Insignia

  Blackburn set the glass back down as the policeman came over. Neil ranted, “What do you mean, public disturbance? Is freedom of speech a public disturbance now?” Tom sat up from his bench, realizing where this was going. . . .

  “This is needless, Raines. Why are you fighting me?”

  Tom stared at Blackburn’s fatigues, where the projected light was now playing the image of Neil brawling with three policemen. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see his dad get tasered like the last time.

  “What hold does Vengerov have over you?” Blackburn said, lowering himself down before Tom’s chair, far too close. “Money? Threats? Blackmail? You can tell me. There must be something.”

  Tom could hear his father roaring in anger—and still fighting. He heaved in great breaths, suddenly feeling like he was drowning, his dad yelling on-screen and Blackburn pressing in before him.

  “This ability you have . . . Is that the project he mentioned? Vengerov is obviously involved somehow. Is this Obsidian Corp’s next great experiment? Is that why he got your screenings waived?” Anger lined his voice. “Just tell me, Raines. A trillionaire doesn’t need the protection of a fourteen-year-old boy!”

  “I’ve told you,” Tom croaked.

  “No, you haven’t! You’ve lied!”

  I am NOT protecting him! Tom wanted to scream at him. I DON’T CARE about Vengerov! But it would be like screaming into a strong wind—useless. So useless.

  “Vengerov isn’t a good person. He’s not worth this.” Blackburn leaned closer, his voice right in Tom’s ear. “You can’t trust him. He’s the one responsible, you know—for all those deaths. Not just the soldiers in my testing group. Others.”

  Tom’s dad’s shouts and the policemen’s shouts were dying down, and he knew on the screen, he’d see himself standing in the middle of the train station watching his father get carried away in handcuffs. He started to follow, and then he stopped, realizing where he’d end up if he did—some foster home somewhere. His dad wouldn’t want him to follow. And Tom still remembered that feeling of being hopelessly lost in middle of a busy crowd, wondering what he was supposed to do now, where he was supposed to go, feeling like he was slipping down some drain. It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t remembering the feeling—it was there right now inside him.

  “We weren’t the first whose minds he butchered,” Blackburn went on. “One thousand Russians were, back when Vengerov was in charge of LM Lymer Fleet. He’d just inherited his daddy’s company, and he figured he’d make a name for himself by taking a bold step—with other people’s lives at stake. Most died, just like with us. The difference was, the Russians killed the broken survivors to bury the whole project. That’s why Vengerov had to come here. They would never have let him do it again, and he needed living subjects, living adults. He told our military that all he needed was a few hundred. Surely at least a handful would survive the neural processors, and that was all he needed. So they assigned a few hundred of us to the great experiment.”

  Tom found himself staring at the new image on the screen, a smiling blond woman. . . . His mother, looking so young, back when he was so little he’d forgotten this. She was looking at him and smiling, her hair spilling over her shoulders. Tom clung to her, getting a piggyback ride down the dark street. . . .

  Blackburn must’ve seen something on his face. He stopped talking and his eyes followed Tom’s, to the screen.

  She spun him around in a circle, streetlights whirling before his eyes. “So what are we gonna get for dinner?”

  “Ice cream, Momma!”

  His mother whirled to a stop, laughing, and staggered a bit. “We’ll get a tub of ice cream bigger than your head, Tommy. And hot fudge, too.” Her hair was all scrunched up against his face, and . . .

  The memory scorched its way through his head. Tom was aware of the beams digging into his brain, but he couldn’t stop looking because he didn’t remember even living with his mother. He didn’t have any memory of his mother, well, loving him. He didn’t remember her like this. He couldn’t bear to see this.

  “It’s that painful seeing her, is it?” Blackburn remarked, looking at him again. “Then I can guarantee you, you’ll see more of her in the hours ahead if you don’t give me—”

  And then something happened.

  Tom was looking through his own eyes and he was not, he was seeing fire, and then the census device was fused to his brain and sparks fountained from the controls. With a spike of rage, Tom sent an electrical current whipping from the metallic claw.

