by Julian North
“Do you hate them all? Or just Drake?”
“I’m not sure I even hate Drake, not the way the rest of you do. He’s a jack-A, and his dad is capable of great evil. But I don’t burn inside the way the rest of you do.”
“Then why are you part of this?” I asked. “You’re risking a lot. Being on the wrong side of a fight with the Foster-Rose-Harts and the Pillis-Smiths is a dangerous thing, by the standard of your world, at least.”
We heard the deep groaning of a large drone engine over the sounds of the storm. The wind must’ve been giving it a hard time. The dark and Nythan’s canopy made it hard to see anything.
“It’s your world too. And this ‘war,’ as Havelock calls it, makes us alive. We’re inside the great machine, seeing the levers working, shaping the future of humanity. What more could you want?”
I knew that answer. “Live a quiet life, surrounded by people who care about me. Plenty to eat, good health.”
Nythan laughed, as if I’d made a joke. “Be honest with yourself. Could you really go back to Bronx City now? To your public school, to the much smaller world you lived in? All the while living on borrowed time, while your fate is being shaped elsewhere? We are not meant for such small things. We are giants.”
“You sound like them,” I accused.
“Except that I’m mother nature’s very own mutation.” He tapped his head. “No bacteria manufactured what’s up here, girl.”
“Or else your parents would’ve asked for their money back.”
I felt his smile, even in the dark. “Not bad, Daniela. Now tell me, how does a nice girl like you end up being Alexander Foster-Rose-Hart’s date to the grandest Tuck social event of the year? Do you like that chunk of rock?”
The muscles in my arms twitched. I forced myself to suck in the damp air rather than let loose the first, rather crude answer which came to mind. “It gets me inside the house.”
“Evasive. You said ‘yes’ to him before you knew anything about stealing the organic samples we need.”
“Why the hell are you concerned if some guy wants to spend time with me?” I barked, drawing far enough away from Nythan to get myself soaked. “The reaction of everyone in that room when I told you…even Havelock…it was like I had Resister-H.”
“Relax, relax,” he said quickly. “You’re getting drenched.”
The cool rain water crawled into my hair and leaked onto my face. The drips pooled around my lips. It tasted sweeter than it should have. This was being alive. I didn’t need a war for that. I just needed to do what had to be done, then get back to the life I wanted.
“You tell me some things,” I said.
“Deal. Come back under the canopy.”
I did and we resumed walking. “Could I be sick too?”
“What?”
“The Waste…my brother has it. Does that mean I have it too?”
I could almost hear the gears in Nythan’s mind turning, processing. Something tickled my mind, but I was too anxious to hear his answer to give the sensation its due. “I doubt your parents were carriers. Too old. We aren’t sure how the Waste was introduced. Maybe at birth, without your mom knowing. And I think DN10-191 would’ve corrected any mal—”
My spider-sense surged like an electric current. I dove to the ground, grabbing Nythan as I did so.
An explosion ripped through the sky above us: a brilliant flash of fire accompanied by the deafening roar of metal being ripped apart. The air became hot. Searing fire cut into my arm. Fragments fell around me like tiny meteors, sizzling as the rain struck them. I realized the sky above us was clear. Nythan’s familiar was gone. Incinerated.
“Run!” I shouted, pulling us both up, and yanking him with me. We were only one avenue away from the subway.
The predator appeared in front of me, a giant hawk forged of black composite alloy, propelled by the spinning blades at its sides. Its gaze was invisible waves of infrared, its talons were projectiles fired by the ominous barrel on its nose. We ran towards it. Its engine continued to grumble as the storm yanked at its wings. My blood was ice, my limbs nimble. I bathed in the power within me. I could’ve outrun a car at that moment. But Nythan couldn’t.
I sensed the hunger of the mechanical beast above. Each time its position shifted, each time its engines groaned with the effort of keeping its fuselage stable, I saw it, I felt it. I had a hand wrapped around Nythan’s arm, my fingers locked on him like a metal vise.
“When I say move, you go,” I shouted.
There wasn’t time for an answer.
