Extinction (23 page)

Right now, Mick looked like he’d do anything to avoid the coming tournament. If she told him what the children had said — and especially if she told him that she believed it was true — Mick would leap on the chance to end it and disobey. He’d burn Divinity’s instructions and run to the cresting river, woodworking tools in hand.
 

Maybe she’d better
not
tell him.
 

Survivors meant competition. Especially for viceroys who fell out of Astral favor because they hadn’t followed instructions when given the chance to lead.
 

Mick looked up at Liza with big eyes.

“Forget it, Mick. You said the last one was optional. Don’t let it bother you.”
 

“The whole thing bothers me.”
 

“Of course it does. But we don’t have a chance, do we? You heard Divinity. If we don’t comply and officiate the cutthroat tournament to see who gets a slot on the vessel, they’ll flatten Roman Sands like Heaven’s Veil. You remember that, right? When Dempsey disobeyed them?”
 

“Yes, but — ”

Liza waved him off. He was probably going to refer to the fact that not only was Dempsey still alive; he’d apparently multiplied. Or maybe he was about to repeat what the Dempseys had said before this all started: that Heaven’s Veil wasn’t what the world had been led to believe. It was all conflicting information. Loose ends now would only cloud an already difficult decision.
 

“But nothing. I understand it’s repugnant. But it’s this or nothing. At least we can take a pass.”

Mick was leafing through pages, shaking his head.
 

“Okay, Mick. Get it off your chest. Just tell me what’s bothering you so much.”
 

He thought for a second then said something strange. “Do you remember Internet dating?”
 

“I’m good being single.”
 

Mick laughed a little, but for the most part his mood seemed unbroken. He shook the papers.
 

“It’s like the Astrals have a big dating site database on us. On all of us. Everyone in the city. For all we know, all over the world.”
 

Liza nodded, even though she knew it probably wasn’t that dire. The children had told her Roman Sands’s method of selection was different from the others — that they were
all
different from each other. More evidence for their argument: that no one needed to obey because it was all arbitrary. As long as the Astrals could make humans squirm then observe their behavior under pressure, they were as happy as alien overlords could be.
 

“But it’s not just ‘Single White Female age 35 to 40 seeks nonsmoker for dating and marriage.’ The Astrals don’t just have our likes and our dislikes and our ages and attributes and what sex positions we enjoy most. It’s like they’ve sucked out
who we are
through those mindfuck stones around the city.”
 

“What do you mean?”
 

“A university friend of mine is in here,” Mick said. “It’d make sense if he were pitted against his mum or something. Twisted but sensible.”

“Who’d the Astrals pair him against?”
 

“It’s this girl he had a crush on since primary school. He never even told her about it. And oh, I imagine he’s over it now that he’s married with three kids, but I remember my first crush, too. It never really goes away.”
 

“Was it on me?”
 

Mick’s eyes hardened. “This isn’t funny, Liza. The shit that’s in here … it’s …
pathological
. It’s the kind of tournament a serial killer would set up.”
 

“Why are you torturing yourself by looking through it? We officiate. We make sure the rules are followed. That’s all. You can’t make it personal, Mick.”
 

“Would
you
like to look through it? See who’s on the list that
you
know?” He brandished the papers like a weapon.
 

“Not at all. Because this changes nothing. Jabari made her plan, and the Astrals basically rubber-stamped it. The timing is perfect, as if Divinity knew we were planning to leave the city and run for our Cradles.
Look at it,
Mick,” she said, hardening her voice. “Not the pairings but the timetable. We conduct the contest and run right to the Cradle afterward; there’s exactly enough time to make it before they presumably remove the levies and let the city flood.”
 

“You don’t know that’s how it’ll happen.”
 

“Ever read the
Bible
, Mick? See the rain? I’ve heard there’s a big ship that visited Ember Flats then headed to the north pole to melt the ice caps one at a time. The idea of a big flood? Sure sounds familiar to me.”
 

Mick looked slapped. “When did you hear about a new ship and the ice caps? From whom?”
 

“I can explain later. It only matters that I believe it.” Something seized Liza then: an idea for how to piggyback on what she’d said, building a better case for Mick. “Just like I believe another thing I heard from the same source: that the Astrals don’t care how we survive. If not on the vessel, using the Cradle is fine with them.”

“Where are you getting this?”
 

“Look. We’re trusting Jabari’s research. Meeting the other viceroys is all that matters, right? That means we need to reach the Cradle, and the rendezvous.
That
is how humanity fights back: with a meeting of minds, backed by research. The plan was always to avoid rocking the boat, then sneak out. We meet the others on the satellite and go from there. Human leadership survives under the radar. Triage was always part of it, Mick. We knew we’d need to break some eggs. I’m sorry if you’re feeling guilty, but what’s the alternative? Would you rather fight here and get us
all
killed? What happens to the resistance if we do that?” She shook her head. “No. Priority One is keeping the viceroys and their supporters alive to fight another day, and that includes us.”
 

“But Liza — ”

“Give me those papers.” She jabbed a long arm at him.
 

“Why?”
 

“So that you won’t have them.”
 

Slowly, Mick obeyed.
 

“Don’t print new ones. Don’t look at the database or the Divinity channel, either. Your job, until we leave the city, is to manage Cradle prep. Got it?”
 

