by Rebecca Rode
She’d effectively dodged the question. I looked at Travers, who had a hint of displeasure in his expression. He didn’t understand why I would pursue this when it made Gram uncomfortable. “Then why? What disagreement is terrible enough to make you avoid each other?”
“Avoid?” She shook her head. “I’ve invited him to visit me nearly every week in the past few months. Even stopped by your home a few times. He wouldn’t see me.”
“Because he’s angry at something you did?”
She swallowed. “Because he’s angry at something I allowed. Even though I had no idea what the consequences would be at the time. Believe me, I’ve suffered for it every day since.”
Gram had a lot of sorrows, but one in particular seemed to haunt her. “Grandpa Vance’s death.”
“Before DNR-6 was discovered and officially named, dozens of patients were getting sick with a strange brain disease. Vance’s sister was one of the first to fall ill.”
“Aunt Lucy,” I said softly. She’d died of the disease just weeks before Grandpa Vance. Since Aunt Laura was long gone, it made her his last remaining family member.
She nodded. “Vance was never an emotional man, but his sister’s illness nearly broke him. The physicians offered an experimental medication. Vance was reluctant to try it, given Lucy’s weak state. He concocted a plan to get himself infected. If it worked, he would allow the physicians to use the treatment on himself to see if it would save his sister. He grew obsessed with the idea. It was all he would talk about.” Gram’s voice wobbled, and she blew out a quick breath to gain control of her emotions. “What was I supposed to do? Say he couldn’t try to save someone he desperately loved? No matter how much I needed him, I had no right to say no.”
To my surprise, Travers broke in. “Lucy Hawking was the first to be placed in a medical coma to try and stop the advancement of the disease.”
“And it worked for a while,” Gram said. “Vance was hopeful. Everything went according to plan—the implantation, everything. They infected him with the virus from his own sister’s brain. Then they put him through the treatment. When that failed, they tried another and another.”
This I remembered. The bottles of medicines next to my grandfather’s bed. The constant flow of IVs and medics. The press camped outside their manor for news of his progress. His face growing lean, gaunt, and finally paperlike as his body rejected the nutrients the medics offered.
Gram fell silent. She didn’t have to tell me what happened next. Rather than saving the siblings, we lost them both within weeks of each other. Gram must have admitted the truth to Dad the night they’d fought.
Being angry at Gram meant Dad didn’t have to deal with the fact that his own father had taken the biggest gamble of his life and lost.
“I’ve often wondered what drove me to agree to his plan,” Gram said. “Was it the worry that he would resent me for letting his sister die? Did I go along with it simply because I was too weak to do otherwise? Or did I love him enough to let him do what he felt was right, no matter the consequence? I don’t blame Malachite at all for his feelings, Legacy. He’s lost so much.”
Now he was about to lose the Copper Office too, at the very least. I felt sick. Here we sat discussing Gram’s life story, and Virgil would be releasing a dangerous update into the world in just a few hours.
Something tickled my mind. “Wait. You said they extracted the virus from Aunt Lucy and placed it in Grandpa Vance. How did that work?”
She looked surprised at the change of subject. “They couldn’t get the virus to transmit through the air. It had to be injected into his bloodstream before it could take effect.”
“But Aunt Laura didn’t have it injected, so how did she catch it?”
Gram frowned. “I’m not sure. We never determined that.”
“Hundreds of patients have caught it in the past few years. Did they ever look for similarities in their situations? Jobs? Family? Blood type?”
“Yes, actually. Medics were surprised to find that most of the victims came from higher-profile families. There have been victims from the Shadows, but the majority are children from wealthier parents. They looked into it and eventually assumed it was nothing more than a concerning environmental factor. Rather than making an announcement and creating a nationwide panic that wouldn’t solve anything, we poured national funds into medical research and built new hospitals to accommodate the sick.”
I rose to my feet and began to pace. “Maybe it isn’t environmental. Maybe the common factor isn’t where they live or work at all. Did all of the victims have implants?”
Gram’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, now that I think about it. All except Vance.”
I paused and looked at both Gram and Travers in turn. “What if the disease technically isn’t a disease at all? It may look like brain sickness, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Virgil discovered how to trigger symptoms in specific individuals—and if Mom resisted him.”
Gram swore under her breath. It sounded more like Grandpa Vance than herself, and I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or grimace.
“I don’t understand,” Travers said. “What are you saying exactly?”
“This update he’s about to roll out—I think some have already received it.” My voice grew surer with each word. “Every death has occurred in the past two years, right? He must have been triggering the disease as a test. Now he’s about to update everyone. He’ll be able to pick and choose who he wants to get sick.” Starting with the Hawking family. Only Gram would be spared.
Virgil had said the update wouldn’t hurt Dad’s position. He hadn’t said anything about the update not hurting Dad.
The blood drained from Travers’s face. “Fates.”
Gram looked ashen. “My spies reported there was a line of Firebrands giving blood today at the hospital. Could that be linked somehow?”
I thought about Virgil’s blood draw requirement. A coincidence? I just didn’t see how the pieces fit together, no matter how hard I shoved. “I’m not sure.”
