I stay crouched behind Chloe as the crowd pushes us toward the entrance. With all the commotion, I hope it’ll be hard to spot us. Once we’re outside, it will be only a matter of getting to the elevators, out of the view of those fancy 360-degree cameras, and praying that Ducky and Marnie haven’t decided to leave our asses here for good.
Chloe is the first out the doorway into the outer foyer. As I run to catch up, I spot Potter, spinning on his heels as he scans the area. I’m running right at him—nothing else I can do with the push of so many people behind me. Sure enough, he spots me as I come bearing down on him. Recognition crosses his face, and he reaches for something inside his jacket.
“Here’s your cut!” I holler at him, plowing into his groinal area knee-first.
Potter’s air escapes him in a high-pitched woof! and he collapses onto the ground with me on top of him. I feel Cole lift me by my coveralls with one hand, landing a knockout punch to Potter’s face with the other. He doesn’t even break his stride as he heads for the exit, dragging me along with him.
Once we’re outside, we shift gears, doing our best to stride calmly rather than run. Emergency services are streaming toward the factory—firefighters, medics, etc.—to see to any wounded. Chloe guides us to a bank of lifts that I hadn’t noticed before, around a corner and out of the way. A few dozen other scrubbers walk in the same direction.
“What level is your ship on?” Chloe asks me quietly as we ride up. She’s tucked her blaster out of sight into the folds of her tunic, and she stands casually with her hand on her hip like she couldn’t care less where she was headed or when she’ll get there.
“The hangar,” I tell her.
“Which hangar?” she presses, the impatience in her voice somehow heightened by her hushed tone.
“I don’t know. The big one. Right off that promenade with the crazy marketplace.”
“Right. Let’s head there straight off. Hopefully, we’ll catch your friends before they bail on you.”
“They’re not bailing on us,” I say, annoyed for I don’t know what reason. “Well, not really. Technically, you could say we bailed on them.”
“Whatever.” As Chloe watches the floor indicator above us, I notice her foot tapping unconsciously in time with the thrumming of the lift. I look down at my own feet and realize that I’m doing it as well. I stop and look straight ahead.
“You gonna tell us who you are and why you’re helping us?” I ask. “’Cause if this is just a big gesture to get into Cole’s pants, I can tell you for a fact that there are easier methods.”
Chloe gives me a look that could be read as disgust, bemusement, or possibly gas.
“Let’s wait till we’re safely on your ship,” she says, supercondescending-like. “Then I’ll explain everything.”
“I think you should tell me now.”
“Look, do you want to get your daughter back, or what?”
Boom. A perfectly timed emotional uppercut successfully landed. But if this chick thinks she is going to KO me with one big punch, she hasn’t danced in the ring with anyone like Elvie Nara before. I grab her shirt and slam her into the elevator rail.
“How do you know about my daughter?” I shout, inches from her face.
“I know where she’s being held,” Chloe responds, as calm as a cucumber. The elevator comes to rest and the doors slide open. “I can take you to her. But we need to get to your ship. Now.” She removes my hand from her shirt and brushes past me out onto the promenade.
Who is this chick?
The promenade is bustling, but no more than it was before. I hear murmurs about an accident inside the ozone factory. As we make our way to the hangar, a name is whispered more than once in quiet, reverential tones.
Huxtable.
“Seriously, who is this Huxtable guy?” I ask, for like the umpteenth time.
“He’s not important now,” Chloe says. “I’d concern myself with your own situation.”
My situation. Olivia. This girl can get me to Olivia. She’s right. Nothing else matters right now.
Inside the hangar a PA speaker blares a muffled message.
“Attention. Due to a minor incident on the factory level, all outgoing traffic is suspended to allow emergency vehicles clear airspace. Normal takeoff procedures will recommence shortly. Attention. Due to a minor incident on the factory level . . .”
Seeing our ship still in dock makes me want to reach out and kiss the hull. The outer door slides open, and Ducky rushes out.
