For the first time since Jag had picked us up outside Freedom, I kissed her. I could lie and say it didn’t mean anything. But I was done lying. Kissing Vi was earth-shattering every—
single—
time.
The memory of her smooth, warm skin kept me sane during those long hours on my hoverboard. The smell of her hair gave me energy to talk to one more Director, endure one more sleepless night.
I’d do anything for Violet Schoenfeld.
She pulled away first. “I just came to tell you that Jag’s ready to start.”
I nodded, trying to bottle up my emotions before any more spilled out, revealing too much.
Vi traced her fingertips over my eyebrow. “I love you, Zenn Bower.” She turned and walked away, leaving her next words unsaid but screaming through my mind.
But I love Jag Barque, too.
Jag
3.
Two weeks ago, the night Gunn and I had rescued Vi and Zenn, Gunn had pulled me aside after everyone else had gone to their holes to sleep.
“Starr Messenger gave me this.” He held out a blood-crusted chip. “I haven’t been able to watch it,” he said. “My wrist-port shorted out.”
I didn’t need a cracking wrist-port to watch a microchip. “Let’s go see my brother.”
Pace manned the tech development for the Resistance in the second-largest cavern in the underground safe house. Since Ty’s death I don’t think he’d slept more than a few hours at a time. He hadn’t said as much, but I knew. His eyes told me things his mouth couldn’t say.
When Gunn and I showed him the chip, he pulled out an e-board. “Let’s see. From Starr, you say?”
“She’s the hot contact,” I told him. “I’ve dealt with her for years,” I explained to Gunner. “She used to send messages every week.”
“Every week?” he asked. “For how long?”
I shrugged. “Three years? Close to that. I wouldn’t know every intricacy of Freedom without her.”
“Here we go,” Pace said. The projection screen above the e-board brightened with Starr’s face. She’d done something funky with her hair. I liked it.
“Gunner,” Starr’s voice said, and it echoed weirdly from the projection. “I’m sorry about Trek.”
I cut a glance at Gunn, who frowned. “That’s what she starts with? Trek Whiting?”
Pace paused the vid. “Trek is a genius,” he said. “He’s our communications guru in Freedom.”
“Oh, sure,” I said. “Trek. Love him.”
But Gunn did not. He wore a sour expression and rolled his eyes. “So the guy can falsify a feed. Big deal.”
But it was a big deal, whether Gunn liked him or not. “What’s with you and Starr and Trek?”
“She’s my match, and they’re together.”
“Oh, well,” I said, the pieces aligning. “So you don’t like him.”
“He’s not my favorite person,” Gunn confirmed. “But I’ll deal. Keep going.”
Pace started the vid again. “Trek and I are still fully on board with the Resistance. When you get somewhere safe, make sure Jag Barque watches this.”
I leaned forward as the camera cut away from Starr. The image vibrated and the screen went dark. One breath later, a new stream started. This time the camera wasn’t in Starr’s room.
“That’s a laboratory,” Gunner whispered.
“Where?” I asked, scanning the long rows of counters in the vid.
He didn’t answer as the image zoomed in on one workstation. A man sat on a high stool, a piece of tech clutched in his hand. He wore a white coat, gloves, and a pair of protective goggles.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Don’t know,” Gunn said. “Most of his face is covered by those glasses.” The three of us leaned closer, anxious not to miss a thing.
The man—not much older than Pace—fiddled with his tech instrument. He glanced at the camera—right at it. “My name is Cash Whiting,” he whispered.
Gunn jerked away from the screen, and Pace paused the vid. “What?” Pace asked.
“Cash is Trek’s brother,” Gunn said. “He’s—well, Raine drained him and, uh, now he’s dead.”
I raised my eyebrows. “She killed him?”
“No, no,” Gunn said. “Zenn’s report said Thane did.”
“Why don’t I have that report?” I asked.
Pace put his hand on my arm. “You rescued Zenn two hours ago, bro. Give him five seconds to sleep before he downloads every report he’s filed in the past eight months.”
