Kara paused, waiting.
“When was that pearl a speck of dirt? Where did one end and the other start? When did one become the other?”
Emotion was welling up in Kara, powerful and unaccountable. “Maybe they were always both,” she offered, her voice a ragged whisper.
“Like you, Kara?” Issa said.
Kara shook her head. Was she that transparent?
“Don’t think you were coy about it. Every time I look at you you’re either staring into the distance all morose or squinting at that coin,” Issa said. “Yeah, I’ve seen the coin. You’re not that slick. So who are you, Kara?”
Kara’s life story was a play in two acts, one before the accident and one after. There was Rhiannon and there was Aly, each one tethering her to a different life, to a different version of herself. Rhiannon had her throne. Aly had his innocence. What good was Kara to either of them? What good was she to anyone? She pulled the coin out and cradled it in the palm of her hand. “I can’t remember,” she told Issa.
Kara’s eyes had adjusted to the tiny bit of light filtering through, and she could see Issa now, smiling as she took the coin from Kara. She’d only ever shown her teeth to bare them, but now Kara saw how perfectly straight and white they were. It was comforting, the way her face lit up, and the warmth of her hand. “I guess it doesn’t matter anyway.” She bounced it in her hand to get the feel of it, then tried biting into it—and made a face. “The past is a story, rusted over like this coin. No one knows what’s underneath. You can make it up if you want.”
It echoed what Aly had said. If you don’t want to live a lie, it’s up to you to change the truth.
“I don’t like any version of my past,” Kara said. “Not even the imaginary ones.”
But for the first time, she wondered—even if she succeeded in using the overwriter to erase Josselyn, would that be enough? What if it turned out that she—not Josselyn, Kara—was the problem? And if she erased the memories she did have, would another blank slate actually solve her problems, or create more?
Kara had lived with a constant feeling of unease—not just because her past was gone, but because the future looked so bleak, with every decision made for her, no surprises or discovery. What if she was wrong? What if there was something to be found in her family, some greater truth she could extract that would be worth the pain and trouble it had caused?
She felt Issa squeeze her hand, and she looked up, wiping away the sudden wetness in her eyes with the heels of her hands.
“I see you, Kara.” Her voice was low and fierce, and the urgency in it shook Kara, made her feel exposed. All she could do was swallow hard. “You’re the girl who told those surgeons to back off and honor my wishes on the medcraft. You’re the girl who saw me as more than a patient, more than a WFC fighter, even. You saw me as a person.” She let go of Kara’s arm, and Kara felt the coolness where her warm hand had been.
“I try to do the right thing, and people always leave.”
Issa didn’t answer for a while, maybe waiting for her to go on. But Kara wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She didn’t even have the vocabulary to talk about the feeling of uselessness, how she constantly pushed people away; there was no way she could say it all out loud.
But Issa spared her from having to say it.
“It’s terrible when people leave. I’m not gonna tell you to get over it, because that’s stupid, and if we could just get over things when we say we’re going to, then we would never cry . . .” She sighed. “This is coming out all wrong. But sometimes when people leave, it’s because they had their own thing going on. It’s not your fault, and it’s not your responsibility—if you treat someone right and they leave, then it’s on them.” Issa sat up a little taller. “What I’m trying to say is you’ve got a lot to give. You’ve got your own way of showing it, but there’s so much good you have yet to do. This world needs you, Josselyn Ta’an.”
The name sent a shudder through her. Of course Issa knew.
“I don’t even know who she is,” Kara said, so quietly she could hardly hear her own voice.
Issa pressed the coin back into the center of Kara’s palm. “She’s whoever you decide to make her.”
* * *
• • •
Kara woke up hours before dawn. The cold was so intense it made her eyes tear. They’d overslept, and now they quickly suited up and double-checked one another’s work. Kara grabbed for Issa’s handheld and pulled up the map. Kara took the lead, moving toward the horizon, wanting to get both closer to the overwriter and farther away from the camp behind them.
