The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,33

the finality of one’s own flesh at every turn? What a terrible way to exist.

Within minutes of confirming that Director Hilliard was indeed gone, Agent Sykora began to push for control. The following morning, Munira came to give Loriana a briefing on what luggage and other useful debris had washed up on shore – and Sykora was furious.

“What are you talking to her for?” he asked Munira. “I’m the next in command now that the director is gone. You should be talking to me.”

And although all of Loriana’s history had trained her to yield to authority, she fought against that nature in herself. “You were fired along with the rest of us, Bob,” she said, thrilling at the insubordination implied in using his first name. “Which means there is no ‘next in command’ anymore.”

He threw her a glare that was intended to intimidate, but he also grew red in the face, which undercut his hard gaze. It made him appear petulant rather than imposing. “We’ll see about that,” he said, and stormed away.

Scythe Faraday had caught the exchange from a distance and came over to Loriana. “I sense he will not make things easy for us,” Faraday noted. “He sees a power vacuum and intends to expand into it.”

“Like a toxic gas,” added Munira. “I didn’t like him from the moment I met him.”

“Sykora always felt he should have been director,” said Loriana, “but the Thunderhead would never have promoted him to the position.” They watched as Sykora gave orders. The more obsequious among the former Nimbus agents were quick to obey.

Faraday crossed his arms. “I have witnessed time and time again the craving for power among those who have had a taste of it,” he said, “but I have never truly understood that craving.”

“You and the Thunderhead,” noted Loriana.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s incorruptible. It seems like you both have that in common.”

Munira let off a short laugh in agreement. Faraday was not at all amused. He hadn’t shown an ounce of good humor since Loriana had told him what had happened on Endura last month. Now she regretted having told him at all.

“I am far from perfect and far from blameless,” he said. “I’ve made many a selfish mistake in my time. Such as taking two apprentices when one would have been sufficient. Such as falsifying my own death to save them, and foolishly convincing myself I could do more good if no one knew I was alive.”

Clearly there were deep levels of pain for him in these memories, but he let the shadow of the moment pass.

“You found this place,” Munira said. “I think that is a huge accomplishment.”

“Is it?” said Faraday. “There’s no proof that discovering this place has helped anyone at all.”

They turned their gazes to the various activities going on around them. Unskilled attempts at spearfishing. Clusters of conversations as people formed cliques and jockeyed for position. Incompetence and intrigue. A microcosm of humanity.

“Why did you come here?” Loriana asked.

Munira and Faraday looked at each other. Faraday said nothing, so Munira answered.

“Scythe business. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

“Secrets won’t help us survive in this place,” Loriana told them, which caused Faraday to raise an eyebrow. Then he turned to Munira.

“You may tell her about the founders’ fail-safe,” Faraday said. “As we haven’t discovered it yet, it’s still no more than a fairy tale. A story to keep scythes awake at night.”

But before Munira could offer an explanation, Sykora approached them.

“It’s decided,” Sykora said. “I’ve spoken to a majority of our agents, and they have clearly expressed a desire for me to be in charge.”

This, Loriana knew, was a lie. He had spoken to five or six agents, at most. She did know, however, that quite a few of the survivors were her superiors. If it came down to it, even if they didn’t want Sykora in charge, they would never put Loriana in the position. Who was she fooling? Her moment was over the instant the pods opened on the beach.

“Of course, Mr. Sykora,” said Faraday. “We shall defer to you in all things relating to your people. Munira, will you brief Mr. Sykora on the belongings that have washed up onshore? He’ll be in charge of distribution.”

Munira gave Loriana a small shrug and left with Sykora, who was puffed and prideful now that his indignation had been rewarded.

Loriana’s sense of humiliation must have been obvious, because Faraday gave her the gravest of looks. “You disapprove?”

“You said it yourself, Your Honor – Sykora’s power hungry. I never