by Sarah Fine
“I need to talk to the president,” I said. “And it is important.”
“Your mother isn’t in the office,” she replied. “If you’ve scraped your knee and need a Band-Aid, I can send a medical canny to make a house call.”
“You’re not being fair, Madam Vice President.” I stayed formal. Unlike with the president, there has been no such invitation to call her Audrey. “This is actually a matter of national security. It’s urgent. Which makes it critical that I speak to the—”
“And you’re talking to me instead,” she snapped. “If you want to reach the president, talk to me.”
It might turn out to have been the biggest mistake of my life, but for Percy’s sake, I had to be all in. “It’s El,” I said in a choked voice. “Mr. Seidel. He’s off the rails.”
She was quiet for a moment, and I swear, I could barely breathe. “Off the rails,” she finally said after a full minute of silence. “Can you be more specific?”
“He’s done some bad things behind the president’s back. He’s hurting people. Framing them. He’s going after one of my friends. I’m worried he may even kill him. Someone has to stop him.”
“Elwood Seidel is the chief of staff,” the vice president said. “He has the full trust of the president.”
I noticed she didn’t say he had hers, and it was the tiniest spark of hope I needed. “Please. I believe in the president’s values. I’ll support him until the end. But El has to be stopped. And I’m going to stop him if no one else does. I know how this sounds, but I’m not making it up. Please tell the president I need to speak with him and I’ll explain everything.”
After I hung up, Chen whistled low through the speakers. “Do you think she will?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “She’s never liked me.”
“And are you sure you want Sallese to intervene?”
“You don’t trust him, do you?”
“He’s the father of NeuroGo, Marguerite.”
“But there’s no conflict. He sold his shares years ago.”
Chen let it go. “Okay, are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, “but I’m going to do my best to come out of this alive—and to get Percy out, too.”
I have a few ideas about what I need to do, but to be honest, I’m not yet sure how to get it all to work. For now, I’m here, weirdly enough in this exam room, hoping for the best. Then my mother walks in, looking relaxed and happy, and it breaks me. She opens her arms when she sees my face crumple. “Oh, baby, I thought you were out with a friend, but El commed to ask me to meet you here! What’s wrong?”
“Everything, Mom.”
“El just told me we caught the bad guys,” she says. “Everything’s going to be fine!”
“No, Mom! He is the bad guy!” I push myself out of her arms even though I still want and need to be there. “And I think you know it.”
She gives me a faint smile. “Marguerite, what on earth are you talking about? He’s a good man, and he cares about us.” She starts to reach up to push her neurostim, but I grab her wrist. “Stop that,” she shouts, slapping my hand. A moment later she’s given herself the dose, and her smile grows broad again.
I have to look away. The only way I’ll get her back is if I take care of El. I’m afraid that if Percy does his self-destruct thing and kills El, she’ll never snap out of this. Because he’s controlling her. He has to be. She was different before he had that thing implanted in her head. She didn’t even seem to like him all that much.
I’ll just talk her down until I can get to El. “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s been a rough day.”
She strokes my hair. “I know. But it’ll be over soon, and we can go home. El is so relieved that he’s captured one of the terrorists.”
So that’s how they’re spinning it. “That is so amazing. Can I talk to him? I don’t want to talk to anyone but him.”
“I’ll go ask one of the cannies if El can be interrupted. I am sure he would want to see you.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, my heart skipping. If he’s in with Percy . . .
But a few minutes after my mom leaves, El comes in with a patrol canny by his side. “Nice to see you, Marguerite. You won’t mind if we scan you?”
“Scan me? Whatever.”
“Her biostats are significantly out of range,” says the canny, and I survive the moment by imagining kicking it in the crotch just to find out if cannies are anatomically correct.
“Not surprising,” says El. “She’s pretty much proven herself a traitor.”
“What?” I give him big eyes, my mouth hanging open in shock. “I risked my life tonight to catch FragFlwr!”
“Who turned out to be one of your classmates,” he says drily. “The one you tried to protect.”
My cheeks grow warm. “Obviously I hadn’t figured it out at that point.” Except I had. “But he’s here now, isn’t he?”
“Oh yes. We cornered him on the roof of a building in Arlington. In the end he wasn’t so hard to catch.”
“And is he cooperating?”
El loses his relaxed, playful look. “He will.”
“He won’t, El. He doesn’t think like we do.”
“Let me guess—you think you can convince him to cooperate?”
“I do.”
“Search her,” El says to the canny.
I hold out my arms as the machineman goes through my pockets. He pulls out the scrap of paper a moment later and hands it to El.
El starts to laugh. “Paper? Are you serious? Where did you get this?”
“Look at the top.”
He runs his thumb over the raised flower design on the edge and peers at it intently. “What is this?”
“A memento from his parents, I’m pretty sure. I think that if I give it to him, he’ll talk.” At least, that’s what Yves said. He said it was what Percy needed.
El hands the scrap of paper to me. “I don’t get it, but go ahead. You have ten minutes with him. If he cooperates, it’ll help you.”
