The Beam: Season Three (82 page)

“They try to grab Stahl and your girl in bumtown, but then
she
damn near gets away this time.”
 

“But she didn’t.”
 

“And then who do you send them to? To fucking Alix Kane, who
tortures
them!”
 

“I was as pissed off about that as you were! I didn’t authorize Kane’s involvement! I specifically — ”
 

“All under your watch, Micah! Only your brother made more mistakes, rest his soul.” Clive ticked off more fingers. “Kane’s men lose Miss Dreyfus after they were supposed to kill her. Your Stark troops get her back, but then you fucking lose Stahl again!”
 

“Hey,” Micah said. “I solved things with Stahl.
And
with Kai, in the same swoop.”
 

“Yes. Stahl was quite ‘solved.’”
 

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”
 

Clive gave a little smile.
 

“What?”
 

“Botched riots. Infighting with Isaac that was more irritating than our usual breed of cross-party productive. You lose control of your brother, who runs off to cry to motherfucking Aiden Purcell…and look where
that
led. With Rachel gone, it’s now Purcell that everyone’s a little afraid of. You’re supposedly leading Mindbender research at Xenia, but then what happens at the Primes? Carter Vale drops his little bomb about…wait for it…
Mindbender
, effectively erasing the lead we’d manufactured for Enterprise with the beem currency gambit.”
 

“How is
Vale
my fault?
 

“And now this! This bullshit at Braemon’s! I know part of it was your mother, but she was playing chess against
you
, and you should know better than to tangle with a snake. Now we have deaths on our hands, a ruined public image for Craig, and turmoil
everyfuckingwhere
on the eve of Shift.” Clive’s hand stabbed at the dual screens, which had just clicked to a forty-nine to forty-nine tie. “Who’s going to win Shift, Micah?”
 

“I don’t know! Why the hell would I know?”

Clive bolted to his feet.
“Panel always knows!”

Micah stepped back, rapping his heels against Clive’s floor-to-ceiling window.
 

Quieter, with a visible effort to calm himself, Clive said, “We always know, Micah.
Always
. We can’t always control much about Shift, but we
always at least know
who will win. But now: Look at that. I honestly have no idea. Which way will the country swing? It’s anyone’s guess.”
 

Micah stared at the wall. While he watched, the Directorate number clicked up to fifty. Any moment now, the final two Senate votes would tick in, and it would all be over. Either it would go fifty-two to forty-nine or fifty-one to fifty, and the Directorate would win as predicted, or the Enterprise would pull off a streak and tip the scales to fifty-one to fifty in their favor.
 

Clive shook his head in a way that almost seemed sad.
 

“If you’d had a stellar record, things would be easy. But whether you think any of this is your fault or not, a lot has happened
under your watch
. And now, with both Rachel and Isaac dead?” He sighed.
 

Micah forced himself to respond, but it didn’t come easily. He’d always fought with Isaac, and there were even times he’d considered having him dealt with, but he’d always backed off because brothers were brothers. Rachel had it coming. But Isaac? Isaac, in his own way, had been an innocent.
 

“What does…” He paused to reset, moistening his lips. “My mother’s death frees a spot, but — ”

“And that’s just about the only thing saving you, Micah. You did slash a knot in Panel by getting rid of her, whether she was respected or not. And in a twisted way, the fact that you had the guts to do it proves to a lot of us that you’re able to make hard decisions if you must.”
 

Before Micah could respond, the Enterprise wall ticked up. Fifty to fifty. Next tick decided for everyone.

“But Isaac,” he said. “What does Isaac have to do with any of this?”
 

“You were always yin and yang. In the public’s eye, you might as well have been the presidents. The sheets ate it up: the quarreling Ryans. But now there’s no Isaac for you to square off against. So what use is Micah?”
 

“Now wait just a goddamned min — ”
 

Micah stopped speaking as a yellow bar appeared above the blue and red windows. In the bar, there was a single numeral. A one.
 

Clive turned. “Well, I’ll be buggered,” he said.
 

Micah looked at Clive, at the wall, and back to Clive.
 

“What? What does that mean?”
 

“Too close to call,” he said. “The swing senator is unwilling to cast her vote.”
 

Micah was about to ask for more, but Clive spoke first.
 

“It means party memberships are within a half percent of each other. By law, if I remember my obscure statues correctly, there will be a district-by-district recount.”

Micah looked again at the wall. The big red square. The big blue square. And the indecisive yellow bar across them both.
 

“So who controls the Senate?” Micah asked.
 

Clive turned to meet Micah’s gaze.
 

“Until the count is in,” he said, “nobody does.”

Chapter Twenty

Leah poured tea for herself and Sam then set the pot down as she felt a wave coming. She was alone in her kitchen, and nobody would see. Which was good, because she wasn’t ashamed…but this was private.
 

She put her palms flat on the countertop, let her head hang, and cried into the fragrant chamomile steam. Her chest hitched. Her body shook. She let it happen. Then she wiped her eyes and took a moment to let it all settle.
 

This was
her
kitchen. For better or worse, she currently had nowhere else to go. Even if any of the Organas had made their way back to the village, Leah didn’t feel strong enough to face them. She was both afraid of and sorry for them.
 

If she was right about what had happened with Leo — what she’d first guessed from the Underbelly wireframe, then more or less confirmed by waving his body with her handheld — he’d been implanted with some sort of mnemonic command, programmed to home in on Stephen York for reasons unknown. He hadn’t been himself. His death hadn’t even been a total tragedy; Leah’s wave had seen a new set of triggers trying to stop his already-stilled heart as his body’s electrochemicals dispersed. He would have died anyway, even without Braemon’s security — which, it seemed in retrospect, had only shown up to defend Nicolai Costa.
 

