The Furies (22 page)

He walked faster, wiping the sweat from his brow. He knew he shouldn't be so shocked. Sacrifice was one of their family's founding principles. Haven's women used their centuries of wisdom to better the world, and the men used their superior strength to defend the women. Although this arrangement was sometimes unfair, giving women most of the power in their society, the nature of their biology demanded it. But the family's rules were based on the assumption that their biology was unchangeable, a fixed truth written inside each of their cells, and now this assumption was no longer valid. The study of genetics—in Haven's laboratories and the outside world's—had advanced tremendously over the past few decades. Now it was possible to peer inside the body's microscopic machinery, to see the molecular cogs that carry out the chromosomes' commands. And scientists could use this knowledge to tinker with the machine.

That was the impetus behind Sullivan's rebellion. Haven's researchers had discovered the mechanism behind the women's eternal youth and glimpsed a way to extend this biochemical miracle to the men. But when Sullivan and his followers demanded that the council pursue this research without delay, the Elders decided instead to proceed with their customary caution. So Sullivan escaped Haven along with two hundred other men, who took most of the weaponry from the community's arsenal and stole ten million dollars' worth of gold bars from the family's vault.

Archibald had known that the rebellion was coming. A week before the mass escape, Sullivan had tried to recruit him to the cause. The man was gifted with a silver tongue and made a persuasive case. He promised to refrain from violence. His aim, he said, was to exert pressure on the Elders, not to murder anyone. But Archibald saw through his lies. He recognized that Sullivan had no scruples whatsoever and that the rebellion would kill more Furies than anything since the Burning Times. And Archibald couldn't take up arms against his mother and sisters. It was unthinkable.

At the same time, though, he didn't warn the Elders about Sullivan's plans. There was a part of Archibald that wanted the rebellion to succeed. He wanted to live on equal terms with Haven's women. He was tired of cowering in the shadows of his mother—Grace Fury was a deputy to the Chief Elder—and his nine sisters, who also worked for the council. His mother, who was honest to a fault, once admitted to Archibald that she could never love him as much as she loved her daughters. “I'm sorry, Archie,” she'd said. “But my sons die too swiftly. I can't give you my whole heart if I know it's going to be broken so soon.”

He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Leaning against a massive tree trunk, he tried to imagine what would happen if Sullivan's rebellion succeeded. He envisioned a future where any man in Haven could become a council deputy, or maybe even an Elder. With only a few well-chosen changes to their biochemistry, Haven's men could live just as long as the women, and the family's sons would be loved just as much as the daughters. It was a wonderful vision, strange and exhilarating. Although Archibald still recoiled from Sullivan's brutality and the prospect of violence, he'd come to believe this was a future worth fighting for.

He was about to resume walking when he heard a twig snap somewhere off to his left. Turning in that direction, he saw two men in motorcycle jackets coming toward him. They were a study in contrasts—one was young and short and wiry, the other was middle-aged and built like a gladiator. Archibald recognized both of them. The younger one was Percy Fury, a vicious fellow who was kicked out of the Guard a few years ago for aiming a gun at one of his fellow trainees. The older one was Sullivan.

Both men held pistols and kept them pointed at Archibald as they approached. Fear constricted his throat, but he knew enough not to draw his own gun from the holster under his shirt. Sullivan and Percy were better marksmen than he could ever hope to be. Instead, Archibald casually doffed his hat and smiled. The key to dealing with these brutes was to show no trepidation at all. “Good morrow, gentlemen,” he said. “I'm surprised to see you here. Didn't we agree at our last encounter to meet at the old quarry? That's where I was headed this morning.”

Neither man uttered a word. Percy, who carried a backpack over his shoulder, walked right up to him and without so much as a “by your leave” stuck his hand inside Archibald's shirt and removed the gun from his holster. Then he took a step backward, allowing Sullivan to come near. The chief of the rebellion smiled in greeting, then slammed his fist into Archibald's stomach.

In agony, Archibald slumped to the ground, his back sliding against the rough bark of the pine tree. The pain was blinding, but the fear was worse. They were going to kill him. “Mercy!” he gasped. “What … have I done?”

Sullivan was still smiling. “It's not so much what you did, but what you failed to do.” He bent over, bringing his face close to Archibald's. “Before Conroy opened fire on me yesterday, why didn't you shoot the cur?”

“You asked me to be your eyes and ears. You said nothing about—”

Sullivan punched him again, this time hitting Archibald above his left ear. Although his eyes were closed, he saw a burst of white light behind his eyelids, a signal of distress from his jarred brain. He felt dizzy and nauseous and terrified, as if he were falling from a great height. When he opened his eyes he lay faceup on the ground, and the pine branches whirled in green circles above him. Sullivan's voice rang in his head, loud and scolding. “You said you wished to help us, Archibald. But when you found yourself in a situation where you could offer some assistance, you did nothing. I'm waiting for an explanation.”

His vision darkened. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from losing consciousness.
I have to say something
, Archibald thought.
I have to plead for my life.
“I … I was frightened. And I'm not a good shot. I wouldn't have hit Conroy. I would've only given myself away.”

“You should've made an attempt. At the very least it would've surprised Conroy and slowed him down.” Sullivan loomed over him. The brute's head was at the center of the whirling pine branches. “I'm beginning to wonder about your loyalty, Archibald. Whose side are you on?”

“I want … I want the rebellion to succeed.”

“And we were on the brink of success yesterday. I held the prize in my hands, the chemical formula that so many good men have sacrificed their lives for. But because of your inaction, Conroy's attack frustrated our plans.”

