“Okay, okay.” I would be annoyed with me too. This probably wasn't how he had planned to spend his Saturday night.
He planted himself on the next lowest step, and I leaned forward, arms outstretched to wrap around his neck, but a pain like fire rippled out from my shoulder and I recoiled.
He spun. “What’s wrong?”
“Let me try again.” I took a deep breath and pressed my lips together. He turned around and this time, I wrapped my left arm around his neck, pressed my aching body against his back, and grabbed his midsection with my right arm. It still hurt like hell, but it was better.
“Are you holding on?” he asked.
“Yep.”
He started to descend the stairs slowly, his left arm balancing against the wall for support. After a few steps, he grunted, “You're heavier than you look.”
“Fuck you,” I slurred.
“That's the spirit.” From my vantage point, I could see the profile of his face. He was grinning.
At the bottom of the stairs, we came to a bolted door. After he set me down and made sure I didn’t fall, he dug into his pocket and retrieved his jumble of keys. He picked out a square device and held it against the door's lock. Gears sounded, and he punched in a code.
He led me inside a room with low ceilings. Above, the sound of techno throbbed from the club upstairs. The place was cluttered with beer bottles, pizza boxes, and noodle cartons and looked like a bachelor pad.
Ryken guided me deeper into the apartment and sat me on a couch; a palm-tree themed blanket hung on the back of it where I rested my back.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“Welcome to Kramer’s pad.”
A pang of regret coursed through me as I remembered how I'd lied earlier, but my pain pushed it away. It felt almost good to be off my feet.
“Rest there, and I'm gonna find the medical kit,” Ryken said as he strode over to a tiny galley kitchen that consisted of a hot plate, cooling tank, sink, and a few cabinets. I didn't argue. But I didn't savor the idea of him inspecting my wound. Grogginess threatened to hijack me as I settled on the couch. Leaning forward to stay alert, I glimpsed splatters of blood on the seat cushion. Then I checked behind where I’d been sitting and gasped. There was a lot of blood. I dipped two fingers in the oozing liquid staining the blanket’s fabric and peered at the liquid—it was dark blue and oily. Not blood at all.
Had Ryken noticed? How much of the strange liquid had I lost? And what did it mean?
Ryken slammed a cabinet in the kitchen and declared, “A-ha, found it.” He started back toward the living area, and I stuffed the stained blanket in a corner to hide it.
He strode to the couch and took a seat next to me, setting down a briefcase-sized white box on the small table in front of us. Then he set down a tall bottle of vodka. He opened the medical case and rifled through it, retrieved a packet of zandal, and tossed it on my lap.
“Oh, thank Earth and Mars,” I said as I popped three pills in my mouth and grabbed the neck of the vodka to wash it down.
“Hey, hey, wait!” He stopped me from drinking. “That's for me. This is for you.” He swiped the bottle from my hand and replaced it with a water pouch I hadn't noticed.
“But… I prefer the vodka.”
“You can't mix pain pills and booze,” he said with a horrified look. “Everyone knows that.”
I shrugged and twisted the small cap off the water pouch and drank it down.
Ryken watched me and said, “You're probably dehydrated.”
“I’m fine.” I sighed.
“Right. I’ll patch you up as soon as the pills kick in.” His eyebrows arched as he inspected the contents of the medical kit. As he did, I studied his profile. His nose arced out from his face and a bump meant it had been broken at some point. Despite the size of his nose, it blended in with his features, giving him a distinct look. His dark gray eyes were kind, even though he tried to come off as tough. Like he didn't want you to think he cared.
I settled back on the sofa, not caring that my oozing cyborg oil would create another stain. The zandal must've been hitting my system because I grew more even-keeled. Slightly numb. “So, Kramer lives here?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, messing with the first aid supplies. “He works in the club and lives and works down here, too.”
“Works down here? Doing what exactly?” I noticed a long table shoved up against one wall that was cluttered with bits and pieces of electronic equipment.
