Beneath the Shine

  “Execute this traitor.”

  When the Secret Service canny standing next to the president raises its arm, Elwood shrieks. “Wynn! I didn’t do it! You know I would never do that! Wynn!”

  The president heaves a weary sigh. “Fire.”

  The blast rings in my ears like a bomb, crackling along the inside of my skull. Marguerite and Colette scream. Elwood must have been standing only a few feet behind me, because as he falls to the floor his arm flops onto my chest. The iron-rich smell of his blood floods my nostrils.

  I must confess to being surprised by this turn of events. And shamefully relieved. Also, wishing I could change my shirt.

  “Someone please remove Colette from the room,” the president says, and a canny ushers the distraught, sobbing woman out.

  Seven minutes and thirty seconds left. The pain has turned into a hard tingling, and my mind is like a city ablaze. I’m here, but I’m not completely here. I am trying to focus on the now, on Marguerite and her safety, on the president and what he’s saying, but there are twenty other tasks that require completion, that require working memory, that require transmission of information along neurons forging new connections each nanosecond, each one a knife prick in my consciousness. This room is growing dim.

  Wait, am I dying?

  Seven minutes, twenty seconds. Maybe this whole thing is just my personal version of following a path of light to heaven.

  Marguerite is kneeling on the other side of me, and her voice cuts through the sizzling of my synapses. She pulls Elwood’s arm across my body and looks down at it—no, at his comband. “He’s been controlling my mom,” she says quietly. Her hands are shaking as she hunches low over the screen and taps at it. “I’m going to release her and Kyla and whoever else he’s manipulating with this thing.”

  President Sallese looks down at the two of us. “I know this boy,” he says gently. “I guess it makes sense that he got involved.” He shakes his head sadly. “It’s a terrible betrayal from El. This is just devastating.” He gestures down at me. “The lives lost . . .”

  Marguerite stares down at the comband. A horizontal blue line scans down the length of her face. She taps at it a few more times and then raises her head. “You know, you don’t seem surprised to find out that neurostim devices can be used to control people.” She places her palm on my chest.

  I will my heart to beat for her, but it doesn’t. Something is happening beneath my rib cage, though, something electric and bright and sure.

  A tear slips from Marguerite’s eye. “I was so stupid. Everyone kept telling me, but I wouldn’t listen. I wanted to think you didn’t know. That it was all El. That he went rogue. But that’s just not true, is it?” She sounds so calm.

  “Oh, Marguerite. You’re so young,” Sallese says. “You can’t possibly understand what it’s taken to get here. You can’t understand how necessary all of it was for the greater good.”

  “Maybe because it wasn’t,” she says. “Did El really have Percy’s parents killed, or was that you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. The Blakes wouldn’t play the game, Marguerite. And look—they didn’t follow any rules but their own.” He gestures at me. “We both know they did something unnatural to this boy. They turned him into their own Frankenstein’s monster.”

  “They saved his life.”

  “And how many lives have I saved? How many suicides have the neurostims prevented? How many families have I saved from suffering like you and your mother did? Think, Marguerite—now we’re in the position to merge these technologies. Cerepins and neurostims. We have the chance to build this thing from the ground up as one amazing device. Think what that will do for the American people.”

  She blinks down at Elwood’s limp arm, at my chest. “If you combine the tech, you’ll have access to the inside of everyone’s mind. With the ability to affect their moods, you could control what channels they watch. You could control what they buy. What they do.”

  “I can make people happy,” says the president. “That’s always been my goal.”

  “But what if they want to be free instead?” she murmurs.

  “Can’t have both,” the president says, sounding like he carries the weight of the world. “I wish we could, but I learned a long time ago that wasn’t possible. Let me take care of everybody, Marguerite. I took care of you, didn’t I?”

  “You used me,” she says. “And I let you.”

  “Because it got you out of a terrible place. Because it gave your mother a chance—it saved her, and you know that. She would have followed your father long ago if I hadn’t raised you both up.”

