by Emily Suvada
“You hungry?” Leoben asks.
I look down at the bandage on my wounded arm. I should eat to give my healing tech more energy to run, but the thought of food right now makes my stomach turn. “No,” I say. “Let’s get some clothes.”
“Good call.” He heads toward the giant storage room. “Can’t believe Anna’s here.”
“Yeah,” I say, following him into the storage room, weaving past piles of survival equipment, tires, and spare Comox parts. There’s a table near the back of the room stacked with clothes. “She doesn’t seem to like me.”
“Oh, Anna doesn’t like anyone except Cole,” Leoben says, reaching the table. It’s piled with folded pants and shirts, most of which are in the Cartaxus palette of black and gray, but some are in lurid colors, printed with patterns and animals. “They’re siblings. You remember that, right?”
I look up. “Really? What, like genetically?”
“Yeah,” Leoben says, picking up shirts, tossing them on the floor behind him. “They share an egg donor. Lachlan said it was a fluke—they made thousands of us with a whole bunch of donors, and we were the only five that survived.”
“That seems like something I should remember.”
“Well, you were the one who figured it out. You scrounged together a genkit from parts in the basement and used to run tests on us. I think you regretted telling them, though—you used to get jealous about how close they were. Cole always sided with Anna in every fight, and you and Anna used to seriously fight.”
“Apparently not much has changed there,” I mutter.
Leoben picks up a green shirt with a dinosaur on it, tugging it on over his tank top. “She’s just going to take a while to come around.”
“Do the rest of us know who our family is?” I ask. “Genetically, I mean?”
Leoben tugs off the shirt and tries on another—pink with a walrus on it. “Actually, I do. I’m a clone of a French guy who was immune to a bunch of viruses. He’s dead now, and I guess Cartaxus couldn’t resist making a copy of him. There might even be a few of us.”
“Wow,” I say. I’m not surprised that Cartaxus created a clone of someone its scientists found interesting, but it’s illegal to use someone else’s genes to make a child for exactly that reason. Back in gentech’s early days there were horror stories of a black market for embryonic clones, or pairings of any two people that buyers were willing to pay for. I don’t know if the stories were true or just anti-gentech propaganda, but Cartaxus clearly had no issues with breaking those laws.
“Dax found out for me,” he says, pausing, his eyes going distant.
“I’m sorry I didn’t try to bring him with us,” I say.
He shakes his head absently. “No, he’s better off there. They’ll be able to keep him comfortable until we fix the vaccine. I just can’t get over the fact that I’m the only person on this planet who’s immune, and I can’t do anything to help him.” He looks up at me. “You’re going to chew your hand off at that rate.”
I look down, dropping my hand. My thumbnail is bitten to the quick, a spot of blood welling in the raw skin around it.
“You could do with some sleep, huh?” Leoben asks, pulling off the walrus shirt. “What was the last full meal you ate?”
I shrug. “I’ve been busy. There’s a lot going on.”
“Yeah, a lot going on.” He rolls his eyes. “I know you’re different from Jun Bei, but you’re still a lot like her. Every time things got rough, she’d chew her nails down and go into problem-solving mode, throwing herself into some coding puzzle like the world depended on her solving it.”
“The world does depend on us solving this.”
“That’s not the point. What I’m saying is if you don’t take care of yourself, you’re gonna break like she used to. Only, you’re probably not going to hurt one of us when you do it.”
My hands tighten on one of the shirts. “She hurt you?”
He looks up. “We all hurt one another. Jun Bei protected all of us, and she took the brunt of Lachlan’s tests as often as she could, but sometimes she’d snap. She never really hurt me, but she was vicious with Anna, and I even saw her turn on Cole a few times.”
My breath catches at the thought of hurting Cole. Leoben reaches out to take my hand, turning it so that my palm is facing up. The half-moon cuts from my fingernails have healed to faint pink lines, but there’s still dried blood in the creases of my hand. “I know you’re worried about being like her,” he says, “but this isn’t something she would do. You hurt yourself when you’re drowning. I get it. Jun Bei used pain too, but she always sent it out to someone else.”
