The Legacy Human (Singularity #1) (Singularity Series)

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  “Eli.” Cyrus pulls me back from her, talking quietly. “Eli, she’s crazy. Something’s misfired in her brain. Don’t tell me you’re buying any of this.”

  I don’t want to believe her, but there’s some part of me that knows… there’s something different about me. Something that’s wrong or changed or tampered with.

  “You were created in your mother’s womb, Elijah.” Lenora’s voice is soft, almost reverent. “It was an act of love, even if not the natural kind, the way human babies are normally made. But your mother knew about The Question. She was a volunteer.”

  With that, even Cyrus turns to glare at her.

  I shake my head. “Now I know you’re lying. My mother hates you. Hates all ascenders. She thinks—” She thinks you have no souls. I stall out. My mother was convinced there was something special about me. Something she didn’t want me to lose to the ascenders. I thought it was just a mother who believed in God and souls and hates ascenders… but what if she knew?

  My stomach lurches. I’m going to throw up.

  “You don’t know jack about Eli’s mother.” Cyrus’s cold hatred is served in words. “She’s a better person than all of you put together. Take your shiny pants delusions and peddle them somewhere else.”

  “I understand this is hard to believe, Elijah.” She’s ignoring Cyrus again, and that just brings my anger roaring back.

  “You think? I don’t know what your game is, but you destroyed my only chance to get the one thing I needed. The one thing I had to have. Cyrus is right. You need to get out.”

  Her lips press together, but she doesn’t move. “We do need to leave, but you need to come with me. You’re in grave danger, Elijah. I have a place we can go where you’ll be safe. I’ve already moved your mother there—”

  “You what?” I rush up to her again, anger balling up my hands. “What have you done with her?” I’m shouting in her face.

  She touches my arm, but I recoil. “She’s safe, Elijah, I promise. But I couldn’t leave her at your house, not with you going through with the competition. They would have taken her, maybe used her against you.”

  “Where did you take Eli’s mom?” Cyrus’s words are clipped.

  She finally looks him in the eye. “You don’t want me to tell you. If you know, and you fall into their hands, they’ll extract that information from you, and she will no longer be safe.”

  I throw my hands wide. “Who are they?”

  Before she can answer, the door to my apartment suddenly slides open.

  A security bot—six feet of ascender-designed killing technology—stands at my door.

  Lenora blurs past me and attacks the security bot.

  By the time I turn, she and the bot have both gone down, rolling out the door with a screech of metal-on-metal echoing off the walls of the hallway. They tumble out of view, Lenora with one hand already deep in the security bot’s head. The bot has a grip on her that would easily crush a human.

  I lurch toward the door, but Cyrus holds me back. “This is our cue to leave.” He pulls me close to his side, like somehow he’s going to shield me from the security bot once it breaks loose from Lenora.

  “How are we going to get out of Agon?” My harsh whisper is just loud enough for Cyrus to hear me over the mechanical grinding and metal-death sounds coming from the hall.

  When we reach the doorway, Lenora is rising up from the twisted body of the security bot. Its head is practically riven in half, and one of its arms lies dangling from a foot-long set of whitish filaments. Lenora steps over the bot and strides toward us.

  “Be cool,” Cyrus whispers.

  I pull my gaze from the mangled bot and scan Lenora: her thin blue jumpsuit is rumpled and torn, but there’s no other sign of damage.

  “We have to move,” she says crisply, but she waits to see if I’m going to come along.

  I glance at Cyrus, but he just gives me a short nod.

  “You can get us out of here, right?” I ask.

  “Yes, Elijah, please. Let’s go.”

  “And you’ll take us straight to my mom?”

  “That would be the safest place for you as well.”

  I shouldn’t trust her. I don’t trust her. But that security bot was coming for me, and I’m sure there will be more on the way. And whatever crazy ideas Lenora has, they don’t seem to include killing me or dragging me off to an ascender prison. “Let’s go, then.”

