Second Guess (The Girl in the Box Book 39)

by Robert J. Crane

  “What are those worth compared to a life you can't live?” Scout fired back. “To a planet where you can't breathe?”

  “Well, I do know some people who would literally die if they didn't have Netflix. And for now, without big oil, we're all gonna be sittin' in the dark playing with ourselves, because plastic is in everything.”

  Scout's mouth twisted into something between a smile and pure spite. “You have an answer for everything. Even actual villainy. Profiteering.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ugh. Yes, solving people’s problems for money is such evil. It's just, like, the worst. Right up there with people blowing up a low-emission nuclear plant so they can...I don't even know what, honestly.” I looked right at her. “I mean, seriously. I get coal, or oil plants. But nuclear? I would have thought you'd be all over them, since they're basically the only path forward on low-emissions.”

  “Didn't start it,” Scout said tightly.

  “But you tried to help finish it,” I said. “Or your peg-legged electric friend did.” I cocked my head at her. “Did she end up getting a pegleg or did it grow back?”

  “It grew back.”

  “Bummer,” I said. “It would have added some much needed character to your crew's look. Still...care to explain why you decided to nuke New York? Because that seems kind of villain-y.”

  Scout's face tightened up. “How could we not? When I look at everything we've done, trying to save the world – you've undone it all. Sure, there's still oil leaking out in North Dakota–”

  “Yeah, well, we'll undo that, too, once we get done chasing your ass around.” I realized I should probably not have taken that jab, but only after I'd done it.

  “–But everything else, you've nullified,” Scout said sullenly. “Except the auto plant, but they'll build another one. They're determined to plunder our entire planet–”

  “But also, make the quality of life better,” I added, not-so-gently. “Because I kind of like riding around in an automobile, and even if it's not for you, you gotta admit that cars can be kind of cool, and damned handy, especially in a country the size of the US, where everything is spread out.”

  Scout's face got really pinched and angry. “We're pigs. Pigs at a trough. Knocking aside–”

  “Other pigs...?”

  “Everybody,” she decided. “Knocking aside everybody else. Eating everything. Destroying everything. Like locusts–”

  “Geez, kid, didn't they teach you not to mix metaphors in school...? Our education system has gone straight to hell. This is why Mom homeschooled me.”

  “–Determined to consume, consume, consume,” Scout raged. “'More for me, less for you!'”

  “Actually, everyone has more at this point,” I said, trying to reflect the balance. “Seriously. Think about how people lived a hundred years ago. Or fifty years ago. Things are mostly cheaper now. We have cell phones. Access to the entire storehouse of humanity's collective knowledge. You can get arugula in the supermarket. Back then it was probably iceberg lettuce only, and let's be honest – that stuff is just ass.”

  “Locusts,” she said, ignoring my counterpoints in her rage. “Humanity is a plague of locusts.”

  “Wow,” I said. “That's Biblical. Hard to see why I might think you're a villain with an attitude like that.”

  Her lips curled in a sneer. “Oh, it's not all humanity. Some of us see the truth–”

  “These chosen, selected few,” I said, nodding along. “They are the righteous.”

  Her eyes settled angrily on me. “They see what has to be done. People like ones that attacked that nuclear plant.”

  I nodded. “They're...elite, you might say. Chosen.”

  She made a face. “I...suppose.”

  “Congratulations.” I leaned back on my couch. “You have achieved the mindset of every religious fanatic and tribal warrior ever. The people who agree with you are sacrosanct and above reproach. The ones who disagree are subhuman, and beyond contempt.” I clapped. “Yep. You're a villain.”

  “You don't see,” she snarled. “You–”

  “I see fine,” I said, tired of her argument, tired of her, really. “You're the one who's in your silo. I see every point you want to make. I even agree with some of them a lot and a few of them a little. You want to preserve the environment? With you. Want to see us cut back on consumption? All in favor. Where you lose me is where you start bringing in the hammer of control.”

  She stared at me. “'Hammer...of...?'”

  I leaned forward again. “You want to control things, Scout. You want to tell people – 'no more oil, not at all.' But that'll starve something like 90% of the population. You want to tell them – 'no more emission' power. But you hate nuclear, too, so what you're really saying is, 'I'm going to leave you cold, hungry, and in the dark, forever.' You rail against the stuff we make, but the stuff we make is about more than just consumption – it has value to people. We trade our lives in tiny segments for it. This much time at work equals a hamburger. This much equals a wood credenza for the dining room. This much equals a house. You're not just upset that we're using too much carbon to fuel our daily lives; you're pissed off that we want to live our damned lives. You want to know why I see you as a villain?” I settled back. “Because a hero would say, 'This is the problem. Let's find the solutions and make it work.' But the person who just seizes power and takes control, laying down the law and making every decision by divine fiat? It's what villains do. It's what dictators do.”

  “I'll do what I have to in order to save the world,” Scout said, glaring at me.

  “Sure you will. You're not Scottish, are you?” I asked.

  She made a face. “No. Why?”

  “Just curious,” I said. “The last succubus I went up against was, that's all.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What happened with her?”

