The Authority: The Culling, #2

PROLOGUE

PLANET EARTH

Jan Ernst Haven stood on his small wrought iron balcony. He peered out at the mountains in the distance, his hands clasped behind his back. He could see an early spring storm waking up and rolling out of bed behind the mountains. It would reach him in a matter of hours. That was alright. He enjoyed a spring rain.

It was one of the pleasures of visiting Earth. Spring rain, pollen in the air, flowers coughing themselves back to life after sleeping all winter. He loved it. Simply loved it. He felt, in a way, as if he were Earth’s lover. Her overprotective husband, perhaps. He was, after all, doing everything he could to protect her from the dirty, scrounging masses of humans who’d been evicted from this gem of a planet hundreds of years before.

However, Haven did have a begrudging respect for human life. They were, after all, a very stubborn lot. Always scrambling and scratching to hang on, just a bit longer. He found it as admirable as he did disgusting.

He glanced behind him at the gilded clock on the wall in the parlor. It was time. He restrained his sigh. He’d have to explain his plan to the other members of the Authority—again. It was like trying to get a puppy to sit through a lesson on physics.

Cinching his sweater around his thin waist, he slid on his nice leather boots in case that rain made it all the way here while he was out. He closed the door to his rooms and was on the street in a matter of seconds.

The town that spiraled out from the city center had a sort of antique-y aura about it. There were rows of town homes and dust whorls in the street. None of the buildings were taller than a few stories, and centuries-old elm trees lined most of the sidewalks. There was a river lining one side of the town and mountains on the other. Out here, the clear blue sky looked even bluer next to the red brick and green ivy that were the signatures of almost every dwelling.

Simply put, he loved it in this city, and every sight reminded him of this. And not just because of its rarity—it being the only inhabitable city on the planet Earth. He loved it because it was perfect. Somehow sterile and charming all at once. There were the perfect number of citizens to keep it lively but not busy. The city planners and engineers who’d secretly designed the city of Jericho had done an exceptional job. They’d taken the remains of an old Earthly city and remade it. When it had first been ready for the Authority and their families and loved ones to come live here thirty years ago, there’d been a lot of foliage still to fill in and cobbled streets to wear down. But now the town had a lovely, lived-in feeling to it.

Haven took a deep breath of fresh air and clasped his hands behind his back as he made his way down the street. Some children played at the end of the block; he knew they were the grandchildren of an Authority member. A pretty woman leaned out her window to yell something to them, but when she caught sight of Haven she went very pink in the cheek and ducked back inside.

He supposed that it was strange for the humans who lived on Earth to spot an Authority member out and on his own—to spot him, specifically, out and on his own. The six other members of the Authority lived on Earth with their closest family and friends. They’d each brought their loved ones to this forbidden paradise. Some of these children had even been born on Earth. True Earthlings. He chuckled to himself as he walked. The children at the end of the lane gave him a wide berth and the ball they’d been playing with bounced into a roll, untended as they watched him.

Yes, he knew he was regarded with confusion and fear. The only Authority member with no family or friends on Earth. The only one who chose to bring no one into paradise with him.

His silver white hair caught the sun like a sparkle of light over ocean water as he walked down one street and then the next. The city whose streets he walked had the bones of a former world. It was ancient, and the quality of that knowledge improved its beauty, so far as he was concerned. Even if the facelift that the Authority’s architects had given it was only thirty or so years old. The stone church on the corner must have been hundreds of years old.

Haven was glad that they’d decided to keep evidence of the older ages of Earth. He never wanted to forget how humans had almost destroyed themselves with their own greed, their own horrible need for more, more, more. Not only had they needed more food, more space, more gadgets, and more clothing, but they’d also demanded more and more autonomy. Each man thought he knew the best way to rule and be ruled. But humans weren’t meant to be ruled individually. They were meant to be ruled en masse. Like the giant, breathing, intertwined organism they were. But ancient man had pushed and pushed and spoiled Earth to the last drop until they’d had to flee out into space. Into the solar system. They’d created the moon colonies and a new system of government.

