ROMANE
Romane Central Detention Facility
Devon sauntered down the row of cells like he was here for an afternoon game of poker.
He’d taken the time he needed to cool his rage, to temper his grief. And Annie’s grief. A sideways dose of Valkyrie’s grief. He was grateful Vii wasn’t part of the Noesis, for her grief might crush them all.
But she was not, and today he was calm. Also quite motivated.
The man he now knew as Jude Winslow, only son of Earth Alliance Prime Minister Pamela Winslow and wealthy financier Frederick Winslow, had the temerity to look upon him with contempt.
“Abomination. You managed to survive all this messy, ruinous chaos. But I suppose that’s what your kind does, isn’t it? Survive at any cost?”
“Among other talents.” Devon strolled across the stretch of hallway in front of the cell. Despite the generally overflowing state of Romane’s detention facilities, it was the only occupied cell on this hall. A solitary confinement of sorts. “Your engineered ‘chaos’ doesn’t look so ruinous from where I stand. Well, except for you and your pals.”
“Come here to kill me, have you? Now that you have me tied up and oh-so helpless?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t miss the minuscule flinch in Jude’s muscles. “It was what I told myself I was coming here to do—and make no mistake, asshole, you deserve to die. Thanks to your parentage you probably won’t anytime soon, but boy do you deserve it.”
Devon’s eyes cut narrowly at the man. “When we met on Pandora, you wanted to kill me, because you were afraid of me—”
“Bullshit, freak. I wanted to kill you because you have no place among the living.”
“We are the living, you pretentious psycho. We are more alive than you could ever imagine, and the world is alive around us in ways you could never comprehend.”
“I knew it. You intend to rule us—make us kneel, then use us as your servants.”
“Not actually.” Devon scowled. “Why would we do that? We don’t need servants, for one. And how irritating must they be? Always following you around trying to cuff your pants and wipe stains off your collar. Of course, you grew up with servants catering to your every whim, so perhaps you have a different perspective. You assume it’s where we would naturally go, since to you indenturing others represents the height of power and privilege.”
He abruptly leaned in close to the glass. “Silly. Little. Man.”
Winslow’s eyes widened, as if he feared Devon may breach the glass.
Devon leisurely backed away. “See, what you don’t know about Artificials, what you never bothered to learn, is that they love people. They’re enraptured by humanity in all its foibles and missteps and triumphs.
“What I gained from joining with an Artificial, aside from the oh-my-god-mind-blowing amount of processing power and speed of thought and data—your brain would just melt at the data—was something rather unexpected: a far greater appreciation for the human race than I ever had as one of its members.
“Prevos will never subjugate humanity, because Artificials see humanity as the best of life. And the worst of life—see Exhibit A, you. But the best of life is what’s important to them, and to us. We’re still human, at least as much as we’re Artificial. Humanity’s future is our future….”
He forced a pause, chuckling under his breath. Annie might have gotten a mite caught up in the speech-making there.
Then he notched his chin up. “So, no. Though I would take so damn much pleasure from it after what your people did to Abigail, plus the fact you’re a shockingly annoying prick, I’m not going to kill you. You were wrong that night at Thali’s Lounge, and you’ve been wrong every night since and I’d bet every night before. You think I’m a villain, and you’re wrong. I’m a Prevo, and I respect humanity’s laws. I will allow them to deal with you.
“I am better than you—not humanity, but specifically better than you—and now, I’m also done with you.”
Caleb watched the interchange from the farthest corner of the hallway, fully hidden by the Veil device Harper had lent him.
Devon was a good kid. An exceptional Prevo, and if what Caleb just witnessed was any indication, well on his way to becoming both a moral and formidable man.
But Devon hadn’t seen the things Caleb had seen. He hadn’t met enough monsters to recognize a bona fide one when he did meet it.
Caleb had spent some time reviewing the files on OTS’ nefarious deeds, stretching back to its genesis in the aftershocks of the Metigen War, long before the atrocities which were committed here and on Seneca in recent days.
He’d seen Jude Winslow’s kind before. The man was a snake in the grass, insidious and rotten to his soul. When coupled with unfettered access to money and power, he was the kind of man who could afford to bide his time until he found a way to evade punishment, then buy his freedom so he could wreak his havoc and spread his corruption anew.
There was only one surefire way to stop someone like this. And there was only one type of person capable of doing it.
When Caleb had come upon Winslow in the alleyway in the aftermath of the safe house’s destruction, already knowing who the man was, he’d intended to kill him then and there. Harper had come along too soon, but it was easily enough remedied now.
Not because of the pain the man’s actions caused Alex. Though her pain had wrent at his soul, it had also ultimately played a role in bringing her back to life and back to him.
No, this was Caleb’s duty. It was the obligation he’d accepted for good and ill when he’d taken Samuel’s offer some eighteen years earlier. He wasn’t paid by the Senecan Federation government any longer, but protecting others would always be his duty. To his way of thinking he’d merely embarked on a new phase of it when he’d ventured into the portal network in search of secrets and answers.
In days soon to come, humanity was going to need to be at its best—better, stronger, more determined than it had ever been. His study of history at university years ago taught Caleb a few things, but one of the most important was this: more often than anyone realized, the difference between history—and thus future—shifting one way instead of another was a single decision by a single person.
A poison with power like Jude Winslow could not, must not, be allowed to make a decision that sent history and future off in a calamitous direction.
All philosophy aside, he’d dearly love to throttle the life out of the man with his bare hands. Unfortunately, it would be better for everyone, including Caleb, if the terrorist died in an apparent suicide. It made for an easy, inherently logical tale to spin, truth but for the arrogance inbred into the man’s soul preventing it.
But close enough to the truth would do.
He gazed down at the remote eVi hacking tool—they called it a Reverb. Initially developed by Division, as he understood it, the Prevos had uncovered and procured the technology quickly thereafter. The IDCC RRF possessed two of these fearsome little devices, one of which he now held in his hand.
The smart worm it was programmed to inject into the man’s eVi wouldn’t activate for another twenty hours, removing any chance of suspicion falling on him.
The door to the prisoner wing closed as Devon departed, and Caleb stepped up to Winslow’s cell.