Guardian

by Alex London

  “Hey!” Liam point a metal finger at Knox’s father. “You are speaking to Yovel and you will speak with respect.”

  “Apologies. Apologies. Don’t knock more of my teeth out. Those I have left I intend to take to the grave.” He laughed again.

  Liam shook his head. “This bloodsucker is a waste of time.”

  “I’ll trade words with you,” said Syd. “What words would you like?”

  Knox’s father leaned forward so that the collar squeezed his neck, turned his face red. He whispered to Syd, “Tell me about my son.”

  Syd leaned back. “What?”

  “You heard me.” Knox’s father nodded. “Tell me about my son and I will tell you about this sickness. They complement each other, I should think.”

  Syd bit his lip. His voice came out hoarse. “What do you want me to tell you?”

  Eeron Brindle’s eyes darted from side to side, then he looked at Syd. “Did he hate me?”

  “Yes,” said Syd.

  Knox’s father nodded. “Only natural, I suppose.”

  “So . . . this disease? What is it?”

  “It’s not a disease,” Eeron Brindle said.

  “But I’ve seen it,” Syd replied. “It’s killing Guardians and now it’s killing regular people. And it’s spreading.”

  “It’s not spreading,” said Knox’s father. “It can’t spread. It simply is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you hate my son?”

  “Tell me what you mean about this thing not spreading.”

  “Answer my question. Did you hate my son?” A black vein on his forehead pulsed. The man winced, but was otherwise still. He waited, a man for whom patience was more powerful than pain.

  “At first, yes,” said Syd.

  “And later?”

  “Later, no, I didn’t.” Syd pointed at the man. “Your turn.”

  “Have you ever seen a syntholene addict?”

  “I said it’s your turn,” Syd repeated.

  “I am explaining it to you, impatient boy! I swear, you are just like . . .” He squinted, strained to find the word. “Knox,” he said at last. “Never listens.” He paused, shook his head. “Never listened. Listened. Past tense.” He scratched an itch on the back of his hand, then froze in place. Muttered to himself and dropped both hands to his side again. They quivered. “So, again. A syntholene addict. Have you seen one coming off his syntholene patches?”

  “Yes,” said Syd.

  “What happens to him?”

  “Seizures, vomiting. Rashes.”

  “Death?”

  “Sometimes death, yeah,” said Syd. “What’s syntholene have to do with the Guardians?”

  “Nothing at all.” Eeron Brindle laughed again. He licked his cracked lips with his pale tongue. Even it was veined with tiny blue lines.

  Liam stepped forward and jabbed his metal finger into the prisoner’s chest, hard. “Speak plainly or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what, boy?” Knox’s father laughed. “Torture me? There’s no new pain left for me to feel. Can’t you see that? The blood inside me burns. The moment my son died my own heartbeat turned against me. And killing me seems pointless, as I’m to be executed anyway. So what is it? Make your threats! Come on! Be creative! I’m listening!”

  Liam exhaled. He wanted to crack the old man’s head open. But he stepped back.

  “Good help is so hard to find, eh, Syd?” Knox’s father laughed again.

  “You were saying,” said Syd. “About syntholene addicts?”

  “Ah yes.” He smiled. “Withdrawal. When you take away an addict’s drug, he goes into withdrawal. Terrible sickness. Deadly if he was truly addicted for a long enough time.”

  “So?”

  “Did you love my son?”

  Syd didn’t answer.

  “It’s your turn,” Knox’s father reminded him.

  “I know.”

  “So? Did you love my son?”

  “Not at first,” said Syd.

  “And later?”

  “I don’t want to talk about Knox,” said Syd.

  “Oh, nor do I!” Knox’s father laughed again. “But we must, one way or another! You see, he caused all of this! When my son destroyed the datastream, he took away the drug. Like I said. When my son died, my own heartbeat turned against me. So did yours. Everyone was networked. Everyone had that data in their blood. Take away the data and then . . .” He cocked his head to the side, opened his arms to show off the black veins running up and down them. “The Guardians went down first. They were nothing but networked. The older people next, those on the networks the longest, those with the most data installed. Some have stronger resistance than others . . .” He gestured at himself. “Some will hold out longer. But, young and old, rich and poor, sinner and saint, eventually, it will take down—”

  “Everyone,” Syd whispered.

