At the appointed hour, Jericho waited for Jake Marlowe in his private tent bordering the fairgrounds, which were already bustling with industry, the air a symphony of hammering, shouting men—proof that the great Jake Marlowe intended to make good on his promise to erect the fair quickly. The inside of the tent had the feel of an officer’s quarters, as if the two of them had come to plot the next battle surge. A long table housing a diorama took up the center of the room. Jericho walked around the table, admiring the clean-lined perfection of the model’s buildings as he read the title cards beneath each one: HALL OF PROSPERITY. HALL OF AVIATION AND ROCKETRY. STANDARD OIL PAVILION. ATOMIC ENERGY PAVILION. EUGENICS EXHIBITION TENT. RADIO. MACHINES. MEDICINE. AGRICULTURE.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Marlowe entered the tent, wiping the dirt from his hands. “You’re getting a first look at what we’re building—the greatest exhibition of its kind dedicated to the advancement of American business, ingenuity, and ideals. A utopian vision of an American tomorrow.”
“Sounds like an advertisement.”
“I suppose it is,” Marlowe agreed, laughing. “But why not take pride in this country? It’s the envy of the world. A place where any man can realize his dream. We, the dreamers, built this nation.”
“The Indians and the slaves might disagree,” Jericho shot back.
“Did you come to lecture me about American history, Jericho? Or did you need this?” Marlowe held up a vial of blue serum.
If there was anything Jericho hated, it was this. He hated being at the mercy of a man he both admired and hated, someone who’d saved his life and enslaved it.
“Now, now, no need to look embarrassed. I’m glad you’re here. I was very pleased to get your letter. Here. Take a seat.” Marlowe offered Jericho a chair, settling into the one opposite him. Casually, he poured coffee from a silver pot and handed the cup to Jericho, who was grateful for the warm drink. “I heard about what happened to you up in Brethren.”
“How?”
Marlowe stirred two cubes of sugar into his own coffee. “You don’t get to be top dog without knowing how to get the information you need. That was reckless of Will. And to think he dragged his niece into it, as well. This foolish obsession of his is going to get people hurt.” Marlowe’s expression went somber. “So is this Diviner business.”
Jericho wished he could tell Marlowe about what they had done, how they had stopped a maniacal demon from manifesting in New York City. What they had done wasn’t reckless; it was desperate. They had saved lives, and the public would never know.
“Believe me, Evie can’t be dragged into anything she doesn’t want to do,” Jericho said.
“The Sweetheart Seer. She is quite something,” Marlowe mused. “Isn’t she engaged to that Sam Lloyd character? Well, she could certainly do better. A good man like you, perhaps.”
Jericho looked down at his shoes, and it was all the confirmation Marlowe needed.
Marlowe was still watching him closely.
“What is it?” Jericho asked, annoyed.
“And have you had any strong feelings of aggression or agitation?” Marlowe asked.
Strong feelings of aggression and agitation pretty much sum up being eighteen, Jericho thought. “When I was shot, but otherwise, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Good. Very good.” Marlowe gulped down his coffee and put the cup and saucer aside. “I’m glad you brought up the subject, Jericho. You know, I’ve been thinking—what if you were to come out to California and work with us at Marlowe Industries?”
“What could I offer you that you don’t already have?”
“You’re my crowning achievement.” Marlowe leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. That face the press lionized was no less impressive up close. “If we could study you, find out why you’ve survived against the odds, well, think of the good that could be done for America, for mankind. And for you, Jericho.” The great man looked Jericho in the eyes. His gaze was powerful. Inescapable. Jericho could feel the idealism pushing out from Marlowe like rays of sun on the first day of spring. “I’d like to make you the star of the Future of America Exhibition.”
Jericho’s brow furrowed. “Me? Why?”
“It’s time people knew. Jericho, you are the future of America. You are the next evolution of our species. A vision of all our hopes and dreams: Stronger. Faster. Smarter. Heroic. Tell me: When was the last time you were sick?”
“I… I can’t recall.”
Marlowe leaned back against his chair, smiling. “There you are! How fast did you recover from the gunshot wound?”
“A week, give or take.”
“A week! A week and you were good as new—better than new!” Jake Marlowe laughed. “Remarkable. Jericho Jones. A true native son. Our golden boy.”
It was true that Jericho had survived against all the odds. But the way Marlowe talked about it made him seem like a product rather than a human being. Wasn’t it some alchemical, mysterious connection between science, Marlowe’s genius, and whatever it was that made Jericho unique that had resulted in this advancement? Marlowe had made the parts and invented the serum. But he couldn’t claim credit for it all. He couldn’t claim credit for who Jericho was.
Choices. That’s what made a man. Wasn’t it?
Marlowe strolled over to the model and busied himself with perfecting the alignment of the buildings. “In the laboratory, we could study you. Study your blood. Run you through a conditioning program and a battery of tests.”
“And what would I get out of it?”
Marlowe frowned at a Winged Victory statue that was seemingly out of place. He picked it up and the angel hovered over the model fairgrounds as its creator searched for a spot to place it. “We’ll fine-tune to make sure that you don’t ever suffer the same fate as the others in the Daedalus program. You won’t end up like your friend Sergeant Lester.”
“Leonard. Sergeant Leonard.”
“Right,” Marlowe said. “Of course. Sergeant Leonard.”
“But so far, I’ve done fine with just the serum.”
“Indeed. You’ve done just fine. But what if you could do more than fine, Jericho? What if you had the chance to be extraordinary? Exceptional. The sort of extraordinary, exceptional man Miss O’Neill couldn’t resist.” Marlowe’s eyes gleamed. “I assumed when you mentioned her there was a reason.”
Jericho didn’t answer.
