Fugitive X

by Gregg Rosenblum

  CHAPTER 28

  THE COLLAR WAS COLD ON CASS’S NECK. SHE WANTED TO TUG IT OFF, but she didn’t want to risk the “autoburst” that the freeman had talked about. She held her bound hands at her waist to fight the urge to touch the collar. “I’m sorry,” her foster brother, Nick, whispered to her. He seemed sincerely upset; she didn’t think he had been expecting the hostile reaction that they had received. But she just ignored him. She wasn’t about to accept any apologies from him. This was his fault.

  Cass tested the cord that Marco had tied around her wrists, but it was bound tightly and wouldn’t let her move her hands at all. When she tried to twist and pull, the plastic cord bit painfully into her skin.

  Marco led the collared group through the forest for fifteen minutes, with the armed rebels behind them. Cass thought about making a run for it. It would be so stupid, she knew, with the collar on her and the weapons aimed at her back and her hands bound—but if she went into the rebel camp, she didn’t know if she’d ever come out. She snuck a glance behind her, gauging the distance between her and the guards, then began, very slowly, to edge farther to the left as she walked.

  The boy named Farryn leaned toward her. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “You won’t make it. The collar range is too wide.”

  Cass looked at him, ready with a sarcastic reply, but it died on her lips. He looked so sincere, so worried. Who was this boy, who seemed to care about her? He suddenly did seem so familiar—she believed that she had known him, before her education. She studied his face, unconsciously reached a hand out toward his cheek, searching for that elusive thread of recognition, trying to remember . . .

  Farryn smiled and rested his forehead against hers. She suddenly snapped out of her reverie and stepped back and slapped him.

  Farryn let out a surprised yell and grabbed his cheek. Nick came over and pushed himself between Farryn and Cass. “What’s going on?” he said.

  One of the guards, the one with the pistol, pushed Nick on the shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “All of you. Keep moving.”

  Farryn shot one last look at Cass, his hand still on his face. She ignored him. She could feel her cheeks burning, from embarrassment and anger and adrenaline.

  Marco led the group around a large rock, then down a narrow path that Cass could see opened into a large clearing, where there were tents, and cookfires, and other people. She felt a rise of panic—this was her last chance to run—but then Marco walked briskly back to her and took her forearm, holding it firmly, almost painfully so.

  A man in camouflage gear waited for them at the edge of the camp. He had brown hair, cut short in a buzz, with a white streak running over his left ear, even though he seemed young.

  “Ro,” said Nick, walking toward the man. “I found my sister! I got her out!”

  “Shut it, Nick,” said Ro. “Not another word until I tell you to talk, or I’ll trigger your stun collar and won’t turn it off.”

  Nick folded his arms over his chest and clenched his jaw, but he kept his mouth shut.

  Ro stepped up close to Nick. “You sneak out without permission, go back to the City, endangering all of us with your stupidity, and then you top it all off by bringing a true believer into my camp?”

  “She’s my sister!” said Nick.

  “I didn’t tell you you could speak,” said Ro.

  “Then stun me! I don’t care! I couldn’t leave my sister with the bots!”

  Ro grabbed hold of Nick’s shirt. “And how exactly did you get her out? You just walked right into the City and asked the bots for your sister?”

  “She wasn’t in the City,” Nick said. “We found her outside.”

  “Convenient,” said Ro.

  “It’s the truth,” said Nick.

  Ro turned to Marco. “You say you scanned her thoroughly?”

  Marco nodded. “Head to toe,” he said. “Clean.”

  Ro shook his head. “Why come back here?” he said to Nick.

  “I still want to fight the bots,” said Nick. “I want to raid the City with you. And I need to find my brother, and you keep track of refugee reports.”

  Ro didn’t say anything for a moment, then let go of Nick’s shirt. “Well, you won’t be fighting any bots with me for a while, that’s for sure.” He turned to Marco. “Bring them in. Take the collars and ropes off, except for the new girl.”

  “She doesn’t need the collar—” Nick began.