“Elvie!” he exclaims, surprise and concern mixed into a panic cocktail all over his face. Only, he’s talking not to me but to Chloe, who gives him a small, insincere smile. Ducky does a full-body double take. “Sorry. I thought you were . . . You look a whole lot like . . . Who are you?” Then, taking in the announcement over the PA, he turns finally to me. “What did you do?”
No time to answer this one. “This is Chloe,” I tell him instead. “She’s coming with us.”
“We’re na’ goin’ anywhere,” Marnie says from behind Ducky. “Thanks to whatever stunt ye two’ve pulled, the hangar is on lockdown until further notice.”
I push my way into the ship and bulldoze my way to the bridge, Cole and Chloe not far behind.
“If they close that door, I’m slamming through it. We’re out of here now, or we’re never getting free.” I sit down in the pilot’s seat and start to initiate the takeoff sequence.
“Elvie, enough,” Marnie says, placing a hand on my forearm to stop me from reaching the control panels. “Ye cannae keep flyin’ off half-cocked.”
“Some new information has come to light, so we’re changing course. But the plan hasn’t changed. We’re getting Olivia back.”
“Elvie?” I hear Cole squeak behind me. A persistent beeping lurks at the outskirts of my consciousness, but I’m too riled up to pay it much mind. I pull my arm free from Marnie, who simply reestablishes her grip.
“Yer not thinkin’ straight, daft girl.”
“Get off me, Marnie, or I swear to God . . . ,” I start, rising up to go toe-to-toe with her.
“Elvie,” Cole says, a little more forcefully.
“Why don’t we all calm down?” Ducky says, trying—and failing—to come between me and his girlfriend.
“Elvie!” Cole shouts.
“Cole, what?” I say, still not breaking eye contact with Marnie.
“The tracker . . .” That’s when I notice the beeping again. “It’s going nuts,” Cole says.
“For the last time, Cole, you’ve got to set it to frequency two! You’re picking up my signal again.”
“No,” he says, and his voice is shaky, like I’ve never heard it before. “I’m not.”
I turn to look at him. He is as white as a sheet. And when he holds out the tracker to show me, I see it.
Sure enough, the tracker is picking up a second signal.
“But how?” I say, the threat of tears crackling in my voice. “I mean, where . . .” My voice trails off as I follow the direction of the signal. According to the tracker, our daughter should be right in front of—
“You,” I breathe.
Chloe stands there, just outside in the center cargo area, smirking at us, and suddenly I start noticing things—her thin, straight black hair, her upturned chin, and even the shape of her eyebrows. It can’t be. But it is.
“Olivia,” I say.
And then I notice something perhaps even more obvious about her.
“I’m afraid you’re all going to have to come with me now,” Olivia/Chloe says, her blaster aimed directly at me. “Dr. Marsden will want to see you right away.”
Chapter Eight
Wherein our Plucky Heroine Completely Loses Her Shit
Some days I sleep. Some days I pace. Some days, the days when they decide we have no need for light, I sit in absolute darkn
ess.
Or perhaps it isn’t even days. Perhaps I’ve been here for only a matter of hours and it only feels like an eternity, because I’m losing my mind.
Olivia, my mind wails as I slump against the dark, cold wall for who-knows-how-long. My baby. What did he DO to her?
My precious girl. Altered. Grown. Years ripped from her, ripped from me. And it’s not even that I wonder how it’s possible—I’ve seen Marsden’s genetic experiments in action before, when we found Britta’s friend’s baby in the ruins of the Echidna. Bok Choy, an approximately two-week-old infant who looked like he was six years old.
But I wonder why. What could possibly possess a monster like Marsden to take such a perfect, tiny girl like my Olivia and . . .
My thoughts are lost in a storm of wails.
I pound the walls with my fists. I kick the door until I’m sure I’ve broken toes on both feet. I press my head against the cold metal and I scream until I’m hoarse.
• • •
A day passes. Maybe more. Maybe less.