Man could no longer be trusted with the keys to his own house. Earth was a burned-out, diseased hull. Humans had become renters of the moons, and the Authority had been conceived. A tight hand on the neck of an unruly animal.

When the Authority had first begun to creep tentatively back to Earth, the first order of business had been to make Jericho—as they’d started to call this city—inhabitable, and stylishly so. It had taken a few decades to revive what could be revived and to build the rest from scratch. But, though Haven preferred his home on the space station, he had to admit the effect was pleasing. Small shops were scattered here and there. And while supplies were regularly brought in from the outer colonies, for the most part, the city was self-sustaining. Even the bolts of colorful fabric he saw in one shop’s window were a product of the fields that lined one edge of the city, rolling out toward the mountains like a welcome mat.

Farther away from the town center, the houses had more breathing room and were built more in the farmhouse style. Haven approved of that. There were many different kinds of people on Earth right now, and he wanted them to be able to live in the type of dwelling they wished. The point, after all, was for these chosen Earthlings to be happy. Safe. Protected.

Coming up in front of him, there was a small white building nestled between two brick houses, like an unexpected stone on a sandy beach. It was into this dwelling that Haven disappeared, his hands still clasped behind his back. He knew what he would find when he made his way up the white carpeted stairs and to the room with all the skylights.

The other six members of the Authority. Sipping tea, of all things.

The light from the skylight was harshly bright, as it sometimes was on Earth, and it showed every dust mote in the air, every line on every face, every misaligned button. Again, Haven resisted the urge to sigh. No matter how perfectly he planned everything, and no matter how perfectly he programmed everything, in the end, people were just people. Humans who needed three meals a day and a good night’s rest. It was all so fragile.

This was why he preferred computers. And the humans whose brains most closely resembled them. Datapoints. Humans who’d been trained at a young age to integrate their brains with the computers implanted into their bodies. They were the Authority’s greatest accomplishment, in Haven’s eyes. They were the only possible way that a rule of government could be imposed on a civilization that spanned an entire solar system. Without the Datapoints, he was sure that each of the colonies on all those moons would have spun off into anarchy.

The Authority was like the five fingers of a fist holding humanity in place. If any of these fingers slipped, he was certain that all of the humans, slippery as they were, would eek out of that loose space. Into oblivion. They were like babies, humans were. They needed structure, rules, and a father who knew best, who was willing to make tough decisions.

Which was why each of the other six Authority members stopped talking when Haven stepped through the door. Because Haven, unlike these feather-hearted poetry readers, was willing to make tough decisions.

The blue sky spread out on the other side of the skylights as Haven pulled out his chair at the large heptagonal table. Each Authority member formally greeted each other in turn now that they were all present. Civilized as could be.

Haven wasn’t fooled. He could scent the dissension on the air as easily as he could that spring storm. It was brewing.

He kept half an ear cocked as they went through their normal business. They had these full group meetings only twice a year, so there was a fair amount of ground to cover. Updates and the like. Haven knew that the six people surrounding him met much more often than this, though. They all lived here year-round. Haven himself lived on the space station where he could personally oversee the training of the Datapoints. The other Authority members traveled, of course, and made appearances wherever they were needed. But they spent the majority of their time on Earth.

A red breasted bird landed on one corner of the skylight, catching Haven’s eye. He understood why they all preferred to spend as much time on Earth as possible. It was beautiful here. But more than that, it was home. There was some deep, DNA-level settling of the nerves whenever a human stepped foot on Earth. Even though generation after generation had been born on the moon colonies scattered around the solar system, he knew that there would always be a whispering inside them, a suggestion that something wasn’t quite right with their current living conditions—in space.

He wondered, idly, if there was some correlation there, in that distance from Earth as an unsettling factor… something there that destined the people who’d been banished to the colony the farthest away from Earth to also be the most rebellious. Was there some sort of fire that was stoked inside the rebels who called themselves the Ferrymen? A burn that could only be quenched on Earth? After only another moment of consideration, he dismissed the thought as foolish. The Ferrymen were the way they were because of their ancestors. Rebellious dissenters who lusted after anarchy. It had been a foolish move of the previous members of the Authority to sequester them all on Charon together. Because, as humans did, they’d procreated. And now the Ferrymen were Haven’s mess to clean up.

