by Platt, Sean
But most of all, sort of like what she’d felt when the Pall had been with them. When it had first appeared outside Benjamin Bannister’s Moab ranch. When it had followed Peers’s battle-converted bus. When it had taken the shapes of people it pretended to be.
Nick turned and looked at her.
“Were you … ?” He was beyond tentative — the way a boy who likes a girl asks if she likes him, too.
“Yes.”
“What was it? Has that happened to you before?”
“Maybe. Sort of. But not like … Nick?”
He looked beaten up. Like all of the others. They were dazed, eyeing each other while trying not to look directly. A few were leaving their hypnosis, but Clara could still feel it clinging to her like cobwebs.
“I need to talk to Logan.”
“Nick, listen.”
But he was walking away, back toward the group, headed to where he’d been when whatever-it-was had struck them all blind, just as Clara was saying she could hear the Astrals talking to each other: that the blood water was playing and that something much worse — heralded by static blasts and beeps — was surely coming.
“Nick!”
Clara followed, swatting at the vision’s final remnants. She could still see the man in her mind, still feel the rock seat beneath her, as they’d sat on opposite sides of a mental fire. In her vision, the denim-clad man had looked comfortable, leaning back on his rock in what seemed like a dark desert night. He’d pulled something from his pocket and played with it like twiddling a pen — No, no, Clara thought, it had been small silver balls. He’d told her something that her conscious mind was already losing its grip on, though her deeper mind had clung tight.
Let’s have a palaver, you and me.
And the silver balls, they’d danced in his palm and rolled across his large knuckles as he spoke, effortless, as if the man barely knew they were there.
And the man had said something. About someone. About her. About all of the Lightborn. Maybe even to all of the Lightborn, judging by the others’ behavior. Had they been there around the fire with her and the stranger?
Did I ever tell you about my cousin Timmy?
As Clara followed Logan to the knot of Lightborn in the middle of the Hideout, she felt a familiar feeling returning. Like déjà vu in a way: Clara plodding slowly into a situation she’d just left, like the ring of Lightborn joining the tall man around the fire.
Clara felt herself joining something bigger than herself. Uploading her consciousness the way her grandfather was always uploading reports to the network in Heaven’s Veil. Her focus stayed present in the room, and her human eyes watched the others as they assembled — but still she could feel that transfer of consciousness at the same time.
It wasn’t like the telepathy she’d felt with Nick and Ella.
This was something immersive. Something bigger than conversation.
She was joining them. They were all joining each other.
And as each of them began to understand, paralysis shattered. Clara felt the enhanced collective thinking like a single mind. Like the Astrals.
Like the Astrals expected us to think when they showed up. Only better. Newer. Version 2.0. We’re something new. Something that couldn’t have existed before.
Logan stood in the group’s center. They’d assembled into a small crowd. A group of children beginning to see the truth.
Logan looked at Clara. She hadn’t met him yet, but now, after whatever had happened, she found she didn’t need to. He knew her fully. She knew him. She knew Logan the way one arm on a body knows the other. The way a hand knows its fingers.
Her mind was still her own.
But it was theirs now, too.
“Do we stay?” Logan asked Clara. “Or do we go?”
A buzz of thoughts came from below, from all directions, every voice. And yet each struck Clara as a different version of her own.
the vessel
the lottery
the flood
Clara saw the man by the fire, in his scuffed brown boots. She saw a ship left by the Astrals — the Noah’s Ark that could save only a few. She saw the giant black Deathbringer the stranger had shown them, drifting above the polar ice. She saw death. She saw the network, knew that death no longer strictly mattered.
Should we stay, clara?
Should we go?
You’re the hub of the wheel.
You’re the way to the source.
“Clara? It’s time to decide. The man by the fire said that Viceroy Jabari will establish a lottery to decide who goes on the vessel. It’s part of the test, for her and for us: how Ember Flats will handle an impossible decision about who gets to live and who must die. So we have to get there now — you know she’ll choose us to live.”
Clara did. Of course. In Mara’s impossible challenge, she’d try saving the future by way of its children. But even among them, the Lightborn stood out. Everyone sensed their significance. But only now did Clara and the others understand why they were so important. Only now had the man in jeans explained what made them different, and opened communication between Lightborn around the globe.
To survive what was coming, they merely needed to reach the vessel and ask.
If they all did that, people who would otherwise have taken those spots would disembark and greet the floods. Clara and her new friends would need only to request passage so that others could die in their place. An impossible conundrum — one Clara might have seen differently before her vision of man and fire.
She imagined Sadeem’s puzzles. She solved one after another, her mind flying through all those tests like a video on fast-forward. Then the puzzles opened like flowers in her internal vision, becoming real things: ships the Astrals had laid across the globe like chess pieces, the archive they’d sought since Heaven’s Veil’s destruction, sacrifices from Cameron, Uncle Trevor, and Grandma Heather. Each new contribution to the hive mind changed it, and the change propagated and became something more.
Not in the way the Astral mind worked.
Not in the way the modern human mind had worked before the Lightborn.
Not even in the way human minds had worked in the days of ancient Egyptians and Mayans — the ways Astrals had expected human minds to be when they’d arrived.
