I was snuggled up in Archer's arms the next morning feeling better than I had felt in a long time. His arms wrapped around me with warmth. I traced my fingers along his perfectly copper skin. This is what peace felt like. It was almost easy, in that moment, to forget about everything else.
A little groan from Archer told me the moment was over as he woke. His grasp released me as he stretched out.
"How did you sleep?" I asked.
"Better than when I am alone," he smiled at me. My stomach did a weird twist as my face began to heat up. I looked away from his hazel eyes with embarrassment. "How did you sleep?"
"Surprisingly well considering my life was being squeezed out of me all night," I joked. He laughed. "I have been thinking."
"About?" Archer continued to lay beside me as we spoke.
"How Herald said the Macallister was his son. We can't have children."
"Maybe it's in the documents." Archer shrugged. "He had hand written notes in there."
We went back to our findings from the night before with fresh new thoughts. Archer continued to read each thing he picked up while I only searched for papers that could have shown me exactly what I had been wondering. If Harold knew who his true family was, and he had received it from the system, then I would be able to know too.
"Listen to this," Archer said as he picked up one of Harold's hand written notes. "It's somewhat of a quickly scribbled guide to his papers. Down near the bottom, it mentions birth records and it has a number forty-two next to it."
"That must mean it is paper number forty-two of his findings," I said with excitement.
"But they are not numbered," Archer pointed out. I tried not to let that deter me from finding it. I picked up a sheet, checking the top and bottom of the paragraphs, nothing. Each corner did not have a label to it. I flipped it over. In the right-hand corner was a very small marking. I looked harder. It was the number seven. A huge grin spread across my face. I point at it for Archer to see. "I guess I was wrong."
"I figured you would be," I laughed at him. Neither of us liked to be wrong. We flipped over each paper in turn. I was the one to find it. The bottom was ripped off brutally. I held it up. In small block letters it said:
Birth Record and Gene Line
as of 8566: Generation 3
genetic code used: 4 times
2823
3119
3457
3798
"Macallister is one of four that are classified under him?" Archer asked.
"Yes," I said. "He was born with a number."
"So which one is he?"
"He has to be 3798. All numbers are three years apart. Macallister is too young to be any of the others." I stood up. "I have too many questions. I want to speak with Harold."
*
*
Harold was not one that was hard to find. It seemed he spent most of his time in the library. Either that, or he knew we would come searching for more answers. In the end, it just made everything more convenient.
The old man sat at a glass table with a book open. He was smiling to himself as his eyes raked in every word. He turned the page. He laughed at something it said before continuing on his adventure. Harold had no idea we were watching him let alone that we were in the same room. He was absorbed. I knew what he was feeling and, for that reason, I could not pull him out of it no matter how many things I wanted to be answered.
When Archer seemed to want to interject I stopped him. I shook my head and mouthed 'leave him be.'
I grabbed two random books. I handed one to Archer and I held on to the other. We took a seat near him, but not too near, so that we would not disturb him. I gestured for Archer to start reading but instead, he intently watched Harold as if he were analyzing everything about him. I understood this process but not to the extent that Archer did. He had been trained to read people. He had been trained very well, actually, to judge character. So he watched while I read.
The book was a small thing, a short story it said on the front along with the title, and I found it wonderful. It was about a boy traveling through the wildness. He lived there without any other humans, just wolves. It was almost like he was one of them.
"I have read the one before," Harold's voice pulled me out of my own imagination. "But reading books is not why you are here." He gave a pointed look at Archer who had not even touched his. "Obviously."
"We're here because of this." I held up the paper. It had been crumpled up at one point but had been flattened back out. Despite the efforts to lay it with the other papers it still had a permanent crease in it. The bottom looked like it had been ripped from somethings grip.
Harold sighed. "Yes, that. The proof the Macallister is my son."
"And so are the other three." Archer raised his eyebrows.
Harold sat with us as he prepared to give us his story. "In truth, I could have stolen many more documents than what I did. But I became selfish. I was fifty years old, I was lonely, and I knew that I would soon have to go into hiding due to my plan.
While the documents were printing I decided to look up if my genetics had been used to create any children. I discovered that there were four. Miraculously, one of them just so happened to be born that year. The other three were too old for me to take; they were already in school. They would be easier to find than a baby who had not yet developed distinct features.
I printed that paper over others. I knew that it meant I lost valuable information I could have used in the future but I had decided to make my own plan."
"You printed the paper and then what happened?" I asked. I pointed at the destroyed bottom.
"It was almost done when I knew I was running out of time. So I ripped it out of the machine and ran with everything I had." Harold took the paper. "After stashing the documents I put this one in my pocket. I didn't really think of anything else. I went to the nursery, they label each crib with their number, and I searched for him. There was no way to me to tell from the paper what kind of child I would be getting, not the gender and not the color, I was not the only person who went into the child after all."
"And it turned out to be Macallister," Archer sighed.
"He was sitting there with a pile of dark black hair and pale skin. He wasn't crying. Not even a sound from him." The old man smiled. "He was so small, maybe a few weeks old, and I knew I would do anything to take him with me. And that's what I did."
"No one searched?" I asked.
"Look around, Remi." Harold opened his arms wide. "Have any of us been found?"
"Not yet," Archer grumbled. He did not seem as touched by the tale as I was. "Did they use your DNA for anything else, you think?"
"Absolutely not. They put into the system that you are a bad mix and they ensure it is never used again."
My heart sank. There would be nothing created with me. That meant that also would be no creation with Archer. The likelihood that they would have chosen to put us two together in the first place was almost nonexistent. There was still hope that I had another family, like those in the forest, and so did Archer; even if it was not under natural circumstances.
"I never found out who his mother was, all I know is that he looks nothing like me which means he looks everything like her." Harold shook his head.
"Well, wouldn't you like to know more?" I leaned towards him with excitement.
"I would but I am old," he smiled. "And, as much as I hate to admit it, I am tired."
"Macallister could do it for you," I said without thinking. "And, of course, we could too."
Harold smiled. He had someone find his son for him.
*
*
"If we are considering this dangerous task to recover more of the files," he shook his head as if this was beyond anything he could have ever imagined. "We need to tread carefully. The last thing we want is to be captured."
"The last thing we want is to be captured." Archer agreed. I swallowed hard. My hands sat clammy in my lap. I had come up with the idea, just like it seemed I often did, but I did not think it entirely through before I had blurted it out loud. I could only hope it would not be a death sentence.
"In this case, the more we know about the security and our plan will not kill us. What we do not know, on the other hand, will kill us."
"Or get us tortured before they kill us," Macallister sighed.
I knew that Harold had called it selfish when he looked for his family history instead of retrieving more files but I intended to do it anyway. I was going to get Archer's as well as my own. And what I could for Macallister.
So there we sat around a glass table in the library and plotted out our plan.