Ethos Page 9

  “You mean . . . they regressed?” David asked.

  “Exactly,” Malcolm said. “Certain species were vulnerable to devolution, and birds in particular seem to have experienced a rapid rewinding of their genetic makeup. You might have noticed—there are no pigeons in Flint. No songbirds, no finches. We hardly see any of the birds that used to be common in Michigan anymore. We do, however, have pterodactyls now.”

  David felt his jaw hanging open dumbly. Malcolm grinned slyly in response.

  “You’d be astonished at how intelligent they are. They are completely responsive to training. And—an incredible thing that paleontologists of the twenty-first century didn’t know about pterodactyls? They partner bond. We’ve exploited this innate proclivity. Most Immortals have Dactyls with whom they’ve bonded. And a Dactyl will let its Immortal—and only its Immortal—care for it . . . and ride it.”

  David was still mute, staring at his son as if he’d grown a second head.

  “Don’t worry, Dad,” Malcolm said, still grinning bemusedly. “I’ll introduce you to my Dactyl. We call them our ‘familiars’ when they’re uniquely bonded to us. Mine is named Sampson.”

  That was the final straw. “You have a pet pterodactyl named Sampson?” David sputtered.

  “He’s not my pet, Dad,” Malcolm said. “He’s my familiar. There’s a huge difference. He’s loyal to me and totally tame—”

  There was a gentle knock at the door. A moment later, a voice filled the room through a speaker system David had not noticed before. Apparently, when Councilor Floyd had shouted through the closed door earlier, he had broken protocol in his panic.

  “Chancellor,” a woman’s voice said over the speakers, “Rebel Commander Nev is ready for you.”

  The amusement Malcolm had shown in talking about Sampson melted from his face.

  “Send her in,” he said stonily.

  The door opened, Nev walked in, and the door closed again behind her.

  Unexpectedly, David felt a thrumming of excitement rush through him at the sight of Nev. There were the familiar wide-set, almond-shaped eyes, the streak of gray hair running from her temple through her long braid, the high cheekbones. David’s heart quickened. He realized two things at once: he felt as if it had been weeks since he had last seen her—and she was beautiful.

  Nev clearly was not experiencing the same rush. She held her chin high and looked icily from Malcolm to David and back again. As far as she was concerned, it had only been a quarter hour since she had last seen either of them, and she was Malcolm’s captive. This was hardly a sentimental reunion for her.

  Malcolm was equally unmoved. He waved a hand at an angular metal table surrounded by several chairs at the far end of the room.

  “Commander Nev,” he said sternly, “I mentioned that I have a proposal for you and the Bereft Rebels under your command. Please, have a seat.”

  Nev did not answer. Wordlessly, she crossed the room in three or four long strides and sat in the nearest chair, folding her arms across her chest. She looked expectantly at Malcolm.

  Malcolm took a seat across from her, and David followed, feeling like an uninvited interloper. He tried to slide himself as silently as possible into a chair beside Malcolm. Weirdly, inappropriately, he felt like a kid who had sneaked into a seat at the adults’ table.

  Malcolm set his hands on the table before him and began to methodically and dispassionately lay out his case for Nev.

  “Commander Nev,” he said, “as you well know, we’ve raided the Rebel bunker south of the Saginaw River.”

  David’s ears perked up at the mention of a geographic name he recognized. Apparently some remnants from the old world had survived the Great Genetic War.

  “We have some seventy-five Rebels in custody. We are well aware of further Rebel cells, and it’s only a matter of time before they are rooted out and destroyed. As a leader of this . . .” Malcolm searched for a word “—this nuisance rebellion, the charges against you are quite serious. You stand accused of treason against the Immortal Council, and should you be found guilty by a jury of your peers—”

  “It isn’t a jury of my peers if it includes no Bereft,” Nev interrupted.

  Malcolm ignored her “—should you be found guilty by a jury of your peers, you face twenty-five years to life.” He paused a moment, letting the weight of what he had just said sink in. “I am willing to drop the charges, in exchange for a . . . collaboration, let’s call it.”

