Guardian Read Online Free PDF Page B

rushed in, breathless, and Liam’s hand went to the bolt gun on his belt. Marie waved the kid off.
    “What happened to you?” he asked.
    “An accident,” she said.
    “Is that—?” The Purifier pointed at Syd, his voice cracking. “Yovel?”
    Liam looked the boy over. The Purifiers were all young, but this one couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old. He had recognized Syd. He’d used the official name, the one Syd hated, and saying it too loudly would bring down more attention than Liam cared for at the moment.
    The boy had a Mountain City accent, and had probably spent his whole life in the slums, a proxy taking the punishments for the crimes of the rich patron he’d been assigned. Just like Syd had. Just like so many anonymous thousands.
    An accident of birth.
    He could just as easily have been plucked from the womb and installed into the Guardian program, and now he’d be one of the nonoperatives, falling prey to some horror-show infection. Or he could have been born rich and ended up purged in the revolution after the networks fell. How he ended up all the way out here, pulling this duty twelve hundred miles from home, was anyone’s guess. The Reconciliation didn’t run its personnel choices by Liam.
    He left his bolt gun in place and raised his metal index finger at the kid, whose eyes were wide blue marbles shining through the holes of his white face mask. “Get back to work and keep your mouth shut.”
    “Yes, sir.” The kid nodded, then saluted—which was not something that was done. He must have seen too many holos before the day of the Jubilee deleted them all. He was a real-life soldier playing soldier from his memories of made-up soldiers. His spindly knees knocked as he ran back to stand guard outside.
    Liam was the same way when he was that age, wasn’t he? He’d been a soldier for just about all of his seventeen years, but he hadn’t been born good at it. He had to be trained. Discipline took training. Proper procedure took training. Learning to kill took training.
    The kid would learn, just like Liam had. All it took was the commitment to work hard and to forget your life before. Amnesia was a soldier’s best friend, and luckily, it could be taught. Missing limbs still ache, but missing memories never do.
    Liam snapped his attention back inside the medical tent as a figure sat up from the one occupied cot, tossed a sheet off himself, and rose to his full height. He stood taller than the rest of the medics and wore a full dark beard, flecked with gray. His head was shaved and the skin around his eyes creased with wrinkles. He was at least thirty years older than the oldest of the other medics in the room and his uniform was white with a green collar, crisp and clean.
    “Doctor Rahat,” one of the young medics spluttered at the man. “You sure you’re feeling well enough?”
    The man, Dr. Rahat, stared at the young medic a moment. He opened his mouth and it looked like he was searching for words. “I . . . I . . .” He scratched red lines into the back of his hand, an action that seemed to focus him. “I’m fine,” he declared. “You three, take care of that one.” He nodded at Marie and then gestured for Liam to carry Syd to a curtained-off area at the rear of the container.
    Syd stirred. He felt himself set down on a cot and then felt the cool metal of Liam’s hand slide out from under his neck, gently resting his head on a pillow. He opened his eyes and knew he’d passed out in the alley. His nose still held the faint smell of burning corpses.
    He looked up at Liam’s pale face, the scattered freckles on the slightly crooked nose and the patchy red hair growing in uneven stubble on his chin. His dark red eyebrows were scrunched together with worry, the light blue eyes damp and searching. Memories flashed: Liam throwing the body of the would-be assassin over the railing; Liam holding Finch up in the air by one hand; Liam shooting Marie through the shoulder. How