The Duality Bridge (Singularity #2) (Singularity Series)

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  Like Lenora. Maybe. And the ones we left behind. They won’t be coming home at all, not even in caskets.

  Cyrus and I weave through the remnants of the crowd milling on the grass, which is still damp from the nightly rains. It’s unclear to me whether the shield lets it in or actually manufactures the rain, but every night, it fills the barrels, feeds the grass, and waters the greenhouse crops. During the day, the shield captures the sunlight, rerouting it and making us invisible. The shield is mostly invisible from the inside, but it creates slow-moving, random spotlights on the ground, like the reflections on the surface of a lake. Cyrus and I move into one, temporarily blinding me. I barely flinch, still numb from all that’s happened.

  It’s not until Cyrus and I are half way to the med bay, out of earshot of anyone nearby, that he speaks. “Eli, don’t worry about Kamali and that Tristan guy. I have a plan for that.”

  “Cyrus, it’s fine.” I shake my head. He thinks he messed up things between Kamali and me, but it’s far from his fault. In fact, I know exactly whose fault it is: mine.

  “It’s not fine. And I’m going to fix it,” he grumbles, but I know he’s just grumpy I’m not going along with whatever his plan is. “She’s only with that guy because of the accent, I’m telling you. And are you going to let some medic beat you out of the best thing you’ve ever had going with a human girl? Don’t wimp out on me like this.”

  Normally I’d push back, but I just don’t have it in me. “Cy, she’s better off without me.” I’m not arguing. In fact, I wish he would drop it.

  “Oh, man, don’t start that again—”

  I cut him off by grabbing a fistful of his Resistance-style camouflage shirt. We’re nearly to the med bay, and as much as I want to know if Lenora’s going to make it, there’s nothing I can do there. And I have a few things I need to get straight with my best friend. I shove him back, toward the side of the pod. It’s more of a nudge to Cyrus’s shoulder, given he outweighs me by fifty pounds, but he gets the idea. He edges into the shadows, and I follow after.

  “I’m not some normal guy,” I say, getting in his face, “or any kind of hero in Kamali’s rebellion. And she knows that, all right? She knows about the fugue, she knows I can make art when I’m in that state, but that’s all she knows, Cy.” I pause because I’m stabbing my finger into his chest, and Cyrus doesn’t deserve that. I lean back and drop my hand. “She doesn’t know I’m Lenora’s little genetic experiment. And I want to keep it that way.”

  Cyrus’s frown has gone from concerned to stormy dark. “Trust me, that is not on my top ten list of things to tell Kamali. But I am glad to hear you haven’t shared that little bit of crazy with her. And please tell me you haven’t said anything about Lenora’s theory that you’re a direct line to God.” He says this like I’m impossible to work with, messing up his grand plan to get Kamali and me together. As if she wasn’t kissing Tristan two seconds ago.

  “I haven’t spoken to Kamali at all. Not since the Olympics.” What I really mean is, not since she figured out I have feelings for Lenora. The forbidden kind.

  “See, that is what I’m trying to fix.”

  “Leave it alone, Cy.” My frustration has me jabbing my finger at him again, so I pull back and drop my gaze to the dewy grass by my boots. “Besides, I’ve got bigger problems. Something happened to me back in Marcus’s apartment in LA, when he was trying to ascend me.” I look up and meet Cyrus’s concerned look. “Something that changed everything. For me, at least.”

  He frowns. “I know that whole thing shook you up, but—”

  “Just hear me out.” I wait until he gives me a nod. “While Marcus had me strapped in his chair, I went into the fugue state. I saw things, learned things… things there’s no way I could know.”

  His shoulders drop. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into this—”

  “Cyrus! I met Marcus’s mother in the fugue state. Only problem? She died a hundred years ago in the Singularity.”

  “Eli!” He runs both hands through his hair. “You had a dream or a hallucination or—”

  “And it happened again,” I cut him off. “Today.”

  He throws his hands out. “What happened again?”

