by Tania Hutley
The bar is dimly lit, and small flickering lights on the tables give it a homely atmosphere. After doing a quick scan, I keep my head down so my headscarf hides my face. The people in here are ignoring us anyway, probably assuming we’re just two more regular customers.
Sentin drops my arm and walks to the counter. “Hello, Bayley.”
The woman’s eyes widen. She puts down the glass she was wiping and drops her cloth on top of it. “Sentin. You look exactly the same.” She shakes her head. “I should know by now that you always do what you say, but I didn’t think you’d actually turn up. Not after all these years.”
Then she turns her gaze to me, and frowns at the part of my face that’s showing. She’s around Sentin’s age and pretty, but in an untweaked Old Triton kind of way. Not like me. With my deep, rich chestnut skin, sleek bob, and smooth, ageless face, I must look like an alien to her.
“Who’s this?” Her eyes narrow.
“Some legionnaires are following us,” he says.
“No shit.” She’s still staring at me. “You’re from Triton?”
I nod. “My name is… Felicity. It’s nice to meet you.” It’s the first time I’ve introduced myself with the president’s first name, and it feels awkward on my tongue. Like the first time I said I was Rayne.
She doesn’t reply. Her expression isn’t hostile, but it’s guarded. I can see that she’s wondering what I’m doing here, and whether my presence will be a danger to her.
“We’re going to sit in the far booth, the one you can’t see into from outside,” says Sentin. “We’ll have a drink, make them think we’re settling in. Then, after you bring us a second one, we’ll slip out through the back door.”
Bayley tilts her head, her lips thinning. “I haven’t seen you in ten years, and instead of a proper hello, you expect me to bring you drinks, then clear a path to the back door for you? Nobody uses that door. There are boxes piled in front of it.”
“I apologize for being abrupt, but if we talk for too long, the legionnaires will realize we know each other. It’s better if that doesn’t happen.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, giving her an apologetic look. I don’t know their history, but it seems like Sentin’s asking an awful lot from her, especially seeing as she probably has plenty of reasons to hate Tritoners. And Sentin isn’t exactly asking nicely.
She shakes her head. “Same old Sentin. The years haven’t changed you a bit, have they? Fine, I’ll clear the path to the door but you have to help me move the boxes.”
“Thank you, Bayley. And please, would you serve two drinks to the booth? Give us anything, so long as they look alcoholic, but aren’t.”
Bayley shoots another narrow-eyed look at me. “Make sure you keep your face covered. I don’t want trouble.”
Sentin leads me to a booth, and we sit on either side of the table. The flickering lights I’d noticed on the tables are actually candles, nestled in glass cases.
Bayley comes over with two small glasses filled with a clear liquid, and puts them in front of us. “So, that’s it, then?” She fists her hands on her hips. “Now you want me to start clearing a path to the back door?”
“I’m sorry about the circumstances.” He hesitates. “In spite of our haste, it’s good to see you, Bayley.”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “Nice to see you too, Sentin. I only wish you were here to catch up, instead of using me to dodge some legionnaires.”
His brow creases, and his eyes are dark. He looks genuinely upset that he’s upset her. “As I said, we’re pressed for time. But here.” He digs something out of his pocket and hands it to her.
She wrinkles her nose at it like it’s nasty, and puts the object back on the table. “Keep it. I don’t actually need it. Not that you’d know how I’m doing, but I’m fine, thanks for asking.”
The thing she’s put down is a metal coin. I get a jolt of recognition. It doesn’t look exactly like the coin my father gave me before he died, but it’s close.
“I’m sorry, Bayley.” Sentin’s mouth twists, and he looks more uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen him. “If the legionnaires weren’t at the door, we could talk. As it is, we’ll have to save it for next time.”
“Fine.” She turns to leave, then hesitates and turns back. “On second thought, I may as well keep this. I figure I deserve it, and you don’t use money in Triton anyway, right?” She picks up the coin and tosses it in one hand. “Do you know Julius and Newport both died? I mean, not that you’ll be sad, after the way they treated you. But I thought you should know. When the wall came down, they rushed to fight against the knights.”
“I didn’t know. Thank you for telling me.”
“Lots of people died, but I…” Shaking her head, she shoves both hands aggressively into the pockets of her jeans. “Like I said, they gave you no reason for you to cry for them.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” His tone is careful.
Bayley turns quickly on her heel, stalks back to the bar, and slips through a door behind it.
Sentin’s gaze drops to his drink. He studies it, his eyes distant, as if he’s too deep in thought to actually drink it. I take a sip of mine. It’s just as delicious as I’m coming to expect. In fact, it tastes a little like one of the fruits I tried.
I’m burning to know who the woman is, but instead of asking, I just give him a pointed look with my eyebrows raised. If the silence drags on for long enough, maybe he’ll get tempted to fill it.
It doesn’t work. Of course. After sipping my drink and holding in my questions for what seems like forever, I have to speak up.
“Who is she?” I ask.
He lets out a long breath. “My cousin.”
“The daughter of your father’s… brother? Sister?”
