Swipe

him, but stopping just short. “You’re alive.”
    “Thanks to Peck,” Dane said. “I believe that’s thanks to Peck.”
    Peck walked to them now. “When I went Markless, Logan, it was my belief that I could run from it. From the pattern I’d seen. From the reality of it, and the horror. It was my belief I’d be free of it. That I’d washed my hands clean, that I could make it out on Slog Row, fending for myself, forgetting about the rest.” Peck stared off, distracted for a moment. “But I wasn’t free of it, Logan.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t free at all. Because every time I heard whispers of another Pledge not coming back, I knew it could’ve been me . . . should have been, perhaps. And it was a guilt that would not let me go.”
    Logan tried to follow. “What pattern, Peck? What reality? What horror? What is it you and the Dust know that the rest of us don’t?”
    Peck looked across the warehouse, across the crates of books and stories. “It started with teachers, cops . . . idle threats to ‘Make sure you behave, you little brat! Or you just might not come back from the Pledge!’ At first, it sounded to me like the boogeyman, waiting to take me away at night if I’d been a bad boy. But it planted doubt. It planted suspicion. So I began looking. ‘Any flunkees today?’ I’d wonder. ‘Who were they? What were their stories?’ Finally I started to believe the threats the authorities didn’t believe themselves. Finally I realized the myth . . . might be true. That maybe it wasn’t just an empty threat.”
    “You’re kidding yourself,” Logan said. “Of course it was.”
    Peck thought for a moment, then sighed a deep sigh. “We live in the American Union, Logan. Soon to be Global. But true unity is not in a name. It’s a way of thought.” He went, now, to the podium. He planted his hands on the sides. “When the Mark Program began, it was the intention that the Pledge would bring us together. Would create peace. That our allegiance to Lamson and ultimately to Cylis would bind us—give us a common ground from which all ideas could grow, together. Compatibly. After the Total War, the Mark was to be a symbol of our commitment to honor this goal. A constant reminder of our loftiest intentions.” Peck laughed. “But DOME soon realized that a promise was not enough. That words were only so binding. That allegiance forced was no allegiance at all. And it never would be.” Peck gestured across the space, past the stage and into the stacks. “This is a warehouse of books, Logan. Banned books. I live in a house of ideas nobody wanted us to have. And I’ve had a lot of time to read.” He smiled. “These days, Logan, the Mark is many things. But chief among them, it’s a sorting process. A pruning. They’re swiping kids, Logan. Kids who, once grown, might not make for a . . . more perfect Union. Kids who might grow up not to get along. Kids who might grow up to be sick. Kids who might grow up to be criminals, yes, but also kids who might grow up just to think different. Who might grow up to question . To doubt . They’re weeding us out, Logan. So that all who remain . . . may be . . . unified .”
    “That’s . . . not true,” Logan said, but some part of him knew it could be. “I’m the last person you’ll ever meet to defend the Mark Program, but it is not some sort of . . . selection process.”
    “Oh no? You don’t think? Then tell me, Logan, why it is that, in some way or another, all the kids who don’t come back— all of them—are . . .” He searched for the word. “ Off .”
    “Off?”
    “The bad kids, Logan. The . . . troubled . . . kids.”
    Suddenly Logan seized on Peck with a defensive, passionate hatred. “My sister was not off !” he yelled. “She was not troubled . My sister was perfect !”
    “I know,” Peck said quickly. He was mournful now. Apologetic. “I am so . . . fully aware of that.”
    The admission struck Logan dumb. He squinted at Peck in the candlelight. Was it possible? Did Logan . . . recognize him? “You . . .” Logan tripped on the words. “You were her friend. Daniel. You were there on the morning of her Pledge. Your name is Daniel Peck.”
    Peck swallowed and pressed on. “DOME saw something in your sister. Something that scared them. Something they didn’t quite like. Maybe some part of Lily questioned Lamson, or Cylis . . . or could grow to someday. Maybe a part of her thought too deep, saw too much . . .”
    “So