printer still works before we go public.â
âFine,â says Sonia, glaring at him. âIâll pick some up at Walmart tomorrow.â And when Connor doesnât back down, Sonia sighs. âYouâre right. But it wonât be easy. There are only a few research universities in the Midwest that still do that sort of research. Major organizations wonât fund it, because people think stem cell research has something to do with embryos, and people are terrified it might reignite Heartland War issues. Even the mention of it brings protests and negative publicity. Of course, adult pluripotent stem cells have nothing to do with embryonic stem cells, but facts never prevent the ignorant from jerking their knees into the groin of science.â
Connor grins. âWell, once we get this thing to work, and into the right hands, we can redirect that knee, hitting the Juvenile Authority and Proactive Citizenry where it counts!â
âI hope I live to see that day,â Sonia says, and pats him on the cheek like a grandmother might. Connor, usually a bit of a touch-me-not, finds it curiously comforting. âIâll find us a place that has a supply of cells,â she tells him. âThe tricky part will be getting them.â
â¢Â  â¢Â  â¢
âWhat the hell are you doing? Stop that! Do you have any idea what those are?â
Sonia has left the trapdoor open a bit longer than usual to help air out the basement, which has gotten noticeably rank. Connor, who takes every chance available to escape the cage, has come upstairs to find Grace at the old steamer trunk. Sheâs opened it and envelopes are spilling out everywhere.
âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry, I didnât mean it, I didnât mean it!â Grace frantically tries to put them back in, but the trunk is sofull, they just topple out again. Itâs like trying to get toothpaste back in the tube.
Connor immediately regrets having yelled at her. He kneels down beside her. âCalm down, Grace.â
âI just wanted to see what was inside, and they all started falling out. I didnât mean it!â
âI know you didnât. Itâs all right. Go downstairs, and Iâll take care of it.â
Grace doesnât need a second invitation. âI gotta stop touching things. Curiosity killed the cat. I gotta stop touching things.â
Grace bounds down the stairs away from the situation, leaving Connor once again alone with the trunk, only this time Pandoraâs box is wide open. He has no idea where Sonia is, and what sheâd say if she saw it like this.
There are hundreds upon hundreds of envelopes, many more than were there when Connor deposited his. The envelopes are mostly white and eggshell, but there is also the occasional colored one, as if Sonia got bored and started giving out brighter stationery to the kids. Each envelope is addressed by hand.
Now that heâs begun, Connor finds he canât stop himself. He begins riffling through the sea of envelopes looking for a familiar address, in familiar handwriting. His envelope was simple white, and is hard to dig out of this snowstorm of correspondence.
âYouâll never find it in there,â Sonia says, coming up behind him, as heâs elbow-deep in the trunk.
He takes his hands out, feeling almost as guilty as Grace had, and sits back on the dusty floor. âHavenât you mailed any of them?â
âNot a one,â Sonia says sadly. âNever had the heart to do it.â
âDid any kids who survived come to take their letter back?â
âNot a one,â Sonia says again. âGuess they had more pressing things to do. If any of them did survive.â
âA lot of them did,â Connor reassures her. âI know because I sent a lot of them on their way when they reached a safe age.â
â You sent them?â says Sonia. âI guess I should ask what youâve been
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