He looked back from the robin in time to see a circle of blank, round faces pointed towards him. He blinked his eyes and the shapes turned into the faces of the Authority. Ah. They were waiting for him to speak.

I suppose you’d like an update on the Datapoint program?

The other members traded eye contact.

Of course, Sir Haven, one of them responded. Her name was Kalis Rome, and she’d been a member of the Authority for longer than Haven. She was constantly a thorn in his side, and like him, had white hair and a fairly young face. People had asked before if they were related to one another. They weren’t.

Well, as my updates to you have indicated, the alterations to the Datapoint program have gone incredibly well. Haven sat casually in his chair, legs crossed, his face neutral. She’s adapted to her new role with alarming alacrity.

We’re talking about Glade Io? Rome asked.

Yes.

Rome paused. She’s done as well as the tests indicate? Numbers can be deceptive. No matter how she performs, we may not know whether—

She’s ready. She’s been through a successful Culling on her own with her mentor and her skills in the simulator are incomparable. There is no one who could possibly have done this better than she. She’s perfect. His voice quavered infinitesimally on that last word, and Haven cursed himself for his own human surge of emotion. That wouldn’t help anything right now, to get emotional in front of this group.

I’m not concerned with whether or not she can do this, said another Authority member, Rhys Walker—a younger man with coarse brown hair and a constant frown on his face. "I’m concerned with whether or not she should do this."

This again. Haven bit down his frustration. How many times were they going to have to go through this? He’d spent the last decade attempting to get permission to do the one thing he knew would fully save their civilization.

Frankly, Walker continued, "when we voted to allow you to test Datapoint Io, we’d agreed to just that. Testing. Not this sudden assertion that we would be altering the entire system of Culling, just like that."

Sir Walker, Haven cut in, outwardly calm as could be. We agreed to go through with this testing because we were searching for the one Datapoint who could answer all our problems. And we found her. She’s not only physically and mentally capable of what we’re asking of her, but she’s proven her loyalty to the Authority. Not only with her work ethic, but the girl has survived torture for us. Haven allowed just a touch of emotion into his tone now, if only so that the rest of the Authority couldn’t sterilize the intensity of the poor girl’s experiences.

It wasn’t worth mentioning that the torture had been ordered by Haven himself. He’d needed the girl to prove her loyalty and she had.

Perhaps I’m dense, said another member, Tita Calypso. She was the youngest member, and was very unassuming and very smart. Haven hated her. But I’m still confused on why we’ve needed to change the system at all. I’ve been under the impression that the Culling is still extremely effective.

Haven felt dark matter twist and rise up inside him. Black temper, endless frustration at the foolishness of the people sitting at this table. His so-called peers. Yet, they couldn’t see more than a generation into the future.

"The data is fine for now, but we all know that the trends are shifting. Having hundreds of Datapoints culling millions of people is no longer effective. We can’t train that many Datapoints and be responsible for their skills and their mistakes. Glade Io can do the work of hundreds on her own. With the cost of training only one Datapoint. She can cull our entire solar system at once. Imagine this! Instead of wasting our time and resources on this many Datapoints, we concentrate on her. Think of all we’d have at our fingertips with all these retired Datapoints. Think! They’re the brightest minds in our solar system. And we wouldn’t have to sequester them down to the single task of Culling anymore."

But why rest the entire system on one person if we don’t have to? What if something happens to her? What if she—

We have two sisters of hers, both younger, who I believe are equally viable. Not on their own, but together, I believe they could cull as well as she can, if it comes to that.

Another member started squawking some disagreement, but Haven cut right through it. We all know that the Culling is deeply taxing on a Datapoint. On their mind and… soul. We have here the opportunity to cull more effectively, and with fewer people affected by the mental weight of it. Our Datapoints have been known to make mistakes. Not often, but still, we all know that occasionally an innocent person will be culled. Glade Io is the most accurate Datapoint I’ve ever encountered. That is what I’m offering you all here. I’m offering you the chance to go to sleep at night knowing, in your hearts, that the citizens of our solar system are safer. That the murderous and the violent will be painlessly and humanely wiped from existence by Glade Io. And no one but the murderous and the violent will fall victim.

