Reid remained silent for a long time.
The more he reflected on everything he had done for Myles over the years—actions he had believed were loyalty to the country and its people—the more he realized just how much he had helped this dictator accomplish. And the more deeply he felt that truth, the deeper his silence became.
He mechanically opened the can in his hand, then stopped. It lay quietly in his palm as Reid stared at it blankly, unable to bring it to his mouth.
Watching him like this, Song Zhaomei did not know how to comfort this mentor of hers, this patriot who had spent his entire life loving his country.
The farther he moved from the heart of New America, the clearer the world's outline became—and the more completely the faith in his heart withered away.
When he finally dared to look back, the beliefs that had once supported his entire existence were already like a sandcastle, leaving no trace once the tide of truth had receded.
From then on, it seemed there was nothing left but silence.
Perhaps there could be nothing else left.
Reid remained silent.
He did not know what he was supposed to do.
He had left New America and no longer intended to serve that dictator, Rosalind Myers. But he still had not figured out what he was supposed to do instead.
In the past, he had been like a donkey lashed by a whip. As long as its master cracked the whip, it knew to take a few steps and do what it was told. But after breaking free of the reins, he had become utterly lost, unable even to remember which direction to go.
Perhaps it was exactly like the confusion experienced by the freed Black slaves after the Civil