Miracolina endures her captivity and deprogramming at the hands of the Anti-Divisional Resistance for weeks but never surrenders her core. She never gives in to the things they try to teach her. Oh, she’s learned to function within their little world of ex-tithes, doing what’s expected, if only so they’ll leave her alone. More tithes are brought in, others are placed with families and given new identities. There’s no such plan for Miracolina. Even semi-cooperative, she’s still too much of a risk. They have no idea, however, what she’s really planning.
o;Dagger plunged deep,” he says. Risa has no idea what he’s talking about but doesn’t really care.
“Get it out of my sight,” she yells at Roberta, “and if you have any decency in you at all, you’ll kill it!”
Roberta looks at her sternly, and then turns to Cam. “You can go, Cam. Wait outside for me.”
Cam quickly, awkwardly, leaves, and Roberta closes the door. Now she’s fuming. If Risa can take anything positive out of this, it’s that she’s gotten the better of Roberta.
“You’re a cruel girl,” Roberta says.
“And you’re a monster to create a thing like that.”
“History will be the judge of who we are, and what we’ve done.” And then she puts a piece of paper down on the table. “This is a consent form. Sign it and you can have a new working spine by the end of the week.”
Risa picks it up, tears it to shreds, and throws the pieces in the air. Roberta must have been expecting this, because she instantly pulls out a second consent form from her folder and slaps it down on the table.
“You will be healed, and you will make up to Cam for how badly you’ve treated him today.”
“Not in this life, or any other.”
Roberta smiles like she knows something Risa doesn’t. “Well then . . . here’s hoping you have a sudden change of heart.” Then she exits the room, leaving the pen and the consent form on the table.
Risa looks at the consent form long after Roberta has gone. She knows she won’t sign it, but the fact that they want her to intrigues her. Why is it so important to them that her broken body be repaired? There’s only one answer to that: For some reason Risa is much more important than she ever dreamed she was. Important to both sides.
29 - Cam
He sits in the observation room. He’s been there more often than he’d like to admit, spying on Risa—although when it’s officially allowed through a one-way mirror, it’s not called spying. It’s called surveillance.
On the other side of the glass, Risa stares at the contract Roberta put before her. Her face is stony, her jaw clenched. Finally she picks up the page . . . then folds it into a paper airplane and throws it at the mirror. Cam jolts in spite of himself. He knows she can’t see him, but still she looks into the mirror at almost the right spot to make eye contact. For a moment Cam feels like she can see not only through the glass, but through him as well, and he has to look away.
He hates the fact that she hates him. He should have expected it, but still, her words hurt him deeply and make him want to hurt her back. But no. That’s just the reaction of the various Unwinds in his head; kids who would lash out at the slightest provocation. He won’t give in to those impulses. There are enough sensible parts of him to balance things and allow him to control those parts that threaten to disturb the peace. He reminds himself that, as Roberta has said, he is the new paradigm—the new model of what humanity could, and should, be. The world will get used to him, and in time revere him. And so will Risa.
Roberta comes into the room behind him and speaks quietly. “There’s no point staying here.”
“Jericho,” he says. “She’s a wall, but she’ll crumble. I know she will.”
Roberta smiles at him. “I have no doubt that you’ll win her over. In fact, I suspect she’ll change her mind sooner than you think.”
Cam tries to read between the lines of her smile, but she reveals nothing. “Cat that ate the canary—I don’t like when you keep secrets.”
“No secret,” Roberta tells him. “Just an undying faith in human nature. Now come, it’s almost time for your photo shoot.”
Cam sighs. “Another one?”
“Would you prefer a press conference?”
“A sharp stick in the eye? No thank you!”
Cam has to admit that this new approach to the media is far better than press conferences and interviews. Roberta and her friends at Proactive Citizenry have cooked up a first-class advertising campaign. Billboards, print ads, digital, the works. All just photos, but even so, the ads are powerful.
The first round of ads will feature extreme close-ups of various parts of him. An eye; streaks of his multicolored hair; the starburst of flesh tones on his forehead. Each image will be accompanied by a pithy but enigmatic caption like, “The Time Has Come,” or “The Brilliant Tomorrow,” with no other clue as to what’s being advertised. Then, when public curiosity is piqued, they move to phase two, where the ads will feature his face, his body, and finally his whole self.
“We’ll create a mystique around you,” Roberta told him. “Play into their puerile fascination with the exotic until they’re champing at the bit to see more.”
“Striptease,” Cam had said.
“An elevated version of the same concept, I suppose,” Roberta admitted. “Once the ad campaign has rolled out, you will enter the public eye not as an oddity, but as a celebrity—and when you finally deign to do interviews, it will be on our terms.”