A gust of wind rippled through the sky, the breath of angry gods. Trees swayed and the drone veered, its engines not constructed for conditions such as these.
“Now!”
We ran towards the road, into traffic. Floating phantoms of brightness—the headlights of oncoming cars—sped towards us. The drone closed in, its mechanical mind straining for a shot that passed its safety parameters. Not easy in the storm; even harder in the middle of a sea of traffic. Brakes screeched and tires skidded as our presence triggered the vehicles’ autonomous safety features. A black U-cab came to a halt two feet from my knees. In Bronx City, Nythan and I would’ve been plowed, but in Manhattan we’d created a corridor of parked cars up and down the street.
I yanked Nythan around the nearest vehicle, pulling him to the ground. “Under, as far as you can.”
We crawled as far beneath the vehicle as we could. The sickening roar above drew closer, then passed over our heads. Its microchip brain wouldn’t allow the drone to fire into Manhattan traffic.
“Up, follow me,” I said, rolling out from beneath the car. I tried the vehicle door. Locked. A frightened-looking man cowered in the corner. “Run, and stay down.”
We dashed down the road between two lanes of halted cars. Horns blared. The sickly-sweet voice of the U-cab lady requested we clear the road. No chance of that. I heard the angry drone behind me.
“Keep going till I say ‘down.’ But when I say it, you do it.”
I took off again, Nythan beside me. We ran to the next lane, then back again. I heard the beast. Straining, wanting, the projectile in its barrel trained on my back, but it wasn’t steady enough to fire. The emerald globe of the subway station entrance was ahead, just off the road to my right. That was my finish line. The wind pushed at me, the rain bit into my arms. The machine’s hungry growl came, pushing and fighting against the elements.
“Down,” I yelled over my shoulder.
“Jack me,” I heard Nythan shout as we slid onto the slick roadway.
A slug of death shot past my head, not more than three inches from the base of my skull. I felt a rush of air, the heat of the projectile’s passage. The shot that almost ended my life slammed into the asphalt ahead with a single spark and a dull thud. The drone passed above, whining hard, its prey still alive. For now.
“The subway station. Run.”
Water flew up around us as we galloped across the street. I leaped over the hood of a fancy sedan, jumping from its surface onto the sidewalk. A screeching car siren bawled at me. Nythan lagged behind, his eyes fixed on the drone preparing for yet another pass.
“Let’s go, mutation boy,” I called back to him, keeping a close eye on the drone’s progress. The subway station steps were less than ten feet from me. I could dive inside if necessary.
Nythan finally cleared the cars, running onto the sidewalk as the dark machine completed its circuit. Its barrel faced us again, a direct shot. I shoved Nythan at the staircase, watching him stumble to safety. I took one step, then jumped as if I was diving into a pool on some Manhattan rooftop. Except there was only concrete below. My spider-sense jolted me and I twisted in mid-flight. The drone’s shot whizzed under my belly, buzzing like an angry hornet. My body burned like ice. I luxuriated in the surge of magnificent energy; I had control of every muscle, my balance perfect. Time slowed. I shifted my weight forward, somersaulting as I flew towards the stairs. Only when my feet were back under me and my a
rms extended for balance did the world return to normal speed. I came down like a gymnast from a triple axel, my knees bending as I stuck the landing.
“Holy hot damn,” Nythan exclaimed.
“Inside,” I said, pulling him into the safety of the subterranean warren.
“Not bad, not bad,” Nythan babbled as we walked towards the deserted platform. He looked like a wet sheepdog. “I hope you still don’t have any doubts about your gifts.”
“I don’t have any doubt that we’ve gotten the attention of some dangerous people. Are subway stations monitored?”
Nythan looked around. “Video definitely. Probably not audio. It would be illegal. But you never know. We haven’t done anything wrong. Nothing to worry about.”
“A drone just tried to perforate us.”
“It wasn’t the Authority. They would have sent officers with a warrant. It was a renegade of some kind.”
“So who the hell sent that thing?” I asked.