“It’s safe to assume the Firebrands and their supporters will be spared while others suffer,” Gram said. “By the time the infected begin to die or overcome the disease, it will be too late. Our country will be in chaos.”
“And the Firebrands will step in, find a ‘cure,’ and put the country under emergency law. We can bet that law will lead eventually to reinstating the Rating system. They’ll ensure that their own scores are higher than everyone else to remain in power.” I frowned. “It’s brilliant, but there’s a piece missing. What does Virgil get out of this? He can’t expect the citizens to overlook the fact that all this originated with an implant update. Everyone will know Neuromen had something to do with it.”
“Maybe that’s the plan?” Gram suggested. “The Firebrands will seem like saints after that. They’ll put one of their own on the throne and then pardon him.”
I shook my head. “I’m not convinced the Firebrands will ascend right away. If they’re smart, they will have placed someone in the Block long before now to succeed Dad. Someone the people already trust, a transition figure until they’re ready to take control.” Most likely a member of Dad’s cabinet. He’d long suspected the Firebrands had infiltrated the group.
Gram and Travers were silent for a long moment, digesting the information.
“Can people be instructed on how to remove their implants?” Travers finally asked.
Gram shook her head. “They can only be removed surgically. Some people have died even under trained hands. Neurotechnology is complicated.”
“Then we need to stop that update from going out in the first place,” I said firmly. “Gram, will the military come if you call? We can send an army into the lab to stop things and arrest Virgil.”
She shook her head sadly. “Most of our troops are fighting in border skirmishes with Malrain. By the time we gathered a group substantial enough to penetrate Virgil’s security, it would be too late.”
He would be expe
cting that anyway. Virgil’s lab would be more secure than a military base right now. Only his own people would be allowed to come and go. I couldn’t walk in through the front doors, maybe, but I did have an advantage others didn’t.
Until this morning, it had been my home.
My idea was risky, but Grandpa Vance’s plan, failed as it was, gave me a boldness that echoed from my blood. Hawkings took care of each other.
I checked the time. Another two hours until sunset. Unless Virgil changed his plans, the update would launch at midnight. “Travers, has Dad responded yet?”
He shook his head.
“Then we’ll have to do this alone.” I looked at them both, and they met my gaze with a steady one of their own.
Gram wore a stern look. “You’re in no condition to storm Neuromen, Legacy. Much less by yourself.”
“I have a friend who can sneak me in.” Assuming Millian was okay. I worried that Virgil knew she’d helped me. “The less people involved, the more likely we’ll make it.”
Her lips pursed. “I’ll send Travers with you, but we’ll wait until darkness falls. If he thinks it can’t be done, you’ll return immediately. In the meantime, Travers, I need you to venture out and send a message to my spies. I worry that we haven’t heard from Malachite yet.”
Travers gave me a tight smile. “Yes, Your Honor. It would be my pleasure.”
Twenty-Four
Kole
The ads on the wall were the first indication I was most definitely not at Neuromen. The heavy sanitizer smell was the second.
I sat bolt upright and immediately groaned. I was in a hard hospital chair, my left wrist chained to one chair arm. Every cell in my body hurt. Simply breathing hurt.
Everything came back. Zenye. Her thugs. Legacy. Was she all right?
None of this made sense. I should have been at the bottom of the bay with that Firebrand deserter, not in a hospital room bound to a chair. I frowned. A chair, not a bed?
I frowned, examining my seat once again and taking silent inventory of my injuries. Breathing deep felt uncomfortable, painful, but not excruciating. Bruised ribs, then. My eyes felt swollen, and my jaw still hung unnaturally. Thankfully, my legs still seemed to work fine. I’d experienced worse.
A tiny beep sounded from across the room, and I realized I wasn’t alone. A figure lay in a bed, her familiar brown hair splayed across the pillow.
Forgetting my bonds, I tried to stand and groaned as the pain hit. Mom. They’d moved her to a different hospital room, but it was definitely her. A beep sounded from the machine next to her head, its four glass screens indicating various readings. Her chest gently rose and fell in sleep. She was still alive. Just as important, she was still plugged in. Disconnecting her meant ending the coma, pulling her back to consciousness, and allowing the disease to complete its final stages. From previous patients’ experiences, I knew that wouldn’t take long.
Dane was behind this. He’d sent me here as a reminder of what he could take from me. I had to free myself and get Mom out before he arrived—a tricky feat considering I had to bring that blasted machine with me. But medical professionals did it all the time. It had to be possible.
I tested the chain at my wrist to find it was secure and tried to rock the chair instead. Too heavy and painful to boot.
“Hello,” I called toward the open door, hoping a medic would hear. No answer.
Just then, a message lit up my implant screen, and my bonds were forgotten.
NEUROMEN SPECIAL UPDATE TO FOLLOW
Virgil’s announcement.
I froze, watching to see if Legacy’s face would appear. But the screen opened to show Virgil sitting in a dark-blue chair, wearing a suit and smiling. Next to him sat a famous announcer I recognized from the top broadcasting station. With all the makeup and hair gel and too-white teeth, he looked like a plastic doll.
