Page 37 of Winterveil

Julian stayed up until midnight, refreshing the rankings board. Mikhail was gone again, staying over with Jane, and Julian tried to distract himself with Thymos. Mikhail had coded a game, not unlike the simulations or chess, but also entirely different. One that required constructing a team with perfect synergy, predicting the patterns of the AI opponents. If Klaudia had built hers, as she had claimed, that meant Julian was already behind. It might not affect the rankings, but maybe if he could somehow show her up with Thymos, he could rattle her. Make her slip. The green check mark beside Klaudia’s name pulsed, almost a taunt.

Twelve a.m. came. Julian refreshed the page with his heart in his throat.

Klaudia Shimonova

Julian Joyce-Young III

Carter Egan

Matteo Alemu Sorensen

Mikhail Karchenko

Joy surged up in him. He hadn’t felt so accomplished since election night, giving his victory speech before his fans and supporters, promising reforms beneath the flashing of cameras. Looking out into a sea of smiling faces, signs hoisted high. One of them, holding a sign that said JULIAN JOYCE-YOUNG III IS DADDY MATERIAL, had grown so impassioned that she had to be escorted out by security.

But his happiness was quickly tempered. The gap between number one and number two was greater than the gap between two and fifty. He had not succeeded yet. The half-written letter was still crumpled in his desk drawer.

He could reach number one. He had to. The weekend furlough and his redemption and his mother’s peace of mind depended on it. But as Julian slid into bed at last, his thoughts kept returning to Klaudia. The fire in her eyes. How easily their allyship had formed. And how easily he had become desperate for her praise, her approval. She had gotten him onto his knees with no more than an offhanded comment of praise. He flushed with embarrassment to recall it now, to remember how much he had relished giving in to her.

Stop. Stop. Julian shook his head as if to clear it, and then clicked off the lamp on his bedside table. It doesn’t matter. Life at Valeran was a zero-sum game. Iterated endlessly, defection was inevitable. He would be number one. At any cost.

And he told himself he didn’t care that it was Klaudia he had to ruin.

Thirteen

Spring 2037

Rural Virginia

Last night, without the nodes, dreams had indeed visited her. But they weren’t the same ones that Nadiya had come to expect after so many years: the flash of pistols in the dark, the rippling of strange shadows, and, of course, the blood.

These dreams were different. They were of strawberry-blond hair and soft blue eyes and that quick, half-clever, half-innocent laugh. Nadiya had woken in a daze, time unfolding languidly around her, the morning light a heady gold. She had squeezed her eyes shut and tried to dispel the dreams—or maybe to preserve them.

Now, as she stepped into Professor Blanchard’s classroom, the dream met reality. Giselle, who was seated at one of the desks, looked up with an expression of both hope and terror. Nadiya hated the way it made her heart thump.

Professor Blanchard closed the door firmly behind her. “I’m very grateful for your help,” he said, guiding her to the desk beside Giselle’s. “Your presence here is necessary for the continuation of our vital work. Isn’t that right, Ms. Buckley?”

Giselle said nothing. Her face was flushed.

“And what is your work, exactly?” Nadiya asked as she lowered herself into the seat. She didn’t like the flicker of panic in Giselle’s eyes.

“You’ll see.” Professor Blanchard held out a familiar-looking plastic case. “Put these on, please.”

Inside was a pair of nodes, just like the ones Nadiya wore to sleep. She hesitated.

“Go on,” Professor Blanchard said.

Nadiya cast another glance at Giselle. She was worrying her lower lip with her teeth. A sense of wrongness began to pervade Nadiya, but then she thought of Dr. Iver. He would never do anything to endanger her.

So she placed the nodes on her temples. Giselle was already wearing a pair. Her skin was red and raised around them, almost as if infected.

Professor Blanchard looked pleased at Nadiya’s acquiescence. “As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, Giselle has the singular ability of total recall. Eidetic memory. Anything she sees, even for the briefest moment, she will be able to remember in perfect detail. Isn’t that right?”

He turned expectantly toward Giselle, whose gaze had dropped to the ground. She nodded.

“For the rest of us, most of our memories are elusive,” Professor Blanchard went on. “Strange flashes of color, odd slants of light. Or perhaps there’s one that plays over and over again, against our will. The brain is such a mysterious organ. We know more about the depths of the ocean than we do about what makes us tick.” He touched his own left temple, and then gave a brief but shrill laugh.

Nadiya flinched. “Can you get to the point?”