  Blackburn yelled out and crashed to the floor.

  Tom snapped back into himself, the stench of smoke in his nostrils, his heart jerking against his rib cage. Blackburn lay, heaving ragged breaths for several stunned moments. Then he struggled back to his feet, one arm clutched uselessly to his side.

  He surveyed the census device, his eyes wild. Dark smoke curled up in a twisting line. Comprehension flooded his face. “That was you, wasn’t it?” His gaze dropped to Tom’s. “You interfaced with it.”

  Tom didn’t know. He didn’t know anything right now, except he was tired and sick and he wished he’d killed him. “I’ll fry you again if you turn it back on!”

  Blackburn circled the census device, singed arm clutched to his torso. “You burned out one of the legs to stop me.” He paused a moment, a strange smile on his lips as he took a moment to absorb the idea. “Who knew you could do that? Thatta boy, Raines.”

  “I’ll do it again, I swear!” Tom screamed at him.

  Blackburn just seemed intrigued. He raised his good arm and grabbed one of the still-functional legs. “Go ahead. I’m touching it. There’s no way you can miss. Do it again.”

  “I’m not bluffing! I’ll electrocute you!”

  “And I’m waiting with bated breath.” Blackburn didn’t even sound sarcastic. “Do it, Raines.”

  But Tom couldn’t. His chest felt tight. He couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs. He felt like he was going to break down, and he’d rather be flayed alive than let Blackburn see that. “You’re insane.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that tune.” Blackburn released the leg and lowered his arm back to his side. “And I see you can’t do that on command. That’s useful to know for tomorrow morning.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  .....................................................................

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  TOM WOKE UP still strapped in the chair, his brain aching in his skull, his head stuffy like it might burst. His thoughts were scattered, strange things to him after hours of culling. He stared dully at Olivia Ossare, who stood in front of him, jerking the straps off his wrists, muttering to herself. “This is savage . . . just a child.”

  His voice came out scratchy. “You came.”

  “Tom!” Her warm palm cupped his chin. “Are you all right?”

  His head pounded. He closed his eyes because it was easier than answering that. She helped him stand and then wobble down from the chair on rubbery legs.

  “Is this over?” he asked.

  Her grip tightened on him. “I’m working on it, Tom. Right now, Lieutenant Blackburn can’t be reasoned with. It took me this long just to get in to see you.”

  Tom’s vision blackened and he swayed. She eased him down to the floor. He sagged to the ground, his head flopping against her arm, the ceiling spinning overhead in frantic circles.

  He felt her fingers threading through his hair. The memory of his mother, so close to the surface, flickered up as she stroked his hair. He kept his eyes closed, a knot rising in his throat.

  “Please let this be over soon.”

  He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until she told him, “I’m doing my best. I’ve been trying to get in touch with your father.”

  “My dad can’t help me.”

  “He can, Tom. He can sue for custody of you.”

  Tom’s eyes snapped open. He sat
up quickly enough to make his vision blacken. “Custody?”

  “The military can’t retain custody of you if your father withdraws consent.”

  Tom’s head ached. He felt like he might vomit. “I’d have to quit to get out of this?” Blood buzzed up in his ears. “But the neural processor can’t come out. Not ever.”

  “Your brain becomes dependent eventually, but you only had it installed five months ago. I spoke to Dr. Gonzales, and he said it’s early enough to allow for a phased removal. They’re doing something similar with your friend Stephen.”

  No. No. He couldn’t go back to that. Loser Tom moving casino to casino with nothing ahead of him, nothing behind him, nothing, nothing . . .

  But if he stayed, and Blackburn kept culling his brain . . .

  He’d go insane. He couldn’t take more of this. He’d go insane and he’d give away Yuri and Wyatt.

  Hot frustration roared up inside him. Tom curled a hand into a fist and slammed it into the floor. The world sharpened into focus around him. He slammed it again and again. Then Olivia caught his wrist.

