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.
Although some of the others lobby to have their efforts on Kwajalein dismantled, I have convinced Prometheus to let Kwajalein remain untouched. It will be a fail-safe, and although there will be no direct proof of its existence, that will not stop me from leaving clues and evidence everywhere I can. I will embed the memory in unlikely places. The rhymes of children. The tenets of a fledgling religion.
It will be found if it is needed. And heaven help us all if it is.
—From the “lost pages” of founding scythe Da Vinci
50
The Time of Tangibles Is Over
The birds of the Kwajalein Atoll had never seen humans before. Only their distant ancestors had, way back when humans were mortal, and the atoll had not been erased from the world.
Once humans arrived, however, the birds were quick to adapt. When the dock was built, gulls learned to wait there, for when ships started their engines, the propellers churned up the water and brought hundreds of disoriented fish to the surface. Easy pickings. The sparrows learned that the eaves of the newly constructed homes were marvelously protected spots under which to build nests. And the pigeons learned that public spaces were awash with bread crumbs and French fries.
Then, when strange conical towers began to rise on the islands, the birds paid them no mind. These things, like everything else the humans built, became part of the scenery. Accepted at face value and incorporated into the wildlife’s limited concept of the world.
The birds were blissfully unaware of the Thunderhead and its influence over them. They did not know about the canister of nanites that had arrived three years ago – a can so small it could be held in a human hand like a soft drink. But once it was opened, the nanites inside were released and began to multiply. They were genetically coded to infuse each individual species on the island – and although complex wireless signals were confounded by interference, the simple ones got through.
The nanites did not make the wildlife immortal. But the creatures of the atoll would no longer suffer from disease; they could be tracked and, when necessary, controlled. The Thunderhead influenced their behavior in simple ways to make life better for everyone and everything on the atoll. The birds never noticed a difference between natural instincts and the Thunderhead’s hand in their hearts. Such as the way they all developed a sudden aversion to perching on sensitive equipment or in other places where their presence might pose a problem.
And on the day when every winged species felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to leave and fly to a different atoll, they made the journey without question – for how could they question a desire that seemed to come from within? Although Rongelap, Likiep, and the various atolls they escaped to had no roof eaves or French fries or docks with disoriented fish, it was of no consequence to the birds. They would learn to adapt.
The holds of the “cradles” were fully loaded before dawn. And at six a.m., Cirrus was delivered by old-school cables onto each ship. When the upload was complete, and the cables disconnected, the Cirri were cut off from the world. Forty-two identical siblings never to experience the Earth again.
As the sun rose, the workers on the atoll rested, but their sleep was not an easy one. The scheduled launch was only a day away. One day to reconcile their past with their future. With only twelve hundred people on the atoll, there was room for everyone on the ships – and only now did they realize that they weren’t chosen to come here just for their skills. These were all people for whom the world had lost its luster. Which is why, when given the option to return home and resume their lives, so many of them chose not to do it. The ones who remained were, by and large, ready for this – and many had already fantasized about being part of the crews while building the vessels. Even so, a giant leap for mankind was no small step for man. The Thunderhead estimated that when the time came to board, about 70 percent would choose to go, and that was more than enough. The rest would have to vacate the islands for the launch and watch from a safe distance.
Rowan and Citra spent the rest of the night and morning asleep in each other’s arms. For the first time in ages, they seemed not to have a care in the world. They were the only ones.
Faraday returned to Munira at sunrise, pounding on her door until she let him in.
“I’ve deciphered it,” she told him, clearly having been up all night working on it. “It’s eye-opening,” she said. “The fail-safe exists, although Da Vinci never said what it does.”
But before he even stepped inside, Faraday held something out to her that caught the early morning sunlight, refracting it in shifting patterns on her front door. A scythe ring.
Munira gave him a half-hearted smile.
“If this is a proposal,” she said, “shouldn’t you be on one knee?”
“I propose,” he said, “that you take your rightful place among us. I’m deeply sorry to have left you yesterday, Munira. I was overwhelmed, and I am not the most perfect of men.”
“No,” she admitted, “you’re not. But you’re better than most. If you don’t count the last three years.”
“Point taken,” Faraday said. “This ring was Scythe Anastasia’s, but Scythe Anastasia will no longer be with us,” he told her. “So tell me, Munira… Who will you be?”