by Emily Suvada
She doesn’t remember me.
Neither does Cole. He digs his fork into the plate of rice, shifting on the jeep’s hood. I stare at them a moment longer, then turn and force myself to walk away, pushing between rows of cars to the edge of the camp where the Comox is waiting. My footsteps are growing steady, but my control over my body is still weak. There are millimeters of error in each of my movements. My feet drag, and my fingers hit my face when I try to push my hair from my eyes. I know it’ll pass with time, but it still makes me feel uncomfortable in my own skin.
I press the memory chip to my cuff as I get closer to the Comox. The door hisses open, the ramp unfolding. The cargo hold looks empty. I have no weapons, no tools. Not that I need them. I escaped from the lab with less than this when I was just a child. I’ve survived everything this nightmare of a world has thrown at me with little more than the clothes on my back and the panel in my arm.
I stride up the Comox’s ramp and through the cargo hold, heading for the cockpit. It’s clean and empty. I sink into the pilot’s seat and push my focus into the controls, engaging the autopilot. The door hisses closed, the rotors spinning up, sending a gust of wind rolling through the camp. Cole looks up, his eyes narrowing, setting the plate of rice down on the jeep’s hood as the Comox lifts up off the ground. The medical tents flap, the grass flattening in a circle beneath me as I rise above the camp.
Cole slides off the jeep’s hood, staring up at me. He doesn’t know who I am, but he will soon. Something inside me swells as he watches me leave, but it’s weak. I wrestle it away behind a wall inside my mind.
I turn the Comox northward, heading for the city on the mountain. It doesn’t take long for the gleaming razorgrass border to come into view. There are black streaks burned across the desert around it, scorched by the triphase clouds. Half the buildings on the mountainside are charred and smoking, the farmlands destroyed. I circle the Comox over the mountain and drop toward the open blast doors at the top of the bunker’s atrium.
The pigeons are still thick in the air, but I alter my cuff’s controls to push them away from me, sending them scattering. The Comox tilts as I descend through the blast doors and into the atrium. The wind from the rotors kicks up a cloud of leaves and ash as I land slowly in the middle of the park.
The genehackers emerge from doors and hallways. They step through to the charred, rubble-strewn park as the Comox’s ramp unfurls. Hundreds of them. Auburn skin. Flashing neon eyes. Entropia’s survivors—the ones who refused to be forced from their homes. They congregate across the grass—some short, some tall, some gliding in too-perfect strides, their movements algorithmically designed. I step into the Comox’s doorway and lift my hands to the plastic bandage on my face, peeling at the edges, tugging it away from my skin. The crowd murmurs in confusion as it falls away.
I scan the crowd, lifting my voice. “Cartaxus tried to destroy us once, and they’ll do it again. They have more weapons and more soldiers, but they can’t threaten us. We’re stronger than them, and we’re smarter. We’re the ones pushing humanity forward. This world should be ours, and I’m here to take it. I can give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of if you’ll follow me. I can let you change yourselves in any way you want. Join me, and I’ll give you immortality.”
The shadows of the pigeons in the atrium slide across the crowd. More people are stepping from doorways, moving to balconies above me. They’re hurt and confused, and their city has burned, but I can see a glint of steel in their eyes. They know the virus isn’t our only threat anymore. There’s a battle coming between Cartaxus and the genehackers, between control and freedom. I’m starting to understand what Lachlan was trying to tell me, and why he worked so hard to keep me hidden. He was preparing me for the war he knew was coming.
There’s a new world waiting for us—one where we can live forever.
But we’re going to have to fight for it.
“My name is Jun Bei,” I say, looking out at the crowd, “and I’m here to finish what I started.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are so many people who have made my debut year truly . . . explosive! I can’t possibly name them all, but I want to wish a huge thank you:
To my editors—Sarah McCabe and Tig Wallace. Your vision, understanding, encouragement, guidance, and patience turned this difficult novel into one I am truly proud of. I am so lucky to be working with you both. To Wendy Shakespeare, Sophie Nelson, Marcus Fletcher, and my proofreaders—you’re brilliant, and any errors in this text are my own.
