Part 2 (1/2)

It was like being in one of those exhibits that you'd find in the history museum back in Yellowstone, the ones that explained about the United States pre-Rise, before the War for Fair Resources when the United States invaded Canada and created the American-Canadian Federation. That name was supposed to sound peaceful, like the two countries had happily joined forces, but my dad said the name was a lie. The invasion and occupation had really been b.l.o.o.d.y and terrible.

I pushed through the director's door. There was a wide desk on the far side of the room, a tall black chair behind it, and two fabric chairs in front. The desk was antique, but its top had been replaced with a gla.s.s table monitor. Files glowed on it. On the wall behind the desk, a bulletin board was covered with maps that looked like they were expertly hand-drawn, showing intricate coastlines and mountain ranges. I wondered if the director had drawn them himself.

There was a large fireplace in the left wall, built from giant gray stones that were scarred by black soot. The head of something I was pretty sure had been called a bison was mounted above it. Along the right wall were high shelves of frayed books and a leather couch. The room smelled like soot and pine, a scent I vaguely remembered from my clothes and sheets back during the Three-Year Fire, which erased the last forests of the American West. It had started when I was four, and during the middle year and a half of it, we barely saw the sun.

The wall behind me was covered with framed photos on either side of the door. They were all-camp photos. Each one had a year beneath it. The earliest ones were in black-and-white, then they switched to faded color. Groups of wild-haired boys and girls. Not much separated the decades, except the size and color of the kids. They went from skinny and mostly white to chunkier in the middle, with more varieties of skin color. Then, in recent photos, the kids got thinner again. And in the last few photos they were no longer sun-bronzed, their skin instead tinted purple by NoRad lotion.

”Fascinating, isn't it?” A man was peering through the door. He stepped in and extended his hand. ”I'm Paul. I'm the director. And you... You must be Owen.” He said it almost like I was a celebrity or something.

”Hi,” I said, shaking his hand. It was cool, the skin smooth-feeling.

He was a little taller than me and old, maybe in his fifties. Like Dr. Maria, he was dressed retro, I guess like the director of a summer camp would have been, in jeans and a blue b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt and a black vest with the overlapping E E-and-C EdenCorp logo embroidered on it. Everything was relaxed except for a striped tie that was done up tight, the knot perfect. He had wavy gray hair and a thin face, lots of freckles and dark spots on his tanned skin from time spent in the sun. EdenCorp logo embroidered on it. Everything was relaxed except for a striped tie that was done up tight, the knot perfect. He had wavy gray hair and a thin face, lots of freckles and dark spots on his tanned skin from time spent in the sun.

The only thing about him that was modern were his square, black-rimmed gla.s.ses. Their lenses flickered in a tinted shade that indicated Rad protection. I was pretty sure that the tint could be turned off on gla.s.ses like that, or at least lightened, but Paul still had it full on, even though we were indoors, and so I couldn't see his eyes. He seemed to be smiling, but the gla.s.ses made the smile strange, incomplete.

He closed the door and pointed to the photos. ”Almost two hundred years of campers have come to this very spot-well, not counting the fifteen-year break while the dome was being built.”

”Oh,” I said.

”They used to call it Camp Aasgard,” Paul continued. He spoke in a low voice, all his words flat and even. ”It had a whole Viking theme because of the archaeological finds near here. Lake Eden actually used to be part of Lake Superior, before the big lake receded. Imagine, Vikings right here.”

”That's pretty cool,” I said, thinking that it was. It was interesting to me to try to imagine a place like it looked to the people who came before, like how Yellowstone used to be full of people just driving around in big homes on wheels, peering into the trees looking for animals, not a care in the world.

”Indeed,” said Paul, and it seemed like my interest excited him a little. ”They apparently traveled up the waterways from the Atlantic, and also down from Hudson Bay. Most people don't know that,” he added mildly. ”But most people don't know most things.”

”Huh,” I said, and saw that all the photos to the left of the door had Camp Aasgard Camp Aasgard in funny letters above the photo, with Viking hats on either side. The photos to the right of the door said in funny letters above the photo, with Viking hats on either side. The photos to the right of the door said Camp Eden Camp Eden.

”And that's not all,” said Paul. ”If that kind of thing interests you, then Eden has some other surprises.”

”Like what?” I asked, still interested but also trying to sound polite.

”Well, for starters, there are copper mines in this region that are over ten thousand years old,” said Paul. ”It makes you wonder: Who was here, back then, and what were they up to? I find those kinds of questions most intriguing.”

”Wow.” There were old towns out by Hub, all abandoned, but that stuff was only about forty years old. You could still picture the people being there, like ghosts, living the pre-Rise life with cars and lawns and stuff. Our life was mostly underground, but it was still similar. We still had technology like video channels and subnet phones and electric lights at least some of the time, and even some of the newer stuff, like holotech.

”Then there's our own little archaeological study right here.” Paul pointed at the camp photos. ”The world outside has changed so much, as I'm sure you're well aware, but life in this spot has endured. Just a bunch of kids smiling, enjoying life. It's nice to know that's still possible....” He turned toward his desk. ”If you do what it takes.” He sat down in his chair and motioned to me. ”Have a seat.”

I sat. Paul had put his fingertips together and was gazing at me, but didn't say anything right away. After a few seconds, I wondered if he was waiting for me to say something. He was so still, just sitting there. It bothered me that I couldn't see his eyes. I started to feel weird, like I was being examined.

”Dr. Maria told me to come see you,” I finally said.