It was a feverish march. In the distance, they saw a pinkish white light thrown into the air, and wondered if it was another camp closing in on the same location. Now they were afraid they’d lose the darkness and with it, their coordinates. The constellations faded into the emerging daylight, and they had only their handhelds to depend on.
By the time they reached the coordinates, Kara could see that they’d been led to ruins of some kind. Had Diac mistaken the coordinates? Had he lied to her? It took all her self-restraint not to run toward it. They cautiously approached, agony in how slowly they had to move. Kara paused when she got to the remains of a low, curved wall that reminded her of a giant seashell sticking out of the sand, broken and eroded by time.
This was the old greenhouse, she realized when she saw the blown-out glass panels. And there, next to it, were the remnants of the lab. Diac hadn’t been wrong after all.
But where were they supposed to go from here?
The closer she got, the more she felt the emptiness. The greenhouse felt emptier than Wraeta itself, somehow—the ground was punctured with shallow holes and occasional empty tubing, like a structure inside had been dismantled piece by piece and carried off.
“Kara.” Issa grabbed her shoulder roughly. She’d been so engrossed in the landscape she had ignored the thrumming vibration in the air. She turned to see a craft coming up around the horizon, blotting out the rising sun. It looked like it would swallow the entire landscape as it overtook the sky above—big, eerily silent. As it lowered, she could see two massive drills were mounted to the bottom, engines burning, its blue fire an outline in the dark sky. No atmosphere, no sound. Kara could hear only her own breathing in her helmet; her skin was damp and her heart was beating fast. Then she saw that familiar face peering at her through the observation port.
Nero.
Kara broke into a sprint, running as fast as she could move in her bulky suit. She wasn’t sure if Issa was behind her. She wasn’t sure about anything, only that she needed to get to it before that monster did. The man who had framed Aly, who had started a war, who had forced Rhiannon’s hand—she had to believe that’s the only reason the Empress would work with him. If he had the overwriter, there was no hope for any of them.
She’d wanted to erase away an older version of herself, but what kind of atrocities would a man like that use it for? Kara moved closer, as fast as she could without flying off the surface. Ten meters. Five. And then she was standing before it—the remnants of a wrought-iron barrier that might’ve been a fence once. It surrounded the stump of something . . . she wasn’t sure what. Kara scrambled over the fence and rushed to the middle of the gated area. She fell to her knees. It looked like the stump of a tree, gnarled and petrified by the lack of atmosphere. She didn’t know how close they were. She couldn’t hear anything.
When she touched the bark, it crumbled. She dug around the rubble of old dirt where roots must have once spread, discovering only more ash and what felt like petrified wood. Kara felt her desperation, her hysteria brimming into tears that stung her eyes. With both hands she ripped away anything she could. She’d lost everything, but this she wouldn’t lose—she’d break the overwriter with her bare hands. And then: something green. Bright green. Alive.
A root system here on a barren rock with no atmosphere.
“Where is it?” she whispered hoarsely, to no one, because no one could hear her. She sunk her hands deeper and closed them around something. She looked down and in the dim light saw something wet, viscous. Grabbing hold of what felt like a root system, she pulled. It was in the ground. It must have been part of the rock. It was embedded there—stored deep within the soil. She would need a drill, tools—
Then in one swift motion, she was yanked away, her suit pulled back, her hand torn from the very roots, the very hiding place where the overwriter had to be. Kara looked to the right and saw Issa, held down by a man in a dark spacesuit. And above her, in his own suit, the visor crystal clear, she saw Nero. He was smiling.
With the flick of his hand, the craft lowered, and began to drill.
NINETEEN
RHIANNON
“NERO is gone.”
Rhee spun around to face Julian. He’d once again landed almost soundlessly on her balcony. He’d never been able to sneak up on her back on Nau Fruma.
