AFTER THE PISTONS ON
the massive door hissed and slammed the air-locked pins into place, the room was silent. The door was sealed. Syd and Liam were trapped.
Liam had the urge to remind Syd that he’d known coming here was a bad idea. He’d known from the start this would lead to nothing but trouble. But Syd was stubborn and determined to defy not only the rules of the Reconciliation, but all common good sense.
Liam wanted to curse and spit and yell, although it wasn’t really Syd he was angry at. He never should have allowed Syd to put himself in this position. He never should have allowed Syd to boss him around. If there was anyone Liam should be mad at, it was himself, for letting personal feelings interfere with his work.
And with Cousin, for being a treacherous snake.
Syd stood beside him in front of the door, looking at it. Liam turned to him, hoping he’d at least have a plan for what to do next. Liam wasn’t much for planning.
Before he could open his mouth, however, Syd collapsed onto him, his hand clutching at Liam’s shirt, crying against Liam’s chest. His shoulders heaved with sudden sobs.
This was unexpected.
“Uh . . . um.” Liam didn’t know what was happening. He stood there with his arms open, too afraid to close them around Syd and wanting nothing more than to close them around Syd. “What’s . . . uh . . . wrong?”
He didn’t even know what question to ask, but he was pretty sure, given the circumstances, that was the wrong one.
“Why
did
Knox sacrifice himself for me?” Syd pulled away from Liam. He’d left a wet spot on Liam’s shirt, tears or drool or both. His cheeks were damp, his mouth twisting in an futile attempt to prevent more sobbing. He didn’t look at Liam, didn’t look anywhere, really. He sniffed and shuddered and seemed suddenly so very, very young, even though the two of them were the exact same age. He turned away from Liam.
“Knox gave me his life . . . he died and created this new world, where I’m the one with all the power.” Syd dropped his head. “He gave me his future and what did I do with it? I let them kill the nopes. I let them kill the sick. I’m letting them kill his father.”
“He hated his father,” Liam said.
“That’s not the point!” Syd whirled around, nostrils flared.
Liam cursed himself. He always said the wrong thing. He’d never had to comfort anyone before, at least, not anyone he didn’t intend to kill moments later. He’d never imagined he’d have to comfort Syd. Never imagined he’d get the chance to.
“I’m no savior to anyone,” said Syd.
“But . . .” Liam scrambled for a kind word. “But you’re trying.”
“Am I?” He wiped his face on shirt, tried to regain his composure. He felt ridiculous breaking down in front of Liam. At least his bodyguard did him the favor of avoiding eye contact. “We’re stuck in here, while the only person who might be able to stop this sickness is getting executed. You heard Knox’s dad. It’s my fault everyone is going to die. I should have just stayed in Mountain City and did my time as a proxy. Knox would be alive. My friends would alive. Marie’s parents would be healthy. Now . . . everyone . . .”
Liam couldn’t say what he wanted to. He couldn’t tell Syd it was
his
fault, not Syd’s. He’d been so obsessed with protecting Syd, he’d let Cousin use him. He’d murdered Dr. Khan. He’d destroyed the chance they had to stop this thing. If anyone was to blame for the dying that was to come, it was Liam, not Syd.
Instead, he told him: “We’ll go to Baram. We’ll go to Baram when we get out of here. He’ll know what to do.”
“Go to Baram,” Syd repeated. “All I’m ever good for is getting other people to solve the problems I’ve created.”
“Well, that’s what other people are for, right?” Liam tried. “You can’t do it all alone. There are people who want to help you.
I
want to help you.”
Syd exhaled. He finally looked back at his bodyguard. “Listen, Liam. You and me? Whatever idea you have, it’s not going to happen. I think you should understand that. It’s not possible.”
Liam didn’t say anything.
“I see how you look at me. Guys like us, back in the Mountain City, we were called Chapter Eleven. It was slang for bankrupts. Broke. Guys who couldn’t make anything, didn’t own anything, and never would. And the eleven?”
