DEV1AT3 (Deviate)

by Jay Kristoff

  SECTION C NO LONE ZONE TWO PERSON POLICY MANDATORY

  “What’s through there?” she asked.

  “Section C,” the Major said. “Although we can’t get the door open.”

  She looked at the large digital control pad set beside the hatch. Panels had been pulled off the wall, she could see dark acetylene scoring and shallow dents on the metal—though they hadn’t been able to open it, it looked like the Major and his crew had given it a damn good shot.

  She’d never been around tech this flash or shiny before in her life—not even in Mister C’s house. Lemon could sense static electricity dancing along her skin, and closing her eyes, she was a little astonished to realize she could feel current all around her. Slim rivers of it, flowing down the walls, beneath the floor. Through the Section C hatchway and the computers beyond.

  “This is Section B,” the Major was saying, waving at the room around them. “Four floors. Around us, we have our power generators, hydrostation and the computer facilities. Top level is my office. Basement level is our gymnasium and training hub. On the floor directly below us, we have the greenhouse. Fix has something of a green thumb, he grows the plants himself. It’s self-sustaining, not quite enough to supply our little band, but close.”

  “How can it be self-sustaining?” Lemon asked. “Aren’t your seeds sterile?”

  “Lord no,” the Major said. “We don’t use any of that BioMaas junk. We raided a seed bank, stocked with samples from before the Fall.”

  “How’d you find it?” she asked.

  “The same way I found Grimm. Diesel. Fix.” A shrug. “I saw it.”

  Lemon mumbled around her latest mouthful. “Swwut?”

  “Everyone here has a gift, Miss Fresh. Fix can accelerate the body’s healing abilities. Diesel’s our…transportation expert.” The Major shrugged again. “I see things.”

  Lemon swallowed her mouthful of protein. “You mean…like…”

  “Faces. Places. I don’t rightly know why. Or how. But I’ve been able to do it since I was about your age. It only happens when I’m deep asleep. And I can’t see what will be. Only what is. But, somehow, it always turns out to be important.”

  The old man knelt in front of Lemon with a wince.

  “And I feel I should tell you now, Miss Fresh, that I’ve been dreaming of you.”

  Ever so slowly, Lemon began backing toward the door.

  “At ease,” the Major smiled. “I realize how odd it sounds. But I’ve been seeing you for a few years now. Off and on. Last time I saw you, would’ve been…maybe four days back? You were dressed in…pink. I think. You were standing by a wrecked car. Surrounded by hostile machina. And you destroyed them all with a wave of your hand.”

  Lemon thought back to her battle outside Babel with the Preacher. The machina garrison from Daedalus she destroyed. The gaudy pink rad-suit she’d worn.

  “How could you possibly know that?” she whispered.

  “I told you. I see. When I dream. It’s called clairvoyance, if you need a technical term.” The Major tilted his head. “How does it work? Your gift, I mean? Grimm told me you knocked those Brotherhood rotor drones out of the sky with a shrug. You manipulate magnetic fields, maybe? Accelerate metal fatigue, or…?”

  Lemon chewed her lip. Amazing as it was, she was slowly realizing these people were certified deviates, just like her. That somehow, Diesel could rip holes in space. Fix could heal bullet holes and radiation poisoning with a thought. And this old crusty wardog could…see things?

  It was every color of insane, even if she had witnessed the evidence with her own damn eyes. But four years of hiding what she was, of living with the thought of what’d happen if people found out…

  “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” The old man squeezed her hand. “I promise you that. You don’t ever have to be afraid of what you are again.”

  Lemon looked down at her boots, trying to find her voice. All the bluff and bluster she usually summoned at will seemed to have evaporated in the presence of this strange, scarred old man. Her streetface, her braveface, was nowhere to be found. But the Major simply squeezed her hand again.

  “It’s all right,” he said, his voice sure and gentle. “It’s okay.”

  Lemon sighed, chewed her lip.

  “ ’Lectrics,” she finally mumbled.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Lemon cleared her throat, spoke a little louder.

  “I can fry electrics. I think about it, and the current surges and things just cook. It first happened when I was twelve in Los Diablos, this auto-peddler ate my creds and I just got mad and fried it, I didn’t even know how at the time, I’m still not very good at it, though, I can’t really control it I usually just cook everything around me and it’s easier when I’m angry but I can’t point it or aim it or anything I just sort of think about it and it’s like this static inside my head and it’s just—”

  “You listen, now,” the Major said softly. “And listen close.”

  Lemon bit down on the babble spilling from her mouth.

  “There’s no one like you in all the world,” he said. “And you’ve been frightened far too long. People fear what’s different. People fear what they can’t control. People fear the future. And that’s what you are, Miss Fresh. The future.” The Major nodded, that pale blue stare boring into her own. “And they should be afraid of you. Because you are not alone.”

  As the Major spoke, she felt his words in her bones. Looking into his eyes, she felt taller. Listening to him speak, she felt stronger. The things he said, the truth he spoke, they set Lemon tingling from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. The old man smiled at her, scars crinkling, and she found herself smiling back.

  “You are not alone,” he said again.

  But the sensible part of her brain, the part raised in the Scrap, brought her back down to earth. The thought of Zeke and Cricket out there somewhere without her—probably in trouble—set her heart sinking. This facility was the most amazing place she’d ever seen in her life. And she knew she couldn’t stay.

  “Listen, it’s been a long few days between one thing and another,” she said. “And I don’t wanna impose or anything, but would it be all right if I crashed for a few hours before I motor?”

  The Major stood up with the aid of his cane. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. We’ve got plenty of room. I’ll get you situated in one of the dorms.”

  “Thanks,” the girl smiled.

  She followed the old man back to the habitation pod, up the stairs to a neat room lined with bunk beds. The Major was still talking, but Lemon was only half listening. All the turmoil of the past few days was catching up with her, weighing down her eyelids, heavy as lead. Memories of Evie, of Mister C, of Hunter and New Bethlehem. Of blood and twisting metal and breaking glass. But more, and louder than all of it, was a single thought. Ringing in her ears as the Major wished her goodnight, closed the door and turned out the light.

  Four simple words. Four enormous words. Four words she couldn’t remember ever hearing or thinking or believing before in her entire life.

  You are not alone.

  * * *

  ________

  It was dark when Lemon opened her eyes. For a brief and terrifying moment, she couldn’t remember where she was. Back in Mister C’s old digs in Tire Valley? Curled up under some cardboard box in the warrens of Los Diablos?

  Nowhere at all?

  As she sat up, a small light overhead hummed and flickered into life. She found herself on clean sheets and a soft mattress. She could still smell the scent of soap in her hair. And hanging in the air, soft as its perfume, she could hear…

  Music?

  Lemon padded to the hatch, opened it on whispering hinges. She realized the music was coming from the living area below. Pretty notes from an instrument
she didn’t know, strung together in an arrangement she’d never heard. Creeping downward, she found the lights on, Grimm seated on the circular couches. The boy was reading some old dog-eared 20C book. Its cover featured a muscular man with long golden hair and no shirt, clutching a woman who seemed to be falling out of her dress. He stashed it under a cushion as soon as Lemon appeared on the stairs.

  “You saw nothing,” he growled.

  “…Okay?”

  He sucked his lip, looked about nervously. “Did the tunes wake you?”

  Lemon shook her head, hovering uncertainly. “What is this?”

  “The music?” Grimm shrugged. “Dunno. Some old dead wanker.”

  “It’s…beautiful.”

  “Yeah, it’s all right, innit?” His face relaxed into an easy smile. “We got piles of this stuff in digital storage. I listen sometimes while I’m on watch.”

  “Sorry, am I…?”

  “Nahnah.” He beckoned her over. “You’re not interrupting. We usually keep nighttime hours. Easier to stay hidden in the dark. Come in.”