“When?” was all she could say. The United Planets council was convening to discuss the provisional terms of a new peace treaty; the assembly was to gather in the capital early the next morning. “Where did he go?”
Julian shook his head. “He boarded a UniForce star cruiser at 1600.”
A UniForce cruiser meant Nero had left the planet entirely. There was, she thought, a good chance he had already made his move.
Which meant it was time to make hers.
“Nero’s forces have already begun preparation for the United Planets meeting,” she said. “The whole planet is consumed with the arrival of the UP council members.”
Lahna tilted her head. “The Towers of the Long Now will be nearly empty of security.”
Rhee looked to Julian. His eyes burned brighter with something like hatred, like a star imploding—like all the color and light in them had condensed and collapsed. Had his grief over his father done that? Had she done that? “Let’s find out what our beloved Nero gets up to when the cameras are off.”
* * *
• • •
The Towers of the Long Now were technically the DroneVision headquarters, where Nero himself lived, though now the corporate offices had become an unofficial seat of power.
Rhee had stolen a small, highly targeted em-pulse from the Fisherman, which disabled the daisies—but it was still safer to keep a low profile. Though he would’ve been an asset, Rhee couldn’t bring herself to tell him of their plan. He would have told Tai Reyanna, who would try to prevent Rhee from going, and having failed that, worry herself sick.
Julian’s gaze flashed in the dim light. Without speaking, he opened his hand to reveal a small, round capsule. He aimed it at the wall and twisted; a rectangle of pale blue and white light splashed onto the surface. Blueprints, Rhee realized, though she couldn’t make sense of the maze of white lines.
“There’s the control room,” Julian whispered, pointing to a small rectangular space surrounded on four sides by latticed squares.
They climbed the outside of the Tower via an access pipe on the west-facing wall, slipping into a vent that, according to Julian, was no longer in use. Now that they’d managed to disable some of the daisies that usually did the external patrols, they made their way inside without incident.
Between Nero’s impromptu mission out of the atmosphere and the arrival of various United Planets emissaries from around the galaxy, planetary security was stretched thin. But the lack of guards—they had, so far, avoided only two rudimentary patrolling UniForce robots—made Rhee more afraid, not less.
Whatever Nero was doing, it was obviously important.
Once they’d reached the hallway leading to the control room, Rhee charged ahead. Lahna had to grab her arm and pull her back.
Lahna pressed herself against the wall and shuffled forward, motioning for Rhee and Julian to do the same. When they got to the corner, she grabbed Rhee’s hand and squeezed. Rhee’s heartbeat doubled; she didn’t know if it was the mission or Lahna’s touch or both.
“Two UniForce and a robosoldier guarding a heavy-duty door,” Lahna whispered.
“Okay, that’s not bad. Three against three,” Rhee said.
“You’re not serious,” Lahna said. “We’d need a small army to take down even one of those droids.” Of all places, the data center would be heavily guarded. It was further evidence that Nero had something to hide. Something to protect. But they couldn’t wait to amass a small army.
Nor would one support them, Rhee thought.
Julian ignored Lahna’s concern. “We have no choice. Lahna can take down the one on the right, and Rhee, you go for the one on the left. As for the droid . . .” Briefly he caught Rhee’s eye. “I can maybe figure out that one on the fly.”
Rhee nodded. This was the Julian she knew. The one who figured everything out on the fly. It felt right to be back in his company, even if he was risking not only his life but hers too.
“I don’t like the use of this word ‘maybe,’” Lahna said.
But it didn’t matter—Rhee had already seen their opening, their chance. She held her hand out for Julian’s knife, which they had covered in an electromagnetic sheath. Once struck—if Rhee aimed well—the covering would use an electronic pulse to shock the victim by routing through the cube.
He hesitated. She could see the doubt on his face.
“Just hand it over,” she said. Rhee had the better aim, and they both knew it. But Julian would sooner die than admit it. They stared each other down in the darkness. He was so stubborn, but so was she.
