The Trials (The Red Trilogy Book 2) (18 page)

Elliot is concerned. “Did someone find out you talked to me?”

“It was bound to get out,” she says in a cautious voice.

She’s clearly uncomfortable, worried about what she can say, so before she decides to say nothing, I ask what I want to know the most: “How many episodes are planned? Is it just episode four?”

She frowns, not meeting my gaze. “There isn’t going to
be an episode four.
Linked Combat Squad
has finished its run. That’s been reported in all the media.”

I don’t believe her. In my cell, I watched my overlay send uploads almost every night for five months. “It’s not over,” I insist. “There’s been more digital footage. You’ve seen it, haven’t you? Video from the courthouse?”

She bites her lip, and after a few seconds she whispers, “Oh, screw the NDA. You deserve to know, if anybody does. It’s not episode four. It’s a new series. The contract is for three shows—”

“Three?”
I start to sweat, thinking about where the material for three shows might come from, and wondering if I’m going to get pulled back in.

She watches me with wide, wary eyes. “The first episode was finished over the weekend. It’ll be released tonight in a special showing. The series is called
Against the Beast
. My staff and I, we think it’s a double reference—to dragons like Thelma Sheridan who imperil the world, and to Revelation, where the dragon summons the beasts of the Apocalypse—a metaphor for nuclear weapons. At least that’s how we interpret it.” She sighs, and then she smiles an apologetic smile. “We live in a crazy quilt of cultural traditions. Our mythologies are as blended as we are. It doesn’t really matter if we’ve got the interpretation right. It only matters that the name resonates with the people who watch the show.”

I want to know everything about the new series: who’s involved and how the process works. Because then, maybe, I can understand the purpose behind the shows, and maybe I can guess what’s coming.

“Who’s your contact person?”

“There is no one, beyond the federal contracting officer, and that’s just financial. I’ve talked to her. She doesn’t know what we’re doing here. She gets a notice to approve the payments, and she does.”

“So there’s no direct oversight?”

“None.”

“And how much material do you receive? Do you have to fast-forward through all twenty-four hours of every day?”

“No! No, no, no. We’d never be able to handle that in the time we’re given. We get extended clips, and we work from those. We don’t see the boring stuff—the quiet time, the sleep periods, the personal hygiene that no one wants to see.”

“You don’t know who selects the clips?”

“No.”

“Do you get daily updates?”

“No, they come in every few days, a package of files with digital footage from multiple cameras. The record from your overlay is only part of it. There’s a lot more going on, especially in the new episode. It’s called
The Trials
, plural, because the integrity of all the main characters is tested.”

“What about the next two episodes? Have you seen scripts or story outlines or anything like that?”

“No. There’s never a script. It’s up to me to make a coherent story out of the material I receive.”

“Out of my life?”

“For
Linked Combat Squad
, yes.”

Delphi speaks for the first time. “Why do you think
Linked Combat Squad
was your best work?”

I think it’s a peculiar question, but Koi doesn’t. “Because it told an important story that spoke to many different people. These days, most programming is aimed at a narrow audience.
LCS
was different. It was aimed at a wide range of narrow audiences. It had universal elements that appealed across demographic bubbles, elements that affected a range of people, inspired them, united them . . . let people know that individuals can make a difference, even if there’s a heavy price to pay.”

“The demonstration on the National Mall,” Elliot said. “That only happened because of the show.”

Koi leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees so her braid sways free. In a conspiratorial whisper she says, “That’s the aim of the show—to shift the direction of the culture. That’s how I see it. The story is expanding, Lieutenant Shelley. Your court-martial is part of the new episode of course, but it’s just a small part. I don’t think you need to worry about the other two shows, because your role appears to end with the pardon.”

So I was right.

“Does the new show include any other soldiers?” I ask. “Anyone like me?”

I feel Delphi stiffen beside me. She puts her hand on my arm, making me wonder what she knows, but I can ask her later. For now, I keep my gaze on Koi, who says, “No, there are no other soldiers. But there are new adventures and new heroes—on the Mall, in the streets, among the witnesses. Heroes who endure their own ordeals, their own trials, who have protected you without your knowledge, Lieutenant Shelley, and prevented a reprise of Coma Day.”