  Ro grabbed Nick’s shirt again and pulled him toward him. “If your sister runs, we’ll hunt her down and kill her,” he said. “And her blood will be on your hands, not mine.”

  “She just needs time to remember,” Nick said. “She’s my sister.”

  Ro let go of Nick with a look that Cass thought combined disgust and pity.

  “I don’t need time,” she said. She had had enough of being talked about like she wasn’t there. “I just need to go home. Back to the City.”

  “She’ll be fine,” said Farryn, stepping between Ro and Cass. “Her memory will come back. I’m sure of it.”

  “You willing to bet your life on that?” said Ro. “Because you might be doing just that.”

  “Yes,” said Farryn.

  “So be it,” said Ro. “We will be leaving tomorrow on a sortie.” He looked at Nick and Erica. “You will not be joining us, which is a shame, because I could use every man and woman I can get. But I also won’t go into battle with people I don’t trust.”

  “I’m no traitor,” Nick said angrily.

  “Probably not, but you do seem to have trouble taking orders,” said Ro.

  Nick didn’t reply.

  That evening, Cass lay on her bedroll, trying in vain to sleep. The stun collar was still tight on her neck, cold in the evening chill. She thought about her family, envisioning their reunion—Penny would be so happy, and her mother would hug her so hard she wouldn’t be able to breathe. But would that ever happen? Not only was she trapped here, in this rebel camp, but the bots had kicked her out of the City like they were throwing away trash.

  She thought about her foster brother, Nick, trying to remember. There were a few murky memories—pigeons, poison ivy?—but trying to reach for the past just made her dizzy and nauseous. She turned her thoughts to Farryn. He cared for her, that was obvious. She couldn’t quite remember him, but she did feel . . . comfortable with him. He had risked a great deal, vouching for her with Ro. She felt a strong pang of guilt at the thought that if she escaped, Ro might punish Farryn. Still, she hadn’t asked to be kidnapped, to be dragged out into the woods.

  Cass stood and stretched, giving up on the idea of sleep. The guard watching her tensed for a moment, then went back to leaning against a tree.

  Farryn walked up and spoke quietly to the guard for a few moments. The guard nodded, and Farryn walked up to Cass. She felt nervous, which annoyed her. She crossed her arms over her chest, hoping she looked sufficiently bored.

  “Hello, Cass,” Farryn said.

  “What do you want?”

  “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Tied up and wearing a stun collar, but fine.”

  “I’m really sorry about that,” Farryn said. He did seem angry.

  “It’s not your fault,” said Cass, surprising herself.

  Farryn nodded, then took a step closer. “It’s not Nick’s fault either, Cass. I know you don’t understand it right now, and I don’t blame you, the way you’re being treated—but you don’t belong in the City.”

  Cass threw up her hands in frustration. “Where do I belong? Here?”

  Farryn said nothing, then whispered, “I’d untie you if I could, Cass. Believe me.”

  She stared at him, and she did believe him. She looked away.

  “I want to show you something,” Farryn said. She turned back to him. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it carefully, then handed it to Cass. The paper was smudged around the edges with dirt and beginning to fall apart. How long has he been carryi
ng this? she thought. It was a sketch of herself, done quickly, it seemed, but definitely with skill. Who was this boy, who walked around with hand-drawn pictures of her in his pocket? She felt herself starting to blush. Had he been her boyfriend? “You’re a good artist,” she said.

  “I can’t draw a stick figure.” Farryn shook his head. “It’s a self-portrait. You drew it for me.”

  Cass stared at the page and struggled to remember. She was an artist? Nick had said something about that too, she remembered. . . . And she cared enough about this boy to give him this picture? She began to sense something, a memory . . . a paintbrush gliding on birch-bark canvas . . . Suddenly her head began to throb brutally, and she had to close her eyes and press her hands against her temples.

  “Are you okay?” Farryn said, touching her arm.

  “Leave me alone,” she said, her head feeling like it was going to explode. “Go, please.” She handed the self-portrait back to Farryn.