I sleep.
I scream.
I weep in the dark.
Then, after a while, I just lie there.
• • •
I’m woken by the door lock clicking and the door sliding open, filling the room with a blinding white light. I guard my eyes with one hand, but still I blink fiercely.
A silhouette appears in the doorway between my eyes and the light—a momentary sanctuary of shadow.
“Elvie?” the voice says, not unkindly. The owner of the silhouette pronounces my name with familiarity, but it is a voice I do not recognize.
I slowly rouse myself from the floor. I am only vaguely aware of the tangles of my hair, the crusts of tears at the corners of my eyes, my nose, my mouth. I am weak, my thoughts and my skin tingly, fuzzy—whether from malnourishment or delirium, I neither know nor care.
I blink up at the man. I can do no more than that.
“I need you to come with me,” the voice says. “Can you stand?”
I blink again. No answer. I do not know if I can stand.
It doesn’t much matter to me.
Her first steps, I think. I missed her first steps. I’m not exactly sure what the noise that escapes from my mouth is. It could be crying, laughing, or just air pushing its way out of me in a nervous convulsion. Whatever it is, it gives my captor pause.
He stands still in the doorway for a long while, perhaps waiting for me to stop doing whatever it is that I’m doing.
“Here,” he says finally. He bends down, offers his hand. “Let me help you up.”
The man helps me up. Or he lifts me completely. I do not know. Not much penetrates the fog. Before I’m aware of it, we have left the dark room and are passing through a long white hallway. I squint as the man helps me along. I am still unaccustomed to the brightness. My feet work, they hold me upright. But only barely.
Where is she? I mean to ask the man. Can I see her? I need to see her. But I have forgotten how to speak, or perhaps I’ve become unable. I try again. Where? But the words do not leave my parched throat.
“Ssssh. It’s okay, Elvie,” the man tells me. “Just concentrate on walking. You’re doing a great job.”
Who is this man? I was not expecting kindness here. I don’t deserve it—not when I’ve failed my daughter so miserably. My cheeks are wet. I’m crying again.
“Ssssh,” the man repeats. He looks around the empty hallway, then softly rubs my back with one hand and, after a pause, begins humming into my ear.
It is a song I know.
I love you, a bushel and a peck.
A bushel and a peck and a hug—
A sob catches in my throat as I place the tune. I look up at the man’s face for the first time.
“Hi, Elvie,” Bok Choy says to me.
And I am wailing again, although I don’t know why.
• • •
“Good morning, Elvie.”
That’s a voice I’d recognize anywhere. My stomach flops inside me as Bok Choy deposits me gently onto an examination table in the center of a white room—face-to-face with none other than the very man who stole my baby girl from me.
Marsden.
Instinctively all the strength in my body pools in my shoulder, and I slap him hard across the face.
He smiles at me.
I turn my head to whimper at Bok Choy, beg him to rescue me from this man, but he is out the door before I can remember how to form the words.
“I’m so glad you came to find me,” Marsden tells me.
• • •
I think I fall asleep again. Maybe from exhaustion. Maybe I am drugged. I can’t know for sure. I’m not sure I care.
“She lives!” Dr. Marsden says with a chuckle as I blink open my eyes again.
I am vaguely aware of a needle in my arm. Is the doctor taking blood from me? Giving me something?
My head droops on my neck, unable to hold itself up.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Elvie,” Marsden says. Which, when it penetrates my brain, makes me think perhaps this is not the first time I’ve been in this room, needle in my arm. Maybe there have been a dozen times. Maybe more.
How long have I been here? I mean to ask.
“Where?”
That is what I ask instead.
