Infinity Blade: Redemption

put an actuary next to the marketing department?
    Uriel raised his hand to his forehead, kneading it as he tapped his smartdesk screen, bringing up percentages. If this happens . . . He brought up another list of percentages. Not if. When. It will happen.
    Each calculation spelled out disaster.
    Unfortunately, that wasn’t what people wanted to hear from him. They got angry when he told the truth—as if it were his fault. As if he could make the numbers do anything.
    He wished so much that he could.
    Perhaps I can sugarcoat this, he thought. I could present the more optimistic side. Like they’re always telling me to.
    He glanced at the picture on the top of his desk. Jori, wearing a baseball cap. No. No, Uriel would not sugarcoat what could happen if this technology were released. He would have to tell the truth. For his son’s sake.
    That would make him unpopular, but why did they order a risk-assessment analysis if they didn’t want to hear the findings? Executives were so odd. All except for Mr. Galath, chairman of the board. He always seemed to listen. He was one of the only people who made Uriel think this company had anything of a future.
    Adram’s chatter finally died down. Uriel glanced over. It looked like people had passed on to do actual work for once, leaving Adram alone. The tall, overly smiling man glanced at Uriel.
    Please, no.
    Adram sauntered over to Uriel’s cubicle. “Ho there, Spunky!” The man placed a hand on Uriel’s shoulder. “You’ll have good news for us at the meeting, right?”
    “I will have facts, Adram,” Uriel said, prying the man’s fingers from his shoulder. “Nothing more or less.”
    “Sure, sure.” Adram took a sip of coffee, then gestured toward the desktop and its display of neat ledgers. “You can really make sense of all that?”
    “This is my domain,” Uriel said. “I can make the numbers speak—assuming I care for them, encourage them. Control them.”
    “You make it sound like you’re a king, Uriel.” Adram laughed. “King of the ledgers.” He leaned down. “You’ll make them speak good things about Project Omega, right?”
    “The numbers do not lie. I will say what they tell me.”
    “They don’t lie. Cute. Look, Uriel. If you are so good with numbers, why do you always see the opposite of what everyone else knows?”
    “Everyone else is wrong.” Wasn’t that obvious?
    Adram sighed. “You realize that this is why nobody likes you, Uriel.”
    “That statement is patently false. My wife and son both like me.”
    “I wasn’t trying to pick an argument,” Adram said. “I was trying to help you out. As a bud.”
    “A . . . bud.”
    “Sure.”
    “You.”
    Adram sighed again, standing up straight. “Project Omega is going to happen, and it’s going to make us all very rich. You count those beans, Uriel. Count them well. And take a piece of advice—for once? Make them say that Project Omega is ready to go live.”
    Adram patted Uriel’s shoulder, as if with affection, then he ambled away, raising a hand toward Jane and calling out something flirtatious.

CHAPTER
TWO
    I WOULDN’T be here if I hadn’t grown weak, a part of Siris thought.
    The Dark Thoughts were stronger now. Siris recognized them as part of himself, and had admitted—to his shame—what he had been. A warlord. A despot. A murderer.
    He didn’t remember that person. Whatever had been done to him . . . it had wiped away those memories, permanently. He felt blessed for that, was thankful for it.
    The process, however, was incomplete. Those terrible memories had been taken, but that left him with something more primal. Instincts. The brutality of a creature who had lived as a tyrant for eons.
    I could have dominated, ruled. I had the Blade. I could have left the Worker alone, could have slain Raidriar. Now . . . now all that is left to me is vengeance.
    Siris threw himself to his feet, eyes squeezed shut. For a moment, he let the Dark Thoughts—the shadow of his ancient self—control him.
    He caught the God King’s arm as it reached for him. Eyes still shut, Siris spun around, twisting the arm in its socket and popping the joint at the shoulder. Raidriar screamed. Siris felt the man writhing, cursing, spinning into another attack. Siris stepped away, but a shade too slow. The God King’s leg sweep sent him tumbling.
    He kicked as he fell, striking where he knew—somehow—the God King would be standing. Siris’s foot connected with something