  Farryn hesitated, and then he turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER 29

  THE MEDIC DECLARED THE BURN MINOR, QUICKLY SLAPPED ON A SALVE she called “synth-skin,” wrapped Kevin’s hand in gauze, and warned him not wake her again in the middle of the night unless he was lased in the head or missing a limb. Without warning him, she gave him a quick jab with an auto-injecter. “For the pain,” she said.

  Kevin stood, and it felt as if his head was floating above his body. He stumbled and barely caught himself on the edge of a table.

  “He’s going to be loopy from the painkiller and sedative,” the medic said to 23. “He’ll need help getting back to his bunk.”

  “Why . . . why sedative?” said Kevin, slurring, fighting hard to get the words out at all.

  The medic crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think you need any more wandering around tonight,” she said. She glanced back at 23. “Night repairs, you said?”

  “Correct,” said 23.

  The medic stared at 23, frowning, then shrugged. “Well, no more repairs tonight. Get him back to his bed before he passes out.”

  Kevin didn’t remember getting back to the dorm. He woke in the morning Otter calling his name. His head hurt and his hand throbbed. “What happened to you?” Otter said, pointing at Kevin’s bandaged hand.

  “Bot took me out last night for training, and I burned it,” said Kevin.

  “What the hell was the clown doing working you in the middle of the night?”

  Kevin just shrugged, hoping that would end it. Thankfully, Otter shook his head once more, then walked away. Kevin sat up with a groan. He flexed his hand. It hurt, but it wasn’t stiff. Still, he didn’t know how he was going to be able to work today, either at the Wall or on repairs. Or how he was going to climb the cliff to escape. As much as he hated to delay any longer, he might have to wait a day or two for his hand to fully heal. And that would give him a chance to think about the perimeter alarm problem. Cort walked up to Kevin’s bunk, silently as always, and nodded at him. “Still here?” he said.

  “Still here,” said Kevin. “Not for long.”

  “What happened?” Cort said.

  Pil walked up next to Cort, yawning and scratching his arm. “Yeah,” he said. “Why were you working at night?”

  Kevin shrugged. “Ask 23,” he said.

  “23?” said Pil.

  “The bot,” said Kevin. “The clown, as Otter would say.”

  Pil shrugged, suddenly disinterested, and shuffled away to the showers. Cort said quietly, “Do what you’ve gotta do, but don’t drag us into your trouble.” Then he walked away too.

  Kevin showered—even he was getting tired of how he smelled—and struggled one-handed into his clothes. He followed Otter, Pil, and Cort to the mess hall.

  After breakfast, 23 was waiting for him outside. “The Governor wishes to see you,” it said, and began walking.

  Kevin shrugged and followed, acting nonchalant, although his heart started thumping hard. Was this about the escape attempt? “What does he want?” he said.

  “I do not know,” said 23.

  “Is it about last night?” Kevin pressed.

  “I do not know,” repeated 23.

  “Well, does he know about the . . . about what happened?”

  23 abruptly stopped walking, forcing Kevin to skid to a stop. “I have been told to bring you to the Governor’s laboratory because he wishes to speak with you. That is all I will divulge. Do not ask me more about the Governor’s intentions.” It turned crisply away and resumed walking.

  “So, about that,” said Kevin. “About what happened. Why did you cover for me? How come I’m not in jail or whatever?”

  “Your freedom has been curtailed,” said 23. “You will be more closely monitored. Another escape attempt, should you survive it, would engender harsh punishment.”

  “But why did you let me get away with the first one?” Kevin insisted.

  “Are you requesting punishment?” said 23. “That can be arranged.”

  Kevin was taken aback—23’s comment was surprisingly un-robotic. Was it capable of sarcasm? “Doesn’t answer the question,” Kevin said.

  23 didn’t reply.

  Kevin lapsed into silence, realizing he wasn’t going to get any farther with the robot. 23 led him to the Governor’s cabin, but instead of walking to the front door, he went around to the other side of the building. A small door, accessed by a small, dug-out three-step stairway, was tucked against the corner of the building. 23 stood quietly outside the door, waiting.

  “Aren’t you going to let someone know we’re here?” said Kevin.