  Nev gave absolutely no sign of acquiescence. She regarded Malcolm steadily, her face an impassive mask.

  “It’s my understanding that the primary objective of this little rebellion of yours is the accumulation of resources. Currency, building and business permits, medicines—”

  “Our primary objective is respect,” Nev interrupted again. “We want to be permitted to live bereft without interference and oversight from the Immortal Council—”

  Malcolm’s voice rose sharply. “I don’t need a propaganda speech,” he said. “I’ve heard enough of your demands, and you know as well as I do that your rebellion is doomed. We could squelch it in an instant, if it were worth devoting the time and resources to doing so.”

  The corners of Nev’s mouth tightened, but she said nothing. “As I was saying,” Malcolm said pointedly, “we know what you want, and we are prepared to meet you halfway. We know you want freedom and resources to ‘live bereft,’ as you call it: to govern the Flint Bereft Quadrant without Immortal Council regulation, to open your own businesses and hospitals, to have access to the medical technology Immortals have developed. And I’m willing to compromise with you. I’m prepared to offer you a Bereft representative, who will have a seat on the Immortal Council—”

  Nev snorted. “We’ve been here before,” she said. “Another impotent observer permitted to sit on the outskirts of Council meetings?” “No,” Malcolm said. “A voting member. This Bereft representative will have full authority to introduce, lobby for, and cast a vote on legislation.”

  Nev was silent. David could see that she was struggling to control her expression, but she was not succeeding. It was clear that what Malcolm was suggesting was a major concession—even if he was talking about only one seat among what David had seen to be dozens of Immortal Councilors.

  There was a long, pregnant pause in the room.

  Finally, Nev spoke. “And what do you want from me?” She asked.

  “I want you to lead a small unit of Bereft Rebels—perhaps five or six—into Detroit, under guise of trading in their Bereft neighborhoods. Or selling some service. Elder care or . . . I don’t know, fortune telling, whatever it is you people do.” Malcolm waved a hand dismissively. Nev’s expression tightened dangerously.

  But Malcolm continued before she could speak. “Once you’re within the range of their genesignal detection system, you’ll dismantle it. We can tell you exactly where to find the primary server and exactly how to take it down. You’ll be fully armed with biotogglers, but more importantly, you’ll have your Bereft status as a guise. No one will bother you. No one will think to bother you.”

  “Fine.”

  Nev spoke so quickly and so decisively that David wasn’t sure if he had heard her.

  “Excuse me?” Apparently, Malcolm wasn’t sure either.

  “I said fine,” Nev repeated. “I’ll do it.”

  Malcolm was taken aback. Clearly, he hadn’t counted on Nev’s immediate and complete agreement.

  “There’s another thing,” he said after a moment, recovering his composure. “I want David here to lead the mission alongside you. As your equal. With full authority over the Bereft you select.”

  Now Nev was thrown off guard. She looked at David almost wildly.

  “It’s not safe for him,” she burst out. “You don’t understand, he’s not a Bereft Rebel; he’s not trained like we are. He’s not even from Flint—he’s from an outlier settlement. He’s from Muskegon.”

  Malcolm made a strange, choked sound and put a hand o
ver the lower half of his face. His brows knit together, and to Nev, it must have looked as if he were considering what she had just said very solemnly. But David knew better. Malcolm was trying not to laugh. David’s little white lie about Muskegon had evidently struck his son as completely hilarious.

  Malcolm’s amusement was catching, and David had to turn his face away from both of them and press his lips together to keep from bursting into laughter.

  Nev was oblivious to the father-son struggle unfolding before her.

  Finally, in a tight voice, Malcolm said, “I’m not aware of any settlement called Muskegon.” He did not look at David, apparently not trusting himself to meet his father’s eye. “But I have full confidence in David’s abilities. He will be your equal partner on this mission, or the deal is off.”

  Nev looked at David, who had finally managed to suppress the urge to laugh. She did not speak, but her eyes were filled with a question: “Do you want to do this?”

  “If you’re in, I’m in,” David said.