  Her eyelids flutter—she’s communicating with someone. Or something. “The main entrance is heavily guarded. This way.” She turns, and in a flash, she’s at the end of the hallway. Cyrus and I dash after her. She’s checking around the corner, waiting for us. Then she gives us the signal to follow and disappears in another burst of ascender speed.

  Cyrus shakes his head. I’m sure he’s never seen ascender tech in action before. We run after her, playing tag as she leads us through the Agon maze.

  We’re breathless trying to keep up with her, but Cyrus pants out, “Once we’re out of here, we make a break for it.”

  “What about my mom?” I whisper back.

  Cyrus winces. “Okay. We stick with Lenora until we find your mom. Then we leave.”

  I nod.

  Cyrus stops me as Lenora disappears around another corner. “Promise me, Eli. Say you’re not going to sign up for whatever crazy ascender game she’s playing.”

  “I promise,” I say, even though I have no idea what I’ll really do. There are too many questions swimming around in my head right now. “Let’s just not lose her, okay?”

  We round the corner and pull up short.

  Lenora is grappling with Marcus, and it’s a replay of the fight with the security bot—the two of them on the ground, death grips on one another. Suddenly Lenora’s bodyform twitches and spasms, and Marcus shoves her away from him. He climbs to his feet, some kind of silver device in his hand, small and square and featureless. But he’s holding it like a weapon.

  Lenora’s body stops twitching and lies still.

  “No!” The word is out before I can think.

  My body surges forward, but Cyrus grabs my arm and tries to drag me back around the corner. Before we get more than a few feet, Marcus is at our side. He grabs us both, a hand on each of our shoulders, and the crush is insanely painful. Cyrus and I drop to our knees.

  “I’m sorry, Eli,” Marcus says. “But I can’t risk you running off before we’re done here.”

  I’m not sure what he means by done, but I’m certain I don’t want to find out. Cyrus tries to twist out of Marcus’s grasp, but he just ends up gasping in pain as Marcus tightens his grip.

  “Cyrus, don’t.” Whatever game the ascenders are playing, it’s all because of me. Cyrus doesn’t need to be involved in any of it. “Marcus, let him go. You don’t need him, right? Just me.”

  Marcus doesn’t loosen his grip, but he does glance back down the hall at Lenora’s inert bodyform. “Had time for a little chat with your patron, did you?”

  Cyrus is still cringing under Marcus’s ascender-tech hand.

  “Please,” I say. “Just let my friend go.”

  Marcus releases both of us and steps back. A squad of five security bots marches around the corner. Most skirt Lenora’s body on their way, but one stays behind with her. Cyrus and I are still on our knees, rubbing our shoulders where Marcus held us.

  “I think we’ll keep Mr. Kowalski around, just to ensure your continued cooperation.” Marcus turns to stride toward the oncoming security bots. He doesn’t even bother to warn us that they’ll catch us if we try to run. The bottom sinks out of my stomach as I realize at least part of what Lenora said was true—that ascenders like Marcus are definitely not on my side. He’s giving instructions to the bots, but they’re not verbal, so I have no idea what he’s saying. One picks up Lenora’s body and carries it off, back the way they came. Marcus confers with two others. After a moment, they head our direction.

  Then the world explodes.

  A concussive boom knoc
ks me off my knees, throwing me into Cyrus. We both tumble backward around the corner as a cloud of debris and smoke envelopes the hallway. I can’t hear anything in the wake of the explosion, just a high pitched ringing that also feels like someone is stabbing a pick through my eardrums. My hands automatically press to my ears, but it doesn’t ease the pain. I’m lumped up against Cyrus, awkward in trying to untangle from his body, when I realize he’s not moving. I twist around until I’m facing him, pushing myself up on my knees to get a better look.

  His eyes are closed, and he’s jammed up against the wall.

  “Cyrus!” I yell in his face, but I can’t hear my own voice—it’s just a vibration through my head. I shake him and yell some more. I quickly check his uniform, but I don’t see any bleeding or cuts or shrapnel from the blast.