Archibald started weeping.
It's no use,
he thought.
The madman is going to execute me no matter what I say.
“Please … please forgive me. I didn't know…”

Above the noise of his own sobs he heard Percy cackling. The little idiot had taken out his camera and was taking pictures of the scene. Percy was perhaps the most odious of all the Riflemen, a monkeylike spy who lurked in the woods outside Haven and photographed everyone who entered and exited the community. Archibald fervently hoped that Sullivan would perform the execution himself and not assign the task to this underling. That would be the ultimate indignity.

After several seconds Sullivan bent lower, his pistol in hand. Archibald breathed a sigh of relief.
He's going to do it himself.

“Given the circumstances, I think it's fair to say that the failure is your fault.” Sullivan pressed the muzzle of his gun against Archibald's forehead. “Don't you agree?”

Archibald closed his eyes and nodded.

“And because it's your fault, you owe me a debt. Now you're obligated to carry out certain tasks for me, so you can make up for your mistakes. Agreed?”

Archibald's attention was so focused on the cold steel pressed against his brow that it took him a few seconds to absorb what Sullivan had said. Confused, he opened his eyes. “What? You want me to—”

“Aye, I'm giving you another chance.” Sullivan stood up straight and returned the pistol to the holster under his jacket. “You're going to deliver a package for me. You shouldn't have any trouble smuggling it into Haven because you know all the entrance codes. Once you've brought it inside, another associate of mine will assist you. Several people inside Haven have been kind enough to offer me their services.”

He extended his right arm toward Percy, who unslung his backpack from his shoulder and handed it to Sullivan. Meanwhile, Archibald struggled to sit upright. He was elated to be alive, but still dizzy and confused. “A package?”

Sullivan carefully lowered the backpack into Archibald's lap. It was heavy, at least twenty pounds. “Open it up and take a look. But mind that you don't jostle the thing. It's rather delicate.”

Obediently, Archibald gripped the backpack's zipper and opened it. Inside was a contraption fashioned from two steel pipes, each about a foot long and three inches in diameter. The pipes were bound together with black electrical tape. Attached to the contraption was a small radio with a silver antenna and half a dozen wires that ran into holes drilled into the pipes. Although Archibald had little knowledge of electronics or engineering, he saw right away that the package was a bomb.

His stomach heaved. He was going to vomit. “Nay, I can't.” He swallowed hard and pushed back the bile that was rising in his throat. “I can't do it.”

Sullivan smiled again. “But you're obligated. Remember?”

“I'd rather die.” Amid his nausea, Archibald felt a spark of courage. “Shoot me instead. Right this instant.”

“Now, now. If you perform your task correctly, the bomb won't hurt anyone. It will merely cause some damage to Haven's mechanical systems.”

“And what purpose will that serve?”

Sullivan stopped smiling. “Don't question me, whoreson. I'll tell you what you need to know and nothing more. And if you betray us, I'll flay your skin with my fingernails. Your death will be longer and more painful than the paramour's.”

He bent his fingers, turning his hands into claws. His nails were long and jagged and filthy. Archibald's courage faded as he stared at them. He couldn't fight Sullivan. The man was too strong.

Sullivan waited until this truth sank in. Then he pointed at the device inside the backpack. “I'm going to tell you how it works. Listen carefully.”

FIFTEEN

Haven's laboratories occupied a space carved out of the floor of the cavern, directly beneath the Pyramid. John's stomach flip-flopped as he and Ariel rapidly descended in the elevator.

He sneaked a glance at her while she looked up at the digital display that showed the floor numbers ticking downward. He was glad that she wore modern clothes instead of the old-fashioned dresses that her aunt Cordelia preferred. Although Ariel's jeans and blouse were plain, they showed off her figure well. She'd obviously spent enough time in the outside world to know how people dressed these days. Her long red hair was tied in a ponytail, exposing the back of her neck, which was shiny with sweat. She must be exhausted from limping along on her crutches, he thought.

Or maybe she was anxious. John was anxious, too. They had plenty of things to be worried about.

The elevator door opened and they stepped into a long, brightly lit hallway with a tiled floor and immaculate white walls. The hallway was empty but not silent. The fluorescent lights buzzed and the ventilation system thrummed. There were sturdy steel doors on either side of the hall, and as John walked behind Ariel he saw a small plaque on every door, giving the name of each laboratory they passed:
MICROBIOLOGY
,
NEUROSCIENCE
,
COMPUTER MODELING
,
PLANT BIOLOGY
. They kept going until they reached the end of the hallway, where there was a door marked
MOLECULAR GENETICS
. Unlike the other labs, this one had a keypad next to the door. Ariel tapped a sequence of keys, unlocking the door, and then led John inside. “Welcome to my home,” she said. “When I'm in Haven, I spend nearly all my time here.”

The room was large, at least thirty feet across. Three lab tables ran the length of the room, each with its own sink and cabinets and refrigerator. Each table also held a computer, a microscope, a rack full of test tubes, and several bulky pieces of equipment that John couldn't identify. But what really caught his attention were the shelves lining the walls. All together, they held hundreds of laboratory flasks, each marked with a white label and filled with several ounces of liquid. Some of the liquids were colored and some were cloudy, but most were clear. It was a veritable forest of chemicals.

John let out an appreciative whistle. “Wow, this is impressive. How many people work here?”

Ariel turned on the lights and hobbled toward the table at the center of the room. “I usually have six assistants. But right now I'm working alone.” She sat down in the chair in front of the computer. Setting her crutches aside, she pointed at the chair next to hers. “Come on, sit down. I'm going to explain this as best as I can.”

As John sat in the chair, Ariel turned on her computer and typed in a password. Then she clicked on an icon shaped like a fountain—specifically, the marble fountain carved in the form of a tree, the one John had seen when he entered Haven the day before. After a few seconds, an odd grid appeared on the screen: