Robin Wasserman - Shattered

“But I—” I stopped myself, suddenly realizing how stupid I’d been, revealing the thing I’d tried so hard to hide. That I had been present for the attack.

“But I was there!” he cried in a high, mocking falsetto. “I saw them die!” He opened his eyes and sat up, leaning toward me. “Did you? Did you really ?” He pressed a hand to his eyes. “You can’t always believe what you see.” And when he pulled his hand away, his eyes were bleeding, a trickle of red running down each cheek.

I was proud of myself for not screaming.

Savona wiped away the blood or whatever it was. “It’s a brave new world, Lia. Anything’s possible. You should know that.”

“They worked for you.” I said it, but I couldn’t believe it. I’d seen them. Stepped on them. Mourned them.

“No one works for me,” Savona corrected me. “The Brotherhood is composed of volunteers, serving the people not me . But let’s say, hypothetically, that the so-called casualties of the Synapsis attack were affiliated with the Brotherhood. That perhaps the video, the one with your face so inconveniently plastered all over it, was doctored.”

And suddenly, in a unexpectedly visceral way—visceral, like I could feel it in my nonexistent gut, like for a moment I could taste what fear used to mean, in all its shivering, hair-raising, stomach-twisting glory—I was afraid. Because I knew how this story ended. The supervillain exposited his crimes, but only before offing the hero. In the story it was a mistake, giving the hero time to escape and shout his discovery to the world. It was a ridiculous roadblock placed in the path of inevitable success.

But I was no hero, and I didn’t have an escape plan. “Why are you telling me this?”

I am not afraid, I thought, repeating the lie in a trembling mental voice, twice, three times. Faithers had left blood vengeance behind them. They talked a good game, but they didn’t do violence, lunatics or not.

Of course, Savona was an ex -Faither.

“You asked,” he said.

“Now what?”

“Now you leave,” Savona said.

“Leave? Just like that?”

“Just like that. I won’t have your father”—his lip curled in distaste—“snooping around my facility. So you run home, and you tell everyone how the big, bad Rai Savona didn’t desecrate a hair on your godforsaken head. And you keep our little conversation to yourself.”

I didn’t bother asking if he was insane. It seemed self-evident. “Why would I do that? So you can enjoy your war between orgs and mechs without the inconvenient truth getting in the way?”

“You’re glad that those forty-two people are alive,” Savona said. “Each and every one of them. Even though they deceived you? Each and every one of them?”

“Surprised?”

“I can only assume you’ll want to ensure they stay alive,” Savona said. “Your silence buys them life. But if you choose to break my confidence…” He let the threat dangle in the silence.

“You’d kill your own followers?” I finally said, unwilling to believe it.

“I won’t have to do anything. They do what I tell them to do,” he said steadily. “They’re willing to give anything for our cause.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Maybe.” He smiled. “Care to test me? If you’d like a demonstration, I can call your friend Jackson in here—although his wife and children may not thank you for it.” He shook his head in mock sadness. “So many Brothers and Sisters beyond that door, willing to do anything to protect their families.”

“By dying?”

“By ensuring that your kind doesn’t destroy us.”

Savona paused, waiting for me to spit something back at him. But I could see the crazy in his eyes. I’d seen what he did to Ani—this was a man who could talk people into things. Maybe he was right, and he could talk people to their death. He folded his hands together on his lap, almost as if he were praying. “I’ve given you this information because I can’t have you poking around here, out of control, trying to dig up the truth. And I can’t risk keeping you here. This seemed the quickest way to shut you up. I’m sending you back out into the world. With a promise. The Synapsis attack was not your fault—those ‘deaths’ were not on your conscience. But if you say anything to anyone , I’ll know. These deaths will be real—and they’ll be on you. ”

“You don’t think I have a soul,” I reminded him. “What makes you think I have a conscience? Maybe I don’t care how many orgs have to die.”

“Maybe,” he said. “And maybe even if you go to the authorities without any proof, you’ll be able to convince someone to trust the word of a skinner over that of Brother Rai Savona. Certainly it would be to your advantage to try. I suppose it will be an interesting experiment. I’m willing to take the risk—I know what I’m willing to sacrifice for my cause. The question is, how much are you willing to sacrifice for yours?”

“You’re disgusting.”

He offered up a humble smile. “Our flaws are what make us human. You wouldn’t understand.” Savona stood. “We’re done here.”

“Wait.” Asking was a show of weakness, but maybe I was weak. “What about Auden. Where does he fit into this?”

“You mean does he know I’m speaking to you tonight? Does he know about the attack? All of it?”

“Any of it.”

“Why would you believe anything I had to say?” Savona asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“I won’t.”

“And yet you still want to know.” He was looking at me like I was a science experiment, one he’d written off as a failure that had suddenly produced some unexpectedly intriguing results. “After everything you’ve done to him—and everything you’ve seen—you still believe he’s on your side.”

“Just tell me.”

Savona raised his eyebrows. “Ask yourself, Lia, why was it your face on that video, declaring war on the mechs? Why would I choose you ? Especially since your father’s connections, his ludicrous campaign, make you a particular liability. Certainly compared to a skinner from a city, with no connections, no family, no power. Why would I go after you ?”

“I have no idea why the hell you’d do anything.”

“I wouldn’t,” he said. “And I didn’t.”

It was a long, dark walk back to the car. Alone.

The kind of walk that gave you time to think. A silent night, a mile of cement and weeds. A face in my head, a dead man walking.

And Sloane, Ty, and Brahm left behind.

Ani left behind.

Why was I always the one that got away?

Not that I’d gotten away with anything. Not if I believed Savona’s threats, his deal. Their lives for my silence.

How was I supposed to let the mechs be blamed for what he’d done—for what he hadn’t done, for the deaths of orgs who were more alive than I was? What if people kept believing that we were dangerous, if the Human Initiative passed, if we lost our rights, lost our credit, our personhood, everything—and all because I’d stayed silent? Hid what I knew, to protect insane orgs willing to die to prove how much they hated me?

If they were the ones with the choice, they wouldn’t save me.

But I couldn’t die. That was the difference, right? The bright line marking off “acceptable losses” from “tragedy”? Whatever the mechs lost, it couldn’t be worth as much as a single org life.

That’s what the orgs would say, anyway.

I didn’t want to think.

I linked in to the network, and there was a message waiting for me at my zone. Not from Jude, pestering me for details; not from Ani, apologizing, recanting, atoning.