The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,172
can’t forgive it.”
And so, with nothing more that could be said on the matter, Cirrus brought the conversation back to where it started. “If you choose to return to the cargo ship,” Cirrus said, “I warn you that it may be an unpleasant environment by morning. I advise you to keep your door closed.”
“Really? Will the dead be walking?”
“Not if I can help it.” Then Cirrus, who would soon be duplicated forty-one times and ensconced in the Cradles of Civilization, offered Jeri some parting words. “Take heart, Jerico. I have known you all your life – or rather, I have memories of having known you – and I can unequivocally say that no matter what happens, you will land firmly on your feet. And I will miss you.”
Which meant that Cirrus already knew that Jeri wouldn’t be joining it on any of its skyward journeys.
Curate Mendoza had spent three years shaping a young man who could have been the most powerful person in the world. Now Mendoza was in the company of the man who actually was.
“I believe our arrangement will be mutually beneficial,” Overblade Goddard told him. And as long as Mendoza delivered what he had promised – factions of Sibilants who would take out Goddard’s enemies – he knew his position at Goddard’s left hand was secure. As for Goddard’s right hand, that spot was held by Underscythe Rand, and there was no indication that that would ever change.
Rand didn’t like Mendoza much, that was clear, but then she didn’t seem to like anyone, not even Goddard.
“It’s just her way,” Goddard had told him. “She likes to be off-putting.”
Be that as it may, Mendoza did his best to be deferential to her and stay out of her line of sight when he could. Not easy now, however, as it was hard to hide on the Overblade’s private plane. It was even nicer than the craft he had procured for the Toll’s journey to SubSahara. The perks of the Overblade’s company were fine, indeed, for a humble man like Mendoza!
They were the lead plane in a five-craft, fully armed formation. Nietzsche and Franklin commanded the craft on either side, with High Blades Pickford and Hammerstein commanding the left and right wings. The other High Blades of the North Merican Allied Scythedom were called upon as well to join this armada, but they had refused, claiming other pressing business. Mendoza would not want to be them once Goddard returned. High Blades were not immune from the Overblade’s wrath.
Out Mendoza’s window was nothing but sea and clouds below. They had left North Merican airspace hours ago, but the destination was as of yet unclear.
“This is where the tracking transmitter on the cargo ship went silent,” Rand told Goddard, showing him the spot on a map. “Either they found the transmitter and destroyed it, or something else happened.”
“Could the ship have sunk?” Mendoza asked.
“No,” said Rand. “Scythe ships sink; Thunderhead ships don’t.”
“Yes, well, we scythes are better than our technology.”
“We’ll follow the path it was taking from Guam,” Rand said. “There’s only so far that ship could go from its last known position. Even if it changed direction, we’re sure to find it.”
Goddard turned to Mendoza. “If the harbormaster’s observations are correct, and both Anastasia and the Toll are together, we’ll quite literally be killing two birds with one stone,” he said. “I’ll be happy to let you kill the Toll, and simply count him as gleaned.”
Mendoza shifted uncomfortably. “That would be … against my beliefs, Your Excellency,” he said. “Please feel free to do it yourself.”
Sappho and Confucius are dead. 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.