She had been counting down for ten days and still had another two left. So she kept on her way to help Julianna. Jake no longer left home. Whenever Julianna needed to attend a meeting, go to a social event, or even get her own runs in, Coryn came over. That meant she lived in Jake’s suite half the time and did most of her job running Outside-N from there as well.
She caught the elevator from the bottom floor, holding the door for Namina to catch up. They rocketed through ninety-six floors to get to the top.
Julianna waited by Jake’s bed, already dressed up in a pale pink dress with a dark blue coat and a string of pearls. She nodded sadly at Coryn, and then at Evan, who stood at the ready right by the head of Jake’s bed should his master need anything at all.
Jake himself was nearly invisible—one bony, twisted hand resting on a blanket.
“I’ll probably be late.” Julianna stood up, looking momentarily lost.
“That’s all right. I can sleep over,” Coryn assured her. There was a couch near the bed that she’d used rather often in the last week, and she even had some extra clothes stashed in a drawer in the coat closet.
She stopped by the side of the bed and sat briefly where Julianna had been, reaching a hand out to rest on Jake’s shoulder. “I’m here. Let me know if you need anything.”
Jake didn’t open his eyes, but he gave a soft smile of acknowledgment and moaned a little. The designer drugs the medical machines gave him were meant to keep him a little floaty. He was lucid for a few hours every day and asleep or nearly asleep the rest of the time.
Julianna reached out and touched Coryn’s cheek. “Thank you for coming.”
“Always.” Her own parents had abandoned her. These two, Lou, Blessing and Day, and now Imke were all of her world.
Julianna swallowed and looked down at her dress. “I missed my run today.”
Coryn took her hand. “I’d offer to run with you tomorrow, but I’ve a rest day. The Jingle Bell Run is the day after tomorrow.”
Julianna glanced at Jake. “It’s all right.” She left, although not fast enough to hide the damp shine in her eyes.
Coryn blinked back a tear of her own before she crossed to a small desk in the corner to work. This long death vigil was one bad moment after another, and the few good ones were just as emotional. Maybe there was something cheerful in Chelan. She scrolled through the recent sat shots until she found one with a big enough break in the clouds to show her the farm.
Snow blanketed everything. The horses were still in the lean-to, with one of the ecobots still making up one wall. The new barn had a roof and a wooden wall, and if she zoomed in she could see figures clambering around the outside in the snow.
She texted Adam and Imke. Imke told her she was beautiful, and Adam promised to meet her for breakfast.
Coryn scooted her chair near Jake and sat and watched his face, waiting for him to stir. She sang softly, and then gave up and played music through the speakers. After a while, she turned the music off and read him some poems. Her sister had developed a new love of poetry, and she was trying to figure out why. So far, she didn’t get it.
Jake opened his eyes. “How about some Whitman?”
“Huh?”
“You’re researching poetry. Find Leaves of Grass. I think the line I want starts, ‘There was never any more inception . . .’”
His voice trailed off, but Evan had already produced what he asked for, and displayed it on the wall-screen closest to her. The companion robot said, “He’s always liked these lines. He likes the whole thing, but he told me once that these lines helped him stay present more than once.”
She nodded and began to read:
“There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now;
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.”
“It’s kind of old-fashioned,” she said.
Evan laughed. “Well, it was first written in 1855.”
“Do things get second written?”
“Whitman re-wrote this one a few times.”
Jake spoke up. “The first version is the best. Maybe you should read the whole book for homework.”
“Is it recorded, so I can hear it while I run?”
“Help me sit up,” Jake asked. “Please. And yes. It’s been recorded a thousand ways. But can you read to me a little more now?”
She did, occasionally stumbling over the diction. It did make the night go by quickly, and she giggled at her own mistakes more than once. Sometimes Jake asked Evan to read for a while, and she and Jake sat side by side, listening and drinking water. That was all Jake took in any more, water and food pastes, and of couIt’s kind of old-fashioned,” she said. Evan laughed. “Well, it was first written inrse his medicines. He took those mixed into the pastes. “I refuse to be tube-fed,” he told anyone who’d listen, most often Evan. “I’ll die in my own bed without any needles stuck into me.”
When he said such things, Evan nodded sagely, often reminding Coryn of her dead Paula.
‡ ‡ ‡
Whitman’s poetry infected her dreams, even though she wasn’t really sure she liked it. She woke remembering a line that had stuck with her. Something like, “Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born? I . . .” Something she didn’t remember. “. . . just as lucky to die, and I know it.” Jake had read that one out loud, and he’d been looking at her when he did it, clearly wanting her to know he felt like that.
He had been alive when she left him and Julianna curled in the bed together this morning, with Evan watching dutifully over them. She didn’t think he had much longer to go.
Adam brought breakfast to her headquarters conference room, since it was one of the most secure places that they knew. “What’s up?” she asked. “Learn anything more about the nukes?”
“I have two theories.”
She started to peel her hard-boiled egg. “Show me?”