I hold the paper in my hand and stroke its fragile length with my fingertips. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he replies. “If you can’t get him to talk—”
“I get it, El. I’m on a doomed transport back to Houston that will never make it.”
For a moment, he regards me, his look conflicted. Then he simply says, “I wanted us to be one happy family, and you’ve ruined that.” He pushes his way through the door, and as I follow, he walks over to my mother, who is standing in the center of the hallway.
He cups her face in his hands.
He tilts her head up.
And he kisses her.
I have never felt this kind of hate before, not even when people threw bodily fluids on me, not even when Gia and Bianca and so many others suggested that I got where I am by sleeping with a man old enough to be my grandfather. None of that compares to watching a murderer control my mom like this.
El pulls away from her. “Oh, are you still there?” He waves a patrol canny over. “Please escort Marguerite to 11A, and give her ten minutes with the prisoner.”
“Of course, sir.” The canny gestures for me to follow him. I do, because it’s my only chance to stop any of this madness.
When I first see Percy, his back is to me. He’s standing over a body on an examination chair. But when the canny announces me, he turns, and instantly I see the change in him. He looks stricken, circles under his eyes and horror inside them. My gaze strays past him to the person on the chair—it’s Kyla, her eyes closed and her limbs loose. Her arm with the comband is dangling off the chair, playing the same anime movie she was watching when I visited before.
“Is she alive?” I ask in a small voice.
“Yes, simply exhausted, I think,” he says, just as small. Because that is what we are, caught up in this huge monster’s mouth.
“It’s the neurostim,” I tell him. “El put one on her.”
“And her m
other. But that was before, probably to get her to cooperate.”
Like he did with Mom. “I know I played a part in this.”
“None of this is your fault, Marguerite,” he says, leaving Kyla’s side. He stands in front of me, his lean frame slumped. He looks tired.
“Have they hurt you?”
“Not yet.” He puts his hands on my arms and laughs, almost to himself. “It’s good to see you.”
My hands touch his elbows. I can feel his warmth. I am amazed that he is here, a miracle wrapped in skin. “Your parents must have loved you very much,” I say, taking in his face, the metallic glint in his blue eyes.
“Ah, Chen told you about me.”
I nod. “I can’t say I was that surprised. It all made sense.”
The corner of his mouth rises. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“But he also told me you were here for revenge,” I whisper.
He waggles his eyebrows at me. “And are you here to stop me?”
“Yeah.” We are chest to chest now, and he is more human than any human I’ve ever touched. I put my hands on him and feel his beating heart.
“It’s racing. A hundred and fifty-one beats per minute,” he whispers. “Because of you.”
“I brought you something. To remind you of who you are.”
He sets his forehead on mine. “I know who I am.”
“And what you are.”
He nods. “It’s going to be okay, Marguerite. I promise.”
“You can’t,” I say, my voice cracking.
His smile is so sad. “I can. But it will never be the same, and I know that.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.” I pull the scrap of paper from my pocket and slip it into his palm. His fingers close over it. “Your parents worked so hard to protect you. Think of them.”
“I know,” he says, taking a step back from me. He looks down at the paper. “But they would have understood.”
And as he brushes his thumb over the flower on the scrap, I know I have played into his hands. I watch helplessly as the writing appears in big block letters, as Percy’s eyes skim over what appears to be code.
Code.
“Percy?”
Because he’s not seeing me. He’s looking past me. “It’ll be okay,” he says quietly.
“Stop,” I say, moving close. “Stop this. For me. Please.”
“This has to happen now. Leave the room if you can.”
“I’m not going anywhere!”
He gives me a regretful look and then whispers something under his breath.
I can’t make it out, because there’s a shout behind me and the sound of the door sliding open. I know El and his canny stooges are in the room. But all I see is Percy’s eyes go blank. All I feel is his body go stiff against mine, every muscle turning to steel. I catch him as he falls forward and carefully lower him to the ground as El says, “What just happened? What did you do?”
“I don’t know. I—he’s not breathing!” Panic strikes as I tilt Percy’s head back. He hasn’t done it, has he? His lips are pressed tight, his jaw clenched. His eyes are wide open. Glassy and empty. This can’t be it. It can’t be.
I place my hand over his heart again. Then lower my head and put my ear to his chest.
This time, it’s silent.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Percy
This was not what I expected to happen.
I knew I needed my internal menu to pop up at just the right time, with all the pieces in place, all the options on the table. I thought I knew what came next.
Sometimes I’m a little too arrogant for my own good.
I lie here, stiff as the floor beneath me. My muscles are screaming. My lungs are screaming. My skin, my teeth, my fingernails, my ears and nose, my eyes. There is not a single part of me that isn’t in utter agony.
I wish I had triggered the self-destruct mechanism. Surely that would have hurt less.
But no, no. Being the optimistic fellow I am, having faith in my parents and their brilliance, having read all my father’s instructions to me before I enabled all the options in the menu, I decided to do something else.
System update.
Now I’m looking at the countdown to completion: nine minutes and forty-two seconds. Until then, I have to lie here and watch Marguerite, her fear for me, her panic, surrounded by enemies. Nine minutes might be several too long.