I stumble over what she just said. “What do you mean, ‘a reprise’? Are you saying there was another nuclear device? One that was close to us? To the courthouse in DC?”

Her lips press together as if to contain the secret, but she affirms it anyway with a nod. As if she can’t help herself, she adds, “I believe the title tells us the theme of the new series.”

“Nukes?” Delphi asks in a weary voice.

Koi leans back, presses her knuckles to her lips, clearly struggling with how much to say. “It’s just my guess.” Then she stands abruptly. “And I’m not going to say any more than that, because I don’t want this project taken away from me. I want to be part of it. I want to do the next two episodes—and that means you need to go.”

No one argues. We move toward the door. It’s a strange feeling, a combination of relief and a poignant sort of nostalgia to have confirmation that it’s over, that I’ve been cut loose—no more King David because the Red is not telling my story anymore. Whatever plot twist I have to face next, I’ll face on my own.

•   •   •   •

“I don’t like it,” Elliot says when we’re all tucked into the back of a cab with me in the middle. “If Koi’s right, your adventures should be over. So why is someone trying to kill you?”

“Because happily-ever-after is always a fiction.”

“Huh. So what are you going to do?”

“Go home.”

“Is that safe?”

“Probably not, but I need my gear. I need breakfast. I need to make some phone calls.” I need to talk to my dad too, but I’m not in a hurry to have that conversation.

I look at Delphi. “I need to know what you’re going to do.”

She turns a pointed gaze on Elliot.

“What?” he asks, looking offended.

I take her hand. “Delphi and I have things to talk about.”

“Like how you’re going to avoid getting killed?”

“I guess that’s part of it.”

“No more secret missions, though? That’s not what you need to talk about, right?”

I’m not sure how to answer that one. My hesitation ignites his suspicion.

“Damn it, Shelley! This is just like that last time we talked in San Antonio, when you said you weren’t going to do anything stupid.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I need to figure things out.”

“Figure things out with the help of your partner in war?” He’s glaring at Delphi.

She turns to look out the window.

“Leave Delphi out of this,” I warn him. “It’s like you said yesterday, Elliot. I can’t get my old life back. So I have to adapt.”

The cab pulls up in front of my building. The crowd of mediots has thinned to three. They eye the cab suspiciously, waiting to see who will emerge from behind the tinted windows. Delphi looks them over. “They were here yesterday. ID as freelancers. Long histories.”

“So they probably won’t try to kill me?” I ask as I pay the cabdriver.

She gives me a dark look past the clear lens of her farsights. “You never know. I’ll go first, get my bag from the trunk. When they turn to look at me, I want you to move—straight into the building.”

She gets out. The driver does too. I turn to Elliot. “Thanks for taking me to see Koi.”

“You’re taking off, aren’t you?”

He’s angry. I don’t blame him. “Take care, okay?”

“That’s good advice, Shelley. Advice you should follow.”

I open the door, step from the cab into the shelter of the canopy, and in three strides I’m at the front door, with the mediots shouting questions behind me. I reach for the lock pad, remembering too late that I never confirmed with my dad that he’d reactivated my access—but that’s not the kind of thing he forgets. The lock clicks and, ignoring the mediots, I push into the lobby. When it’s clear I’ve escaped, the mediots converge on Delphi, but she’s only a step behind me, and she gets past them unmolested.

On the elevator it’s only us, so my arms go around her. I kiss her hair. “My dad’s at his office,” I whisper. “But he’s got surveillance cameras in the apartment.”

“Awkward,” she says regretfully. “I’ll just have to kiss you now.”

She does.

•   •   •   •

I’m on the phone with Anne Shima when my dad shows up at the apartment, so furious he’s shaking.

“When were you going to tell me?” he demands.