Mick nodded.
 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Liza said, allowing her manner to soften. “Please understand. It’s not that none of this bothers me. It’s that
we only have a chance if we stick to the plan.
Our only choice is getting to the Cradle and out of the city. If we don’t make it, this will be the game’s final play, and the Astrals will win. For whatever reason, they’re letting us go.” She gave Mick a tiny, knowing smirk. “But the Astrals don’t know about what we have planned, do they?”
 

Mick gave a grim nod of agreement.
 

“There’s no other way, Mick. If we don’t make the virtual meet-up with Mara and the others, we can’t make humanity’s final stand. We’ll lose because human leadership can’t keep fighting if we’re dead — and that’s what may very well happen if we refuse to officiate their contest before leaving. Do you understand?”
 

After a long moment, Mick sighed and nodded.
 

“Leave the cutthroat to me. I’ll keep you out of it, okay? I need you to prepare for our exit. Make all the preparations you can so that when this is over, we can reach the Cradle and meet the others. There’s still hope for humanity if we play by the rules for a bit longer, as hard as it may be to stomach. It’s for the greater good.”
 

Mick waited another long moment then rubbed his face with both hands. He gave a big, desperate sigh and said, “Okay. Fine.” Then: “I trust you, Liza.”
 

He stood. With a final glance back, he left.

When the door closed behind him, Liza felt a rush of guilt. She’d been telling him too many lies, but it
was
for the best — even if it that technically meant Liza Knight’s definition of “best” more than humanity’s.

If the Roman Sands group didn’t meet Jabari and the others at the established time, the other rogue viceroys might think the worst. They might think she was dead or incapacitated, then have no choice but to make plans without her.

And if that happened, Liza couldn’t play her ace.

As far as the viceroys believed, the satellite channel that the Da Vinci Initiate had set up years ago for emergency communication was secure, under the Astral radar, using technology the wider world — and particularly the Astrals — hadn’t ever seen.
 

But that could change, if someone introduced something the Astrals
had
seen. Something they’d extracted, extrapolated, built windows into, and inoculated themselves against.

Liza pulled a small silver cylinder from her desk drawer and slipped it into her pocket.
 

If she wasn’t there to meet the other viceroys, who else would introduce Terrence Peal’s Canned Heat virus into the feed so the Astrals could listen in?

CHAPTER 26

By the time they were two miles north of the city, by Kindred’s estimation, rain was pounding upon them in a relentless deluge. It was like standing under a waterfall. There was little shelter along the way save abandoned lean-tos, and no point in standing beneath them for longer than it took to catch the group’s collective breath. Either Jabari hadn’t planned on driving rain when her think tank had made these plans, or she liked getting wet. Because even if they’d had umbrellas and didn’t mind drawing attention, they would have been useless. Rain seemed to come from every direction at once. He was soaked through to his skin, his heavy clothing pulling at him like divers’ weights.
 

They were back in the upper edges of the lowland Nile valley, trudging well east of their intended course to keep clear of the river’s rising floodwater, when Piper took his arm.
 

“Where are we, Kindred?” She’d raised her voice to be heard over the pounding, like projecting in a noisy restaurant.
 

“North of Ember Flats.”
 

“How long to the Cradle?”
 

“I don’t know exactly. Jabari programmed everything into the tablet.” He looked up. Rain on his face was like a high-pressure showerhead. The downpour came in fat drops. “What do you think? Should we get the tablet out right now?”
 

“So you’re working from memory.”
 

“Yes.”
 

“And fortunately your memory is infallible.”
 

He hesitated a second. Then: “Yes.”
 

Piper’s eyes went to the others. Peers and Meyer were in the lead, the soaked dog plodding in the mud beside them. Lila was a dark shape in the rain behind Peers, stalking closer than Piper liked.
 

“Luckily you have Meyer’s mind on this, too,” Piper said.
 

“Luckily.”

Again Piper watched him. Kindred didn’t like her gaze. Irritation had been stewing in him for days, but his reaction to Piper now was something else. Logical wariness, as if something deep was calculating a chance of danger.
 

“I can hear your thoughts, Kindred.”
 

“Don’t. My head is
my
business.”
 

“And I notice how Meyer isn’t there nearly as strongly as he used to be.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”
 

Piper gave an
if you say so
sort of nod. She probably sighed, too, but Kindred couldn’t hear it in the rain.
 

“We shouldn’t pretend, you and me. We shared a life back in Heaven’s Veil. When did we become such strangers?”
 

“Maybe when you took up with Cameron?”
 

Kindred regretted the jab as he said it. Piper’s eyes registered a cheap shot, and Kindred was left wondering where it had come from. Once upon a time he’d been Meyer Dempsey in full, sure of himself even when unsure of what to do next. But that was no longer true. Now he was a ball of loose ends. The Ark’s opening had changed something.

Piper seemed to shrug it away. The topic changed as they trudged on, looking ahead, the Nile valley overfull to their right, down a gently sloping line of land.
 

“I know something is different with you,” she said. “I can feel it.”
 

“Nothing has changed.”
 

“You’re angry. You’re confused. It’s like you’re becoming a hole in the air. A cold spot.”

“Jesus, Piper.”
 

“You were always your own man. You kept to yourself, just like Meyer. He was always a tough nut to crack. And when you thought you were him, you were the same. Even after, it’s like I couldn’t tell you apart, once he put some meat back on his bones. If he hadn’t grown his beard and you didn’t wear different wedding rings, I’d never have been able to know who was who.”