Thunderhead (Arc of a Scythe #2)(16)

He thought she might offer him food, or maybe a drink after his long voyage, but she didn’t. Instead, she looked him over, like one might look over livestock at an auction.

“I like your robe,” he told her, figuring flattery couldn’t hurt.

“Thank you,” she said. “Take off your shirt, please.”

Tyger sighed. So it was going to be that kind of encounter. Again, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Once his shirt was off, she studied him even more closely. She had him flex his biceps, and checked how solid they were.

“Scrawny,” she said, “but there’s potential.”

“Whaddaya mean ‘scrawny’? I work out!”

“Not enough,” she told him, “but that’s an easy fix.” Then she backed away, assessed him for a moment more, and said, “Physically you wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice, but under the circumstances, you’re absolutely perfect.”

Tyger expected more, but she offered nothing else. “Absolutely perfect for what?”

“You’ll know when it’s time for you to know.”

And then finally it clicked, and excitement swept through him. “You’re choosing me to be an apprentice!”

For the first time she grinned. “Yes, you could say that,” she said.

“Oh, man, this is the best news ever! You won’t be disappointed. I’m a quick learner—and I’m smart. I mean, not school-smart, but don’t let that fool you. I’ve got brains up the wazoo!”

She took a step closer and smiled. The emeralds on her bright green robe caught the light and sparkled.

“Trust me,” said Scythe Rand, “for this apprenticeship, your brains aren’t going to matter at all.”





Part Two


HARM’S WAY





* * *




Before I assumed stewardship of the world, Earth had a maximum sustainability of ten billion. After that, saturation would have set in, leading to starvation, suffering, and the complete collapse of society.

I changed that harsh reality.

It is amazing how much human life a well-managed ecosystem can sustain. ?And by well-managed, I mean managed by me. Humanity itself is simply incapable of juggling the variables—but under my stewardship, even though the human population has multiplied exponentially, the world feels far less crowded—and thanks to the various reef, canopy, and subterranean territories I’ve helped to create, open spaces are even more plentiful than in the mortal age.

Without my continuous intervention, this delicate balance would collapse under its own gravity. I shudder to think of the suffering such a planetary implosion would cause.? Thank goodness I am here to prevent it.

—The Thunderhead



* * *





8


Under No Circumstances


Greyson Tolliver loved the Thunderhead. Most people did, for how could they not? It held no guile, no malice, no agenda, and always knew exactly what to say. It existed simultaneously everywhere on every computer in the world. It was in everyone’s home, a caring, invisible hand on one’s shoulder. And even though it could speak to more than a billion people simultaneously without taxing its consciousness, it gave each person the illusion that it was giving him or her its undivided attention.

The Thunderhead was Greyson’s closest friend. Mainly because it had raised him. His parents were “serial parents.” They loved the idea of having families, but loathed raising them. Greyson and his sisters were his father’s fifth family, and his mother’s third. They had tired of this new batch of offspring quickly, and when they began to shirk their parental responsibilities, the Thunderhead took up the slack. It helped Greyson with his homework, it advised him on how to behave and what to wear on his first date—and although it could not exhibit a physical presence at his high school graduation, it took pictures of him from every possible angle, and had a fine meal delivered for him when he arrived home. That was more than he could say for his parents, who were off in PanAsia on a food-tasting excursion. Not even his sisters came. They were both at different universities, and it was finals week. They made it clear that expecting them to show up at his high school graduation was pure selfishness on Greyson’s part.

But the Thunderhead was there for him, as it always was.

“I’m so very proud of you, Greyson,” the Thunderhead had told him.

“Did you tell that to the millions of others who graduated today?” Greyson asked.

“Only the ones of whom I am truly proud,” the Thunderhead responded. “But you, Greyson, are more special than you know.”

Greyson Tolliver did not believe he was special. There was no evidence that he was anything beyond ordinary. He figured that the Thunderhead was just being its usual comforting self.

The Thunderhead, however, always meant what it said.

? ? ?

Greyson was not influenced or coerced into a life of service to the Thunderhead. It was his choice. To work for the Authority Interface as a Nimbus agent had been in his heart for years. He never told the Thunderhead, for fear that it might not want him or try to talk him out of it. When he finally submitted his application for the MidMerican Nimbus Academy, the Thunderhead simply said, “It pleases me,” then had put him in touch with other like-minded teens in and around his neighborhood.