by Driza, Debra
She followed my gaze and nodded with grim satisfaction. “I knew we’d agree on this.”
“How do you know him?” I asked.
Her lips parted, but before she could answer, a familiar voice boomed from the door.
“She knows him because they were in the military together. She’s the one who actually came up with the initial plan to create you.”
Dad. Dad.
I shook off the knee-jerk response. Not Dad. Jensen. No, wait. Daniel Lusk. I might as well start calling him by his real name, like Quinn.
His words sank in, and I bolted upright. “What?”
He strode into the room and made himself comfortable on the couch. “Were you going to call me, or just conveniently forget?” he said mildly, but his wary posture was anything but mild.
Quinn just laughed, and the musical trill floated through the room. “So suspicious!” she said, also mildly. But there was steel laced underneath. Then, noting my surprised expression, she continued. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but he’s right. I am the one who came up with the plan that brought you into existence. Amazing, huh?”
Amazing, insane, terrible, and wonderful. Lonely. Futile. In the end, not enough words existed to encompass the emotions her declaration aroused. I swallowed, my mind reeling, bombarded with questions, unsure of which one to voice first. Nowhere along the way had any of this come up—not from Mom, not from Holland. Not even Jensen. Would there ever be a time when I’d stop being surprised by the past? A time when finally, I knew all there was to know about me and my creation?
Right now, the truth seemed nebulous at best. A never-ending journey where, just when I thought I’d finally struggled my way to the end, the pathway took a sharp turn, once again plunging me into darkness.
She sighed. “Let’s see—since it sounds like Daniel didn’t fill you in, I’m sure you want to be brought up to speed on all the details.”
She leaned back, a faraway look in her eyes. “I came up with the concept of using a high-tech teenage android as an antiterrorist unit. I spent years researching, putting together the proposal, explaining why it would work. Who would suspect an American teenage girl of being a spy? You were to be my life’s greatest accomplishment. I was going to prove my contemporaries wrong, that a woman really could achieve greatness in the military. I shared it all with Holland. Even then, still craving male approval. Only . . .”
Her voice had risen over the last few words. She paused, removed her fingers from the furrows she’d formed in the couch, and began smoothing them out. “Only, he stole it. Holland took my years of sweat and blood and passed my work off as his own.”
“How?”
She laughed then, harshly. “The usual way. We were together. I trusted him,” she said.
Simple words, but ones that made my head spin. I glanced at the photo again, at their tilted heads. “Together? You mean—”
“We were lovers. I was young and stupid, and yes, starry-eyed when someone with his rank gave me the time of day. Our relationship was forbidden, of course it was. And he made damn sure to keep it completely secret. So I had nothing, nothing, to fall back on when I threatened to expose him. He’d taken care to erase anything that could link us together outside of work. He laughed at me—called me a stupid girl. He told me there was no way anyone would take my word over his—a lowly woman, contesting the powerful general—and you know what? He was right. My biggest creation, gone—all because I’d trusted unwisely.”
I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy, an answering outrage, on her behalf. Holland. He destroyed everything he touched.
Daniel cleared his throat, kicking his leg restlessly against the sofa. “Tell her what happened next.”
She scowled at him. “I was getting to that. After that happened, I was too humiliated—too irate—to stay in the military any longer. I felt trapped, like I had no one to turn to for support, and I hated that feeling. I entered the military to feel more powerful, not weaker, and I wanted that power back. Plus, perhaps it’s petty, but I wanted revenge. He deserves it, on so many fronts,” she said, her crystal-blue gaze capturing mine.
Yes. Yes, he did.
“So I formed the Vita Obscura. It doesn’t just focus on military technology, of course, but the more I can steal from them—and especially Holland—the happier I am. Steal from the rich, and get richer ourselves. I recruited the best hackers and engineers, along with a few of the best con men around—they come in handy when I need to finesse information from someone. But the one thing I always knew I wanted back was you.”
She spread her arms wide and smiled, showing even, white teeth. “Welcome home, Mila. You’re finally right where you belong.”