”Yes,” said Paul. Another second pa.s.sed, just staring... but then he sat up and twisted around. He picked up a metal pitcher and cup from a cabinet behind him. The pitcher's sides were foggy with condensation. ”Bug juice?” he offered.

”Sure.” The bug juice was just fruit punch. Typical powdered juice drink, like we'd have back at home. There were more flavors here, though, each a different bright color, and they sorta tasted different, but really all just tasted in the end like bug juice. I'd had this one before. It was purple and called Concord Explosion. I heard one time that a Concord was a type of grape, but they took the word grape grape out of the name because they didn't actually use any real grapes in it anymore, and maybe it didn't even really taste like a grape-not that I would have known, since I'd never had one. out of the name because they didn't actually use any real grapes in it anymore, and maybe it didn't even really taste like a grape-not that I would have known, since I'd never had one.

Paul handed me the cup. I took a sip. More tangy than sweet. Still kinda the same as all the others. Fine, though.

”Thanks,” I said.

”Don't mention it.” His face became motionless again. Smiling maybe, sort of. It was impossible to tell with those gla.s.ses.

Then he leaned forward again and swiped at the gla.s.s monitor top of his desk. Files slid around. ”So, Owen, the main reason I wanted to see you was to say that I am truly sorry about what happened to you today. Everyone here at Camp Eden is glad you're okay.”

”I'm fine,” I said.

”Apparently.” Paul was studying a file. It looked like a chart of numbers. ”Your tests all seem normal, even”-his finger touched the file and part of it zoomed in, but since it was upside down, I couldn't quite make out what it said-”better than normal. You have noticeably high levels of hemoglobin.” than normal. You have noticeably high levels of hemoglobin.”

”Is that weird?” I asked. I didn't remember ever hearing that in past doctors' visits.

Paul didn't answer right away. He kept reading, files flicking across his gla.s.ses. Then he sat back and stared at me again. ”No,” he said, ”totally within the expected range. And you feel normal other than those neck wounds?”

”Yeah,” I said.

”Good. Well, you can rest a.s.sured, we spoke to the lifeguard who lost track of you. Made her aware of her error.”

”It wasn't Lilly's fault,” I said immediately. ”I got a cramp.” I didn't want Lilly to get in trouble over this, over me.

”Right,” said Paul. ”And to be fair to young Miss Ishani, she hadn't been informed of your condition.” Paul ran a finger over another file. ”A hernia.... Again, my apologies. This information should have made it to the lifeguards.”

”I wanted to be a Shark,” I said.

Paul nodded. ”Of course you did. And I like your spirit. Not afraid to take a risk to get what you want.”

I wouldn't have described myself that way.

Paul tapped at the monitor again. ”I spoke with your father and let him know what happened, and that you were fine. He seems like a nice man.”

”Yeah,” I said. I wondered if Dad was worried, and for a second I thought, Serves him right. Serves him right. It was his idea to enter me in the drawing to come here. He kept saying how a month at Camp Eden was a month I didn't have to spend sc.r.a.ping by out at Hub, a month when I didn't have to help him with his breathing issues, the nebulizer packs and the beige phlegm that never seemed to get all the way down the drain, a month when I could have fun like people used to. I hadn't really wanted to apply, but I saw how much he wanted me to, and besides, the odds of actually winning were terrible. Except then I won. It was his idea to enter me in the drawing to come here. He kept saying how a month at Camp Eden was a month I didn't have to spend sc.r.a.ping by out at Hub, a month when I didn't have to help him with his breathing issues, the nebulizer packs and the beige phlegm that never seemed to get all the way down the drain, a month when I could have fun like people used to. I hadn't really wanted to apply, but I saw how much he wanted me to, and besides, the odds of actually winning were terrible. Except then I won.

”You two get along well?” Paul asked.

”Mmm.” I nodded. We did. ”We don't talk much,” I said, ”but not in a bad way.”

Paul seemed to smile again. At least his mouth widened. ”Fathers and sons often don't,” he said. ”Sounds like he doesn't put much pressure on you, though.” Paul's smile faded. I wondered if he was thinking about his own dad.

”Nah,” I said. ”We just sorta do our thing.” It felt weird answering questions about my dad. I felt almost like I was defending him, or something. And I didn't need to do that. Sometimes Dad got on my case, but we never really fought. Most nights he got home pretty late, and his breathing was always the worst then, and he'd be tired. I usually made the frozen dinners for us. I wondered what night tonight was... Tuesday. Pizza night with the Arctic League football game. I remembered looking ahead at the schedule and seeing that it was going to be Baffin City and Helsinki Island. Dad always missed the first half, so when he got home I'd give him a summary of the key plays. He'd have to figure it out himself tonight. I hoped he could make his dinner fine, and that his cough wasn't too bad.

Paul checked my file. ”And it's just you and your dad, I see.”

”Oh. Uh-huh.” That comment made me feel weird, too. Like Paul was pointing out flaws. I didn't want him to know all this stuff, but of course my whole situation was laid out for him right there on the screen. Maybe he was just trying to be sympathetic, to connect, like adults sometimes tried to do.

”There's no contact information for your mom here.”

”We don't have any.” Saying that caused a squeeze in my stomach. That was the feeling that thinking about Mom always seemed to create.

”My parents split up when I was about fifteen,” said Paul. ”I'd seen them fighting, so it didn't surprise me, but it was still challenging. It's hard to accept that our parents are just people, and sometimes it's even harder to accept who those people really are.”