Storm (Swipe Series)

terrible epidemic sweeping through America, of the Lasting Fever, known in some quarters as the Day Shakes, or the Rolling Boil.
    “America. Neighbors, friends United across our shared Atlantic Ocean—speaking on behalf of Europe and of the great Global Union as a whole, understand that you are not alone in this. We know that you are suffering, and we feel your pain. We know that you mourn your dead, and we mourn with you. We know that you must heal, and we are resolved to help.
    “We know, too, that the crisis in the American State extends beyond the sick and dying. This plague comes hard on the heels of an extended drought, an unprecedented failure of Weather Control from which the land has not yet fully recovered. Worse still, the American State faces fracture from within. Even now, Markless protesters are gathered in Beacon, in New Chicago, and all across America, making demands of a government they long ago chose to renounce. The Moderators of Peace have been charged with quelling these protests, a terrible burden on top of this plague. But they serve proudly and faithfully. And we thank them for their service.”
    Logan glanced back up at the IMPS guarding the Capitol, who were nodding in silent agreement with Cylis’s speech.
    “The rain has come down and done its part,” continued Cylis. “I now implore the people of America—protesters and peacekeepers alike—to come together and do theirs. Now is the time to putaside our differences. Let us unify to care for the sick and support one another in this time of great need.”
    Hearing this, Logan stared up at the guards, calculating. Slowly, so slowly, he placed one foot on the next step up . . . and he began to shift his weight.
    “Stop,” the first Moderator said, glancing at his squad mate and shuffling his feet. He kept his laser sight trained on Logan, but the second Moderator said nothing, so Logan continued to move slowly forward, hands outstretched and palms up. “I’m no threat,” Logan said. “I’m only here for answers. If Lamson doesn’t want to talk to me, I’m sure he can say so himself.” He was just steps from the door now, close enough to see the indecision on the first Moderator’s face. Logan glanced to his right to make sure the second wasn’t about to shoot him . . .
    . . . and froze dead in his tracks as in one swift move the second Moderator lifted his helmet, winked at Logan, swung his taser rifle sideways, and casually shot two electrobullet rounds right into the gun hand of the first, dropping him instantly to the ground.
    “He has a point, you know,” Eddie said to the crumpled first Moderator as he opened the heavy door to the Capitol. He nodded and smiled to Logan. “Your sister said I should be expecting you. Asked me to make sure you made it inside. Still ten steps ahead of us, isn’t she?” Eddie grimaced as he looked down at his squad mate still writhing on the steps.
    “You’re a good shot,” Logan said, looking down at the Moderator’s hand.
    “Are you kidding?” Eddie said, donning his helmet sheepishly. “I was aiming for the steps!”
    Logan cracked a thin smile. He longed to throw his armsaround Eddie, to bring him back to the huddle and reunite his good friends in the Dust. To turn his back on all of this and just live a simple life among the Markless. But those days were behind him, if they were ever his to begin with. This was Logan’s chance. He couldn’t dawdle. He couldn’t hesitate. He stormed up the remaining steps and slipped through the open doorway into the gloom.
    The city was behind him.
    He was in.
    2
    Inside the Capitol was quieter than out. The chancellor’s booming words were muffled by the thick, marble facade, and further still by the red velvet-covered walls. Logan stepped lightly down the hallway.
    Side meeting rooms were empty as he passed. From only one room did any sound emanate at all. Down at the very end of the long hall, a tablescreen chattered with the tinny, shrunk-down broadcast of Cylis’s ongoing special address.
    The room was Lamson’s office.
    Logan approached.
    The door was wide open.
    “Well? What is it you’re waiting for?” Lamson asked from behind the high-backed chair at his desk. “I won’t invite you in, if that’s what it is.”
    Logan stood now at the threshold of the oval office. The carpet inside was red, matching the velvet drapes of the hall and conveying all the regal authority befitting the man in the chair.
    His desk faced out,