It hadn’t been Leo’s fault. And, thanks to the network he’d formed with them, it likely hadn’t been any of the others’ fault, either. They’d all been infected, and unable to fight it.
 

But now, with the virus’s source gone and the network broken, those who’d fled would be themselves again — only, they’d probably still have memories of the terrible things they’d done. According to the sheets, thirty-one people had died at the Violet James Respero fundraiser. Even Shift had taken a backseat to the ongoing story on The Beam. Officially, the Organas had been driven insane by “acute Lunis withdrawal.” The NPS, Leah knew, would have a different story in mind: that Leo Booker had revived Gaia’s Hammer for one last stab at the elite before going out with a bang. But the truth, Leah knew, was far sadder. Now they were all just people. They wouldn’t hurt anyone. And her old peaceful friends would be deathly remorseful, paralyzed by guilt.
 

Just as Leah was, because she’d released them. She and Dominic — who’d also gone missing.
 

She couldn’t let herself believe Dom might be dead, too. He had to be lost. Or maybe whatever had happened to turn York into Crumb had happened to him, too.
 

But the lie tasted sour. Leah kept thinking of how she’d sent the Organas through that scanner, supposedly deactivating all that made them deadly. And she kept thinking of how Dominic had lit up the same sensor, revealing the presence inside himself of something he’d obviously not known was there. Something that, in hindsight, looked like bio-encoded software. The kind of thing someone must have hidden there without his knowledge…and, consequently, might someday want back.
 

 
Where was Dominic? Where was
York?
And where were the other Organas? Several had been reported dead; she’d known most by nicknames and had to look up the real ones. There were so many left. Would they scatter? Would they keep their enhancements or try to dig them out with clawed fingers? Would they survive as reconnected Luddites, taking doses of the disease they’d once fled? Or would they instead somehow find a new dust supply, and try again?
 

Leah didn’t know. And for now, she didn’t entirely care. She had other problems to worry about. Maybe this was the end of Hippie Leah. And maybe this was to be the true dawn of Leah the Adept.
 

She walked into the living room. Sam was on one side of the couch, and the holographic Violet James — looking solid, save the fact that she didn’t have weight to compress the cushions — sat on the other. Leah had uploaded the strange, semi-mortal and semi-corporeal new form of SerenityBlue into the apartment’s canvas then set up a real-time sync with the back-worn proton pack so the girl could be in two places at once. The way Serenity/Violet had explained it, she could truly only
be
the copy of her file on the canvas or the pack at any given time (either as a hologram or a disembodied consciousness), but the sync gave her options. If they needed to go anywhere, Sam would strap on the pack and be her carrier. They’d been pretending it was for convenience or recreation — for the purposes of
just getting out
— but after three days of feeling like fugitives in this scotoma-masked apartment in DZ, Leah knew the truth: they kept Serenity on the canvas so she’d be able to access The Beam, and they kept her on the pack because they never knew when they might have to run.
 

Leah handed a cup of tea to Sam. She hadn’t asked if he wanted it. To Leah, Shadow had always seemed like a hypercaffeine abuser. Only recently — under the twin influences of reimmersion in native, always-on connection and an initial hit of Lunis — had he seemed calmer and more focused in his communications. Leah liked him steady. The tea was decaf.
 

“Thanks,” he said.
 

Leah sat in the chair opposite the couch. A loose spring poked her in the back.
 

“Do you remember me, Violet?” she asked.
 

The girl nodded. She didn’t look like she’d looked to Leah before, in the school. But the good news — if there was any in all of this — was that at least she looked the same to everyone now, and like Leah to no one.

“Of course.”
 

“I mean, more than you did?”
 

Violet shook her head and gave her a kind smile that was very Old SerenityBlue. The girl’s memory had slowly fleshed out during the first day, but then plateaued. She seemed to (but didn’t entirely) remember Sam from an immersive deception loop they’d shared at some point before the benefit, and she seemed to (but didn’t entirely) remember Leah and Leo and York from the school. Her children, at the school, were all she seemed to remember almost fully as both Violet and Serenity — though if Leah was reading her right, it was more of an intense soul-familiarity than a true remembering.
 

“What about Respero? Do you remember your Respero?”
 

“A little. Sam showed me the vidstreams. And as much as I could, I watched the noise from inside.”

“‘Noise’?”

“Inside, when I watch The Beam without using my eyes, it feels like noise. Except I can see it.”
 

“How can you see it without eyes?” Sam asked.
 

“To be fair,” Leah said, “she doesn’t actually have eyes
now.”
She gave an apologetic shrug. “No offense.”
 

“It’s fine.” Violet seemed to think. “I feel real. It’s what I remember life being like. I don’t know how different it might be if I had a solid body, but this — ” she gestured down at her holographic self, “feels like a body. I guess that doesn’t make much sense if I’m a file now.”
 

It made fair sense to Leah. If amputees could feel their absent arms and legs between the amputation and replicant replacement, then maybe Violet felt a full-body phantom limb. The mind got used to its original state, and had trouble saying goodbye.
 

Leah sighed. She had a question to ask, but it was the definition of forward. But she simply had to know.
 

“Do you remember a discussion we had? About how we’re connected, me and you?”
 

The girl thought. “Maybe. A spoon. Chocolate?” She shook her head. “But that’s silly.”