  Lemon padded over to the couches, the concrete cool under her bare feet. She sat on the couch opposite Grimm, sinking down into the leather. She’d never parked herself on anything as luxurious in her life.

  “You feeling better?” she asked, looking at his unblemished wrists.

  “Robin Hood,” he replied in his proper-fancy accent.

  “…What?”

  “Good,” he said. “It rhymes, yeah? Robin Hood. Good.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “How ’bout you?”

  Lemon looked around her: the books, the beautiful music, the cool air and the clean clothes. She tried to find words, could barely manage a shrug.

  “Bit over the top, eh?” the boy asked.

  “Way over.” She nodded to the swear jar on the table. “Wassat?”

  Grimm shrugged. “Fix grew up rough. Place called Paradise Falls. Don’t let the pretty hair fool you, he curses worse than anyone I ever met. The Major’s trying to break him of the habit. Every time one of us swears, we put a cap with our name on it in the jar. When it’s time to do a job no one wants, a name gets drawn out. The muddier your mouth, the more chance it’s gonna be you.”

  Lemon squinted at the bottle caps. Around ninety percent had the name “Fix” written on them.

  “So that’s what all the ‘funking,’ ‘forking’ stuff was about?”

  Grimm shrugged. “Preferable to the flip side, believe me.”

  Lemon smiled, looked around the room. The books on the walls, the artwork on the ceiling. Trying to wrap her head around it all.

  “Listen,” Grimm said, leaning closer. “Sorry about the stick I gave in the car. Wouldn’t’ve given you so much barney if I knew you was one of us.”

  The girl waved him off. “It’s all Robin Hood.”

  He smiled, his dark eyes twinkling. But as quick as it arrived, the smile faded, his tone turning soft and serious.

  “Who was your friend? The stabby lass who got ghosted?”

  “…She wasn’t my friend, really,” Lemon said. “Her name was Hunter. She was…a long story.”

  Grimm nodded. “Well, sorry if sorry’s wanted, yeah? Me and Deez might not be here if not for you and yours. Brotherhood are bad biz. You did good. Real good.”

  “I know,” Lemon smiled. “Brilliful, remember?”

  Grimm laughed, leaned back in his seat. Lemon felt a little warm inside her chest, tucked her hair behind her ear. “How long you been here?”

  “Six months, maybe? Major found me just before I turned seventeen.”

  “Where at?”

  “Place called Jugartown.” Grimm nodded to a map hanging among the framed art on the ceiling. “Little ways to the south. Local lawmen snagged me. Brotherhood got called, Sister Dee and her Horsemen were on the way to nail me up.”

  “Horsemen?”

  “Yeah, it’s from the Goodbook. They were supposed to be Heralds of the ’pocalypse. Death, War, Famine, Pestilence. Sister Dee. Brother Dubya. Brother Eff, Brother Pez. Get it?”

  “True fancy,” she nodded.

  “Anyway, Diesel and Fix showed up, busted me loose. Been running with them and the Major ever since.”

  “If the Brotherhood were going to nail you up…” Lemon chewed her lip. “I mean, what can you…?”

  “Do?”

  “Yeah.”

  Grimm cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Observe.”

  The boy held out his hand, fixed Lemon in his stare. She felt butterflies in her stomach under his gaze, realizing for the first time how handsome he was. Broad shoulders and a strong jaw, deep brown skin. The uniform they’d given her was several sizes too big, and she’d gone to bed wearing only the T-shirt. She was conscious of her bare legs now, curling them up under her on the couch.

  And then, she started feeling cold.

  Her skin prickled, she shivered. It began slow, then cascaded, the temperature around her seemed to plummet. She was suddenly aware of what the chill was doing to her body, and she folded her arms over her chest. As she exhaled, her breath emerged as frost, hanging in the air before her.

  “Holy crap,” she whispered.

  “Not the best part, love,” Grimm smiled.

  He focused on the mug of caff on the table in front of him. And as he curled his fingers, brow creased in concentration, Lemon saw steam begin to rise off the liquid’s surface. Her breath caught in her lungs as she saw the liquid ripple, bubble and, finally, begin to boil.