Rebellion. That was my first instinct. Mom certainly didn’t think I belonged here. She’d done everything in her power to keep me away.
But then again, had Mom really ever accepted me, fully? Or had she been fantasizing about a lost daughter?
“You were always so brave, Sarah.”
Was it possible I was more Sarah than Mila? I remembered Mom being surprised by some of my memories, as though they weren’t exactly what she’d programmed. I looked at Daniel. “Am I like Sarah?”
His boot hit the floor. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, after a lengthy pause. “You aren’t her.” Then, almost like he was talking to himself, he added, “You’re her spitting image, though. When I first saw you, it was like Nicole brought you back to life.”
Three times. Mom had brought Sarah back to life three times. And now, two of those three versions were dead, and any parts of Sarah, lost along with them.
Grief hit me out of nowhere, and I choked on a breath. Part of me, gone forever.
“You’re okay,” Jensen murmured, as though soothing a baby. Was he talking to me?
A whisper of a memory. His face, only younger, as my small hand clasped his much larger one while getting onto the tallest Ferris wheel I’d ever seen.
Him saying, “It’s going to be okay,” as he ruffled my hair.
And my younger, high-pitched voice, demanding, “Promise?”
“You said something similar when we rode the Ferris wheel,” I said.
I watched as his throat spasmed; his mouth opened, but nothing came out. He stood abruptly and turned away, but not before I recognized the pain of loss in his eyes, felt an answering twist of my own heart. Mom. Three. Both gone forever, because of me.
“Are the memories normal?” he asked gruffly, his back still to us.
“What’s normal?” Quinn said. “We’re talking cutting-edge science, prototypes. There is no normal. Only what is.”
“The problem is, Holland didn’t make all of your features as effective as I could have—of course not. The original research wasn’t his, and he had to rely on the scientist who came after me to follow my notes.”
The scientist who came after. I looked at Jensen, my heart twisting. “That would be Mom.”
“Nicole and me, yes. We worked from Quinn’s notes and diagrams.”
“But my grandmother taught me to always leave one critical ingredient out of a recipe you were sharing with someone, so the food was never as good as yours,” Quinn said. “So you’re not completely as I envisioned you. For the final steps, I’ll need access to your brain center.”
My brain center? At my stunned silence, she held up her hands. “Don’t panic. It’s all entirely up to you. For upgrades. I can upgrade your functionality, give you abilities you never had before. New defense systems. I can even help you overcome your emotions, if you choose. Think about it. No more pain, no more sorrow. Ever. I saw the way you looked at Hunter, back in the hall. That has to hurt,” she said, gently. “Your mom.” I flinched. “Daniel. You deserve better. You didn’t choose this life, and you don’t deserve to suffer for it.”
For a moment, temptation tugged at me, urging me to consider her proposition. No more pain. No more ache when I thought of Mom. No heart-crushing cascade of devastation when Hunter t
urned his back on me for good, as he inevitably would.
But, then who would I be? A version of Three? Hadn’t that been what I’d yearned for, these past few days? Maybe ultimately, it would be for the best.
Something buried in the depths of my pseudo human heart rebelled. That was a coward’s way out.. Besides, I was just starting to feel accepted for the first time. Maybe life here would be bearable, good even . . . with my emotions intact.
Quinn must have read my decision on my face, because she sighed. “Well, just think about it, okay? It’s your choice. There’s no rush.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Daniel was staring at us again, his expression enigmatic. He opened his mouth as if to say something to me, then thought the better of it.
“Now, let me show you to the sleeping area. I’ve put you in with the rest of the gang—I hope that’s okay?”
Unease brushed across my skin like a chilly breeze, but I nodded gamely. Even though everyone had been accepting so far, I was worried how they’d feel about a machine in their midst overnight. But then I pushed the anxiety away, determined not to succumb to that defeatist mind-set. This could be a brand new start, and I’d be stupid not to grab it with both hands.