“Fine,” I said. “But no one gives me five seconds to sleep.”
Pace smirked. “I can give you some meds that will give you as long as you want.”
I waved him away. “Where did Cash Whiting work?” I asked Gunner.
“Evolutionary Rise,” he said. “Raine told me about an Alias list. His name was on it, with ‘Insubordinate’ behind it. And ‘Deceased.’ ”
I nodded my understanding as Pace restarted the vid. Cash leaned over his station, and the camera showed his view, as if it were perched on his shoulder.
A tray lay in front of him. He poked at something liquid and pushed the end of his tech instrument. Blue dye seeped into the tray, brightening little rectangles one at a time until they were all showing.
“Administration of DNA,” Cash whispered. “From someone with voice talent.” He covered the tray and placed it in a chamber at the back of the counter.
I sucked in a breath. I knew what the scientists did in the Evolutionary Rise. Entire floors had been dedicated to creating genetic copies of talented people.
“Whose?” Gunner asked, his pale face almost gray. “Whose DNA is that? There aren’t many voices in the world.”
I knew what he was really asking: Is that my DNA?
I put my hand on his arm. “I don’t know.”
On the video an alarm rang, and we all jumped.
“Time to see if Batch 4395 can support life,” Cash said, almost like he was making a video journal for his scientific records and not for us. Maybe he was.
“The embryos have been grown in the dark,” he continued. “The temperature was kept two degrees below normal standards. They’ve been starved of the DNA needed to create a voice box—until they receive this application of DNA from Subject 261.”
Cash removed the tray, and I leaned even closer to the p-screen. “Upon application, the embryos are warmed in an accelerator for three minutes and fifteen seconds. If life is sustainable, the blue dye will be purple, and physical evidence of life will be visible to the naked eye.” Cash removed the lid.
He gasped.
I yelled.
Pace stumbled backward.
Gunner swore.
There, on the projection screen, purple overwhelmed every other color. The embryos had already begun to grow, the rectangles I’d seen before rounding into fetuses, pushing against each other and the edges of their containers.
Cash Whiting’s face filled the screen. Fear lined his eyes. “This experiment is a success. Subject 261 will be brought in for DNA donation. The army will be grown in thirty days.”
He glanced over his shoulder, and I saw the movement in his throat as he swallowed. When Cash turned back, he set his mouth in a thin line of determination. “I will destroy them, and all my notes. Starr, get this out to the right people. If They can replicate my procedures, the Resistance will never stand a chance.”
The screen went dark, leaving only silence hanging over everything.
“Dammit,” I said. I paced away from the e-board and rubbed my hand along the back of my head. Starr spoke again, drawing me back to the p-screen.
“He destroyed them all, as well as his notes. He died for his actions. Hightower has doubled the personnel in the Evolutionary Rise. We don’t have much time.”
“No kidding,” Gunner said, his voice haunted and hollow.
“I will be available to cache with you, Gunn, beyond the wall,” Starr continued. “Trek will
send Pace the coordinates and times. We’ll keep you updated on any news from inside the Rises, especially the Evolutionary Rise.” She looked down for a moment. When she met the camera again, her eyes sparked with power. “We can still win this. Do not lose hope.”
Then the screen went black. I blinked, and a violent shade of purple imprinted on the backs of my eyelids.
“Destroy it,” I whispered.
“Jag—” Pace said.
“Destroy it,” I repeated. I stood up straighter and pinned Gunner and Pace with a glare. “The three of us know. No one else needs to be burdened. We’ll use this knowledge and Starr’s intel to our advantage, but we don’t need to freak people out.”
“They’ll quit,” Gunner said, leaning against the stone wall. “Won’t they? They’ll just quit if they think we can’t win. If they know how close They are to successful cloning.”
“Yes,” I said. “No one breathes a word of this to anyone. Am I clear?”
“You got it, bro,” Pace said. He snapped the chip out of the port and brought a rock down on it. The shards flipped through the air.
