Текст книги "UnWholly"

Автор книги: Neal Shusterman

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

37 • Risa

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

“I was a ward of the state about to be unwound, so I went AWOL. That means I shouldn’t be here right now. You might think I’m lucky . . . but because I stayed whole, fourteen-year-old Morena Sandoval, an honor student with a bright future, died because she was denied the liver I would have provided. Jerrin Stein, a father of three, died of a fatal heart attack because my heart wasn’t available when he desperately needed it. And firefighter Davis Macy lost his life to pulmonary asphyxiation because my lungs weren’t there to replace his burned ones.

“I’m alive today because I ran from unwinding, and my selfishness cost these, and many others, their lives. My name is Risa Ward, AWOL Unwind, and now I must live knowing how many innocent people I’ve killed.”

–Sponsored by Citizens for AWOL Justice

38 • Hayden

Hayden stares at the computer screen, trying to believe Risa’s “public service announcement” is some kind of sick joke, but he knows it’s not. He wants to be furious at Tad, the busy little net-raker who brought it to his attention, but he knows it’s not the kid’s fault.

“What do we do now?” Tad asks.

Hayden looks around the ComBom. The eight kids on communications duty all look at him as if he can make the video go away.

“She’s a goddamn traitor!” Esme shouts.

“Shut up!” Hayden yells. “Just shut up, let me think.” He tries to come up with alternate explanations. Maybe it’s not real—just a digital image. Maybe it’s a trick designed to demoralize them . . . but the truth screams louder than any conjecture. Risa is publicly speaking in favor of unwinding. She’s gone to the other side.

“Connor can’t know about this,” Hayden says.

Tad shakes his head doubtfully. “But it’s been on TV, and trending over the net since this morning. It’s not just one, either. She made a whole bunch of public service announcements—and there’s an interview, too.”

Hayden paces the cramped space of the plane, trying to pull together a coherent thought. “Okay,” he says, forcing himself to calm down. “Okay . . . All the computers with web access are here in the ComBom and the library, right? And the Rec Jet TVs all get their feed directly from here.”

“Yeah . . .”

“So, can we route everything through facial recognition software before it goes out and scramble it every time she turns up? Do we have a program that can do that?”

No one answers for a few seconds; then Jeevan speaks up. “We have tons of old military security programs, there’s got to be facial recognition stuff in there. I’ll bet I can patch something together.”

“Do it, Jeeves.” Then he turns to Tad. “Cut the feeds to the Rec Jet and library until it’s done. No incoming broadcasts or web connections at all. We’ll tell everyone the satellite is out, or an armadillo mated with the dish, or whatever. Got it?” Agreement all around. “And if any one of you breathes a word of this to anyone, I will personally make sure you spend the next few years of your life shoveling crap out of the latrines. The Risa-bomb stays in the ComBom, comprende?”

Again total agreement—but Tad isn’t quite ready to let it go. “Hayden, there was something about it I don’t know if you noticed. Did you see how she—”

“No, I didn’t!” says Hayden, shutting him down. “I didn’t see a thing. And neither did you.”

39 • Connor

The man with Proactive Citizenry said that unwinding was at the core of the country’s way of life.

It sticks in Connor’s gut just as it did in Trace’s. Connor knows that things haven’t always been the way they are now—but when the world’s been one way for your entire life, it’s hard to imagine it being any different. Years ago, before he was even of unwinding age, Connor got bronchitis, and it just kept coming back. There was actually talk about getting him new lungs, but the problem cleared up. He remembers feeling so sick for so long, after a while he had forgotten what being well even felt like.

Could it be that way for an entire society?

Does a sick society get so used to its illness that it can’t remember being well? What if the memory is too dangerous for the people who like things the way they are?

Connor makes the time to go to the library jet to do some research, but the computers are off-line, so he goes straight to Hayden.

“You’re telling me everything’s down?” he asks Hayden.

Hayden hesitates before answering. “Why? What do you need?” He almost seems suspicious, which is not like him.

