“I’m sorry,” Mica said.

I had been looking down at the ground for the past few minutes after my outburst and had half expected Nathan or Piper to open the door after I said what I did. Obviously, this conversation was going nowhere. Why not just let me out now?

Mica’s apology had come as quite a surprise.

I looked up at her. She was still sitting in her chair, looking much calmer now, as if she had finally accepted that I wasn’t there to torture or interrogate her. Maybe my tears or my confession had softened my appearance in her eyes. Or maybe she was conflicted about saying such hateful things about an entire class of people, only to realize she was talking to one of them directly.

“Thank you,” I said.

“But now your daughter has better opportunities for her future,” she said.

I felt a stab of anger shoot through my chest. But I closed my eyes and let it pass. I was talking to a woman who worked for the very agency that was taking and redistributing our children. Of course she wouldn’t see this from my point of view. And I had to hold back my emotions and find a way to connect with her if I had any hope of getting her to tell me something important.

“I can’t argue with that. But as a mother, you could probably understand how hard that is to come to terms with,” I said.

I didn’t know if Mica was a mother or not. But she was definitely the right age for it, and she seemed to have pretty strong opinions on children and their best interests, so it felt like a safe bet.

“Actually… no,” Mica responded hesitantly.

I looked at her inquisitively.

“My husband and I tried to have our own. But it turns out that I can’t,” Mica finished.

I was surprised by the admission. It was a blaringly personal statement.

“But you work for the Ministry,” I said incredulously. “You can easily adopt instead, right?”

“Not everyone has the money for that,” she responded, looking down.

Wait… what? A Ministry executive couldn’t afford adoption? If she couldn’t, then who could?

Mica seemed to guess at the questions I was considering in my head.

“Children should have the best start in life. I understand that their needs come above my selfish desires,” she told me matter-of-factly.

It sounded like a script she had rehearsed before. Almost like she had had to convince herself of the statement at one point.

“Children need their parents,” I replied. “If it was truly about giving the child the best start they could get, the regime would support their real parents in providing for their children.”

Mica rolled her eyes. “That’s a really nice sentiment, Robin. Maybe in a perfect world it would work.”

“Don’t you and your husband live comfortably?” I asked. I was genuinely curious now. “Why wouldn’t you be suitable parents? How is it that you couldn’t afford it?”

“It’s not up to me to determine what is best for this nation. Just like it’s not up to you,” she responded.

“Mica, I saw Smally. There were so many children there. So many children without families. Why are they better off in a holding center than with their parents? Or even people like you and your husband? Why has the government made it so expensive that people like you can’t help?”

“Smally isn’t usually so busy,” she replied. “The volume is new, and the government will work it out.”

A light flicked on in my head. Mica was talking about Smally now. We were actually getting somewhere in our conversation. If we could keep talking about this, maybe Mica would say something that we could use as we searched the government systems. Maybe I’d actually succeed at this.

“Why is it busier all of a sudden?” I asked, praying she wouldn’t catch on.

“Because more children deserve the opportunity to do better in life, Robin. We shouldn’t restrict a brighter future from children just because they were four years old or older.”

Four years old or older. We had seen evidence of this ourselves back in Smally. The government wasn’t playing by its own rules anymore; they were supposed to only take children up to the age of three.

“We’re not just talking about little kids, Mica. I saw school-aged children in the holding centers. I saw teenagers. And they didn’t look grateful. They looked scared. They looked angry.”

I remembered the young girl who had glared at me through a window. Smally and all of the other holding centers must have been chock full of hatred like that, hatred from kids who knew and loved their parents and then were ripped away from their homes. How could you reintegrate a child with that much anger into a new home? It didn’t seem like a positive adoption experience for the child or the adoptive family. So why do it?

“Helping Hands has done a great job of mitigating those issues. It’s a learning curve, but they’re there to help the kids, and there have been fewer attacks as a result,” Mica said.

