“I don’t.” His voice is flat. “The algorithm does.”
I blink. “Algorithm?”
Rachel makes a warning noise, but Vanguard waves her off. “There’s a complex system in place. Monitors emergency channels, calculates severity, proximity, likelihood of civilian casualties, and so on. It prioritizes, and I respond to whatever is at the top of the list.”
“So you don’t choose at all. The system chooses for you.”
That’s one thing I didn’t expect to hear. If this article actually does run, this will be quite the scoop.
“The system optimizes. I execute.” He says it like he’s reciting something he’s been told a thousand times, like he’s trying to convince himself it’s true. “It’s more efficient that way. Removes human bias from the equation.”
“Removes human judgment too.”
“Same thing, according to some people.”
“But not according to you.”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. The tension in his shoulders says everything.
“I think,” Rachel announces loudly, “that we should take a short break. Vanguard has another engagement in?—”
“I don’t, actually.” He doesn’t look at her, instead keeping his blue eyes on me. “My schedule’s clear until three.”
“There are still parameters we need to discuss?—”
“Rachel.” His voice is quiet but firm, the voice of someone who knows he can make people obey him, even if he doesn’t always exercise that power. “Take a break. Jason too. Ms. Baxter and I will continue.”
Rachel opens her mouth then closes it.
“Fifteen minutes,” she says finally, in a tone that suggests she’ll be standing right outside the door with her ear pressed to the glass. “I’ll have Tyler bring up some coffee.”
Rachel and Jason file out, leaving me alone with America’s superhero in a glass-walled conference room forty-seven floorsabove Manhattan. The city sprawls beneath us, and I’m suddenly very aware of how quiet it is. How close he is. How his eyes haven’t left my face since his handlers walked out the door.
“I can tell you have a lot more questions,” he notes.
“I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I didn’t. Something you better get used to.”
“Ask them then. The real ones. The ones you’ve been holding back because they were in the room.”
I hesitate. This is an opportunity—a genuine opening, the kind operatives dream about—but it’s also a potential trap. A test to see how far I’ll push, what I’m really after.
Fuck it. Fortune favors the brave and all that.
“The Remembrance Wall,” I say. “Yesterday. All those names carved into the granite—people who died in detention centers, in raids, in the streets. You stood there with your head bowed while the crowd wept for the brutality that overtook your country for over a decade, dare I say for centuries, if you’re asking certain populations. What was that like for you?”
He frowns, swallowing had. “It’s always hard for anyone in the military, swearing to protect a country that won’t protect its own citizens. That, in some cases, turns against them.”
“Does that bother you? Working with them?”
“The government’s changed. President Vasquez?—”
“Has made deals of her own, I’m sure. Frankly, I don’t think any politicians can be trusted, even the ones who lead you out of the darkness.” I lean forward. “But I’m not asking about politics. I’m asking aboutyou. How do you reconcile what you are with where you came from? A product of a dark decade.”
For a long moment, he just looks at me, weighing something.
“I don’t,” he says finally. “I just do the job. Save who I can. Try not to think too hard about the rest.” A muscle twitches in his jaw. “It’s easier that way. Or, it’s supposed to be.”
“And is it?”