“I want Raine out of that city,” Gunn said.
“It’s one of my top priorities,” I said. “But let’s wait for Indy to come in before we go storming Freedom.”
* * *
My jaw hurt. Indy packed a mean punch. I totally deserved it, but ow. I wanted to throw a wicked jab at her like I used to when we were younger. Then we’d end up wrestling and laughing like we used to, and she’d forget why she wanted to murder me.
Like she used to.
None of that happened. Number one, we were too old for that now. Number two, I left her behind without instructions for the Resistance, and then I got myself thrown into prison in the Goodgrounds. Number three, I’d taken her brother—not her—with me, and neither of us had seen him since. Number four, when I’d returned to the Badlands seven weeks later, I had a new girlfriend. Number five, the cavern was now filled with people, and Indy and I needed privacy to say all that needed to be said.
And then there was the whole her-being-in-love-with-me thing. I certainly couldn’t encourage that.
Especially because of the whole Vi-glowering-in-the-doorway-with-her-arms-crossed thing.
So I’d taken my punch like a man.
That had happened a half hour ago. While I was bleeding, I had called an emergency meeting with my most trusted. Indy and her team were now resting in the infirmary—which was really just a tiny cave with two cots shoved against the wall. Our techs worked miracles in there, using whatever supplies they could find to make sure we all didn’t die.
And, damn, Indy looked terrible. Her dark skin appeared bleached and her hair did not. The truth? The pink was totally faded. And she obviously hadn’t been sleeping much.
Not that I could blame her for that. There isn’t time for sleeping.
“So,” Vi said, snapping me out of my Indy-focused thoughts. She was scowling. I kept forgetting that she can see just about all my thoughts, including the ones about Indy.
But if Indy’s gorgeous—and she is—she still had nothin’ on Vi. I tried to arrange my mouth into a smile when Vi dialed her glowering down to a glare, but it hurt my throbbing jaw.
“So, Indy says Thane wasn’t in the farmhouse.” I punctuated the news with a deep sigh. “Which isn’t good.”
“Where is he?” Zenn rubbed his eyes and blinked real fast.
I’d woken everyone up in the middle of the night, but Zenn had come off his watch. He looked pretty bad too. Some things couldn’t be helped. Gunn yawned, and his eyes were bleary with exhaustion.
I’d never actually gone to bed last night, so yeah. I didn’t feel sorry about waking them up.
My brother folded himself into a chair next to me at the rickety table. “Is he dead?”
Vi stiffened at the mention of her possibly deceased dad, and I threw Pace a shut-the-hell-up look. “Way to be sensitive, bro,” I said. “We don’t think Thane is dead. Indy says there was plenty of blood in the farmhouse, footprints and such, like someone carried him out. Just no body.”
“Director Hightower got him,” Gunn said, real quiet-like, the same way he says everything.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “No doubt he ordered Thane to be collected, but the better bet is the Director in the Goodgrounds sent a crew.”
“Who’s there now?” Zenn asked, sliding me a paper across the table. I didn’t even look at it. I couldn’t stomach the sight of his neat handwriting, detailing the fifteen billion things I had to do in the next hour. Sure, he’d immediately taken his place as my second-in-command, but come on. A list every time I saw him? So unnecessary.
“Director Shumway,” Pace said. “A real piece of work.”
“No wonder Indy and her team were all busted up,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. I’d heard of Shumway, which meant he wasn’t exactly on my side. Or even close to crossing over.
“We’ll need the whole group for this,” Gunn said, pushing himself away from the table.
“Probably. But we can spare a few hours, I think.” My jaw popped with every word. I rubbed it but still heard the clicking when I said, “Let ’em sleep till five.”
“You got me up to say let’s wait until five?” Pace grumbled as he stood to leave. I should’ve felt annoyed, but all I could muster was a yawn.
I should’ve been more concerned, probably. The fact that Thane was MIA was about as bad as bad can get. Without him, all we had was Starr, and she spent most of her time in the Education Rise trying to gather intel without proper codes and clearances.
