The Fever King (Feverwake #1)(60)

“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 na?veté.

“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 read The Brothers Karamazov out 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 foment real change, 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, reading Pale Fire and 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.