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I had been there when Ro smashed him in the face with his own weapon, knocking him out.

I was there when he fell.

I saw his eyes roll back in his head before anything happened.

No.

He showed me because he knew about me.

He knows about us.

He knows.

“What’s wrong?” Ro tightens his grip on the gun.

“They’ve come for us, Ro.”

“Of course they have. What do you think that was all about back there, on the train? They send out their fat, lazy Sympas to drag us into their stupid Projects, just like the other Remnants. I told the Padre we needed to arm ourselves, we needed better defenses. He wouldn’t listen.”

I shake my head and try again. “They’ve found us, Ro.”

I hold up the boy’s wrist, and I unwrap mine.

The resemblance is undeniable. The distance of the dot from the palm, the size of the mark. Next to each other, we are perfect matches.

Just like Ro and me.

RESEARCH MEMORANDUM: THE HUMANITY PROJECT

CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET / AMBASSADOR EYES ONLY

To: Ambassador Amare

From: Dr. Huxley-Clarke

Subject: Icon Children Mythology

Subtopic: Rager

Catalogue Assignment: Evidence recovered during raid of Rebellion hideout

The following is a reprint of a recovered page, thick, homemade paper, thought to be torn from an anti-Embassy propaganda tract titled Icon Children Exist! Most likely hand-published by a fanatical cult or Grass Rebellion faction.

Text-scan translation follows.

7

A DECISION

“Four dots. You know what this means? There are more, Ro. More than us.” I look at Ro.

Ro studies the boy in my arms. He doesn’t put down his blade. He doesn’t put down the Sympa gun. He grips each more tightly.

I feel a red-hot blaze of pure hatred that I have never felt before. Not from Ro, anyway.

“Three,” Ro finally says.

He points to me. “One.” Himself. “Two.” The boy. “Four. What about Three? What did they do to him?”

The boy says nothing. The boy only looks. He moves his head restlessly, and a moment later I hear why.

Embassy Choppers overhead, closer than before. The blades flap, low and loud. They want to make sure we know they're coming. In force.

“Damn. Damn. Damn,” Ro mutters, wiping his sleeve against his face. “We need more time.”

I look down at the wounded boy and feel his rising panic. “We have to get him out of here.”

Ro’s voice is cold and hard. “Why?”

“Ro.”

“He’s one of them.”

“Look at his wrist, Ro. He couldn’t be one of them, not even if he wanted to be.”

“Why not?” He looks as stubborn as the rock he wants to throw at me right now.

“Because he’s one of us.”

Before Ro can respond, the boy struggles to get to his feet. I push him up from behind, but I can barely pull myself up along with him; he’s all but deadweight.

“Give me my gun,” he croaks. “Now.”

Ro laughs. “I must have hit you harder than I thought. You’re talking nonsense.”

“Give me back my gun. It’s your only chance to survive.”

“Really? What are you threatening me with? The gun you don’t have?”

“I’m trying to save you. They see you with my gun and you’ll die. Both of you.” He doesn’t look back at me. I slide my arms down, letting go of him. Now, just barely, he is standing—swaying—on his own.

“What’s your name, Buttons?” Ro smiles, without a trace of friendliness.

The boy hesitates.

I let my arm fall on his shoulder. “It’s all right. We know you’re from the Embassy. Just tell us who you are.”

“My name is Lucas Amare.”