  “She gave me a real hell of a time for a while,” I said. “Even took my souls – my powers – away. But I got her in the end.”

  “I'm going to give you more trouble than that,” Scout said. She was already starting to fade into the darkness. “I'm going to save this world.”

  “Kid,” I said, “you don't want to save the world. Someone who wanted to save the world wouldn't be dead set on despising the half or more of it that doesn't immediately agree with them.”

  She didn't hear me, though, because she was already gone.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWO

  We'd spent the night in a motel in Kentucky, and got back on the FBI plane the next day. Destination: New York City. Because as contractors of the government, we were of course answerable to the ironclad law of government everywhere, which required us to observe the rule of closing the barn door after the horse had already escaped.

  It was a quiet bunch that rode through the early morning twilight. We'd had a near-silent breakfast at a diner off the interstate close to the airport, then kept the tradition of quiet alive on the plane. The cabin lights were dimmed, and nobody seemed to be even pretending to be awake as the Gulfstream cut through the chilly morning skies.

  I estimated we were somewhere over Pennsylvania when someone slipped into the empty seat next to me.

  “Hooboy,” I whispered as I saw it was Reed. I was already steeling myself for battle.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I'm not here to fight.”

  “You keep saying that, but you keep taking exception to, like, everything I do. Which begs the question: what do you mean when you say you're not looking to fight? Because where I come from, that's the stuff that at least causes argument.”

  “You did the right thing,” Reed said. “The ArcheGrey move. It was right.” His head was bowed, and he was nearly beyond meta-low in his vocalization.

  “Are you trying not to wake people?” I asked. “Or are you just scared to say that out loud for fear of a lightning bolt coming down on you from above?”

  “It's a lot more likely to come from two seats back,” he said. Because Jamal was two seats ba
ck. “Saying that you're right about something is hardly cause for divine rebuke.” He paused, appearing to give it some thought. “Probably.”

  “That felt like it was almost a compliment,” I said, concealing a smile.

  “It almost was.”

  I sighed. “I just want to catch the bad guys, Reed. I want to play in bounds...mostly.”

  “There's a lot of room for gray shades in 'mostly.'”

  “I want to play in bounds as long as people don't die. Is that too much to ask?”

  “I'm not the one who sets the boundaries,” Reed said, “so I'm not the one you should ask. It's the people we're after who are calling the tune. They're the ones deciding how far they're willing to take this crusade of theirs. You're the one who decides how far you want to go in answering.” He shrugged. “I know I'm pissed at you a lot lately, but when I am, it's because–” He stopped, looking up and taking a breath. “I want you around, Sienna. For the long haul. I think you know that.”

  “I think I know that, too,” I said, trying not to get choked up.

  “Then you should know I'm not doing it just because I'm the type who gets queasy about your ethics.”

  “But you do get queasy about my ethics sometimes.”

  “I don't know anyone this side of Frank Castle who wouldn't get queasy about your ethics sometimes.”

  I tried not to smile. I failed. “I haven't killed anyone in, like, days. We should set up a sign in the bullpen.”

  “We'll put it right next to the one that says, 'It has been 0 days since last deal with a figurative devil.'”

  “Arche...isn't that bad.”

  “And Cassidy?” He glared at me.

  “She's...not as bad as she used to be.”

  “When she blew up my car with us in it, you mean?” Reed's accusing eye was fierce.

  “Hey, man, you've gone to her for help since then, too.”

  “To save you!”

  “Yes, well, I also went to her to save me, so you should understand,” I said. “And others. She helped me save others.”

  “Can we at least...do an accounting?” Reed asked. “If we're in this together, please...let's be in this together. No more rogue moves. Can we agree before you do something dramatic?”

  My eyes flitted around; I hate being pinned down, my freedom of action restricted. “I didn't have time to discuss it in committee.”

  “Now who's quoting Star Wars?”

  “You're supposed to say, with great umbrage, 'I am not a committee!'”

  “RIP Carrie Fisher,” Reed whispered under his breath. “I just want...this to work. And not lead us straight into hell, or the jaws of the law. Okay?”

  I nodded slowly. “Yesterday was a bad example because we had little time to spare. But in the future...” I took a deep breath. “...I will consult with you before making a deal with people you could consider unsavory. Provided there is actual time and it's not a 'seconds matter' sort of emergency with dire, nuclear stakes. All right?”

  “That's all I ask,” Reed said quietly.

  “Oh, that's all, huh?” I poured some heavy sarcasm on that one. “Have you heard anything from the FBI crime lab?”

  He shook his head. “Autopsy on our lone fatality so far hasn't even yielded an identity yet. Which would have been nice.” He looked me in the eye. “I'd like to know where these people came from. What set them off.”

  “Their motive seems pretty clear at this point, but I guess I've never turned down additional clues when offered to me.”

  “Exactly,” Reed said, looking over me at the window. Clouds were starting to catch the rising sun, and below there was endless fields of farms broken by the occasional woods. He turned back to me, and his gaze was soft, almost seeking forgiveness. “I really do just want you here with me – with us – from now on.”