“We work out of here sometimes.” He glanced at me. “Programming.”
“Oh, right, like you were doing in the café.” The events from earlier now seemed far away. “What was that thing chasing us?”
“That was a Scyther.” He stopped explaining as if I would automatically know what it was. I didn't want to come off as a complete idiot, but I also didn't want him to know the extent of my memory problems.
“Yeah, what would one be doing here?” I asked, try to lure him into talking.
“Good question. They’re rare. I've only ever heard about a Scyther being here on Luna maybe once or twice over the last decade. And never before then.”
“Where were the police?”
He looked at me sideways and smirked. “Police won't go near one. You do know what a Scyther is, don't you?”
I shrugged and winced at the pain. “Sure, I mean, it’s been a long time since—”
“The real question is why is that Scyther after you? He shot you. What does he want with you?”
I looked down at my hands.
“You must be important for some reason.” Ryken stood and scratched his head, stretched his arms. “The police are paid off to let Scythers go about their business. They only work for the highest bidders—elites or corporates.”
I met his gaze, couldn't hide my frown.
“Who's after you?” he asked. “What did you do?”
I leaned forward as if to rise. “Look, I'm grateful that you helped me get away, but if that thing is still trailing me, we’re not safe here. I have to go.”
But Ryken smirked and sat on the table facing me. “Right. You're in no condition to leave. You could barely walk here.”
“You're in danger here. That thing is looking for me…”
“It's okay.” He placed his hands on my knees. “I want to help you. We’ll be safe here for the night.”
“You don’t know that.”
His eyes lit up. “Kramer has this place outfitted with a conductive barrier that covers the walls and ceilings. It's a Faraday cage. Even if there's a tracker device on you, or the Scyther is tracking you with an implant, you'll be safe down here. At least for tonight.”
“But…” As much as I wanted to flee, exhaustion threatened to consume me. The thought of trying to make it on my own on the streets was madness. “Why are you helping me? What about Kramer?”
“Don't worry about him. Reflex—the club upstairs—goes all night. He’s working.”
“And you? What's in this for you hiding me here?”
He stared at the floor. “I can't just leave you out there to be gunned down by that thing.” His mouth curved, and he folded his arms. “I’d never seen one up close before. Those red eyes—I don't think I’ll ever forget them.”
His eyes darted to the splatters on the couch next to me. “You're still bleeding a lot.”
“It's fine,” I said, still leaning back so he couldn’t make out the color. “I’ll have to leave some money for Kramer to replace—”
“I have supplies here. I can stitch you up. We need to stop the bleeding.” The image of him discovering the strange metal machinery underneath my skin sent chills up my spine.
“Absolutely not,” I said.
“If you keep losing blood, you’ll die.”
“I’ll be fine. Can you just get me a towel?”
His mouth hung open, and he clenched his fists. “Fine.”
“And pass me that vodka?”
He shook his head and
thrust the bottle toward me. I took a swig as he went into the kitchen, retrieved a hand towel, and then tossed it to me. I leaned forward, trying to reach my wound behind me at an awkward angle when the pain took hold.
“Here,” he said, grabbing the towel. “Let me do it.” He walked behind the sofa to get at my back.
“No! I don’t…” I pressed back against the sofa.
“Come on,” he said. “You can't reach. Let me at least take a look.”
“I can't let you,” I said, my voice shaking.
But he gripped the back of my neck and pushed me forward, gently somehow. I could feel his heartbeat throbbing in his warm hand, and despite my instincts screaming against it, I let him look.
Silence descended as he looked at my back. His pulse quickened. His breathing grew faster. Shallow.
Ryken released me and backed away from the couch, moving until he bumped up against a tall stack of cardboard boxes four feet away.
I turned to him. “I didn't want you to look.”
“What happened to your…?” He tried to steady his breathing. “What’s that underneath your skin? Some kind of implant?”