Nythan tapped his foot on the ground several times. “A corp, I would think. They have drone licenses. You can guess the most likely candidate.”
“If Rose-Hart knows, then everything is lost.” I shook my head. “But that doesn’t make sense. A corp has better ways, more resources. Hired thugs. This was public, sloppy.”
“Maybe. They might blame it on the terrorists the Authority has been hunting.”
“Or it wasn’t a corp. It was a person, someone who only has a few blunt tools…” Like stolen drones.
A number four train glided into the station.
“Who?”
I shrugged, not willing to share my knowledge and suspicions.
The doors slid open.
“Charges will be incurred upon entry to the train. Stand clear of the closing doors.”
“Looks like you’re going to get a chance to see Bronx City,” I said, urging Nythan onto the train with a gentle push to the back. “I’ve got a pill in each of my hands. You’re screwed whichever one you pick.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
I called in the troops to meet us at the station. It was approaching midnight by the time our train pulled into Bronx City. Not the best time to be strolling about.
Kortilla was waiting at the exit. Her brothers, Otega and Matias, loitered a few steps away, slapping at a dancing coin projected from their visers. They looked like giant babies trying to hit the mobile above their crib.
I squeezed Kortilla tight; I hoped it was enough to thank her for Mateo, and beg her forgiveness for hurting her after the track meet. “Thank you for meeting us, hermana.” To Otega and Matias, I called, “Mis hermanos, qué pasa?”
The pair sauntered over, arms hanging and swinging. Their clothes were torn, held together with fabricated stitches of faux gold, barrio style. Same for their teeth. Ink and scars—real ones—covered their arms. These two street boys were blood to me, but I understood the chagrin on Nythan’s face. They didn’t look friendly.
I hugged them both, one with each arm. It was good to be among those who wanted nothing from me. I felt far safer on these mean streets in the dead of night than I did any place in Manhattan.
Matias leered at Nythan, shoulders jerking in a barrio challenge. He spoke Barriola. “Nani blancmeutro, Dee?” Who is the white corpse?
Nythan took a step back, then another, his face contorted in indignation and horror. I slid myself between those two, each of them a prince in their own world, both lost in the other’s domain.
“This is Nythan, he’s my friend from school. My new school. He’s here to help me.”
Otega came up beside his larger, older brother. Together, the Gonzales kids had the width of four or five Nythan Royces.
“What can dis’ skinny little cake kid do ‘fer you, Dee? He’s practically peeing his pants.”
“Enough, Matias,” I said.
But he wasn’t ready to quit. It wasn’t every day he got a real, live richie to play with. Matias threw a shadow punch. It was slow, soft, and deliberately short of its mark. Nythan still flinched. Another jab flew, this one closer.
Nythan’s face hardened, his lips grew taut. “Quit trying to hit me and hit me,” he said in a voice that wasn’t quite his own.
Matias froze mid-punch. His eyes bore into Nythan. “Say it again.”
“Come on, Neo. Quit trying to hit me and just hit me,” Nythan repeated in the same off tone.
Matias’s jaw dropped. “Jack-A, you seen The Matrix? No way. That flick is older than my mama,” He dropped his fist and did a little circle dance. “Okay, skin on skin, corpse-man.” He held up a fist for Nythan to tap.
I started to explain it. “You’re supposed to—”
Nythan got it. He was a quick study, whatever the subject.
“Lame-ism spans race, income, and city boundaries,” Kortilla muttered. “Let’s get going.”
Matias walked beside Nythan. “What else you seen, corpse-man?”
Nythan was talking to him, but his eyes and mind were elsewhere. Initially, he watched Kortilla. But after a block or so, he focused on what was around him: hulks of buildings, fabricated box homes, the hum of fuel-powered generators, the stink of trash, men, and desperation. Nythan held his hand over his face as we passed a lurker alley. Matias motioned Nythan excitedly toward the dark, foul-smelling passage.
“It’s like friggin’ Alien—after the babies hatch. You never seen nothin’ like it. I swear, corpse-man, I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe…attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion…”
Nythan shook his head. I pinged Aba that I’d be at Kortilla’s tonight. No way I was taking Nythan home.