Delphi and I both stand up from the couch. She circles around him, moving toward the door, while I tell Shima I’ll call her later. Keeping my voice calm, I ask, “What’s the matter, Dad?”

“Your friend Elliot Weber came to see me at my office. He said you ran into trouble last night. By the condition of your face, he wasn’t lying. He’s under the impression you’re about to do something stupid. Take on another secret mission? Gamble your life again?”

I believed I could trust Elliot to be discreet. I know the truth now. “I didn’t want you to worry, Dad, but I was going to let you know. I’m leaving New York. I have to.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Someone tried to kill me yesterday.”

“And you didn’t even call the police—because you want to take care of it yourself? Where the hell did you get the idea that it’s okay for you to be part of some vigilante crew?”

“That’s not what this is about. And I want this to be over too, but it’s not over. You have to see that.”

“No. No. What I see is you throwing your life away, again. Look at you! You’re standing there on artificial legs. You have just narrowly escaped spending the rest of your life in prison. And Lissa is dead. She’s dead because of your adventurism, and you’ve already replaced her?” He gestures at Delphi, who is poised by the door, on the verge of slipping away.

“Dad, this is Karin Larsen.”

“Elliot told me who she is.”

“None of this is her fault. She wasn’t part of First Light.”

“You’re really leaving, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t come back.”

At first I can’t process it, too stunned by these words I never imagined I’d hear. Then instinctively, I move toward him. “Dad . . .”

He raises his hand, palm out. “No. I love you more than anything in this world, Jimmy, but I cannot do this again. I don’t know where I went wrong. I don’t know what the hell happened that made you like this. I’d blame it on the wiring in your head, but you’ve been like this since you were nineteen.” He gazes at me, old and gray, but not a weak man, never that. “I won’t go through it again, waiting to learn if you’re going to live or die. If you leave now, you leave for good.”

Silence falls between us. The skullnet icon flickers. Inchoate plans form and die in my mind. But I already know what I need to say. “I want you to leave with me, Dad. You’re not safe here either.” I take one more step closer. “Come with me. Please.”

“So your friends can protect me the way they protected Lissa? No, thank you. I’ve got my own security. I’ll take my chances here.”

That’s it. He turns and walks out. Delphi watches him go, her face locked, no expression, no presence, until the door closes behind him. Then she leans against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut. “Are you sure?” she whispers.

No.

But I can’t stay here.

•   •   •   •

One big lesson I learned from my time in service: Focus on what needs to be done
now
.

So I get Shima back on the phone.

The quintessential American male is supposed to be independent, able to handle his own shit, but me? I’m used to being under the protection of a very large and intimidating organization. My day-to-day life in the army tended to be hazardous, but I lived in secure housing, I had access to weapons, and I was in a position to protect myself and those who mattered to me. After only forty hours on my own, I can’t wait to get myself back under that kind of organizational security.

I try to talk details with Shima—what she wants, what her organization of mysterious assholes is after, what I get out of it, but the phone connection is intermittent, her voice chopped and cut by blocks of silence until, after a minute, the call drops.

It’s been less than six months since Coma Day—not nearly enough time to restore what was destroyed. In the end she e-mails me, inviting me to come see her, no obligation.

Delphi is sitting at the end of the couch, a tablet in her lap, engrossed in some project, her fingers dancing across the screen, unaware of my gaze as I watch her for half a minute or more. I’m thinking of her, thinking of Lissa, weighing my dad’s words—and I know he’s wrong. This thing between me and Delphi is too new to define. No way to know where it’s going. But I know this much: Lissa is part of me and always will be. No matter what comes to pass between Delphi and me, what I shared with Lissa won’t be rewritten.

If she were still alive—

No.

I won’t pretend.

Lissa is gone. I will never have her back again.

But as I watch Delphi with the light from the window wrapped around the curves of her face, my heart fills with gratitude that she’s here with me. “Delphi?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Things are moving kind of fast between us. . . .”

Her fingers freeze above the virtual keyboard. Then she slips off her farsights and turns to look at me, cool judgment in her eyes. “Second thoughts, Shelley?”