UnWholly (Unwind Dystology #2)(79)

Connor sighs. “You should never have put me in charge. You wanted the Akron AWOL running this place, but he doesn’t exist. He never did. He’s just a legend.”

“I stand behind my decision. You see yourself as failing—but that’s not what I see. Sure, when you’re in the midst of your own suffering, it’s easy to convince yourself that you’re no good—but we are all tested in this life, Connor. The measure of a man is not how much he suffers in the test, but how he comes out at the end.”

Connor lets his words sink in, wondering when this particular “test” will be over and how many undiscovered layers it might still have. It makes him think about all the things Trace has told him.

“Admiral, have you heard of something called Proactive Citizenry?”

The Admiral thinks about it. “Sounds somewhat familiar. Don’t they fund some of those blasted pro-unwinding advertisements?” He shakes his head in disgust. “They remind me of the old ‘terror generation’ ads.”

That catches Connor like a barbed hook. “Terror generation?”

“You know—the Teen Uprisings? The Feral Flash riots?”

“I’m drawing a total blank.”

The Admiral looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Good God—don’t they teach you anything in those poor excuses for schools anymore?” Then he calms down, but only a little. “No, I suppose they wouldn’t. History is written by the victors—and when there are no victors, it all winds up in corporate shredders.” He looks out the window with the sad resignation of a man who knows he’s too old to change the world.

“You must educate yourself, Mr. Lassiter,” he says. “They may not teach it, but they can’t blot it out entirely. It’s the very reason why people were so willing to accept the Unwind Accord. The very reason for our twisted way of life.”

“Sorry to be so ignorant,” Connor says.

“Don’t be sorry. Just do something about it. And if you’re curious about this Proactive Citizenry, educate yourself on that, too. What is it you’ve heard about them?”

Connor considers telling him everything he learned from Trace but realizes it couldn’t be good for the man’s heart. The Admiral is retired, and while he can be called on to give Connor a swift and necessary boot, it would be wrong of Connor to involve him in things now.

“Nothing,” Connor tells him. “Rumors.”

“Then leave it to those who have nothing better to do than gossip,” the Admiral tells him. “Now man up, get the hell out of my limo, and save these kids’ lives.”

? ? ?

Once the Admiral is gone, Trace respectfully requests a private meeting with Connor. In spite of his admission that he’s working for the Juvies and Proactive Citizenry, he still treats Connor with the full respect of a commanding officer. Connor doesn’t know what to make of this. He can’t tell whether it’s a scam or if Trace is being sincere. Although Connor can’t stomach being a pawn for the Juvies by maintaining their vault of Unwinds, he can’t deny that receiving privileged information from Trace makes him feel that he’s the one pulling the wool over the eyes of the Juvenile Authority, and not the other way around. The truth hasn’t set Connor free, as Trace has suggested, but at least it has given him a sense of power over his captors.

They ride down one of the eastern aisles, past rows of fighter jets so dusty the cockpit windows don’t even look like glass. They’re far enough away from any activity in the Graveyard that their meeting is very private.

“You need to know that things are brewing,” Trace tells him.

“What kinds of things?”

“From what intelligence I’ve been able to gather, there’s dissent in the Juvenile Authority. There are some who want to take this place out—they just need a reason.”

“If they want to take us out, the fact that we’re here is reason enough.”

“I said some want to take us out. The suits I work for don’t—and as long as everything stays smooth here, they can keep the Juvies muzzled. I’ve been a good little stool pigeon and continue to tell them that Elvis Robert Mullard is running a tight ship.”

Connor laughs. “They still have no clue that Elvis has left the building?”

“None whatsoever—and I’ve given them no reason to doubt my word.” Trace pauses for a moment. “Did you tell the Admiral about me?”

“No,” Connor tells him. “I haven’t told anyone.”

“Good. A leader should know things no one else does, and spoon out information on a need-to-know basis.”

“Spare me the military classroom,” Connor tells him. “So is that all you wanted to talk about?”

“There’s more.”

They reach the end of the aisle, and Trace stops before turning into the next one. He pulls out a slip of paper from his pocket and hands it to Connor. There’s a name on it, scrawled by hand. Janson Rheinschild.

“Is this someone I’m supposed to know?” Connor asks.

“No. He’s someone nobody’s supposed to know.”

Connor has little patience for this. “Don’t waste my time with riddles.”

“That’s the point,” Trace says. “He is a riddle.” He puts the Jeep in gear, and they turn down the next aisle.