“We have a treat for you today,” the announcer said. “We’re here at Neuromen Labs for an official announcement, which will be made by our nation’s most recognizable neurotechnological specialist. How are you, Director Virgil?”
“I’m doing remarkably well, thank you. Excited to be here today.”
I looked past him and scanned the room, which had to be Virgil’s office considering the statue of himself in the center. Humble guy. Legacy was nowhere to be found.
The announcer looked overly interested. “Neuromenon has been tight-lipped about its latest project in past months. Why the secrecy?”
“I’d prefer to use the word ‘cautious.’ We didn’t want anyone experimenting with the technology and hurting themselves while we worked out any potential issues. But I’m proud to stand behind this particular update. It’s like nothing we’ve released before.”
“We’re excited to hear details,” the announcer said. “But first, you’ve expressed regret in the past about not being able to offer updates to those in lower income levels. Tell us how this one will affect them.”
Virgil’s eyes gleamed. He’d written this speech, no doubt, and placed this question here intentionally. Money and rising costs were a favorite argument among Firebrands and the lower classes.
“For the first time in history, Neuromen’s latest implant update will be available to everyone at no cost. It fixes previous issues and brings everyone to the same level of technology regardless of station. It’s something I should have done long ago. I apologize for not taking the initiative in previous versions, but as the lab’s director, I’m also its chief financial manager. Bills need to be paid.”
“That’s an impressive announcement, considering how expensive previous updates have been. How will this affect Neuromen Labs?”
“We have a financial reserve we hope will carry us through until future projects are announced.”
I cursed at the brilliance of it. Virgil’s strategy was clearly aimed at dethroning Hawking. By helping the lower classes, he became the benefactor Hawking wasn’t. Even Dane wouldn’t have anticipated this.
“Will that financial reserve protect the lab from Hawking’s legal charges?” the blond man asked.
Virgil sighed and leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking like an old man. “I don’t blame Hawking’s personal feelings toward me after the unfortunate accident that took his wife. But I will say that his accusations are unfounded and, frankly, damaging to our country’s progress. I also think his laws were written to give certain businesses a stranglehold on the industry. It’s one reason I feel strongly about offering this update to everyone. I hope Hawking sees our vision rather than trying again to close us down.”
Another cunning move—labeling Hawking as emotional and unreasonable.
For the first time, I wondered how much Legacy’s father knew. He seemed to be the only man standing up to Virgil. Was it truly revenge for his wife’s death, or did he know this update would threaten his country?
The announcer still looked weirdly happy. I suspected he’d wear the same expression even discussing war or mass murder. “The number of activists calling for restructuring rises by the year. Electricity mandates, employment restrictions, and retail laws hurting small businesses are major factors in their complaints. How do you feel this will influence their cause?”
“They have a point. Other growing nations don’t have rolling blackouts, especially not in the slums. They focus their efforts on creating jobs and encouraging upward growth, not placing people in bad situations from which they can’t escape. I certainly wish the Hawkings would see that our new system is far less effective than the old, but sadly, that doesn’t seem likely. All I can do is my part to help.” He gazed right into the camera now. His meaning was clear. I can’t unseat Hawking, but the people can.
I was wrong. Virgil hadn’t written this speech alone. The subtlety was clearly Virgil’s, but the strength of it—the punch—was definitely Dane’s. The two had to have written it together the other night.
The announcer nodded. “A lot of thought must have gone into this new project. I
t sounds like an incredible opportunity for the nation if we can pull together and fight for our potential.”
Fight. A carefully chosen word that could be viewed different ways. This speech would serve as Virgil and Dane’s rallying cry without giving Hawking any legal grounds for arrest.
“When will this update take effect?” the announcer asked.
“Assuming Hawking doesn’t show up on my doorstep in his pajamas with an army of enforcers? Tonight at midnight.” The two laughed at the idea, but the point was clear. They quickly closed the interview.
I sat back in my chair, heart pounding. Virgil hadn’t given his usual purchase instructions, but that wasn’t out of kindness. This was a mandatory update. Everyone would receive it whether they wanted it or not. Even Hawking.
A big question remained. Where was Legacy?
I scrolled through the news feeds and grimaced. Announcers seemed excited about the speech. Within minutes, people were already swarming the Block with protests, demanding Hawking drop the charges against Neuromen. Witnesses said Hawking was still inside. He had to be sweating through his suit by now, facing such a rapidly growing crowd after a speech like that. There was no mention about Legacy on any of the stations.
I dismissed the feed and sat there, staring at the wall. The Firebrands were about to get exactly what we wanted. I should have been happy about it.
The sickness in my gut said otherwise.
I rotated my wrist, examining the chain again. The metal had to be stronger than a chair molded from reinforced plastic. Time to be smart about this. Another look revealed the chair legs were bolted to the floor. The chair wouldn’t rock from side to side, but it squeaked a tiny bit when I leaned forward. It would have to be enough.
I spent several minutes wrenching my body forward, each thrust tearing at my wrist and irritating my already sore rib cage. Just when I was about to admit defeat, the squeak turned into a metallic groan and one chair leg came free. Since I hadn’t expected it, I rolled and hit the floor, my wrist still chained and extended at an awkward angle. The chair now sat crooked.