“Ah, so you do have a voice,” Marsden says. “I was beginning to worry. You know, Elvie, I’ve been surprised by you. The others have adjusted to their surroundings quite well. And you, normally so feisty . . .” He clucks his tongue. “But I knew you’d come around.” Again that fatherly smile, like he’s proud of me. “To answer you’re question, you are in my laboratory. Would you like to hear my mad-scientist laugh?” Another chuckle. “You can’t know how happy I was to see you, Elvie. Apart from your general witty demeanor—these past several visits notwithstanding, obviously—I was in dire need of your DNA. After your mother—”
I have found my voice. “Where is she?” I croak out.
Marsden’s face is a dark cloud. “That one? Run away. Gone. And good riddance.”
That wasn’t what I meant, I want to say. Olivia. Where is my baby?
But my words are caught in my throat again, and Marsden is back to his jovial self. “But let’s talk about something more pleasant, shall we? It was so kind of you to bring me a plethora of DNA to add to my research. I can’t tell you how unfortunate it was that my comrades failed to preserve any viable Almiri samples at the compound in the mountains.”
“You slaughtered them,” I say, slowly finding my voice. “The Almiri.” You’re a monster. But I don’t have enough breath for the last sentence.
“Now with Mr. Archer here,” he continues, ignoring me, “I have a small hope of isolating the gene I’ve been searching for.” He pulls the needle from my arm. “So thank you again, Elvie, for that.”
Cole. Cole is here. And perhaps the others, too.
“Where is she?” I ask.
This time the reply comes from the doorway.
“She’s muttering,” the voice says. “Want me to knock her out again?”
I turn, as best I can, and the small movement sends my brain spinning. When I steady myself and focus my vision, I take her in.
Chloe.
Olivia.
My baby.
I almost collapse to the floor. The other figure in the doorway—Bok Choy, I think—leaps to my aid and catches me just in time, righting me on the exam table. I try to reach out a hand to my daughter, but I don’t think I manage.
I am going fuzzy again.
I close my eyes, try to focus my thoughts. “What did you do to her, you . . . you . . .” The words are nearly mush in my mouth.
Although I am fading, I can hear the smile in Marsden’s voice.
“Remarkable, is
n’t it?” he says.
• • •
I am back in the hallway, walking, along with the help of Bok Choy and Olivia. Chloe, I think. She’s Chloe now. Not Olivia. It’s hard to think of them as the same person, even though I can tell they are. Same button nose, only less button-like. Same curved earlobes, only bigger.
Chloe.
As I pull out of the fog, I realize that my two guards have been talking.
“You should be kinder to her,” Bok Choy is telling Chloe. I think he means me. “She’s not so bad.”
Beside me Chloe snorts. “When she’s unconscious,” she replies. But I turn just in time to see the look she gives him when he’s not watching. She studies him carefully, a hint of a smile on her otherwise steely face.
“She’s been through a lot,” Bok Choy replies as he buzzes open the door to what I assume is my cell. “None if this is her fault. Being cruel to her doesn’t further our goal.”
And Chloe’s eyes are soft, watching him. “I’ll think about it,” she says.
She has her father’s eyes.
As Bok Choy deposits me in my cell, I get one last glance at Chloe. She makes some joke I don’t catch to Bok Choy, raising a thick, arched eyebrow.
She has my eyebrows.
I rise to my feet, without even noticing the strain in my muscles. Grown or not, altered or mutated or I-don’t-care-what, that is still my baby girl. And I’m her mother.
“Chloe,” I say—but the door is already shut in front of me by the time I get the word out.
• • •
I do not sit.
I do not pace.
I do not sleep.
I do not weep.
That girl on the other side of the door is my daughter. And whatever the cost, I’m going to get her out of here.
Chapter Nine
Wherein our Heroine’s Worst Nightmare (Not Including the one Where She Has to Perform an Elaborate Ice-Skating Dance She Hasn’t Rehearsed, to the Tune of “Sexy and I Know It”) Comes True
“All right, now. This will be the last sample we take today. Sound good?”
As Dr. Marsden guides the needle under my skin, his voice is as gentle and reassuring as someone who wasn’t holding me captive and performing a series of invasive tests on my person.
The World Forgot Page 12
