Jay Budgett - The Indigo Thief

“Open your eyes, Kai—the Feds killed my sister. They ran some bullshit diagnostic tests, and then Gwendolyn Cherry—on behalf of the Federation—decided she was in the weakest thirty-three percent and pulled her name from the system.

“They poisoned her, Kai. They did. Not the ‘Carcinogens,’ but the Federal government. And then they pretended it was an accident. And you know how they do it? They manufacture viruses. Custom viruses, tailored to target only specific individuals’ DNA. They put them in our water supply, and the viruses find their way to their victims.

“There ARE no Carcinogens, Kai. There’s nothing in the air. The only thing killing kids around here is people . And our enemies aren’t Girl Scouts—they don’t have to wear stinking uniforms.”

The room was spinning. I remembered Mila’s conversation with Gwendolyn, and Gwendolyn saying something about seeing the names behind the statistics, the children behind the names. The initials S.V. The legacy of regret she was leaving behind.

I remembered what Dr. Howey had said after she died: that the Indigo Report went to her head.

What was in the report again? I tried hard to remember, but it was difficult when the room was spinning. Something about viruses and genetics… Everything was blurry now—it was too much. What was I doing? What had I done? What had really been in the Indigo Report? If the Carcinogens weren’t real, then what was Indigo?

“But Indigo,” I said, my whole body shaking. “There has to be something in the air—there’s gotta be something .” My lips were quivering. “Maybe—maybe it’s too complicated for them to tell us. There’s gotta be something… because we have Indigo. The vaccine’s a miracle.” The words felt stale in my mouth. “It’s saved millions of lives. It’s the reason we can even exist…”

Mila stared at the ground and fiddled with her fingers—she might have been crying. I thought I saw tears roll down her face. I felt my cheeks. They were wet. The tears were mine.

Phoenix stood in the doorway, shaking his head. “Indigo has never saved a single life. It’s never saved anything.”

God, now not only was the room spinning, the world was shaking. When would it stop? When would the world stop? The Feds would be here soon. Their helicopters would break the horizon, and everything would be over. Charlie would be here. Things would make sense for the first time in a long time. I could forget everything I’d learned. Forget the truth.

Who needed the truth?

“I’m afraid Indigo didn’t save humanity,” said Phoenix. “It destroyed it. It’s not a real vaccine at all—it’s a virus that delivers a slow acting poison, Kai.”

“But the euthanizations—”

“Are a way to cover up dosage discrepancy. Like any pathogen, people react differently to the Indigo virus. Some die immediately after the virus awakens from its thirty-five-year incubation period. Others hold on to life a little bit longer while their sanity dissolves, the unleashed poison wreaking havoc and driving them to erratic behavior. Before euthanizations, some people even committed murder as the neurotoxins dissolved their will to live and think rationally. The mandatory euthanizations returned order to the whole thing—stopped Indigo from being so messy. I know it’s hard to believe, Kai, and for that, I’m sorry.”

His words hit me like bullets—I had had it wrong all along.

He sucked in a breath and said it again: “Indigo is a virus.”

Miranda Morier decided she’d wear a red dress tonight to celebrate the Lost Boys’ capture. She was thinking of a strapless one with ruffled chiffon fabric draped around its hem. She’d add a blue brooch, think her hair a foot longer (a perk of existing only as a hologram), and wrap her shoulders with her favorite mink shawl.

Pouring her consciousness into the ConSynth had its advantages: she could appear and disappear in a room whenever she wanted, and change her appearance by simply imagining a different version of herself. A single thought could change her hair, shirt, or height in seconds. Her physical presence in the room was just a projection of her own imagination—a hologram cast from the ConSynth’s glowing green depths, which stored the electrical composition of her former brain. It was like she’d put her soul in a box.

Sage rapped her knuckles on the chambers’ door.

“Come in, darling,” Miranda called. Sage hurried into the room with a package and plopped it down hard on the desk. Miranda cocked her head to the side. “Heavy, was it?” Sage nodded.

Miranda sprawled herself across the room’s chaise lounge, then took one look at the box before shaking her head. “Just shove it under the desk, darling. I don’t need it after all.”

Sage poked a finger at the box. “What is it?”

“Now?” Miranda smiled. “It’s just a hell of a paperweight.” She was lucky the blind girl was so dim—the poor thing had no idea what she’d carried down the hall, the power and possibilities that could be found within the machine’s depths.

Miranda watched as Sage rubbed her fingers against the green ConSynth’s surface, the oils from her fingertips leaving a filmy resin. Miranda pursed her lips—she hated when people touched the ConSynth. It was too close to them cupping her actual soul.

Miranda decided she’d had enough of Sage. The girl had been useful for a time, but now it seemed she was beginning to develop her own ideas—helping Charlie try and escape, for example. She was becoming bold and restless, and Miranda simply couldn’t afford the risk any longer. The girl would need to be executed, and soon.

Next month, she decided. That would leave her enough time to train a new girl. She would start with a younger one this time. The younger ones were always better workers. Not as ornery, and more willing to accept another’s authority. Miranda would have Hackner take her to H.E.A.L. in a few weeks, after the Lost Boys had been tried and executed, and she could find a suitable replacement there.

Miranda looked up and found the blind girl staring at her, her glazed eyes hard and relentless. It was unnerving. What was she thinking?

Not much, Miranda decided.

Sage chewed her lip and rubbed the ConSynth. “It’s another one, isn’t it?”

Miranda flew across the room. What had the girl said? What did she know? She tried to brush off the question with a laugh. “What did you say, darling?”

Sage’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “Nothing.”

For a split second, Miranda thought the girl was on to something—that she knew about the ConSynth. About both of the ConSynths, now. Maybe she was scheming. Planning a way to kill her.

“The box is another paperweight,” said Sage quickly. “Isn’t it?”

Miranda released a sigh of relief—the girl had no idea. She was far too dim. Delightfully so. “Yes, darling… another paperweight. You’re so clever!”

Miranda thought she saw the girl let out a deep breath. Perhaps, she was on to her, after all? Miranda would have to accelerate the execution—maybe in a week or two.

“Unfortunately, darling,” she said, smoothing the edge of her sapphire suit, “I don’t think the paperweight is going to be to my liking after all. I’ll have Maintenance take it tomorrow.”

Sage reached for the box. “I can take it.”

Miranda cleared her throat. “That won’t be necessary. You’ve already done so much. I’ll let Maintenance get it in the morning, don’t you worry.” Sage nodded. “You should probably be off, darling. I’m feeling exhausted.”

The girl turned to the box once more before nodding and exiting. Oh, yes—something needed to be done about her, and soon.