He held up both his index fingers side by side, knocked them together.
“Get it? Two of the same thing. It didn’t exactly make a person popular. I taught myself to be alone. I thought the whole bankrupt thing was about sex, but it wasn’t. It was about ruin, about being the kind of guy who ruins whatever he touches. That’s what I was. That’s what I still am. You know, everyone I ever cared about has died, violently, because of me. Every connection I ever made got destroyed. So the revolution erased those old labels and gave me this new identity, Yovel, but I’m still the same person. I’m still the Chapter Eleven swampcat who breaks whatever he touches. You think you want that, but you’re wrong. You can do your job if you have to. Protect Yovel. But Syd? He’s not worth it.”
“Syd,” Liam said, but couldn’t say any more because just then, a holo projection appeared in the air in front of them, glowing brightly in the twilight.
Outside the window, another appeared, hovering over the treetops. Then another a few yards beyond that. More and more flickered on, wobbling in the air as far as Liam and Syd could see. Some floated jumbo-sized above the jungle, some hovered half obscured by broken walls, some inside, some outside, visible only by the glow they cast through the windows of residential buildings in the distance.
Syd had never realized there were projectors all over the jungle city before. The technology was outlawed, but not, it seemed, eliminated. It continued to have its uses by those whom the Advisory Council trusted to use it. It was a closed circuit system, not a network, but if it could exist, then maybe . . .
Syd felt a pang of hope. Maybe everything could be restored.
At first the holos simply glowed, but then, the image hovering in the cell came into focus. All the projections outside showed the same thing: a close-up of the face of Eeron Brindle, former chief of the SecuriTech Corporation, directly responsible for the creation and programming of the Guardians, and the grieving father of Syd’s dead patron.
Knox’s father looked directly out from the holo, as if he were staring straight at Syd. The hope in Syd’s heart curdled. The black veins of Brindle’s face throbbed.
“My name is Eeron Brindle,” Knox’s father said. “I served as director of data security and counter-terrorism operations, and later, chief executive officer of the SecuriTech . . . Corp . . . Corp . . . Corporation.”
He cleared his throat. Speaking took effort but he continued.
“I offer my full con . . . con . . . confession. I manipulated the market to favor the terms of creditors. I ignored protocol as . . . p . . . p . . . proxies were punished more severely than necessary. I authorized acts of violence and intimidation to protect the interests of my . . .” His eyes drifted. He was struggling with language. His lips moved without sound and then, he snapped his focus back and spoke quickly. “Clients! To protect my clients at the expense of the people, and I knowingly profited from all of the aforementioned crimes. I do not deny, nor do I repent these things. I have only one regret—” His voice cracked. Sadness replaced defiance. “In my zeal, I sacrificed my own son’s life and for that, I willingly submit myself to this . . .”
It wasn’t clear if he’d forgotten the word “execution” or simply couldn’t bring himself to say it.
The view pulled back to reveal two white-masked Purifiers standing behind him, each holding an electro-muscular disruption stick. They raised their weapons and held them just in front of his ears. He lowered his head.
Cousin was not among them and Liam wondered where the man had gone. Not knowing Cousin’s whereabouts left Liam very uncomfortable.
“We can’t let them do this,” Syd said. “I need to talk to him more!”
Almost as if he could hear Syd, almost as if he knew he was watching, Knox’s father looked up, straight out from the holos: “I’ll see you all soon,” he said, his lips cracking into a grim smirk. “Some of you sooner than—”
The Purifiers cut him off, touching their EMD sticks to his head. Eeron Brindle’s body convulsed; his muscles seized and spasmed uncontrollably. He foamed at the mouth. He dropped dead.
Every holo screen went dark, then disappeared. The sun had set over the jungle and the room itself fell into near–pitch blackness. The only light came from an orb on the high ceiling above them, a ring of green pinpoints of light, flashing in sequence, one by one.
Liam stared at it a moment. “We have to get out of here,” he said.
