Hosea pressed his lips together. “Some think Voltaire is still conducting it, using a secret network of spies and allies to distribute information about when and where to strike. The Army members surface a handful at a time and conduct their suicide missions, knowing they’ll be caught and executed for it.”

I shivered. “But there must be some way of recognizing them before they strike.”

Hosea shrugged. “For now, there isn’t. After the Joust this year, when the workers partake of the Rebirth, Hasting will have a better idea of who to suspect.”

I frowned. “I just don’t understand. Why does Voltaire’s Army want to turn the workers against us Record Keepers? We’re all on the same side.”

“Maybe, but they want the Second Brother to represent himself before the Assembly. You saw the condition of the village. They want more for the people.”

“They need medicine and better shelter, but why aspire to influence the Assembly? They have us, the First Brothers, to care for their needs.”

He shook his head. “They don’t believe the Record Keepers are taking care of the Kongo workers’ interests.”

I tried to speak, but he held up a hand.

“And, according to them, it’s too late for the Keepers to change their ways. Food and shelter isn’t enough. They want education and direct participation in government.”

“That’s nutty! A Second Brother making law? Their psyches would collapse with the effort.”

He frowned down at me. “Careful, Cobane. In the wrong crowd, those words will get you killed.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Hosea went on. “The Rebels in Voltaire’s Army are smart. Smarter than Jones would have you believe. They’re tired of being patronized by Hasting. They want the Record Keepers gone, not just from the Kongo, but from the face of the Earth.”

My heart pounded. “How many workers have joined Voltaire’s Army?”

“I don’t know, but it’s growing fast. It’s difficult to gauge with all the fighting.”

I nodded. “And where do you stand in all this?” I asked. “I assume you’re a New Seeder.” I bit my lip. This was a question Jones would undoubtedly want answered, but I asked it casually, keeping my eyes down to hide my deceitful intention.

He hesitated. “I’m a medic, a scientist. I want no part of Kongo politics or war.”

“And what about all those things you said during class, and the weapons book I found in your room? Your father doesn’t condone that kind of thing—does he?”

When he didn’t answer, I looked up, willing him to disclose something, anything. We were nearing the Schoolhouse and my future depended on his candor.