  Nev’s expression was inscrutable. Finally, without taking her eyes off David, she nodded.

  “I’m in,” she said.

  Malcolm didn’t appear to celebrate even for a split second.

  “Good,” he said, scraping his chair back from the table. “Begin assembling your team immediately. My forces are at the ready to begin the offensive on Detroit at a moment’s notice. I’d like you to leave tomorrow morning, if possible.”

  “It won’t be a problem,” Nev said. “We’re just as trained and just as ready as you are.”

  “Good,” Malcolm said again. He threw a meaningful glance at David and held his gaze for a moment. Then, without further ceremony, he turned abruptly and left the room.

  Nev and David sat looking at each other in silence after Malcolm’s departure.

  Finally, David spoke. “Why did you agree to do it?”

  Nev looked at him as if he were crazy. “Why wouldn’t I?” She asked. “The Warped Immortals threaten the Bereft just as much as the Immortals of Flint. We want them stopped as much as anyone else does. And Malcolm’s plan makes sense—we Bereft are uniquely positioned to get through their outer defenses. And if Malcolm follows on our heels with a swift, unexpected attack, that could be it. The Immortal Conflict could finally be over.”

  David nodded slowly. So he and Nev wanted the same thing: to protect Ethos, to protect the future of humanity, from the threat of the Warped Immortals.

  “And there’s the added bonus,” Nev said, “that Malcolm is offering us what we want.”

  “The Bereft representative?” David asked. “It doesn’t seem like he—or she—would have that much influence in such a big council. Are you really getting much out of the bargain?”

  “Look,” Nev said, “Malcolm thinks that we Bereft are like him. That we have the same motivation—causes and glory and ‘immortality,’ literal and figurative. He doesn’t get it that we are nothing like him. We don’t believe in this Immortal dogma that life has to have some kind of central meaning, some driving purpose. We know that purpose and meaning and joy and reasons for living are far more complex than that. They come from any number of sources. They change over time. And that’s all we want. We just want to be allowed to live that way, free to enjoy whatever life throws at us, to follow whatever pursuits catch our fancy, even if they’re momentary. We just want to live bereft.”

  Curiously, David felt the same rising admiration that he had felt when Malcolm spoke so passionately of his ethos. What Nev was saying made just as much sense to him; it was just as compelling.

  “The Chancellor thinks we’ll be motivated by the same thing that motivates the Immortals because he can’t imagine any other way of living,” Nev continued. “He thinks our rebellion is some sort of cause for us. It’s not. We’re just trying to get the resources and the freedom we need to live our lives. That’s it. It’s not a sacred mission. But if Malcolm needs to think of it that way—great. This deal brings us one step closer to the way of life we’ve chosen.”

  David nodded slowly. He was about to speak—perhaps even to agree with her—when the door swung open.

  Councilor Floyd was standing at attention.

  “Commander Nev and Commander David,” he said formally, and David felt an unexpected wave of satisfaction at hearing himself called a commander. “The Chancellor has asked me to assist you in assembling your team. Our resources are at your disposal. What do you need?”

  Malcolm sat alone at his desk in an expansive office in the western wing of City Hall. His desk, a massive mahogany construction with gracefully curved edges and a surface polished to gleaming, stood in front of a large bay window that overlooked one of the busiest streets of the Immortal District of Flint.

  It was nearing midnight, which meant that as far as Malcolm’s internal clock was concerned, he had been awake for over thirty-six hours, since the morning back in 2024 when he had begun telling his father the story of Ethos.

  Malcolm leaned back into his heavy leather chair. He let it swivel around away from the desk and toward the big bay window. The street below him was dark; even downtown, there were few pedestrians on this block at this time of night. The clubs and bars of the Immortal District were several blocks away. Gliders, the Ethosian word for the solar-powered hover-cars of the twenty-sixth century, passed rarely.