Their current situation was a puzzle, no different from Sadeem’s.
A puzzle solved without effort.
Once Clara knew what had changed, the others realized it, too.
Outside, thunder boomed like dynamite.
And the rain began to pour.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The children had come and gone.
Liza Knight sat in her office, looking out in the general direction of Old Johannesburg through the growing rain. The city wasn’t visible from here, of course, and hadn’t been even back when the buildings were still standing. But she’d never been able to look out this particular window without thinking of the city. Not since Black Monday, when the Astrals had made it one of their examples. Rome, Paris, Budapest, Shanghai, New York, Mexico City: on that day, they’d all had one unfortunate thing in common. Liza’s memory of a column of black smoke that burned for weeks was only one of the many millions — lost metropolises, purged from the Earth to make way for the new cities and a new age.
She thought of what the children had said. And yes, it all made sense. Pieces were all in place, as far as appeals went. They’d come as a group, gathered throughout the city. They claimed to represent a larger collection of kids with gifts from all over the planet (some sort of global mind meld thing, Liza gathered), and surprisingly, even that had made sense. The notion of rigging the cutthroat election process for the Astral lifeboat? That sort of made sense, despite the rivers already cresting in all this rain, and the Ember Flats natives growing restless. She’d already turned her back on obeying Astral commands, sorta, and had told the other rebellious viceroys that she’d join the satellite feed if she was still able at the specified time, from
her appointed place, outside the city, after she’d fled in the Cradle.
So yes. When the kids (who’d known a hell of a lot more than they should) had suggested she disobey the Astrals further, she’d found herself at least tacitly willing to do so. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Instead of letting the citizens vie for their spots on the lifeboat by yanking one of their friends or family off of it, she could do as the children suggested. The kids said it was all a game to the Astrals: that Roman Sands was being tested; it was the viceroy’s and the people’s reactions — not their adherence to rules — that mattered. The children said that someone else had told them a secret: that the Astrals didn’t care if anyone obeyed the rules or not. They only cared about watching human reaction when forced to jump through various hoops. To the Astrals, the planet was an ant farm. And to Liza, that made the most sense of all.
She probably could refuse to obey the rules.
She could, perhaps, even commission quickie construction of many other lifeboats. They’d have to hurry if the ice caps were being melted and the rains continued, but if the children were right, the Astrals probably wouldn’t try to stop them.
But one thing bothered her.
If Liza disobeyed the Astrals, she was likely flushing her chance to lead the New World, after the floods receded and tiny pockets of humanity remained.
There was a knock at the door. Liza called for the visitor to enter.
“Viceroy Knight?”
“I keep telling you to call me Liza.”
He looked down, shuffling papers, the door ajar.
“What is it, Mick?”
“That group of kids gone?” He looked around her expansive office.
“Yes. Just a few minutes ago.”
“What did they want?”
Lila lied as a knee-jerk reaction, unsure why she was doing so.
“You know peaceniks. They send kids to do their dirty work. ‘Let’s all get along’ and all that, mindless of the realities.”
“They tried to convince you to stop the vessel selection process?”
Liza nodded, again wondering why she wasn’t telling Mick the truth. “What do you need?”
“The Astrals have sent the pairings. Came from Divinity just a bit ago. It’s …” He trailed off, looking vaguely ill, holding a clutch of papers. From where Liza stood, even the paper looked disheartened, sagging as if wet.
“Come in. Close the door.”
Liza’s aide did as instructed. Then, when she gestured for him to sit in one of the two black leather chairs across from her desk, he did that, too. Liza stayed standing. She paced when she thought, and now was a thinking time.
“What’s bothering you about the selection pairings?”
Mick looked down at the papers. He was holding them hesitantly, as if they were covered in something disgusting, and didn’t reply.
“You can speak plainly. We’re friends here.”
“Actually, I know we are,” Mick said, holding up one of the pages. “Because the mothership’s Divinity sent down an optional bracket as well, and we’re on it: you versus me, cutthroat as any of the other pairings.”
“Bracket?”
“They’ve arranged this in levels of elimination. Winners advance to the next round. I swear, it’s like a football tourney. Like the goddamned World Cup.” He held up the same page, fluttering it. “This is a bonus round if we want it, in case we want to play fair. And guess who you get to kick off the vessel?” Mick jabbed a thumb back at himself.
“They said we had a guaranteed slot. Both of us. All of us in the Circle, Mick.”
“Oh, I know. But this …” He was almost pale, having a hard time forcing words. “It’s so … harsh. So devoid of emotion. Why would they send anything optional for a horrid thing like this? It’s like, ‘Oh yes, Viceroy. If you’d like, you can play out a fun side game where you steal your number two’s spot and condemn him to die. You know … for fun?’”
“We knew it would be harsh. When the first order came down, they used the word ‘cutthroat.’ That human concept, at least, they seem to understand fine.”
But Liza’s mind flashed back to the children, and what she’d believed when they’d said it:
You can ignore it all if you want. You can refuse to play, and the Astrals will do nothing. You can all try to survive, and they won’t stop you.
