The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,134
know what to ask it.
“I hope this isn’t insulting,” Greyson said, “but I’m not sure how I should address you. As Mr. or Ms. Soberanis?”
The salvage captain glanced around the cavern and became noticeably uncomfortable. “I’m at a bit of a loss. I very rarely find myself in a place where I can’t see the sky.”
“Why should that matter?”
“I suppose it shouldn’t… I am always out of doors, or intentionally near a window or skylight… but here in a cave…”
Greyson still didn’t understand, and the captain became just the tiniest bit miffed. “I will never understand how you binaries are so attached to your birth plumbing. Why should it matter whether a person has ovaries, or testicles, or both?”
“It doesn’t,” Greyson said, feeling a little flustered. “I mean… it does matter for some things… doesn’t it?”
“You tell me.”
Greyson found he couldn’t look away from that gaze. “Maybe… it doesn’t matter as much as I thought?” He hadn’t meant to pose it as a question. But it made no difference, because Jerico was not giving him an answer.
“Why don’t you just call me Jeri, and we don’t have to worry about technicalities.”
“All right! Jeri it is. Let’s begin.”
“I thought we already had. Is it my move?” Jeri feigned moving an imaginary chess piece forward, then said, “I very much like your eyes. I see how they can persuade people to follow you.”
“I don’t think my eyes have anything to do with that.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Greyson pressed his earpiece deeper in his ear. “Thunderhead—do my eyes influence people to follow me?”
“Yes, on occasion,” the Thunderhead responded. “They can be helpful when all else fails.”
Greyson found himself blushing in spite of himself. Jeri read it and offered a new variation on that grin.
“So the Thunderhead agrees with me.”
“Maybe.”
Greyson had entered this whole thing assuming he would be in control of the conversation, but clearly he was not. And yet he was beginning to grin as well. He was sure, though, that he only had one grin, and that it looked profoundly stupid.
“Tell me about Madagascar,” he asked, shifting the focus away from himself.
Jeri’s demeanor immediately changed with thoughts of home. “My region is beautiful—the mountains, the beaches, the forests. The people are kind, gentle, and accepting. You should see Antananarivo—our capital city—and the way the sun hits the hills at sunset!”
“Thunderhead,” said Greyson, “tell me something interesting about Antananarivo.”
The Thunderhead spoke, and Greyson listened.
“What did it say?” Jeri asked.
“Uh… it told me that the tallest building in Antananarivo is 309.67 meters high, and is exactly the same height as four other buildings in the world, down to the millimeter.”
Jeri leaned back unimpressed. “Is that the most interesting fact it could find? What about the jacaranda trees around Lake Anosy, or the royal tombs?”
But Greyson put up his hand to stop Jeri, and thought for a moment. The Thunderhead never said anything without reason. The trick was to read its mind. “Thunderhead, where are those other four buildings—I’m curious.”
“One in the Chilargentine region,” it told him, “another in Britannia, the third in Israebia, and the fourth in the region of NuZealand.”
Greyson told Jeri, who was still unimpressed. “I’ve been to all those regions. But home is always the best, I suppose.”
“Have you been to every region in the world?” Greyson asked.
“All the ones with a coast,” Jeri said. “I have an aversion to landlocked places.”
And then the Thunderhead offered a simple, and obvious, opinion—which Greyson shared.
“The Thunderhead says you’d probably be most at home in regions that feature an island or archipelago roughly the size of Madagascar.” Greyson turned his head a bit—a habit he had when he was speaking to the Thunderhead in the presence of others. “Thunderhead, what regions might that be?”
But the Thunderhead was silent.
Greyson grinned. “Nothing… which means we’re on to something!”
“The ones I can think of off the top of my head,” said Jeri, “are Britannia, Caribbea, the Region of the Rising Sun, NuZealand, and the ’Nesias.”
“Interesting,” said Greyson.
“What?”
“Britannia and NuZealand have come up twice….”
To that, the Thunderhead was, once more, silent.
“I’m beginning to like this game,” said Jeri.
Greyson couldn’t deny that he was, too.
“What region would you like to live in?” Jeri asked. “If you had your choice of any in the world?”
It was a loaded question, and perhaps Jeri knew that. Because everyone else in the world did have that choice. Anyone could live anywhere. But for Greyson it was less of an actual place than a state of mind.