by Platt, Sean
“The Astrals are strong because they’re ‘one,’” she said. “That’s how it felt on the ship. Looking back, that made me feel like all of this was futile. How could we ever pull one over on them if they were so eminently logical and worked so smoothly as a unit? They couldn’t be scared like we could because their perspective was so different. They couldn’t be provoked or made to feel pity for disconnected, incomplete beings like us. And they couldn’t be angered.” She said the last with a knowing glance.
“Like they got angry at Little Cottonwood Canyon.”
“And like they got angry at the gate. Like that shadow … Cam, I’d swear it somehow made them angry. It made them disagree. It made their perfect culture of harmony want to fight itself.”
Cameron looked down. Away. Back at Piper. They had to make it to the Apex. There was no way. Unless there somehow was.
“So what is it? What can get inside their heads like that, Piper?”
“I keep coming back to the question of whether it’s already inside their heads,” Piper said. “And if that’s the case, we don’t need to decide if it’s good or bad for us as much as finding the truth of something else.”
“What’s that?”
“Whether it’s the chicken,” Piper said, “or the egg.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Meyer found his cufflinks in the bedroom. He didn’t need them for his meeting with Nathan Andreus, but he put them on anyway. A professional front was never a bad idea. He was humanity’s spokesman — a bridge between the Astrals and people like Andreus. A way to show those who wanted to play along that they were all, ultimately, sharing the same side.
There would always be dissenters. People who thought they knew best, despite abundant evidence to the contrary. Meyer’s old life had been filled with them: those in charge of companies that had stood in his way, even dissenting opinions at Fable Studios, whose salaries Meyer paid. Healthy debate was acceptable. A good idea even. But once objections were addressed, people had to understand where certain slices of bread were buttered.
Meyer supposed he’d forgotten that the other day. He was only human. But after the Astrals had patched him up, he’d made sure to get his shit straight.
But even thinking back on those incidents was uncomfortable. It made Meyer want to fidget. It made him want to check the length of his cuffs. It made him want to cross his legs right over left after they’d been perfectly content left over right. It made him want to pace, the way he used to while sorting things out.
Why had he done it? It bothered him that Heather’s questions had no acceptable answers. He’d given her responses that made sense … but they weren’t precisely accurate. Or at least not the whole truth. He’d been irrational to the point of insanity. He’d upended sense for no reason and couldn’t replicate the moment of stupidity, even as a hypothetical, inside his mind. It was a bit like calling someone for a faulty appliance, only the technician arrives to find the appliance working just fine. You can’t fix a problem that refuses to appear.
Meyer closed his eyes in the bedroom, fingers trailing across the viceroy cufflinks. With his lantern off, the backs of his eyelids were black, not even noticing the Apex’s cycles as it powered up and prepared to broadcast in concert with its worldwide brothers.
He conjured the memory, which still felt fresh like dripping blood. He remembered running upstairs. He remembered seeing Raj sitting on Heather’s back with that dumb look on his face. That had seemed wrong; he’d told him to get off. Then Lila had appeared, and Meyer had …
He had …
He squeezed his eyelids tighter, trying to step into the memory. He knew what came next; the recollection was whole and easy. He’d taken the gun full of Terrence’s tranquilizer darts, and he’d fired them into Raj’s chest. Into Raj’s tough canvas shirt that had blunted all but the tips from scratching him.
But why? It was so irrational. So stupid. So contrary to what was obviously the best course of action. Look how things had turned out: He’d run; he’d allied with those who were now bound in captivity and likely meant for execution; he’d attempted in vain to betray a force that held the planet quite firmly and couldn’t, in any meaningful way, be subverted; he’d nearly got himself killed. He hadn’t saved Heather, Lila, or Clara so much as thrown them in danger. It was as dumb and ill-thought-out an action as whatever Piper had done (though for that, the Astrals were to blame) and what Trevor had done, in running with her.
Meyer thought of Lila, who’d caused all of this. She’d stared at him. She’d said words meant to cut him. But he was smarter than to fall for them, wasn’t he?
There was nothing. No understanding. No light on his own actions, as if they’d been perpetrated by someone else. Someone stupid.
Meyer opened his eyes. Clara was sitting on his bed.
“Hi, Grandpa.”
“Hello, Clara,” Meyer said, feeling an involuntary smile touch his lips. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“I got out of bed. Mom was scared.”
There was a twitch of something inside Meyer. Something that felt like it had meaning, but then it was gone.
“Why was she scared, Sweet Pea?”
“Grandma is acting funny. The lights are off.” Clara shrugged. “She’s just … scared.”
Meyer watched the girl. He should be astonished by everything about her, but he’d grown used to it all. She walked and held herself like a five-year-old and spoke better than half of the city’s human leaders. She had, it sometimes seemed, more insight into the Astrals than Meyer himself. It was how she was, and nobody questioned it anymore.
“I’m sorry to hear that, honey.”
Clara shifted on the bed. “I don’t want to leave our house, Mister.”
“‘Mister’?”
“‘Grandpa,’” Clara corrected.
Meyer scrunched his brow. He decided to let it pass. It was hardly the strangest thing the girl had ever said.