To the team at Simon Pulse, especially Liesa Abrams, Mara Anastas, Nicole Russo, Sam Benson, Elizabeth Mims, Sara Berko, Caitlin Sweeny, Alissa Nigro, Christian Vega, Anna Jarzab, Danielle Finnegan, Chelsea Morgan, and Christina Pecorale and her team; and to Ben Horslen, Francesca Dow, Harriet Venn, Ellen Grady, and Zoe Bechara at Penguin Random House Children’s for your continued support. You have made my dreams come true. To DongWon—I couldn’t ask for a better agent, or a better friend. To the HMLA team and #TeamDongWon—you’re all magical. Thank you to Caspian Dennis and Heather Baror-Shapiro for sharing this series with the world. To Michael Prevett—thank you for making incredible things happen for my work. Thank you to Breck and Vincent for your vision and support.
To a real-life queen, Regina Flath, for this incredible cover and for letting me use your name. To Jan Bielecki for the stunning printed edges.
To the wonderful booksellers I’ve met and have yet to meet, for your passion and commitment. To Kristen and Len at Tattered Cover for making me feel like a star. (I still wear that T-shirt!) To the Waterstones team—especially Kate and Florentyna. To the Powell’s team—especially Beth. To Readings Books in Australia and the University Bookstore in Seattle. To the teachers and librarians who have shared my work with such enthusiasm. Seeing my book on your shelves is a dream come true.
To Amie Kaufman—you’re AMAZING. I frequently ask myself “What would Amie do?” and my life is better for it. To Fonda Lee—I hope we have many more road trips to come. To Veronica Rossi—thank you for letting me adopt “fractioning.” To Laini Taylor, Stephanie Garber, Victoria Schwab, Kayla Olson, Shea Ernshaw, Rachel Lynn Solomon, Margaret Rogerson, Amal El-Mohtar, Elizabeth Bear, Jay Kristoff, Alexa Donne, Heather Kaczynski, Emily A. Duncan, Meagan Macvie, Caitlin Starling, Curtis Chen, Wendy Wagner, and the incredible authors who have made me feel so welcome—thank you, thank you, thank you. As always—Lora Beth Johnson—you are my first pair of eyes, my first call, my dearest friend. I can’t wait to see your book on shelves.
To the team at Ooligan Press: Alyssa Schaffer, Joanna Szabo, Elizabeth Hughes, Sadie Moses, Melina Hughes, Kristen Ludwigsen, Jessica DeBolt, Grace Evans, Taylor Thompson, Emily Hagenburger, Hope Levy, Michele Ford, Amylia Ryan, Lisa Hein, Katie Fairchild, and little Joey—you all have a special place in my heart.
To the bloggers and readers who have reviewed my work, with a special shout-out to Aditi Nichani. To Erica Chan—I hope you like meeting Cambear! To Kailey at Enchanted Book Box, Daphne at Illumicrate, and Floricci at Wanderlust Reader for featuring my work!
To my friends and family—thank you for listening to me talk about writing for approximately eight years now. I love you all so much and couldn’t do this without you. Thank you to Edward for being my hero, my rock, my best friend, and my soul mate. I love you more than words can ever express, though I intend to spend the rest of my life trying.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2017 by Britt Q. Hoover
EMILY SUVADA was born and raised in Australia, where she went on to earn a degree in mathematics. She previously worked as a data scientist and still spends hours writing algorithms to perform tasks that would only take her minutes to complete on her own. When not writing, she can be found hiking, cycling, and conducting chemistry experiments in her kitchen. She currently lives in Portland, Oregon, with her husband.
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ALSO BY EMILY SUVADA
This Mortal Coil
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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First Simon Pulse hardcover edition October 2018
Text copyright © 2018 by Emily Suvada
Jacket photograph copyright © 2018 by Mark Mawson/Getty Images
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Jacket designed by Regina Flath
Interior designed by Mike Rosamilia
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Suvada, Emily, author.
Title: This cruel design / Emily Suvada.
Description: New York : Simon Pulse, 2018. | Sequel to: This mortal coil. | Summary: Cat thought the Hydra epidemic was over, but when new cases arise, she must team up with an enemy to fix the vaccine before the virus spirals out of control.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018015781 | ISBN 9781481496360 (hardback)
Subjects: | CYAC: Hackers—Fiction. | Genetic engineering—Fiction. | Epidemics—Fiction. | Vaccines—Fiction. | Science fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S886 Th 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018015781
ISBN 9781481496384 (eBook)