“Does it matter?”
“I’m interested in your family, and what your life was like over here.”
The flickering candle casts stark shadows on Sentin’s face, and makes his eyes even harder to read than normal. It also highlights his elegant features. I finally understand why he doesn’t look overly tweaked, because they don’t seem to have tweaking in Deiterra. But I like that his features are mostly natural. It makes me feel closer to him, somehow, even though he’s closed off and secretive.
“My life in Deiterra was difficult,” he says in his slow, precise way. “I was always regarded as a Tritoner. As a foreigner. Much the same way I was treated when I returned to Triton.”
“Who were the people Bayley mentioned? The ones who were killed?”
“Her brothers. The four of us were brought up together, though they objected to my presence. They thought I should have stayed in Triton.”
My heart constricts. Maybe there’s a reason Sentin never wants to show any emotion. Perhaps it was beaten out of him. There were people at the shelter like that, hollow-eyed, and carved out inside. People who’d used up all their fear and had nothing left.
“Sounds rough.” I don’t try to keep my sympathy out of my voice.
He looks back down at the candle’s dancing flame. “Your childhood must have been rougher. I had plenty to eat, and I spent my days learning.”
“My life only got hard after my father died. Before that, we lived in an apartment, and I went to school. Most of my early memories are good ones.” I don’t mention that sometimes in the shelter, I used to curse those memories. The problem with having it so good and then losing it all, is being aware of exactly how far you’ve fallen.
“I have some good memories too. My schooling in Deiterra was problematic, but I liked going to university in Triton.”
“You were bullied at school, as well as at home?”
He hesitates, lifting his drink and taking a sip before he answers. “I was an outsider, who found the lessons simplistic. That seemed to be a point of contention.”
I can guess how it must have been. The other kids must have resented him showing them up.
I think I’m finally starting to understand Sentin. Like me, he wants
to change the things that affected him most. For him, that’s the divide between Deiterra and Triton, and I get why he wants to tear down the wall.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” I have a strong urge to reach across the table and touch his hand, but I’m not sure how he’d respond. He’d probably look at me as though I’m crazy.
He puts his glass down. “Thank you. But your pity’s misplaced. If I hadn’t lived in Deiterra as a child, we wouldn’t have been allowed to come here, and no treaty would be possible. The imperator has an extreme dislike of outsiders, and we’re lucky he considers me enough of a Deiterran to let me bring you here.” His tone is matter-of-fact, but I know his lack of expression is just a mask he puts on.
“Can I ask you something, Sentin? Why do the legionnaires call you sir?” I’m half expecting him to avoid the question, but his gaze stays direct as he answers.
“Because my father was the ambassador. Like most positions here, it’s a hereditary title, and considered a military post. Therefore, I outrank the legionnaires who escorted us to Reliance.”
I blink at him. “Hereditary title? Are you saying you’re the new Deiterran ambassador?”
He gives a small shrug. “For years it’s been a ceremonial position with no real power.”
“Still. Why didn’t I know you were the new ambassador?”
“It’s not important. All his title did was grant my father access to high-profile events in Triton that he wanted to attend.”
“I guess you don’t need a title to go anywhere, right? You’re the president’s right-hand man, and even if you weren’t, I bet you’d find a way to get in wherever you wanted.”
I drain the last of my drink, and right on cue, Bayley comes over with two more.
“The legionnaires are sitting at one of the outside tables, trying to be inconspicuous.” She places our drinks in front of us. “How are you going to leave without them seeing you?”
“Go out and ask if you can take their order. While they’re distracted, we’ll sneak behind the bar.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “You’ll owe me, Sentin. Even more than you owe me now, I mean. I cleared enough space for you to get to the door, except for the heaviest boxes.”
He digs in his pocket for another coin, but stops when she flicks one hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’m not talking about money, stupid. You’re so literal.”
I suppress a smile. Judging from her insult, they must have been close. At least Sentin had one friend here.
“Then I’ll owe you a favor,” he says.
“I’d settle for a proper catch up, sometime when you’re not running from the legion.”
His shoulders drop a little, as though the tension is ebbing out of him, and I finally realize he must have been nervous about seeing her. He nods, and for the first time, a ghost of a smile crosses his lips. “I’d like that, Bayley. I promise, if I can find a way to make it happen, I will.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” She nods at him, then me, and heads outside to speak to the legionnaires.
Sentin watches her go. A few moments later, he motions for me to follow and scoots out from the booth, crouching low. We dash behind the bar, then through the door to a little storage area filled with bottles on shelves and in cartons. He pushes his way through the cartons, then shifts a couple out of the way to reveal an old, rusted door that’s obviously never used.
The lock turns with a harsh, reluctant sound, and Sentin throws his weight into forcing the old hinges to open. We step through the gap into a small, foul-smelling back alley, and when we’re through, he pushes the door shut behind us.
“This way.” He takes off down the alley, running silently, faster than I would have expected. Because he’s so smart, I hadn’t expected him to be athletic, but I suppose his lean body is probably well suited for running long distances.