“If you peel my egg, too.” He pulled up a screen that showed pictures of two backpacks. One was rounded, as if it held a small oil drum. It was covered in camouflage and screamed military. The other looked like a typical hiker’s backpack, with nothing about it to suggest it was dangerous. “These are heavy. They are both theoretical, as well, but likely to have existed. Or worse, to exist.”
She finished peeling her egg and started in on his. “But can you trace them to the feds?”
“The first one. Almost for sure. The second one was a rumor. But I found three references to it. It doesn’t look like a bomb at all.”
“Is it?”
He gave her a mock look of horror at being questioned and reached for his egg. “Thanks. I don’t think it will make a mushroom cloud. The first one might. It’s not like there are videos of tests or anything. But I think it’s a newer and smaller version of a nuke that used to be called the Davy Crockett. The thing it’s in—the round thing—converts to a launcher of some kind. Maybe not a literal city killer, but it could kill a lot of people.”
Nuclear weapons had been used twice. Well, depending on how you counted. Once in World War Two, and one early in the Gasoline Wars that led to the big cities and the wilding. But never in America. Nukes made her shiver. History come back to haunt the present. “What about the normal-looking one? The camping pack?”
“It’s supposed to be heavier than a camping pack. Almost eighty pounds. So it’s likely to be on a big man or a horse. Or a cart. It’s rumored to spread radiation around, maybe a lot of it. Other rumors suggest North Korea built them for war with us, but, of course, they never used them. One old report suggests just one could make whole areas uninhabitable.”
“But you can’t really tell?” she mused.
“They were born in an age of misinformation.”
She laughed. He was so serious sometimes. But then, nukes. Wow. “So how theoretical is it that the feds have these?”
“Not very for the f
irst one. They probably do have them. Maybe even a few of them. We think they hid weapons in Canada during the early power fights and the denuclearization orders. I found three heavy rumors anyway. The second one—I don’t know. Careful analysis of everything I’ve been able to find so far suggests there’s a little less than a 50 percent probability of even one ever existing—much less being here. But we’ll look for it anyway.”
She sat back, the enormity of it making her feel heavy and confused. “Why would people do this? Want to blow up people? For power?”
Adam pursed his lips. “For an old idea. A lot of money went missing during the last wars. I told you that. Old money mostly—thus the name. Gasoline Wars.”
“But almost no one burns oil anymore.”
He shrugged. “Most execs were big enough to change. Exxon Mobile used to be a fossil fuel company.”
“I know that.”
“Most people think of them as dome builders. Wall builders. They didn’t even stay in the same business, other than being sure to make something we cannot live without.”
She started eating her egg. “You sound cynical.”
“About businesses? Aren’t you?”
“Don’t we need them?”
“Of course we do. But maybe they shouldn’t be run by people. Some old oil execs hid their money instead of transforming their business. A kind of insanity, I think. Algorithms wouldn’t do that.”
“But why blow us up now?”
“So they never have to admit they were totally wrong.”
She frowned. “Stupid people keep trying to destroy our world.”
“Why do you think I drink?”
“That’s not the answer.” She hadn’t meant to snap; she turned to him to apologize, and saw he wasn’t even hurt. He might as well have not even heard her. She settled for changing the subject. “I can share this with Imke? The nukes?”
He looked mildly troubled.
Surely he was big enough not to let his unhappiness that she was going to Imke for the holidays affect his work. She waited him out.
“Of course.”
“Why are you hesitating?”
“I want more certainty. I’m a numbers guy. Chances less than half make me think they are even lower.”
“The stakes are so high,” she whispered.
“I know. I don’t like this.”
She swallowed. “I don’t like the uncertainty, and I don’t like the idea of either of these weapons being near Lou. And I can’t tell Lou. Not over the cellular.”
“No. And you can’t travel there. Maybe you can suggest she look out for backpacks though.”
“Yes.” She finished her egg and started on her banana. “At least I get to carb-load tonight.”
“Are you worried about the race?”
“No. Are you?”
“No.” He grinned. “We’re both going to win.”
She threw her banana peel toward him, making sure it fell short. “Don’t jinx us.”
‡ ‡ ‡
When she woke up on race day, she was thinking of Whitman’s poetry again. Not the lines about death that had stuck with her the night before, but a simple line. I am larger, better than I thought.
She could win a race with that line, and with the general questing joy of Leaves of Grass inside of her. It might even be better than the fake lions she used to use when she had nothing but augmented reality running games to train to.
Outside of the dome, it was below freezing, and the weather report suggested it would be dry through the race but might actually snow in the evening. A bit of holiday cheer for Seattle.
People lined the course, stamping their feet against the cold while looking beautiful in festive coats and hats.
Coryn jogged in place, keeping her muscles warm and her blood flowing.
Just before the start, Julianna messaged her. Good luck!
So Jake had to be okay. If he wasn’t, Julianna wouldn’t be watching a stupid thing like a race.
The elite runners started first, by speed group. Behind them, there would be twenty thousand casual runners dressed up in holiday hats and bells. Two years ago, she’d run in that crowd. She’d been near the front, but nowhere near the elites.