  “The fugue.” I swallow. “Except this time, I wasn’t talking to ghosts. I was completely in the present, right there, during the op. Some kind of flash bomb set it off. I couldn’t see anything. Except I could, Cy. I saw them all—Lenora, Delphina, Kamali—only they were different.”

  Cyrus is running his hand over his face now. I think he’s finally taking this seriously.

  “Different how?” he asks.

  “Their clothes, mostly. Kamali was in her leotard, the one I first saw her in. But Lenora… she wasn’t wearing her bodyform. She was human. Like, maybe that’s what she looked like before she ascended? Except there’s no way I could know anything about that. She’s never told me, and you know they purged all the Singularity era stuff from legacy nets.”

  He gives me a look like I’m hopelessly crazy. “So you got knocked on the head by a flash bomb and had a vision of Kamali in her nearly-naked dance clothes. And you saw Lenora, who you’ve been hot for from the very beginning, as a flesh-and-blood human. It doesn’t take a psych analyst to break that one down. This is why it’s so desperately urgent that I get you a real girlfriend. If not Kamali, then seriously, Eli, I’ll find someone else. Because you’re around the bend with this.”

  I sigh and press my lips tight. I need Cyrus’s help, and that’s not going to happen as long as he thinks the fugue is just my own personal holo-fantasy about girls. “You know the fugue is bigger than that.”

  He waves his hand at me, not conceding anything. “I know it helps you paint. That’s all I know. These dreams you have while you’re in Fugue State Land—I don’t know what those are. Probably just bizarre visions drudged up by your subconscious mind. And I’m very certain that’s a strange, strange place.”

  “Yeah? Well, those visions are teaching me things. Things I can’t possibly know otherwise. That’s why I can paint in the fugue. That’s how I stopped Marcus from injecting nanites in my brain.”

  “Wait… what?” Cyrus says. “Back up. I thought you stopped him with Leopold’s personal key breaker dot thing, whatever that was.”

  I shake my head. “The dot was taking too long. Marcus had me strapped in, needle ready, all set to ascend me. He only stopped because I went into the fugue state, met his mother, learned all about his past life, then came out of the fugue to tell him his mother had left a secret letter for him before she died. It kind of freaked him out that I knew her name.”

  Cyrus is speechless for a moment, something I would enjoy for a change, except that I really need him to help me figure this out.

  “How could you know about the letter?” Cyrus’s large shoulders are hunched up again.

  “Marcus was a little surprised as well.”

  The furrowed look is back. “Let’s say the ascenders actually did alter your DNA—”

  “They did something to me.”

  He holds up both hands. “Maybe they did. And maybe it’s giving you these visions or hallucinations or whatever. That doesn’t mean you were talking to Marcus’s long dead mother.”

  “You have a better explanation?” I ask, crossing my arms. “Because I’d really like to hear it.”

  He’s got the Cyrus thinking hard look. “This thing lets you see stuff, learn stuff, that you couldn’t possibly know otherwise, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Things from the Singularity era.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Things only ascenders could know.”

  I see where he’s going with this. “Why would they program a bunch of ascender knowledge into my DNA? I mean, if that’s even possible.”

  He tips his head to me. “Hey, I wasn’t thinking that, but that’s an excellent explanation. Somehow they hardcoded some data into your genes, and now it’s getting expressed in your subconscious or dream stat
es.” He taps a finger to his lips.

  “What’s your theory?” I ask, suspicious that it’s something even crazier. Not that my personal theory about contacting dead people is any less so.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of you tapping into current ascender information.” He’s got a gleam in his eyes.

  “Current? As in, I can hook up somehow to ascenders like Marcus through my DNA?” Which actually does sound crazier. And doesn’t explain the famous painters who have been part of my hallucinations along the way. Or the most recent flash bomb episode.

  He grins. “Maybe not just an ascender. Maybe the whole lot of them.”

  I blink. “Orion? You think my fugue state is tapping into Orion?” My voice hikes up.

