Rise: Populations Crumble, Book 2 by Gandy, A. (animal farm read .TXT) 📗

equipped their best photographers with satellite-linked cameras. Every shot they take is uploaded directly to the media company’s satellite as soon as they hit the button on the back. The signal isn’t great here, but there’s still a chance they got through before we smashed it. Even though the guy’s going to jail for trespassing, they’re all cheering because he got the shot. He’s going to be wealthy when he gets out.” Peter shakes his head, frustration clear.

“I’ll make a call and see if they can do anything to stop it from seeing daylight,” Patrick says calmly. He heads to the front, to make the call from the director’s office. I, however, feel anything but calm.

Royally Screwed

Our plans for a quiet day hiking and planning with Nell and Atlas are soured by the morning’s run-in with the photographer. However, the urge to do something pushes me past my reluctance to run into any more khaki-clad nightmares. Once Atlas and Nell arrive to keep me company, Peter leaves to arrange the guards to ensure we don’t have any repeat fiascos. The three of us are waiting for Patrick to return so we can make our exit.

“I can’t believe somebody’s willing to go to jail to get a picture of you. I mean, you’re pretty and all, but not jail-worthy. No offense,” Nell muses.

“I’m sure it was more the fat wad of money he’s going to earn than my looks that encouraged him,” I say drily.

“I don’t know—I bet it would be big news if you were a hideous shrew. Patrick would be cast in a sympathetic light, doing his duty to further humanity, and the crown, despite your odiousness.” Her dramatics know no ends.

Atlas puts a hand on her shoulder. “Nah, people are going to eat this up. Especially if word gets out about your high match rate or unique genetics.”

My heart falls to my feet. “Oh, no. You don’t think that’s a possibility, do you? We aren’t even supposed to know about that. How would the reporters get wind of it?”

He shrugs. “Same way Glitch did. Not to mention, there’ve been two leaks already. Somebody high up is benefitting from this information getting out, and pushing in the monarchy. From what Patrick has said, it’s not his father. Most likely some well-connected lackey in the office, then, who stands to move up in the new order.”

“I don’t really care who it is; I don’t want my family dragged into this. If word gets out about me being different, they’ll all get dragged through the wringer with me.” I drop my face into my hands. I hadn’t thought about the multi-layered crap storm that would ensue if my new political position came head to head with my genetic anomaly.

Can’t anything go right? How are we supposed to free those women with a security detail, media hounding us, and the Damocles’s sword of my genetics?

Patrick walks back in, and I can tell right away that he’s angry. He strides over to where the three of us wait, and runs his hands through his hair. “Let’s get out of here. I have a lot to tell you,” he says as he meets my eyes. “All of you.”

It takes finagling, but eventually it’s agreed that the four of us, plus Peter and one other guard, are enough to go out on the beach. We brave the buffeting ocean wind, rather than the more protected hiking trails, so that we’re less likely to be overheard by our guard detail.

“So, our lives just got a lot more interesting,” Nell observes, once we’re spread out. Peter trails behind us at a distance, and the other guard, Rolf, is about 30 yards ahead. “How are we supposed to get anything done now?”

“My thoughts exactly,” I agree.

“It’s about to get worse,” Patrick says, his disgruntled voice is barely above a mumble. “I spoke with my mother. The photographer this morning got three shots uploaded before the camera stopped transmitting. So, now, they know where we are, who we are, and what we look like.” He stops talking, and that sinks in for a moment.

“So, what happens now? There’s no way to get NAA One not to run it? Your father’s the prime minister; won’t they do him a favor to protect your privacy?” Nell asks.

His face turns thunderous. “Mom informed me that they’re choosing instead to get ahead of it. Candy Thomas from NAA One will be here, with a full film crew—tomorrow—to interview us for the national news.” He looks at me apologetically. “Apparently we’re about to make our public debut as a couple.” His mouth flattens into a thin line of displeasure.

“So, that’s it, then? Our cover is blown, everyone is going to know where we are, and we’ve already got paparazzi stalking us at the guest house,” I say, still trying to fully grasp the change that’s happening in my life.

“Unfortunately, that about sums it up.” I can hear the simmering anger in his voice.

“But how are we supposed to help those women if we’ve got people watching our every move?” Nell’s question is the same one I’ve been turning over myself, ever since the beginning. Where do we go from here?

“We don’t,” Atlas answers.

“There’s no way we’re leaving them there and forgetting about it!” Nell’s reaction is instant, and heated.

“Didn’t say we were. But we can’t do jack with a twenty-four-seven guard, paparazzi stalking the front gate, and no proof.” His rebuttal quiets us all.

“What do you recommend, Atlas? Even as the prime minister’s son, I can’t haul out an accusation of this magnitude with no proof. It would be too easy for whoever’s running things to make them all disappear. And if they’re willing to drug and impregnate unwilling women, I can imagine what they’d do with them if they knew they’d been caught,” Patrick says.

I shudder, the implication chilling me worse than the cutting wind off the ocean.

“We have to get out of here.”

“That’s what I was afraid you were going to