The child was shivering violently, and his cheeks were streaked with tears. No restraints had been used; there had been no struggle. The child now sat in the corner of the small apartment's guest bedroom, knees drawn up against his chest and back to the wall.The woman watching on a security monitor bit her lip. This was always the worst part, when they brought her a new conscript. She understood the necessity of quick action, of course; the IF's eyes hardly ever left these children from the shuttle's landing to its blast off. When a chance did present itself, the collectors had to act, and act with lightning efficiency. There was no time to be concerned for a child's perception of things. That was her job. But this was when the children were most afraid, and therefore, the most hostile. This was when their indoctrination was still freshest. But the woman was good at her job, and she knew better than to leave the child alone for too long.
She entered the guest bedroom, her footsteps soft. Her clothing was carefully selected; neat, professional, but unthreatening. She closed the door and stood just inside, not approaching the frightened child. She would not apporach until her instincts told her that the child no longer feared her. "Hello, Michael," she said. She had trained her voice through repetition of this ritual a dozen times to be calming, an auditory sympathetic hug. Not that she had to force the emotions behind the sounds; she felt for this child, for all the children they brought her. She never lied to them. These children were much too smart for that. She had to earn their trust, and to do that she had to be perfectly, brutally honest with them. And sometimes that truth hurt them. But they came to trust her nonetheless, because they knew that she would not lie to them, would not tell them anything she did not herself believe.
The child was watching her, but had made no reply but to wipe the moisture from his cheeks. His jaw had hardened, a forced attempt to appear strong to his captor. She understood the mentality. Appear strong and you will find your strength. But he did not appear strong. The child looked scared and alone.
"I'm sorry for what happened, Michael. We would have gotten word to you that you would be rescued if we could have. But there was no way to contact you without tipping them off to our plans. We had to extract you without your foreknowledge for it to work. I'm sorry if you were handled roughly, or if they frightened you. But that's over now. You're safe."
"Where am I?" the child asked, doing a reasonably good job of keeping his voice steady.
"This is a safehouse. We'll be staying here while our transportation out of the country is arranged. It will only be an hour or so. You can sit or lay on the bed if you like. It was made up just for you."
The child looked at the bed. The floors of the apartment were wood, a carefully calculated feature. The children almost always sat on the floor to begin with. But the wood was uncomfortable, and the woman always offered them the bed, and they usually accepted before they left the apartment. It was the first gift a conscript accepted from the woman. In time there would be others. Start small in all things, the woman told other recruiters. Start small and work toward the large things. It is not necessary for a conscript to believe in the cause the first day or month or even year. But it is vital that the conscript believe in the recruiter.
"Where are you taking me?" The child forced himself to look away from the bed.
"We're going to Kiev," the woman replied. "There we'll stay for a few days, and then we'll go someplace safe and stay there for a longer time. You'll even get a vote where we go. What languages do you speak? Is there anyplace you wanted to visit after you escaped that orbital prison?"
A seed here, a seed there. Must be gentle or the soil will reject them. Subtlety is best.
The child disliked the reference to Battle School being a prison, and clenched his jaw, looking at the wall. Which was fine. Early seeds were the last to bloom, but only because they were planted deep.
"I escape from there too, you know," she said, angling her head in an attempt to see his eyes.
The child slowly turned his head toward her. "You went to Battle School?"
She nodded. "Years ago. And I was rescued when I came down for Earthside leave as well. A kind man stood where I'm standing, in a different room in a different country, and said a lot of the things I'm saying to you now. And at first I didn't believe him. At first I was afraid to even think that he might be telling the truth. Wouldn't it make me a traitor to think those thoughts?"
The child said nothing, just looked at her, but he was interested, and that was important.
"You'll come to understand slowly, Michael, and I'm not going to rush you. You'll discover the truth about the world at your own pace. But I'll be at your side for it. I'm your friend." She decided to switch tracks while she still had the child's attention. "Are you hungry? Let me get you something from the kitchen."
She turned to go.
"What's your name?" The child hesitated then, knowing he had betrayed his interest. "I mean, I might have heard of you."
She smiled. "I doubt it. I didn't leave much of a mark. My name is Naomi. Pleased to meet you, Michael." She exited the room.