time.”
Volta leaped up, moving faster than seemed possible. He lifted Rowan up and pushed him against the wall with a bruising slam that made Rowan sorely miss his painkilling nanites.
“You will never repeat that to anyone, do you hear me? I’ve come too far to have my position jeopardized! I won’t be blackmailed by a snot-nosed apprentice!”
“Is that what you think I’m doing? Blackmailing you?”
“Don’t toy with me!” growled Volta “I know why you’re here!”
Rowan was genuinely disappointed. “I thought you knew me.”
A moment more and Volta loosened his grip. “Nobody knows anyone, do they?” he said.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone. And I don’t want anything from you.”
Volta finally backed off. “I’m sorry. After you’ve been surrounded by so much scheming, you start to think that’s how everyone plays.” He sat back down on the bed. “I believe you, because I know you’re better than that. In fact, I knew from the moment Goddard brought you in. He sees you as a challenge—because if he can turn one of Faraday’s apprentices to his way of thinking, it proves he can turn anyone.”
Then it occurred to Rowan that Volta wasn’t all that much older than him. He had always feigned a confidence that made him seem older, but now his vulnerability revealed the truth. He was twenty at most. Which meant he’d only been a scythe for a couple of years. Rowan didn’t know the path that led him from an old-guard scythe to Goddard, but he could imagine. He could see how a junior scythe might gravitate toward Goddard’s flash and charisma. After all, Goddard promised his disciples anything a human heart could desire, in exchange for the complete abdication of one’s conscience. In a profession where a conscience was a liability, who would want one?
Rowan sat down again and pulled his chair close enough to Volta to whisper. “I’ll tell you what I think,” Rowan said. “Goddard isn’t a scythe. He’s a killer.” It was the first time Rowan dared to say it out loud. “There’s a lot written about killers from the mortal age—monsters like Jack the Ripper, or Charlie Manson, or Cyber Sally—and the only difference between them and Goddard is that people let Goddard get away with it. The mortals knew how wrong it was, but somehow we’ve forgotten.”
“Yeah, but even if that’s true, what can anyone do about it?” asked Volta. “The future comes whether we want it to or not. Rand, and Chomsky, and the dozens of other sick, twisted bastards longing to be in Goddard’s inner circle are going to dominate that future. I’m sure the founding scythes must be rolling in their graves—but the point is, they are in their graves, and they’re not coming back any time soon.” Volta took a deep breath, and wiped the last of his tears. “For your sake, Rowan, I hope you come to love killing as much as Goddard does. It would make your life so much easier. So much more rewarding.”
The suggestion weighed heavily on him. A month ago, Rowan would have denied that he could ever become such a monster, but now he wasn’t so sure. The pressure to surrender was greater every day. He had to hope that if Volta had never truly surrendered to the darkness, then maybe he might stand a chance as well.
* * *
There is no official media coverage of gleanings, much to the chagrin of the more publicity-minded scythes. Not even large-scale gleanings get on the news. Even so, plenty of personal pictures and videos of gleanings are uploaded to the Thunderhead, providing a guerilla record—which is so much more exciting and enticing than anything official.
Notoriety and infamy quickly evolve into celebrity and fame for scythes—and the most brazen acts harden further into legend. Some scythes find the fame addictive, and seek greater and greater celebrity. Others would rather remain anonymous.
I cannot deny that I am legend. Not for the simple gleanings I do now, but for the audacious ones I did more than a hundred and fifty years ago. As if I weren’t already immortal enough, I am further immortalized on collectible cards. The newer ones are prized by schoolchildren. The older ones are worth a fortune to hard-core collectors, regardless of the condition.
I am legend. Yet every day I wish that I was not.
—From the gleaning journal of H.S. Curie
* * *
27
Harvest Conclave
Citra’s secret investigation led to some surprises she couldn’t wait to share with Rowan when she finally saw him at Harvest Conclave.