“You don’t have to leave.”
“I think we will. I’ve already packed.” She indicated a small teddy bear backpack Meyer hadn’t noticed. It was on the floor beside her. He hadn’t seen her put it there — but then again, he hadn’t seen or heard her enter the room, either, and it wasn’t like his eyes had been closed long. His ears, in fact, hadn’t been closed at all.
“Who said you had to leave?”
“Grandma Piper.” Clara made a small wave, correcting herself. “Not that she knows it yet.”
“‘Yet’? Clara, who have you been talking to? Did you overhear something Mo said? Because whatever he might have said wasn’t for your ea—”
“I haven’t seen Mr. Weir,” Clara interrupted.
“Then—”
“I’m bored. Do you want to play a game?”
Meyer watched the girl’s eyes. They were shockingly blue, like Piper’s. Like those of the stepgrandmother who’d told Clara that she’d need to leave home, even though Piper herself apparently didn’t know it. Yet.
“I can’t. I have a guest coming.” He forced a patronizing smile, but it didn’t come easy.
“Who?” And Meyer thought, What, you don’t know?
“Someone who helps me protect the city.”
“Like Captain Jons?”
“Sort of. Except that he protects the area outside the fence. The Astrals can’t do it all. They need human partners to help out. Like me, and like Mr. Andreus.”
“Oh, okay.”
“And you should be in bed anyway. It’s late, Clara.”
She hopped down from the bed. The sound of her slippers against the floor made a noise like a clap. She picked up the small backpack, letting it dangle from a hand. Meyer thought she might repeat her question about moving, but Clara said nothing.
“Okay. I guess.”
“G’night, Clara.”
“Good night, Mister.”
Meyer felt the same strange expression form on his face, accompanied by an unknown sensation in his gut. He hugged her, scar
ed to ask what he wanted to.
“Have fun talking to your friend who’s coming,” Clara said, turning toward the door.
“I will. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
Clara yawned. When her plodding feet reached the door, she turned halfway.
“Ask him about Uncle Trevor,” she said.
Chapter Forty-Four
Christopher found Terrence alone with his guards in the network center. The guard unit was composed of five humans and two Titans — not a Reptar in sight. That must be Meyer reasserting his command, pushing the Raj regime right out the window … while, apparently, punching it repeatedly in the face.
Passing them with a nod of acknowledgement, it occurred to Christopher that the guards — the human ones, anyway — might have been poisoned against him. Raj had been mouthing off everywhere all night long, it seemed, and he might have blabbed. The guards might have heard stories of Christopher’s disloyalty. But even though Raj seemed to have attained a new, listen-to-me edge, Christopher doubted the guards had accepted it. Their necks weren’t nearly as much on the line.
The looks Christopher got seemed to confirm it. Guards allowed him entry with respect, giving him distance. The Titans stayed far back, respectful and deferential as always.
He gave them all one final glance then sat beside Terrence in a way that hopefully seemed appropriately suspicious. The man was a prisoner and traitor, after all.
“I haven’t seen him in a while,” Terrence said. “Raj, I mean.”
“How’s the network fix going?” Christopher asked. He made his voice artificially loud so the guards would hear then raised one eyebrow, hoping Terrence would get his meaning.
Terrence seemed to. “I’ve been waiting for Raj to come back. I can’t do more until I get access to the network spindle,” he answered, also in full voice.
“I’ll take you to it. It’s in the annex. Don’t try anything.” Then Christopher rose, taking Terrence by the arm in a way that was perhaps a bit too rough — but better to put on a decent show rather than anything unconvincing. Then he half dragged Terrence through the door, into a smaller room next door. Beating the guards to the punch, he ordered them to line up outside the door, looking in, keeping their guns ready just in case.
Once they were pushed back into the annex, Christopher lowered his voice and said, “What’s a network spindle?”
“I made it up.”
“Here.” Christopher handed Terrence a tiny screwdriver from his clutch of tools. “Open this panel, and try to look busy.”
“What if Raj comes back? You try to feed him ‘network spindle’, and he’ll arrest you, too.”
Christopher frowned. “He’s down at the police station, trying to dig up dirt. I radio’d up myself before he came back last time, had some of my men confiscate the commander’s tablet before he got back because he was under suspicion. But it’s only temporary, until Raj shakes enough cages and gets it back. I’m afraid the ship’s sailed on my innocence. Raj says he has evidence against me. Both of us together, it sounds like. I think he has cameras. That’s why I dragged you in here. Maybe we can actually talk without making things worse.”
Terrence’s gaze flicked to the guards.
“I can’t spring you, T. The guards like me a lot better than Raj, but the Titans won’t let it happen. They’re not that stupid.”
“I can’t do what Raj wants. He won’t listen. Canned Heat isn’t like a normal virus. It consumes. It was supposed to do it selectively, eating through what they’ve firewalled. I figured they’d cut off the new connections, but we’d get our chance. Instead, it spread. There’s no undoing this, but he refuses to buy it.”
Christopher nodded. “He’s desperate. Dangerous. Did Meyer really beat him up?”
