an echo in his mind, a tiny voice that asked, But do you trust Oscar?

Luke remembered how Oscar had told Luke that he'd been born poor, like Luke, and that he hated Barons, the people who had all the money. But Oscar had told Smits Grant, who was a Baron, that he was a Baron himself. Luke remembered how little concern Oscar had had for Smits's fate, how calm Oscar had been when Mr. and Mrs. Grant had died, how he'd scoffed when Luke had asked if it was possible to fight the Government peacefully.

If I could just see what Oscar was doing right now, Luke thought, then maybe I'd feel better.

Luke turned around and went back into the headquarters building. He used the back door again, but this time he went past the dining hall, out into rooms he hadn't seen since the house belonged to the Grants. Back then, he'd thought of the house as an impossible maze, full of passage^ ways that doubled back on themselves and rooms that didn't ever seem to stay in the same spot when he walked past. He knew the rooms really hadn't moved around; he knew the real problem had been his own fear and panic.

I've got nothing to fear now. I'm free, remember? I'm not trying to be somebody I'm not. The Population Police are out of power. Nobody's got any reason to want to kill me. I don't even have to talk to Oscar if I don't want to. I can just. . watch.

The rooms he passed through were empty of the lavish furniture the Grants had once owned. Luke didn't know if the Population Police had taken it away, or if looters had carried it off after the Population Police left. Certainly nobody else seemed interested in these rooms now: Luke hadn't seen a single other person since he'd left the dining hall. Luke wondered about the contents of the filing cabi' nets that lined some of the walls, but when he pulled out the drawers, he discovered they were all empty.

Oscar said there would be trials, Luke remembered. Maybe these drawers held records that proved all the crimes the Population Police officials were guilty of, and the records have been taken somewhere else safe, to be evidence.

Somehow, though, the sight of all those empty drawers bothered him.

He moved on, looking for stairs. The really important Population Police officials had had their offices on the second floor, so it made sense that Oscar would be established there too. Didn't it?

Then Luke came to a doorway he remembered very well, and he stopped in his tracks.

"The secret room," he whispered.

Three times Luke had stepped through that doorway, each time with a different person. Three times he'd watched somebody type a special code into a panel on the wall, sealing off the room and making it soundproof and secure. Three times he'd sat in that room struggling to make sense of some new, devastating revelation. Once he'd held a key to the room in his own pocket, but he had no idea where that key was now. Too much had happened to Luke since then.

Luke was sure the door would be locked, but he reached out and tried the doorknob anyway.

It came off in his hand.

Luke gasped and looked around fearfully, as if expecting someone to yell at him. But nobody was in sight, and who would scold him for a broken doorknob when the whole government had fallen apart?

Luke put the doorknob back in its socket and gently pushed the door open. The room was windowless, and the lights were off. But there was enough light coming in through the doorway for Luke to see how this room had been transformed since the last time he'd been in it. The mahogany desk that had once dominated the entire space had been pushed to the back to make way for dozens of posters and signs stacked against the walls. One of the signs nearest Luke depicted a baby with the number three emblazoned on his chest. Luke moved the sign a little so he could see the words written below: he's the reason YOU WERE STARVING.

Luke turned away from this sign, and his gaze fell on another one depicting sullen figures with the words beware the shadows. Another simply showed a woman and a man with two children playing at their feet and a third peeking out from behind the woman. The whole scene was stamped with a huge caption: the worst criminals of all. Another sign, featuring a similar family, carried the words their fault.

Luke sank weakly back against the wall and covered his eyes with his hands. He shook his head and moaned, "No, no. ."

Luke remembered Jen telling him about signs like these. Propaganda, she'd called them. Lies the Government had made its citizens believe. She'd said there were signs about illegal third children posted at train stations and on billboards, in all sorts of public places. At the time, Luke had never been off his family's farm: He'd never seen a train station or a billboard; he couldn't imagine a public place. He hadn't even quite understood what a sign was. Since then he'd traveled between a very small number of places: his home, Hendricks School, the Grants' house, the Population Police holding camp, Chiutza. A small, tight circle of places, each trip taken at a time of shock and hor-ror. He'd had no time to sightsee. He could have passed a million signs and not known it, because he'd always been too engrossed in the turmoil inside his own head. So he'd never felt the waves of hate that radiated from signs like these — hate that was directed at him.

No wonder he didn't feel capable of standing up again, of stalking out of the room and closing the door behind him.

These are old, he told himself. This is just where the Population Police stored their signs when they were in control. But they're not in control anymore. They're out of power. These signs shouldn't have any power over me, either.

Still he stayed slumped over in despair, surrounded by the signs' stark accusations, lost in his own fears.

Luke didn't know how long he sat there — maybe minutes, maybe hours. Even when he heard footsteps approaching the room, he didn't move.