Chapter 8
Because that’s the question I’m about to answer. And he taught me everything I know.
The feed garbles as the video distorts, the sound of static overwhelming the footage as it becomes a blur of sky and branches. The inmate appears to have punted the raccoon through the forest. I immediately turn to another screen, where a different perspective—through the eyes of a hawk— showcases him from above.
James Alexander Anderson.
His bloodline is legendary.
My heart thunders in my chest as I watch him, an unfocused fear constricting my airways. Finally, I understand Soledad’s last words. Finally, I’m beginning to grasp the true level of chaos unleashed upon our island.
The Anderson family is notorious; not only are they responsible for building The Reestablishment, they’re responsible for tearing it down. The patriarch, Paris Anderson, was one of our leading founders. He rose in rank over the years to become the supreme commander of North America, only to be brutally slaughtered a decade ago by his eldest son: the infamous, traitorous Aaron Warner, who betrayed us all by defecting to the Omega rebels. He and his now wife,Juliette Ferrars—the daughter of another supreme commander—overthrew the government in one of the most devastating global coups in history.
There’s the snap of a twig, the rustle of leaves. James stands up to stretch, his sweater lifting to reveal a glimpse of lean torso. He ruffles his own hair in a boyish, unassuming fashion, then squints up at the gathering clouds.
I take a steadying breath.
First I watched him massacre an entire troop of soldiers, and now this. I’ve been sitting in this command room for at least a few hours, watching James run his battered, bloodied body through the forest. He’s hiked challenging terrain, waded through shallow lakes, and climbed a steep mountain face all while carrying over a hundred pounds of artillery on his back. He sat down on the ground at one point, tore open his own wounds, and dug bullets out of his leg with no anesthesia. It was horrifying to witness.
At the moment, James has resumed a seated position on the snow-dusted ground, his face severe in a tempest of firelight. He pushes up his sleeves to reveal strong, corded forearms before stoking the flames of a decent campfire, his motions assured and practiced. Smoke spirals skyward, announcing his location to the world, but he seems relaxed. He cracks nuts in his fists, a smile blunting his edges as he tosses acorn caps into the woods, using each one to pelt imaginary targets.
The simple game seems to please him.
I find this fascinating.
“You see the problem,” says Damani.
I tear my eyes away from James long enough to meet her gaze. Mona Damani, one of three commanders I’ve had the displeasure of meeting today. Her long dark hair gleams in the dim light of her central office, where every wall is made of tech glass that activates upon her biometric directive. I’ve been brought inside the womb of synthetic intelligence, exposed to the inner workings of Ark surveillance in a way I’ve never been before.
Somehow, this is my life now.
Heis my life now.
“Yes,” I say, expressionless as I return my eyes to the screens. “He’s a competent adversary.”
Competent. Terrifying.
If I fail at this mission this man will slaughter me and it will cost him nothing. I won’t even be a memorable kill.
“Klaus has predicted his every move,” Damani says, her voice warm with satisfaction. “It’s the first time we’ve been able to properly test the program on an unknown subject.” She stills, her eyes unfocusing a moment as she receives an incoming message. She returns to herself, then consults another screen. “It’s been thrilling to watch this play out in perfect order. A true triumph.” She finishes this statement by staring at me expectantly, awaiting a response.
“Yes,” I agree. “Thrilling.”
I learned only hours ago that this level of psychological invasion was even possible. I’ve lived under the iron boot of surveillance for as long as I can remember, but Klaus’s untapped powers have proven the limits of my imagination: I cannot fathom the untold dangers of such a technology,and I still haven’t decided whether to react with terror or disgust.
It’s treason either way.
Damani manages a smile. “Your lack of enthusiasm seems to indicate a hesitation on your part.”
“You misunderstand,” I say quietly. “I never experience enthusiasm.”
She laughs in a sudden burst, one hand to her chest as various emotions—relief, understanding, concern—scatter and fade across her face. “Soledad knew you the longest, is that right? Since you were a child?”
“Yes.”
Damani nods, as if that explains everything. “The rest of us aren’t used to interacting with someone disconnected from the Nexus,” she says. “Soledad was always better at reading you than anyone else—which, of course, is why you reported to him.” She sighs heavily. “Unfortunately, his was a necessary sacrifice. We lost many brilliant souls this morning, long may they rest, all in the pursuit of a greater good for the global future. I hope you realize the weight of what we’re imparting today.”
I only stare at her. A flare of hunger tears savagely at my gut, and I blink slowly, containing it.