  “I know,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder and rubbing across the soft, smooth fabric of his suit jacket. “And I want to be here. Really, I do.” I looked around the sleeping people on this plane – my friends, who I'd so missed these last few years. “I promise I will do my level best not to screw things up.”

  I don't know if he just couldn't think of a good answer to that, or if all the answers that came back were bad. But he patted me on the wrist, just above where my sleeve started, the soft pressure on my forearm giving me at least some reassurance that he believed I was trying to do the right thing.

  Whether he thought it was possible I actually could...that he was wise enough to keep to himself.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THREE

  Scout

  The night's sleep and the argument with Sienna – and Isaac, before that – had settled badly on Scout. She woke to a foul mood and a pain in her shoulder where a root had dug into her arm. The fact that she was cold and slept out of doors didn't garner much of her anger.

  No, the focus fell in one place: Isaac.

  “I want to talk about the next move today,” he said, squatting beside Francine.

  Scout was eating cold Spaghetti-O's out of a can. When she was a kid, they'd been her favorite. Without any heat applied, they didn't taste very good. She debated touching them with a plasma-laden finger and decided that'd probably just melt the bottom of the can and make things worse. So she suffered through the cold Spaghetti-O's, feeling like a little piece of her childhood was being ruined with each soggy bite.

  “What?” Francine's voice held a hoarse quality. She didn't look like she'd slept much, either, and whatever she'd gotten, pushed up against that tree trunk, had been poor.

  “We need to get back on the fossil fuel industry,” he said, brandishing his new cell phone. “I went online yesterday after I got this, and big oil? They're bouncing back in a big way after our attacks.” He bit his lower lip, holding it for a few seconds for emphasis, like he was pouting. “We need to do something bigger. We need to rock them back on their heels.”

  This is bullshit, AJ whispered in Scout's head.

  What? she asked, turning her focus away from Isaac, who was still railing about the oil industry but talking little meat and potatoes. What do you mean?

  People are addicted to oil, AJ said. They're probably out in North Dakota right now, snorting it out of the ground where we busted up those wells. Blow up all the car plants you want, melt all their machinery – you'd have to go door to door in this country and burn up every damned automobile to get people to stop. And the electrics, too, because our power grid is so fossil-fuel dependent.

  Scout found herself nodding along. When Isaac saw it, he asked, “You think so, too, Scout?”

  “What?” She broke into an immediate scowl. “I was talking to AJ in my head.”

  Isaac looked taken aback, either by her tone or her admission that she wasn't listening to him. “Did you hear...?”

  “Nothing you said after wanting to hit big oil again,” Scout said, just dismissing him. Something about his voice this morning just pissed Scout off. “I'm sick of hitting big oil. We hit them with everything we had and what? Nothing. You said they're already bouncing back.”

  “Resilient bastards,” Francine muttered.

  “AJ says this country's addicted to oil.” Scout got to her feet, brushing off the back of her jeans. “And you know what? He's right. How many wells are there in America? How many factories using that production? How many cars? Power plants? How many would we have to blow up to make it stop – really stop?” She shook her head angrily. “All we've done so far is burn a little more oil than America would on a normal day. Spill a little more than they normally would. I bet they're already losing interest in what we're doing.”

  “No,” Isaac said, but he sounded uncertain. “They're still – the news is still all about us. It's just big oil is bouncing back because Sienna Nealon and the Super Friends managed to mitigate a lot of what we did.”

  “Because the shit we did was stuff they could clean up,” Francine said, wearing a similar sour expression to the one Scout was sure was plastered on her fac
e. “What if we'd hit that nuclear plant first, huh?”

  Isaac blinked. “That...that would have destroyed New York City. Or Jersey City, at least. The fallout would have killed–”

  Francine cackled. “The fallout would have decreased the carbon footprint of this country of consumers.” She sneered. “Scout's right. We're trying to knock the phone and the steering wheel out of peoples' hands and they're just picking them right back up again. We burn half the US supply of oil, they'll import it from elsewhere and just pay a little more. They're not giving up their plastics and their electricity.”

  “They're never going to make a real change,” Scout agreed, nodding along with Francine. She almost felt like AJ was there with them, nodding too. “Not voluntarily.”

  “But the idea was–” Isaac started.

  “The idea was to save the world,” Scout said, so damned forceful. Where was this coming from? AJ was mad, too, she could feel it. “What have we done that's gotten us closer to that?”

  “We...we...” Isaac sputtered.

  “The people are the problem,” Scout declared.

  Francine nodded at her. “The people are. The ones who don't see what needs to be done.”

  Scout nodded back. “Take away all the oil. Take away all their power. They'll find some new way to be locusts. This world was never meant to hold so many people.”

  “They don't deserve it,” Francine agreed.

  We should take it back, AJ said. For the people who do. The ones who see what needs to be done.

  “We were going to strike a blow against big oil,” Isaac said, his face etched with disbelief. “We were going to show people the error of their ways. What you're all talking about now...it's...” He blinked.