“When you stand on the stage at the exhibition and demonstrate how superior you are, there won’t be a girl in this world you can’t have. That’s the law of the animal kingdom: The stronger beast wins out,” Marlowe said, placing the Victory statue in the center of the model.
Jericho glowered. “I’m not a beast.”
“Now, now, don’t get sore. I mean it as a compliment.”
“I don’t want to be your exhibit. I only want to have a normal life.”
“Normal!” Marlowe thundered. He loomed over the table. “No man worth his salt wants to be ‘normal,’ Jericho. Be remarkable! Aim high. After all, do you honestly believe that your young lady wants a normal, ordinary life? Not from what I’ve seen. How funny that she’s Will’s niece. They’re as different as chalk and cheese.”
“Like you and me,” Jericho snapped.
“Am I really so repugnant to you?” Marlowe said quietly.
He was hurt, Jericho realized with a mixture of pride and shame.
“It’s… it’s not that I’m not grateful for what you’ve done for me. Sir.”
“It’s not your gratitude I want, Jericho,” Marlowe said. “I remember the first time I saw you, lying on that bed in the hospital. You didn’t cry, and you didn’t complain. They told me you were smart and that you liked to read, particularly about philosophy and machines—you’d gained an interest in helping your father fix things around the farm. And I asked you a question to start us off. Do you remember?”
Jericho did remember. It was the morning that he’d truly realized the full, intractable horror of his situation. For an hour, he’d stared at the ceiling, fighting desperately to hold on to his thinning hope in miracles. But as he listened to the moans and cries of those around him, he understood that hope was not a construct of faith meant to bring man closer to God but one of denial and delusion meant to keep him from accepting that God did not exist. He wondered if he stopped eating, if he let himself slip away, if that could be considered suicide, which he’d been taught was a sin.
But was it a sin if there was no God?
He’d heard the tap-tap of shoes coming closer. He could have turned his head to see, but he continued staring at the ceiling. Suddenly, the smiling nurse was standing beside his paralyzed body, saying, “There’s someone here to see you, Jericho.” Jake Marlowe’s face loomed above his, blocking the light.
“Hello, Jericho,” Jake Marlowe had said.
Jericho hadn’t answered.
“Now, Jericho, where are your manners? Mr. Marlowe has come all the way from Washington to see you,” the nurse tsked, and Jericho imagined her falling off a cliff.
He still didn’t say hello.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Marlowe,” the nurse said. “He’s not usually so disagreeable.”
“That’s all right, Miss Portman. Could you leave us for a moment?”
Marlowe stood next to Jericho’s bed, examining the metal cage that kept Jericho breathing. “I invented this, you know. It’s no substitute for good lungs, but I’m working on that. I understand you like mechanical things as well.”
Jericho did not answer.
“So. Tell me,” Marlowe tried gamely, “what do you think is man’s greatest invention?”
Jericho turned his head just slightly toward Marlowe, looking him straight in the eye. “God.”
He waited for Marlowe to be shocked or horrified. He waited for a lecture. Instead, Marlowe had put a hand on Jericho’s head like a father, saying quietly but firmly, “I’m going to help you, Jericho. You’re going to get up from this bed. You’re going to walk and run again. I will not stop until you can, I promise you.”
And just like that, the snare of hope trapped Jericho again.
Marlowe made good on his promise. But like all deals with the Devil, there were drawbacks. In the past ten years, his relationship with Marlowe had gone from idolatry to rebellion and resentment.
Fathers and sons.
“What if I don’t want to be your experiment or exhibition any longer?” Jericho said. “What if I want to be my own man?”
Marlowe’s eyes flashed. Jericho knew that look well. The great man did not have much patience for insubordination.
“You want to be your own man? Be your own man. Without this.” Marlowe held up the precious vial of serum and stuffed it into his pocket.
Jericho squirmed a bit. What game was Marlowe playing now? “You wouldn’t do that,” he challenged. “You care about your experiment too much.”
“I could start over with somebody else.”
“If you could do that, you would have already. And that golden boy or girl would be standing on the stage with you.”
“Fine. Go without the serum, then,” Jake said evenly.
As far as Jericho knew, Marlowe’s little blue miracle powered the machinery of his body. It kept his heart beating, his lungs breathing, his blood pumping. And it kept his mind from devolving into madness. Marlowe was bluffing. Had to be.
Jericho was scared, but he refused to let Marlowe win. “All right. Maybe I will.”
“I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Why not? What will happen if I do?”
Marlowe didn’t respond.
“I deserve an answer,” Jericho said, raising his voice. He banged his fist on the table, toppling some of the buildings on Marlowe’s artfully arranged Future of America model.
“Careful,” Marlowe cautioned, and Jericho wasn’t sure if he meant the model or Jericho himself.
“I honestly don’t know what will happen. Because you’re the only one who’s come this far. Just you.” Once more, Marlowe leaned forward, his face grimly determined. “Jericho, let me help you. You’ll get your girl. You can have everything you want. Together, we will be part of greatness.”
Just like on that spring morning ten years before, Jericho could feel hope’s snare around his ankle. If he submitted to Marlowe’s grand plan, became part of his experiment, could he have a better chance at happiness? Would he be considered not a freak but a golden son—a prototype for the new, exceptional American? Could he have everything he wanted?
Could he have Evie?
Choices.
Already Marlowe had restored order to the toppled model, everything in its place.
“I’ll think about it,” Jericho said, enjoying the irritation flitting across Marlowe’s face. The great Jake Marlowe couldn’t control everything, after all.
“As you wish,” Marlowe said.
He went to his left pocket, fished out the small vial there, and placed it in Jericho’s palm.
Jericho stared at it, confused. “Where are the others?”
“You earn them. That is one month’s supply. I’m giving you thirty days to make up your mind. After that, you’re on your own.”