Stealing Time by Rebecca Bowyer (acx book reading .txt) 📕

“Why Daniel?”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“Why would they take older kids who can fendfor themselves, from a middle-class district, rather than youngerkids with more years on their Chips from poorer neighbourhoodswhere it’s less likely to make headlines? It doesn’t makesense.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever accused thosemonsters of being sensible, Marisa. Maybe they’re just not verybright.”

“Or maybe they’re trying to make apoint.”

“What point? That dying young is awful?”

Marisa looked away in frustration, annoyedat Varya for not being receptive to the idea and annoyed at herselffor not having thought it out more.

Babies and toddlers were the logicalchildren to take to maximise the number of years left to drain fromthe Chips. But they were harder to snatch, rarely left unattended.They were also harder to return unnoticed. The returning was smart,she’d always thought, in a macabre kind of way. It left no pile ofbodies, but everyone was so focused on the trauma of the dyingchild, they didn’t have a chance to ask for details of thekidnappers. Not that the returned children could have told themmuch anyway, apart from vague memories of a drugged haze.

Varya waited for Marisa to say somethingmore. When she didn’t, she turned on her heel and returned to thekitchen, not waiting for her employee to follow. Marisa took hertime to collect herself. She could hear murmuring in the kitchenand strained to identify the other voice. It wasn’t Zoe’s voice, asshe’d expected. Too low. She dared to hope that, after all theseyears, Varya had finally agreed to ask Sebastian for help.

It was the rational thing to do. Other cureshad been pushed through the labs at a satisfactory rate. Kir’s curewas still languishing in the unsolved mysteries bucket after morethan four long years. There was no guarantee that Sebastian couldprovide the breakthrough that Varya needed, but it was the nextlogical step. Marisa continued listening to the voices, calm and incontrol, and wondered if Varya had become a little too comfortablewith having her son and mother preserved in a living museum. Shepushed herself off the wall where she had slumped and trudged upthe apartment’s short hallway.

The small, round dining table held a sea ofpapers and clips which Connor and Varya pushed around, turned, andexchanged at regular intervals. Varya looked up briefly butreturned her eyes to the papers before she spoke.

“I shopped for ingredients, they’re in thefridge. Recipes for the week are in the folder.”

Marisa pursed her lips and wriggled hernose. Varya was an easy boss and some-time friend, as long as youdidn’t second guess her. Question her judgement and she would shutdown, just like this. Marisa resolved to try to keep any furtherthoughts about the time thefts to herself, focus on stashing awaymoney for her retirement and getting out of here.

She flicked through the recipes Varya hadbookmarked. Pizza with tomato sauce and pepperoni but no herbs,just as Kir liked it. Spaghetti with expensive meat sauce, but withadded pureed vegetables – enough to provide extra nutrients but notenough so that Kir would notice it. Kir didn’t like vegetables,which was kind of fine when you were only four years old for oneyear, but not so great when your fussiness was artificiallyextended beyond the usual age thresholds. And for sweets: freshlybaked donuts with jam in the middle. The exact same strawberry andraspberry jam that you could only find at one particular monthlymarket just outside of the city. The market that Varya made time togo to every single month.

“Have you called Sebastian yet?” Marisaventured, with more confidence in her tone than she felt.

“No. Why would I need to call Sebastian?”Varya asked in a slightly strained voice, still shuffling andarranging papers. “Do you feel, in any way, in imminentdanger?”

Connor stopped his shuffling and looked up,alerted to the tension between the two women. Marisa slapped awooden board down on the counter and started to assemble the doughin a bowl next to it.

“Oh, you know. I just thought maybe he mightknow something about that time transfer technology thing youmentioned before. Not that I’d know anything about that, of course,just making conversation.” She measured and poured the water andstarted to fold in the flour, her back to Varya.

“I’m sure I don’t need his help with that,”Varya retorted stiffly. “If he knew anything about it, he wouldhave already offered it up.”

“Varya!” Marisa was done with beingdiplomatic. It was never her strong suit.

“What?”

Marisa spun to face her, floury hands stillpoised over the glass bowl. “Yesterday you finally agreed to let metry to find Sebastian to ask for his help. Then he just waltzesinto your apartment, and now you’ve changed your mind?”

Varya avoided Marisa’s glare, staring at thekickboards of the cabinets. She took a breath. Her fingers rubbedat the paper she was holding.

“I don’t need his… advice, as such. I justneed his access.”

Marisa frowned. “His access? You mean likepasswords or something?” She looked to Connor for help. Heshrugged.

“He doesn’t know the time transfertechnology still exists. But he does have access to where it wasstored.”

“So, tell him to go and get it!” Marisashouted.

She shook her head sadly. “It’s not thatsimple.”

“Yes, actually, it is.” Marisa picked upVarya’s phone from the counter and stomped over to hand it to her,shedding flour on her clean pants. “Call him.”

Varya took the phone with her fingertips andlaid it down carefully on the table, then started to brush at theflour dust on her lap. “I don’t need to,” she said. “I’ve alreadyarranged to meet him this afternoon.”

The fury drained from Marisa. She leanedagainst the bench and watched Varya. She felt tired.

“You’re not going to tell him, are you?”

Varya shook her head slightly. “There’s noneed to.”

Marisa closed her eyes. “How many moresecrets are you going to keep from him?”

“As many as necessary.”

Chapter twenty-nine

Daniel

“And this is Yappy Dog, and this is Teresa theWonder Sheep, and this is Rooster.” Kir patted each one of hisstuffed friends on the head. “Say hello to Daniel!” He turned andgrinned.

“That’s not a rooster. It’s a hen.” Danielpointed to the rotund fluffy ball with a chewed-up bit of orangematerial hanging from its beak. “It doesn’t have a comb.”

Kir blinked, crestfallen.

“You know, the bit that