The Indigo Thief Read online

  The Indigo Thief

  Jay Budgett

  Copyright © 2014 Jay Budgett

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Councilman Plumb was already seven minutes late to the meeting when a whimpering Gracie rubbed her muzzle against his checkered tweed jacket, as if she could smell the acrid scent of death that would soon coat its fabric.

  Plumb patted Gracie a final time, chalked her whimpers up to nerves, and shut the door to his room behind him. He jabbed the elevator call button three times and waited for its steel doors to open wide like jaws and carry him to the sixth-floor conference room.

  As he studied his reflection in the mirrored elevator doors, he imagined the look that would appear on his son’s face when the eleven-year-old saw Gracie’s soft chocolate coat for the first time. Shawn had been asking for a dog for years now, but his mom’s allergies had always made that impossible. It had been eight months since Abigail passed, however, and Plumb decided a dog would do the boy well.

  He’d intended to surprise Shawn with the eight-week-old Lab last night, but the chancellor had scheduled an emergency meeting for this morning—something to do with the Lost Boys—and he’d been forced to stay an extra day away from home. The surprise would have to wait until tonight, when he returned home to Moku Lani.

  Plumb glanced at his watch—it was 7:25. Right about now Shawn would be finishing an episode of “Captain Ultimatum’s Aquatic Adventures” and slurping milk from his bowl of cereal, corn flake remnants bobbing about like abandoned islands. In fifteen minutes, he’d leave for the station with his six-year-old sister, Sandra, and ride the Pacific Northwestern Tube to Kauai Central Station.

  The two would arrive at the Kauai Private Children’s Academy at 8:30, and Shawn would start his day with thirty minutes of speech therapy. After four years, his stutter was almost entirely gone.

  Thinking of his children soothed Plumb for a happy minute. The elevator’s chime interrupted his thoughts; he’d reached the sixth floor.

  He hurried down the hall, knocking twice before slipping into the conference room; he prayed the chancellor wouldn’t reprimand him too harshly for his tardiness.

  Chancellor Hackner, however, ignored his entrance entirely, requested a cup of his favorite Earl Grey, and calmly issued an order.

  “Blow up the Pacific Northwestern Tube,” he said, patting a strand of his black hair into place. He was well built, with a broad chest and wide shoulders. Thick brows framed his eyes, and his jawline was as sharp as a razor.

  He smoothed the edge of his pinstriped suit and glanced around the room, smiling politely at Plumb. Plumb tried to mask his horror, but immediately felt sick.

  The other council members nodded in agreement—blowing up the Pacific Northwestern Tube was the only option. The Minister of Defense & Patriotism had already approved the order. The threat needed to be contained.

  The Hawaiian Federation would not fall.

  Hackner leaned back in his seat. “So, we’re in agreement, then? We’ll blow it up to stop the Lost Boys? Will someone make a motion?”

  Councilman Plumb cleared his throat at the end of the table, drops of sweat forming on his brow. “Mr. Chancellor, with—with all due respect—and I do mean you respect, I assure you, sir—I’m not sure that’s such a, uh, good idea.” Plumb’s voice cracked with his final words.

  The other council members spoke in hushed whispers. Disagreeing with the chancellor just wasn’t done, and when it was, the punishment was severe.

  Hackner cracked his neck to the right, and his vertebrae echoed their satisfaction. “And why’s that, Councilman Plumb?”

  Plumb’s face turned red. More drops of sweat gathered along his knitted brow, joined together, rolled down his cheeks, and landed among the hairs of his bushy mustache.

  “M-Mr. Chancellor, I’m—I’m afraid I just don’t think it’s right. Th-thousands of people ride that Tube every morning. To get to Kauai or transfer to other islands… Maybe blowing it up would make sense if there were more Tubes, but it’s the only one from Moku Lani. It—it just wouldn’t be right. I wasn’t elected to approve something like this.”

  Plumb held the Moku Lani seat on the council. Moku Lani was a rocky wasteland, bought centuries ago from a private family and renamed Moku Lani from Niihau. If the island didn’t hold the headquarters of the Ministry of Nuclear Affairs, it might’ve been forgotten altogether.

  Hackner curled his lip in disgust as sweat coated Plumb’s mustache like frosting. “What would you have us do then, Minister Plumb? Let the Lost Boys get away? Again?”

  Plumb shook his head. “We could’ve captured them in Kauai—it was the Ministry that let them get away.”

  “The Ministry of Health and the Kauai police successfully stopped a raid with no loss of Indigo. If we fail to detonate the bombs, I’m afraid you won’t be able to say the same. We have a shipment of two thousand vaccines on that subway, my dear man. It’s in your province. It’s your responsibility to get it out.”

  The others council members murmured their agreement. Plumb shoved a finger between his neck and collar, loosening his tie. “Mr. Chancellor, please! I—I just think there’s a better way—”

  Hackner glanced at his watch—he had an appointment in thirty minutes. Was it Margaret or Savannah this morning? Perhaps April. He scratched his head. Maybe Stacy.

