Read Online Early Byrd by Phil Geusz - Free Book Online

to be contradicted, but he said
nothing. Neither did Tim or I—there didn't seem to be any
point.
    Sam frowned then turned to the Canadian man
who seemed to be in charge of it all. Currently he was busy driving
the boat. "Hey, Yukon! You mind if I start debriefing the boys now?
The sooner we get started, the sooner it's done and over with."
    He shrugged. "Suits me, I guess. Be sure to
take notes."
    "Right," Linda agreed, pulling out a
smartphone.
    Then Sam began asking us questions, one
after another. They started out simple, but right from the
beginning I didn't see why we ought to make things any easier for
them. Who were we? Robert Herman and Timothy Scott Smith, I heard
emerge from my lips before Tim had a chance to contradict me. Where
were we from? Boise. How had we become hostages? Because our Dad
was a stinking collaborator!
    "A lawyer from Chicago," Tim added, his eyes
glittering with pleasure as he embroidered our story even further.
After all, Dad always said the only people Americans despised more
than congressmen were big-city lawyers. "He works for the mayor. We
never saw him once after the divorce. He doesn't care about us at
all, I don't think. Just his secretary that he married. That's why
he let them have us as hostages." Tim loved tall tales for their
own sake, and I was rather fond of them myself. I'd told a slightly
different story to Linda earlier, yes. But this new one was so good
she seemed to have forgotten it entirely.
    "That entire city is a nest of
collaborators!" Linda hissed, striking the boat's rail in rage. "A
blight on humanity!" Meanwhile Tim beamed at me, and I pressed my
knee against his, the gesture invisible through the blanket we'd
been given to share. It was our secret way of saying "good job!" to
each other. So long as we told them what they wanted to hear,
they'd unquestioningly accept it as the gospel truth. Adults
usually did, after all, especially the stupid ones. And as for
these particular adults . . . If they'd known how to "think
things all the way through," as Mom had worked so long and hard to
teach us to do, they'd not have been who and what they were to
begin with.
    "We know who the fleabag is," Sam continued.
"We've already convicted the bastard as a war criminal in absentia,
and I expect that once we have proper arrangements in place we'll
be carrying out the judge's sentence."
    "Sentence?" I asked.
    "Death by hanging. It's slow for their
kind—their necks don't break." He sighed. "Though I guess we'll
have to nurse him a little first. No point hanging an unconscious
man." Then he pointed at Mr. Li. "Now, who is he ? And what's
his part in all this?"
    I gulped, but this time Tim was quicker. "He
knows Dad through Chicago University. He's some kind of
sick-ologist or something. Supposedly he's along just to make sure
we get on the ship, but his real job was to learn everything he
could about the Gonther Clan along the way." My brother twisted his
face up like he was thinking extra-hard. "You might even call him a
spy, kind of. On our side."
    "Hrrrmph!" Sam declared, scowling. He didn't
want to believe it, yet we'd already spoken so much self-evident
truth that he had difficulty branding us liars. Then he turned to
Li. "You'd put human kids on an alien ship, Mr. sick-ologist? Leave
them alone to be taken off to god-knows-where and have
who-knows-what done to them?"
    "Someone had to do the job regardless," he
countered. "So why not an expert observer?" Then he shrugged. "I
picked up what I could. Who knows when it may be of use? We have to
learn what we can when we can. No opportunity can be lost if we're
to emerge victorious."
    Sam frowned again. "All right. I almost shot
you out of hand. But now I can see where at least you deserve a
fair trial. Which you'll get, though it'll be awhile."
    "Thank you," Li replied, perfectly sincere
as far as we boys could tell. "Am I allowed to ask under whose
jurisdiction I'm to be tried?"
    Sam blinked. "Don't you know by now?"
    He shook