like she’s just eaten something sour. “When they ask what happened, you need to tell them that you released the data. Don’t let on that it was the boy.”
I give her a curious look. “Are you that set on pinning this on me?”
My mother shakes her head. “It’s nothing to do with that. If they think Sascha acted alone, he could be euthanized, permanently seized as evidence, accused of behaving above his status. They’ll discredit your research, say it was interfered with by one of the Demoted.”
I consider it. What she’s saying makes sense; from anyone else, I would consider it good advice. But it’s not anyone else. It’s Kristine Miller, the head of the Miller System, the woman who let slaves raise me and then tried to destroy me from the moment I had independent thoughts.
“You brought a man who raped my slave to torture him,” I remind her. “You coerced me into beating him. You kidnapped him and did god knows what to him. Why in the hell would you want to help him now?”
She laughs, a tinny, evil sound that makes me shudder. “Oh, Cash, I don’t care about the slave. I care about what I always have—my legacy.”
I can’t tell if she’s talking about me, or the Miller System.
“My business is going down,” she admits. “You’ve finally done it. I pushed you to it, and I’ll feel that guilt forever. But you… your new system, it just might work. And as much as I hate to fail, I’d like the comfort of knowing that I created something bigger, better, grander.”
I just stare at her in disbelief. She has some sort of angle she’s playing, I just can’t figure out which one it is. She doesn’t care about me and she doesn’t care about Sascha. This is either another scheme, or she needs something from me.
“Besides,” she says, giving me a nervous look. “You’ve made a lot of awful accusations in the information you released. A rephrasing, a reinterpretation of the data… it might help my case.”
The truth, it seems, is that she’s saving her own ass. “And what case might that be?” I ask, surprised that the state would take any sort of action against the beloved director of the Miller System.
My mother smiles, and for the first time, I see her looking worn out, exhausted. I see a glimmer of fear. “The only reason I’m on this side of the table is because the state’s publicity department needs someone to make it look like they’ve been doing the right thing for all these years. I’m the public face of conformity, of tradition. When this tradition gets exposed as inadequate, our roles might be reversed. If you come out of this alive and free, they’ll place the blame somewhere else. Right now I’m the most likely candidate.”
I sit there, silent. It’s a game, manipulation, but the look on her face makes me wonder. I wouldn’t put it past her to lie about this; she’s lied about everything for as long as I can remember. But the state doesn’t do forgiveness well. If she isn’t lying, she could be in considerable danger if the state chooses my side over hers. Even if they don’t, she might go down alongside of me. I struggle, trying to figure out what she’s gaining from her advice concerning Sascha, but other than me putting the blame somewhere else, she’s getting nothing. A part of me wants to watch her go down.
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll think about how I present your involvement to anyone who cares.”
She nods, standing up. “That’s fair of you.” She turns and walks to the door, pausing before pressing the button that will call for the guards to let her out. “I still have some friends in the judicial department. When I arranged to visit with you, I spoke to someone about the conditions you’re being kept in. You won’t be secluded any longer.”
I stare at her, surprised, and trying not to be pleased. I don’t trust her, especially when it seems like she’s doing something nice. “Why?”
“Because I taught you not to give favors
I give her a curious look. “Are you that set on pinning this on me?”
My mother shakes her head. “It’s nothing to do with that. If they think Sascha acted alone, he could be euthanized, permanently seized as evidence, accused of behaving above his status. They’ll discredit your research, say it was interfered with by one of the Demoted.”
I consider it. What she’s saying makes sense; from anyone else, I would consider it good advice. But it’s not anyone else. It’s Kristine Miller, the head of the Miller System, the woman who let slaves raise me and then tried to destroy me from the moment I had independent thoughts.
“You brought a man who raped my slave to torture him,” I remind her. “You coerced me into beating him. You kidnapped him and did god knows what to him. Why in the hell would you want to help him now?”
She laughs, a tinny, evil sound that makes me shudder. “Oh, Cash, I don’t care about the slave. I care about what I always have—my legacy.”
I can’t tell if she’s talking about me, or the Miller System.
“My business is going down,” she admits. “You’ve finally done it. I pushed you to it, and I’ll feel that guilt forever. But you… your new system, it just might work. And as much as I hate to fail, I’d like the comfort of knowing that I created something bigger, better, grander.”
I just stare at her in disbelief. She has some sort of angle she’s playing, I just can’t figure out which one it is. She doesn’t care about me and she doesn’t care about Sascha. This is either another scheme, or she needs something from me.
“Besides,” she says, giving me a nervous look. “You’ve made a lot of awful accusations in the information you released. A rephrasing, a reinterpretation of the data… it might help my case.”
The truth, it seems, is that she’s saving her own ass. “And what case might that be?” I ask, surprised that the state would take any sort of action against the beloved director of the Miller System.
My mother smiles, and for the first time, I see her looking worn out, exhausted. I see a glimmer of fear. “The only reason I’m on this side of the table is because the state’s publicity department needs someone to make it look like they’ve been doing the right thing for all these years. I’m the public face of conformity, of tradition. When this tradition gets exposed as inadequate, our roles might be reversed. If you come out of this alive and free, they’ll place the blame somewhere else. Right now I’m the most likely candidate.”
I sit there, silent. It’s a game, manipulation, but the look on her face makes me wonder. I wouldn’t put it past her to lie about this; she’s lied about everything for as long as I can remember. But the state doesn’t do forgiveness well. If she isn’t lying, she could be in considerable danger if the state chooses my side over hers. Even if they don’t, she might go down alongside of me. I struggle, trying to figure out what she’s gaining from her advice concerning Sascha, but other than me putting the blame somewhere else, she’s getting nothing. A part of me wants to watch her go down.
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll think about how I present your involvement to anyone who cares.”
She nods, standing up. “That’s fair of you.” She turns and walks to the door, pausing before pressing the button that will call for the guards to let her out. “I still have some friends in the judicial department. When I arranged to visit with you, I spoke to someone about the conditions you’re being kept in. You won’t be secluded any longer.”
I stare at her, surprised, and trying not to be pleased. I don’t trust her, especially when it seems like she’s doing something nice. “Why?”
“Because I taught you not to give favors
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