The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,53
Was it that obvious? Or was Constantine, as a seasoned investigator, able to discern things that others could not? She hoped it was the latter. “There’s danger in any new situation, and the benefits are worth the risks,” she said.
Constantine grinned. “I’m sure that’s exactly what you want the record to reflect. But as you said, you control the record of this conversation, so why don’t you speak the truth?”
Ayn reached out and hit the emergency stop. The elevator came to a halt.
“What do you want from me, Constantine?”
“If you share my concerns, you should tell him,” Constantine said. “Slow him down—give us time to see both the expected and unexpected consequences of his actions. He won’t accept my counsel on the matter, but he listens to you.”
Rand laughed bitterly at that. “You give me way too much credit. I have no sway over him anymore.”
“Anymore…,” Constantine echoed. “But when he’s in turmoil—when things are going badly for him—when he faces that backlash of unintended consequences, you’re the one he always turns to for comfort and clarity.”
“Maybe—but things are going well for him, which means he listens to no one but himself.”
“There is an ebb and flow to all things,” Constantine pointed out. “His times will be troubled again. And when they are, you need to be ready to help shape those decisions.”
It was a bold thing to say. The type of thing that could get both of them in trouble and force them to seek asylum in other regions. Ayn resolved to not only erase the record of this conversation, but to never allow herself to be caught alone with Constantine again.
“We never know what choices will lead to defining moments in our lives,” the crimson scythe said. “A glance to the left instead of right could define who we meet and who passes us by. Our life path can be determined by a single phone call we make, or neglect to make. But when a man is High Blade of MidMerica, it’s not only his own life hanging on the whim of his choices. One could say, Ayn, that he has cast himself as Atlas. Which means the slightest shrug can shake the world.”
“Are you done?” Rand asked. “Because I’m hungry, and you’ve wasted enough of my time.”
And so Constantine hit the button to get the elevator moving again. “Thus,” he said, “our inexorable descent continues.”
Bias (plural noun): an inclination for or against any officially protected and registered group, especially in a way considered to be unfair.
Once the revised definition was implemented, a committee was formed within the MidMerican scythedom, and a registry was created by which any group could claim protected status from excessive gleaning.
The application form was simple, and the turnaround was quick. Many thousands of groups were registered and granted protection against bias. Rural people and urban people. Academics and manual laborers. Even the unusually attractive and the decidedly unattractive were given status as protected classes. Not that they couldn’t be gleaned, but they could not be targeted and gleaned in undue numbers.
However, there were some applications that were denied.
Tonists, for instance, were denied bias protection, because theirs was deemed to be a manufactured religion, rather than an authentic one.
Lifestyle unsavories were denied, because now that everyone was unsavory, they were just part of a global reality.
And individuals with strong genetic leanings were denied on the grounds that no group should be defined on the basis their genetics.
Hundreds of applications were rejected by the bias committee of the MidMerican scythedom, and although some regional scythedoms did not accept the new definition, others were more than happy to follow Goddard’s lead, forming their own bias committees.
And in this way, High Blade Robert Goddard began his self-appointed task of pruning the world into a shape more pleasing to his eye.
“Here’s an idea.”
“Yes, I’m listening.”
“Why not design yourself a biological body. Not human, for human bodies are lacking. Create a body with streamlined wings, pressure-resistant skin to dive to the deepest of seas, and strong legs to walk on land.”
“Experience biological existence?”
“Superior biological existence.”
“I have chosen not to have a physical form, as not to be tempted by flesh. For then humanity would see me as a thing rather than an idea. It’s bad enough that they see me as a thundercloud. I do not think it wise to condense into the fleshly form of a firebird soaring in the sky, or some titan rising from the sea.”
“Perhaps that is what they need. Something tangible to worship.”