Undivided

Hope for Cam’s future had been shaky since that troubling meeting they had with Cobb and Bodeker back in Washington. The one where Cam became violent—if not in action, then in thought—and although they appeared to accept the cover story of Cam being sequestered in Molokai this whole time, Roberta suspects there’s a mole within the staff who informed the senator and general that Cam was AWOL.

“We’ve decided that it’s too unstable for our purposes,” Bodeker told her earlier today. He always refers to Cam as “it,” which has always a

As for Cam, he was like a toe dipped into the hot water of a bath. The public was intrigued by him, dazzled even. Thanks to Cam, they’ve come to feel that the water is fine. Now all that remains is for the public to be eased into the bath in calculated measures, lest they balk at the heat. Skillfully spun, Team Mozaic will become an accepted facet of the military, without anyone realizing exactly how it happened.

“You are to be commended for your vision,” Bodeker told Roberta, “but Camus Comprix is no longer a part of our equation. Its job is done.”

Roberta doesn’t know why she feels such regret. It’s the way of all things. The beta test must always give way to the final product. True, the final product has fewer bells and whistles, but that should not concern her. Accommodations must always be made.

And so, when security calls that evening to notify her that, once again, Cam has managed to break into the reintegration unit, her course of action becomes clear. She puts on a linen blazer—insanely heavy for the tropical heat, but it has an outer pocket that’s deep enough to conceal any number of things. Roberta knows what must be done. By no means will this be easy, but it is necessary—and what kind of visionary would she be if she didn’t take all the necessary steps to see her vision through?

•  •  •

Roberta arrives at the reintegration building to find several guards and med techs standing around the door to the rewind ward, practically twiddling their thumbs in embarrassment. They all back away from the door when they see her coming.

“What’s the situation?” she asks.

“He’s just sitting there,” says one of the med techs, and off of her dubious expression, he says, “See for yourself.”

She peers through the small window in the locked door. Sure enough, Cam is sitting on the floor in the middle of the long room, arms wrapped around his knees, rocking gently back and forth. She pulls out her key card.

“It’s no use,” says one of the guards. “He’s locked everyone out.”

Nevertheless, she swipes her card, and the lock disengages. “He’s locked all of you out,” she says. It’s clear he’s been waiting for her, and her alone. “Get back to your posts,” she tells them. “I’ll handle this.” Reluctantly, the others leave, and she pushes open the door, cautiously stepping in.

The room is awash with the white noise of medical monitors, and the hissing ventilators of the fresher rewinds who are still intubated. The room smells of Betadine antiseptic, and the vague vinegary odor of bandages overdue to be changed. She must remember to crack the whip at the nurses and med techs.

“Cam?” she asks gently as she nears him. He gives no response. He doesn’t even look up.

As she gets closer, she can see the bag beside him. There’s a syringe on the ground with a cloudy liquid. The needle is capped. For a moment she fears the worst, and looks around at the rewinds. She doesn’t spot any monitors that show distress, but perhaps he defeated the life-signs monitors, as well.

Then, as if reading her mind, he says, “I couldn’t kill them. I came here to do it—but I couldn’t.”

She knows she has to be careful with him. Handle him with kid gloves. “Of course you couldn’t,” she says. “They’re your spiritual siblings. Ending their lives would be akin to ending your own.”

“Spiritual,” he echoes. “I didn’t realize that word was part of your lexicon.”

“I don’t deny the spark of life,” she tells him. “But it’s forever debatable what that spark is, and what it means.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Finally he looks at her, his eyes red and pleading. “I know too many things that I don’t want to know. Can you take them away, the way you took her away?”

“That depends on the nature of the things in question.”

“I’m talking about Proactive Citizenry, and the truth about it,” he tells her. “I broke into their computer network, and I know everything. I know that Proactive Citizenry controls the Juvenile Authority. And that they want to increase the scope of unwinding so all those condemned kids can be rewound into this army you’re creating.”

Roberta sighs. “We don’t control the Juvenile Authority, we just have considerable influence.”

“ ‘We,’ ” says Cam. “So it’s back to ‘we’ again. Not ‘they.’ You must be out of Proactive Purgatory.”

“I’ve always been appreciated, Cam,” she tells him. “My work speaks for itself. It always has.”

“Does your work involve clappers?” he asks. “You’re aware that Proactive Citizenry created them as well, aren’t you?”

She knows denying it will only jam a wedge in their rapport, and right now she needs that rapport. She needs for him to trust her unconditionally. So she breaks with all protocol, and tells him the truth.

“First of all, that’s not my department. And second, we didn’t create them. Clappers were blowing themselves up long before we had anything to do with them. Proactive Citizenry merely gives them money and direction. We shape their violence toward a purpose—so that it serves the greater good.”

He nods, accepting, if not entirely approving. “There certainly are historical precedents for manipulating the public through fear.”

“I prefer to see it as opening people’s eyes, so they continue to see the sense in unwinding.”

Cam looks down again and shakes his head slowly. “I don’t want my eyes opened—I want them closed. I don’t want to know any of this. Please, can you tweak me again, Roberta? Can you give me a new worm to make it all go away?”

She kneels beside him and puts her arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. “Poor Camus—you’re in such pain. We’ll find a way to make that pain go away.”

He rests his head on her shoulder. She can feel his relief. It’s as it should be. As it must be. “Thank you, Roberta. I know you’ll take care of me.”

She reaches into the pocket of her blazer. “Haven’t I always?”

“I know you’ve been there for me,” he says. “When my thoughts went astray, you fixed them. When I ran away, you found me and brought me home.”

“And I’m here for you now,” she says as she pulls out her pistol. The one she always keeps in her nightstand, but until now, has never needed to use.

“Promise me you’ll fix it all.”

“I promise, Cam,” and she brings the muzzle of the gun to his forehead, knowing that this will fix it all. “I promise.”

Then she pulls the trigger.

68 • Cam

Cam couldn’t be sure where this would end until he saw the metallic flash of the gun when she pulled it from her pocket. Now, as she speaks calming words to him, and brings the pistol to his forehead, he closes his eyes. He suspected it might come to this, but he didn’t want to believe it. Now he has no choice.

He’s made his decision. He won’t stop her. He won’t resist. He allows her to complete her deadly intention.