“Brennan’s the only person I have left from my old life,” Noam managed to say. The words caught in his throat like small stones.
“I know.”
Brennan was there when they took Noam’s mother’s body down. He sat with Noam in the Russian literature section and readThe Brothers Karamazovout loud until Noam’s father got home. He offered to let Noam stay with him for a while, but Noam said no, because if Noam left—if Noam abandoned his father the same way his mom had—he didn’t think Jaime would ever crawl out of the grave he’d dug for himself.
Still, Brennan had offered, and now he could barely stand to be in the same room as Noam.
Noam pressed the heel of one hand to his brow and closed his eyes, taking in an unsteady breath. Yeah, Brennan wasn’t exactly doing anything to fomentrealchange, but could Noam cut him off entirely?
When he looked again, Lehrer still watched patiently, his ageless face blank and unreadable.
Maybe he was right. Maybe Noam was wasting his time trying to talk Brennan into seeing a truth that was, to Lehrer, already clear.
“All right. I’ll stop.”
Lehrer inclined his head, a slow nod Noam found hard to interpret. Could he tell Noam was lying? If so, he didn’t make accusations. “Thank you, Noam. I know it’s a lot to ask. But if you value the migrant cause as you claim, you’ll see the logic in being circumspect.”
Right. Noam swallowed against an uneasy stomach. “What happens if we fail?”
“We won’t fail.”
Lehrer touched chilly fingers to Noam’s cheek, turning his face toward the streetlamp. His thumb skimmed the throbbing skin just below Noam’s eye. Noam shivered. It still hurt.
“Would you like me to heal this?” Lehrer asked.
“I think I’d rather keep it,” Noam said and caught Lehrer’s gaze. “I earned it.”
Lehrer laughed, and after a beat, his hand fell away. “Stubborn youth.”
Doubt crept back in only when Noam was back in the barracks, sitting next to Dara on the sofa and trying to concentrate while Dara lounged about, readingPale Fireand being consummately distracting. Was it a mistake to uncritically trust Lehrer? Even if Lehrer was telling the truth about his coup, who said he wouldn’t try to pin the blame on Noam if things went sour?
No. No more excuses. It was time to act, the way Noam had promised himself he would, back when he first started Level IV.
Noam watched Dara lick his thumb and turn the page, right in rhythm.
Dara would tell Noam to choose a direction headed away from Lehrer, to start running and never look back.
But Dara wasn’t a refugee, and Dara didn’t have anything to lose.
Noam slid his holoreader out of his satchel and opened it on his knees. He’d finished downloading the contents of the government servers on his way back from Lehrer’s, two flopcells full of damning emails and violent memos.
Four terabytes of Sacha’s evil.
Noam plugged the first flopcell into his computer and uploaded its contents to a public repository.
Time for Carolinia to learn the truth.
Time for a real revolution.
Encrypted video recording, April 2017, from Calix Lehrer’s personal archives
The camera displays a therapist’s office: two armchairs facing a sofa, a desk by a window, bookshelves. A man, Dr. Gleeson, is visible on the right edge of the frame. He stands in an open doorway, facing away from the camera and speaking to someone in the waiting room (off-screen).
GLEESON: “You must be Calix. Would you like to come on back now?”
[inaudible response]
Gleeson moves away from the door, retreating deeper into the room. He is followed by a tall boy, nineteen years old, attractive with light hair and lighter eyes. The boy, Calix Lehrer, carries a book. He scans the room, as if assessing for quick exits.
