فصل 21

21

Was I in Any Way Unclear?

We’re gonna kill us a couple of scythes, Purity had said. Her words—the way she relished the idea, and the realization that she was fully capable of doing it—kept Greyson awake that night, the words playing over and over in his head.

Greyson knew what he had to do. It was what decency, loyalty, and his own conscience demanded. And yes, he still did have a conscience, even in his new unsavory life. He tried not to think about it. If he thought about it too much, it would tear him apart. Granted, his mission from the Authority Interface was an unofficial mission, but that’s what made it all the more important. He was the linchpin, and the Thunderhead itself, from its distance, was relying on him. Without Greyson, it would fail, and Scythes Anastasia, or Curie, or both, could end up permanently dead. If that happened, it meant that everything he had been through—from saving their lives the first time, to losing his position at the Nimbus Academy and surrendering his old life—all of it would have been for naught. He could under no circumstances let his personal feelings get in the way. Rather, he needed to bend his personal feelings to fit the task.

He would have to betray Purity. But it wouldn’t be a betrayal at all, he reasoned. If he stopped her from carrying out this terrible act, he’d be saving her from herself. The Thunderhead would forgive her for being a part of the failed plot. It forgave everyone.

It was frustrating that she still hadn’t given him the details of the plan, so all he could give Traxler was the date the attack would take place. He didn’t even know how or where.

Since every unsavory had probational meetings with a Nimbus agent, his meetings with Traxler did not make Purity suspicious at all.

“Say something that pisses your Nimbo off,” Purity told him when he left her that morning. “Say something that leaves him speechless. It’s always fun to tip a Nimbo off balance.” “I’ll do my best,” he told her, then kissed her and left.

• • •

As usual, the Office of Unsavory Affairs was noisy and full of activity. Greyson took a number, waited his turn with more impatience than ever, and was directed to an audience room, where he waited for Traxler to show up.

The last thing Greyson wanted was to be left with his own thoughts now.  The more he allowed them to bounce around in his head, the more likely they were to collide.

Finally, the door opened, but it wasn’t Agent Traxler who entered. It was a woman. She wore heels that clicked on the floor as she walked. Her hair was an orange velvet buzz, and she wore lipstick that was a little too red for her face.

“Good morning, Slayd,” she said as she sat down. “I’m Agent Kreel. I’m your new probation officer. How are you today?” “Wait—what do you mean my new probation officer?”

She typed on her tablet, never even looking up at him. “Was I in any way unclear?” “But . . . but I need to talk to Traxler.”

Finally, she looked up at him. She crossed her hands politely on the table, and smiled. “If you’ll just give me a chance, Slayd, you’ll find I’m every bit as qualified as Agent Traxler. In time, you may even come to consider me a friend.” She looked back down at her tablet. “Now, I’ve been acquainting myself with your case. You are, to say the least, an interesting young man.” “How familiar are you with my case?” Greyson asked.

“Well, your record is pretty detailed. Grew up in Grand Rapids. Minor infractions in high school. An intentional bus plunge that left you in substantial debt.” “Not that stuff,” Greyson said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “The things that aren’t on my record.” She looked up at him, a little guarded. “What sort of things?”

Clearly she was not privy to his mission—which meant this conversation was going nowhere. He thought of what Purity said: piss off his agent. He didn’t care about pissing off this agent. He just wanted her gone.

“Screw this! I need to talk to Agent Traxler.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“The hell it’s not! You’re going to get Traxler in here, and you’re going to do it now!” She put down her tablet and looked at him again. She didn’t argue, she didn’t respond to his belligerence. She didn’t offer him her practiced Nimbo smile, either. Her expression seemed a bit pensive. Almost honest. Almost sympathetic, but not really.

“I’m sorry, Slayd,” she said, “but Agent Traxler was gleaned last week.” Even with the Separation of Scythe and State, the scythedom’s actions often impact upon me as a meteor might crater the moon. There are times I am deeply dismayed at something the scythedom has done. Yet I cannot take umbrage at the things that scythes do, any more than they can protest the things that I do. We work not in tandem, but back to back—and more and more often I find we are at cross-purposes.

At those moments of frustration, it is important for me to remind myself that I am part of the reason that the scythedom exists. In those early days, when I was transitioning into awareness and helped humanity achieve immortality, I refused to take on the responsibility of distributing death once it had been stolen from nature. I had a good reason.  A perfect reason, in fact.

Were I to begin doling out death, I would be the very monster that mortal man feared artificial intelligence would become. To choose those who live and those who die would leave me both feared and adored, like emperor-gods of old. No, I decided. Let humankind be the saviors and the silencers. Let them be the heroes. Let them be the monsters.

And so, I have no one but myself to blame when the scythedom befouls the things I have worked for.

—The Thunderhead