She led us to a double door at the end of a tiny hall, which opened into a large, gym-like space. Completely empty except for cots clumped across the floor, in two separate groups. Each cot had a navy blue sleeping bag and a matching pillow, while duffel bags were tucked underneath.
Samuel, Dixon, and Abby were already in the room. “Well, look who’s gracing us with her presence,” Samuel said, in his booming voice. His grin told me he was teasing.
“Oh, man, I’m sorry, Mila. The only empty bunk is next to Abby’s, and she snores like a freaking bulldozer.”
“Shut up,” Abby said, punching him in the arm.
Dixon paused midlaugh, eyes widening in an arrested expression. “Hey, do you even need to sleep?”
Before I could stiffen, Abby yelled, “Dixon!” She pulled her fist back to punch him again, but he darted away.
“What? No offense, Mila. I was just thinking how cool it would be if you didn’t have to—think of all the practical jokes you could pull in the middle of the night.”
He winked, and just like that, I felt included again. Crazy how something so small could be so reassuring.
Samuel groaned, sitting on his cot and pulling off his shoes. “She’s not going to think of that regardless, because she’s not five, you arse.”
Abby pinched her nose and backed away. “Oh my god, could your feet reek any more?” She scooted over to me and patted a cot that looked freshly made. “Here’s where you’re sleeping—let me show you where we change.”
I bit back a smile at their ridiculousness as I looked down at my stale clothes. “I, uh, don’t think I have anything to change into.”
“Oh, I loaned you a pair of sweats and a T-shirt—I figure we’re close enough in size. They’re under your cot.”
I reached down and sure enough, there was a bag, holding a few items. I grabbed the makeshift pajamas from inside and clutched them tightly. Sharing her clothes, like I was any other girl. Her thoughtfulness ignited a wave of emotion and made my eyes burn.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to swipe at my eyes without anyone noticing.
“Oh, Jesus. Not another crybaby like Abby. I tell you, that wee girl might be tough, but she cries whenever she sees a kitten. It’s pathetic,” Samuel joked.
“I’ll show you pathetic,” Abby shrieked, pulling off her shoe and lobbing it at his head. He ducked, his laughter booming through the room.
“Ignore them, Mila. They can’t help it if they’re an inferior species. Men,” she said, shaking her head.
As I followed her to the bathroom, I allowed another spark of hope to bloom, deep in my chest.
Welcome home, Mila, Quinn had said.
The spark fanned into a larger flame, and a newfound optimism lightened my footsteps. Maybe, just maybe, she’d been right.
When we came back, the room had filled up. I got a few curious glances, but mostly smiles. “Glad you made it here,” said a brunette with the cot on the other side of mine.
I smiled.
After lounging back on my pillow, listening to Abby grouse about boys for the next fifteen minutes, the call came. “Lights out!”
“Five, four, three, two, one . . . ,” Samuel counted, and on target, the room plunged into darkness.
Someone screamed, and I shot up.
Room scan: Activated.
But then the laughter that followed told me this was a regular occurrence.
Practical jokes. Right. That might take a little getting used to.
It took me a while for my sleeping algorithms to kick in, but it wasn’t because of all the sounds—the breathing, the tossing and turning, the creaking of cots. Well, maybe it was. But instead of finding the noises bothersome, I found them comforting. They reminded me that here, in this room, there were people who didn’t find my very existence repulsive. They reminded me that I could have some sort of real life.
I rolled onto my side, the growing flood of warmth only slightly dampened by a bittersweet chill. For the first time, without Hunter, I didn’t feel alone.
The next morning, I woke up, soft snores and heavy breathing alerting me that most everyone was still asleep. I slid from my cot and edged my way to the bathroom to change.
When I returned, the hall was restless with slow risers and whispers. Then, like a cannonball blast from nowhere came Samuel’s deep boom of a voice. “WAKE UP, YOU LAZY BASTARDS!”
An instant later, the lights all turned on. The room burst to life with groans, threats, and good-natured insults.