What about Glade Io? Kalis Rome asked. How could any one person handle this amount of work? This amount of pressure?

She’s a Datapoint, Haven answered immediately, and he felt a trumpeting surge of triumph within him. He had them. Because no matter how much they tried, these fair-minded, emotional people sitting around him could never understand Datapoints. Not the way that he could. Their world didn’t understand the chosen few who were trained to become weapons of the Authority. Weapons for peace. For order. These people sitting at the table, they would look at Glade Io and they would see a sixteen-year-old girl. But Haven knew what she really was. He was the only one who really knew.

She doesn’t suffer the emotions of this the way you might, he answered. The girl is a machine. A computer. Her brain doesn’t tremble at the idea of Culling. She understands it from a clinical perspective.

And her heart?

Haven didn’t hesitate. She has no heart.

CHAPTER ONE

Home was where the sky was red with the irritated heartburn of three volcanoes at once.

Or something like that.

It was eruption season on the Io colony, which meant that the citizens wore scraps of fabric over their mouths to keep out the smoke. It meant that there was a filmy, peeling layer of ash on every surface. It was always strange to me how much ash could look like a feather when it drift-drift-drifted out of the sky.

Of course, volcanoes don’t follow any particular schedule. So it was lucky, really, that the day I set foot back on my home colony for the first time in four years was the day the closest volcano system erupted. Or, deeply unlucky, depending on your point of view.

Either way, I could blame the stinging of my eyes on the harsh smoke billowing out of the volcanoes in the distance, and I could blame the ringing in my ears on the distant thunder of our complaining moon.

When the volcanoes are silent and still, the sky on Io is actually a velvet navy, with not much difference in color between day and night. The stars are always visible.

I’d spent the last four years wondering if I’d ever come back, and almost that whole time praying that I wouldn’t. I’d known that if I ever came back, it would be to cull. To cull my own people.

I’d been wrong, though. I hadn’t come here to cull. I’d come here to bury my mother.

The clunky, overlarge Authority skip lurched as it landed on my home colony’s landing pad. I yanked my belt off and was on my feet in the next second.

Wait! Dahn Enceladus called from behind me. My only real ally back at the Station, he’d insisted on coming with me to Io when I’d found out my mother had been killed. I supposed I should probably feel guilty that he didn’t know even half the story of my mother’s death. That it hadn’t been the Authority’s rebel enemies who’d killed her. And he didn’t know that the icy rage wafting off of me wasn’t for the Ferrymen. It was for myself. For not being able to protect my family.

Nothing was making it through this shell of shock and anger. My mother was dead, and I knew who’d killed her.

The secret comm on my arm was as silent as it had been for days, and that enraged me, too. My partner in this whole, insane plan had gone dark the minute I’d found out my mother was dead. Kupier was supposed to have been rescuing her and my sisters. And now she was dead, and Kup and the Ferrymen were gone.

What. Had. Happened?

This was the only thought that burned its way through me as I strode from one end of the skip to the other. The answers were out there. On my home planet. I just needed to get to them. I needed to know exactly what had gone down four days ago.

Wait! Dahn repeated again, coming to stand at my side. He lifted his hand and blocked the lever that opened the door of the skip. I turned and looked at his silver-gray eyes, at his dark hair framing that serious, handsome face.

Why?

Because you can’t just jump out of the skip and storm down the street, Glade. This is an Authority skip and you’re a Datapoint—you’ll scare the hell out of every citizen down there.

Oh.

Did I even care about that, though? I couldn’t tell. The only thing I cared about was getting to my sisters. Getting home. Saying goodbye to my mother. Figuring out what the hell had happened.

Blend in. Hide. If they can’t find you, they can’t take you.

That was my mother’s voice in my head. She’d known my whole life that I was different. That I would be singled out by the Authority. She’d been right. And Dahn was right. I needed to calm down and not draw undue attention to myself.

