Free The Beam: Season Three by Sean Platt, Johnny B. Truant Page A

shake his head, but doing so would cross a line. This poor kid never had a chance. He’d grown up half cyborg. No wonder he couldn’t function without the Beam access he was clearly working so hard to avoid. He’d gone through his formative years with The Beam as part of his mind, body, and soul. Cutting it off would be like Nicolai giving himself a lobotomy.  
    “But those implants are all inactive now.”  
    “I don’t trust the network.” Sam swallowed but kept his eyes on Nicolai’s. Nicolai saw strength enter his gaze. What this kid was doing every day of his life took tremendous guts. It would be like going through withdrawal from a horrible drug…but no matter how long he stayed clean, the withdrawal symptoms would never, ever improve.  
    “Why?”  
    “I have my reasons.”  
    Nicolai decided not to push further. Sam’s responses had gone from rambling and incoherent to terse and focused. He could fight it off, if he tried.  
    Nicolai watched him for a few seconds longer, wondering if he should bring up the idea of pharmaceutical intervention. Living as Sam did must be excruciating. But he decided not to say anything because every person needs their pain, and all that had failed to kill Nicolai over the years had only made him stronger.  
    “Okay,” said Nicolai. “What would you like to know?”  
    “What did you want to tell me?” Sam countered. His gaze was holding, but his leg was back to bouncing on the ball of his foot. His fingers had resumed drumming atop his knee.  
    “I’m not sure where to begin.” Nicolai could tell Sam everything, if he wanted. When he’d investigated Sam, it hadn’t taken much digging to see that while he still held valid press credentials, he hadn’t reported to the Sentinel or any other news outlet for years. His public credibility was shot. If Sam was cornered and told others that Nicolai Costa had blabbed, nobody would believe him. But on the other hand, if Sam wasn’t reporting to the Sentinel , he might be reporting to someone — or many someones — even more influential.
    “Tell me about the Beau Monde.”
    “It’s real,” Nicolai answered, surprising himself with his bluntness — followed by a spiteful appendix: “But I’m not in it.”  
    “I know that,” said Sam. “But maybe you can tell me about how it’s influencing Shift.”  
    “I only know that Isaac and Micah Ryan — ”
    “According to my sources, a lot of decision makers from both sides — not just the Ryan brothers — will be at a pre-Shift event in two days,” Sam said.
    “Craig Braemon’s Respero event for the Violet James Foundation,” Nicolai recited. “What about it?”  
    “Are you going?”
    “No.”
    Across from Nicolai, Sam stood. He crossed to the door, touched the privacy seal, paced, then scratched his head like there were bugs in his hair.  
    “Tell me what Sterling Gibson wouldn’t publish,” said Sam. “And afterward, let’s see if I can change your mind.”  
    “About going to Braemon’s thing?” Nicolai shook his head. “No way. I’m not in politics anymore.”
    Sam sat again, both legs bouncing, all fingers drumming.  
    “I’ll bet you are,” he said, “whether you realize it or not.”

Chapter Seven

    June 16, 2049 — Grid-Neutral Appalachian Territories

    “Leonidas,” said the man with the big arms. Well, big arm . The other — all exposed machinery — was more accurately an arm ature .  
    Leo turned the rest of the way around, moving Gregory from his peripheral vision to front and center. He’d been standing with his arms crossed, overlooking the mountain valley. Appearing properly pensive, he hoped. Penitent maybe. Like a man finally growing old, questioning everything he’d always been so sure of in the past.  
    “I’m just Leo up here, Gregory.”  
    “Okay,” Gregory said, his face contorting. The face looked strange to Leo, who’d got used to Gregory in his usual backdrop, down in DZ. But Gregory had