“I need to look something up,” Connor tells him.

“Can it wait?”

“It can, but I can’t.”

Hayden sighs. “Okay, I can get you online in the ComBom—on the condition that you let me do the surfing.”

“What, are you afraid I’ll break the web?”

“Just humor me, okay? We’ve had a lot of computer issues, and I’m very protective of the equipment.”

“Fine, let’s just do this before I get dragged off to deal with someone’s idea of an emergency.”

The kids in the ComBom are noticeably stressed as soon as they see Connor. He had no idea he inspires that level of fear. “Take it easy,” he says. “No one’s in trouble.” And then he adds, “Yet.”

“Take ten,” Hayden tells them, and the kids file out and down the stairs, happy to be freed, at least temporarily, from their stations.

Hayden sits down with Connor, who pulls out the slip of paper Trace gave him. “Do a search on this name.”

Hayden types in “Janson Rheinschild,” but the results are not promising.

“Hmm . . . There’s a Jordan Rheinschild, an accountant in Portland. Jared Rheinschild—looks like he’s a fourth grader who won some art contest in Oklahoma. . . .”

“No Janson?”

“A few J. Rheinschilds,” offers Hayden. He checks them out. One’s a mother with a low-hit blog about her kids; another’s a plumber. Not a single one seems to be the kind of person who would have a bronze statue erected to them, then destroyed.

“So who is he?”

“When I find out, I’ll let you know.”

Hayden swivels his chair to face Connor. “Is that all you were looking for?”

Then Connor remembers something. Didn’t the Admiral talk about events leading to “our twisted way of life” too? What were those things he said Connor should educate himself about?

“I want you to look up ‘the terror generation.’ ”

Hayden types it in. “What’s that? A movie?”

But when the results begin popping up, it’s clear that it’s not. There are tons of references. The Admiral was right—all the information is right there for anyone to find, but buried among the billions of web pages on the net. They zero in on a news article.

“Look at the date,” says Hayden. “Isn’t that right around the time of the Heartland War?”

“I don’t know,” Connor says. “Do you know the actual dates of the war?”

Hayden has no answer. Strange, because Connor can remember key dates of other wars, but the Heartland War is fuzzy. He’s never been taught about it, has never seen TV shows about it. Sure, he knows it happened, and why, but beyond that there’s nothing.

The first article talks about a spontaneous youth gathering in Washington, DC. Hayden plays a news clip. “Whoa! Are those all people?”

“Kids,” Connor realizes. “They’re all kids.”

The clip shows what must be hundreds of thousands of teens packing the Washington Mall between the Capitol Building and the Lincoln Memorial, so dense you can’t even see the grass.

“Is this part of the war?” Hayden asks.

“No, I think it’s something else. . . .”

The reporter calls it “The Teen Terror March,” already putting a negative spin on the rally. “This is by far the largest flash riot anyone has ever seen. Police have been authorized to use the new, controversial tranquilizer bullets to subdue the crowd. . . .”

The idea that tranq bullets could be controversial sets Connor reeling. They’re just an accepted part of life, aren’t they?

Hayden scrolls down. “The article says they’re protesting school closings.”

That also throws Connor for a loop. What kid in their right mind would protest their school closing? “There,” he says, pointing to a link that says “Fear for the Future.”

Hayden clicks on it, and it brings up an editorial clip by some political pundit. He talks about the struggling economy and the collapse of the public education system. “A nation of angry teenagers with no jobs, no schools, and too much time on their hands? You bet I’m scared—and you should be too.”

More reports—those same angry kids calling for change, and when they don’t get it, they hit the streets, forming random mobs, burning cars, breaking windows, letting loose a kind of communal fury. In the midst of the Heartland War, President Moss—just a few weeks before his assassination—calls an additional state of emergency, this time ordering a curfew on everyone under the age of eighteen. “Anyone caught breaking curfew will be subject to transport to juvenile detention camps.”

