Icons by Margaret Stohl Read Free Book Online

just the two of us—alongside a bony litter of tired dogs and sheep? That I could no more kiss him than I could one of Biggest’s pigs?
    Is that also true?
    I close my eyes and try to imagine kissing Ro. I imagine his lips on mine. His lips, the same ones that have spit pomegranate seeds straight into my mouth.
    They’re soft
, I find myself remembering.
    They’d be soft
, I find myself thinking.
At least, softer than his ears
.
    I am afraid to open my eyes. I feel his hands on my waist, as if we are dancing. I feel him slowly pulling me toward him.
    I let myself be pulled.
    Almost.
    Then I hear someone moaning, and I remember we aren’t alone.
    The Sympa soldier is waking up.

RESEARCH MEMORANDUM: THE HUMANITY PROJECT
    CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET / AMBASSADOR EYES ONLY
    To: Ambassador Amare
    Subject: Rebellion Recruitment and Indoctrination Materials
    Catalogue Assignment: Evidence recovered during raid of Rebellion hideout
    According to our intelligence, Rebellion recruits are made to memorize and recite the following verse, morning and night:



6
FOUR DOTS
    I open my eyes. “Ro,” I hiss. But he’s let go of me before I can say it, and is grabbing the gun out of the water. The reality of where we are comes flooding back. The sandy rocks beneath us seem that much sharper, the shallow rush of empty tides that much colder. Our watery cave—just a small indentation in the grassy shoreline—offers no protection at all.
    Not against the Embassies and their armies.
    Not for long.
    The Sympa’s eyes flutter open.
    Beneath soggy strands of wet hair, they are the same color as the hills behind the Mission—green and gray—but also flecked with gold. Hope and sadness. That’s how he looks to me. Like a rare coin half buried in the ocean floor. A bit of warm metal that somehow catches the light, even from so far below the surface of the waves.
    I’m staring. I can’t help it. My heart is pounding.I reach toward his face, marveling. His features are the opposite of Ro’s; where Ro is thick brushstrokes and harsh lines, everything about this boy is precise and fine. He’s muscled and compact, where Ro is strong and broad. His bones fit together like someone hammered them out of precious metals, blew them out of glass.
    “Hey—” Ro shouts. He raises the gun high over his head, ready to strike. I pull my eyes away from the Sympa, my hand away from his face.
    “Stop it. You don’t have to. He’s hurt enough.”
    Ro lowers the gun. Then I realize he isn’t listening to me. He’s aiming.
    “Please,” says the Sympa, though half his head is underwater, and his mouth bubbles, choking when he speaks. “Don’t kill me. I can help.”
    “Why would you help? You’re the one hunting us.”
    The Sympa has no answer for that.
    I splash closer to him in the water, careful to stay between him and Ro’s gun.
    “Dol, come on. Get out of the way and let me do this. He’s playing us. It’s a trick.”
    “How do you know?”
    He looks from me to the Sympa. “Can you get anything off him? Feel him out?”
    I lean closer to the Sympa, picking up his cold hand from the water.
    I close my eyes and try to feel what he is feeling.
    For the first time, I feel something equal to Ro’s spark—equally strong.
    I feel both of them, and it’s not hard to sort out the emotions.
    Hatred and anger, from Ro.
    Fear and confusion, from the boy.
    And another thing.
    Something I encounter very rarely.
    It bubbles up and out, radiating from him, filling the cave. I can practically see it.
    I recognize it for what it is, only because I have felt it for Ro, and felt it in Ro. Ro and the Padre. Sometimes in Bigger and Biggest.
    Love.
    My head is pounding. I drop the boy’s hand, pushing my palms against my temples, as hard as I can. I force myself to breathe until I can get the feelings back under control, just barely. Until the bright whiteness recedes.
    Then I open my eyes, gasping.
    “Ro—” I can barely speak.
    “What is it? What did