  Malcolm folded his hands in his lap as he watched the silent, shadowed street. He knew full well that he had just set in motion an inexorable machinery. He had asked his father to run straight into the belly of the beast—and he would soon follow. He had deliberately chosen Nev as David’s fellow commander because he knew her to be relentless. Once she and David set off on this mission, they would not turn back. And now that Malcolm had put his own father in harm’s way, he would not turn back. The battle for the fate of Ethos was coming, inescapably.

  But what exactly was the battle for?

  The truth was that Malcolm had never spoken to a Warped Immortal—had never seen a Warped Immortal except in the heat of battle, through flying dust and under the cover of armor or protective gear or the windshield of a glider. He knew them only as the shadowy threat that loomed perpetually over Flint, terrifying its citizens, Immortal and Bereft alike. He had heard from every source since his first arrival in Flint that the ethos of the Warped Immortals was only to cause harm, to destroy, to tear down. That their singular reason for being was to undermine what little human progress and reunification had taken place since the Great Genetic War.

  And he knew that this had to be stopped. If this threat could be eradicated, then humanity stood on the brink of a new era, where advancements in genetic and medical technology could mean that human suffering was a thing of the past. Humans stood poised to overcome disease and even death . . . to live peacefully, fruitfully, painlessly . . . if only the Warped Immortal threat could be overcome.

  Or at least this was what Malcolm believed on good days. He knew what his ethos was, as surely as he knew who he was. He was created, he lived and breathed, to lead men and women in battle, as long as that battle was righteous.

  As long as that battle was righteous.

  Malcolm had never even exchanged words with a Warped Immortal. How could he be so sure that his ethos held some kind of moral superiority over theirs?

  And what if it didn’t?

  This meant that he was not fighting righteously after all. This meant that he was actually violating his ethos.

  And Malcolm knew that Immortals who break their ethos fall. They poison the very neurological and physiological basis of their immortality, and they die. In Ethos, people who died this way became known as the Fallen.

  Malcolm gazed down into the darkness of Flint before him. He lifted a hand to the windowpane and pressed his forehead to the glass.

  Was he really so infallible? Did the great, young, powerful Chancellor of the Immortals of Flint really have so much reason to feel secure in the righteousness of his cause?

  Or was
he stumbling, careening toward ignominy? Was he doomed to join the Fallen?

  he skyline of Detroit loomed over the horizon. David was astonished to see that even from a distance, it was recognizable. Five hundred years later, the city was still defined on the east by the seven towering structures of the Renaissance Center and on the west by the single, jagged outline of One Detroit Center.

  Or, at least, what had been called One Detroit Center in the twenty-first century. David knew from his strategic planning with Nev that the Renaissance Center had retained its name—it was, in fact, their ultimate destination, for it housed the server that was their target. What the Warped Immortals were now calling the other ancient buildings of the city was anyone’s guess. Malcolm’s intelligence regarding Detroit was patchy, to say the least.

  David, Nev, and a small unit of five Bereft were in a glider approaching the city from the northwest, along a route that had once been Interstate 75. Now, it was a loosely defined stretch of grass and gravel. The rare gliders traveling between the cities had flattened the grass with the cushions of high-pressure air that kept them afloat, but otherwise, there was no sign of the six-lane highway that had once been.

  Why would there be? As David had learned from Nev and Malcolm, there were occasional bands of Bereft or outlaw Immortals living rugged and dangerous lives in the wilds outside the cities, but the overwhelming majority of humans were now concentrated within the relative protection of large metropolises. The rest of the world literally had gone to seed; the unchecked growth of grasses, weeds, and trees had returned the land to inhospitable wilderness, the territory of whatever wild animals had survived the biological scrambling of the Great Genetic War.

  In his daily life in 2024, David took the drive of seventy miles or so between Flint and Detroit fairly regularly to meet with clients or to spend an evening with Malcolm at one of the waterfront restaurants along the Detroit River. Even in his late model hybrid car, with its smooth pick-up and six cylinders, the drive always took more than an hour—it was impossible to avoid the gluts of traffic at the outskirts of both Flint and Detroit. But now, in the glider, with its ability to sail unimpeded over the unpaved terrain at one hundred and fifty miles per hour, the journey took less than thirty minutes.