“He’s dying,” she shrieks, her hand on my chest. “Let that medical canny through!”
Standing just behind her, Elwood looks down at me. “I’m thinking this is a pretty deserved fate, Marguerite.” He picks up the flower paper. The ink will fade, but he must still be able to see it, because he adds, “For both of you. You tried to help him, didn’t you?”
“Please,” she sobs, lowering her head right over my face. If I could move my eyes, I’d stare at her lips, but instead I’m a corpse, and my gaze is fixed on the monster over her shoulder. “His heart has stopped.”
“That’s most unfortunate,” Elwood says. “But I’m sure I can find the information I need some other way. You might even be able to help me.”
Marguerite is on her feet with startling quickness. She slaps Elwood across the face, and he staggers out of my view. He’s back in half a second, though.
And he slaps her right back. “Colette,” he calls as he grabs Marguerite roughly by her shoulders. “Marguerite needs you.”
“Don’t you bring her in here,” Marguerite warns, right before she kicks Elwood square in his . . . oh, ouch. She stands over him as he collapses to his hands and knees, his eyes bulging, right next to me. “I’d hate for her to see me kill you.”
“Restrain her,” he wheezes.
Marguerite howls and struggles as the patrol cannies rush her, grabbing her around the waist, holding her legs. Just like they did to Kyla.
“Neurostim her,” Elwood says to the medical canny. “Get the other girl off the table and then plug Marguerite in. Now.” He coughs and slowly sits up. “I should have done this days ago.”
“Mom!” Marguerite screams as a woman with curly black hair and eyes just like her daughter’s rushes over to help Elwood from the floor. “Com the med canny for Percy! Please!”
She’s not asking for help for herself, even though she’s in the struggle of her life.
She’s asking her mother to help me. Well, now I am genuinely charmed.
Nine minutes and three seconds. I have never felt this helpless. This pain feels as if it will never end, like the little nanodemons inside me are going to burst through my skin, flowing out from my ears and nostrils, surfing gleefully on my liquefied brain matter. Now there are sparks in front of my eyes. I think my visual augmentation chip might detonate.
My ears work perfectly well, though. I can hear a car landing outside, its magnetic wheels touching down on asphalt.
In here is chaos. Two patrol cannies carry Kyla, who is still limp and incoherent, past me, headed out of the room. A medical canny strides by, carrying a sealed tray of medical equipment. “She will have to be sedated,” it says. “She is too active for implantation. The risk for brain damage is high.”
“Do it anyway,” Elwood snarls.
“Mom,” Marguerite pleads. I listen to the patrol cannies fastening the straps around her body.
The dark-haired woman stands by Elwood. He puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. “She’s going to be fine, Colette. You know this is best for her.” He kisses her forehead.
“This is really for the best, baby,” Colette says. “You’ll feel so much better.”
I didn’t think this could hurt more, and I was wrong. Eight minutes and thirty-nine seconds.
“Do I have your consent to proceed?” asks the medical canny.
Marguerite screams, “No!”
Her mother calmly says, “Yes.”
“You’re a minor, Mar,” Elwood says. “Your mom is looking out for you. She knows best.”
“Or maybe I do
,” says a new voice. One I recognize.
“Mr. President,” Elwood and Colette say at once, turning to the man who has entered the room. Secret Service cannies stride past, standing shoulder to shoulder against the walls.
I see no human agents. Perhaps that’s because they’ll have feelings about what they see happening. These agents could, but I have no doubt their empathy settings have been dialed to zero.
I hope for all our sakes that the president’s have not.
“What the hell are you doing?” President Sallese asks his chief of staff. “I thought we were on the same page, or at least the same side.”
Elwood’s mouth opens and closes, and then he stammers, “But-but we are, sir!”
Wynn Sallese shakes his lionlike head. “I would never condone this.”
“Uncle Wynn,” Marguerite says with a whimper.
“It’s going to be okay, Marguerite,” he says gently. “Please,” he adds, gesturing to his Secret Service cannies, “get her off that table.”
They begin to do his bidding as the president faces down his chief of staff. No one is looking at me, but then again, I’m just the corpse on the floor.
Eight minutes and nine seconds. But maybe it won’t matter after all.
“Son, I’m disappointed in you. I trusted you to handle our agents doing the investigation. I trusted you to do a good job.”
Elwood points at me. “This is the person who was helping suspects escape!”
Sallese finally seems to notice my body lying at his feet. “Did you kill him?”
“He killed himself,” Elwood says. “Proof of his guilt, I’d say.”
“So if I hand you a gun, would you kill yourself?”
“What? No!”
The president gives him a sad look. “That’s a shame.”
Elwood backs up, out of my line of sight. All I can see is the president now, regarding his right-hand man with disdain. “I’ve figured out what you’ve done, and it’s broken my heart.”
“Wait, what?” Elwood’s voice is an octave higher than usual.
“I found the evidence, son. You couldn’t hide it forever. How long did it take you to plan the bombings?”
“Mr. President, Wynn, you have to know, I-I-I didn—”
