Shattered Sky by Neal Shusterman

know? The rest of her family died in the gas chambers.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œYears ago, I arranged for her to undergo laser surgery to remove the number on her arm, but she refused. For her it was a battle scar. 9906753. A badge of courage and a reminder of those lost.”
    Another officer jogged past them, this one a bit more interested in their presence than the first. He caught their gazes, but offered nothing more than a quick “g’morning” as he passed. It got them both moving again toward the plant.
    â€œYou see, Lieutenant, I must have faith that there is justice,” Tessic said before he left her. “Punishment for the wicked, and liberation for the innocent.”
    And as Maddy went to prepare for her new assignment, she couldn’t help but wonder what Tessic was planning, the punishment or the liberation.

7. SLUGGER
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    T RANSCRIPTION EXCERPT, DAY 201. 13:29 HOURS
    â€œDo you think I’m evil, Maddy?”
    â€œThat depends—are you going to share that sundae?”
    â€œNo, I’m serious.”
    â€œWhy should you care what I think?”
    â€œPeople out there think I’m God or the devil, and they don’t leave room for anything in between. I want to know there’s someone who can see me as human.”
    â€œI wouldn’t be here feeding you if I thought you weren’t human.”
    â€œIf the shards are agents of evil, here to end the world, I wouldn’t be too pleased about that, but I’d understand it. If we were spat out here to be gods, I could understand that, too.”
    â€œFrom what I hear, you’ve been to both those places.”
    â€œAnd so I know it’s wrong. There’s some other purpose, I just can’t figure it out.”
    â€œYou’ve been in lockdown for six months, and you still haven’t gotten over yourself?”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œJust because you are what you are, it doesn’t ordain some grand purpose. Maybe it’s your purpose to sit here, and be fed by me. Have you ever thought of that?”
    â€œYou don’t believe that, Maddy. Any more than you believe it’s your purpose to feed me.”
    E IGHTEEN HUNDRED MILES AWAY, a dentist with no future was called to service in a war against Dillon, and the shards.Martin Briscoe was, in fact, the perfect candidate, as his mind had been sharpened and focused into a weapon by a single image that plagued him. It was the image of his dead wife and son that obliterated most everything else in Martin Briscoe’s mind. He was particularly focused on the day he was fired, and then saw the angels.
    â€œHow are things, Marty? Getting better?” His afternoon began in a conference. Banning, who sat at the head of the marble conference table, took the lead. He was a blowfish of a man with such bad breath that his patients preferred to be knocked out rather than endure his halitosis. They all must have heaved a collective sigh of relief when he gave up the drill for dental administration. He was the type of officious asshole who would add an “a” in front of a patient’s name, as if their little dental factory wasn’t impersonal enough.
    â€œFine, fine. Couldn’t be better.” It was a rote response, geared at curtailing any further interrogation. It wasn’t anyone’s goddammed business how he was. Martin sat down, grinning at the half-dozen faces seated around the table. None of the associates of Eureka Dental had much of a poker face; they telegraphed their intentions long before saying them aloud. “Actually,” Martin added, “I’m having a marvelous day.”
    The clutch of dentists looked to one another with that troubled, self-important gaze, like members of a secret society. Yes, Martin knew why they were gathered, and he was going to force them to go through the exercise in slow, tortured strokes. Let them be the ones to suffer