  “I’m afraid, Councilman Plumb,” his lips curled into a smile, “there is no other option. We’ll issue the order and the bombs will go off at 8:15 precisely. Our sources have informed us that the Lost Boys will be on the Tube en route to Kauai Central Station at that time.”

  Plumb’s lip quivered. His breath came in spurts. “We can’t do it! You’re wrong! There MUST be another way! Something, ANYTHING—”

  “There is no other way. These are not regular criminals. They are Lost Boys, Councilman. Terrorists. Enemies of the state.”

  “But, Mr. Chancellor, there will be THOUSANDS of people on the Tube at that time! Kids, too! Think of the children!”

  Hackner was unmoved. “If left unchecked, the Lost Boys will become absolutely lethal. You remember what happened to the United States, don’t you? And the rest of the world?”

  “I wasn’t elected to kill innocent people.”

  “You were elected to serve your country, Plumb. Protect the world’s last sovereign nation from any and all threats. The Lost Boys have the pote
ntial to tear this country apart—”

  “They’re just kids! Are they even old enough to be vaccinated?”

  Hackner smirked. “You’d know about kids, wouldn’t you? What was your boy’s name again? Sh-Sh-Sh-Shawn was it? With the stutter?”

  “You’re sick,” Plumb whispered. “You’re so sick.”

  Hackner thumbed absentmindedly through a stack of papers. “Don’t your kids go to school on Kauai? Which I assume requires them to ride the Tube every morning?”

  Plumb squeezed his eyes shut. “PLEASE, Mr. Chancellor! Please just let me tell them not to get on the Tube—”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We cannot afford to let the plan slip. The Lost Boys might find out. They have eyes everywhere.”

  Tears mixed with sweat and rolled down Plumb’s cheeks. “Please, Mr. Chancellor. I’m begging you.”

  Hackner’s throat was parched. He turned to the other council members. “Could someone see about my tea? I’m terribly thirsty—”

  Plumb slammed his fists on the table. “THE PUBLIC WILL FIND OUT ABOUT THIS!”

  Hackner turned slowly back to Plumb, a slight lift of his eyebrows the only indication that he’d even noticed the outburst. “You don’t know what the Lost Boys are capable of. They’ll bring this entire country down. We must find them at any and all costs. The public will not find out the truth about the Tube.”

  “THEY WILL FIND OUT THE TRUTH BECAUSE I’LL TELL THEM!”

  Hackner pushed a button beneath the conference table. Security would be here in seconds. He smiled at Plumb’s glittering mustache. “The truth is hardly relevant.”

  The doors burst open and Plumb’s eyes went wild as guards dressed in black and green cuffed his hands. Hackner thumbed through his papers and sighed. “Euthanize him.”

  One of the guards plunged a needle into Plumb’s neck. His eyes immediately rolled back into his head, and his face lost all color. Briefly, a smile floated across his lips. Then his corpse slammed onto the conference table.

  Hackner watched the other council’s members fidget in their seats as they struggled not to look disturbed. “Councilman Plumb lied about his age and forged his birth certificate. His Indigo vaccine wore off and the Carcinogens ate away at his brain. We’ll have Margaret issue a regretful statement to the public about this terrible loss this afternoon.”

  A guard hovered nearby, clutching a cup of tea in a shaking hand. Hackner stretched himself over Plumb’s corpse, grabbed the cup, and sipped the Earl Grey slowly as his face relaxed into a smile.

  Per his recommendation, the Council voted to send in the Federal guards after the bombs were detonated. To try and find the Lost Boys. Hackner also suggested turning off the nets and letting the megalodons have at the wreckage a bit. The thought of corpses rising from the corals made him nervous. The Council agreed.

  At five minutes to eight, Hackner made his way to the chancellor’s chambers. He’d have to be quick to make it to his bedroom in time for his appointment. A green orb roughly the size of a basketball flashed brightly on his desk, a single cord extending from its base to the closet.

  The ConSynth.

  A cool voice called from the orb’s depths—Miranda. “I’m not happy, Hackner. It’s been five months and the threats have yet to be neutralized. Five entire months.”

  Hackner leaned against the desk and stared into the orb’s swirling depths. “I’m doing the best I can, but what’d you expect? Half the Council are idiots.”

  The voice moved from the orb to a chaise lounge across from the desk. “I expected progress, Hackner. Not chicken shit.”

  The ConSynth never failed to disturb him. It was the stuff of nightmares—formulated by engineers in the days before the Final World War. Mad scientists, the lot of them. A person could drain their consciousness from their body and upload their mind to the orb’s processor, allowing them to exist forever in a state of suspended animation, while gaining the ability to project perfect holograms—not fuzzy like those used elsewhere in the Federation—of their old body in the process. The resulting image was eerily real; in the early days of working with Miranda, he’d had to reach out and touch her once or twice, just to confirm that she wasn’t really there.

  She lay sprawled out across the lounge, her bleached blond pixie cut contrasting with her signature sapphire suit. There was a tightness that spread across her cheeks, making her face look like it had been pulled taut with a paperclip. Her haunting blue-gray eyes pierced him from where she sat.

