The Leveller by Julia Durango Page A

huddled in the corner in front of a portable computer stand. Kora is tapping something into the keyboard while Dad and Salvador murmur behind her. Mama Beti sits in an overstuffed chair next to Wyn’s bed, a sturdy metal walker parked nearby. She reaches an arm out to summon me. When I walk over to her she takes my hand in hers.
    â€œYou must find him for me,” Mama Beti says in accented English. “He is not hiding, he is lost. Do you understand me,
linda
?”
    I’m about to remind her my name is Nixy, not Linda, but then I remember from Spanish class that
linda
means “pretty,” and I blush a little bit under her gaze. It is intense, this Mama Beti gaze.
    â€œI’ll find him, I promise,” I tell her.
    She squeezes my hand. “My grandson likes beautiful things. Maybe that will help you search for him. Look,” she commands, sweeping a ropy yet elegant hand through the room.
    I look around Wyn’s room and I see what she means. Though the room is dominated by Wyn’s bed and the IV machine attached to the needle in his arm, now I observe the ocean blue walls and white-painted bookshelves that display a large collection of baubles and seashells, polished rocks and exotic handicrafts, in addition to dozens of books on art and architecture. A huge picture window looks out at the sea. Ihave to admit, Wyn’s room certainly isn’t the typical teenage boy dump I usually encounter: clothes on the floor, empty soda cans, burrito wrappers, posters of sports teams or the TARDIS on the walls (depending), and an oversize computer monitor, extra-smudged.
    â€œSee? Beautiful things, like you,” Mama Beti says. I run a hand through my hair and wonder if Mama Beti is sincere or just working me. I hold her gaze for a moment and decide she’s sincere.
    â€œThank you,” I say, then turn back to Wyn, who lies next to her. If it weren’t for the IV hooked up to him, you’d think the guy was taking the sweetest nap in the world. The corners of his mouth are turned up a bit, as if he’s dreaming of baby dolphins or a basket of kittens, rather than operating a virtual torture maze.
    A servant comes in then, pushing what looks like a portable operating table. Kora directs him to the far end of the room near the bookshelves, but apparently Mama Beti has other plans.
    â€œ
Aquí
, Juanito,” she calls, waving to the area on the other side of her chair. “This way, I look after you both,” she says to me.
    That’s when I realize the operating table is for
me
. Dad sees my face and puts his hands on my shoulders. “There’s still time to say no, Nixy. You don’t have to do this.”
    I glance over at Mama Beti, who is kneading her hands inworry. “I know, Dad, but I’m good at this, you know I am. I’ll give it a try, but can we skip the ER drama?” I ask, pointing to the portable bed.
    Kora chimes in. “It’s just a precaution, Nixy, in case you’re in the MEEP a little longer than expected. Your body will be more comfortable reclined on the hospital bed and we can monitor your vital signs more easily.”
    â€œMy vital signs? Look, I’ll be back within the hour. That’s my thing. Two hours tops. Just tell me how to activate the return frequency once I find him,” I say, looking back at Wyn.
    Now Mr. Salvador speaks. “We’ve programmed an eleven-digit return frequency that you may use at any time. You can access the code from your inventory. Just read the numbers aloud into the MEEPosphere and it will immediately activate your return.”
    â€œWill the same code bring back Wyn?” I ask.
    Mr. Salvador shakes his head. “No, unfortunately. Because he’s tampered with his internal settings, we’re unable to match frequencies with his ear trans. He’ll have to initiate his own return.”
    â€œBut what if he refuses to come back?” I ask.
    Mr. Salvador