“So many unauthorized reproductions.” The voice startled me—it wasn’t Rog. From the small speaker on the Pad, Butchers clucked over the Copyright violations he found in Henri’s mind.
Across the room Rog laughed, moving nearer. I cursed myself for forgetting about Kel’s feed as I tapped the Pad to mute it and silently scuttled back to hide farther away. This wasn’t much of a confrontation, but I didn’t know what to do. My hands were shaking.
“Shall I show you where it is?” Rog offered. “The magical book you are looking for?”
The faintest slipping sound reached me from a few rows away. I felt a little sick. I saw no way out.
“This is the book in question.” He held a book up; I could see it waving in his hand over the shelves. The dark blue cover looked old, but cared for. I couldn’t read the title. I could almost feel his security people creeping through the stacks to surround me, but I didn’t hear so much as a breath. I quickly tapped the Pad over to its thermal sensor and scanned in a circle around me. It was just Rog and me in the room. Why had he come alone?
“Transgressors frequently attempt to gain access to these premises with the intent to burglarize this library and its contents, so they may secure this one book. Few make it inside, as you have.” He paused. I watched his outline on the thermal sensor—orange, tall and fit, but I couldn’t see the details of his face.
“I know when they are coming. I have copious resources devoted to ingesting all the words people speak so I know when they speak against me. Algorithms can easily track patterns of discontent. Sometimes the models predict when they will come even before they themselves have decided.”
My eyes burned a little. I despised the sound of his voice. His arrogance coiled between the stacks.
“You’ve never said a word though, have you? That troubles me. There is no algorithm that can parse the intention of silence.” The book fell out of view, followed by the sound of flipping pages. “Your resolve is commendable. Of course, Samuel might feel differently.”
At the sound of my brother’s name, my blood boiled. Sam. He was Sam! And he was dead because of this man.
“It is unfortunate he had to be sacrificed in order for me to test your resolve.” My heart pounded in my ears. I thought of Sam when he was little, holding my hand across Falxo Bridge. I choked a little and palmed the tears on my cheeks. He had Sam killed to test me?
“All forms of expression are subject to Copyright, Patent and/or Trademark. You turned silence into an expression of dissent, but you did not pay. It is a perversion of the Law!”
His voice was suddenly louder, and terrifyingly raw. I felt weak against it. I was letting everyone down again. Rog was toying with me, and I was going to fail.
But just as quickly, Rog settled down. “I suppose you have paid,” he said. “Just not with money.”
Silas Rog was a malignancy. He had ruined my life, piece by piece by piece. I wondered if I could hurt him back, and if so, how much.
“I can’t have people following your lead. I’ve let it go on far too long. The Silents.” He made their name sound like a curse. “Let me make you an offer—I will assign to you the majority share of rights pertaining to silent protest. It will be, as it already is, your Trademark. From this time forward, any and all parties demonstrably engaged in nonverbal remonstration for a period of more than three days will be required to pay good and valuable consideration to you for each subsequent minute of silence that follows.”
What the hell does that mean? In my head I could hear Sam asking it, not me.
“All those Silents out there—more than the Media would have you know about, by the way—would have to pay you for the privilege of their silence. After three days, we could charge 10￠ each minute. You might clear a million dollars a day. They would never see it coming. I think it is a very innovative idea. I would drop all action against you and your friends, and you could go home. I could arrange to have your parents and Saretha waiting for you.”
The suggestion was ludicrous, and I despised how gleeful he seemed about it. His math made it sound like there were far more Silents than I had dared imagine. Was it just our city, or had it happened in others?
“Just say the word...” He laughed at himself. “Just say a word.”
He had to know I wouldn’t agree. I couldn’t trust him—he’d murdered Sam! And even if I could trust him, I wouldn’t betray the Silents. They would be gathering even now, if Mandett had succeeded.
Rog looked at the book again and took a breath. His lips turned briefly purple on the scan, then warmed again, the color of flame. He was bothered. Something about my silence stuck in his craw. I could not see his face, but somehow I could tell that he was vexed.
This delighted me.
“Given all your cleverness, I’m a little surprised you have fallen for this chicanery.” He shook the book in his hands. “If I had thought you were going to fall for it, I would have been up here waiting for you when you arrived.”
His story was changing again. He didn’t think I would fall for it? If he didn’t think I was here for the book—if he didn’t think I would come to the roof, to his library, where did he think I was headed? I had to read between his words to find the true meaning hiding in them. My mind focused, grappling with what he’d accidentally said.
“What did you think it could possibly contain?”
The book landed with a thud, not ten feet from me. He wiped his hands.
“There is no book.”
The one he’d tossed certainly wouldn’t be it, but it seemed more possible that the book existed now that he said it didn’t.
He laughed. He was happy. He thought I was no threat, just an irritant he would soon dispatch. I wanted to kill him. Maybe that is what he thought I was there to do. Maybe now he felt safe, because I was only fifteen, and he was a monster.
I willed the strength back into myself. The foul sound of his voice fired my rage, stinging me with pins and needles. I pulled myself up to confront him, but then he stepped around the corner with Sam and Saretha by his side.
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It wasn’t possible. Sam was dead, and Saretha didn’t look completely right. She looked just a little too like Carol Amanda Harving. Sam looked mischievous, but more like a cocky kid from a Disney? film than himself. He jutted his chin at me as if to say ’Sup.
Sam would never do that.
I blinked hard to shake off the hallucination. The image of them remained for a fraction of a second too long in the darkness under my eyelids. I reminded myself that Sam and Saretha hadn’t appeared in the thermal display. They weren’t here. Rog was inserting them directly into my vision through my corneal overlays.