There are reports of kids who have either left or been thrown out of their homes. “Ferals,” the news calls them. Like stray dogs. Then comes a shaky video of three kids swinging their hands together. A sudden white flash, and the image becomes static. “Apparently,” says the news anchor, “these feral suicide bombers have altered their blood chemistry, so that bringing their hands together triggers detonation.”

“Holy crap!” says Hayden. “The first clappers!”

“All this was going on during the Heartland War,” Connor points out. “The nation was tearing itself apart over pro-life and pro-choice but completely ignored the problems of the kids who were already here. I mean, no schools, no work, no clue if they’d even have a future. They just went nuts!”

“Tear it all down and start over.”

“Do you blame them?”

Suddenly it was obvious to Connor why they don’t teach it. Once education was restructured and corporatized, they didn’t want kids knowing how close they came to toppling the government. They didn’t want kids to know how much power they really had.

The various links lead Connor and Hayden to an image that’s much more widespread and familiar: hands being shaken at the signing of the Unwind Accord. In the background is the Admiral as a much younger man. The report talks about peace being declared between the Life Army and the Choice Brigade, giving everyone hope for domestic normalization. Nowhere are the teen uprisings mentioned—yet within weeks of the Accord, the Juvenile Authority was established, feral detention centers became harvest camps, and unwinding became . . . a way of life.

That’s when the truth hits Connor so brutally he feels light-headed. “My God! The Unwind Accord wasn’t just about ending the war—it was also a way to take down the terror generation!”

Hayden leans away from the computer like it might start clapping and blow them all up. “The Admiral must have known that.”

Connor shakes his head “When his committee proposed the Unwind Accord, he never believed people would actually go for it, but they did . . . because they were more terrified of their teenagers than their consciences.”

Connor knows that Janson Rheinschild, whoever he was, must have played into this somewhere, but Proactive Citizenry was extremely thorough in wiping him off the face of the earth.

40 • Starkey

Mason Starkey knows nothing of Janson Rheinschild, the terror generation, or the Heartland War. If he did, he wouldn’t care. The only teen uprising he has any interest in will involve the Stork Club.

His motives are a complex weave of self-interest and altruism. He truly wants to raise his storks to glory, as long as they all know he’s the one who’s done it. Credit where credit is due, and honor to the trickster whose illusions finally become real.

Starkey’s hoping for a silent coup, but is prepared for anything. It will either be gracious, and Connor will see the wisdom of stepping aside for a more able leader . . . or he’ll be steamrolled. Starkey will bear no guilt if it comes to that. After all, Connor, in spite of all his pretenses of fairness, still refuses to rescue storks from their unwindings.

“We save the kids we’re most likely to get away with saving,” Connor told him. “It’s not our fault that storks are in bigger families and more complicated situations.” It was the same excuse that Hayden had given him, but as far as Starkey is concerned, that’s no excuse at all.

“So you’re happy just letting them be unwound?”

“No! But there’s only so much we can do!”

“So little, you mean.”

Connor lost his temper then, which he does more and more often now. “If it was up to you, we’d be blowing up harvest camps, wouldn’t we? That’s not how this battle is going to be won! It will just make them come down harder on every Unwind, every AWOL.”

Starkey wanted to take his argument all the way to the wall and nail Connor to it for letting storks go unsaved, but instead, Starkey backed down.

“I’m sorry,” he told Connor. “You know I get passionate when it comes to storks.”

“Your passion’s a good thing,” Connor told him, “when you keep it in perspective.”

He could have slammed Connor for that, but instead he just smiled, agreed, and left—secure in the knowledge that someday soon Connor would be faced with an entirely new perspective.

•   •   •

While Connor has a history lesson with Hayden in the Com-Bom, Starkey relaxes at the Rec Jet, teaching kids simple card tricks and dazzling them with close-up magic he could do in his sleep. It’s Stork Hour. Seven to eight p.m. Prime time. There’s a nice breeze blowing under the Rec Jet. It’s a perfect time of day. He has one of the storks bring him a drink so he doesn’t have to get out of his comfortable chair. It’s been a hard day dishing slop—and although he doesn’t actually do the dishing, supervision can be a bitch.

