The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,16

after a dive that was deemed “successful” because no equipment was lost.

“A bee? More like a hornet’s nest,” Possuelo answered. “The vault, as does any vault, contains objects of great value. But in this case those objects are not your concern, because they are only of value to scythes.”

At that, Jeri smirked. “Ah! I always wondered where the scythe rings were kept!”

Possuelo cursed himself for having said anything at all. “You’re too clever for your own good.”

“That,” Jeri said, “has always been my problem.”

Possuelo sighed. Was it so bad that the captain knew? The affable Madagascan was not a greedy sort, treated the crew well, and had shown nothing but respect for Possuelo. The scythe needed someone to trust in all this, and Captain Soberanis had certainly proven herself trustworthy. Or himself, as the sky was currently under heavy cover of clouds.

“It’s not the rings but the gems themselves – many thousands of them,” Possuelo admitted. “Whoever controls those diamonds controls the future of the scythedom.”

While we in the LoneStar region would like to remain neutral in this matter, it’s become clear to us in Texas that High Blade Goddard intends to impose his will upon all of North Merica, and perhaps the world entire. Without Grandslayers to check his ambition, we fear his influence will grow like a mortal-age cancer.

As a Charter Region, we are free to do whatever we wish within our borders. We are, therefore, breaking off all contact with the MidMerican scythedom. Effective immediately, any and all MidMerican scythes found within our region shall be escorted to the nearest border and ejected.

We go as far as to question Mr. Goddard’s right to be High Blade, since an edict from Endura was never publicly made before the Grandslayers perished.

As a matter of policy, we do not wish to involve other regions in our decision. Others can do as they see fit. We just want to be left alone.

—Official proclamation from

Her Excellency, High Blade Barbara Jordan of Texas

5

Your Service Is No Longer Required

from: Thunderhead Primary Communication Exchange

to: Loriana Barchok

date: April 1st, Year of the Raptor, 17:15 GMT

subject: Re: Authority Interface dissolution

mailed by: TPCE.th

signed by: FCAI

security: Standard encryption

My Dearest Loriana,

I am sorry to inform you that your services as a Nimbus agent are no longer required. I know you have performed to the best of your ability, and this permanent release from service is by no means a reflection on you or your work for the Authority Interface. However, I have decided to dissolve the Authority Interface in its entirety. Effective immediately, it shall cease to exist as a managerial entity, and therefore you are released from service. I wish you luck in all of your future endeavors.

Respectfully,

The Thunderhead

If someone had told Loriana Barchok that her job would cease to exist less than one year out of Nimbus Academy, she would not have believed it possible. She would not have believed a great many things possible. But those things had all happened. Which meant that anything could happen now. Anything. For all she knew a hand could reach out of the sky with tweezers and pluck her eyebrows with impunity. Not that they needed plucking; her eyebrows were fine. But it could happen. She wouldn’t put anything past this peculiar world anymore.

At first, Loriana thought that the e-mail from the Thunderhead was a joke. There were plenty of pranksters at the Fulcrum City AI offices. But it became quickly evident that this was no prank. At the end of that horrible earsplitting noise that blew out many a sound system around the world, the Thunderhead sent every Nimbus agent everywhere the identical message. The Authority Interface had been shut down; every single agent was now unemployed – and unsavory – just like everyone else.

“If the whole world is unsavory,” another agent lamented, “then of course we’re out of a job. We’re supposed to be the professional interface for the Thunderhead; how can we do that if we’re unsavory, and, by law, forbidden to talk to it?”

“No point in obsessing over it,” said another colleague, who didn’t seem bothered at all. “What’s done is done.”

“But to fire all of us?” Loriana said. “Every single one with no warning? That’s millions of people!”

“The Thunderhead has its reasons for everything,” the nonplussed colleague said. “The fact that we can’t see the logic shows our limitations, not the Thunderhead’s.”

Then, when the news of Endura’s sinking broke, it became evident, at least to Loriana, that humanity was being punished for it – as