by Tania Hutley
“Hey.” I’m so relieved he’s okay, I rush forward and throw my arms around him. But he stands stiffly, making the hug awkward, and after a moment I let go.
“You don’t sound like Milla.” He frowns at me, as though he thinks Edward Morelle might still be in the President’s Skin, trying to trick him.
“The Skin makes my voice sound like this.”
The lines in his forehead ease, and his wary expression relaxes. “You have an Old Triton accent.”
“Have I? Hopefully nobody else has noticed.” I speak more slowly, rounding my vowels and pronouncing every word. “Do I sound more like President Morelle now?”
He nods. “Is your human body okay?”
“Fine. The doctor patched it up, and now some high-tech machines are healing me.”
My human body is in Edward Morelle’s pod, the one he died in. I watched Sentin kill him in it, and now my body’s lying there instead. I think that’s creepy, but Sentin convinced me it was the safest place to keep my body, inside Edward’s secret room behind a panel in the library, hooked up to all the machines that kept Edward alive for so long.
Sentin had Edward’s body sent to the morgue without identification, and paid off anyone who might question how anybody could possibly live that long, or realize the most famous man in Triton must have faked his own death all those years ago. Even his ashes are now gone, scattered into the wind.
Funny to think that the man whose statue is in the middle of the central town square, and whose picture is in the lobby of all his factories, ended his days so anonymously.
“I can’t believe we can see into Deiterra.” Cale turns back to the window. “Look at all that green space. Is that farmland?”
“I think so.” There’s a heat haze shimmering the air, making the fields more difficult to see. But the enormous trees in front of the wall are still impressive, even from this height.
“New Triton looks so gray in comparison.” He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “This is crazy.”
I don’t know whether he’s talking about being able to see into Deiterra, or about everything that’s happened. Either way, he’s right.
“I was worried about you,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d be able to climb this far up the outside of the building. There were too many knights to hold off for long, and I was afraid I hadn’t given you enough of a head start.”
“I couldn’t have made it up here without you.” I take his hand, threading my fingers through his. He’s not as richly bronzed as I am, but his hands are as smooth and unscarred as mine. Twined together, our fingers seem to match for the first time.
But he grimaces and gently pulls his hand away. “It’s too strange. I know it’s you inside that Skin, but I can’t look at it without seeing her.”
“I understand.” I let out a silent sigh. It’s going to be hard to keep my distance. I used to hate being touched, but since the night we spent together in the safe house, I’ve been craving to feel his lips on mine again. Shame it’s not going to happen while I’m using Morelle’s Skin.
He stares back out the window, but his expression has changed and I can tell he’s not thinking about Deiterra anymore. “It’s brave of you to take on that Skin and everything that goes with it. But how long will you need to use it?”
I let out my breath, deciding how to answer. I don’t blame him for hating this Skin after everything President Morelle put us through, but once he knows how much good I can do, he’ll understand why it’s necessary.
“Let’s sit down and talk.” I motion to the couch. “I’m not used to being in these shoes.” Morelle’s wardrobe is limited to high-heeled shoes and business suits. Edward Morelle used this Skin for years, but for some reason he doesn’t even own a pair of jeans.
“How about you take the shoes off and we can talk while you show me around?” His tone is casual, but I can tell he doesn’t want to sit close to me.
“It’s me,” I say. “I’m not Edward Morelle.”
His mouth lifts in an apologetic half-smile. “Still.”
His reaction to me now is so different to when we were in the safe house that a lump forms in my throat. But it’s stupid to feel rejected. Kicking my shoes off is an excuse to turn away for a moment, to push my hurt feelings down where they won’t show. And when I look up again, I can make myself sound casual. “Okay. I’ll take you to see Felicity. This way.” I lead him to the hallway.
“That’s Edward’s granddaughter, right?” When I glance back to him and raise my eyebrows, he adds, “Sentin told me.”
“Where is Sentin?”
“He said he was going to your office.”
“Did he?” No doubt Sentin’s putting whatever schemes he has in motion. In a way, he’s the one who has control of Triton now, though I still have final sign-off to any changes he wants to make.
“Felicity’s been living here alone all these years?” asks Cale as we walk to her toy room.
“All her life. Edward stole her identity, so he couldn’t let anyone know about her.”
“And you’re going to keep her up here?”
“It’s all she knows. Would it be more cruel to leave her here, or to take it away from her?”
The door to Felicity’s toy room is closed, and I knock before opening it. Felicity is sitting on a cushion on the floor in front of her dollhouse. “Poppa,” she says with a flash of delight. Then her gaze goes to Cale and her smile drops away.
“Poppa is what she calls me,” I murmur to Cale. “She’s not used to seeing new people.”
“Hello.” Cale gives her one of his brilliant smiles. “I’m Cale. It’s nice to meet you, Felicity.”
She draws back. “Hello,” she mumbles, turning her face away and hiding behind her long gray hair. She’s sixty-four years old, but she’s sitting on the floor with her legs tucked in beside her as though she were a child.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” I make my tone soothing. “Cale’s a friend, and he’d like to see your dollhouse. Will you show him the people living inside it?”
