by Platt, Sean
“Jeanine!”
“Don’t just sit there playing nurse, Peers! Search his pockets! Search his desk!” Jeanine snapped her fingers in front of Kamal’s face, tapped his cheeks, called his name louder.
Peers scrambled along Kamal’s side as he rolled slightly on the floor, consciousness barely hanging on. Jeanine took the opposite side, moving to his other set of pockets. They searched pants, shirt, and suit jacket. But of course they found nothing. Because any keys he’d have, if the man was Mullah, would look like any other keys. Unless he had the ring key — which, come to think of it, he’d have to because there’d been a Mullah keyhole where Peers had found the sphere. The locks weren’t really locks and were simple to pick with nails or pins, but a true Mullah would still own and probably proudly wear a ring that …
But there were no rings on Kamal’s hands. No necklace or bracelets. Nothing hard at the seams of his clothing, nothing obvious in or on his shoes.
Peers moved to the man’s desk, glancing at the clock, seeing they’d already lost nearly five minutes. In another five or so, Jabari’s face would probably pop up on every quiet screen in the house, triggering the catastrophe that Meyer and Kindred would finish. A second scream of sorts — all that new emotion streaming across the plaza and into the Ark, distracting the thing as the speech sidetracked the people, urging the lid open as Cameron turned his key, the true clock ticking for the first time in thousands of years.
“Keys. Notes. Anything at all,” Jeanine said, now standing above Kamal with her makeshift weapon raised. Kamal had mostly stopped bleeding below her, barely moving, his chest rising and falling in an almost empty rhythm.
“There’s nothing.”
“There has to be something. Look harder.”
“There’s nothing, Jeanine!” And there wasn’t. The desk drawer was a study in minimalism. Peers saw a single pen, a pad of Post-Its, and a pair of paperclips. He yanked it out and held it up, furious, near panic, then threw it down near Jeanine’s feet.
“You said he was Mullah.”
“I said it made sense that he was Mullah! That’s why we were going to talk to him! That’s why I wanted to ask him questions!”
“And he’d just admit it? Just come out and say, ‘Oh, you want to know if I’m Mullah? Why yes, sure.’”
Peers practically growled his answer, feeling impotent. “I had a way I wanted to ask.”
“A special way,” Jeanine mocked.
“Yes. A special way.”
“And in just a few minutes, you’d get the answer for us. No violence required.”
That was the plan, yes. He’d have pushed Jeanine back and talked to Kamal in private. They each thought they knew what the other was, Peers had thought. He’d confirm it, say a few things that proved his membership. Then violence might be needed, but even then Peers doubted it. The Mullah had never responded to threats. But maybe he could trick him, suss out where the girl had gone. It was a thin chance at best, but at least it was a chance compared to whatever this had become. And given what the sphere had shown him about the last times the Ark had rendered judgment, it was a chance worth taking, no matter how thin.
“Now we’re fucked.” His frustration broke. Peers took Kamal’s single pen from the desk and threw it hard at the polished wood surface. It bounced like a spring and rolled into a corner. “Thanks a lot. But in a way, it’s a relief. Now we don’t have to go through the effort of trying.”
“Don’t you blame this on me!”
“Oh, no. You’re fucking commando. I’d never blame you. It was stupid of Kamal, to run into your head-clubber like he did.”
“You were just going to sit in your room. You think this is such a big problem, what were you going to do about it? You weren’t even ready when I came back! ‘We have to hurry,’ I said. ‘Get your shit and be quick about it.’ What did you do after I left? Lie down and rub one out to clear the dust?”
“Oh, that’s so mature. So helpful.”
“You’re the one with the scary insights. How do you know who’s Mullah anyway, Peers? More of that luck that always goes your way, winning you the horde of Astral technology, spying on them from your suspiciously well-furnished Den, always in the right place when—”
“I took a guess. I thought he might be Mullah. But now we’ll never—”
A new voice interrupted Peers: Ravi, the kid.
