Chapter 10 #2
“You would think.” Bud’s face lights up, as though excited by my answer.
“But you should know, other neighborhoods still have power. These so-called rolling blackouts only ever affect certain places. Certain people. The poor give up a few hours of power and light so that the rich can still have them. So that certain companies can still have them.”
I blink. I admit, I have never actually looked into the geography of the blackouts; I just assumed they affected the entire city.
“Same goes for Seattle,” says Bud. “For LA. For everywhere on the West Coast. Those who can afford to will move to neighborhoods with power. And those who can’t …
well.” He gives a little shrug. “It’s a few hours of darkness.
Unless they require medical devices that need power.
Or if they can’t turn on the lights, can’t find their inhaler when they need it.
Or if the AC goes out and they suffer heatstroke.
But those deaths are ignored. After all, it’s just the elderly and the disabled.
They would’ve died anyway, right?” Bud’s voice brims with bitterness. “The cost of doing business.”
I gape at him. “You lost someone, didn’t you?”
He gives me a dark look. “We’re all losing someone, sooner or later.
Unless you can afford to protect your loved ones.
Same thing’s happening in other parts of the country, too.
Think about who gets left behind during hurricane and tornado evacuations.
The East Coast gets winter storms—who digs people out of their homes?
What happens when the power goes off in the winter?
And the Midwest has toxic algae outbreaks, and guess who normally drinks tap water?
Point is, those who can afford to buy safety and fresh water and food will survive.
Those who can’t … It’s all a roll of the dice. ”
“So that’s what Radioagnation is all about?” I ask. “If you’re concerned about climate change and saving the poor, why didn’t you go to work in politics? Start a nonprofit? Do something that doesn’t involve…” I gesture at the security office. “This.”
Bud lifts his chin, defiance flickering in his eyes.
“Because hacking is the only thing I’ve ever been great at.
And no corporation is going to pay me what I’m worth for eco-activism.
So I found a different employer instead.
And we’ve done some good work. We’ve rerouted power, shifted water.
Putting resources back where they belong. ”
“And the maintenance workers you drowned?” I snap. “They weren’t rich or privileged.”
His mouth tightens. “An accident.”
“The cost of doing business,” I say coolly, reflecting his own words back at him.
To his credit, regret flickers across his face. “I’m not saying we’re perfect. But we’re trying, at least. And that security guard—I’m sorry about him.”
“Is that why you came here?” I ask. “To make the world a safer place for the common people?”
It’s the closest I can come to outright asking Bud, What are you here for? I don’t dare reveal how little I know.
“No,” he admits. “Today’s about Hannah. As long as she’s distracted, we can’t do our jobs.”
What in the world does that mean?
“Listen,” says Bud, trying to squirm upright. “You’re not with them by choice. I know that. I’ve learned enough about ISD to know that they give wraiths just enough of a leash to hang themselves.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. His words strike a little too close to home.
“Come with me,” says Bud. “You’ve got a subdermal tracker, right?
We can remove that—Carla has the equipment.
A few forged paper IDs, a new passport, and you could be free.
The tattoo is trickier, but I’m sure we could either keep it covered or, you know.
We’re trying to bring in some medical specialists.
We could find a way to deactivate it.” He sounds terrifyingly earnest. “Work with us. Or don’t.
We wouldn’t force you. That’s where we differ from the feds. ”
I take a step back. “How did you go from your manifesto to a job offer?”
“You’re young,” he says simply. “You were smart enough to escape the lockdown procedures. You care about the dead guy, which means you’re not heartless. And you took me out.”
“Not difficult.” I cross my arms.
That earns me a flash of a grin. “And I think we’d work well together.
Our group attracts a certain … type. I think you’d fit in.
I’ll vouch for you, kid.” He gazes at me.
“How long is your sentence? Ten years? Twenty? How many years of your life will you let them steal, when you could steal them back?”
“Sorry, but I don’t work for murderers,” I say coolly.
Bud gives me a pitying look. “Of course you do.”
I have no answer to that. Because … I’m pretty sure he is right.
For a moment, I let myself consider his words.
I imagine unbinding his wrists and ankles, going to Hannah Vale and the others.
I imagine the brief flash of pain it will take to remove the tracker in my arm.
The tattoo will prove trickier; they’ll have to stop my heart for about a minute.
With the tracker and tattoo gone, I can slip into the shadows like a true wraith, vanishing from this place. Freedom will be within reach.
I will no longer be Augusta Pine.
But I’ll be forever on the run.
Before I can answer, a crackle of radio static sounds from Bud’s pocket.
“Hey,” comes an unfamiliar voice. “We’ve got movement outside. SWAT just showed up. Looks like someone managed to get a call out before the jammers went up. Over.”
Another crackle.
Then a new voice. Smooth and assured. Hannah Vale.
“Get off the roof, Carla,” says Vale. “Anasova, you keep watch. Anyone gets too close, you take them out. Clock’s running, people.
We start on the first floor and make our way up.
Apartment by apartment. Project Persephone is somewhere in the building.
Good hunting.” Another crackle of static, and then—silence.
I squat down, angling myself closer to Bud. I pull the radio from his pocket. It’s an old bit of tech, but not reliant on internet or cellular signals, which makes it perfect for this operation. I click it off so I won’t accidentally radio anyone.
“What’s Project Persephone?” I ask. “Computer program? Missile guidance system? Blackmail file?”
Bud shakes his head. “Nope. No more details for you. It’s time for you to make a choice.”
“What choice?” I say skeptically. “Join you and your merry little band of cyberterrorists?”
“Whether to escape or not,” replies Bud. “You are imprisoned, whether or not you can see the bars. Untie me. Join us. I promise no one else has to get hurt. And you could do some good in the world.”
I wonder what is more terrifying—that he is lying or the possibility that he is wholly sincere.
He sounds sincere. He is right that humanity’s future is unraveling, with the most vulnerable people routinely getting screwed over while the powerful enjoy a life of safety.
And things are probably going to get a lot worse.
But I have certain lines I won’t cross.
“His name was Matthew,” I say.
Bud sounds confused. “What?”
“The guard that Vale shot.” I shake my head. “His name was Matthew. And as for your job offer…” I fasten a strip of duct tape over his mouth. “Nope.”
I step outside the office and I hold up my right hand, settling it on the door’s lock pad. Matthew’s ringware connects, and a screen appears in my visor.
Lock/Unlock
I swipe my fingers, and a lock slides into place. Then I enter a command to cut off this door’s access from the mainframe.
There—now not even Hannah Vale can free her hacker.
One down, five to go. I take a breath.
Project Persephone.
At least now I have a name.