Drake, the farm boy who runs the Green Aisle, passes and gives them a dirty look. Starkey glares back and makes a mental note. When he takes over, the new Holy of Whollies will be made up of all storks. Drake will be demoted to picking beans, or cleaning chicken crap. Many things will change when Starkey takes over, and God help anyone who’s not in his good graces.

“You gonna get off your ass and play me a game of pool?” Bam asks, pointing her cue at him like a harpoon. “Or do my superior skills challenge your masculinity?”

“Watch it, Bam,” Starkey warns. He will not play her, because he knows she’ll win. First rule of competition—never accept a losing proposition. He loses when he plays Connor, of course, but that’s different. It’s intentional, and he makes sure the other storks know it.

Farther down the main aisle, Connor comes down the stairs of the ComBom with Hayden.

“What do you think that’s all about?” Bam asks.

Starkey keeps his opinion to himself.

“I think they’re hot for each other,” says one of the other storks.

Starkey turns to him. “You’re the only one I know who keeps checking out Connor’s butt, Paulie.”

“That ain’t true!” But by the way Paulie goes red, it’s clear that it is.

Finally Starkey stands up to get a better look at the situation. Connor and Hayden say their good-byes. Hayden heads toward the latrine, and Connor goes back to his own little jet.

“He’s been having private meetings with Trace, too,” Bam points out. “But he hasn’t been sharing any secrets with you, has he?”

Starkey hides his fury at being left out of whatever Connor is plotting. “He must be happy with food service.”

“A regular fatted cow,” Bam says with a grin. “Just about ready for slaughter.”

“I will not have you bad-mouthing our commander in chief.”

Bam turns and spits on the ground. “You’re such a freakin’ hypocrite.” Then she goes back to playing pool against kids who never beat her.

Starkey, however, has no need to bad-mouth Connor. Griping is for those without a plan of action—and tonight Starkey has something new up his sleeve. A gift for Connor. It comes in the person of Jeevan, whose skill with computers got him assigned to the ComBom, and who happens to be a loyal Stork Club member. Of course, no one but Starkey knows that fact. “Jeeves” is one of two well-positioned “sleeper agents,” whose allegiance is to him, rather than Connor. And what a gift Jeeves has provided! Starkey’s been saving it for just the right moment. He concludes that now—when Connor seems to be getting his balance back—is the perfect time to unwrap it . . . and while the gift is in his arms, pull the rug out from under him.

41 • Connor

Connor sits alone in his jet, staring into space, trying to process everything he’s just learned. We can’t stop unwinding, the Admiral once told him. The best we can hope to do is save as many of these kids as we can. But somehow, after seeing those old news reports, Connor is starting to feel that maybe the Admiral was wrong. Maybe there is a way to end unwinding. If only he can figure out how to truly learn from the past . . .

Connor is still pondering the dark specter of history late into the evening, when Starkey shows up at his jet. Connor opens the hatch for him. “What’s up? Is there a problem?”

“You’ll have to tell me if it’s a problem,” Starkey says enigmatically. “Can I come in?”

Connor lets him in, “It’s been a killer day—this had better be good.”

“There’s a TV here, right?”

Connor points to it. “Yeah, but there’s no line in, and the color sucks.”

“Don’t need a line, and color’s not gonna matter when you see what I’ve got.” Starkey pulls out a microdrive and plugs it into the TV’s data port. “You should sit down.”

Connor laughs. “Thanks, but I’ll stand.”

“You sure?”

Connor gives him a funny look, continues standing, and waits for an image to come on the screen.

He recognizes the show immediately. It’s a weekly news magazine he has seen many times before. A familiar TV journalist discusses the featured story. The logo screened in behind her says angel of division.