“Jesus, Chris, did he. You should have seen it.”
“Why? What happened?”
“He just stormed in. But you know he supposedly shot Meyer. I’d want to beat up the shooter, too.” There was more, but Terrence didn’t continue. As with Christopher, the perfectly logical “he tried to kill me” excuse wasn’t ringing true as Meyer’s motive.
“Look. Cameron’s in the city. Cameron and Piper.”
“Like Lila said?” Terrence looked surprised.
“Clara said,” Christopher corrected, nodding.
“Where are they?”
“A safe place.” Christopher looked around the room, trying to help Terrence’s hands look busy to the guards. Raj had hooks in him. He probably would have explained further, but if he did and Raj was listening, axes would fall.
“They weren’t picked up by the Astrals?”
“Something happened out there. Have you seen what’s going on with the Apex?”
“I saw a flash.”
“Well, something’s going on with them, too. They … hell, they started to change somehow, T. Fought like a bunch of football hooligans.” He shook his head. “I don’t like it.”
“Sounds like it’s working out, if they’re safe.”
“But why?” Again, Christopher looked at the guards. “Terrence, your Canned Heat … could it affect them, too? Whatever shit connects their ships to each other?”
“I don’t see how. I mean, it looks like they’ve piggybacked off our ground- and satellite-based networks, but they communicate all through space without our help.”
“But … could it infect them? It’s a virus.”
“No. It only destroys, and they still have plenty of power.” Terrence’s eyes went to the window. “More power, maybe. Tell you the truth: Since that flash, it’s occurred to me that I might have helped them as much as hurting us. I don’t think their shuttles can talk to each other right now, same for the little surveillance droids the others mentioned before the network blacked out. They’re fast enough that they don’t need to — they can fly wherever in no time and talk in person, if that’s a thing for them. If they’re drawing more power into the Apex, that gives them an advantage. Especially if they’re planning …” Terrence trailed off, aborting his ominous what-if.
“Cameron said there’s a mothership over Utah again. Where his dad was.”
“Did the mothership destroy the lab?”
“I don’t know.”
Terrence looked up. “Because you said ‘was.’ ‘Where his dad was,’ past tense.”
“He’s dead.” Christopher sighed. “Benjamin is dead.”
“Shit.”
“A lot of their people. The rebel thing I mentioned, that Jons told me about? It was them. They got a thing.” Christopher paused again before describing the key and the idea of the weapon, wary of revealing too much for ears in the walls. But then he added, “Trevor too.”
Terrence closed his eyes and shook his head. “Hell. I liked Trevor.”
Christopher bobbed his head grimly. He’d liked Trevor too. A lot. But there wasn’t time to mourn with so much still in the balance.
“But the mothership. Cameron said it’s … I don’t know … leeching power from this underground plug. Like it’s charging up, back in Moab.”
“Why?”
“That was what I was hoping you’d have thoughts on, Terrence.”
Terrence shook it off. “Same question. They’re probably planning something if they’re powering up.”
“Look, they need to get …” Christopher paused, but there was no way to convey the information without simply saying it. “They need to get into it. Into the Apex. Is there any way to clear a path from where you’re—”
“Forget it,” Terrence said. “First, I’d have no way to affect that. Any of that, and certainly not with Raj’s oversight. But there’s a bigger problem.”
“What?”
Terrence pulled something from his tool bag. It looked like a 1990s-era phone — something with alligator clips on one end, old like a repairman might have carried before Christopher was born.
“I can hear your radio transmissions,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Well, hav
en’t you been listening?”
“I’ve had it off.”
“Turn it on when you get out of here. You’ll see. It sounds like they’re swarming the Apex. Forget about being kept out. Cameron and Piper would be mobbed. Like fighting through a crowd, from the sounds of it.”
“Why?”
“I’m hearing human talk, not Astrals. So you tell me; you’re the one in uniform.”
“Something to do with the ‘powering up?’”
“No idea. But it’s occurred to me that—”
A voice from the doorway: “Well, isn’t this a nice little reunion?”
It was Raj, with a tablet in his hand.
Chapter Forty-Five
The viceroy was taller than Nathan expected.
Usually, people who appeared to be larger than life — and Dempsey was certainly one of those, both before and after Astral Day — earned their size through the media’s flattering eye. There had always been tall actors, politicians, and leaders, but more often than not, anecdotes said that meeting them in person was disappointing.
Not so for Meyer Dempsey. He was several inches taller than Nathan, firm in bearing, and with a strange look in his eye that Nathan, who was used to intimidating his way through negotiations, felt himself wanting to flinch from.
No wonder some people said that Dempsey was a god. He’d been scooped up by aliens and returned like Lazarus. He’d risen to power in an obvious fashion, as if he’d always intended to be and everyone had expected it of him. His presence was unflinching. And, if the murmurs he’d heard on his way in were true, the man might have been shot, before emerging from death unscathed.
“Come in, Mr. Andreus.” Meyer nodded to the man who’d led Andreus in. Then the man left, and he gestured at the seats. Nathan took one, careful to select the highest and largest. That was how you took command of a discussion: by sitting in the room’s obvious throne.