فصل 16

16

Fine Until You’re Not

The cameras silently swiveled to track a red-robed scythe entering a café, accompanied by two burly officers of the BladeGuard. Directional microphones picked up every sound, from the faint scratch of a beard to the clearing of a throat. It differentiated the cacophony of voices to home in on a single conversation that began when the red-robed scythe sat down.

The Thunderhead watched. The Thunderhead listened. The Thunderhead pondered. With an entire world to run and maintain, it knew that devoting such attention to a single conversation was an inefficient use of its energies, but the Thunderhead weighed this discussion as more important than any of the other billion-some-odd conversations it was currently engaged in or monitoring. Mainly because of the individuals involved.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Scythe Constantine said to Scythes Curie and Anastasia. “I appreciate the two of you coming out of hiding so that we could have this little summit.” “We are not in hiding,” said Scythe Curie, clearly indignant at the suggestion. “We have chosen to be nomadic. It is perfectly acceptable for scythes to roam as they please.” The Thunderhead raised the light in the room just a couple of lumens so it could better assess the subtleties of facial expressions.

“Yes, well, whether you call it hiding, or roaming, or running away, it seems to have been an effective strategy. Either your assailants are lying low until their next attack, or they’ve decided not to bother with moving targets and have turned their attention elsewhere.” He paused before adding, “But I doubt it.” The Thunderhead was aware that Scythes Curie and Anastasia never stayed anywhere for more than a day or two since the attempt on their lives. But if the Thunderhead were allowed to make a suggestion, it would have told them to weave a more unpredictable path around the continent. It was always able to predict with 42 percent accuracy where they were going next. Which meant that their attackers might be able to predict it, as well.

“We have leads on where the supplies for the explosives came from,” Scythe Constantine told them. “We know the place they were assembled, and even the vehicle that transported them—but we still don’t know the people involved.” If the Thunderhead could have sneered, it would have. It knew precisely who had built the explosives, who had placed them, and who had set the trip wire. But telling the scythedom what it knew would be a severe violation of scythe-state separation. The best it had been able to do was indirectly motivate Greyson Tolliver to prevent the deadly explosion. Yet even though the Thunderhead knew who had set the explosives, it also knew that those weren’t the individuals responsible. They were merely pawns being moved by a much more capable hand. The hand of someone who was shrewd and careful enough to avoid detection—not just by the scythedom, but by the Thunderhead, as well.

“I need to discuss with you your gleaning practices, Anastasia,” Scythe Constantine said.

Scythe Anastasia shifted uncomfortably in her robe. “It’s already been discussed in conclave—I have every right to glean the way I do.” “This is not about your rights as a scythe, it’s about your safety,” Scythe Constantine told her.

Scythe Anastasia began to bluster a complaint, but Scythe Curie, with just the slightest touch of her hand on Anastasia’s wrist, silenced her.

“Let Scythe Constantine finish what he has to say,” she said.

Scythe Anastasia took a deep breath of precisely 3,644 milliliters, and slowly released it. The Thunderhead suspected that Scythe Curie had guessed the nature of what Constantine had to say.  The Thunderhead, however, didn’t have to guess. It knew.

Citra, on the other hand, had no idea. She thought she knew everything Constantine was about to say, though—so even as she put on her best Scythe Anastasia listening face, she was already formulating a response.

“While it might be difficult to track your movements, Scythe Anastasia, it is very easy to track the movements of the people you’ve marked for gleaning,” Scythe Constantine said. “Each time one of them contacts you to arrange the time and place of their gleaning, it gives your enemies an easy opportunity to take you out.” “I’ve been fine so far.”

“Yes,” said Scythe Constantine. “You’ll be fine until the moment you’re not. Which is why I’ve asked High Blade Xenocrates to excuse you from gleaning until the threat is gone.” This was what Citra thought he’d say, and so she struck back immediately. “Unless I violate one of the Scythe Commandments, not even the High Blade can tell me what I can and can’t do. I am autonomous and above all other law, just like you!” Her response did not draw Scythe Constantine into a debate, nor did he disagree . . . which troubled Citra.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “I didn’t say you are being forced to stop gleaning, I said you are being excused. Meaning that if you don’t glean, you will not be penalized for falling under quota.” “Well, in that case,” said Scythe Curie, making it clear that there was no resisting this, “I will suspend gleaning as well.” Then she raised her eyebrows, as if an idea had just occurred to her. “We could go to Endura!” She turned to Scythe Anastasia. “If we’re on a forced vacation from gleaning, why not make it true vacation?” “An excellent idea!” said Scythe Constantine.

“I don’t need a vacation,” insisted Citra.

“Then think of it as an educational trip!” Scythe Curie said. “Every young scythe should tour the Island of the Enduring Heart. It will give you context, and connection to who we are and why we do what we do. You might even get to meet Supreme Blade Kahlo!” “You would see the actual heart for which the island is named,” Constantine told her, as if it would entice her. “And the Vault of Relics and Futures—which can’t be visited by just anybody—but I happen to be friendly with Grandslayer Hemingway, of the World Scythe Council. I’ll bet he could arrange a personal tour.” “I’ve never been inside the vault myself,” said Scythe Curie. “I’ve heard it’s impressive.” Scythe Anastasia put up her hands. “Stop!” she said. “As tempting as a trip to Endura is, you’re forgetting I still have responsibilities here that I can’t just walk away from. There are still nearly thirty people I’ve already chosen for gleaning. They’ve all been injected with a poison grain that will kill them after a month. That is NOT the way I want to glean them!” And Scythe Constantine said, “You don’t have to worry about that anymore. They’ve already been gleaned.” The Thunderhead was, of course, aware of this, but it caught Citra completely by surprise. She heard Constantine say it, but it took a moment for the words to make it through. It registered in her nervous system even before it registered in her mind. She felt her ears getting warm, her throat getting tight.