“Kamal isn’t Mullah.”
Peers turned. Jeanine turned. The kid was standing in the doorway with a pistol leveled.
“But I am,” he said.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Cameron crept closer. He looked back once, saw Charlie squatting just inside the gate as if expecting something tall to come along and spot him, and decided not to look back again. Charlie’s posture was one of someone who could easily come forward but was deliberately staying back — the posture of a man who feels he could help but is glad he hasn’t been asked. The way the protected cower when the protector goes to see what went bump in the night.
The way Charlie was squatting made Cameron feel more alone than if he had been truly here by himself. Charlie had told him what he knew, but it was Cameron who’d have to face it without so much as a hand on his shoulder.
The courtyard was deserted. They’d watched this space through the windows during their stay in the palace; you couldn’t see the Ark from inside, but you could see the space it called home. Normally, as Ember Flats went about its civilized business, people crossed this space all day long. No particular reverence was given. It had become a mundane presence in the city: a symbol of triumph and history rather than anything that might ever be relevant again. Peers had compared the archive in the courtyard to the Sword in the Stone, but as far as Cameron had seen or heard, nobody had come to the Ark to try his or her hand. They simply walked by as if the Ark were a bus stop.
The emptiness of this usually mundane, usually cheery space chilled Cameron to the bone. Evening was coming; light had mostly left the day, and the only sounds were coming from a few blocks away where the rest of the humans and Astrals had gathered in harmony. Everyone was invited to that party — everyone but Cameron. Even Piper, Lila, Charlie, Jeanine, and Peers, who’d spend the evening’s events behind mansion walls, were more involved in the city’s affairs. Screens would come on when Jabari took the stage; they’d watch events unfold as Meyer appeared, then Meyer, again, to follow. They’d be in wonder with the others, have their breath stolen again, feel the city’s shared shock and awe of the secret revealed. Their focus was unified — and though he had had his earlier doubts, Cameron could feel out here in the dark that Meyer was right: There was a mindshare network in this city. Epochs ago, the Astrals had arrived to find human minds joined — or at least joinable, with a bit of Astral teaching. In the days of cell networks and the Internet, the idea of a collective consciousness seemed strange — even to Cameron, who’d shared thoughts with Piper — surrogate grandfather to a Lightborn child. But he felt it now, the city’s attention on the stage, seeming to anticipate a big change coming.
Keep moving. Clara is counting on you.
Cameron looked down, saw his traitorous feet now frozen. He resisted the urge to look back at Charlie, knowing it’d only make him feel worse, and forced his feet to move again. To take another few steps.
He’d wait to hear the crowd’s reaction. He even had the cell phone-like device in his pocket to help him time the opening. But the gadget was pointless. Cameron had to fight the urge to take it from his pocket, to throw it away and be free of its weight. He didn’t need to watch the broadcast to know what was happening.
Cameron could feel it.
The Ark was just ahead. It was lit at night, but Cameron could already see a sort of psychic glow: a light the Ark was generating rather than one shone upon it. The glow might be his imagination. But it was possible — likely, even — that it was something Cameron’s mind was seeing more than his eyes: the visible interpretation of the town’s ample attention, anticip
ation, foreboding.
Would Ember Flats truly be surprised to see Meyer Dempsey? Would it truly be surprised to see the same man a second time? Or had the group mind already figured all of this out, and it was only human obstinance barring obvious knowledge from the top level of their minds?
Cameron squinted at the golden box. The glow seemed to stretch out and climb out of the courtyard to arch above the surrounding government buildings, rising and falling toward the gathering like a monochrome rainbow.
Was it feeding something to the people or siphoning it from them? To the right viewer — one bonded with the key, if he believed Charlie — was this what it had looked like during Heaven’s Veil’s destruction? When the psychic echo of all its burning citizens had streamed back to the archive at Sinai, giving the Astrals a signal to home in on?