  “Results, Hackner,” she said. “That’s what I want you to focus on in the coming weeks.”

  “Miranda, darling,” he started, “let’s be reasonable.”

  Hairs stood up on the back of his neck. The chaise lounge sat empty. He heard, but didn’t feel, her breathing behind him. “I’m always reasonable, Hackner,” she said.

  His appointment was in five minutes—he had to get out. Had to pacify Miranda. The woman was persuasive. She had to be. She brought down the whole damn world—started the Final World War, centuries ago. Ended it, too.

  He grabbed his briefcase. “We’ll talk later. I’ve got a meeting in five.”

  She pounded a bony fist on his desk. Her suit flashed green. “Results, Hackner.”

  She was next to him now, whispering in his ear. “That’s all I’m after. Kill Phoenix. Kill the other Lost Boys. And kill half the damned Federation, if that’s what it takes. The world almost ended once. It could happen again.”

  He squeezed his briefcase and nodded. “You’re right, Miranda. Absolutely right.”

  “Three years,” she said, her voice returning to the ConSynth’s depths. “That’s all it takes. Three years and you can wash your hands of this place like the men before you.”

  She was right. He only had three more years as chancellor. Then she’d promised him freedom. His lips twisted into a grin. “Looking forward to it, Miranda.”

  Three years could still be a long time.

  “And Hackner?” she called as he pulled open his chamber doors. A chill ran down his spine. The ConSynth glowed green. “The megalodons were a nice touch.”

  He shut the door behind him and steadied his breathing in the hall. He thought of Plumb’s white face and his cold, dead hands, and reminded himself that there were things in this world much worse than death.

  Chapter 2

  Turning fifteen in the Hawaiian Federation was a pretty big deal, mostly because it meant there was a good chance I wasn’t going to die. Sure, there was always the off chance I’d keel over in the waiting room, die with only moments between me and my Indigo vaccination. But those kinds of deaths were few and far between, and most of us only knew a few kids who that happened to.

  I’d made it to fifteen. I could count myself as one of the lucky ones who’d survived to adulthood. One of the sixty-seven percent of kids who beat the Carcinogens, and got to live a long happy life before their euthanization at fifty.

  One of the survivors.

  With a rattle, the subway pulled out of the station and dove into the glass cylinder that was the Pacific Northwestern Tube. The underwater Tubes were the quickest way to go from one island to the other, five times faster than traveling by boat. They carried people between islands like pipes carried water.

  Most islands had many Tubes, but since Moku Lani was the least populated, we just had the one—the Pacific Northwestern. It had subway tracks, instead of car lanes, and always smelled vaguely like feet. Charming.

  On the Tube, it only took twenty minutes to get to the closest vaccination clinic on Kauai. The Feds hadn’t bothered putting any clinics on Moku Lani, since it was essentially just a giant rock. They’d drilled into its core a couple of centuries ago to create subterranean levels, which they now used mostly for nuclear energy experiments and marine research. Otherwise, the place was pretty desolate.

  Moku Lani was a quiet place to grow up, but not the greatest. There was a Buster’s Burgers, but nothing else really. Some kids sniffed glue f
or fun. I could hardly blame them. It was easier than wondering which friend the Carcinogens would get next. And if they weren’t getting your friends, wondering when they’d get you.

  I tried to get Mom to come to my vaccination, but she was too terrified to ride the Tube anymore. She hadn’t done it since Dad died. I don’t think she was particularly fond of being basically twenty thousand leagues under the sea.

  She was more interested in researching sharks—megalodons, specifically (think great whites on steroids)—than transportation. She couldn’t appreciate the photosynthetic plankton that glowed like stars beyond the Tube’s glass. They were the closest things we had to real stars anymore. The smog and clouds—which had smothered the islands ever since humanity’s fall in the Final World War—had darkened the world, exiling the old stars to occasional fleeting glimpses and history books.

  Mom always made a big deal out of birthdays. A really big deal. She celebrated birthdays the way most people celebrated weddings., and today was no exception. I’d started my morning by finding approximately two million sticky notes decorating the door of my room, with cheesy messages laced with all sorts of Mom-isms. “HAPPY FIFTEENTH BIRTHDAY TO MY BABY!” “YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE!” “EVERY DAY YOU MAKE ME PROUD TO BE YOUR MOM!”

  I was pretty lucky to have her. We’d only gotten closer since Dad died.

  Screens bubbled at the top of the subway’s doors. A news reporter sporting a fearsome unibrow flashed across one.

  “Good morning,” she said, “I’m Priscilla Gurley and the time is eight o’clock. Today’s top story: LOST BOYS STILL LOST.”

  The press got smarter everyday.

  Mom might not have been able to come, but she’d sent Charlie with me. That was probably the next best thing. And if I was being honest, it might even have been better. Charlie had also just gotten her vaccination a few months ago.

  Charlie pushed a strand of dark brown hair away from my eyes, then crossed and uncrossed her legs. She was antsy. “You nervous?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “Nah. I’ve made it this far, right? I’m one of the winners. Just a couple hours now.”