Even without seeing his face, I felt Nythan’s disgust as we walked up the squatter-infested stairs to Kortilla’s place. He looked like a man rescued from a week stranded at sea by the time we got to Kortilla’s living room. I glanced at my viser to find a text ping from Nythan. He must’ve flicked it out on the way over.
“If you tell her about tonight, you are putting her in danger.”
Kortilla’s mom popped out of her room when we entered, even though we’d tried to be quiet. She looked Nythan up and down.
“Ay, just bones on that one,” she commented on the way to the kitchen.
Mrs. Gonzales put a big bowl of rice and black beans, with bits of spicy chorizo mixed in, on the table for us. She planted a kiss on the top of my head before trudging back to her room.
I didn’t realize I was starving till I saw food. Nythan took a seat beside me. He had to be as hungry as I was. He took the food like a person not wanting to offend, but not wanting to eat it either. He chewed as if tasting something foreign.
“You don’t like my mama’s cooking, Nythan?” Kortilla asked, part in challenge, part in surprise.
“No, no, it’s not that,” Nythan said hastily. “It is rather tasty—just different.”
“Fabricated,” I said. “You get used to it. Especially if that’s all there is.”
“Better than anything manufactured in Manhattan. Better than some grown stuff I’ve had.”
Kortilla patted him on the shoulder as she walked away. “Good boy.”
“I should get a U-cab home,” Nythan said once we were alone. “It’s probably safe now.”
I looked at my viser’s newsfeed, scanning headlines. I frowned. “They’re calling this a drone malfunction during storm conditions. A U-cab booking is direct from your personal credit account. You could be tracked.”
“That’s true any time,” Nythan pointed out.
“A U-cab in the middle of the night is making it easy for them. But it’s up to you, Nythan. I’m not your keeper.”
Kortilla came out of her room holding a thick blanket and a pillow. She thumped them down on the floor. Otega was already asleep on the couch. “Bed’s ready, Nythan.”
“Guess I’ll stay,” he said, and went back to his food.
I took another bite. As I chewed, I studied him. Nythan was absorbed in whatever was flashi
ng on his viser. He shoveled the rice in with his free hand.
“Nythan?”
“Yeah?” He didn’t look up.
“You said earlier that you didn’t hate the highborn the way the rest of us do.”
Now he looked at me. “I did.”
“What about the rest? Alissa and Lara?”
Nythan put his fork down and wiped his mouth with his napkin. He let go of a heavy sigh. “Alissa had an older sister. Until the red bus attack.”
“She was killed in the attacks?”
Nythan shook his head. “One of the suicide bombers. Someone got to her, maybe gave her something. I don’t know.”
I was silent. “I mentioned at her house that the attack might have been staged by the Orderists. She stared a spear into my heart.”
“She knows it was staged—to provoke sympathy, outrage. To garner the votes they needed. But if your sister rammed a car into a bus full of kids…”
“And Lara? She’s always had an issue with me. Her family’s rich, and she wasn’t even born in this country. She nearly cut out Alissa’s heart when she mentioned slaves. Why would she be involved? She doesn’t seem to care about anyone.”
“Nobody does hate like Lara. I don’t know exactly what happened to her. Something in Korea. Her family lost some kind of power struggle in the Corporate Council. I’ve been over at her house a few times, but neither of her parents speak a word of English. They are hardcore intensive types. Might be where Lara gets it from. She may not love you, but I don’t doubt her hate for highborn, and most especially for corps. And she’s got a special place in her black heart for your boy Alexander and his sister. If there’s a chance to go after Rose-Hart Industries, you can count on her.”
“And Havelock?”
Nythan shrugged. “He started all this, brought us together. But he doesn’t show us any more of the game board than he has to. He’s been headmaster a long time. He’s seen what the world is becoming. Maybe it’s got something to do with what happened in Rwanda. Or maybe he’s doing what he thinks is right because he doesn’t want to see any more slaughter.”
