“Use for me?”
“I gave you a note instead of telling you the secret outright because I suspect Sacha has my study and my apartment bugged. I’ve looked, of course, but I’m no technopath—and I couldn’t risk being overheard plotting treason.”
The silence that followed was punctuated only by the dead leaves that rustled underfoot, caught up in a breeze.
“I don’t understand,” Noam said.
“These things are delicate.” Lehrer stood as still as calm water. “We cannot simply depose Sacha and declare power. Our rise must appear necessary and inevitable.”
Realization cut through Noam’s core.
Calix Lehrer hadn’t gone soft in the years since the catastrophe. Beneath that military uniform and the careful trappings of a government man, he was the same revolutionary who forged a new nation from the wreckage of genocide. And he’d witnessed Sacha assault the very foundations of that utopia.
Lehrer gave up the crown because he feared the corruption of absolute power, but corruption crept into Carolinia regardless.
“You’re planning a coup.”
A beat, then Lehrer nodded.
Maybe it was just the magic Noam had spent downloading two terabytes of classified government data, but his skin felt as if a current ran through it, blue and electric.
“Your ability is valuable and untraceable. You’ve already proved you know how to use it as a weapon.” Lehrer gestured toward the flopcell in Noam’s hand. “I assume you planned to leak that to the press.”
“I don’t trust the press. I was going to publish it on an independent website.”
“Good. Do that.”
They stood there, encapsulated in the soft grayness of their mutual secret, a quiet world that existed just in that moment, floating outside of time.
Noam had the strange urge to reach out and touch Lehrer, to put a hand on his arm and squeeze. He had the even stranger feeling that Lehrer would let him.
At last, Lehrer broke that gentle silence. “Thank you, Noam. I can’t tell you how much it means to have an ally in this.”
“Of course.”
“It will be dangerous.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Lehrer said it with a slight leftward slant of his head.
Noam met Lehrer’s pale gaze. The real Lehrer looked back at him, the man beneath all these layers of diplomacy and politics, the one who shattered a nation.
“I would rather die than do nothing.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that.” Lehrer touched the back of Noam’s arm, guiding him down the sidewalk toward the government complex. Noam went, and it was several seconds before Lehrer’s hand fell away, but even then Noam felt the residual heat from his touch.
“There is one thing, though. You will need to stop working with Tom Brennan.”
“What?” Noam frowned. “Why?”
“He means well, but diplomatic methods will achieve nothing. With him you’re invested in a losing battle. Besides, public opinion is divided on the issue of the Atlantian occupation—not to mention immigration—and we can’t appear to take sides. Your actions reflect upon me now, and I can’t publicly ally myself with Brennan.”
“Politics, then,” Noam translated flatly. “Somehow I think Carolinia will support you no matter what I do. You’re a war hero. You could declare yourself dictator tomorrow morning, and people would still love you.”
The look Lehrer gave him was half a warning. Still, Noam thought he detected a light curve to one corner of Lehrer’s mouth. A secret smile, for the secret they shared.
No one else would hesitate to obey. And yet here Noam stood, remembering what Dara told him:I don’t like naïveté.