My muscles grew tense. How much should I reveal? I had no idea whether I could even trust him. True, he’d saved my life. That thing—the Scyther—would have me now if it weren't for Ryken. That, or I'd be lying dead somewhere in a Lunar morgue.
“I don't know how I got this way,” I admitted. “The thing under my skin is some kind of metal mesh. I don't know.”
He waited, silent and still.
“I can't remember how or why I’m this way.”
His eyebrows arched, and he folded his arms. “I thought you were helping a friend who had amnesia. It’s you, isn’t it?”
I said nothing.
“What do you remember?” he asked.
“I remember being on Earth in a red truck at night. Traveling somewhere, maybe in the open desert. There were so many stars overhead.” I closed my eyes, remembering the intensity of the dream, even recalling the scent of distant rain from a storm cloud.
His eyes softened, and he chanced a few steps toward me. “Tell me what you know so far.”
Sighing, I explained. “I woke up in a woman's apartment. She told me she and her brother had smuggled me off of Earth. That the two of them had worked at NeuroDyne, and the company was doing some kind of experiment on me.”
Still maintaining his distance, Ryken grabbed a chair and sat on it, listening, never taking his eyes off me.
“The woman's brother—he was part of the experiments, I guess, and for some reason, he decided to get me out of there. I don't know why, and I don't know where he is. I left the apartment because I didn't want to put the woman in danger. NeuroDyne is looking for me. In the café when I sat next to you, I found an article—their Chief of Security is here setting up offices.”
“Shit,” he said.
“Yeah.” I laughed, but it came out fast and choppy. “I’m really fucked. Not only that, the police have a warrant out for my arrest, and there's a reward.”
Ryken’s brow furrowed. “So NeuroDyne is after you, the police want to arrest you, and there's a Scyther trailing you?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, you’re fucked.”
“Cheers.” I gulped down vodka.
He rose from the chair and ventured forward, reaching for the bottle. He took it, muttered, “Salud,” and downed a swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Take off your jacket. Let me at least put a bandage on your wound.”
“Really, you don't have to… I don't want you to look at me. I’m... it's disgusting.”
“It's not… Y-you're not disgusting.” He looked pained in that moment, as though he didn't want to hurt my feelings, which was insane—I was a wanted woman and putting him at risk. If I were him, I would get rid of me as soon as possible. And yet, it seemed all he wanted to do was help.
I started to peel off my jacket and a groan escaped my lips. Ryken rushed over.
“Here, let me help.” He gently pulled the light green jacket off, easing the sleeves off my arms. Then he placed it on the table. There was a large rip near the shoulder blade. The dark oil had soaked around the edges and dripped down the back.
“Maybe I'll start a new fashion trend,” I said, eyeing the jacket.
“Maybe,” he chuckled. “Turn that way, and I’ll disinfect your wound and bandage it.”
I moved as directed, and he picked up a large cotton swab. “Uh, your tee-shirt’s in the way.”
“You can pull it up,” I said, turning my head, but he cleared his throat and blushed.
“Just rip the hole wider,” I said. “I don't care about the shirt.”
He started fiddling with the fabric, and there was a ripping sound. Then he started cleaning the oil off my skin.
“Do you have any clues about where the guy might be?” he asked.
“Which guy?” I tensed my back muscles as the alcohol stung a tender spot.
“The guy from NeuroDyne, the one who smuggled you off Earth. I mean, that's where I’d start if I were you… For clues.”
“I don't know where he is.” Terry hadn’t mentioned anything about where Newt might go. She didn't know his whereabouts, and I believed her. If her brother was anything like me, he wouldn't have wanted to expose his sister. The less she knew, the more protected she was.
“How bad does it look back there?” I asked.
“The bleeding… err, leaking or whatever it is, has stopped. It actually looks like the bullet didn't go in that deep. It’s kind of like you’re already starting to heal.” His voice wavered. “Hard to tell, I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“I’m a fast healer,” I said. “At least, now I am.”