“What did you say?”

“I said that they’ve already been gleaned. Several other scythes were sent to complete your gleanings, right down to the gentleman you chose yesterday. I assure you everything is in order.  All their families were granted immunity.  There are no loose ends to further endanger you.” Citra began to stutter and bluster, which was very unlike her. She took pride in always being clear and incisive with her words, but this blindsiding tipped her off balance. She turned to Scythe Curie. “Did you know about this?” “No,” Marie said, “but it makes sense, Anastasia. Once you calm down and think about it, you’ll realize why it had to be done.” But Citra was miles away from calming down. She thought of the various people whom she had chosen for gleaning. She had promised them that they would have time to wrap up their affairs—that they would be able to choose how and where it would happen. A scythe’s word means everything. It was part of the code of honor Citra swore to uphold. Now all those promises were shattered.

“How could you do that? What gives you the right?”

Now Scythe Constantine raised his voice. He didn’t shout, but his voice had such resonance, it overpowered Citra’s indignation.

“You are far too valuable to the scythedom for us to risk losing you!” If she was blindsided by his first admission, this one slammed her hard from the other side.

“What?”

Scythe Constantine folded his hands in front of him and smiled, clearly enjoying the moment. “Oh, yes, my dear Scythe Anastasia, you are of great value,” he said.  “Do you want to know why?”  Then he leaned closer and spoke just above a whisper. “Because you stir the pot!” “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come now, surely you know the effect you’ve been having on the scythedom since you were ordained. You rankle the old guard and frighten the new order. You take scythes who would rather be left to their own self-importance, and force them to pay attention.” He leaned back in his chair. “Nothing pleases me more than to see the scythedom prodded out of complacency. You give me hope for the future.” Citra couldn’t tell whether he was being sincere or sarcastic. Oddly, the thought that he might actually be sincere bothered her more. Marie had told her that Scythe Constantine was not the enemy, but, oh, how Citra wanted him to be! She wanted to lash out against him and his smug control of the situation, but she knew it was futile. If she was going to retain any dignity, she would have to regain the cool reserve of  “wise” Scythe Anastasia. It was by forcing her thoughts to settle that an idea came to her.

“So you’ve gleaned all of the people I chose over the past month?”

“Yes, I’ve already told you so,” Scythe Constantine said, a bit miffed to be questioned about it again.

“I know what you told me . . . but I find it hard to believe that you’ve been able to glean all of them. I’ll bet there are one or two you haven’t gotten to yet. Would you admit it if that were true?” Constantine regarded her with a bit of suspicion. “What are you getting at?” “An opportunity . . .”

He said nothing for a moment. Scythe Curie looked back and forth between the two of them. Finally, Constantine spoke. “There are three we have not yet located. Our plan is to glean them the moment we do.” “But you won’t glean them,” said Citra. “You’ll let me do it, as planned . . . then you’ll lie in wait for anyone who tries to kill me.” “It’s more likely that Marie is their target, not you.”

“So if no one attacks me, you’ll know that for sure.”

Still, he wasn’t convinced. “They’ll smell the trap from a mile away.” Citra smiled. “Then you’ll have to be smarter than they are. Or is that too much to ask?” Constantine frowned and that made Scythe Curie laugh. “The look on your face right now, Constantine, is worth any attempt on our lives!” He didn’t respond to that. Instead, he kept his attention on Citra. “Even if we outsmart them—and we will—it will be risky.” Citra smiled. “What’s the point of living forever if you can’t take a few risks?” In the end, Constantine reluctantly agreed to allow Citra to be bait for a trap.

“I suppose Endura can wait,” said Scythe Curie. “And I was so looking forward to it.” Although Citra suspected she was more invigorated by their new plan than she let on.

Even though it would put her in danger, Citra found that having an amount of control of the situation gave her some much-needed relief.

In fact, even the Thunderhead registered her release of tension. It could not see into Citra’s mind, but it read body language and biological changes with precision. It detected falsehoods and truths, both spoken and unspoken. Which meant that it knew whether or not Scythe Constantine was sincere in wanting her to remain alive. But as always, when it came to the scythedom, it had to remain silent.

I must admit that I am not the only factor maintaining the sustainability of the world. The scythedom also contributes by its practice of gleaning.

Even so, scythes glean only a small percentage of the population. The work of scythes is not to completely curb population growth, but to smooth its edges. That is why, at current quotas, one’s chance of being gleaned is only 10 percent over the next thousand years. Low enough to make gleaning the furthest thing from most people’s minds.

I do foresee a time, however, when population growth will need to reach an equilibrium. Zero growth. One person dying for every person born.

The year this will occur is something I do not share with the general population, but it is just beyond the horizon. Even with an incremental increase in gleaning quotas, humanity will reach its maximum sustainable population in less than a century.

I see no need to trouble humanity with this fact, for what good would it do? I alone bear the weight of that inevitability. It is, very literally, the weight of the world. I can only hope that I have the virtual shoulders of Atlas to bear it.

—The Thunderhead