Chapter Three
The ’keeps were very good at what they did. In short order, Art was ushered at gunpoint into the street, where the black, eight-wheeled armoured personnel carrier waited, its electric motor humming faintly. His father watched grimly from the doorway while his mother followed him out in stunned silence, unable to believe that her son could be in any kind of trouble with the ’keeps. “I’m sure it’s all just a mistake,” she said finally. “Your father will straighten it out in no time—”
“Mary,” said Art’s father, “Be quiet. I’m the one who called the Peacekeepers.”
Art felt as if he’d been clubbed. He blinked stupidly at his father. “What?”
“You heard me.” His father glared at him, his face blotched red with fury. “Did you really think you could get away with watching somethin