As I step forward, I feel the breeze coming in through the broken window in Felicity’s bedroom. Sentin said he’s picked out a couple of loyal soldiers he trusts to come up to the apartment and fix all the damage we caused, including repairing the secret rooms that Edward Morelle built into the walls. But he wants to hide Felicity away while they work. I hate the thought of locking her in a room, but he’s promised it won’t be for long.
“Do you have a whole family living in your house?” Cale moves closer to Felicity, peering into her large dollhouse as though he’s fascinated by it. Inside, miniature people are walking around, performing the same tasks over and over. A mother rocks a small baby. A father endlessly stirs a pot on the stove. Two children chase each other around a miniature living room, and I’ve watched them for long enough to know they’ll never catch each other. Now I’m over my initial wonder at the intricacy of her toys, they’re actually a little depressing.
“They’re my family.” Felicity stares suspiciously up at him, as though he might be thinking of stealing the tiny robots.
“Of course they are. What are their names?”
As she tells him, she starts to relax. And when he keeps plying her with questions, her expression grows trusting. She’s shoeless, and wearing baggy clothing. One of her full-sized humanoid robots is watching from the corner, sitting unnaturally still in a chair, with its hands folded in its lap. Her robots wash and dress her, feed her, and entertain her. Felicity isn’t used to having real people around, but Cale has a natural charm.
“The little girl is Mellina, and she can run away,” explains Felicity. “She can climb right up onto the shelf.” She pulls the small doll out of its house and puts it on the floor. It immediately strides over to the large shelving unit against the wall, and starts climbing a miniature ladder. “Sometimes I tell her to dance with the others.” On a higher shelf, Felicity has an entire troop of miniature robots that twirl and dance in
an endless ballet performance. The small girl from the dollhouse climbs higher, seemingly determined to join them.
Cale glances at me, and I can read his expression as though his thoughts were printed across his face. For more than half a century, Felicity has been living a miniature life. She must have played with these toys more times than I can count, yet she’s still absorbed with watching her dancers twirl in tiny circles. Her confinement has shrunk her world in more ways than one, and I can tell Cale finds that thought as disturbing as I do.
“I’ll show Cale your bedroom,” I tell her.
She nods, but stays where she is, staring fixedly at the little robot as it climbs the doll-sized ladder.
In Felicity’s bedroom, the wind is blowing harder, whistling through the broken window. Felicity’s robots have been hard at work. The blood and broken glass have been cleaned off the floor.
“This is where I crashed through the window to get in,” I tell Cale. “The glass is thick enough that it would be hard for any normal person to break. But Sentin’s going to have all the windows upgraded anyway so they’re even thicker. So nobody can ever break in that way again.”
Cale raises his eyebrows. “Is he expecting another leopard?”
“He said he wants to ‘prepare for every eventuality’.” I use the same words Sentin did, making quote marks with my fingers. “Having Felicity here makes him uneasy. He’s paranoid somebody’s going to find out about her.”
“She can’t sleep in here with the window broken,” Cale points out.
“The new glass has to be specially made. In the meantime, there’s another bedroom down the hall.”
He nods, stepping forward to stare through the broken window. The wind blows his scruffy black hair back, and the sun strikes his face, highlighting its sharp angles. His face is tweaked, designed to be perfect like everyone else in New Triton. Still, I can’t stop staring at him. It’s not just how handsome he is. It’s because, if I look deeply enough, I can catch glimpses of his thoughts in his brown eyes.
Nothing about Cale is secretive. I always know where I stand with him, and usually it’s one of my favorite things about him. But when he turns his gaze to me now, he’s not looking at me like he usually does. He’s looking at me as though I’m President Morelle, and the distance in his gaze makes my heart ache.
“Was it Sentin’s plan all along for you to use that Skin?” he asks.
I swallow, taking a moment to make sure my voice sounds normal. “I think so. He said he can’t be President Morelle, because he has to negotiate with Deiterra. The imperator will only talk to him.”
Cale frowns. “Could he have meant for all this to happen? Predicted it, even before he entered the contest?”
“It sounds far fetched, doesn’t it? But I really do believe he must have predicted some of it.” Because Cale doesn’t want me to touch him, I run my hand over Morelle’s gold band instead, exploring the intricate patterns in the metal. As fancy as it is, it’s a poor substitute for his touch.
Cale’s gaze follows my fingers, his eyes troubled. “I asked you before how long you were planning to use that Skin. You didn’t answer.”
“As long as it takes to change things.”
“What things are you going to change?”
I take a breath. Since transferring into Morelle’s Skin, I’ve been thinking about little else, and I’m glad to have the chance to say it out loud.
“I’ll start by restarting Sub Zero so the Fist can broadcast again. And I’ll destroy all the remaining Knight Skins. Then I’m going to find a way to make Old Triton safer, and give sinkers real homes instead of shelters. I’ll pay them higher wages, and make factories better places to work.” Talking about it makes my heart lift, and I find myself smiling at Cale. “It’s hard to wrap my head around all the things I can do in this Skin. But it’s exciting. It feels like I could work out a way to make the sun shine in Old Triton.”