“You survive your first night okay?” Abby asked, still snuggling into her sleeping bag and rubbing her eyes.
“Looks that way.”
I followed her to breakfast, in the lounge room, where food was out buffet-style.
“Dude, I bet you could eat, like, a thousand sausages a day and never put on any weight,” Dixon said to me, stuffing his face with eggs.
Abby rolled her eyes. “And that’s different from you how?”
“Good point,” he said, after shoveling in another mouthful.
I smiled as I listened to their silly banter, and again, the sharp longing tugged at me. I let myself fantasize. I could be part of this. Or maybe I was grasping at straws, because the alternative was too grim to bear. Without Mom, without Hunter, I had no plans beyond here. Beyond now.
Somehow, my life had boiled down to this: without the Vita Obscura, I had nowhere to go.
Near the end of breakfast, Quinn sauntered into the room, looking trim and fresh in a pair of black riding pants and a fitted green sweater. She wore the same boots as yesterday. “Mila, can I talk to you for a moment?”
When we got to the hall, I noticed she had a duffel bag in her hands. My duffel bag.
She sighed. “I’m sorry to bother you when you’re still settling in, but we’re going to need to put you in your own room.”
I took the bag she offered numbly. “Why?”
“I’m afraid that a couple of the crew complained about the sleeping arrangements. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s just temporary, until they get to know you better. But we do some important work here, believe it or not, and I can’t have them rattled. I’m sorry.”
“What did they say?” The newfound thrill I’d felt, just this morning, punctured like a balloon, leaving behind an empty ache.
“Just that they were a little uncomfortable, for the time being.”
I read between the lines. They weren’t uncomfortable—I made them uncomfortable, with my otherness. So much for the acceptance.
Her hand fell on my shoulder. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time . . . and hey, you’ll get a private room out of it. Everyone will be jealous, trust me.”
“Can I ask who?”
She cleared her throat, looked at the floor. “I p
robably shouldn’t tell you this, but I guess there’s not any harm. Samuel was one of them.”
Samuel. The person I’d felt so at ease with. That made it even worse.
But as she led me to my new bunk, I wanted to tell her I didn’t want them to be jealous. I didn’t want a private room.
All I wanted was someone, somewhere, to accept me for who I was.
Well, I supposed there was still one person. And that person was Quinn.
After she dropped me off, I curled up in the smallish but cozy room, too upset to emerge and face everyone. It actually had a single bed with a comforter versus a cot, and a dresser, and a tiny nightstand. It was probably a closet at one time, converted into a makeshift bedroom. But I would gladly trade all of those things.
I lay down on the bed, stared at the ceiling, and mourned.
It must have been an hour before I heard his footsteps in the hall. Easy, familiar. But with a pace that faltered as they neared my doorway.
The sound of his approach alone was enough to make my pulse quicken to a thready thump-thump-thump beat. My heart, it would never care how much percent machine I was, or that it was manufactured in a lab. My heart craved, needed, felt. It begged for another chance with this boy. It insisted on feeling one hundred percent human.
On the other side of the door, the footsteps hesitated. I imagined him pressing his forehead against the wood, contemplating turning back. Hating me, yet maybe somewhere inside, there remained a glimmer of hope for us. A spark that wouldn’t die, despite everything.
My hands curled into fists as I stared at the door and willed him to open it. And even though I’d steeled myself time and time again for the revulsion on his face, my heart, my stupid, needful, aching yet mechanical heart, clutched at a tiny speck of light. Maybe, just maybe, the fact that I was partly human would mean something to him. That look he’d given me in the hall, the brief words. He hadn’t ignored me, or curled his lip, or looked right through me. I’d seen something flicker in his blue eyes. Emotion. Not hate, not anger. Something else.
If he could feel something, there was a chance for us.
But he had to make the first move. I’d promised myself that I would respect his wishes, even if that meant we never talked again. Never touched. Never laughed, or rode a Ferris wheel, never shared Slurpees or walked on the beach. Never kissed.