He closes my fingers over my palm, covering my hand with his. “I don’t blame you for trying to shut that out. I guess I’ve wanted to be someone else too. Maybe that’s why I’ve had a hard time dealing with this. I should be trying to make this easier on you, not harder.”
He slides his hands away, and I miss the warmth of his touch as soon as it’s gone. “Does that mean you’re going to start calling me Cat?” I ask.
His lips curl. “Not a chance in hell.”
I roll my eyes, pushing away from the table of T-shirts. “I think I’m hungry after all.”
“Rations are down the hall, to the left. I recommend the risotto.”
I step to the door, then pause. “Thanks, Lee.”
He gives me a wink, grabbing another armful of shirts. “Anytime, squid.”
I head back down the hallway toward a set of double doors with what looks like an industrial kitchen beyond them. The rooms on either side of the hallway hold weapons, survival gear, and nanosolution vials. One door is open to a dim walk-in closet holding what looks like technical gear—a stack of tablets, screens, and piles of twisted charging cables.
I pause, ducking inside. There might be a genkit here. Now that my wireless chip is running properly, I can use a smaller, sleeker machine than I’m used to, but I can’t see any on the shelves. I reach behind me with my good hand for the light switch, flicking it on, and a set of screens built into the wall blinks to life.
It’s security footage. I can see the upper levels of the house on one screen, the image cycling between multiple cameras. The Comox is on another screen, the empty desert stretching behind it. A third screen shows the basement, and a fourth shows the jeep. Cole and Anna are standing beside it, talking. My audio tech crackles, connecting to the feed automatically, patching the sound through to me.
“She’s struggling,” Cole says. “It’s a lot to take in.”
I freeze, staring at them. They have to be talking about me. I’m out of their audio range—they have no reason to think that anyone can hear them. I shouldn’t be eavesdropping on them like this. I take a step away, but Anna throws her head back, groaning, and I pause.
“You’re not going soft on me, are you?” she asks. “Jesus, Cole. You’re hopeless around her.”
“I’m fine,” he says. “My head is clear.”
“Better be, soldier. There’s a lot at stake.”
“I know,” Cole replies, his voice low. “Trust me, I haven’t forgotten. I have her under control.”
CHAPTER 13
I STARE AT THE SECURITY feed, panic wheeling through me. Anna is climbing into the jeep now, and Cole is heading for the house. I stumble back into the shelves, sending a plastic box clattering to the floor, spilling memory chips across the concrete.
“Shit, shit,” I whisper, flicking off the lights, killing the feed. I leave the chips scattered on the floor and push out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me. My heart pounds against my ribs, a hot-and-cold flush of horror spreading through me.
I haven’t forgotten. I have her under control.
The words feel like a knife twisting, cutting into me. A cry escapes my lips before I can clamp my hand over my mouth, and I close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe, to think it through. There has to be an explanation that doesn’t involve Cole lying to me. He’s worried about us going into the
city. He’s worried about Lachlan. He’s a trained bodyguard, and we’re running headfirst into what definitely feels like a trap. Mato says he has a plan, but Lachlan has always been two steps ahead of us.
But none of that explains why Cole and Anna would be talking about me like that.
“Hey, squid.”
I spin around, my panic spiking. Leoben is behind me, carrying the shirts and a box of paper towels. “Find the food?”
I just stare at him, stunned, until his question hangs awkwardly in the air.
“I-I’m not hungry,” I manage to stammer.
“Are you okay?” He shifts the box to his hip, peering at me, then looks up suddenly. “Hey, Cole.”
I turn around, my heart lurching. Cole steps into the hallway, his skin flushed from the sun, a bandage plastered to the rippled muscles of his left shoulder. There’s no sign that he and Anna were just talking about me—no guilt, no nervousness in his face. There’s even a softness in his eyes as he sees me.
