on the computer screen.
“Then these aren’t bombs,” she said. “Or—they were all duds. Empty casings.”
She was proud of herself for coming up with this explanation. There were rumors sometimes, back in Waterford City, abouthow the stories the military told about their glorious victories couldn’t all be true. “If they were, don’t you think we’d have won the whole war by now, not just a battle here and there?” some people argued.
Gideon enlarged the bombing image so that it overshadowed the trio of matching numbers. He unfroze the image, letting the footage advance.
“T minus three,” he intoned. “T minus two. T minus one …”
On the screen the dotted lines streamed down to the
X
marking the target. Then the screen blanked out momentarily before flashing the words
Direct hit! Direct hit! Direct hit!
“See?” Gideon said. He began typing in yet another flurry of numbers and letters, bringing up even more indecipherable code. Though, now that she was watching more carefully, Tessa noticed that the code always included the geographical coordinates Gideon had shown her earlier.
“All the data in the entire military system shows that we were incinerated three minutes ago,” Gideon insisted, returning to the same screenfuls of information again and again. “Everything shows that!”
“Except that we’re still alive,” Tessa murmured.
She glanced over her shoulder and confirmed that the sunlight was still streaming in the window. From this angle she couldn’t see much else, but—was that shadow a tree branch swaying gently in the breeze? Was that faint chirping she could hear actually
birdsong
?
Tessa tapped one of the minimized portions of the computer screen, the stopped footage of the people dying in the marketplace.
“Show me the video like this of the bombing that you say just hit us,” she said. “The video with all the details. Then we’ll see what really happened.”
“I can’t,” Gideon said. “That always comes a day or two late, because it’s from spy satellites and we only get the downloads every other day. That’s why …” He was staring at the screen, at the image of the marketplace a moment before the bombs hit, when everyone was screaming and running as if they actually had a chance to escape. “That’s why I was so happy, at first, when I found out how many people I’d killed. It was … kind of a record for a single pilot, in a single day, and everybody was slapping me on the back and punching me on the arm and congratulating me…. I didn’t think of it as
people,
you know?” He touched the screen lightly, his fingers practically caressing the faces before him. “Not babies, not children, not … not anyone it’d be wrong to kill.”
“Couldn’t you see any of that from your plane, flying overhead, right before you dropped the bombs?” Tessa asked, and she was surprised that her voice came out sounding so harsh.
Gideon flinched as if she’d hit him.
“I was never in that bomber,” he said. “Pilots in the military always fly their planes remotely, from computers hundreds of miles away. We’re sitting at a desk. We’re
safe.
All we see is what the military wants us to see, the
X
where the target is and the blips of different-colored lights for our planes and the enemy’s planes. That’s how it always is. Didn’t you know?”
Tessa thought about this.
Had
she known that? Everything about the military and the war was always so vague and far away. So, “Look, everyone! Look at your great hero, GideonThrall!” Not, “Look, everyone! Wouldn’t you like to see and hear what he really did?”
Her face twisted. She’d fallen for it too. Back at the awards ceremony she’d admired Gideon as much as anyone.
She’d admired his “courage,” when all he’d done was sit at a desk playing a video game.
A game that killed people.
“Don’t feel bad,” Gideon said softly, clearly misinterpreting her grimace. “It’s not exactly a secret
“Then these aren’t bombs,” she said. “Or—they were all duds. Empty casings.”
She was proud of herself for coming up with this explanation. There were rumors sometimes, back in Waterford City, abouthow the stories the military told about their glorious victories couldn’t all be true. “If they were, don’t you think we’d have won the whole war by now, not just a battle here and there?” some people argued.
Gideon enlarged the bombing image so that it overshadowed the trio of matching numbers. He unfroze the image, letting the footage advance.
“T minus three,” he intoned. “T minus two. T minus one …”
On the screen the dotted lines streamed down to the
X
marking the target. Then the screen blanked out momentarily before flashing the words
Direct hit! Direct hit! Direct hit!
“See?” Gideon said. He began typing in yet another flurry of numbers and letters, bringing up even more indecipherable code. Though, now that she was watching more carefully, Tessa noticed that the code always included the geographical coordinates Gideon had shown her earlier.
“All the data in the entire military system shows that we were incinerated three minutes ago,” Gideon insisted, returning to the same screenfuls of information again and again. “Everything shows that!”
“Except that we’re still alive,” Tessa murmured.
She glanced over her shoulder and confirmed that the sunlight was still streaming in the window. From this angle she couldn’t see much else, but—was that shadow a tree branch swaying gently in the breeze? Was that faint chirping she could hear actually
birdsong
?
Tessa tapped one of the minimized portions of the computer screen, the stopped footage of the people dying in the marketplace.
“Show me the video like this of the bombing that you say just hit us,” she said. “The video with all the details. Then we’ll see what really happened.”
“I can’t,” Gideon said. “That always comes a day or two late, because it’s from spy satellites and we only get the downloads every other day. That’s why …” He was staring at the screen, at the image of the marketplace a moment before the bombs hit, when everyone was screaming and running as if they actually had a chance to escape. “That’s why I was so happy, at first, when I found out how many people I’d killed. It was … kind of a record for a single pilot, in a single day, and everybody was slapping me on the back and punching me on the arm and congratulating me…. I didn’t think of it as
people,
you know?” He touched the screen lightly, his fingers practically caressing the faces before him. “Not babies, not children, not … not anyone it’d be wrong to kill.”
“Couldn’t you see any of that from your plane, flying overhead, right before you dropped the bombs?” Tessa asked, and she was surprised that her voice came out sounding so harsh.
Gideon flinched as if she’d hit him.
“I was never in that bomber,” he said. “Pilots in the military always fly their planes remotely, from computers hundreds of miles away. We’re sitting at a desk. We’re
safe.
All we see is what the military wants us to see, the
X
where the target is and the blips of different-colored lights for our planes and the enemy’s planes. That’s how it always is. Didn’t you know?”
Tessa thought about this.
Had
she known that? Everything about the military and the war was always so vague and far away. So, “Look, everyone! Look at your great hero, GideonThrall!” Not, “Look, everyone! Wouldn’t you like to see and hear what he really did?”
Her face twisted. She’d fallen for it too. Back at the awards ceremony she’d admired Gideon as much as anyone.
She’d admired his “courage,” when all he’d done was sit at a desk playing a video game.
A game that killed people.
“Don’t feel bad,” Gideon said softly, clearly misinterpreting her grimace. “It’s not exactly a secret
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