I’m proud of Blane. One by one, I smear numbing elixir on the napes of our necks and Blane surgically removes our implants. This time, I’m calm enough to watch him remove Armonk’s, and even his own, with me holding a mirror aimed at his neck so he can clearly see the entry site. It’s surprising how precise Blane can be with his bearlike hands and thickset fingers that always seemed best suited for sports and pummeling his enemies.
Armonk is amazing too, patient and gentle with Thorn. I imagine what a great father and husband he’ll make someday, to another woman—maybe even my friend Petal or Freeblossom. Thinking these happier thoughts I smile.
In the meantime, Blane lines up the implants on the towel like tiny monsters from a horror show. The new one from Thorn has a dozen spiky nodules like a lethal insect, but even the early ones that George stapled in us look alien in their smooth anonymity. How could I have been so eager to have that in my head, telling me what to think about, what to long for? I’ll never again have to be startled by those awful Stream blasts, never hear any more wheedling ads hawking the latest restaurant or cleaning powder.
Instead, we’ll be connected to the stromanet.
We bandage each other’s wounds. The harmonious thrumming from my being to Thorn’s, from Thorn’s to his Reds, from the Reds to the Fireseed has already begun as we wrap the good doctor in a length of clean surgical sheet. First we pluck off the majestic blossoms and place them in a vase with a dampened sponge to save for his memorial. How bizarre that he grew flowers from his own body for his memorial, I think as I wrap the last part of the sheet under the doctor’s cold arms.
Goodbye wise one, wise one, wise one, goes the humming.
The memorial will have to wait. We need to deal with NanoPearl first.
As we pack up our supplies, I hear a tortured groan. This time it’s not my imagination. We stop what we’re doing to listen. Another. Someone is suffering, badly.
“Is it coming from the living room?” Blane asks.
“No, the kitchen, behind the pantry door.” Armonk is already there. As he swings it open, we’re shocked to see it’s someone we know quite well.
“Nevada! Oh, my god!” I cry and dash forward, fling my arms around her. She’s slumped, head on chest, and weaving in and out of consciousness. “How long have you been in here?”
She shakes her head in slow motion.
Thorn hides way back in the shadows of the room.
Armonk uses his pocketknife to slit her binding because someone tied her arms behind her back. She comes alive enough to bring them forward and paw at her bloody wrists. She has one black, puffy eye and her expression is glazed with hunger and sadness.
“Who did this to you, Nevada?” Armonk crouches next to her and feeds her sips of water that I’ve rushed to get.
She clears her throat, attempts to talk but it comes out as a grunt. Trying again, she puts a few words together. “Jan attacked me, at the school. Took me here and …” Tears wet her sunken cheeks. “Forced me to look at Varik’s body. All tied down, with vines coming out of—” She breaks out in sobs. “Jan killed him. Varik … I loved him so.”
My heart bleeds for her. I feel guilty for being so suspicious of her motives with the doctor. Armonk and I exchange glances. I see he feels the same way. But how were we to know?
Blane has collected a small bowl of sea applesauce from the doctor’s kitchen and he hands it to Armonk, who spoons some in. After a minute or so, Nevada raises her head and drinks more water.
There’s no way around asking her hard questions. “Did you know that NanoPearl was after my brother? Did they make any deals with you?” I study her; use my intuition to discern a lie or a truth.
“Nano Pearl, what’s that?”
Is she kidding? “You had a note from them in your desk. That female judge, who works for NanoPearl wrote it. She asked you to come talk business.”
“Oh, that pushy woman,” she mutters, “I wanted nothing to do with her.”
Blane kneels down, crowds Nevada’s space. “Jan says you took a bribe from her.” I know how intimidating Blane can be. She might just crumble if he presses her. “We found money in your desk.”
She narrows her eyes at Blane. “Who told you to snoop in my office?” I understand she’s our teacher but if she’s truly innocent this response won’t help her. “I only had a couple hundred in there, for emergencies.” That’s true, that’s exactly what we found.
“Nevada,” Armonk says in a gentle, patient voice, the one that warmed me to him from the very first days at The Greening. “This is a very serious issue. If you made any underhanded deal you need to come clean now.”
“What deal are you talking about?” she shrieks. In her tone, I hear she knows nothing.
“Jan said you took a bribe from NanoPearl, and got paid plenty to let them experiment on Thorn,” Blane explains.
“What?” This shriek is shriller. “I’d never let anyone touch Thorn.”