“Looks like you guys have been working hard on the supplies,” he says, eyeing the shirts and the single box of paper towels on Leoben’s hip. “We’ve cleared out the jeep. Ready to start loading when you are.”
I swallow, driving my fingernails into the palm of my good hand, desperate for a scrap of self-control. Cole seems so casual, but on the footage I saw just a minute ago, he was tense and cold. There’s definitely something going on, and even with the pain in my hand blossoming through me, dragging my focus into a point, I can’t find the words to ask him what it is.
I can’t think of anything to say. For the first time since Cole arrived at the cabin, I can see him as everyone else must—not as my friend or my soul mate, but as the Cartaxus weapon. His leylines suddenly seem like shafts of darkness etched into his skin. He’s probably listening to my heart rate. He probably knows I’m freaking out. He’s a black-out agent, and somewhere along the way I let myself forget that. His eyes narrow, lingering on my face, and a surge of fear rises through me.
Do I need to be afraid of him?
That question would have seemed ridiculous if I had asked it just yesterday, but suddenly I can sense the threat he poses. His strength. His training. The lethal grace in his movements. His brow creases, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes as he looks between me and Leoben, and I know that I have to lie. He can’t find out that I overheard him. Whatever he was talking to Anna about, I’m not prepared to defend myself against him if it comes to that.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I was looking for the food.”
Leoben gives me a puzzled look, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes lift to the hallway, over my shoulder, and I turn, following his gaze. Mato is striding toward us, wearing a black jacket with sequins sewn into the shoulders like epaulettes, a gray T-shirt, and ripped black jeans. His dark hair is back in a braid, and he’s carrying a metal briefcase. The differences between what he was wearing at Cartaxus and now are slight, but they somehow radically change his image. He looks like a hacker, not a coder.
“Where did you find those clothes?” Leoben asks.
Mato nods over his shoulder. “Printer in the back.”
“Oh,” Leoben says. “Smart.”
Mato looks between the three of us. “I need to have a word with Catarina, and then we’ll leave.”
Leoben hands the box of paper towels he’s carrying to Cole, but keeps the shirts. “Take that up, will you? I’ll get us some proper clothes. You sure you’re okay, squid?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I mumble. “Get me something in blue.”
Leoben nods, still worried, but he backs away. “Sure thing. I’ll be right down the hall.”
Cole looks between Mato and me, shifting the box in his hands. I can tell he doesn’t want to leave me alone with Mato, and the irony almost makes me laugh. I never would have dreamed that I’d prefer to be alone with a member of Cartaxus’s central command than with him.
But I never dreamed that I’d hear him say he had me under control.
“I’ll see you in a minute,” I say. “I want to talk to Mato, too.”
Cole looks between us again, the furrow in his brow deepening, then turns and strides back down the hallway, his boots creaking up the stairs. I draw in a shaking breath as he leaves.
Mato glances curiously after Cole, but if he noticed the tension between us, he doesn’t say anything. “Let’s talk in here,” he says, heading for an open door that leads into a storage room lined with tents, sleeping bags, and survival gear. There’s an empty table in the center of the room with a few chairs around it. Mato sets the metal briefcase down and pulls out a chair for me. I fall into it, numb, and he sits down beside me, pressing his hands to the metal briefcase, watching me patiently.
“How is your arm?” he asks. The black glass of his coding mask lightens slowly until it’s almost clear. His left eye fades into focus, his brow arched beneath the glass. Rows of small black ports are lined across his forehead where the wires cut through his skull.
I look down at my arm, surprised. I’d forgotten about my panel, and the mention of it brings back a rush of pain. “It’s sore.”
He nods, then watches me for an uncomfortably long time, searching my face. “Do you remember me?” he asks.
I open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say. Seeing clearly through Mato’s mask feels suddenly intimate somehow, like he’s baring a piece of himself to me. “I . . . I do,” I say. “Nothing specific. I recognized you, and I know that she knew you, but that’s all.”
