Prodigy

Elector is complete. African president Ntombi Okonjo proposed a halt today to the United Nations’ aid for the Republic until there is enough evidence of a peace treaty between the isolationist country and its eastern neighbor—”
    Isolationist. Militarized. Rogue.
I stare at the words. To me, the Republic had been portrayed as the epitome of power, a ruthless, unstoppable military machine. Kaede grins at the expression on my face as she finally leads us away from the monitors. “Suddenly the Republic doesn’t seem so powerful, does it? Puny little secretive state, groveling for international aid? I’m telling you, Day—all it takes is one generation to brainwash a population and convince them that reality doesn’t exist.”
    We walk over to a table with two slim comps sitting on it. The young man hovering over one of the computers is the same guy who’d flashed Kaede a V sign on the railroad tracks, the one with dark skin and light eyes. Kaede taps him on the shoulder. He doesn’t react right away. Instead, he types a few last lines into whatever’s on the screen and then slides into a sitting position on the table. I catch myself admiring his grace.
A Runner for sure.
He crosses his arms and waits patiently for Kaede to introduce us.
    “Day, this is Pascao,” she says to me. “Pascao’s the undisputed leader of our Runners—he’s been eager to meet you, to put it lightly.”
    Pascao holds out a hand to me, his pale eyes fixed intensely on mine. He gives me a brilliant white smile. “A pleasure,” he says in an excited, breathless rush. His cheeks flush red as I smile back at him. “Suffice it to say we’ve all heard a great deal about you. I’m your biggest fan.
Biggest
fan.”
    I don’t think anyone’s ever flirted with me so blatantly before, except maybe a boy I remember from Blueridge sector. “Nice to meet another Runner,” I reply, shaking his hand. “I’m sure I’ll pick up some new tricks from you.”
    He gives me a devilish grin when he sees how flustered I look. “Oh, you’ll like what’s coming. Believe me, you won’t be sorry for joining up with us—we’re gonna usher in a whole new era for America. The Republic won’t know what hit it.” He goes into a series of excited gestures, first spreading his arms wide and then pretending to untie knots in the air. “Our Hackers spent the last few weeks quietly rewiring things in Denver’s Capitol Tower. Now, all we have to do is twist a wire on any of the building’s speakers—and
bam,
we’re broadcasting to the entire Republic.” He claps once and snaps his fingers. “
Everyone
will hear you. Revolutionary, yeah?”
    Sounds like a more elaborate version of what I did in the alley of the ten-second place, back when I first confronted June in an attempt to get plague cures for Eden. When I’d done a crude rewiring of the alley’s speakers. But to rewire a capital building’s speakers to broadcast to the entire Republic? “Sounds like fun,” I say. “What are we broadcasting?”
    Pascao blinks at me in surprise. “The Elector’s assassination, of course.” His eyes dart to Kaede, who nods, and then he pulls a small rectangular device from his pocket. He flips it open. “We’re gonna need to record all the evidence, every last detail as we drag him out of his car and put some bullets in him. Our Hackers will be ready to go at the Capitol Tower, where they’ve set up the JumboTrons to broadcast the assassination. We’ll declare our victory over the speakers to the entire Republic. Let’s see them try and stop that.”
    The savagery of the plan sends chills down my spine. It reminds me of the way they’d taped and broadcasted John’s death—
my
death—to the whole country.
    Pascao leans toward me, puts his hand against my ear, and whispers, “That’s not even the best part, Day.” He pulls away long enough to give me another huge, toothy grin. “Want to know what the
best part
is?”
    I stiffen. “What?”
    Pascao crosses his arms in satisfaction. “Razor thinks
you
should be the one to shoot the Elector.”

D ENVER, C OLORADO.
    1937 H OURS.
    24° F.
    I ARRIVE IN THE CAPITAL BY TRAIN ( S TATION 42 B ) IN THE midst of a snowstorm, where a crowd has gathered on the train platform to see me. I peer at them through my frosted window as we slow to a standstill. Even though it’s freezing cold outside, these civilians are crowded behind a makeshift metal railing, pushing and shoving one another as if