“Are you still in pain?”
“Yeah, that's the thing. I have metal under my skin, but getting shot still hurts like a bitch.”
“So, you're not invincible,” he said, and I didn’t have to turn to know he was smiling. He finished and taped a bandage over the wound.
I yawned, leaning against the couch. “Sorry about all the leakage.”
He shrugged. “Don't worry about it. I'll make it up to Kramer somehow. You should sleep.” I couldn't argue.
“With all that racket above?” I gazed up at where electronica streamed through the ceiling panels.
“I could look for earplugs if you need them.”
I smirked. “I could sleep through a war right now.”
“You can take Kramer’s bed or the couch.”
“I’m good on the couch.” I wanted to stay by the door in case someone entered, though I wasn't sure I could defend myself anyway.
“Sure.” He nodded and started to walk away.
“Where will you be?”
“Working.” He sat at one of the tables with computers and turned on a machine.
I wished he would leave or sleep in Kramer's bedroom. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts as I fell asleep. He dimmed the lights, and as my eyelids grew heavy, I heard his fingers tapping on an old-fashioned, raised keyboard.
Like Terry, Ryken had been kind. He’d helped me escape the Scyther, hid me, and even bandaged my wound.
But like an idiot, I’d mentioned the reward. What if he looked it up? Discovered how large an amount it was and mentioned it to his friend Kramer?
These questions circled endlessly like a crashing air cruiser as I dozed off. Before I let myself drift into sleep, my last thought was of Ryken grabbing my hand as the Scyther loomed.
Nineteen
Waking up in a basement was disorienting. My heart somersaulted for a moment as I remembered where I was. The throbbing techno music had stopped.
I sat up quickly and was rewarded with dizziness. A snore sounded from the corner. Ryken snoozed on a leather recliner with his mouth hanging open.
Still groggy, I tried to stand, and a dull pain crisscrossed my back. I wondered what the ramifications were for having a bullet lodged in your
body. Probably not good for someone’s long-term health.
I managed to rise and walk a few paces, trying to wake up. A boxy machine in the kitchen—a food printer—showed 5:07 a.m.
Ryken didn't stir as scenarios raced through my mind. Now was the best time for me to leave without him knowing. I wandered farther back into the apartment and found a small bathroom with a toilet and relieved myself. When I emerged, Ryken was still sleeping, but his snoring had ceased. He shifted in the chair while I stood frozen. After a moment, he turned his head and fell back asleep.
I walked to the couch and picked up my stained jacket, checking the pockets where my only possessions were. The bank card was there, along with the EarthShine box I had purchased, but the disk that Drive Nine had given me was missing. My heart caught in my throat. Had it fallen out when I was shot or on the run?
I started shaking, realizing that the retrodisc may have been the only path to figuring out my identity.
Running my hands through my hair, I tried to remember the last time I’d felt the round memory device in my pocket. On the sofa—here—when I’d been talking to Ryken, still wearing the jacket, I’d touched it. I was certain.
Ryken took it; he must have. I walked over and studied him in his chair. Peacefully asleep, his mouth was relaxed, his lips slightly open. His hands rested in his lap, and I peered at them. No sign of the oval disc.
I tiptoed over to the desk where he'd been working, but the screen was clear, and I could see nothing but a few pens and tangles of electronic wires.
What had he done with my retrodisc?
Now I was getting pissed off. Standing three feet away, I crossed my arms and tapped my toes while he slept, oblivious. I strode closer and kicked the bottom of the chair with my heel, rocking the recliner back. He bolted awake. His mouth hung open, and he flinched, then gripped the side arms in confusion before his eyes found me.
“What the…? Is something happening? Is the Scyther here?”
I stood with arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “Where’s my retrodisc?”
He clamped his mouth shut, hunched his shoulders. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
Stolen Future Page 11
