The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,161
back or you’ll be gleaned.”
It was a wraith of a man. He wore tattered rags and had wild gray hair that was turning white. His beard was an unkempt snarl that billowed around his cragged face, making him look like he was slowly being devoured by a cloud.
The man froze when he saw the blade. He looked from its shiny steel to Anastasia with eyes that were careworn and tormented. Then he said, “Citra, do you not recognize me?”
Scythe Anastasia melted away when she heard him speak her name. She knew who this was the instant he spoke, because whatever else had changed, his voice was still the same.
“Scythe Faraday?”
She dropped her blade, letting it clatter on the ground, horrified that she had even considered using it on him. When she had last seen him, he was leaving to find the Land of Nod. And this was it.
Damn all formal decorum, she would have thrown herself into his arms, but as she approached him, he knelt before her—this, perhaps the greatest of all scythes who had ever lived, was kneeling before her. He clasped her hands in his and looked up at her.
“I was afraid to believe it,” he said. “Munira told me you were alive, but I couldn’t let myself hope, because if it proved untrue, I would not be able to bear it. But you’re here! You’re here!” Then he lowered his head, and all his words became weeping.
Citra knelt down to him and spoke gently. “Yes,” she said. “I’m alive now, thanks to Marie. She saved me. Now let’s go somewhere quiet where we can talk, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
* * *
Munira watched Faraday leave with Scythe Anastasia. She had brought Faraday here, but the moment he saw that turquoise robe, Munira was forgotten. She didn’t have the power to bring him back from his self-imposed exile—but all it took was invoking Anastasia’s name, and he left his solitary islet. Three years Munira had spent tending to him, putting up with him, making sure he didn’t languish away into nothing, and he discarded her without a backward glance.
She left the docks before she knew what was even in the crates. Before Sykora, Loriana, or anyone else could give her an assignment. She was never really a part of this community to begin with, so why act like she was now?
When she got home and saw the work order still pulsating on every electronic surface, she hit the circuit breakers, killing power to the house, and lit a candle.
Let the cargo be loaded onto the ships. Let the ships be launched. Let it all be over. Then finally she could go back to the library. Back to Alexandria where she belonged.
Habitable Exoplanets Less Than 600 Light-Years from Earth
Object
Mass
Length of Year (days)
Distance (light years)
Length of Journey (years)
Number of ships being sent
Chance of success
Earth (for comparison)
1
365.24
0
n/a
n/a
n/a
Proxima Centauri b
1.30
11.19
4.2
12.66
3
97.7%
Ross 128b
1.50
9.87
11.0
33.09
3
97.0%
Tau Ceti e
3.95
163.00
12.0
36
2
96.9%
Luyten b
2.89
18.65
12.4
37.08
2
96.9%
Kapteyn b
4.80
48.60
13.0
39
2
96.8%
Wolf 1061c
4.30
17.90
13.8
41.4
1
96.7%
Gliese 832c
5.40
35.70
16.0
48
1
96.5%
Mentarsus-H
0.93
487.00
16.1
48.3
2
96.5%
Gliese 682c*
8.70
57.30
17.0
51
1
96.4%
HD 20794e
4.77
331.41
20.0
60
1
96.1%
Gliese 625b
3.80
14.63
21.3
63.9
1
96.0%
HD 219134g*
10.81
94.20
21.4
64.05
1
96.0%
Gliese 667Cc
3.80
28.14
23.6
70.86
1
95.8%
Gliese 180c*
6.40
24.30
38.0
114
1
94.3%
Gliese 180b*
8.30
17.40
38.0
114
1
94.3%
TRAPPIST-1d
0.30
4.05
39.0
117
2
94.2%
TRAPPIST-1e
0.77
6.10
39.0
117
2
94.2%
TRAPPIST-1f
0.93
9.20
39.0
117
2
94.2%
TRAPPIST-1g
1.15
12.40
39.0
117
2
94.2%
LHS 1140b*
6.60
25.00
40.0
120
1
94.1%
Gliese 422b*
9.90
26.20
41.0
123
1
94.0%
HD 40307g*
7.10
197.80
42.0
126
1
93.9%
Gliese 163c*
7.30
25.60
49.0
147
1
93.2%
Gliese 3293c*
8.60
48.10
59.0
177
1
92.2%
K2-18b*
6.00
32.90
111.0
333
1
87.0%
K2-3d*
11.10
44.60
137.0
411
1
84.4%
K2-9b*
6.10
18.40
359.0
1077
1
62.2%
Kepler-438b
1.30
35.20
473.0
1419
2
50.8%
Kepler-186f
1.50
129.95
561.0
1683
1
44.0%
* Super-earths with habitable moons
48 We Will Traverse That Expanse When We Come to It
As the population of the atoll got to work, and Anastasia went off with Scythe Faraday, Loriana took Greyson, Jeri, Morrison, and Astrid to a building on the island’s only hill. They climbed up a winding stair to a large circular room at the top. The room was all windows, like a lighthouse, and nothing had been built to obstruct the view, so it had a 360-degree vista of the atoll.
Loriana pointed to hundreds of names engraved into the support columns. “We built the Viewhouse as a memorial for the Nimbus agents who died when we first arrived. This is the very spot where the laser turret that killed them stood. Now it’s a meeting place for important matters, or at least the matters certain people felt were important. I wouldn’t know, because I was never invited.”
“From what I can see,” said Greyson, “yours was the work that actually mattered.”
“Important work,” Jeri quipped, “often loses the spotlight to self-important people.”
Loriana shrugged. “I got more done without the attention anyway.”
Outside they could see things getting underway. Crates being opened down by the docks, vehicles large and small already heading for the launchpads, as well as small boats traversing the ten-mile lagoon toward the far-flung islands of the atoll.
“We should help them” said Jeri, but Greyson shook his head wearily.
“I’m spent,” he said. “We all are. It’s all right to let the people here handle this part—we can’t do