“They killed him,” Syd muttered. “He could have helped us and they just . . . killed him.”
“We have to find a way out of here,” Liam repeated.
He looked up at the sequence of lights. As they blinked one by one, faster and faster, he watched them, counted the length of the sequence, then did it again. It was shorter the second time.
Syd slumped down against the wall beside the door, not paying any attention to Liam. “He knew this would happen. All along. He knew we’d all die. He knew it.”
“Syd.” Liam turned to him. “I need you to focus here. You’re good with machines, right?”
Syd looked at Liam now, making out the glint of the flashing lights off Liam’s metal hand, the wide pale face staring down at him in the darkness.
Syd shrugged. “I was.”
“Well, you need to be again,” said Liam. “Because we need to get this door open in the next eight minutes.”
“Why?” said Syd. “They already killed Knox’s father. Marie’s parents are as good as dead. All of those people. There’s nothing we can do.”
“That’ll be true if we don’t get out of here.” Liam pointed at the orb on the ceiling. “Because that’s a bomb and in . . . about eight minutes, it is going to ignite all the oxygen in this room and incinerate anyone still inside it.”
Syd looked at the lights flashing on the ceiling, looked at the giant door beside him and the graphene-reinforced window and took a deep breath.
He could give up, stop trying, and let the bomb do its work. He’d avoid the horror that was to come. Or he could stand up off the ground and use the only skill he had to try to save himself, to save Liam, and then, somehow, to save everyone else from the sickness that his own revolution had created.
One of those things was easy, one of them was hard, and one was probably impossible.
It’s your future. Choose.
He grabbed Liam’s hand to lift himself up and get started.
He’d had enough.
He chose.
THE COUNCIL’S MEETING POINT
was in a second-floor ballroom of what used to be a hotel. None of the fancy fixtures remained—they’d been looted at least a hundred years ago—but the space was still grand and intimidating. It had no exterior windows, which also made it ideal from a security perspective.
The Council’s meeting locations changed every day, rotating between a fixed number of places by a complex pattern that was one of the most closely guarded secrets of the Reconciliation. The secret was so closely guarded, in fact, that everyone knew it. So many people knew the pattern and the locations that no one actually believed it could be the real pattern. It was a brilliant tactic, really. Secrecy through transparency. The Council hid in plain sight.
There was a fail-safe, of course. Whenever the Council met, there was that row of armed Purifiers behind them, warding off unwelcome guests.
Marie, at the moment, certainly felt unwelcome.
“Purifier Alvarez, we did not call for you to attend this meeting.” Chairwoman Pei knelt in her usual place at the apex of the semicircle. There were fewer counselors around her than usual. Only three on one side of her and four on the other. Counselor Baram knelt next to her. The bearded old Counselor was scratching the back of his hand, and though his beard covered most of his face, she could see the faint blue shadows of the veins around his eyes beginning to show through. The disease had spread as high as the Council. At least now they would have to hear her out. They would have to do something besides murder the sick.
“I am sorry to intrude on your business of the day,” Marie said loudly. “I felt it was my duty to brief the Council on what I have learned in the hope that my knowledge may be of service to all.”
“Your knowledge of what?” Chairwoman Pei snapped at her, impatient. At first Marie assumed it was a side effect of the chairwoman not feeling well, but looking at her, she showed no signs of sickness. She looked healthy, stern, and unforgiving as ever.
“The infection among the nonoperative entities,” said Marie. “It has spread to the people. At the educational farming cooperative where my parents are”—she cleared her throat, searched for the right word—“studying, everyone has been infected, even the leader of their Purifier unit. The others fled and the conditions are terrible. People are dying.”
“Death is a part of the natural world,” the chairwoman said. “It is not easy to be part of a system of which you are not the master. The patrons fooled themselves for far too long that nature existed for their convenience, but it shook them off like a dog shaking off fleas. We are trying to teach them to live as a part of nature again. Suffering, exhaustion, even death . . . these are parts of the process.”
