The man with Proactive Citizenry said that unwinding was at the core of the country’s way of life.
It sticks in Connor’s gut just as it did in Trace’s. Connor knows that things haven’t always been the way they are now—but when the world’s been one way for your entire life, it’s hard to imagine it being any different. Years ago, before he was even of unwinding age, Connor got bronchitis, and it just kept coming back. There was actually talk about getting him new lungs, but the problem cleared up. He remembers feeling so sick for so long, after a while he had forgotten what being well even felt like.
Could it be that way for an entire society?
Does a sick society get so used to its illness that it can’t remember being well? What if the memory is too dangerous for the people who like things the way they are?
Connor makes the time to go to the library jet to do some research, but the computers are off-line, so he goes straight to Hayden.
“You’re telling me everything’s down?” he asks Hayden.
Hayden hesitates before answering. “Why? What do you need?” He almost seems suspicious, which is not like him.
“I need to look something up,” Connor tells him.
“Can it wait?”
“It can, but I can’t.”
Hayden sighs. “Okay, I can get you online in the ComBom—on the condition that you let me do the surfing.”
“What, are you afraid I’ll break the web?”
“Just humor me, okay? We’ve had a lot of computer issues, and I’m very protective of the equipment.”
“Fine, let’s just do this before I get dragged off to deal with someone’s idea of an emergency.”
The kids in the ComBom are noticeably stressed as soon as they see Connor. He had no idea he inspires that level of fear. “Take it easy,” he says. “No one’s in trouble.” And then he adds, “Yet.”
“Take ten,” Hayden tells them, and the kids file out and down the stairs, happy to be freed, at least temporarily, from their stations.
Hayden sits down with Connor, who pulls out the slip of paper Trace gave him. “Do a search on this name.”
Hayden types in “Janson Rheinschild,” but the results are not promising.
“Hmm . . . There’s a Jordan Rheinschild, an accountant in Portland. Jared Rheinschild—looks like he’s a fourth grader who won some art contest in Oklahoma. . . .”
“No Janson?”
“A few J. Rheinschilds,” offers Hayden. He checks them out. One’s a mother with a low-hit blog about her kids; another’s a plumber. Not a single one seems to be the kind of person who would have a bronze statue erected to them, then destroyed.
“So who is he?”
“When I find out, I’ll let you know.”
Hayden swivels his chair to face Connor. “Is that all you were looking for?”
Then Connor remembers something. Didn’t the Admiral talk about events leading to “our twisted way of life” too? What were those things he said Connor should educate himself about?
“I want you to look up ‘the terror generation.’ ”
Hayden types it in. “What’s that? A movie?”
But when the results begin popping up, it’s clear that it’s not. There are tons of references. The Admiral was right—all the information is right there for anyone to find, but buried among the billions of web pages on the net. They zero in on a news article.
“Look at the date,” says Hayden. “Isn’t that right around the time of the Heartland War?”
“I don’t know,” Connor says. “Do you know the actual dates of the war?”