  “Tom, stop that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  He didn’t care. The pain was distant in his awareness, fury swamping everything. Short of punching Blackburn’s face over and over, it was the only thing that made him feel better. He tried twisting out of her grip, but he was too worn out to keep it up for long.

  “I am not contacting my father,” Tom said. “I need an option C.”

  “There is no option C, Tom. I need your father on our side if I’m going to get you out of this.”

  Tom’s gaze drifted up to the census device, burned out, looming in calm menace over the chair and arm straps. “It’s option C or nothing.”

  THE NEXT MORNING, Blackburn sent soldiers in to strap Tom into the chair, a fully repaired census device looming overhead. Tom tugged at the arm straps, surveying the metal claw morosely. His head remained foggy from his fitful sleep. He watched Blackburn glide into the room, a bandaged arm clutched to his side. The sight flooded him with venomous glee.

  “Does your arm hurt?” he asked Blackburn as he prepared the device.

  “Not a bit,” Blackburn answered.

  As Blackburn shifted, Tom swung his boot toward the bandaged arm. Blackburn hissed and flinched back just in time.

  Tom smiled at him maliciously, taking a horrible, dark pleasure from it. “It hurts.”

  “Not like this will.” Blackburn flipped on the census device, the most stinging retort of all. The bright beams of light bore into Tom’s temples, digging, digging into his brain, his memories, flipping open one, discarding, flipping open another, discarding all like pieces of trash, searching for Vengerov.

  Neil . . . his mother . . . Karl . . . his mother . . . Dalton . . . his mother . . . He was a few minutes into it this time before a loud clang shut the machine off.

  It took Tom’s fuzzy brain a moment to focus on General Marsh’s voice.

  “What exactly do you think you’re doing, Lieutenant?”

  Tom jerked in his seat, elation sending his brain soaring. He saw Marsh and Blackburn facing off, the screen between them. “I’m investigating the leak, General. As you ordered.”

  “I didn’t say you could strap Raines into the census device. Get him out of that chair. Now!”

  Blackburn didn’t move. “No, sir.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He stays.”

  “This is an order!”

  “And I’m disregarding it, sir.”

  Marsh swore, and charged over toward Tom. His leathery face was twisted in fury, and Tom sagged back, so relieved he felt like he could hug the old general.

  Blackburn trailed behind him with a slow, deliberate stride. “Before you release him, there’s one thing I’d like to make clear, sir.”

  “What?” Marsh whirled on him, his knobby fists clenched at his sides.

  “If you take him out of that chair,” Blackburn said, “I leave. I walk away.”

  Marsh was silent a long moment. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing, sir. I won’t just walk out, though. I will rig up this entire place with a good-bye present that all of Obsidian Corp. won’t be able to fix.”

  Tom couldn’t believe Blackburn, a lieutenant, was just standing there threatening a general. That wasn’t how it worked. Hatred and anticipation surged through him. Marsh was going to make him so sorry for it!

  “James, you wouldn’t do that,” Marsh said, a note of pleading in his voice. “I know this leak has to hurt your pride, but this is taking it too far.”

  “Try me,” Blackburn replied simply.

  Tom stared disbelievingly at Marsh’s back. Why wasn’t he ordering some soldiers in to arrest Blackburn? Or doing something even remotely generallike to a lieutenant who dared to talk to him like that?

  And then Blackburn actually stepped out of the room and left them alone—like he was so confident in his threat he didn’t have to bother staying to enforce it.

  “General!” Tom said, desperate. “Please, General, come on . . .”

  Marsh heaved a great sigh and turned around. “I’m afraid what you just saw, Tom, was my hands being tied.”

  Tom stared at him in naked disbelief. Marsh walked out of the room—leaving Tom there, strapped to the chair. Minutes dragged by as Tom stared into the emptiness of the room, feeling numb and alone.

  He heard Blackburn’s slow, deliberate footsteps and closed his eyes, because he couldn’t stand to see him. Blackburn didn’t flip the census device back on right away. First he unstrapped one of Tom’s arms and gave him water, but Tom’s arm shook too hard to hold it. So Blackburn strapped it down and held the glass for him.