His expression lightens, some of his usual spark returning to his eyes. “If you can really do all that, it would make a big difference. The Fist have been trying to do those things for years.”
“I am the Fist now.”
“As long as it doesn’t change you. Do you know what this Skin will do to your brain?”
“It’s not going to do anything to my brain.” I glance down at my bare feet, aware that I just lied to him. Then I meet his gaze. “Actually, Sentin said it might make me more confident. But that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”
His frown comes back. “I don’t like that it’s going to do anything to you. It’s not something you should take lightly.”
“You think I should give the Skin to Sentin?” Though it’s what I originally wanted, now the idea makes me feel ill at ease. “In this Skin I can make things better for Old Triton. If Sentin becomes President Morelle, what’s to say he’ll want to do the same? He doesn’t care about Old Triton. Not like I do.”
“Even with all the good things you can do, I’d rather have Milla back. That Skin has a coldness to it. I’m afraid it’ll make you ruthless.”
“If I get to give Ma and Tori a better life, it’ll be worth it.” He’s still frowning, so I change the subject. “Speaking of Tori, would you go and check on her? I’d do it myself, but if President Morelle turned up to the safe house, I’d probably start a gunfight.”
“Shall I tell her what’s happened, and that you have a new identity?”
“I guess so. But just her. As much as I like Spade and Keren, we can’t trust too many people with a secret this big.”
“What about your mother? And your brother?”
“I’d like to tell Ma.” I step closer to the broken window, liking the fresh smell of the wind, and the way it buffets my face. “But I haven’t decided what to do about William. I won’t be able to look at him without thinking of Doctor Gregory.” Even saying her name brings a lump to my throat.
“Milla.” Cale hesitates for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you think you can trust Sentin?” he asks finally.
“I don’t really have a choice.”
“There’s something I want to tell you. When I was in the Knight Skin, you remember how certain I was that Sentin was on our side? I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve realized the way I felt about him wasn’t that different to the way I felt about Morelle.”
I frown, trying to recall my own time in the Knight Skin. I don’t remember thinking about Sentin at all while I was using it.
“The knights are loyal to Morelle because she wired those feelings into the Skins’ brains,” I say slowly.
“It sounds about as unlikely as him planning all this from the start, but do you think Sentin could have included himself in the knights’ programming, and they’re just as loyal to him?”
Chapter Three
President Morelle’s private office is on the floor below her apartment. It’s huge, luxurious, and would take up the entire floor if it weren’t for her assistant’s office, which I have to walk through to get to it.
But I really need to stop thinking of Morelle’s things as somebody else’s. It’s my office now, and her assistant works for me. Her name is Cassandra, and she’s wearing a crisp, cream suit and an expression that suggests she’s been doing this job a long time and can handle anything. She’s as beautiful as any New Tritoner, but I’m starting to understand what Cale meant when he said he was tired of everyone looking the same. I suppose there are only so many ways you can configure your features when you’re making them perfectly even.
“Good afternoon, Madam President.” Cassandra stands politely as I walk through her office. “Sentin is waiting for you. I’ve forwarded the rest of your meeting requests and messages to your band, and prioritised them for your attention.”
“Thanks.” She seems so efficient, I’m a little afraid she’ll see right through me. I keep walking and the door to my office opens automatically for me, its sensor probably triggered by my band.
My office has a giant boardro
om table on one side that must seat at least thirty people. The windows are all opaque. They’re cloudy white walls designed to let in filtered light and hide the view.
In fact, the only high windows that don’t hide the view are the ones in President Morelle’s private apartment. I guess she didn’t want anyone else to see what’s over the Deiterran wall.
Sentin is behind Morelle’s desk—I mean, my desk—when I walk in. He’s wearing a navy shirt and black jeans, and using the large holo screen to look at a whole lot of numbers.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Operational data for the Morelle Corporation.” He frowns at it. “Prior to making any changes, it’s important to analyze our revenue and expenses.”
“Changes?” I move behind him so I can read the numbers. They all have lots of zeroes, and the totals are high enough to make my head spin.
He glances over his shoulder at me, his eyes sharp behind his high-tech glasses. “I assume you’re here to talk about the changes you want to make?”
He’s right, I am. I don’t know how he does it, but I’m getting used to him being a step ahead.
“First, I have something to ask. I want to know about the Knight Skins, how they influence the thoughts of the people using them.” I step to his side so I can see his gray eyes more clearly, though trying to tell what he’s thinking is as impossible as making out the view through the opaque glass behind him.
Sentin makes the holo disappear, then swivels and sits back in his chair, stretching his long legs in front of him. “Have you noticed you speak differently in that Skin? Using the Leopard Skin changed your human body’s physical capabilities. I wonder if this one is expanding your intellectual capacity?”
I blink, distracted. “You think this Skin’s making me smarter?”
“The Skin’s brain has its own neural pathways. It can cause your own mind to become more active in certain areas.”
“Watch out, I might get smarter than you.”
It’s only a joke, but he answers seriously. “You’ve always had street smarts, Milla. That’s something that can’t be learned, except through experience.”