Or had it been a thousand times brighter? A thousand times worse?
There seemed to be a swirling of smoke from Cameron’s right, and suddenly his father was standing in the shadows.
“Not real,” Cameron muttered, forcing himself to keep walking. “It’s only an echo.”
But Benjamin Bannister came closer. Into the light.
“I’m proud of you, kiddo.”
“You’re not my father.”
“That’s right. I’m not. But I’m not what you think I am, either.”
“You’re from the Ark.”
“I’ve been with you all along.”
Cameron watched the specter — it wasn’t a phantasm leaked from the Ark. This was the Pall. It didn’t speak, and yet somehow, now it could.
“You’re still not my father.”
The Benjamin thing gave a little half shrug accompanied by a smile. Behind him, across town, Cameron heard a low voice that, at its source, he knew would be loud. It was Jabari, starting her address. Time was short — and if this were the Pall, its strength seemed to promise the same. It was somehow connected to the Ark, rising with its power. More intelligible as the Ark’s time to articulate grew near. It was of the Ark but not the Ark itself. A third thing, somewhere between the privacy of Cameron’s authentic mind and the shared mind he could feel the archive, even now, trying to touch.
“I think you’re splitting hairs,” Benjamin said.
“You’re the Pall.”
A tick-like nod. “I am.”
“But what are you really?”
He looked to the Ark. “I’m that.” Then he looked at Cameron, at his heart. “And I’m that, too.”
“You abandoned us. You’ve tricked us. You made Christopher—”
“I made a suggestion. Christopher did what was required to get us all where we needed to be.”
“You want me to open it.”
Benjamin nodded. “But only if you choose to.”
“I don’t have a choice. The Mullah—”
“There’s always a choice, Cam.”
“I can’t just let them keep her.”
“Mmm. So your hand has been forced. There is only one option.”
“Of course.”
“And it’s not right that Clara go to the Mullah. You have to get her back.”
“Of course!”
“You’re saying there’s no benefit of her being with them. Things aren’t as they should be, so now you need … to fix it.”
Cameron took another few steps. The Pall paced him until he had to stop again, feeling the Ark’s power like an electrical field. Had it been like this before, the two times he’d been close? Cameron didn’t think so. The air was different. Something had changed.
“Cam. Do you remember that day, in Giza? The first time we ran into the Mullah, when you read the map wrong?”
“You’re trying to trick me. You’re not my father. My father is dead.”
“In a sense. But isn’t he still alive in you? In your own box” — Benjamin nodded toward the Ark — “that your thoughts and emotions still hold open?”
“Meaningless,” Cameron muttered. But it wasn’t. He could feel the difference.
“Well,” Benjamin said, shifting his feet companionably as if this were an everyday bull session, “I remember that day. I gave you a reminder. Do you remember what it was a reminder of, Cam?”
“How do you know all of this?”
“I told you it was a souvenir of your stubbornness. Of the way you always insist you know everything, even when you’re only guessing.”
“I’m not guessing about this. It’s the only way to help Clara.”
“I see. Because Clara needs help.”
“Of course she needs help!”
“And you’re sure of that?” Benjamin put a thoughtful finger to his chin. “But of course you are. You’re Cameron Bannister.”
Cameron took another step. Then another. He could feel the archive filling him up, surrounding him with raw, terrifying power. His hair wanted to stand on end; he felt as if his blood were imbued with a static charge. The courtyard felt electric. One spark could catch and blow it all to dust.
“I said I was proud of you, and I meant it,” the Pall/Benjamin thing said in a lower, more earnest voice. “But it’s not because you’re doing what you feel must be done. It’s because you don’t have a clue. You might even think this is wrong. But still you’re surrendering, just a little. Having some trust. Willing to put the key in the slot and turn it even though you’re terrified it’s the wrong call and that extermination will follow.”
Cameron took his first step toward the Ark. Then a second. Three wide steps left. He’d never been this close. It was radiating something like heat, or wind, but actually neither. There was light in the air even though it was mostly dark. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, all confusing.