  Cyrus shushes me and pulls me close, one hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got to keep this quiet. I mean, can you imagine? If you can really do that… we need to figure out how this thing works. Like, yesterday.”

  I shrug his hand off. “I know you’ve been dying to hack the ascenders since you were ten, but—”

  He leans back and does a good job of looking affronted. “Hey, this isn’t about fulfilling my lifelong and well-justified desire to give the ascenders a dose of their own arrogance. I am, of course, in this entirely for altruistic purposes. Vive la revolution!”

  I almost laugh.

  The hint of a smile drops quickly from his face. “I’ll tell you what. If you can crack into Orion, you will be the hero to end all heroes. Eli, my man, Kamali will be climbing over that Tristan guy just to have a chance with you.”

  I roll my eyes. “That is not what this is about.”

  He scowls. “Well, it should be.”

  “There’s something really wrong with you, you know that?” But the tightness in my chest is starting to ease. If the fugue is something as simple as that—if it’s some kind of antennae tapping into Orion—then I’m not going crazy. And this thing the ascenders have done to me might actually serve a purpose. I’m in the Resistance now, for better or worse. It’s not like I can go back to my life as a legacy.

  Cyrus sobers, which brings back some of the weight to my shoulders as well. “If you really can access Orion without anyone knowing… think of what you could do. The rebel ascenders can’t tap into it, not for long anyway, not without exposing themselves and the Resistance. And even the ones still undercover wouldn’t have access to things like Marcus’s mother’s private Singularity-era information. If you can tap that without Marcus detecting you—that’s pure information-access gold, my friend.”

  He glances back to the transport. Almost everyone has drifted away. Kamali and Delphina are gone, off consoling and being consoled by their respective seconds, no doubt. “Things like today, this operation—our camp isn’t the only base of operations in Commander Astoria’s cause. There are Resistance cells all over the world, all running ops and risking human lives. Think about how many you could save if you can get a grip on this thing.”

  That wipes away any remaining humor inside me. “I’m nowhere near controlling it, Cy. I don’t even know how the fugue works, not really.”

  Cyrus nods. “I know you don’t. But I’ll bet Lenora does. And ascenders are tough—I wouldn’t be surprised at all if Leopold can resurrect her. The two of them were involved in this from the start, right? Let’s see what the shiny pants have to say about it.”

  I nod. For the first time since the attack, I have a small lift of hope.

  Cyrus’s words buoy me up… until we’re inside the med pod.

  Lenora is motionless on the gleaming steel table. The blue holo matrix and the med bot obscure my view, but her midsection is still torn open. The bot has morphed from its normal humanoid form into a monstrous thing with several articulated arms sprouting from its chest. Each has a hand or claw or tools at the end. They appear more electronic than mechanical as they dig into her chest, but it’s all moving so fast, it’s a blur. Meanwhile, Leopold stands at one end, holding her smooth, hairless head. His hands form a cage of ten finger-point contacts, and his eyes are closed. Maybe he’s accessing her mind while the bot works on her bodyform.

  I hope.

  Cyrus looks both horrified and intrigued at the sight of the cybernetic surgery. On the opposite side of the med bay, my mom is resting in her bed, where she’s been since we arrived at the camp. The rest of the pod is empty: the humans injured in New Portland were patched up by a med bot on the way home. My mom stirs, and I decide to check on her rather than disturb Leopold.

  Two small square monitors float over her, one at her temple, the other at her chest. Her skin is still paper-thin from the lymphoma that’s killing her. She’s getting decent care from the low-sentience med bot, and Commander Astoria sent out samples of my mom’s DNA as soon as we arrived, but it apparently takes time for a cure to be synthesized and ferried back. The Resistance’s far-flung network of undercover ascenders supply them with all kinds of tech, but the human-centric stuff, like genetic medicines and augments, have to stay more covert. The med bay is stocked with various augments, but my mom’s gen tech is custom. All I know is every minute we have to wait is another minute my mom is still dying.

  I lay my hand on my mom’s. Hers is warm while mine feels like icy death. It startles her awake, and I pull back quickly, putting on a smile to compensate.