  “Everyone,” said Knox’s father. “It isn’t in the blood. It is the blood. Isn’t it i—ire—?” Knox’s father had lost the word he was looking for.

  “Ironic,” Syd prompted.

  “Ironic, yes.” The man scratched his neck, stopped himself, muttered something quietly. “The only way to save the revolution my son gave you is to undermine the revolution my son gave you.”

  “We have to reestablish the network,” Syd said.

  Liam looked back at the door to the room, worried the Purifiers outside could hear. This talk was treason.

  “Is it real?” Syd asked. “Is there a machine that can do that?”

  “Your turn, Sydney,” said Knox’s father with a devilish grin. “About my son.”

  Syd clenched his jaw.

  “Why did he do it?” Knox’s father wasn’t grinning now. “Why did he die for you? Was it to get back at me? Did he love you? Did he hate me so much? Tell me why.”

  “He . . .” Syd pictured Knox, the moment before he died. They’d kissed, but it was just Knox being Knox. He didn’t love Syd, at least, not that way.

  “He wanted . . . ,” Syd tried.

  Syd stood in front of Knox. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Like I know?” Knox told him. “It’s your future. Choose.”

  “Knox wanted—” Syd began again.

  The door to the cell swung open and two Purifiers burst in. Liam whirled around and froze. With them was a third figure, his smooth skin gleaming like plastic. Cousin, his face twisted into a frown.

  “My deepest apologies, Yovel.” Cousin bent at the waist in a theatrical bow. “But your visit must come to an end.”

  “Who are you?” Syd demanded, stepping toward Cousin. Liam stopped him.

  “I am but a servant of the Reconciliation,” said Cousin. “And our wise Advisory Council has seen fit that the time for Eeron Brindle’s execution is now.”

  “What? No.” Syd looked to Knox’s father, then to Liam. “I’m not done yet.”

  “Unfortunately, you are,” said Cousin. He snapped and the two Purifiers rushed past him to grab Knox’s father and lift him to his feet.

  “Liam, can you stop them?” Syd asked. “Please.”

  Liam didn’t move. “Syd . . . I can’t . . .”

  “But you heard him,” Syd said. “He knows what’s happening. We have to make the Council listen to him. We need more time.”

  “Ah, ‘we need more time.’” Cousin sighed and stepped up to rest his delicate hand on Syd’s shoulder. “And yet it never comes. The human condition itself, no?”

  In a flash, Liam thrust himself between Syd and Cousin, knocking Cousin’s arm away and staring him down. “Don’t you ever lay a hand on Syd,” he snarled.

  Cousin grinned. “And now we have the animal condition,” Cousin said. “Like a bitch defending her pup.”

  Three more Purifiers, all of the
m armed with electro-muscular disruption sticks and bolt guns, entered the room. Syd recognized one of them through the holes in his mask. Finch was grinning.

  “Syd,” said Liam without looking away from Cousin, “we have to go.”

  “But—”

  “We’ll take this to the Council,” he said. “But we can’t stay here.”

  Syd looked between the two. Cousin unnerved him and his familiarity with Liam suggested a history that went far beyond today. More unnerving.

  He looked to Knox’s father, who smiled at him. “I’ll give your regards to—?” His face fell. He searched for the word as two Purifiers pulled him from the room.

  “Knox,” Syd whispered as Knox’s father was dragged away.

  Cousin held up a hand to stop Syd and Liam leaving after them. The white-masked boys behind him raised their EMD sticks. Finch locked eyes with Syd. He pursed his lips, blew a murderous little kiss.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t let you go,” Cousin said.

  “You can’t hold us here,” said Syd. “I am Yovel, the—”

  “Save it,” Cousin cut him off.

  “But . . . this sickness . . . we can stop it,” said Syd. “He told us we can—!”

  “No,” said Cousin. “You can’t.”

  “But he just said”—Syd shook his head—“the Machine. There must be people left who know how to build it, how to restore that network!”

