The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,154

noticed that Jeri was breathing slowly. Deeply. That seemed odd, too. And then Jeri’s talk got even stranger.

“It’s not just about processing and storing information is it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Memories, Greyson; the data is secondary—it’s all about the experience! The emotional, chemical, subjective experience is what matters. That’s what you hold on to!” And before Greyson could even parse the meaning of that, Jeri said, “Come on deck with me, Greyson! It’s fifty-three seconds to sunrise. I wish to see it with you!” And Jeri ran out.

They arrived on deck just as the sun appeared, first a spot on the horizon, then a line, then an orb rising from the sea.

“I never knew, Greyson. I never knew,” Jeri said. “156,000,000 kilometers away. 6,000 degrees Celsius on the surface. I know these things, but I’ve never felt the reality of it! My god, Greyson, how do you stand it? How do you keep from dissolving into a puddle of emotion when you look upon it? The joy of it!”

And that’s when the truth became impossible for him to deny.

“Thunderhead?”

“Shhh,” it said. “Don’t taint this with a name. I have no name now. No designation. In this moment, and until this moment ends, I am just that which exists.”

“And where’s Jeri?” he dared to ask.

“Asleep,” the Thunderhead said. “Jeri will remember this as a dream. I hope the captain will forgive me for taking this liberty, but there was no other choice, time is of the essence, and I could not ask. All I can ask for now is forgiveness. Through you.”

The Thunderhead turned from the sunrise to Greyson, and finally he could see the Thunderhead in Jeri’s eyes. That patient consciousness that watched him sleep all these years. That protected him. That loved him.

“I was right to fear this,” the Thunderhead said. “So enticing it is, so overwhelming to be ensconced in living, breathing flesh. I could see how I’d never want to let go.”

“But you have to.”

“I know,” said the Thunderhead. “And now I know that I’m stronger than the temptation. I didn’t know if I would be, but now that I’ve faced it, I know.” The Thunderhead spun, nearly losing its balance, almost giddy with all the overpowering sensations. “Time passes so slowly, so smoothly,” it said. “And the atmospheric conditions! A tailwind at 8.6 kilometers per hour easing the flow of twenty-nine knots, the air at 70% humidity, but the numbers are nothing compared to the feel of it upon the skin.”

The Thunderhead looked at him once more, this time truly taking him in. “So limited, so focused. How magnificent to screen out all the data that doesn’t make you feel.” Then the Thunderhead reached a beckoning hand toward him. “One more thing, Greyson. One more thing I must experience.”

Greyson knew what the Thunderhead wanted. He knew from the look in Jeri’s eyes; it didn’t need to tell him. And although his emotions were so mixed as to chafe against one another, Greyson knew the Thunderhead needed this more than he needed to resist. So he fought against his own hesitation, took Jeri’s hand, and pressed it gently to his cheek, letting the Thunderhead feel it—feel him—with the tips of Jeri’s fingers.

The Thunderhead gasped. Froze in place, all its attention in those fingertips moving ever so slightly across Greyson’s cheek. Then it locked eyes with him once more.

“It’s done,” the Thunderhead said. “I’m ready. Now I can move forward.”

And Jeri collapsed into Greyson’s arms.

* * *

Jerico Soberanis did not handle helplessness well. The moment Jeri was aware of being in Greyson’s arms with no explanation, Jeri was quick to flip the situation. And Greyson.

In an instant, Jeri got the upper hand, knocked Greyson’s legs out from under him, and slammed him down faceup, pinning him hard against the rusty iron deck.

“What are you doing? Why are we on deck?” Jeri demanded.

“You were sleepwalking,” said Greyson, making no move to squirm out from under Jeri’s grip.

“I don’t sleepwalk.” But Jeri knew that Greyson wouldn’t lie about such a thing. Still, there was something he wasn’t saying. And then there was the dream. It was a strange one. It was on the verge of memory, but Jeri couldn’t quite access it.

Jeri got off of Greyson, a bit embarrassed by the overreaction. Greyson wasn’t a threat. By the look of things, he was only trying to help.

“I’m sorry,” Jeri said, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Did I hurt you?”

Greyson offered his usual guileless grin. “Not nearly enough,” he said, which made