  “The Governor knows my location,” said 23.

  Kevin filed that bit of information away—the Governor’s bots apparently had some sort of location tracking enabled. He wondered how similar it was to the City chips. And were the tracking and communications networking packaged together? It seemed logical. But how would the Governor keep his network secure? It had to be one of three things—either the signal was only strong enough to cover the Island, the signal was scrambled, or the Island Wall tech was muffling the signal in some way. He’d bet on the last theory—the Wall muffling. Keeping the signal weak wouldn’t prevent it from being picked up by nearby or highly amped receivers, and even if you scrambled it so the comm wasn’t readable, the fact of the scrambled signal itself would be a beacon to your location.

  Lost in his tech ruminations, Kevin was startled when the door swung inward. The Governor stood on a small landing at the top of a set of earthen cellar stairs. He was wearing a white lab smock that was stained with brown and black streaks and had a set of scope glasses pushed up to his forehead. He nodded without smiling. “Come in,” he said. He turned and walked down the stairs.

  The stairway—simple wood slats with no railing—led down into a large basement. The walls and ceiling were unfinished, bare earth. The ceiling was low, about seven feet high, with two rows of lightstrips. The room was supported by four planed but otherwise unfinished wooden columns. The low-tech vibe of the architecture was at odds with the equipment lining the perimeter on low wood slat tables—vid screens and overflowing boxes of tools and supplies. On the far wall, something intrigued and mystified Kevin—a small metal cabinet, about three feet cubed, that had a massive tangle of wires running from it, up the wall, and through the ceiling.

  The cabinet was obviously a network hub of some sort—could it be the heart of the Wall tech? He was so focused on the cabinet that it took him a few seconds to notice the operating table in the middle of the room. The table was a dull gray metal, and laying on it, perfectly still, was a bot with the epidermis of its face removed.

  After recovering from his shock, Kevin hurried over to the bot and began studying the facial interior. His first reaction was surprise at how much neo-plastic was in there—the casings for the eye cameras, the nanomotors and gears, even the coating for the intricate flow of wiring—all neo-plas. He tried to make sense of it all. Those connections, the tiny mushroom-shaped wafers�
��they were probably sensors, to monitor skin stimuli; and that small black box, near where the mouth would be, that had to be the speaker for the bot’s audio. It was amazing how small it was, though. He had no idea how a speaker could be that efficient. He began to reach down, to move the speaker box, to figure out the amplification technique, but the Governor’s hand grabbed his and pulled it away from the bot.

  Kevin jumped. He had completely forgotten about everything, and everyone, else in the room. “No touching,” said the Governor. He gave Kevin a small, enigmatic smile. “Interesting, isn’t it?” he said. “Could almost get lost in it, the circuit routing, the AI coding, the sheer challenging puzzle of it, right?” The Governor—Dr. Winston, Kevin reminded himself—was staring at Kevin. Kevin felt the Governor’s intensity, and it made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t quite understand it. “You could get so caught up in the details that you forget about the bigger picture, forget about what you’re actually building, and why. Pretend you’re just a pure scientist, and none of it is your fault, not your responsibility. . . .” The Governor shook his head and sighed, turning away from Kevin. “You’re too young to understand.”

  “Don’t tell me I’m too young,” Kevin said angrily. “I’ve killed bots and crippled their communications network! Maybe it was just for an hour, but still, I’ve done a lot and I’ve seen a lot and I don’t need you telling me I’m too young to understand anything!”

  The Governor watched him, and Kevin folded his arms over his chest and stared back. And then the Governor surprised him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. You have been through a great deal. I should not be so patronizing. I apologize.”

  Kevin wasn’t sure how to react to the apology, so he said nothing.

  The Governor picked up a small clamp that was resting on the table next to the bot’s head and bent over the bot’s face, carefully adjusting something. “So, Kevin,” said the Governor without looking up, “you temporarily crippled their comm network, you say? I’d be very interested in hearing about that.”

  Kevin berated himself. He couldn’t be losing his mind every time someone called him young. “It was nothing,” he said. “Got lucky.”