  “Treason! From Yovel himself! My oh my!” Cousin laughed. “I can hardly believe my ears.”

  “Cousin,” Liam seethed. “Let us go.”

  “There’s no point, Brother Liam,” Cousin told him. “There’s only one person left who could’ve built this fabled Machine, and Dr. Khan, very tragically, was murdered last week.”

  The color drained from Liam’s face.

  “You—” Liam began. “She—?”

  “Don’t hurt that tiny brain of yours,” said Cousin. “Thinking doesn’t suit you.”

  “I order you to let us go,” said Syd. “On the authority of Yovel and the Advisory Council, I—”

  “The Advisory Council has given me command of the Purifiers until this crisis has passed,” Cousin explained. “So I’m afraid I will not be letting you go. I am authorized to do whatever is necessary in the interest of security.” He smiled.

  “The Council will hear about this,” said Syd. “You’ll be charged with treason.”

  “Oh, like me?” Finch growled. Syd clenched his fists and Finch noticed with a smile. “I’ll be sure to tell the chair of the Council we made up,” he added. “Best friends forever.”

  “Now, Furious,” Cousin mock-scolded him. “You know you aren’t supposed to enjoy this sort of thing.”

  Finch didn’t take his eyes off Syd. “I know, sir. But I do.”

  “Well, it’ll be our little secret then,” said Cousin. “These boys won’t tell, will they? They have their own secrets, after all.” He winked at Liam and with that, he and his Purifiers stepped back through the cell door and slammed it shut, sealing Syd and Liam inside.

  [17]

  AFTER THE PISTONS ON the massive door hissed and slammed the air-locked pins into place, the room was silent. The door was sealed. Syd and Liam were trapped.

  Liam had the urge to remind Syd that he’d known coming here was a bad idea. He’d known from the start this would lead to nothing but trouble. But Syd was stubborn and determined to defy not only the rules of the Reconciliation, but all common good sense.

  Liam wanted to curse and spit and yell, although it wasn’t really Syd he was angry at. He never should have allowed Syd to put himself in this position. He never should have allowed Syd to boss him around. If there was anyone Liam should be mad at, it was himself, for letting personal feelings interfere with his work.

  And with Cousin, for being a treacherous snake.

  Syd stood beside him in front of the door, looking at it. Liam turned to him, hoping he’d at least have a plan for what to do next. Liam wasn’t much for planning.

  Before he could open his mouth, however, Syd collapsed onto him, his hand clutching at Liam’s shirt, crying against Liam’s chest. His shoulders heaved with sudden sobs.

  This was unexpected.

  “Uh . . . um.” Liam didn’t know what was happening. He stood there with his arms open, too afraid to close them around Syd and wanting nothing more than to close them around Syd. “What’s . . . uh . . . wrong?”

  He didn’t even know what question to ask, but he was pretty sure, given the circumstances, that was the wrong one.

  “Why did Knox sacrifice himself for me?” Syd pulled away from Liam. He’d left a wet spot on Liam’s shirt, tears or drool or both. His cheeks were damp, his mouth twisting in an futile attempt to prevent more sobbing. He didn’t look at Liam, didn’t look anywhere, really. He sniffed and shuddered and seemed suddenly so very, very young, even though the two of them were the exact same age. He turned away from Liam.

  “Knox gave me his life . . . he died and created this new world, where I’m the one with all the power.” Syd dropped his head. “He gave me his future and what did I do with it? I let them kill the nopes. I let them kill the sick. I’m letting them kill his father.”

  “He hated his father,” Liam said.

  “That’s not the point!” Syd whirled around, nostrils flared.

  Liam cursed himself. He always said the wrong thing. He’d never had to comfort anyone before, at least, not anyone he didn’t intend to kill moments later. He’d never imagined he’d have to comfort Syd. Never imagined he’d get the chance to.

  “I’m no savior to anyone,” said Syd.

  “But . . .” Liam scrambled for a kind word. “But you’re trying.”