Finally, he let out a sigh as he handed the knife over. Her body was thrumming with adrenaline. Every muscle was flexed. “On three. One, two . . .”
“Three.”
Rhee drew back the weapon as she rocketed around the corner and released. It flew end over end. The blade hit the spot on the UniForce guard’s chest with pinpoint accuracy. Even from a distance she saw how the tendons on his exposed skin flexed and strained. The guard fell backward against the wall, and from there Rhee’s senses exploded—like they’d been on mute without her noticing, energy and noise on and full blast now.
At the same time, Lahna released two arrows. The first struck the other guard’s shoulder and sent him spinning, and the next hit him square in the chest. He fell to the ground with a thud.
Only the robosoldier was left. It crouched down low, then launched toward them in one fluid motion, the hydraulics in its legs propelling its metal body like a giant missile.
Julian shifted to the side where he could watch its movement. She saw in Julian’s eyes a familiar flash. “Wanna try it?” he asked.
That singsong cadence, that same playful question so familiar it nearly made Rhee’s heart stop. He used to ask it in the sparring ring, when he’d want to try a specific and wildly dangerous move—but they had only had a far older droid model to practice on. It was a move that depended completely on synchronized timing, and closing in on the target like the pair of blades in a set of scissors.
When the droid reached a certain spot in his arc, Julian began to run. She waited, and waited, until finally, mid-sprint, Julian called out one word: “Now!”
Julian leapt in the split second before Rhee launched herself in the air, her right leg outstretched. He struck the droid’s head from the side, then Rhee’s kick landed at its hip just as it was off angle. The robosoldier crashed against the wall with a loud thud and left a large dent in the concrete.
Julian and Rhee were on top of it within seconds. Julian quickly disabled its comm feed so it went dead. They stood over it, panting, and when Julian looked over at Rhee she grabbed his hand out of reflex. The calloused skin of his palm was warm, charged, but she’d felt it for only a split second before he pulled away.
“I can’t say it was particularly graceful,” Lahna said from behind them.
&nb
sp; They’d arrived outside the data network center.
“Move over,” Lahna said, extracting a handheld kit from her pocket. Rhee only hoped that it would unlock the electronic keypad, like Lahna promised it could.
With her headlight shining down, Lahna opened the kit up to reveal dozens of tiny metal instruments. She rotated the silver band on her finger to show the same black crest as on the ring Dahlen had worn, which could pull electric charges out of the air—it was what he’d used to kill Seotra.
“You shoot people with old-school bows and arrows and you refuse to use your cube, but you’re a hacker?” Julian asked. He’d been on Nau Fruma his whole life; even if it was considered neutral territory, the details of Fontisian culture were poorly understood there.
The left corner of Lahna’s lip bunched up, but Rhee couldn’t tell if she was smiling or scowling. “The Fontisians have the will to create tech—more advanced than yours—which does not equate to using it at every conceivable moment.” She paused, then returned to her work. “I’m going to adjust the currents so they’ll think it’s a temporary surge rather than an infiltration.”
Her ring activated the keypad. The door slid open with a hiss. Lahna walked in first, her bow drawn. But the room was, amazingly, completely empty—apart from a massive domed console that dominated the center of the room. The dashboard was dark—the console was either powered off completely or simply asleep.
Lahna moved to the console, running her hand over a series of control panels. Then she pulled out a vial and tipped out a small ball of moss suspended in a clear liquid. Because none of them could use a cube, Lahna had brought a storage device made of Fontisian tech: a cultivated moss that could absorb data in its DNA structure. Rhee was surprised by the size; it was no bigger than a pearl.
“How does it work?” Julian asked.
“Polymer is melded into the plant’s chloroplasts,” she said, placing the little ball gently on the dash. “It absorbs all light data just like it would the sun, and stores it in the polymer for playback later.”
Blood of a Thousand Stars Page 20
