The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,35

create a code that the Thunderhead can’t crack, and you’re far from the greatest mind on Earth.”

The communications agent agreed that, indeed, he wasn’t exceptionally bright. “I’ll get right on it.”

In just a few hours, they had created a modulation code made up of short, medium, and long pulses of interference within the white noise. A combination for every letter, number, and punctuation mark. Loriana gave him a simple message to code and send.

Have reached coordinates.

A deserted atoll.

Severe casualties and loss of life.

Standing by for further instructions.

Loriana knew that once they had vanished into the blind spot, the Thunderhead had no idea if they had reached the coordinates, what they had found there, or if they were even alive. It needed confirmation. How odd that the most powerful entity in the world now hung on hearing from her.

“Even if it gets the message, it won’t respond,” Stirling said. “It can’t – we’re still unsavory.”

“It will,” said Loriana with confidence. “Just not in any way we’ll expect.”

While Munira found she could tolerate Loriana and her upbeat attitude, she abhorred Sykora. From the get-go, he wielded his newfound position like a scythe with a broadsword; inelegant and unsuitable for the task. Fortunately, once he assumed the leadership role, he left Munira and Faraday alone. Probably because they were the only two people on the island who were not under his authority.

Loriana told Munira of the message she had sent. Munira had to admit that the method was clever – but she didn’t expect it to yield much. Then the following day, a plane passed above them at cruising altitude. It was too high to be heard over the rustling palms, but its vapor trail could be seen by anyone who looked skyward. Sykora didn’t think anything of it, but Loriana was ecstatic – and with good reason. Munira had told her how no planes had flown over the blind spot since the Thunderhead’s inception. Its fundamental programming made it incapable of even acknowledging this hidden part of the world to itself, much less actively exploring it – hence the mysterious coordinates with no instructions.

But the Thunderhead could respond indirectly to a communication that someone in the blind spot initiated. Even so, to overcome its own programming and send a plane directly overhead must have required a massive amount of computational power. It was very literally a sign from the heavens.

That evening, Munira found Faraday by the western beach of the narrow island, watching the sunset alone. She knew Faraday was still grieving – for Loriana had told her everything that had occurred on Endura. She wanted to be a comfort to him, but didn’t know how.

She brought him some fish that was slightly overcooked and a ration of pear slices – probably the last they’d have, because the Nimbus agents were foraging everything edible the island had to offer. He looked at the food but told her he wasn’t hungry.

“Are you so consumed by grief that you can’t consume this fish?” she asked. “I’d think you’d want to exact revenge on sea life.”

He reluctantly took the plate from her. “It wasn’t the fault of the sea life around Endura; they were clearly under someone’s control.” He picked at the fish a bit, still not taking a bite.

“Loriana seems to have made contact with the Thunderhead,” she informed him.

“Seems?”

“Since the Thunderhead won’t allow itself to communicate with her – or anyone else – contact would have to be indirect.”

“So, what did it do? Make the stars blink?”

“In its own way,” she said, and told him about the passing plane.

Faraday heaved a world-weary sigh. “So the Thunderhead has found a way to undo its programming. It’s found a way to change.”

“Does that make you uneasy?”

“Nothing surprises me anymore,” he told her. “The world was no longer supposed to change, Munira. It was a well-oiled machine in sublime perpetual motion. At least I thought it was.”

She assumed that his misgivings were fueling a desire to do something about them. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

“If you want to get into the lower levels of the bunker,” she said, “then let’s make it our goal to find another scythe to open the door with you. One you can trust.”

Faraday shook his head. “I’m done, Munira. I can no longer justify this undertaking.”

That took her by surprise. “Because of Endura? Because of Scythes Curie and Anastasia? You know they would want you to go on!”

But it was as if he had died with them. His pain was