should’ve made them impervious to such concerns. But too many of his brethren—no, not his brethren; they were nothing more than dull primates to his mind of absolute Silence—were still driven by the primitive instinct to protect the young, even when those young proved defective.
Entering two more names, he closed down the encrypted file and sent it to its hiding place deep within his computer archives. He didn’t keep as much on the PsyNet as he once had. His wife, Shoshanna, had long overstepped her bounds, prying into things that were none of her concern.
But she didn’t know everything.
His eyes slid to the left corner of his desk, to the heavy white envelope edged with gilt. A gaudy, flashy thing, stamped Private and Confidential. It was, he had to admit, the perfect disguise. Even his normally astute assistant had put it in the in-box reserved for human media invitations and the like.
Picking it up, he opened the flap and removed the card. It was heavy white board, the lettering dark gold.
It would be our honor to have you join us. The password has been e-mailed to the Councilor’s private address.
PURE PSY
A numerical URL followed.
This was no petty group—only a few, very important people had his private e-mail address. Like most Psy, he rarely used that form of communication, but it did come in useful now and then. As it had today. The password had come in under the subject line “Purity.”
Making a decision, he turned to his computer and accessed the Internet. The pathways of this network were extremely slow in comparison to the microsecond fluidity of the PsyNet, but that also meant it was disregarded by the majority of his race. The numerical URL would also assist in keeping this under the radar.
However, the biggest advantage of the Internet was that it was completely outside the purview of the NetMind, the neosentient entity that was both the librarian and the guardian of the PsyNet. Henry considered the NetMind nonpartisan, but as a cardinal Tk, Kaleb Krychek had considerable control over it, which meant his fellow Councilor was likely privy to information others would prefer stayed secret. Such as the existence of this group.
With a discreet beep, the browser deposited him at the site. The entire page was black, except for one line of text in white and an empty box.
ENTER PASSWORD
Henry didn’t need to check his e-mail. The password was easy to remember.
F_GALTON1822
CHAPTER 14
The inevitable future is fast approaching, but there’s time. Time enough to convince you of what you must do if they ever discover the truth. Run and hide. It’s the only way to survive. But even as I try to convince you, I know I’ll fail. She might appear stronger, but you’ve always been the brave one, with more courage than I could ever imagine. But courage won’t stop a Council assassin. Run.
—From a handwritten letter signed “Iliana” circa July 2069
Things happened faster than Dorian had anticipated—he found himself playing bodyguard in the first subbasement of DarkRiver’s San Francisco HQ at nine the next morning. While the pack held shares in CTX, a major communications company, this basement was set up for guerrilla broadcasts. Ashaya’s segment would go out on the Internet and all of CTX’s stations at the same time.
A makeup girl dared approach Ashaya, fluffy brush brandished like a peace offering. Dorian glared. The nineteen-year-old—a packmate like every other person in this room, bar one—swiveled on her heel, and went in the opposite direction.
“Very effective.”
He turned to the woman who’d spoken. He was still pissed off with her.
I choose to embrace Silence of my own free will.
He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that Silence could be easily shrugged off—it had taken Judd Lauren more than a year, and the catalyst had been finding his mate. But Ashaya had a child. A child she’d refused to see again this morning. Disbelieving,
Entering two more names, he closed down the encrypted file and sent it to its hiding place deep within his computer archives. He didn’t keep as much on the PsyNet as he once had. His wife, Shoshanna, had long overstepped her bounds, prying into things that were none of her concern.
But she didn’t know everything.
His eyes slid to the left corner of his desk, to the heavy white envelope edged with gilt. A gaudy, flashy thing, stamped Private and Confidential. It was, he had to admit, the perfect disguise. Even his normally astute assistant had put it in the in-box reserved for human media invitations and the like.
Picking it up, he opened the flap and removed the card. It was heavy white board, the lettering dark gold.
It would be our honor to have you join us. The password has been e-mailed to the Councilor’s private address.
PURE PSY
A numerical URL followed.
This was no petty group—only a few, very important people had his private e-mail address. Like most Psy, he rarely used that form of communication, but it did come in useful now and then. As it had today. The password had come in under the subject line “Purity.”
Making a decision, he turned to his computer and accessed the Internet. The pathways of this network were extremely slow in comparison to the microsecond fluidity of the PsyNet, but that also meant it was disregarded by the majority of his race. The numerical URL would also assist in keeping this under the radar.
However, the biggest advantage of the Internet was that it was completely outside the purview of the NetMind, the neosentient entity that was both the librarian and the guardian of the PsyNet. Henry considered the NetMind nonpartisan, but as a cardinal Tk, Kaleb Krychek had considerable control over it, which meant his fellow Councilor was likely privy to information others would prefer stayed secret. Such as the existence of this group.
With a discreet beep, the browser deposited him at the site. The entire page was black, except for one line of text in white and an empty box.
ENTER PASSWORD
Henry didn’t need to check his e-mail. The password was easy to remember.
F_GALTON1822
CHAPTER 14
The inevitable future is fast approaching, but there’s time. Time enough to convince you of what you must do if they ever discover the truth. Run and hide. It’s the only way to survive. But even as I try to convince you, I know I’ll fail. She might appear stronger, but you’ve always been the brave one, with more courage than I could ever imagine. But courage won’t stop a Council assassin. Run.
—From a handwritten letter signed “Iliana” circa July 2069
Things happened faster than Dorian had anticipated—he found himself playing bodyguard in the first subbasement of DarkRiver’s San Francisco HQ at nine the next morning. While the pack held shares in CTX, a major communications company, this basement was set up for guerrilla broadcasts. Ashaya’s segment would go out on the Internet and all of CTX’s stations at the same time.
A makeup girl dared approach Ashaya, fluffy brush brandished like a peace offering. Dorian glared. The nineteen-year-old—a packmate like every other person in this room, bar one—swiveled on her heel, and went in the opposite direction.
“Very effective.”
He turned to the woman who’d spoken. He was still pissed off with her.
I choose to embrace Silence of my own free will.
He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that Silence could be easily shrugged off—it had taken Judd Lauren more than a year, and the catalyst had been finding his mate. But Ashaya had a child. A child she’d refused to see again this morning. Disbelieving,
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