The Lightborns’ message had been on her lips when Mick entered. He knew about the other Viceroys; he knew about the Cradles; he knew about all the covert assemblies and the failsafe meet-up they were scheduled to attend at noon GMT on the second day following the shit hitting humanity’s collective fan. Mick was her partner in crime, her co-conspirator, her bearer of secrets. She needed a sounding board for this new information, but he seemed compromised already, too emotionally invested.
Right now, Mick looked like he’d do anything to avoid the coming tournament. If she told him what the children had said — and especially if she told him that she believed it was true — Mick would leap on the chance to end it and disobey. He’d burn Divinity’s instructions and run to the cresting river, woodworking tools in hand.
Maybe she’d better not tell him.
Survivors meant competition. Especially for viceroys who fell out of Astral favor because they hadn’t followed instructions when given the chance to lead.
Mick looked up at Liza with big eyes.
“Forget it, Mick. You said the last one was optional. Don’t let it bother you.”
“The whole thing bothers me.”
“Of course it does. But we don’t have a choice, do we? You heard Divinity. If we don’t comply and officiate the cutthroat tournament to see who gets a slot on the vessel, they’ll flatten Roman Sands like Heaven’s Veil. You remember that, right? When Dempsey disobeyed them?”
“Yes, but—”
Liza waved him off. He was probably going to refer to the fact that not only was Dempsey still alive; he’d apparently multiplied. Or maybe he was about to repeat what the Dempseys had said before this all started: that Heaven’s Veil wasn’t what the world had been led to believe. It was all conflicting information. Loose ends now would only cloud an already difficult decision.
“But nothing. I understand it’s repugnant. But it’s this or nothing. At least we can take a pass.”
Mick was leafing through pages, shaking his head.
“Okay, Mick. Get it off your chest. Just tell me what’s bothering you so much.”
He thought for a second then said something strange. “Do you remember Internet dating?”
“I’m good being single.”
Mick laughed a little, but for the most part his mood seemed unbroken. He shook the papers.
“It’s like the Astrals have a big dating site database on us. On all of us. Everyone in the city. For all we know, all over the world.”
Liza nodded, even though she knew it probably wasn’t that dire. The children had told her Roman Sands’s method of selection was different from the others — that they were all different from each other. More evidence for their argument: that no one needed to obey because it was all arbitrary. As long as the Astrals could make humans squirm then observe their behavior under pressure, they were as happy as alien overlords could be.
“But it’s not just ‘Single White Female age 35 to 40 seeks nonsmoker for dating and marriage.’ The Astrals don’t just have our likes and our dislikes and our ages and attributes and what sex positions we enjoy most. It’s like they’ve sucked out who we are through those mindfuck stones around the city.”
“What do you mean?”
“A university friend of mine is in here,” Mick said. “It’d make sense if he were pitted against his mum or something. Twisted but sensible.”
“Who’d the Astrals pair him against?”
“It’s this girl he had a crush on since primary school. He never even told her about it. And oh, I imagine he’s over it now that he’s married with three kids, but I remember my first
crush, too. It never really goes away.”
“Was it on me?”
Mick’s eyes hardened. “This isn’t funny, Liza. The shit that’s in here … it’s … pathological. It’s the kind of tournament a serial killer would set up.”
“Why are you torturing yourself by looking through it? We officiate. We make sure the rules are followed. That’s all. You can’t make it personal, Mick.”
“Would you like to look through it? See who’s on the list that you know?” He brandished the papers like a weapon.
“Not at all. Because this changes nothing. Jabari made her plan, and the Astrals basically rubber-stamped it. The timing is perfect, as if Divinity knew we were planning to leave the city and run for our Cradles. Look at it, Mick,” she said, hardening her voice. “Not the pairings but the timetable. We conduct the contest and run right to the Cradle afterward; there’s exactly enough time to make it before they presumably remove the levies and let the city flood.”
“You don’t know that’s how it’ll happen.”
“Ever read the Bible, Mick? See the rain? I’ve heard there’s a big ship that visited Ember Flats then headed to the north pole to melt the ice caps one at a time. The idea of a big flood? Sure sounds familiar to me.”
Mick looked slapped. “When did you hear about a new ship and the ice caps? From whom?”
“I can explain later. It only matters that I believe it.” Something seized Liza then: an idea for how to piggyback on what she’d said, building a better case for Mick. “Just like I believe another thing I heard from the same source: that the Astrals don’t care how we survive. If not on the vessel, using the Cradle is fine with them.”
“Where are you getting this?”
“Look. We’re trusting Jabari’s research. Meeting the other viceroys is all that matters, right? That means we need to reach the Cradle, and the rendezvous. That is how humanity fights back: with a meeting of minds, backed by research. The plan was always to avoid rocking the boat, then sneak out. We meet the others on the satellite and go from there. Human leadership survives under the radar. Triage was always part of it, Mick. We knew we’d need to break some eggs. I’m sorry if you’re feeling guilty, but what’s the alternative? Would you rather fight here and get us all killed? What happens to the resistance if we do that?” She shook her head. “No. Priority One is keeping the viceroys and their supporters alive to fight another day, and that includes us.”