“It’s past that,” said Marie. “This infection is something else.”
“We are aware,” the chairwoman said. “Thank you for bringing the outbreak at Educational Farming Cooperative Eight to our attention. It will be contained.”
“Contained.” Marie felt a chill. “You mean—?”
“There is no cure,” said Counselor Baram. “I am sorry to say we have suffered a terrible setback in our research. The doctor who was leading our efforts was murdered last week.”
“Murdered?” Marie shook her head. “But . . . there have to be others?”
“The program was secret,” Counselor Baram said. “We decided it would be better to minimize the risk of a panic by limiting knowledge of the disease. Very few knew of this doctor’s work, which we assumed would keep her safe.” He glanced at the chairwoman. “We assumed wrongly, I regret to say.”
“Enough, Counselor Baram,” Chairwoman Pei said. “Purifier Alvarez does not require this information.”
“Secrecy has not served us well,” Counselor Baram replied. “It is time we discuss Dr. Khan’s theories in the open.”
“Her theories were treason,” the chairwoman replied.
Another counselor spoke up. “Madam Chairwoman, if restoring the networks can stop the infection, we have to consider—”
“It is not an option,” Chairwoman Pei interrupted.
“But . . . you can’t just give up on curing the disease?” Marie shook her head. “You’d rather destroy the infected than consider a cure?”
“We will do what is necessary to protect the greater good,” the chairwoman told Marie. She then addressed the other counselors. “A return to the past would doom generations to come. All we have done would be for nothing. I will not condemn our children and their children to the old systems that enslaved us, simply because you all lack the moral strength to get through a challenging time. Will some suffer? Yes. But suffering is the price we pay to break free of history.” She looked back at Marie with a hard stare. “True believers do not have their faith shaken so easily.”
“I believe, but . . .” Marie wanted to argue, but what could she say? She had sacrificed so much to help destroy the old system. Others had lost their families because of the revolution. Why should she be exempt? Could she really let her parents die for some abstract idea about her role in history? And how many others besides her parents would die? Would it be worth it? Who got to decide?
“Your objections, Purifier, are noted,” the chairwoman continued. “But we have other business to attend to this evening.” With a wave of her hands, Chairwoman Pei brought up a holo projection.
Marie hadn’t seen one in months and the sudden glow in the air startled her. With another wave of her hands, a holo appeared along the far wall of the grand room. On the holo was the lined face of Knox’s father, Eeron Brindle, looking out, with two Purifiers by his side.
He spoke and his voice echoed from a thousand other holos scattered through the city: “My name is Eeron Brindle. I served as director of data security and counter-terrorism operations, and later, chief executive officer of the SecuriTech . . . Corp . . . Corp . . . Corporation.” He cleared his throat. “I offer my full con . . . con . . . confession . . .”
Another figure entered the ballroom, a bald man in a Purifier’s uniform. He nodded once at the chairwoman, who nodded back. Marie noticed a smile creep across the chairwoman’s face as she watched the execution on the projection unfold.
“Is this live?” Marie asked.
Everyone ignored her question. She’d been ignorant to think the Council wouldn’t have whatever tech they desired at their disposal. It was the one law of history she began to understand: Even an organization dedicated to equality would find a way to privilege an elite few. For all the chairwoman had just said about the purity of their ideals, the flickering image in the air felt like a stab in her back. If even the Council betrayed its own rules about tech for the sake of convenience, why should she stick by them and lose her parents?
“I manipulated the market to favor the terms of creditors. I ignored protocol as p . . . p . . .” While Eeron Brindle spoke, Counselor Baram stood and excused himself.
“I’m not feeling well,” he addressed the room. “I will be back in a moment.”
As he brushed past Marie, he met her eyes and mouthed a brief word, before he swept past the bald man behind her. She hadn’t been paying close attention, transfixed as she was by the last moments of Knox’s father’s life, so it took her a few seconds to realize the word he’d mouthed in silence to her was “run.”