Countless souls seemed to scream.
He looked over at his false father. And, feeling the words but unable to stop them, he asked, “Will extermination follow?”
“I’m proud of you, Cameron, because you don’t know and are admitting your ignorance. Yet still, you’re doing it anyway.”
The air changed. Cameron somehow knew that Meyer and Kindred were taking the stage.
A flat compartment opened on the Ark’s top: a keyhole awaiting its key.
The Pall was gone. Cameron was alone.
This was the right choice, and he was about to do what had to be done.
This was the wrong choice, and he was seconds from killing a planet.
The time was seconds away.
Cameron opened his satchel. He removed the key, and though it may only have been his imagination, the cold ceramic seemed to mold itself to his fingers and give his hand a welcoming hug.
It’s the right choice.
It’s the wrong choice.
He held the key above the horizontal keyhole and waited for a sign.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Meyer assumed that the monthly Ember Flats State of the City address was typically filled with platitudes and politics as usual: good-feeling but maybe not entirely accurate updates on the most important city issues, overly optimistic forecasts (“eliminating the cannibals outside our walls within six months!”), and vague positive statements that meant nothing.
Meyer assumed that’s the way the address would normally unfold, but he wouldn’t ever know because Jabari didn’t waste time, or mince words. There was no business-as-usual run-up; there were no platitudes; there was no discussion of essential city issues.
Jabari took the stage. She told them about how Ember Flats had thrived under its spirit of cooperation and how it had — for years now — served as a shining example not just for the other seven remaining capitals but for the entire planet. The world had changed when the ships had arrived, and there’d been a lot of panic, fighting, overthrow, rebellion and mayhem. But Ember Flats alone showed Earth how the two species could work together, as things were meant to be. The time of turmoil was over. Now came the time of rebuilding.
Or at least, that’s how things had been going until now.
Meyer watched from b
ackstage as Jabari’s tone changed. What she’d said until now was rhetoric. If Ember Flats had a department of commerce brochure, the viceroy just told the city something straight from its pages.
Settle down in Ember Flats. Raise your children here. We promise, no aliens will eat them when they go out to play.
The shift in her body language was subtle, but Meyer — together with Kindred — could also feel its echoes in her mind. And what’s more, the people could feel it, too. There were monolith repeaters around Ember Flats, meant to capture and broadcast what was happening. Kindred said the system meant that humans weren’t quite as divorced from the group-mind communication common to our ancestors as we believed, but Meyer had his doubts. Now he could sense the shift in the crowd’s mind, knowing they could taste what was coming.
Not something sunny.
Not something bland.
Something terribly, horribly dark.
“Will they cut it off?” Meyer asked Kindred. “Will they stop the broadcast?”
“I assume so. But not yet. And she only needs a few more sentences before even cutting her off will cause unrest, because of what that might mean.”
The two men were side by side, Kindred now close enough to smell. They’d each chosen their own aftershave from the mansion’s surprisingly complete collection, and of course they’d chosen the same one. Meyer’s eyes were on Jabari, but seeing Kindred in the corner of his eye made him feel like he was sidelong to a mirror.
“Ember Flats, ever since the arrival of our most precious artifact, has always stood as an example of what the new world is supposed to be,” Jabari said, as the crowd watched her with eager eyes. “The Ark meant different things to each of us in the past. There were many beliefs, many myths. But today it’s concrete; it’s real; it’s a true thing that you can walk up to and touch. Now it’s our symbol of unity. Now we know what it’s always been, through all the myths. What it represents. And what it represents, for us, is a promise from the past. The Astrals were here before. They left it behind. They’ve been watching us. It means we were never alone. All those years, we weren’t wandering children lost in the universe after all. We had mothers and fathers. And so we brought the Ark here to remember one thing: that they didn’t forget about us, and that our mothers and fathers would always return.”