  “Elijah. You’re back. Thank God.” A wheeze pushes its way out of her lungs as she struggles to sit up.

  “Not sure God had much to do with it,” I say quietly. The med bot gave her a sleep aid before I left, so I’m sure she hasn’t heard about the op. Or the people who died.

  I tap the bed’s manual controls to transform it into a half-chair. The cushion adjusts automatically on the way up to support her thin frame.

  Her blue eyes capture me in a pointed stare. “Just because we can’t see the hand that guides things doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

  I have to physically bite my lip to keep from saying something. She vehemently protested me going on the mission, but I know the score on this—I need to keep the Resistance happy until they come up with the meds she needs. Once she’s healthy again, I’ll have the luxury of saying no to dangerous PR missions to help spread their message.

  I look to Cyrus for help—he kept watch over my mom while I was gone—but he’s absorbed in the med bot’s frenzied actions, putting Lenora’s bodyform back together.

  My mom tracks my gaze, and her already sickly cheeks pale a little more. “What happened to Lenora?”

  “We were discovered,” I say thickly. “She fought a sentry single-handed. Probably the only reason I’m still alive.”

  That brings her gaze snapping back to me. “Sounds like Lenora was doing God’s work today, then.”

  My shoulders drop. I don’t even know what to say to that. I don’t share my mother’s belief in her ancient religion. Lots of people in the Resistance are believers, but the idea of an all-powerful God watching over me? The closest thing to that is Lenora. I used to believe the ascenders were actual gods-on-earth—supremely intelligent, beautiful, good and kind and generous. Turns out that was just her. And looking at her broken bodyform now, it’s obvious how mortal she can be. Not that I count it against her. Time and again, she’s risked her immortal life just to keep me safe.

  And God, if it exists, had nothing to do with it.

  I clear my throat. “It wouldn’t be right if she dies because of me.”

  My mom grasps my hand. “If Lenora dies because she was saving you, she would think it was the finest thing she’s ever done.” Her voice is full of conviction.

  I’m struggling for words again. Lenora had a hand in my genetic design, but my mom… well, she’s my mom. She carried me for nine months and raised me alone. The closest thing I have to a “father” is the ascender who talked her into putting the freakish thing that I am in her womb. Beyond those facts, I’ve avoided the subject with her because I’m still creeped out by it. And full of anger at an ascender I don’t even know, but who
my mother loved… and who used her like a petri dish. Every time I think about it, I become incoherent with rage.

  I’m taking too long to respond.

  My mom just squeezes my hand and lets go. “No matter what happens, it’s vital that you continue with your art. Lenora would want that, and so do I.”

  My art. As if that matters anymore. “Right. I was working on some sketches this morning.” A complete lie.

  My mother nods her approval.

  The truth is I haven’t picked up a charcoal pencil, much less acrylics, since my Olympic-gold-winning painting of Kamali ascending into the heavens. I don’t even have supplies. Thanks to the fugue, I can now create insanely beautiful art at will—but somehow my need to paint is frozen inside me.

  “So, what’s the latest on the gen tech front?” I ask, completely changing the subject.

  She sighs, and it’s half wheeze. “Leopold said it would be in this afternoon.”

  I peer at her. “That’s good news, right?” She doesn’t seem anywhere near as happy as she should be about this.

  She smiles, but it’s thin. And forced. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up.”

  Anger wells up in me—not directed at her, but at the whole situation that landed us here. “These aren’t black market meds some guy cooked up in his bathtub. This is the real thing—ascender tech.” I don’t know where Cyrus’s black market gen tech came from, but it obviously wasn’t ascender-sourced. The ascenders’ tech actually works.

  “I hope so, for all you risked for it.” She scowls. “And if you ever put yourself in danger for me again, I’m going to beat you within an inch of your life.”

  It’s true that I’ve risked my life for her. Giving myself over Marcus to win a cure for her wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last. Not until she’s better.

  I give her a mock frown. “Good thing you’re too weak to beat me up.”