Guardian

by Alex London

  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.

  [18]

  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.”

  [19]

  LIAM BANGED ON THE door, kicked it, slammed his shoulder against it. Then he ran to the back of the narrow room and smashed his metal fist against the window. It didn’t so much as crack. He felt the blow through his metal hand, up his wrist, and all the way back to his shoulder. He’d be feeling that in the morning.

  If he ever saw the morning again.

  He took a running charge and kicked at the door again. It didn’t even quiver. He screamed in frustration.

  “Force is not gonna do it, no matter how strong that hand of yours is,” said Syd, studying the door mechanism. He was sure he could get it open if he had the right tools.

  He didn’t have the right tools.

  He also didn’t have much time. Another minute had passed. Less than six remained.

  Syd’s heart pounded in his chest and he had to focus his breathing to keep his hands from shaking. In spite of that, he smiled. For the first time in a long time, he had a purpose. He had a skill. He was going to save Liam’s life.

  “I’ll need a hand,” he said.

  “Whatever I can do,” said Liam. “I’m yours.”

  “I mean, I’ll need your hand. The metal one.”

  “Right.” Liam’s cheeks flushed again. Syd noticed.

  “Can you crush that piston there?” Syd pointed at one of the air-locking controls. “The door pins are locked with pressurized air. If we can reverse the pressure back into the system, we might just blast apart the pins and blow this whole door off its hinges using its own locks.”

  “Blowing up the door to escape a bomb?” Liam wasn’t sure he understood.

  “Blowing it out,” said Syd. “And if you have a better idea, I’d be glad to hear it.”

  Liam didn’t, so Syd directed him where to bend, what to crush, and what to break. Meanwhile, Syd worked on the wiring, shorting out the safety valves.

  As he worked, Syd noticed Liam wincing. He knew his bodyguard had hurt himself trying to break the door open. It wasn’t the noblest of injuries, but Syd felt bad for him. He knew all about self-inflicted wounds, especially the pointless ones. They weren’t all physical.

  There was a high-pitched whine, a squeal as the pressure inside the door built and built. Syd hoped it would build fast enough to work before the bomb on the ceiling went off. He hoped the door would blow with time enough left for them to escape the building, and he hoped it wouldn’t blow into the room instead of out, crushing them both to death.

  At least if that happened, they wouldn’t feel it when their bodies were incinerated.

  “Move to the back,” Syd ordered, and they crouched down together in the corner. Liam turned and put his arm around Syd, covering him with his body.

  “Uh . . . ,” said Syd.

  “I’m still your bodyguard,” said Liam. “Let me do my job.”

  Syd didn’t resist. He couldn’t have pushed Liam off if he wanted to. Even injured, the guy was stronger, much stronger.

  “My ears are popping,” said Liam.

  Syd worked his jaw, trying to relieve the pressure in his own. Too much air was releasing into the room and not enough into the door itself. Had he misunderstood the mechanism? Had he made the wrong choice? Had he failed?

  Liam was counting to himself in whispers. They were running out of time.

  Syd tilted his head up and saw Liam looking at him like he was about to tell Syd something. He opened his mouth to speak, he was cut off by a horrible shriek of twisting metal, and then, with a whoosh and painful pop of pressure, the door exploded out into the hallway, taking a large chunk of the concrete wall with it.

  It had worked. Syd smiled. He’d made the machine backfire. He’d turned the lock keeping them in into the key to getting out. Maybe he wasn’t so useless after all.

  “Go!” Liam shouted, shoving Syd forward. “Run!”

  They ran through the door, turned at a bend in the hallway. There were no Purifiers standing guard, no one to stop them. Cousin had evacuated the prison the moment Knox’s father’s corpse hit the floor.

  There was no sound of an explosion, but the air around them tasted bitter, and then the hallway brightened. They turned to a stairwell, took the steps three at a time. Syd could see the exit ahead. He felt heat on his back, glanced over his shoulder to see a wall of blue and orange flame dance across the ceiling and turn down the stairway, as if it were a living thing, gulping the air as it chased them. He felt its force pulling him backward, sucking him into the blaze.

  A hand on his back shoved Syd through the door. He tripped and flew forward, face first, over a root and into a tangle of brush, just as soundlessly the tongue of flame blasted over their heads. It danced in the air above them a moment, then burned itself abruptly out against the night sky.

  Liam had dived on top of Syd to cover him and now his weight was crushing Syd. Syd wriggled out from beneath him and sat up from the ground, catching his breath and looking at the blasted-out building.

  “Why would they try to kill me?” he panted.

  Liam pictured Cousin’s face, his skeletal grimace. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “You were right. We have to go
to Baram,” said Syd. “It’s treason for them to try to kill me. Baram will know what to do.”

  Liam didn’t answer. If Syd leveled an accusation at Cousin, Cousin could just as easily turn it back on Liam. Liam had killed Dr. Khan, after all. He’d killed two Purifiers too, just because they had known where Syd was stowed away. If Cousin had become a traitor to the Reconciliation, he had made Liam an accomplice. He had just as much blood on his hands.

  On his hand.

  Syd was thinking out loud now. “Chairwoman Pei might not care that it’s treason. She gave that guy—”

  “Cousin,” said Liam.

  “Cousin? Whose cousin is he?”

  Liam shook his head. It was just what the man was called.

  “Well, she gave Cousin control of the Purifiers and orders for Eeron Brindle’s execution. Maybe she gave him orders to kill me. Maybe she’s making a move to take over, staging a coup.”

  “If that’s true,” said Liam, “then you aren’t safe anywhere the Reconciliation controls.”

  “Forget about me,” said Syd. “Marie was going straight to the Council from her parents. And she doesn’t have a bodyguard with her. We have to get her.”

  “No way.”

  Syd pushed himself up off the ground and stood looking down at Liam. “I’m not asking your permission. She’s the closest thing I have to a friend and we’re going to save her.”

  Liam looked up at Syd, standing dark as ash against the burning building behind him. Syd was implacable when he got an idea in his head. He wasn’t moping anymore. He wasn’t sulking. He might be crazy, but he was starting to act like the guy everyone believed him to be.