At this point, I’d achieved the highest tier of Datapoint that was possible. According to the Authority, I was the most important person in the solar system. If only they knew where my loyalties really lay.

Hell. If only I knew where my loyalties really lay.

There were only two people in this entire universe who I trusted with my life, though—I knew that much. Dahn and Kupier. But Dahn loved the Authority above all else. And the Authority had tortured me, and were training me to cull half the citizens in our solar system, no questions asked… and they were gunning for my sisters. To put them through exactly what they’d put me through.

So yeah. Screw them.

That left me with Kupier and the rebel Ferrymen, who I hadn’t heard from in days. He’d been coming to Io to rescue my sisters and mother out from under the Authority’s thumb when the news had come back that Mama was dead. And I hadn’t heard from him since.

Probably because he was dead. At least, that’s what I’d come to fear, the more I’d thought about it. If he wasn’t, why wouldn’t I have heard from him?

The rage inside me curled and twisted. Suddenly, it wasn’t fueling me. It was burning me alive. I sagged against the doorway of the skip. Instead of storming out and running through the Io colony, the way I had wanted to, I let Dahn go out first. He stood next to the skip and spoke quietly with the two pilots and the skip technician who were part of the crew that had brought us here.

I said nothing.

I turned my back on the conversation and instead looked out at my home planet. Well, Io was technically a moon, but it was as close to a planet as humans would ever inhabit again. When we’d evacuated Earth hundreds of years ago, we’d had to set up shop on various moon colonies. Io was rocky and volatile. Volcanoes ringed the edge of the colony. They were constantly upset and rumbling, spitting ash and occasionally lava down onto the borders of our col. But we also relied on them. We were too far away from the sun to receive enough heat to sustain us. All of that came from our volcanoes. We couldn’t live without them.

Figured, right? Wasn’t that just the way our solar system worked? The hand that feeds you can also punch you to death whenever the hell it wants.

Thinking about the unfairness of it all, I chuckled humorlessly into my hand until I felt Dahn nudge my shoulder.

Are you alright?

I raised my dark eyebrows at him. What do you think?

He frowned. Right. Well. They’re not coming with us, if that helps. He tossed his head back toward the crew.

Really? The Authority didn’t exactly let Datapoints come and go as they pleased. I was still shocked that I’d been allowed to come home at all, and now we were going to be able to do it all without babysitters? How’d you manage that?

He held up one arm and the crystal-like motherboard surgically implanted into his body caught the light. In a move he’d done once before, he leaned over and clacked his tech against my own, the tech in my arm. It sent that shivery thrill through my entire system.

I wasn’t sure I liked it. I wasn’t sure I didn’t.

Not like they can lose track of us, he said, referencing the trackers that were implanted along with our tech. Besides. You’re the chosen one. I think they’re scared that if they say no you’ll cull them in their sleep.

I scoffed. I didn’t think that was funny, and I knew Dahn didn’t either. I didn’t want to be the chosen one, the one who was so much better at culling than any other Datapoint. And I also knew that he would have given anything to be the chosen one. I wished he hadn’t brought it up.

As we walked down the dusty, familiar streets of my childhood, I was swollen with feeling. I was chosen to be a Datapoint because of my lack of emotion. All of us were selected for that same reason. Datapoints were not baby kissers, we didn’t tear up over sad stories, and we definitely weren’t the touchy-feely types. But right now? I was a damn mess.

It had been four days since I’d found out my mother had died, and I could have sworn that every emotion I’d ever had suddenly sat heavily on my shoulders, strangling me. I couldn’t even say what it was that I was feeling. Just that there was a hell of a lot of it.

I led Dahn through my home colony, passing kids on the street, an old stray dog, men and women on their way home from work. I didn’t look up at any of them, terrified I’d see a familiar face from my childhood. Or that someone who’d known my mother would have a kind word for me, and it would puncture this weighted sack of emotion that was suffocating me. I couldn’t do anything but watch mine and Dahn’s feet as we turned onto my street. The houses here were larger, and still made of packed red clay, but things on this street were just somehow