Ashes of the Fall Read Free

problem of the Lionhearted, it strikes me that the Circle is probably considering a change in their official slogan. Tanner means government and the system—not God, or wherever else people place their chips on this cosmic craps table.
    Whatever. Not my problem.
    The auto-cab rounds a corner, past another endless row of towers. Deeper in the city, the metallic forest has been growing dense, any resemblance to my home is lost.
    Will the connection with Matt be lost, too?
    Last time I saw Matt, I was eight years old. One day he’s sitting across from me, eating bland cereal made of processed wheat and food coloring, the next he’s gone without even a note. Our parents wouldn’t say anything about it, as if even whispering about their lost son would bring calamity. Pops started drinking a lot, Mom couldn’t stop him. They both died young, when I was sixteen.
    The auto-car chimes—everything in New Manhattan does, apparently—and I tap the screen to allow the vehicle to automatically sync with the HoloBand. Some credits I don’t have are deducted from whoever’s identity is on the chip’s firmware. Steven Reynolds, accountant from just outside New Manhattan, is gonna be pissed when he gets his statement.
    The proper authorities can add it to my file.
    I get out, staring up at the building where Matt lives. It’s all-glass, part of what you might call a campus. Further up the road, I can see a checkpoint, complete with guards, where you have to be authorized and all that to enter. The sign reads Gifted Minds Research Institute .
    “You always were the smart one,” I say as the auto-cab zips off while I stare at the building. I’m left somewhat alone—at least for the city. With its green grass and tree-lined streets, this area isn’t a place for the proletariat. Turns out, even in New Manhattan, there’s high-value, then there’s high-value .
    I take the letter out of my back pocket—yeah, a paper one—and slide it out of the envelope, careful not to crease it more. Even after a decade and a half, my brother’s penmanship is unmistakable, the giant, rolling “M” in his signature resembling a mountain cascade.
    Luke,
    I need to see you by tomorrow. Come to 1611 Park Boulevard. Enclosed is something to help you. You’ll have to figure your way through customs on your own, though. I have an urgent project that requires your skills.
    Matt
    For a first correspondence, it’s remarkably light on details or hidden meanings. Efficient. But the HoloBand he included was registered to Mr. Reynolds—good enough to buy a ticket without much incident, not good enough to get through customs without a little ingenuity. After all, our faces don’t quite match.
    But I guess Matt trusted that Pops passed down the old family secrets. And he wouldn’t be wrong.
    I take a deep breath and walk towards the seamless glass doors. A buzzer sounds, as a friendly voice says, “Welcome to the Park Estate Residences. Please stand still and wait for a HoloBand scan.”
    I consider running, but if Matt didn’t clear my fake identity on the list, then his little project is already doomed.
    The doors open, confirming that my genius brother didn’t suddenly become stupid in the last decade and a half. “Thank you, Mr. Reynolds. You are pre-approved for entry to Apartment 3121B on the three hundredth floor. Please proceed to the designated elevator and have a wonderful day.”
    I walk through the lobby, noting the empty reception desk. Either the greeter’s job has been outsourced to the automated scanner, or someone’s on their lunch break. I smell what I think is tuna, and decide on the latter.
    A potential obstacle to consider later—especially depending on the particulars. Whatever Matt has to say, the fewer lies and scams I have to run on the denizens of this fine city, the better. Overexposure would result in what the corporate folks have dubbed career suicide —except, in this case, the death analogy is actually apt.
    I catch