Page 117 of Winterveil

Even if it wasn’t morally suspect, it was unquestionably dangerous. He couldn’t do it. If it made him a coward, disloyal and treasonous, then so be it. He would rather live in infamy than die in virtue. Deckard could take that to the bank.

But how could he refuse? Fear settled in him, iron heavy. Deckard had tortured him once to ensure his compliance; Julian had no doubt he would do it again.

Klaudia spoke then, rescuing him from his increasingly despairing thoughts. It sounded almost sweet to him, even in its flat reproach.

“And if we refuse?”

Deckard’s eyes glimmered. They were a nondescript hazel, as unremarkable as the rest of him. He was the perfect little gray man. Obedient. Reprehensible.

“Patriotism is not a job, Ms. Shimonova,” he said, “it is a duty. An American who shirks his oath to his country will be treated as any traitor would. Stock market fraud and political corruption might have earned you your Valeran sentences, but traitors to the nation don’t go to military academies—or to prison. I trust you all know the punishment for treason.”

There was nothing to pack, no possible delays or hesitations. The only personal item that remained with Julian was his watch—still stuck at twelve, no matter how much he fiddled with it.

Deckard marched them out of the building and to the landing strip where they had arrived, mere days ago. The helicopter was already whirring, scattering blades of grass from the lawn. The sight of the sky, the true sky, was almost overwhelming in its vastness.

They boarded the helicopter and took their seats, Nadiya and Giselle on one bench and Klaudia next to him on the other. Klaudia’s shoulder brushed his. Their thighs were no more than an inch apart, body heat warming the space between them.

As the helicopter lifted from the ground, Julian stared at her, no longer capable of being subtle. Her hair unfolded in the wind, dark curls swirling around her face. The ends of it brushed his cheeks, almost agonizingly soft. He had the powerful urge to grasp a strand of it between his fingers, to feel its silkiness fully.

Klaudia’s throat bobbed. Julian had not seen her look so vulnerable since she had been standing across the stage from him during the Thymos tournament. Now he had an even stronger urge to wrap his arms around her, to clutch her to his chest—

Julian was reminded, suddenly, of a photo from one of his history textbooks. Grainy and black-and-white, it showed Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, an American couple who had been caught spying for the Soviets and condemned to death. The photo was of their final meeting before they were marched to their separate executions. Julius had his cuffed hands braced around his wife’s shoulders, while Ethel collapsed against him, their mouths meeting in one final, passionate, unrepentant kiss.

The beating of the helicopter blades was too loud for any of them to speak. Julian dropped Klaudia’s gaze and stared out the window, the buildings of Camp Peary growing smaller and smaller before they were lost beneath the cover of clouds.

Interstitial

SUBMITTED: LETTER OF RESIGNATION FROM KARAM, ALEXANDER [CLEARANCE REQ.]

NOVEMBER 21, 2028

1000 COLONIAL FARM RD., LANGLEY, VA

C/O: DR. CORNELIUS IVER, SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY DIV.

Cor,

Please accept this as my formal resignation from the Extended Reality Lab (Group B), as well as from all projects and ventures associated with it. My last day will be today, 11/21. While I am deeply grateful for your confidence and for many productive and enlightening years at the CIA, I have come to believe that we are too divergent in our thinking and that our philosophies regarding the work cannot be reconciled.

I am aware that by exiting the lab at this crucial juncture, I am leaving you shorthanded, and I apologize for the suddenness of my departure. I am also aware that the office may find it necessary to relocate my family and me and perhaps even provide us new identities. If so, this letter will also serve as my farewell to you.

Cor, I continue to believe, as you do, that our work will herald a new age. It is only recently that I have begun to question whether that age will be one of freedom, or one of tyranny. I am not prideful enough to be certain that I will not fall prey to the same sins and indulgences that have been the corruption of so many men before.

I would rather relinquish the potential of power in exchange for the certainty of safety and love. This has not been an easy decision, but when I look into my daughter’s eyes, I know that it is right. I don’t want her to grow up a soldier. If there is anything I wish to fight for, it is for her right to be exactly what she is: just a little girl.

I hope that you are stronger than I am. I hope that you are able to resist man’s “primal fault” (Housman, 1936). I hope that you can use our work for good.

—Alex

PS On my first day at the lab, you gave me a page from a book, with a quote underlined. Please find it enclosed with this letter.

Adrian, I am about to return to Greece, to become again a soldier, perhaps a conqueror. Will you accompany me? You will behold new scenes; see a new people; witness the mighty struggle there going forward between civilization and barbarism; behold, and perhaps direct the efforts of a young and vigorous population, for liberty and order. Come with me. I have expected you. I waited for this moment; all is prepared—will you accompany me?

Thirty-Seven

Spring 2037

New York, New York