“She.” He says the word slowly, as though listening to how it sounds. He leans back in his chair. “Yes, she and I made contact when I was new at Cartaxus. I was reading through Lachlan’s work and noticed that she cowrote some of his files. I knew she wasn’t in possession of an ordinary mind, so I tracked her down and begged her to code with me. We worked together on a dozen separate projects.”
I frown, curiosity bleeding through the haze of my shock about Cole. “But she was at the Zarathustra lab. She was a prisoner. How did she talk to you?”
He waves a hand. “She’d been able to get online for years. We met in VR sometimes, but we mostly just shared code. I didn’t know where she really was—or even that she was a prisoner—until it was too late.”
I lean forward. “Did you speak to her after she escaped?”
“She never wrote to me, no. How much do you remember?”
I look down, running my fingertips over the fresh bloody half-moons etched into my palm. “Not much. It’s all scattered, but those six months after she escaped are just . . . gone, and that’s the time I need to remember most. That’s when Lachlan changed me—when he started putting this whole plan into place. I feel like if I could just figure out what he did, and why, then we’d have a chance of finding him.”
“Well,” Mato says, flicking the clasps on the metal briefcase, “there’s a chance this will help.”
The briefcase opens to a padded storage compartment holding a sheath of black glass. It looks like Mato’s mask, but in a smooth cylinder instead. A cuff. Designed to slide over a forearm, hooking into a panel. I’ve seen a few of them before, but never one like this.
“This is mine,” Mato says. “I upgraded to a mask a long time ago, but I still carry it as a backup. It isn’t the right size for you, but it should shape itself to fit.”
I lean forward, and the wires in my arm squirm beneath my skin, dragging a gasp of pain from me. Mato lifts the cuff as though it might shatter in his grip and opens it along an invisible seam running the length of it. It falls open, revealing rows of silver ports embedded in the black glass. I look down at my arm, peeling back the bandage to check the rows of raised, inflamed wounds dotted across my skin. They match the ports in the cuff perfectly.
“As soon as I saw those wires erupt, I knew they were for this cuff,” Mato says, setting it on the table. “The pattern is unique to this particular model. Jun Bei always said that she wanted one. I don’t know why the wires emerged like tha
t during the hack on the implant, but I’m glad they did. This cuff will be useful when we go into Entropia.”
I stare at the sheath of black glass, the barest flickers of memory brushing against my senses. Glass on my skin. Tech wired straight through my flesh. “What does it do?”
Mato holds the cuff out to me. “See for yourself.”
The wires in my wounded arm twitch feverishly. I lift away the rest of the bandage and take the cuff carefully. It’s slightly too long for my forearm, but one end is tilted and flared, like it could fit over the back of my hand. I turn the glass, laying it open on the table, and hesitate. It’s probably not a great idea to attach a piece of tech to my body from someone I’ve just met, but I want to know what the hell is happening to my panel, and this cuff might hold the answer. I draw in a breath and press my forearm into the curved black glass.
The reaction is immediate. The wires beneath my newly mended skin burst back through it, wrenching a cry of pain from me. The cuff snaps closed around my arm on its own, its surface shrinking, pressing up against my skin. Cracks form along my wrist, creating a segmented join between the stiff sections over my forearm and my hand. The pain from the wires crescendos before crumbling into cool, sweet numbness.
My vision flickers.
The interface of my wireless chip slides across my field of view, only now it looks different. Instead of seeing a list of wireless connections, I’m seeing them highlighted as I turn my head. A pulse ripples out from the cuff, stretching into the distance, sketching a faint glow around Mato’s mask, another around his panel, as well as the controls of an air-conditioning unit built into the wall. I look around, seeing more points of light dancing from sources outside my wireless chip’s usual range—the faint outline of cameras in other rooms, a bright light in the distance where the jeep is parked.
“It’s a wireless extender,” I say. It makes sense that Jun Bei would want this cuff. She perfected the art of hacking into every network and panel she could get close to. With this cuff, she could stretch even farther. I turn my head, seeing the jeep, the Comox, a wireless streetlight in the distance.