Adam was in the one group ahead of hers, and probably at mile five by now. Behind her, the elites would get older and slower and then give way to the casual runners dressed in holiday clothes, out for a lark.
There were twenty runners in her class, and since they started in time-seed order, she was third. She let the start go slow, staying in third place, falling back to fifth, holding it there.
She sang in her head and heard lines of poetry and said little prayers for Jake. By mile seven she’d fallen to seventh, and Namina sent her messages goading her.
I am larger! Better than I thought!
By mile ten she was in third again.
At mile twenty her back hurt and her feet screamed, but her breath was strong and even, powerful. She overtook the woman in front of her, Elisa, and started in on the long-legged Nigerian in front of Elisa. The leader. Tambara. Tambara had won two of the last three races, Elisa the other one. Coryn had been second twice and third once.
She put her head down and dug in, needing speed.
Tambara’s stride was long, her legs beautiful.
Coryn began to catch her. The cold was more help than hindrance. Her fingers felt the cold, but they still moved easily, and the winter tights Julianna had ordered for her the previous morning worked great. In some ways, the cold seemed to make her faster.
By mile twenty-five, she and Tambara ran side-by-side. Neither woman looked at the other, but Coryn knew every movement of Tambara’s, and felt Tambara knew hers. For nearly a mile they kept the same pace even at different strides. Their breathing didn’t match. Tambara breathed more slowly, quieter.
Coryn almost fell back because of Tambara’s perfection. She was so beautiful, so like a metronome.
I am Larger! Better than I Thought!
The words had capitals now, in her head. Exclamation points.
If she was ever going to win a race, it would be this one.
For Jake.
She reached deep, found scraps of energy, pounding over the line a step ahead of her beautiful competition.
Adam met her, running her down, slowing her down with him, and then he picked her up and whirled her around, and she screamed in triumph.
Snow began to fall, small controlled flakes that didn’t stick to anything but made Seacouver beautiful.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The after-party for the race picked away at her good mood with its noise and demands for attention. Drones buzzed nearby, barely keeping the legal three-foot distance. People kept trying to hand her champagne, which she refused with a wave of her hand. In the far corner of room, she noticed Adam taking two drinks, and she resolved to get out before he did, and without him.
When she had imagined what it would be like to be a winner, she had thought the attention would be wonderful. Maybe, if she weren’t more interested in spending time with Jake, it would have been.
She did her best to smile and to say nice things. Just as there was a bevy of celebrities, of which she was now a small one in a small subclass, the city also had many celebrity interviewers. One, a fat woman named Ruby Seattle with way too much makeup plastered onto a kind, round face, asked, “What about your sister who’s wilding? We got snow, but I hear there is a lot more in Promise.”
Coryn nodded. “Yes.” The question felt a little disturbing.
“That’s all? Yes? What’s it like for her?”
“It’s very, very cold. And wet. And she has to stay inside a lot.” Coryn forced herself to smile. “She also says it’s really pretty.”
Ruby Seattle cocked her head. “How do you have it all? Winning a prestigious race, working for the most powerful people in our city’s history, and having a Wilder sister? What’s it like to balance all of these things?”
Coryn gaped for
a moment before answering. A bad idea. With so many cameras, any awkward facial expression could end up on the city feeds. “I don’t have time for much of a social life.” She started to turn away, then thought better of it and turned back. “I believe in all of those things. Exercise. Hard work. Family. They all matter.” She hadn’t known she was going to say that, but it was true. Julianna had taught her. And Jake.
Ruby Seattle nodded and looked like she was about to pop out another question.
Coryn smiled. “Thank you.”
She turned away, looking for a few moments of peace before the next interviewer. Adam had warned her people would start researching her. At least no one had mentioned her parents’ suicide yet, or figured out that Jake was dying.
It took an hour before Coryn managed to get away from the media show, and even then two drones followed her until she turned around and ordered them to go away.
She traveled along her new trails through the city streets, the afternoon sun all but completely blocked by the height around her. She was shivering by the time she hit Julianna’s building. Some of the other people in the streets looked even colder, and everyone seemed to be in a hurry. The elevator was air-conditioned, and she cursed under her breath and fidgeted. Yet she bounded out of it at the top, holding her bright gold winner’s medal on its blue ribbon and her glass trophy, and stopped in her tracks.
Jake lay in bed, eyes bright. He held Julianna’s hand. Both of them were carefully watching Blessing, who sat in Coryn’s work chair, and Day, who leaned on the wall right behind him.
She squealed with happy surprise, bouncing toward him like a puppy. “How are you? How’s Lou? When did you get back?”
Blessing rose to meet her, laughing at her with his good-natured wide smile, arms wide. Day merely looked amused.
She stepped easily into Blessing’s arms, holding him tight for a heartbeat before pushing away. She kissed Julianna on the cheek before leaning down by Jake. “Did you see me win?”
“I did. We all did,” he murmured, his voice soft and focused, as if speaking required all of his energy. The way he said it made her wonder if any of them were watching. But she didn’t really care. They were home safe. She turned back to Blessing. “When did you get back?”
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