  “Am I?” He wiped his face on shirt, tried to regain his composure. He felt ridiculous breaking down in front of Liam. At least his bodyguard did him the favor of avoiding eye contact. “We’re stuck in here, while the only person who might be able to stop this sickness is getting executed. You heard Knox’s dad. It’s my fault everyone is going to die. I should have just stayed in Mountain City and did my time as a proxy. Knox would be alive. My friends would alive. Marie’s parents would be healthy. Now . . . everyone . . .”

  Liam couldn’t say what he wanted to. He couldn’t tell Syd it was his fault, not Syd’s. He’d been so obsessed with protecting Syd, he’d let Cousin use him. He’d murdered Dr. Khan. He’d destroyed the chance they had to stop this thing. If anyone was to blame for the dying that was to come, it was Liam, not Syd.

  Instead, he told him: “We’ll go to Baram. We’ll go to Baram when we get out of here. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Go to Baram,” Syd repeated. “All I’m ever good for is getting other people to solve the problems I’ve created.”

  “Well, that’s what other people are for, right?” Liam tried. “You can’t do it all alone. There are people who want to help you. I want to help you.”

  Syd exhaled. He finally looked back at his bodyguard. “Listen, Liam. You and me? Whatever idea you have, it’s not going to happen. I think you should understand that. It’s not possible.”

  Liam didn’t say anything.

  “I see how you look at me. Guys like us, back in the Mountain City, we were called Chapter Eleven. It was slang for bankrupts. Broke. Guys who couldn’t make anything, didn’t own anything, and never would. And the eleven?”

  He held up both his index fingers side by side, knocked them together.

  “Get it? Two of the same thing. It didn’t exactly make a person popular. I taught myself to be alone. I thought the whole bankrupt thing was about sex, but it wasn’t. It was about ruin, about being the kind of guy who ruins whatever he touches. That’s what I was. That’s what I still am. You know, everyone I ever cared about has died, violently, because of me. Every connection I ever made got destroyed. So the revolution
erased those old labels and gave me this new identity, Yovel, but I’m still the same person. I’m still the Chapter Eleven swampcat who breaks whatever he touches. You think you want that, but you’re wrong. You can do your job if you have to. Protect Yovel. But Syd? He’s not worth it.”

  “Syd,” Liam said, but couldn’t say any more because just then, a holo projection appeared in the air in front of them, glowing brightly in the twilight.

  Outside the window, another appeared, hovering over the treetops. Then another a few yards beyond that. More and more flickered on, wobbling in the air as far as Liam and Syd could see. Some floated jumbo-sized above the jungle, some hovered half obscured by broken walls, some inside, some outside, visible only by the glow they cast through the windows of residential buildings in the distance.

  Syd had never realized there were projectors all over the jungle city before. The technology was outlawed, but not, it seemed, eliminated. It continued to have its uses by those whom the Advisory Council trusted to use it. It was a closed circuit system, not a network, but if it could exist, then maybe . . .

  Syd felt a pang of hope. Maybe everything could be restored.

  At first the holos simply glowed, but then, the image hovering in the cell came into focus. All the projections outside showed the same thing: a close-up of the face of Eeron Brindle, former chief of the SecuriTech Corporation, directly responsible for the creation and programming of the Guardians, and the grieving father of Syd’s dead patron.

  Knox’s father looked directly out from the holo, as if he were staring straight at Syd. The hope in Syd’s heart curdled. The black veins of Brindle’s face throbbed.

  “My name is Eeron Brindle,” Knox’s father said. “I served as director of data security and counter-terrorism operations, and later, chief executive officer of the SecuriTech . . . Corp . . . Corp . . . Corporation.”

  He cleared his throat. Speaking took effort but he continued.

  “I offer my full con . . . con . . . confession. I manipulated the market to favor the terms of creditors. I ignored protocol as . . . p . . . p . . . proxies were punished more severely than necessary. I authorized acts of violence and intimidation to protect the interests of my . . .” His eyes drifted. He was struggling with language. His lips moved without sound and then, he snapped his focus back and spoke quickly. “Clients! To protect my clients at the expense of the people, and I knowingly profited from all of the aforementioned crimes. I do not deny, nor do I repent these things. I have only one regret—” His voice cracked. Sadness replaced defiance. “In my zeal, I sacrificed my own son’s life and for that, I willingly submit myself to this . . .”