The Silent Army

But it did when you were there.

Yes.

When you were first brought here, you were refitted.

Yes.

You had a ghrelin inhibitor installed.

His eyes continued to move like moonlit blurs. We’d talked about many things over the years, but never talked about this.

Why do you ask now?

I’ve wondered for a long time.

But why now?

We won’t see the end of Fawkes’s assault plan. If we do, we’ll be impounded and destroyed.

Lev didn’t deny those things.

What do you want to know?

Did you feed on human flesh?

Yes.

Did you try to stop yourself?

No. At the time, I saw nothing wrong with it.

But you feel differently now?

It’s easy to feel differently with the inhibitor installed.

Do you think it’s wrong?

I think it’s unnecessary. Tell me what your interest is in this.

These hundreds of new voices. Revivors created outside of Heinlein won’t have the inhibitor.

Maybe not.

Will they feed?

I can’t speak for them. Without the inhibitor, I would guess, that eventually, yes.

Fawkes is going to use nuclear weapons.

Yes. Across the room, I saw his eyes stop moving.

Won’t that—

You’re moving into dangerous territory, Faye.

Before I could answer him, a yellow light blinked on over the door frame. A broadcast message appeared:

Subject isolated and ready for transfer.

Forget that, Faye, Lev said. That line of reasoning is dangerous. Just stick to the plan.

The door opened silently, and two revivors stepped away from the wall. One was a female who wore contact lenses that doused the light in her eyes. She was dressed up like a nurse. The other was a big male. He picked up a long, thin aluminum rod from a hook on the ceiling. Lev moved in behind the two.

Come on, he said to me, and I tailed them back out into the hallway. They’re going to bring one in now. If he gets free, then stop him. Otherwise, stay clear of the path between the doors.

The overhead lights came on. I turned left, toward the end of the corridor, and saw the door there open. A human doctor in a white coat stood there, his hands guiding a man who appeared homeless. He ushered him through and into the hallway where the revivor nurse was waiting for him. The homeless man looked unsure.

“The examination room is down the hall,” he whispered to the patient. “Nurse Westgate will show you the way. I’ll be in to see you shortly.”

Some of the disquiet left the patient’s eyes, but it didn’t last for long. The nurse had moved between him and the way out, and then the door swung shut and he heard the latch click. He stared, not understanding, as the noise suppressors mounted there turned on and emitted a low hum.

“Who are you?” he asked the revivor with the metal rod. His eyes widened as he watched a loop of plastic cord extend from the end to form a noose. “What’s going on?”

The nurse grabbed him from behind. He struggled, but the other one had reached them. It looped the noose over his head and pulled tight, choking off his scream.

The revivor heaved the rod, slamming the man into the cinderblock wall. It used it to guide him down the hall toward us, while the man pulled at the cord around his neck.

“Stay calm,” the nurse revivor said, but the man was beyond that. Eyes bulging and teeth bared, he struggled harder. He fell to the floor and rolled, twisting the noose tighter around his neck.

“Careful,” Lev called. The man was flopping madly on the floor now.

The revivor who held him loosened the cord and tried to untwist the leash. When he did, the man on the floor kicked forward and the rod slipped from the revivor’s hands. The man stumbled down the hall, the leash jutting behind him. He’d spotted the exit sign, back behind me.

He closed the distance between us, then tacked left to try and shove his way past me. Before he could make it, I stuck out one leg, catching him at the ankle. The rod clipped my cheek as he crashed to the floor.

The others were moving down the hall toward us. The man had slipped his fingers under the cord and was struggling to his feet. Blood and adrenaline pulsed through his body, so that I could almost feel the heat of him. He was beyond any thought; he was being driven now by pure instinct, a hardwired imperative to survive. The energy of it was captivating.

Faye, stop him.

Before he could get back up, I stepped in close behind him and grabbed the rod. I heaved it forward, and his skull struck the floor. Blood dotted the dingy tile in a trail as I swung him back around.

“Please,” the man grunted, trying to twist free. “Please, let me go.”

I could have done that for him; it was within my power. I could have released the cord and let him make his mad dash toward the exit. I could have held up the others long enough to let him escape into the back alley. He might have gotten past the others outside. He might have disappeared into the city and gotten to keep his life. I could have done that for him, but the truth was, it never occurred to me. Not until the other revivors reached us and I gave the rod to Lev.

Good work, Faye. He said. The man’s toes brushed the floor as he lifted him and began to carry him back down the hallway.

He dragged the man through the large, open doorway, and I followed them inside. The heavy steel door glided closed behind us, and the magnetic lock thumped. An overhead light flickered, then lit the room.

The tent of plastic sheeting was pulled open, and underneath it was an old, reclined chair with surgical arms affixed to either side. With the rod, Lev shoved the man down in the chair. He pinned him, while they strapped his wrists and ankles.

Lev removed the noose, and the man gasped in air. He coughed, spraying strings of spit, then rattled out a string of hoarse, shaky words.

“What the fuck is this? What the fuck is this? Who are you people? What do you want with me?”

His eyes darted frantically. He’d seen the eyes of the figures around him, and he’d realized what they were.

“Quiet,” Lev said, but the man kept going, unable to stop. When he saw Lev hold up the plastic syringe, his whispers became incomprehensible.

As I watched, my calm had begun to waver. My memories stirred, evoking an old inner voice.

This isn’t right.

I waited for that old drive to follow it, all the old passion and the old obsession …but they never came to me. I was distracted by the swirling embers and their hidden memories.

“This isn’t right,” I said to a man. He was propped over my body, which felt sore and used. Each time, he’d made me forget.

“It doesn’t matter,” a woman said, exhaling a sour breath through brown teeth. “It’s all going to burn. This whole city and everything in it—it’s all going to burn….”