The Future Chosen [was Anti-Dynasty/Extraordinary]

Broken Chapter 2

Making his way to Callemara would be difficult, but not impossible.

The inaccessibility of the island hospital was its main selling point, its reason for being. It wasn't a facility for emergency care; people went there to recover in private, reveal their vulnerabilities and the little humiliations of physical sickness to no one who wasn't bound to secrecy, and return to their respective power centers in Isla totally restored.

His checklist of difficult but not impossible things to do:

One, secure seven to ten days of time for himself. That alone would have prevented him from acting on this, because one day alone, much less seven, miraculous at ten, was a dream. A joke. An urban legend passed around 513, like the one about the administration agreeing to hold a prom. It was the stupidest thing and no one believed it. It was also the stupidest thing that everyone secretly hoped was true.

Dear God. A prom. They were being groomed to run the nation and all they wanted was a dance.
And yet he needed his days. Where to find them? He had work for the Senator, obligations to the Policy Center, a security detail, and nightly dinners with family that were actually strategy sessions in five courses.

It was Emil who came up with the solution.

"My house," he said.

Emil, the closest Andres had to a best friend and ally, his buddy from 513. Emil, who was always ready when he needed to say he was somewhere else, because he was with Lourdes at the time. It was easier to do though when they were teenagers and less people were watching him.

"It can't be your house," he said, but already he was entertaining the thought, starting to hope. "You live down the street from me."

Emil shook his head. "My other house. In the mountains. A strategy session, five days long. Secret committee. Our eyes only."

Emil had done this before, naturally, used "secret committee meeting" as a cover for card games and drinking binges at his house in the mountains. Andres had been to one, thinking he'd be in for a night of debauchery, but it really did just feature card games and drinking. Emil's needs were simple, when it came down to it.

"Ten days," Andres bargained. His family did trust Emil's; they'd been connected for at least two generations. If this were ever unmasked as one of Emil's ill-advised gatherings, his family would forgive the indiscretion and not see anything past it. He hoped.

"You're insane. No one holds a secret committee session for that long," Emil said.

"I'll come up with something."

"They'll suspect we were drinking and whoring through most of it."

"So be it."

It dawned on Emil that moment what the ten days were for. "All right then. The suspicion of you with prostitutes would be better than what you actually have in mind."

"Exactly."

So Andres got his ten days.

Two, he needed aerial access to Callemara itself. There was a ferry twice daily, but the journey was four hours each way, and he'd have to interact with too many people getting in and out. Most of Callemara's patients came in through the air, on their own private transport.

Contacting Lala was Emil's idea.

She was Gabriela Vera-Fortunata now, married, and head of nursing and staff at the largest hospital in the country. They'd been friends, before. She was at 513 until circumstances in her own family made her ineligible to serve, so she chose another kind of service instead. He wouldn't have thought of her but for discovering she was married. It would have been awkward; she was considered by his family as a match for him. He wasn't sure how much she knew about it.

He approached her the very same day, with Emil.

"He needs to get to Callemara without anyone finding out," Emil said.

The conversation, in Lala's private office, wasn't even five minutes old yet. Andres hadn't yet spoken a word. But she looked at him, and then at Emil, and looked at something on her calendar.

She knew what this was for.

"I beg you," Andres said, "not to say anything."

Lala smiled. She looked like she was trying not to let it be wider than it was. "I'm not saying anything now." She started scribbling on a slip of paper, then handed it to him. The ink on it was wet, and a dark brown color. Like dried blood, he thought with some discomfort. "This is the transport you need to be on. I'll make sure they let you in. Good luck, Andy."

Not so difficult after all.