  “That might be true,” Marguerite says, “and I’m glad she’s still alive. But what El did to her was a violation. Doing this to anyone is a violation. It’s what you did to Dr. Barton, too. She didn’t become your puppet willingly. She might have come to you to try to make peace, but you forced a neurostim device on her, didn’t you? My guess is that if that vid is analyzed, people can see it.”

  Why is Marguerite saying this? Lord, why would she antagonize this man? The canny that shot Elwood is standing only a few feet away. She’s on her knees in front of the president. At his mercy. I want to clap my hand over her mouth to keep her silent, which I should be able to do in . . . three minutes and eighteen seconds.

  “But they won’t see it,” the president is saying. “Or if they do, they won’t care. Because most people want to believe. Because they want to be happy. Because they want to be taken care of.”

  “You’re wrong. They want to stand on their own two feet. They want to have purpose, and the way things work now, they can’t compete with cannies. That’s the piece that needs to change.”

  “But it won’t. Canny labor is cheap and efficient. It keeps this economy afloat.”

  “For who, Uncle Wynn? For you? I bet Chen is right and you never actually gave up your stake in NeuroGo. Now you’re just going to run the country like it’s your company and we’re your cannies.”

  The president sighs. “CEO, father . . . people elected me because they need someone who can get things done. Someone who cares.”

  “And you do,” she says, her head bowed. “You care about your own power. You executed El for those bombings, but I saw the look on his face. He didn’t do it—you did. You wanted to frame Gia Fortin so you could take Fortin Tech over without a fight. You arranged for all of it, didn’t you?”

  “Cannies do come in handy for unpalatable tasks, my dear. And if you trigger their secrecy settings . . .” He pretends to zip his lips together, then smiles. “You wanted to bring down Fortin, too, Marguerite.”

  “I wanted to help the American people!” she shouts, raising her head. “I wanted a fair playing field. I never wanted this!”

  “I know, I know. But again, you’re young, a child, and you don’t understand.” He points at the Secret Service canny who shot Elwood and then at her. The canny takes aim at her face. “I’m so sorry, Marguerite. I really cared about you.”

  One minute and one second. Oh, god.

  She stares at him defiantly, ignoring the weapon. “You’re going to try to silence me?”

  “Yes and no. It’s such a tragedy that Elwood went on this rampage. I’ve told a few confidants that I was concerned about his stability. Discovering he murdered a girl who has come to be like family to me? Marguerite, your death will move the nation. The flags will fly at half-staff for a week. I’ll declare today Marguerite Singer Day. You will be forever a part of history. You will never be forgotten.” He takes hold of the canny’s wrist and lowers the barrel—so now it’s aimed at her heart. “I’ll have your body lie in state, so let’s keep your lovely face undamaged.”

  “You can do whatever you want now, Mr. President,” she says, and my god, her voice is so steady. Her hand is warm on my chest.

  Twenty seconds. My newly connected synapses glow white-hot.

  “You should know something before you have me executed, though,” she continues, looking him rig
ht in the eye.

  “And what’s that?”

  “I’ve been livestreaming from El’s comband for the last several minutes.”

  Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

  Time for a resurrection.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Marguerite

  Wynn curses and bends down to grab El’s arm. His face is purple with anger as he pulls the screen off El, drops it to the ground, and then stomps on it. “Send a message to the tech team that Marguerite’s account has been hacked and a fabricated vid was just streamed,” he says to a Secret Service canny. “Do it now! Get that video off the Mainstream right now.” The canny rushes out of the room, leaving the one who still has a gun aimed at my heart.

  Then, unbelievably but unmistakably, Percy’s heart beats beneath my palm. It jolts my entire body.

  Wynn’s eyes go wide as Percy Blake rises from the floor, a real-life Lazarus. I am pretty sure I look just as shocked. “Put the gun away, old man,” he says in his usual teasing tone. “Enough people have seen her live vid by now that she must walk out of here alive for you to prove it’s a fabrication.” He glances at me with an approving smile. “You are so good, darling.”

