Swipe

had even said hello when they arrived after Mr. Arbitor’s call.
    Erin was off in a side room, being questioned separately. They wanted her story first. No doubt Mr. Arbitor planned to use hers as fact. Logan’s would have to try and measure up.
    After what seemed like an endless wait, Erin finally returned and stood sheepishly in front of Logan. Her arms were crossed and she was shaking a little, as if she were very cold.
    “They’re chalking it up to temporary insanity,” she whispered. “Just the flash pellet part. Because I begged them to. The rest . . . you’re on your own. But I think we’re gonna be okay.”
    Logan’s father turned to Erin as she spoke, but he said nothing. Logan’s mother did not move or flinch. Logan wondered if she was even breathing.
    “That’s good,” Logan said. “Thanks.”
    “I think they realized they need us,” Erin said, and she couldn’t help smiling, just a little.
    Mr. Arbitor entered. His cheeks were still stained with purple streaks, and his head was wrapped with an ice packet. “Logan Langly,” he said. “Please come with me.”

    Logan sat with his hands cuffed and resting on the table in front of him. The room was dim, and bare, and freezing. A floor-to-ceiling mirror took up one entire wall, and Logan wondered how many people were watching from the other side.
    “We now know,” Mr. Arbitor said, “that Peck is working with a group. Do you know the name of this group, Logan Langly? What they call themselves?”
    “The Dust,” Logan said.
    “Any ideas why Peck would have chosen that name?”
    Logan shook his head.
    “Then I will tell you. Because it is important that you know what we are dealing with, here. It is important that you know the stakes.”
    Logan nodded.
    “You see, Logan, ‘Markless’ is . . . a newer term. More . . . politically correct. In the early days, the Markless were known, simply, as Dust .”
    “Why ‘Dust’?”
    “The discarded people, Logan. Invisible. The ones who’d slipped through the cracks . . . and gathered . . . forgotten.”
    “Why would Peck take on a name that insults him?”
    “Because Peck is a symbol , Logan Langly. Of a movement that exists in this country. And I believe he and his friends have taken that name, Dust , along with all the others we’ve given them— miser , piker , skinflint , tightwad . . . to remind us that they are not forgotten. To tell us they are not afraid.
    “They are a counterculture, Logan. One that believes in the eradication of the Mark Program started by General Lamson and Chancellor Cylis after the Unity. One that stands against everything we’ve been working toward.”
    “Why?” Logan asked.
    “I’ll ask the questions from here on out.”
    Mr. Arbitor paced now, like a predator eyeing his prey.
    “Tell me, Logan. When did you first meet my daughter, Erin Arbitor?”
    “Almost a month ago,” Logan said. “The first day of school at Spokie.”
    “Go on.”
    “I met her at lunch. She wasn’t much interested in me. But then we shared a class at the end of the day. I walked her home.”
    “Why? You barely knew her.”
    Logan blushed. “I thought she was pretty, sir.”
    “She is pretty.” Mr. Arbitor nodded. “Glad to know you intend on telling me the truth.”
    “I do, sir.” Logan shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed.
    “And at what point did you convince my daughter to commit the treasonous act of searching through my private home files?”
    Logan cleared his throat. “I didn’t, sir. I didn’t convince her to do anything.”
    Mr. Arbitor raised an eyebrow, suggesting that this had not been the right answer.
    “What I did, sir, was tell your daughter about my sister.”
    “And what about your sister did you tell her?”
    “I’d noticed Erin’s Mark. I’d noticed it was new. I told her I was Pledging myself in November.” Upon seeing the look on Mr. Arbitor’s face, Logan added, “Or . . . at least I plan to. Anyway, I told Erin I was nervous about the whole thing. Because my sister . . . she was what I guess you call . . . a flunkee.”
    Mr. Arbitor was still. Logan wondered how much Erin had already told him. He wondered how much Mr. Arbitor had already figured out on his own. Logan hoped he was saying the right things.
    “It killed her. I never saw her again. An accident, DOME told us. I guess it happens sometimes.”
    “Rarely,” Mr. Arbitor said. “Very rarely.”
    “So when I told Erin I’d been a little paranoid ever since, that I