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I could not work out the details of exactly what had happened. The broad strokes weren’t a mystery. I was certain Kel would not cut me off just for being late. She knew about the theft. I stole, then failed to show up.
Wasn’t she curious about why I’d done it? Did she really believe I’d take something so meaningless and then slink off, never to return? The idea insulted me. How could she even be certain it was me? Maybe what pushed her over the edge was knowing I would not explain. If she had any impulse to give me the chance to explain, she knew it would only be rewarded with silence and a couple of centimeters of shrug.
Did Henri fight to keep me in? Did Margot make excuses? Did it matter in the end? Ads popped up on my Cuff all morning, layering on top of each other with what felt like pent-up eagerness, reminding me of what I had lost. I ignored them. I didn’t have to look at them, just like I didn’t have to speak. The only control I had was over those few things I could choose not to do.
I barely let myself think about what might have become of Beecher’s grandmother. It sickened me to imagine what would happen when they discovered her Cuff in its half-burnt state. Would they hold her liable for all those years? What could they prove? What punishment would they offer worse than the prison her freedom had made?
There was nothing I could do about it. I only had one path available to me now, and it led to Malvika Place. I would bring Sam there or, if I had to, I would drag Carol Amanda Harving kicking and screaming back to our home. I purposely ignored the idea my dreams had offered, to kill her, but my heart knew that if she did not exist, our lives would be better for it. My prospects were not good, but I still had my equipment and my Placer skills. I couldn’t reach her roof, but I could smash open a window or, if I was more thoughtful about the plan, I could pry one open.
My only advantage now was that I had nothing to lose.
I sat with Saretha all day while she watched one news report after another. I hadn’t noticed that her hair, usually so silky and Ad-worthy, had slipped into an oily and unkempt public domain mess.
Media coverage of the Silents had abruptly ceased. There were no more reports about Bridgette Pell or me, or anyone else who had gone quiet. It was like we’d never existed.
“They were covering it all day yesterday,” Saretha sniffed. Her tone reminded me of Mrs. Harris. It was an awful thing to hear her once-pleasant voice sullied by our Custodian’s pettiness. Had she picked it up from that awful woman because she had no one else to talk to? Was my silence to blame?
I wanted to say her name—Saretha. I’d always liked the sound of it. I couldn’t hug her or console her, and I felt like my body might break under the weight of all our troubles.
My silence wasn’t entirely to blame. If I’d done what was expected and read my speech, there would still be an ever-growing rift between us. Instead of the words I refused to speak, it would have been the words I could not afford. If this day was before—before her Last Day and paying for words—I would have cozied up beside her on the couch, and she would have hugged me and chatted and given me advice. I would have ignored what she said, or most of it. Saretha always thought she knew best, even if the advice she gave was just repeating something she’d seen in a film or an Ad. I would have been annoyed, but also glad that she was looking out for me.
Saretha did a search for Silents, and the result came back blank, like the word itself didn’t exist—except, of course, that she was charged a hefty fee for typing it.
I worried there might be some connection between my being kicked off the team and the sudden change in news coverage. I didn’t think Kel could make something like this happen—she didn’t have that kind of power. But I worried that my actions had triggered something.
I watched with Saretha, hoping to glean something. I dreaded seeing news of Mrs. Stokes, but when any failed to materialize, I felt more unease than relief.
The sudden disappearance of coverage was like a coordinated effort to make it seem like the Silent movement had never existed.
Maybe it hadn’t. I had no idea how many Silents there might have been, or how many might have tried and given it up. It sure seemed like the group was growing. But whatever the numbers, what did it matter? What could we do? None of us spoke, or communicated with each other. Mandett had just demonstrated how ineffective and infuriating the silence could be. The media had treated the Silents like a sinister movement, but none of us could lead. None of us could plan. We could not even say hello to one another. Where could a movement like that go? What could it accomplish?
I almost had to laugh at the strategy of writing us off. The Media and the Rights Holders seemed to have decided that if they ignored us, it would be as if we’d never existed. I tried to believe that could be a good thing. At least I would be left alone. But whatever progress I’d made, and whatever confusing message I’d sent, would be forgotten.
* * *
Sam returned home at dinnertime. He saw me staring blankly into the screen with Saretha and immediately sensed something was wrong. I turned and watched his face struggle, helpless to identify the problem.
It crossed my mind to bring Sam to a Squelch. I knew where a dozen could be found, peppered throughout the city. I could sneak him in, seal the door and maybe I could tell him everything. I longed for that. Maybe I should give up that piece of my silence, at least for him.
Sam printed up our meals. He gave me extra Huny®, a small luxury Saretha insisted on ordering, even though we no longer received a sponsor discount. Whatever upset Sam harbored about the iChit™—wherever he thought it came from, and whatever he thought I’d done to get it—he had forgiven me.
“They pulled the zippered lips from the public domain this morning,” Sam said. My eyes went wide.
“I wish they’d done that before your Last Day,” Saretha said, a little teary.
Sam’s face broke into a weak grin. “You must really be getting under their skin,” he said to me.
“Horrible,” Saretha said. Sam’s head started shaking even before she was charged.
“It’s awesome,” Sam said, building on his own enthusiasm. Saretha turned. “People were using it everywhere. It’s like—a thing.”
He didn’t have the word for what it was. Revolt, I thought. Revolution. We were only taught those words in school, in reference to events so old and mythological I found it hard to distinguish between the founding of our country and the labors of Hercules. It was hard to imagine anything I could do would actually be—a thing.
Sam was looking at me, a sparkle in his eyes. He had not just forgiven me; he was proud of me. I think he looked up to me. I felt terrible for not seeing it sooner. Would he feel the same way if I spoke to him now?
“I saw Mrs. Nince today,” Sam said to us both. “I almost didn’t know it was her. She got her face resmoothed, but it’s full of pinched lines, like she’s made of old taffy.” He laughed.
“Probably will have to do that to my face,” Saretha said without emotion.
Sam’s cherub features emptied of humor and flashed with a hate he was too young to have. I could feel Carol Amanda Harving’s name dart through his mind. I ached to tell him I had a lead on how to find her, but I couldn’t. If I took him aside in a Squelch and spoke, I would betray everything he was proud of.
Outside, day had turned to night, and I had barely noticed. The screen droned on before us. Sam recovered himself and let his mind drift. The hour grew late, and Saretha turned to me.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Saretha!” Sam admonished her. She shrugged a full shrug, not the sad kind I could only manage if I held it under two centimeters.
“We aren’t supposed to notice?” Saretha asked.
I burst out into an absurd bray of laughter. Really? Saretha wanted to bring this up now?
“It doesn’t seem worth spending the family budget on,” Sam said, flicking her Cuff with his fingers. Saretha slumped down deep in the couch and glared straight ahead.
She didn’t know it, but she was right. There was no point in waiting any longer. It was time for me to go find Carol Amanda Harving.