I thought briefly that losing Thane might actually be a good thing. I wasn’t even sure he was who Gunn said he was, and twelve years of hating someone doesn’t just evaporate. I’d ordered his location and pickup. That had to count for something. Too bad the bleeder wasn’t even there.
I cradled my head in my hands as Zenn left, huddled close with Gunn. My to-do list stared back at me from the table. The top item? Assign interrogators for Indy’s team.
Which seriously needed to be done, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to be the one to do it.
Under that, Zenn had written, Get implants already.
Hell to the no. I’d refused—over and over—to have my wrist ported up so I could see someone’s memories, or a vision-screen enhancement layered over my perfectly functioning sight. And getting an implant?
Never.
I didn’t want that tech up in my brain. No way did I want someone to be able to contact me at any time about anything. Or people to track my location just because I activated my cache to tell Vi she’s the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.
“I’d love to discuss the subject of implants, just so I can convince you that Zenn’s right about them,” Vi said, gently putting her hand on my elbow and helping me stand. “But first you need to sleep.”
“I’m fine.” I almost added “babe” like I used to. But Vi and I weren’t quite back to that level yet, even though we’d spent nearly every waking moment together for the past three weeks. She was still stuck in her whole Zenn-loves-me-and-has-saved-me-so-many-times loop. And our argument about Indy hadn’t been fully resolved yet.
“I’m fine.” Besides, I have the Resistance to run.
“You’re such a liar,” she said. “Let’s go.”
* * *
“Jag, let’s fly.”
I jerked awake, my heart beating a rapid rhythm in my chest. Gunn stood in my doorway, his fingers twitching in anticipation. “Cache convo with Starr.”
I moaned. Raked my fingers through my hair, which felt like wet straw. My eyelids scratched over my eyes. I needed more sleep—and a shower. “Time?” I asked as I pulled on my shoes.
“Five forty-one,” Gunn said. “Starr said six fifteen. I let you sleep as long as I could. Zenn’s filling everyone in about Thane and Indy.”
“Perfect,” I said, though it was anything but. I liked Zenn; I did. I j
ust didn’t like him anywhere near Vi.
“Come on,” Gunn said. “She only has eleven minutes.” He left, and I scrambled after him, hoping we’d make it to the sector in time.
We didn’t. When we touched down near the southwest wall of Freedom, Starr only had seven minutes left. She stood beyond the towering wall, in the gap between it and the techtric barrier—the second and last defense keeping Freedom’s Citizens in and everyone else out.
When anything touched the barrier, an alarm shrieked. Enforcement Officers would then converge. The person who’d breached the wall usually didn’t make it past the barrier. The hundred-yard gap between the wall and the barrier made sure of that.
But Trek used his wicked tech skills to bring down sections of the wall, so Starr could get out for these little chats without detection.
Gunn and Starr each had a cache, a device implanted in their minds they could use to communicate mentally, even with the barrier between them. Everyone had a cache in Freedom—which was why I would never get one.
Starr had a limited number of minutes away from her duties inside the city, and she didn’t like it when we were late. She was also one of the smartest people I knew. She could get inside your head without even being in the same room.
Starr Messenger was true Thinker material. She’d been my contact in Freedom for almost three years. I’d only met her a handful of times, but I’d seen her face next to her reports—sent like clockwork every week. She liked organization and detailed lists and punctuality. So I didn’t have to use my empathic ability to figure out she was raging mad that we were late.
Not that I could hear her. Gunner didn’t speak out loud either. He just stood there, inches from the techtric barrier, gazing at Starr on the other side. At one point he raised his hand, and she lifted hers.
I felt the longing inside her. Guilt radiated from Gunn.
Until terror flowed from them both.
“What?” I asked Gunner. He didn’t answer, just took a step closer to the barrier. If he touched it, that alarm would go off.
“What?” I asked again, trying not to control him with my voice but frustrated I wasn’t included in the conversation.
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