“Attacks?” I asked. Kids were attacking people in there? And what was Helping Hands?

Mica looked like she realized her mistake and began to shake her head slowly.

“Some attacks on staff are just to be expected, Robin. These are kids from poor, volatile backgrounds. They have to be taught how to adjust to polite society.”

“These kids are attacking staff because they’re angry and scared, and you don’t see how they could be better off just staying with their birth parents?” I asked her, my eyes narrowing.

Mica didn’t speak. Instead, she fiddled with her hands in her lap.

“Would you adopt one of those angry teenagers?” I asked. I tried to soften my voice to make my point more palatable. “Would you risk your safety to give them a home? If not, who will take them in?”

“That’s what Helping Hands is for. They get shelter and an education and job training,” Mica offered. “That’s more than they ever would’ve gotten with their parents.”

“Why does the government have to relocate children to holding centers to provide job training and education? Why not just add more schools to the factory towns?” I asked.

Mica looked confused. “The government isn’t doing that. Helping Hands is a private organization that is willing to help. It’s not a government organization.”

Helping Hands wasn’t a government agency?

“So, you’re taking children away from their homes and into a realm with no government oversight?” I asked.

Mica looked appalled at my reasoning. “A private welfare organization funded by philanthropists and generous benefactors wants to take a load off the taxpayers and do a good deed, and you’re questioning that?” she asked incredulously. “Helping Hands is a wonderful organization. I can understand why your group has been poisoned against the regime, but how could you be anti-charity?”

I thought about the implication. The government was taking kids who were old enough to be angry and aggressive due to their situation. Smally staff had even been subject to physical attacks. It made sense that the government would need a way to separate these “troubled” kids from the others. And the regime was always trying to maximize its profits in less-than-noble ways, like heavy taxation on the poor classes. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine they’d outsource this service if it could save them money.

It wasn’t a stretch to imagine they’d outsource it, but then dictate what was done.

The problem wasn’t Helping Hands. The problem was the government.

Behind Mica, a light suddenly flashed on the video camera that was feeding back to the control room. Mica didn’t seem to notice. But I took it as a cue; the team must’ve decided that they had gotten what they needed. It was time to wrap it up.

I turned back to Mica.

“Mica, I don’t agree with you. But I know that you must have your reasons. And I hope one day you can understand ours.”

I turned back to the mirror in anticipation of the door opening again.

“Wait. Are you leaving?” Mica asked.

I turned back to her. Some of the fear had returned to her eyes. Had my presence been comforting to her?

“Yes. But like I said, you’re going home today,” I said.

I suddenly felt very bad for her. Her personal life seemed pained. She was a hostage in a city that she thought was filled with terrorists. And, I realized uneasily, she probably had just enjoyed having someone to talk to after all of the fear and uncertainty she had been subjected to.

And honestly, I had needed the conversation as well. I had to remind myself on occasion that these people—the Ministry executives, the government workers, the people who tried to capture us and turn us in because we’d been labeled terrorists—weren’t really the bad guys. The Regime were the bad guys. These people were just buying in to the propaganda.

The wall cracked again suddenly, indicating that the door was opening, and I walked toward it.

A hand tugged me back. I turned quickly, preparing myself for an attack. But Mica was standing beside me looking small and vulnerable. Not aggressive.

“Robin,” she began.

Piper walked into the room.

“Come on, Robin. That will do,” he said casually, not looking at Mica at all.

I turned back to Mica. Her eyes were wide and wild, and I could see her pulse beating furiously in her thin, pale neck.

I grabbed her hands.

“Mica, you’re safe. No one is going to hurt you. I promise.”

I turned and exited the room with Piper. He opened his mouth to speak, but the door sealed behind us and I quickly cut him off.

“Promise me she’ll be safe,” I said.

Piper looked taken aback, even slightly offended.

“Robin,” he began.

“Promise me!” I interrupted him, my voice rising.

