We have now laid the groundwork for scythedoms in each of the world’s regions, all reporting to us, so that we may maintain order and consistency of vision. We have even begun plans for a city that exists separate and apart from any region, so we may maintain impartiality. Prometheus is now Supreme Blade, and there’s talk of “Grandslayers” to represent each continent. Oh, but we’ve gotten full of ourselves! Secretly, I hope our tenure as the arbiters of death is brief and that we are quickly deemed obsolete.
The cloud has announced plans for a lunar colony – the first step toward expanding our footprint in the universe. If successful, it will provide far better population control than we scythes can provide. I, for one, would much rather live in a world where the surplus population can leave, rather than be denied its very existence.
The question remains, however, can we trust artificial intelligence with our future? Although I do have my concerns, I believe we can. The few remaining “world leaders” do nothing but malign the sentient cloud. In fact, they’ve begun calling it a thunderhead, as if rebranding it as a threatening storm will turn people against it. In the end they will fail, because their time is through. Whatever they choose to call it, the cloud’s benevolence speaks louder than the words of petty politicians and tyrants.
—From the “lost pages” of founding scythe Da Vinci
37
Nothing Good About It
When Jerico Soberanis awoke from revival, Scythe Anastasia was in a chair beside the bed, sleeping with her knees tucked up to her chest. Fetal position, thought Jeri. No – more like a protective stance, like a tortoise in its shell. Did she feel so threatened that she needed to contract into herself when she slept, on guard even when unconscious? Well, if so, she had good reason to feel that way.
She was dressed simply now. Jeans. A white blouse. She wasn’t even wearing the ring. Nothing about her to indicate that she was a scythe. She appeared so modest for someone so much larger than life. To be larger than life was fine for the dead – they didn’t have to deal with the consequences, but for someone returned to life, it must leave one in a state of shock too strange to measure.
Jeri looked around at the gentle colors and easy nature of the room. This was, of course, a revival center. The fact that they were here meant that Jeri’s death had successfully attracted an ambudrone. Had Anastasia been here in the room for Jeri’s entire revival, keeping a vigil?
“So glad you’re awake!” said a revival nurse, stepping into the room and raising a curtain to reveal what was either a sunrise or a sunset, then checking Jeri’s chart. “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Citra had been dreaming of flying. Not all that far from reality, either. She had clung to Jeri’s arm as the ambudrone soared with them across the city, struggling to maintain flight with the added weight. She was sure she must have dislocated Jeri’s shoulder, but such things didn’t matter to the deadish. Any damage done would be healed before the captain awoke.
In Citra’s dream, Jeri’s arm became suddenly covered in grease, and she slipped, but didn’t fall. Instead, she flew on her own. The problem was she couldn’t stop or control her direction. Soon she was out over the bay and beyond, heading west across the Atlantic toward the distant Mericas. She had no idea what awaited her there, but she did know it would be in the realm of nightmares.
And so she was grateful to be stirred awake by the revival nurse’s gentle voice.
She uncurled from her chair and stretched out the kink in her neck. Jeri was alive again, and much more alert than she. “Good morning,” Citra said groggily – then realized it sounded far too weak for a scythe. Even one who was currently incognito. She cleared her throat and spoke with more confidence. “Good morning,” Anastasia said.
“Nothing good about it, I’m afraid,” said the nurse. “I’ve never seen so many BladeGuards roaming the streets. The scythedom is still looking for those terrible Tonists who ended the High Blade, but they’re long gone, off to wherever it is people like that hide.”
Anastasia closed her eyes as the terror of that night came back to her. So many people had lost their lives, and although some were revived, there simply weren’t enough ambudrones to save everyone. Sibilants must have thrown dozens, maybe hundreds, into the fire. And, just as they had a plan of attack, they must have had a plan for escape.
The nurse explained that, in the day and a half since the ambudrone had left them here, Port Remembrance had been put on complete lockdown. The situation in North Merica was probably even worse. What Goddard had done in that stadium was beyond a line in the sand – it was a fissure. Either you embraced his way, or you ran from it. There were plenty of people doing both.
Anastasia knew she might be recognized. Now that she had gone public, and people knew she was alive, it would be much harder to hide.
“Seeing as you’re awake, I’m sure there’ll be scythes in to see you,” the nurse told Jeri. “Not to worry – they’re not here to glean, just to question. You both worked at the palace, didn’t you? They want to question everyone who was there.”
Jeri glanced at Anastasia as she put a comforting hand on the shoulder she had dislocated not so long ago.
“Right,” said Jeri. “Well, I suppose we’ll be looking for new jobs.”
“Oh, don’t concern yourselves with that. The Thunderhead might not be talking these days, but it still puts up the job listings. If you want work again, there’s plenty to be had.”
After she left, Jeri raised the head of the revival bed a bit higher and smiled at Anastasia. “So what was it like riding the back of an ambudrone?”
“It … wasn’t like that,” Anastasia said, but chose to spare Jeri the details. “I never got to thank you for what you did.”
“I just did my job,” Jeri said.
“Your job is to be a salvage captain, not this.”
“And didn’t I salvage an unsalvageable situation?”
“Yeah, you did,” Anastasia told Jeri with a smile. “Now we have to salvage this one, and get out of here before someone comes in to question us.”
But no sooner had she said it than the door swung open. It was a scythe. Anastasia’s heart seized for a moment until she realized who it was. Forest-green robe, concerned expression.
“My relief at seeing both of you can only be matched by my fear that someone else might,” Scythe Possuelo said. “No time for greetings – the SubSaharan scythes are already questioning why I’m here.”
“I haven’t been recognized yet.”
“Of course you have,” Possuelo said. “I’m sure the nursing staff here is all secretly atwitter about it. But luckily none of them have reported you – or you would already be on your way to Goddard. I’m here to escort you to a place of greater safety, where you can continue your broadcasts. More and more people are listening, Anastasia – and they’re finding the things you’ve been leading them to. Goddard is threatening to glean anyone caught poking around in the backbrain, but that’s not stopping people.”
“He couldn’t enforce it anyway,” Anastasia pointed out. “The backbrain is out of scythe jurisdiction.” It reminded Anastasia how much digging she still had left to do.