  “You control…heat?”

  “Energy,” the boy said. He took a deep breath, blinked hard. The caff stopped boiling, the temperature around Lemon’s body slowly returning to normal. “I can move it. Refocus it. Concentrate it. That’s all heat is really, just radiant energy.”

  She blinked hard, incredulous. “How long have you been able to do it?”

  “Since I was fourteen or so? Most freaks tend to manifest when we hit puberty.” He gave a soft chuckle. “Bit cruel when you think about it. Bad enough dealing with the acne without learning you can set things on fire with your brain.”

  “That’s…” Lemon shook her head, looking at the radiation symbol shaved into his hair. “I mean, I’d heard stories about other people who could do what I do, but I never knew…”

  “You control ’lectrics, yeah? Overload ’em?”

  She nodded, licking her lip. “Yeah. But it’s kinda hard to control sometimes. Works best when I’m angry.”

  “Mental note: do not get Lemon angry,” Grimm smiled.

  She smiled weakly in return.

  “What about Diesel? Did I imagine her…ripping…”

  “She calls it Rifting,” Grimm said. “It’s like…imagine she can make two holes in space. Each connected, yeah? They can only be laid flat, each about as big as a car. And she can only create them in places she can actually see, so she can’t go through walls or anything. But you jump through one, fall out the other, like you would any other hole. Just hope she doesn’t close them on you halfway through.”

  Lemon pushed her knuckles into her eyes, shook her head again. She felt like her brains were slowly dribbling out her ears.

  “You all right?” Grimm asked. “Want a drink?”

  “Sorry. It’s just…amazing, is all.”

  “Yeah.” The boy grimaced. “Try selling that to Sister Dee and her bastards.”

  “We had the Brotherhood in Los Diablos, too,” Lemon said quietly. “I spent most of my sproghood dodging them. The guy running them was named the Iron Bishop. Bad news. But he wasn’t as…scary as that Dee lady.”

  “I believe it,” Grimm said. “Brotherhood got started ages ago by a bloke called Saint Michael. But he got ended a while back, and his daughter took over the whole show. Sister Dee made her dad i
nto a martyr, and used his murder to grow the Brotherhood into a bloody army. I hear they’ve even got a chapel in Megopolis now. Dunno how many of us she and her Horsemen have ghosted. We try and disrupt operations when we can. Hit the tankers of H2O they sell to other settlements—that’s what me and Deez were doing when we got sprung. The Major’s been fighting a guerilla war against them for years.”

  “So what’s his program?” Lemon asked. “The Major?”

  Grimm shrugged. “He was military, back before War 3.0. Stationed in this very facility. After the Fall, he worked as a Corp-side freelancer for a while. He was in a bad barney, though, his whole unit got wiped out by scavvers, and he got left for dead in Plastic Alley. And that’s when Fix found him. The old bugger thought he’d always been alone, but after realizing there was more of us with gifts, he started our little freak show. He says he knew he had to do something to protect the future.”

  Lemon blinked. “What future?”

  “Future of the species, of course,” Grimm said.

  Lemon just frowned, and the boy pointed to one of the framed pieces of art on the ceiling above. It showed six figures in profile, walking in a row. On the far left was a small furry animal Lemon recognized from a history virtch as a monkey. The next figure was a taller monkey, walking on two legs. The third looked like a small man with a heavy brow, and so it went, down the line. The last figure was just a regular dustneck with no clothes on, labeled HOMO SAPIENS.

  “You ever heard of Darwin?” Grimm asked.

  Lemon shook her head.

  “He was this old geezer,” Grimm explained. “Before the Fall. Wrote a book that turned the world upside down. Said how animals and plants ’n’ that are always changing in reaction to the world around ’em, yeah? And the ones that change the best, do the best, and pass on their changes to their kids.”

  “Okay.” Lemon shrugged. “So?”

  “So that’s us. We’re the change. The next step in the chain. Homo superior.”