“A little over a year ago,” she begins, “clappers took out an unwinding facility in Happy Jack, Arizona. The social and political fallout from that event still resonates today, but one girl—an infamous player in that event—is speaking out. Her message, however, is not what you think. You may have seen her in various public service announcements blitzing the airwaves. In a short time, she’s gone from being one of the Juvenile Authority’s most wanted to becoming the poster child for the cause of unwinding. Yes, you heard me right: FOR unwinding. Her name is Risa Ward, and you’re not going to forget her anytime soon.”

Connor takes a deep, shuddering breath and realizes that Starkey was right—he needs to sit down. His legs practically fall out from under him as he sinks into the chair.

The studio shot cuts to Risa being interviewed in some plush location by the same journalist. There’s something different about her, but Connor can’t yet tell what it is.

“Risa,” begins the journalist, “you were a ward of the state slated for unwinding, became a coconspirator with the notorious Akron AWOL, and were even present at Happy Jack Harvest Camp to witness his death. After all that, how is it that you now speak in favor of unwinding?”

Risa hesitates before answering, then says, “It’s complicated.”

Starkey crosses his arms. “Yeah, I’ll bet it is.”

“Quiet!” snaps Connor.

“Could you walk us through it?” the journalist asks, with a disarming grin that Connor wants to punch right off her face with Roland’s fist.

“Let’s just say I have a different perspective now than I had before.”

“You’ve come to see unwinding as a good thing?”

“No, it’s a terrible thing,” she answers, which gives Connor hope . . . until she says, “But it’s the least of all evils. Unwinding is there for a reason, and the world would be very different without it.”

“Pardon me for pointing this out, but that’s easy for you to say, now that you’re seventeen and beyond unwinding age.”

“No comment,” says Risa, and it’s like a dagger slowly twisting in Connor’s gut.

“Let’s talk about the charges against you,” the journalist says, looking at her notes. “Theft of government property, namely yourself; conspiracy to commit acts of terrorism; conspiracy to commit murder—and yet all these charges against you have been dropped. Does that have anything to do with your change of heart?”

“I won’t deny that I was offered a deal,” Risa says, “but the dropping of those charges is not the reason why I’m here today.” Then she does something very simple—something that no one else would notice in the slightest, except for those who know her. . . .

Risa crosses her legs.

For Connor, it’s as if the air has been sucked out of the jet. He half expects oxygen masks to drop from the ceiling.

“If you think that’s bad, listen to this next part,” says Starkey, actually seeming to enjoy it.

“Risa, would you call your change of heart a matter of convenience or a matter of conscience?”

Risa takes time to craft her answer, but that doesn’t make it any less devastating. “Neither,” she says. “After all I’ve been faced with, I find I have no choice. For me, supporting unwinding is a matter of necessity.”

“Turn it off,” Connor says.

“There’s still more—you really should hear the end.”

“I said turn it off!”

Starkey reaches over and turns off the TV, and Connor feels his mind slamming shut like a fire door to keep out all the things too hot to handle—but he knows it’s too late; the fire has already leaped inside. In this moment he wishes he had been unwound a year ago. He wishes Lev hadn’t come in to save him, because then he would never have to feel what he’s feeling now.

“Why did you show me this?”

Starkey shrugs. “I thought you had a right to know. Hayden knows, but he’s been keeping it from you. I think that’s wrong and completely unfair to you. Knowing who’s your friend and who’s your enemy can only make you stronger, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Connor says absently.

Starkey grips his shoulder. “It’s okay, you’ll get over it. We’re all here to support you.” Then he leaves, his mission of enlightenment accomplished.

Connor sits for a long time without moving. Although he knows he needs to be strong enough to carry this burden, he feels so shredded inside, he doesn’t know how he can make it through the night, much less take care of hundreds of Unwinds in the days ahead. All those lofty ideas of exposing history to end unwinding implode into a single desperate thought.

Risa. Risa. Risa.

He is hobbled. How could Starkey not know how devastated he would be? Either he’s stupider than Connor thought . . . or he’s much, much smarter.