We stick to dark roads, but then again, for all I know, the whole of Deiterra might be this dark and quiet at night. Sentin seems to know where he’s going, so I just put my head down and follow, keeping the headscarf pulled over my face and sticking to the deepest shadows in case anyone happens to glance out from a window.
Funny, I used to stand out because of my scars, not because my face was too perfect.
Sentin stops to peer around the corner of a building. “It’s just ahead.”
“What is? The barracks?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “The knights aren’t in the barracks.”
“If they’re not answering when you call, how do you know where they are?”
“Each has a tracking device.”
“So they went silent, then they moved? That doesn’t sound good.”
“Come on.” He slips around the corner, keeping low and close to the building. This street is just as dark as all the others, but instead of cute houses with gardens, it’s lined with ugly block buildings. They’re all dark and quiet, and I assume they’re buildings where people work, rather than homes.
Sentin stops outside one of them and peers in its front window. Then he tiptoes down the side of the building, looking into every window he comes to, and testing them to see if they’ll open. At the rear of the building, there’s only a narrow gap between the building and a high brick wall. The windows on this side are smaller.
He stops beside one and takes off the light jacket he’s wearing.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I’ll break the glass.” He starts winding the cloth around his hand.
“You’ve already been injured by broken glass.” I take the jacket from him, though the wound on his hand is healing well. “Let me do it. I’m stronger, and I don’t cut easily.”
Using the jacket to cover my fist, I punch out the glass. The noise seems much louder than it should be, because the night is so silent.
I drape the jacket over the windowsill in case there are slivers of glass, and give Sentin a boost up. He scrambles inside, and I follow, dropping lightly inside a small room that’s pitch black. It looks like a storage room, lined with shelves. It’s only because my vision is so good that I can make out the door.
I turn the handle slowly and ease the door open. The hallway outside is silent, and almost as dark. The building feels empty. I can’t hear any movement.
Sentin must be thinking the same thing, because he touches a switch and a light flickers on in the hallway. Rooms come off it on either side, their doors all open. The only closed door is at the far end. Stepping forward, I peer into the first room.
A familiar sight sends a chill down my spine. It’s some kind of laboratory.
A trolley has medical instruments laid out on it, next to a long table that holds a lot of other equipment. I recognise a microscope, but little else.
Sentin steps into the room and looks into a glass cabinet in the corner. He opens it, and cold air blasts out, along with a terrible smell. It’s a fridge, and whatever in there has gone bad.
He pulls out a dish. “They didn’t get all the tissue out,” he murmurs.
I move next to him, and frown at the mass of circuitry in the dish. Some has bits of meat embedded in it. My stomach starts churning, and not just because of the horrible stench coming from it. “Is that part of a Skin’s brain? Is it what happened to the knights we brought with us?”
He shakes his head. “It’s older than that. The brain matter has long decayed.” He puts the dish back and closes the fridge door. “Come on.”
In the next lab, we find a knight’s dismembered arms and hands. In the next, its legs. Each room has more parts, but together they must make only two or three knights, at the most.
In the last few labs, we find bigger machinery that barely fits into the small lab rooms, and reminds me of the manufacturing equipment I worked with in the factory.
“They’re trying to manufacture their own Skins,” explains Sentin. He turns on a bright overhead lamp, then uses a pair of tweezers to pick up a chip. “Not functional yet,” he mutters. Frowning h
e peers more closely at the chip. “I’ll need to put this under a microscope to be sure, but they’re closer than I thought they’d be to duplicating our technology. This part of it, at least.” He brings his gaze up to meet mine. His usual mask has dropped away. His brow is creased, and his expression troubled. “I’d considered it unlikely they’d be this far advanced. They must have a source of information I hadn’t factored into my calculations. Perhaps some help from a scientist involved in the Skin program.”
“They can create their own Skin army?” I ask.
“Not yet. But soon.”
I swallow, imagining the carnage if that happened. We’d have to rebuild our own Skin army to hold them back. It would be the Skin Hunter contest all over again, but on an epic scale, with hundreds or thousands of Skins. Whatever battleground they fought on would be destroyed, along with any civilians caught in the crossfire.
“Where are the knights we brought with us?” I ask.
“There’s only one more place left to look.” He puts the chip down and we move to the closed door at the end of the hall.
I’m in front of Sentin, so I’m the one who slowly opens the door. My eyes focus on what’s inside, and I jerk backward, my heart racing. The room’s full of people.
But of course it isn’t.
I drag in a deep breath, then push the door fully open so the light from the hall shines in. The room is full of knights, not people. They’re all standing perfectly still. I step inside and check all the Skins, searching for…
There he is. One knight has a bright yellow stain on his armored hand, and my gut clenches. It’s Clayton.
Sentin is busy examining one of the other Skins. “No visible damage,” he says. “That means their chips were wiped. They must have developed a method to erase data from the internal chip from a distance. Perhaps they used a sonic pulse, but the equipment in the labs suggested it was a directional weapon. We need to do a more intensive search of the building.”