“Robin, I assure you, this woman and all of her colleagues will be safe,” Nathan said.

Piper smiled at me. “I’m taking them to the drop-off location myself, Robin. You have nothing to fear,” he said.

“It’s okay, Robin,” Corona added.

I nodded, then tried to gather myself and make a report. The conversation had left me feeling mentally and emotionally drained, and it was difficult to decide whether I’d even gotten anything of value.

Corona, seeing my struggle, put a hand up. “We could hear you on the monitors,” she said. “And now we have some places to start searching. Some issues to look for. Well done, Robin.”

I began to slowly shake my head in confusion. “Where will you start searching?” I asked. I felt like the conversation hadn’t accomplished as much as they needed. Mica had confirmed that the government was taking kids older than three, but we had already seen that with our own eyes back in Smally.

I tried to think back to new information I had gleaned from the conversation. The only thing that came to mind was…

“Helping Hands,” I said suddenly. “Have you ever heard of this group?”

“No,” Nathan answered. “And I’m suspicious about their cause. The Burchard Regime isn’t charitable by nature. I don’t buy the claim that the regime is just trying to provide for these kids by bringing in training and therapy for them—even if they’re doing it through a charity.”

“Yes, it seems like Helping Hands would be new. Like they only started operating once the government realized it had bitten off more than it could chew,” Corona said.

“You have the new team of executives in Smally, though,” I said. “Can’t you ask them about Helping Hands?”

“We have to handle any correspondence between ourselves and that team very gently. They’d be in terrible danger if they could be traced back to us,” Corona reminded me.

“We are giving them time to settle in and establish trust with their peers and directors before we even think about communicating with them,” Nathan added.

Right. I’d already known that part. The virus that let us into the government systems was the bigger part of the Artemis Protocol, anyhow. Having spies in the holding centers was less about having spies and more about having people in control.

Though, I still didn’t understand why that part was so important.

“We can start looking for information about Helping Hands now,” Corona continued. “If there is a nefarious reason for this outsourcing, we should know about it soon.”

I nodded solemnly. “I’m glad I could be of assistance,” I said.

I was dying to return to my room. I wanted to eat something and then stand in a hot shower for a while to clear my thoughts and melt the tension out of my muscles. Luckily, Nathan seemed to pick up on that.

“Robin, thank you for your help today. We have a place to start in our search. We knew you could pull it off,” he said, clapping a hand on my back.

I smiled weakly in return.

Corona and Piper smiled at me in thanks, and, when no one made a move, I walked to the elevator alone. Obviously the three of them had some talking to do.

I cast a final glance at the spider-webbed mirror outside of Mica’s room as the elevator doors closed.

Good luck, Mica, I thought. I hope you make it home safely.

When I got back to my room, Nelson was waiting for me.

“We didn’t discuss the archives,” I told her immediately.

Nelson looked disappointed, but also relieved, and I recounted the events of the interrogation to her: Mica’s inability to adopt, her admission that the older kids were causing issues in Smally, the mysterious presence of a welfare group that was helping “rehabilitate” these stolen children…

“How could a Ministry executive not be qualified to adopt?” Nelson asked after I was finished with the story.

I shook my head. I had been wondering the same thing. What was the motive behind limiting qualified adoptive families? Why would the government want more children in their care, while at the same time limiting the number of families that could adopt them?

“I wonder how many kids over three are being seized,” I said.

That thought had been troubling me more than any other. I couldn’t imagine a five-year-old, who knew and loved his parents, being stolen away and placed in a holding center. Those children must be so confused and scared. The thought was too painful to entertain.

“And why,” Nelson added. “What’s the point of taking in so many kids if it’s just going to be a financial burden to shelter and feed them? What is the regime gaining from keeping so many children in holding centers?”

“Well,” I said after a pause, “at least now we have a place to start searching for answers.”

The government was doing something that looked awfully suspicious. And for the first time, we knew where to look for answers.

We needed to know more about Helping Hands.