  “Percy,” I say, “what—”

  “I know, it has to be asked,” Percy says. “What just happened to me.” He smooths his hand down the front of his bloodstained shirt. “And the answer is most definitely not self-destruction.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” the president says. “Because you’re already dead.”

  “No,” I say, stepping in front of Percy. “If you touch him, I’ll make sure everyone knows.”

  The president grabs me, and I gasp as his fingers bruise my upper arms. “You were family, Marguerite. Family. Like a granddaughter.”

  “I won’t let you hurt him. You’ve already done enough. Taken enough.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet. I can wipe most people’s memories of the last five minutes. And if you don’t help me spin this, you’re forfeiting the lives of anyone in this nation who’s wearing a neurostim. And let me tell you, little girl, it’s millions at this point. Who do you think holds the master controller? Each device is registered to my system. And it works, let me tell you.” His smile is hideous now that his mask of statesmanship has been ripped off. “The high voter turnout last November was no accident.”

  Behind me, Percy chuckles. “You just make it worse and worse for yourself.”

  “I could say the same for you, boy.” Wynn sneers. “You should have stayed dead.”

  “I don’t find that descriptor precisely on point. It was more . . . a state of suspended animation. I think I pulled it off rather gracefully.”

  His flip tone seems to throw the president off. But then Wynn looks down at me. “I can’t kill you right now,” he says. “You can still help me, especially if you start to behave yourself. But him?” His face is so close to mine, I can smell his minty breath. “I think it’s time to bring back the old-fashioned firing squad.”

  He yanks me away from Percy. “You,” he says to one of his guards. “Hold her. But keep her facing the boy.”

  The Secret Service canny wraps one arm around my chest and another around my waist. I stare at Percy, whose gaze flicks from the canny restraining me to the other cannies in the room.

  “Line up in front of the boy,” the president says. “Shoot on my command.”

  I start to struggle as the cannies move to obey. Percy stands calmly in front of the Bioscan machine. “This is not going to solve all your problems,” he says to Wynn.

  “You’re right,” Wynn says. “It will only solve one. But it’s been a bad day so far, so I’ll take what I can get.”

  Percy’s eyes close as the cannies take their position in front of him. And then he opens them and looks at me. “I’ve decided I’d like to ask you out on a date,” he says. “I know exactly what I’ll wear.”

  Tears are streaming down my face. “So you’re assuming I’d say yes?” I ask with a watery laugh.

  His smile is etched with sorrow. “Really, how could you resist? You’re intrigued. Admit it.”

  I sniffle and roll my eyes. “Fine. But I’m not fashionable enough for you.”

  “I’ll send over a dress. You’d look lovely in violet.”

  “I’m not much for dresses.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “You’ll make an exception for this one.”

  “Enough fun and games. I need you to understand that I mean what I say, Marguerite,” the president says as the last Secret Service canny steps into place. I can see only Percy’s head and shoulders now.

  “Uncle Wynn,” I beg, as my chest constricts with grief I’m not ready to bear again today. “Please don’t do this.”

  “You don’t have to watch, Marguerite,” Percy says softly. “It’s all right.”

  “Raise your weapons,” the president says.

  They obey in perfect unison.

  “The vice president is going to figure out what you’re doing, if she hasn’t already,” I say, struggling ineffectively against the canny.

  “She knows which side her bread is buttered on. Aim.”

  They do. At Percy’s chest. I wait for him to do something. Anything. But he simply stands there, looking defiant. Chen said Percy doesn’t think quite like a human, that he’s more rational, but this? This isn’t rational!

  “I’ll do anything you ask,” I say loudly, desperately. “I’ll be your mouthpiece. I’ll help you get what you want. I—”

  “Fire.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Percy

  Marguerite screams into the silence that follows. Wynn Sallese blinks and cranes his neck to see beyond the machinemen surrounding me, checking to see if I’m hit. “I said, fire!”

