Page 20 of Connected
“Oh God, sir, I promise I won’t?—”
“Boy, don’t make promises you can’t keep. You are human. Humans are imperfect. But here’s the key.” Townsend had paused to drink some whiskey and light a cigarette. “When you discover your mistake and you’re still dealing with the consequences, don’t waste energy kicking yourself. Doing so only detracts from your problem-solving. Later you can analyze what went wrong and take steps to avoid a repeat. Your mistakes should be an opportunity for improvement—not an excuse to give up.”
Owen had taken that lecture to heart. And it had probably been one of the earliest steps toward killing his idealism and building his shell, both of which had helped to keep him alive over the years. So he needed to heed Townsend’s words now as well.
You fucked up, he told himself.What are you going to do about it?
At the moment, it seemed, all he could do was wait.
The lights turnedon without warning, blinding him. When he managed to open his eyes again, Miller stood in front of him, looking like a stern teacher about to call on a particularly dull student.
“It’s not an especially comfortable position, is it?” Miller asked. “Have the cramps started yet?”
“No.” That wasn’t the absolute truth. Owen’s joints, which tended to ache with ordinary activity, were beginning to protest in earnest.
“They will. You won’t die of asphyxiation like this, by the way. For one thing, you’re not truly being crucified in that your arms aren’t supporting your weight. We could switch to that later. We’ll see. But in any case, modern science has determined that crucifixion doesn’t actually cause death by asphyxiation. They did experiments to test this. Isn’t science lovely?”
“I’m not in the mood for a lecture. Or banter. Can you just tell me what you want?”
“Whatyou’re in the mood for is irrelevant.”
Miller did that hand gesture again, and before Owen could brace himself, the agony hit. It might have been worse than the first time. He wasn’t sure.
When the pain subsided, Miller smiled. “I enjoy watching others in pain, but my little bit of fun isn’t the primary point. I’m milling you, remember? Reshaping you into something useful.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” That came out almost as a sob, so Owen swallowed hard and embraced his anger instead. “You’re as bad as the chief—talking in circles and never fucking spitting it out. Why can’t you just be fucking clear?”
Miller tilted his head as if this were interesting. “Like the chief. Do you mean your former one or the current? It’s an apt comparison either way, I think. I don’t know why they are obscure, but in my case it’s because I can be, and because it’s entertaining. But… I suppose I can give you a little straight exposition.”
Owen wanted to scream and hurl invectives, but that would be a waste of energy.Let him monologue. It’s information, and information is power.
“Tell me,” said Owen as evenly as he could.
“The gist of it, Agent Clark, is that I wish to recruit you.”
That was so unexpected that Owen almost forgot his misery. “For what?”
Miller sighed as if Owen was tedious in his ignorance. “Put bluntly, I wish you to join the opposition.” Before Owen could ask what the hell that meant, Miller continued. “Tell me, what did your chief—your former chief especially—claim was the primary mission of your Bureau? Was it to conquer evil?”
“That’s impossible.”
“Then what?”
Owen, not in the best frame of mind for being quizzed, concentrated as well as he was able. Luckily, this was a theme Townsend had visited often, it being one of his favorite office lecture topics. “Balance. We try to maintain the balance.”
Miller slowly clapped his hands. “Oh, very good. I see you learned your lessons like a good little agent. But tell me—do you believe in this mission?”
On the one hand, engaging in this stupid discussion was better than being dead or in agony. But Owen was physically uncomfortable, and his patience had worn thin. “Why don’t you unchain me? We can sit down and discuss philosophy like civilized people.”
That made Miller chuckle. “But neither of us is civilized. Agent Cook, do you perform your duties in order to preserve the balance between good and evil?”
“No.”
“Then what do you hope to attain?”
“I want to help people.” It sounded idiotic, like something a first-grader might come up with. But it was also true—or at least it had been when he first joined the Bureau. “I want to protect sentient beings of all species from those who abuse their power.”
“How noble of you. And how’s that working out?”