  The blast. I look back over my shoulder. The two bots that were coming for us are slumped against each other on the ground. I can just see the edge of Marcus’s head lying on the floor, his body pushed up against a wall. Whatever caused the blast must have had some kind of anti-ascender tech, because there’s no way a simple bomb would have knocked them out.

  I turn back to Cyrus. Breath rushes out of me as he stirs.

  “Cyrus! Come on, man, wake up! Wake up!” I’m relieved to hear my own voice again. My eardrums are still tender from the overpressure, but the shock is wearing off. I shake Cyrus again, and he flails around, pushing me away.

  Finally, he cracks open his eyes. “Eli?” he says blearily. “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure, but we need to clear out of here. Can you get up?”

  He struggles up. The way he’s holding his head worries me. But for now, we need to move. I’m just getting Cyrus on his feet when I hear voices shouting down the hallway followed by pounding boots. I try to boost Cyrus with my shoulder under his arm, but he’s ridiculously heavy. He sways dangerously as we shuffle down the hall. We make almost no progress before someone comes around the corner behind us.

  “I have them here, sir!” a rough voice shouts.

  I try to shuffle faster, hazarding just a glimpse back to see how hopeless it might be.

  I stop in my tracks, and Cyrus nearly trips and falls. As I keep him upright, I stare at the black-garbed figure standing next to the fallen security bots.

  He’s human.

  He hurries toward us, combat boots marring the spotless floor. He’s covered head-to-toe in body armor of some kind, black and dull and riddled with armaments strapped to his chest and sides. He’s toting a weapon bristling with tech—it looks less like a gun and more like a bot taken apart and reassembled into a hand-held device. His combat helmet covers his head, and a shimmering shield obscures his face, but there’s no mistaking it: he’s definitely human.

  “Mr. Brighton,” he says when he reaches us. “Would you come with me, sir?”

  I don’t move, not because I’m afraid, just because I’m stunned. Cyrus twists around to see him, but he’s even more out of it than I am.

  “I… um… who are you?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer, just glances over his shoulder at the sound of mechanical footfalls in the hallway. My heart is already pounding, but it lurches out of rhythm when I imagine more security bots about to descend on us. Instead, around the corner strides Leopold.

  I blink. Leopold.

  The intake officer who watched me undress before sliming me with blue goo for decon.

  “It’s alright, Gretsky,” he says, not to me, but to the black-garbed, heavily-armed human. Leopold looks us up and down. “Are you all right, Eli?”

  I nod, still stunned.

  “What about Mr. Kowalski?”

  “Leopold?” Cyrus says, like he’s not sure his eyes are working right. “What are you doing here?”

  “Rescuing you, it would seem.” He gives a small smile. “Although I had assumed you would have Lenora with you. What happened to her?”

  I’m just now finding my voice. “Marcus stunned her or something. One of the bots took her away.”

  Leopold does not look pleased to hear this. “All right, we’ll have to go without her.” He shakes his head, but I think it’s more to himself than anything. “We need to leave immediately, Eli. It’s not safe for you here.”

  “You were working with Lenora?” I guess, still foggy on what exactly is happening.

  “How do you think she was able to get in to see you at the last minute?” Leopold gestures to the black-garbed human to help me with Cyrus, but Cyrus just shoves him away. He makes an effort to stand on his own, but it seems like his balance is off, and he might topple over any second.

  “Mr. Kowalski could use some medical attention,” Leopold says. “I suggest we leave before Agon security reaches us.” He sounds surprisingly calm, but there’s an underlying tension. I still don’t entirely understand what’s happening, but I’m not going to argue.

  “Okay,” I say. “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere beyond Marcus’s reach.” He doesn’t add any more, just turns away. Cyrus gives me a nod that he’s okay, so we do our best to keep up. Leopold has a small army of black-clad humans, several of whom fall into formation around us, a human shield to conduct us away from Agon.

  We climb through a ragged hole left in the side of the hallway by the explosion and out into the brilliant California sun.

  The garrison of human militia hustles me and Cyrus away from Agon.