  The cannies just stand there, waiting for an authorized order.

  From me.

  This room is in such vivid color. I can see the baby hairs along Marguerite’s hairline, which I’d love to smooth with my fingertip. I can smell the sweat on the president’s upper lip, and it makes mine curl. I can feel the hum of every single artificial brain in this room. They’re connected to me now.

  I am online.

  “Lower your weapons,” I say. “We’ve had our fun.”

  They comply and stand aside. “Oh, and please restrain the president if he attempts to do anything rash.”

  They close in.

  “Stop,” he shouts. “Execute him, dammit!”

  “They won’t listen to that kind of nonsense,” I tell him. “Not anymore.” Lord, I can feel them all. Every thought. The sensation is like streaking through the sky, moving at lightspeed, everything a blur . . . and yet I’m aware of all of it in intricate detail, fully immersed in every moment as it happens.

  “How are you doing this?” he roars as cannies take hold of his arms.

  “I upgraded my systems, old man. I’m on the network now.” I think I am the network.

  “Why did you go through all that pretending, then?” Marguerite asks, still pale and breathless. Poor dear.

  “Oh, come, Marguerite. I had to let him have a moment of victory.” I smile at our soon-to-be ex-president. “Sadly, I didn’t have time for more than that.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Marguerite

  I tuck my hair behind my ear, feeling it curl against my chin, and grin at the screen. “It’s been a busy few weeks, but I wanted to let you all know how I’m doing.”

  I glance across the room at Mom, who smiles.

  It’s a real smile this time, one generated under her own power. And yes, it looks weary and a little sad, but it’s better than nothing.

  “I know it must feel like the world’s been turned upside down. I believed in Wynn Sallese as much as I’ve ever believed in anything. I believed he would fix our economy and help us achieve our dreams of tech equality—and then total equality.” I sigh. “I was wrong. I’m so sorry for my part in everything that happened and in the lives lost. But we’re already on t
he road to healing, I promise you.”

  I sit up straighter. I can see my image in the streaming box. He was right. I do look good in violet. “This afternoon I met with President Savedra. She restated her commitment to increasing tech access for all Americans, to working with leading tech companies to incentivize them to help her, and to preserving our safety, health, and security while she does it.”

  My mom winces and rubs at the nape of her neck. With the neurostim device gone, she experienced withdrawal that lasted a week. People who have had them longer, like Orianna, will need more help. There was a rash of impulsive self-removals just after I streamed my last vid, but our new president addressed the nation that night, imploring people to stay calm and wait to have the devices removed by medical professionals, promising that any external control signals had been disabled.

  I believe her. It took me a while, and I still don’t like her that much (the feeling is fairly mutual), but I do think she’s telling the truth. Still . . .

  “You don’t have to trust her blindly. I’m not going to. I’m never going to let myself do that again. Instead, I’m going to work toward the same goals myself while keeping an eye on those in power. You can join me. We can figure this out together, as ordinary citizens holding our leaders accountable.”

  And there’s so much to be done. Wynn is in solitary confinement, awaiting trial for ordering El’s murder and the bombing of the Department of AIR. Apparently the attorney general is also looking into whether he should be charged for ordering the murder of Valentine and Flore Blake.

  Wynn Sallese is going to face justice.

  But that doesn’t mean justice for the rest of us, not yet.

  “President Savedra has asked me to serve as her advisor for youth outreach and relations,” I say. “After talking it over with my mom today, I’ve decided I’m going to accept. That means I’ll be traveling all over and posting more vids and asking you for your input—input I’ll take straight to the president. Change isn’t going to happen overnight, and I know that’s what we all wanted, but it was an illusion. A trick. Now we need to face reality—things will only change if we all work at it every day. I know we can do it, though. I’ve got some exciting initiatives to talk to you about tomorrow. But I’ll give you a hint.