  A wild thought occurred to Tom. The longer he was drinking water, the longer he’d have before the culling started again. So he asked for more, and then more. Even when his stomach felt like it was going to burst, he pleaded for more.

  “Enough. You’ll make yourself sick,” Blackburn said finally, refusing to give him another glass.

  That did it. Make yourself sick . . . It was suddenly the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard. Tom started laughing—wild, hysterical laughter that rocked his whole body. He laughed until his stomach hurt, until tears streamed from his eyes, until he actually was sick, and even after that he couldn’t stop laughing until the beams were back on and boring into his head.

  Blackburn stood there watching him, rubbing his palm over his mouth over and over, and ripping Tom’s mind apart.

  TOM FOUND HIMSELF locked in a small cell that looked onto the census device. He stood in the middle of the room, overstimulated by the humming electric light overhead, by the bright bite of its rays, by the pounding in his head, images swimming like ghosts in his vision. He resorted to the only thing that seemed to unify his brain again—his fist crashing against the wall over and over again, until the pain exploding in his knuckles mounted in his awareness and the blood smeared on the walls connected him with his vision center again.

  Then someone slipped through the door, and a gentle but firm hand clasped his wrist. Olivia Ossare gripped his arm and urged him to sit down on the bed, offering him a glass of water. Tom gulped it greedily, only half aware of Olivia inspecting the damage to his bloody knuckles. He felt so strange, so strange, like he was about to explode out of his skin.

  He wasn’t aware of slumping back against the granite wall, but he drifted to himself when he felt her fingers threading in his hair again. Tom pressed his eyes closed even tighter, because even if he didn’t quite understand why her touch was so soothing, he had this strong suspicion opening his eyes would make it stop.

  “I think,” Tom confessed when he could finally speak, feeling flat and empty, “I’m up for option B.” He couldn’t take much more of this. “Please find my father. Please get me out of here.”

  “Tom,” she whispered, “I already have.”

  BLACKBURN COULDN’T LAY a finger or a use single devi
ce on him now that Tom’s father was suing to remove him from the Spire. When Olivia arrived with the military police, Blackburn stood there in the middle of the dark Census Chamber, following Tom with his eyes as he was led from the room. Now Tom slouched in Olivia’s office, listening to her argue over legal issues with General Marsh and a military lawyer. The words were over his head. He didn’t want to hear them.

  He knew what this meant. A gradual phaseout of the neural processor. Removal from the Spire. Going back to living with Neil.

  He’d never betray Yuri or Wyatt then. Blackburn could never again pillage his mind with the census device. He’d hold on to his sanity.

  Maybe.

  Maybe.

  There was a part of Tom that wanted to pound his head against the desk in front of him. He couldn’t bear the thought of going back to his old life. Not after all this. Not after what he had here. And it killed him to think of how Dalton had won. Dalton had maneuvered him right out of the Spire. It was so much worse, getting the world and then having it taken away. It would’ve been better if he’d never come here.

  “May I speak to him alone?” Marsh asked Olivia.

  Olivia looked at Tom. “It’s up to you.”

  Tom shrugged a shoulder. It wasn’t until the lawyer and Ms. Ossare were both out of the room that he raised his eyes to General Marsh and gazed upon him with open loathing. The guy with his hands tied.

  “Why didn’t you give me the screening tests or the psych tests like everyone else?” Tom’s voice shook with fury. “Blackburn thinks I’m part of some conspiracy because I didn’t have the tests everyone else did! Why didn’t you just give them to me and stop this from happening?”

  “To be honest, son, I didn’t get you psych tested because I didn’t think you’d pass.”

  “I’M NOT DERANGED!” Tom screamed, knowing how deranged he sounded.

  “Easy, Tom.” Marsh rose and circled around Olivia’s desk, examining an ink blot framed on her wall. “The truth is, I didn’t search you out through official channels. You were a side project of mine. After all, I don’t go personally to retrieve most recruits.”