Free Triskellion 3: The Gathering by Will Peterson Page A

loose in the first place was the right thing to do. If I’d taken my own advice, we’d have them sliced up and bottled in specimen jars – where they belong – by now. And Van der Zee would still be alive, and so would one of our best agents.
And
we might have some conclusive research results!”
    “I think the agent wanted the glory of bringing them in alone,” Crow said, attempting to defend himself.
    “This isn’t about glory. He was your responsibility, Crow.”
    As the director tidied the papers on his desk, Crow felt that his dressing-down was coming to an end. “I’m going to recommend you for a transfer,” the director said, looking up at Crow, who appeared to be holding his breath. “To Alamogordo.”
    Crow was horrified. There were some postings that might have suited him, but being sent to the most secretive Hope Project centre of all, in the middle of the New Mexico desert, was like a death sentence. Once you went to Alamogordo, you never came back from the wilderness. Crow couldn’t speak. He rose from his chair.
    “With immediate effect, Crow,” the director added. “Clear your desk.”
    Crow slunk out of the office, his head hung low.
    “Hey, Crow,” the director called after him. Crow turned back, a look on his face that said he expected his boss to reveal it was all a big joke and that he still had his job in New York.
    “Yes, sir?” he said.
    “Alamogordo’s not so bad.” The director smiled. “I sort of grew up there. So long…”
    Rachel was not satisfied. She could not believe that the apartment was no longer theirs. “I’m going in,” she said.
    “You sure?” Adam asked. But Rachel was already rapping on the door.
    The young woman opened it again, looking exasperated. “What?” she said. “I told you I couldn’t help you.”
    Rachel held the door open and fixed the woman with her eyes, holding her gaze, waiting until she had control. “I know. I’m really sorry,” she said, “but I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if we just looked around.”
    The expression on the woman’s face softened and she began to smile. “Sure,” she said, as if they were old friends. “Come in.” She opened the door wider and the three of them walked in.
    “I’m Rachel, and this is Adam … and Gabriel,” Rachel said.
    “I’m Holly,” the woman said, shaking hands. “And this is Ben.” She pointed to a toddler, who was sitting on the floor, surrounded by toys and building bricks, watching
Sesame Street
– just as Rachel and Adam had in this room ten years or so before.
    “Hi, Ben,” Rachel said.
    “Say hello, Ben,” his mother said. “Sorry, he doesn’t really speak much yet. He’s only just turned two.”
    Ben looked at them, but said nothing.
    Holly led them through the living room and into the kitchen. Rachel’s eyes flicked around, taking in the differ-ences and the similarities. They were certainly the same rooms, but now they were filled with someone else’s taste and furniture. Everything looked so different. The kitchen was the only thing that had remained the same; the industrial cooker and the steel worktops on which they had last eaten their breakfast more than two years before had not changed.
    “Love your kitchen,” Rachel said.
    “Thanks,” Holly said, wiping the surface with her hand. “We left it just as it was when we moved in. We decorated everywhere else.”
    “You don’t have any old letters or bills and stuff from the previous owners, do you?” Adam asked.
    “I don’t think so,” Holly said. “I’ll have a look, though.”
    She went to a cupboard and pulled out a few letters and handed them to Adam. He flicked through the pile; it was mostly free offers for people whose names meant nothing to him.
    “Thanks,” he said, handing them back.
    “Can I get you guys a drink?” Holly asked.
    Although she would have loved one, Rachel felt it was time to go. The apartment was no longer theirs.
    The twins followed Holly back into the sitting room,