Thunderhead (Arc of a Scythe #2)(29)

“I don’t want it,” he told her.

She was surprised by that. “Don’t be stupid; everybody wants immunity.”

“I’m not everybody.”

“Just shut up and kiss the ring!”

Her aggravation just fed his. Was that what his sacrifice was worth? A temporary get-out-of-death-free card? The life he thought he was going to lead was gone, so what was the point of a guarantee to prolong it?

“Maybe I want to be gleaned,” he told her. “I mean, everything I had to live for has been stolen from me, so why live at all?”

Scythe Anastasia lowered her ring. Her expression became serious. Too serious. “Fine,” she said. “Then I’ll glean you.”

Greyson hadn’t expected that. She could do that. In fact, she could do it before he had the chance to stop her. As much as he didn’t want to kiss her ring, he didn’t want to be gleaned, either. It would mean that the entire purpose of his existence would be to have thrown himself in front of her car. He had to live long enough to forge a purpose greater than that. Even if he had no idea what that purpose might be.

Then Scythe Anastasia laughed. She actually laughed at him. “If you could only see the look on your face!”

Now it was Greyson’s turn to go red—not from anger but from embarrassment. Perhaps he wasn’t quite done feeling sorry for himself, but he wouldn’t feel sorry for himself in front of her.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “There, you thanked me, I accepted it. Now you can go.”

But she didn’t. Greyson really didn’t expect her to.

“Is your story true?” she asked.

If one more person asked him that, he felt he might just blow up and leave his own crater. So he told her what he thought she wanted to hear.

“I don’t know who planted those explosives. I wasn’t part of the plot.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She waited. Patiently. She made no threats, she offered no incentive. Greyson had no idea if he could trust her, but realized that he didn’t care anymore. He was done dissembling and spouting half-truths.

“No,” he told her. “I lied.” Admitting it felt freeing.

“Why?” she asked. She didn’t seem angry, just curious.

“Because it was better for everyone if I did.”

“Everyone but you.”

He shrugged. “I’d be in the same boat no matter what I told them.”

She accepted that, and sat down across from him, staring at him the whole time. He didn’t like that. She was once more on a plane above, thinking her secret thoughts. Who could know what machinations were spinning in the mind of a socially sanctioned killer?

And then she nodded. “It was the Thunderhead,” she said. “It knew about the plot—but it couldn’t warn us. So it needed someone it trusted who could. Someone who the Thunderhead knew would take the information and act on his own.”

He was amazed at her insightfulness. She figured it out when no one else had.

“Even if that were true,” he said, “I wouldn’t tell you.”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t want you to.” She looked at him a moment more, her expression not just kindly, but maybe a bit respectful. Imagine that! Greyson Tolliver getting respect from a scythe!

She stood to leave. Greyson found he was sorry to see her go. Being left alone with his blaring U and his own defeatist thoughts was something he was not looking forward to.

“I’m sorry you were marked unsavory,” she said just before she left. “But even if you’re not allowed to talk to the Thunderhead, you can still access all its information. Websites, databases—everything but its consciousness.”

“What good is all that without a mind behind it to guide you?”

“You still have your own mind,” she pointed out. “That’s got to be worth something.”





* * *




The Basic Income Guarantee predated my ascension to power. Even before me, many nations had begun to pay their citizens for merely existing. It was necessary, because with increasing automation, unemployment was rapidly becoming the norm rather than the exception. So the concept of “welfare” and “social security” was reinvented as the BIG: ?All citizens had a right to a small piece of the pie, regardless of their ability or desire to contribute.

Humans, however, have a basic need beyond just income. They need to feel useful, productive, or at least busy—even if that busywork provides nothing to society.

Therefore, under my benevolent leadership, anyone who wants a job can have one—and at salaries above the BIG, so that there is incentive to achieve, and a method of measuring one’s success. I help every citizen find employment that is fulfilling for them. Of course, very few of the jobs are necessary, since they could all be accomplished by machines—but the illusion of purpose is critical to a well-adjusted population.

—The Thunderhead



* * *





12


A Scale of One to Ten


Greyson’s alarm went off before sunrise. He had not set it to do so. Since coming home, he had no reason to wake up early. There was nothing pressing to be done, and when he was awake he tended to crawl back under the covers until he could no longer justify it.