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THE GIRL’S MALE COMPANIONS stole furtive glances around the Museum, as if they feared being overheard.
“Two more political assassinations,” Shorty replied, his nasal voice betraying his ambition, as if dispensing new information was a contest and he was determined to win. “Another military commander, and a Councilor.”
“Two Councilors,” the taller one interrupted with a lofty and self-important air. “One was a military commander earlier in his career, but they are—were—both on the Council.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The Council’s called for an emergency session this afternoon. Location to be kept top-secret. Something’s up, no doubt about it.”
The girl shivered again. “I don’t blame them for keeping it secret. The way these terrorists infiltrate the Enclave whenever they feel like it—it’s scary. The threat from the savages is worse than ever. No one feels safe anymore.”
Connor’s couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Two dead Councilors, including a former military commander? Darcy hadn’t mentioned any additional targets. Another cell must’ve carried out its own mission. We lost two Implants, but at least some of the others got through.
He couldn’t wait to ask Darcy which of the Councilors—collaborators—had been eliminated. Good riddance, traitors.
He realized he’d become lost in his own thoughts.
“No, I didn’t hear about the murders,” he replied to Shorty’s question. Keep the lies simple. “After what happened at the Espresso, I couldn’t listen to the Infomedia anymore, so I shut it off.”
The girl nodded, looking at him with sad eyes. “It must be so hard, losing your friends like that.” Her expression morphed abruptly from empathy to anger.
“Savages,” she spat. “We should send the Peace Wardens on a purge, and crush their ugly ghetto. Teach them some respect.”
“Crush the day-labor pool?” The tall know-it-all was quick with his rebuttal, arching his eyebrows to accentuate his wise opinion. Connor felt a flash of annoyance. “We still need the savages as maintenance workers, after all.”
“There’s plenty more where they come from,” the girl shot back, her eyes furious. “There’s never any shortage of them begging for work in the Enclave. They’d rebuild their ghetto in a day, with a whole new batch of smelly barbarians lining up at the gate. Those people breed like rabbits.”
“Here’s the news video,” Shorty interrupted, holding out his communicator to Connor.
The screen was awash with footage from one of the trendy Infomedia channels—the one favored by the university crowd for its cultural content. Shorty adjusted his glasses. “They’re saying there may be a pattern to the attacks.”
A pattern? Connor’s heart skipped a beat as he held the communicator. The others crowded around him, watching footage they’d already seen multiple times. Relax. You do the same thing.
The specific details of the assassinations were sketchy. The Council was tight-lipped, stonewalling any speculation about how the two Councilors had been killed. What the report made clear—emphasized repeatedly during the short segment—was the assumed identity of the heartless killers. Maniacal savages, depraved barbarians from the rabble encamped outside the Enclave’s gates.
The Infomedia’s panel of experts debated over the best solution. The majority seemed in favor of closing the gates permanently, while conceding the need for cheap labor.
The Infomedia report answered most important question in Connor’s mind. The two deceased Councilors were names he recognized. He’d never met either of them, but they’d both been on Darcy’s list.
At least their deaths weren’t random. Connor felt a morbid satisfaction about that. The collaborators are disappearing, one by traitorous one. Darcy’s strategy—our strategy—is working.
“They’d have to be idiots to shut the gates permanently.” The know-it-all actually sniffed in disdain. Connor was fast losing patience with him.
It’s all just theoretical to you, isn’t it? The savages would eviscerate you without a second thought, just like they butchered my family. The collaborators betrayed everyone in the Enclave. They deserve to be eliminated.
What he said out loud was much more restrained.
“Wow, I had no idea.” He handed the communicator to its owner. Shorty stowed it in a messenger bag—a popular item among university students.
Reagan had had one. They’re so retro. He heard an echo of Madison’s voice, teasing his best friend. I think they might even be pre-Enclave.
He shoved the memory out of his mind. Any thoughts of Reagan or Madison were a liability.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” the girl repeated, a formal note in her voice. Her flash of self-righteous anger was gone, and she looked at him with sad eyes.
Connor recognized her words as a prelude to leaving, and was relieved. The superficial trio was exhausting. He smiled to acknowledge her offer of sympathy.
The two guys mumbled similar condolences—as if they’d known Madison or Reagan as well as he did, which Connor doubted—and the three of them went their way. The crowd of museum patrons swallowed them within seconds.
Connor glanced at the exhibit behind him. It felt like a great deal of time had passed since he’d arrived. There was no point entering the exhibit now. He’d lost interest.
The news of the collaborators’ deaths changed everything. The Council had called an emergency session. Darcy would attend, working his charm among his co-workers and allies. He was in his element there.
It would also be an invaluable opportunity for Darcy to gather intel on the impact of the assassinations. Connor smiled to himself, staring at the exhibit without seeing it. Or the ‘threat’ from our Implants.
The collaborators will give Darcy all the information he needs. That’s why Darcy’s special. None of his fellow Councilors suspect him. He’s got access to information the average Citizen doesn’t have—or need.
Connor left the Museum, jogging down the front steps, his steps light and eager. It took him only a moment to locate the correct travelator.
He wanted to be home by the time Darcy returned. He couldn’t wait to hear about the impact they were having, and what the next steps in Darcy’s strategy would be.
Anticipation shot through him like adrenaline, banishing all thoughts of Reagan and Madison.
We’re winning. The Givers and their human stooges are on the defensive.
Connor’s excitement continued to build as the travelator whisked him away from the cultural district, bound for the eastern villas and home.
He even forgot Darcy’s threat.