  Leopold leads the way. We’re on the backside of the building, with the stadium looming to our left and the city of Los Angeles’s apartment towers to the right. A flurry of bright specks in the air and the tall space port spire catch the sun. They seem as foreign as the off-planet outposts that are their destination.

  I can’t imagine where Leopold thinks we’re going to escape to.

  We scurry in a tight formation past several disabled security bots lying crumpled on the ground. It appears as though their insides were blown apart. The men who provide a human shield around us bristle with more tech weapons. Cyrus stumbles over some bump in the hot white pavement, and I grip his arm to keep him moving with the group. His eyes are nearly squeezed shut, his lips pressed in a thin line, and his face is pale and sweaty.

  I’m about to ask how far we have to go—I’m not sure if Cyrus can keep up this pace—when two hover transports appear out of nowhere. Like they literally weren’t there a moment ago. Before I can wonder at what kind of cloaking tech they have, the group breaks into two, with Leopold leading Cyrus, me, and four of the militia men to one ship, while the rest board another. The air sizzles next to me, and some kind of blue energy pulse sweeps across the hull of the ship as we climb into it. Leopold yanks me clear of the entrance, and a door appears behind me. The ship leaps into the air, leaving my stomach behind.

  Cyrus slumps over and throws up on the dull, black flooring. I can’t help him because the ship is pitching wildly, and I’m clinging to the gray netting that covers the walls of our tiny transport compartment. It’s barely large enough to hold the seven of us.

  The militia are holding tight to the netting, too, but the one closest to Cyrus leans down and grabs hold of the back of his shirt, I think to steady him. Leopold seems to have no problem navigating the rocking ship. He shifts past me to a forward door that I think must lead to the pilot’s cabin. Suddenly the pitching stops, and we drop like a stone. At least I think we’ve dropped—there are no windows in our transport—because I’m momentarily weightless. Cyrus floats up, but the militia guy has a hold on him. Cyrus’s arms flail, and his vomit slowly drips up from the floor in long gravity-inverted strings. Then we hit bottom or something because gravity crashes us down again. Cyrus’s face smacks into the mess on the floor, and I’m glad to hear him curse, just because that means he’s still conscious.

  We’re not moving anymore.

  My legs are like rubber, and I keep my grip on the netting, but we must be down because the militia guys are moving again. I avoid the muck on the floor and bend next to Cyrus
. He’s trying to wipe his face, so I just put a hand on his shoulder.

  He crawls up to sitting, back against the netting wall. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his face starts to go slack. I don’t know if he’s just resting or passing out. The militia guy who had a hold on Cyrus before must be a medic—he slings his weapon around his back and digs out a tiny tube with a light beaming from it. He deactivates his helmet shield, so I can see his face for the first time. He’s young, but his face is lined, like he’s lived a hard life or maybe seen too much death.

  “Please open your eyes, sir,” he says to Cyrus.

  His eyes stay shut. “Eli.”

  “I’m right here.” I’m relieved to hear his voice. “But you need to stop being such a baby and open your eyes.” My stomach lurches from the sour stench of the sickness and the pale sweatiness of Cyrus’s face. And from my worry that something much more serious than airsickness is making him throw up.

  “Let’s not do that ride again.” A shudder captures him, but he forces his eyes open.

  The militia medic flicks the tiny light back and forth across Cyrus’s eyes, while the rest of the militia cluster by the spot where the door appeared. I know the medic is looking for a concussion, but my fogged brain can’t remember the symptoms. Dilated pupils? Undilated pupils?

  The medic looks to me, his expression betraying nothing. “We need to keep your friend awake, sir, until we can get a med unit to examine him.”

  I nod. The medic stands and joins his comrades in a ready stance by the door. Leopold reappears from the cockpit and strides over. The door blinks out of existence, and the entire squad leaps out, weapons ready. Beyond them is a spotlit section of concrete floor, past which I can’t see anything due to the curtain of darkness. The militia slip into the dark, disappearing from view, then one of them calls back, “Clear!”