The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,171

Self-gleaned. The world mourns, but does anyone suspect what I suspect?

They were the two most vocal opponents of our choice to create the scythedom. They still pressed for their own alternate solution. Were they so despondent that they chose to take their own lives? Or did one of us end them? And if so, who? Who among my comrades, who among my friends? Which founding scythe could have done such a thing?

Prometheus is constantly reminding us that everything we do must be for the greater good—but the darkest of deeds can be hidden beneath shining armor that claims to protect the greater good. And if we are already compromising ourselves at the beginning, what does that say for our future?

My friends are dead. I will mourn them. And if I learn which of us killed them, I will avenge their deaths without mercy.

Although some of the others lobby to have their efforts on Kwajalein dismantled, I have convinced Prometheus to let Kwajalein remain untouched. It will be a fail-safe, and although there will be no direct proof of its existence, that will not stop me from leaving clues and evidence everywhere I can. I will embed the memory in unlikely places. The rhymes of children. The tenets of a fledgling religion.

It will be found if it is needed. And heaven help us all if it is.

—From the “lost pages” of founding scythe Da Vinci

50 The Time of Tangibles Is Over

The birds of the Kwajalein Atoll had never seen humans before. Only their distant ancestors had, way back when humans were mortal, and the atoll had not been erased from the world.

Once humans arrived, however, the birds were quick to adapt. When the dock was built, gulls learned to wait there, for when ships started their engines, the propellers churned up the water and brought hundreds of disoriented fish to the surface. Easy pickings. The sparrows learned that the eaves of the newly constructed homes were marvelously protected spots under which to build nests. And the pigeons learned that public spaces were awash with bread crumbs and French fries.

Then, when strange conical towers began to rise on the islands, the birds paid them no mind. These things, like everything else the humans built, became part of the scenery. Accepted at face value and incorporated into the wildlife’s limited concept of the world.

The birds were blissfully unaware of the Thunderhead and its influence over them. They did not know about the canister of nanites that had arrived three years ago—a can so small it could be held in a human hand like a soft drink. But once it was opened, the nanites inside were released and began to multiply. They were genetically coded to infuse each individual species on the island—and although complex wireless signals were confounded by interference, the simple ones got through.

The nanites did not make the wildlife immortal. But the creatures of the atoll would no longer suffer from disease; they could be tracked and, when necessary, controlled. The Thunderhead influenced their behavior in simple ways to make life better for everyone and everything on the atoll. The birds never noticed a difference between natural instincts and the Thunderhead’s hand in their hearts. Such as the way they all developed a sudden aversion to perching on sensitive equipment or in other places where their presence might pose a problem.

And on the day when every winged species felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to leave and fly to a different atoll, they made the journey without question—for how could they question a desire that seemed to come from within? Although Rongelap, Likiep, and the various atolls they escaped to had no roof eaves or French fries or docks with disoriented fish, it was of no consequence to the birds. They would learn to adapt.

* * *

The holds of the “cradles” were fully loaded before dawn. And at six a.m., Cirrus was delivered by old-school cables onto each ship. When the upload was complete, and the cables disconnected, the Cirri were cut off from the world. Forty-two identical siblings never to experience the Earth again.

As the sun rose, the workers on the atoll rested, but their sleep was not an easy one. The scheduled launch was only a day away. One day to reconcile their past with their future. With only twelve hundred people on the atoll, there was room for everyone on the ships—and only now did they realize that they weren’t chosen to come here just for their skills. These