Girl From Above #4: Trust
Page 19
There, the right passage—running. I sprinted down a poorly lit passage, chasing down the sound of the fleeing synth. They were fast, the chances of me catching it were slim, but we had the entire outpost to corner it in.
I caught sight of a directional marker: Dock.
Oh no.
Pinging the crew’s comms, I didn’t wait for a reply and panted into my wrist comms, “Get to the dock! All crew to the dock. Now!”
There was a chance something of the synth’s donor’s life remained in its programming, driving it forward. Its self-preservation protocols could have kicked in, believing us a threat. If I can corner it, talk to it, I might be able to get close enough to—
The gaping expanse of the sealed dock yawned at the end of the passage. An arm shot out, blocking my path. I veered to the side, lifted my gun, half skidded out of the passage, and got a face full of brilliant blue eyes as the female synth snatched my gun arm, yanked it up, swung me around, and slammed me into the bulkhead as if it were beating up a doll. My head smacked against the panel, spritzing a wash of stars across my vision. I let out an involuntary cry and felt the synth’s grip on my arm loosen ever so slightly. Instead of letting me go, it wrapped its cool fingers around my neck and leaned all of its steel-like body against me. All I could see were those calculating eyes and the widening of its pupils as it searched the datacloud for my identity.
“Hello, Commander Shepperd.”
I pointed my boot toes down but couldn’t feel the floor, and the synth had my gun arm trapped against the bulkhead. I was pinned and not going anywhere unless I could talk it down.
“Hello,” I croaked, finding it hard to talk with its hand rammed under my jaw. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
It cocked its head in an oddly questioning gesture. Its expression remained calm and flat, like the smooth surface of a lake. Deep waters that could turn deadly if I said the wrong thing.
“Lie,” it said, quite calmly.
“Bren!” Fitz stood on the dockside, her pistol braced in both hands, her stance locked. She’d shoot and wouldn’t miss. Behind her, I could just make out the rest of the crew spilling into the dock from various access passages.
The synth didn’t need to look to know they were there. All of its scrutiny was on me.
“Put me down or this will end badly,” I said, equally as calmly. “We just want to talk.”
One of its eyebrows made a perfect crescent arch and its lips ticked at their corners in a way I’d seen before, as though this synthetic, this machine, were trying not to smile. Almost like … It’s not One. Caleb-Joe buried her remains on Old Earth. It’s not her. It just looks like her. They all look the same.
“Commander?” Miles’s voice boomed around the dock.
The synth blinked lazily, like it didn’t have four pistols aimed at its back, and then it did the oddest thing. It leaned in closer still, so close its cool cheek brushed against mine, and it breathed in deeply, as though drawing my scent into it. I gritted my teeth and fought off the clamoring fear. It would know I was afraid, there was little point in pretending otherwise, but synths didn’t kill unless they’d been ordered to … unless they were different.
It slowly turned its head. Its smooth lips brushed my cheek, and it whispered three words that changed everything.
She lowered me to my feet, let go, and took a single step back.
“Don’t shoot!” I wheezed, waving a hand at the advancing crew. “Don’t shoot her!”
The synth smiled. The others couldn’t see it. Her secret smile was meant for me and only me, and then she turned and walked toward the gangplank stretching from the dockside to the anchored ship.
Fitz was the first to reach me. She bounced a frowning glare from me to the synth casually making her way across the gangplank. “Bren, it’s boarding the ship.”
I’d braced my hands on my thighs to catch my breath, but I looked up in time to see the synth disappear inside the personnel hatch. A few seconds later, the gangplank rumbled and retracted.
“It’s taking the ship!” Fitz screeched, taking a few steps forward as though contemplating running after the gangplank. When she deduced that wouldn’t stop the synth, she whirled on me. “It’s stealing the damn ship!”
“Yes.” I smiled. “Yes, she is.”
“Do something!”
“There’s nothing I can do,” I said, my smile telling a very different story.
Fitz’s mouth dropped open. She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind and then continued to rant until the transport vessel’s engines roared to life, scattering the crew back into the passageways where they locked themselves behind the blast doors. I followed but stopped at the end of the passageway and looked back. I couldn’t see the ship’s bridge from my low angle, but the synth would be up there—smiling. She’d be back-in-black soon. I could only guess where she might be going, but I had a few ideas.
I touched two fingers to my forehead and signed a salute.
Just three little words.
“Count the stars.”
The End?
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Thank you.
Acknowledgments
For all the wonderful fans who followed me from The Veil series to this crazy sci-fi adventure. And y’all said you didn’t like sci-fi? ;)
To Caleb; for being all kinds of awesome, for your dry wit and bad luck, and for allowing me to write your story.
To Bren; for always being there, even when you weren’t noticed.
To Fran; we know you’ve always got Caleb’s back.
To One; we’re proud of you.
And to my husband, who helped fill in the plot holes. He’s still waiting for the movies (but he’ll settle for a TV series).
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So, you think it’s all over, huh?
I never say never.
Also by Pippa DaCosta
The Veil Series
Wings of Hope ~ The Veil Series Prequel Novella
Beyond The Veil (#1)
Devil May Care (#2)
Darkest Before Dawn (#3)
Drowning In The Dark (#4)
Ties That Bind (#5)
Get your free e-copy of ‘Wings Of Hope’ by signing up to Pippa’s mailing list, here.
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New Adult Urban Fantasy
City Of Fae, London Fae #1
City of Shadows, London Fae #2
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Science-Fiction
Girl From Above #1: Betrayal
Girl From Above #2: Escape
Girl From Above #3: Trapped
Girl From Above #4: Trust
About the Author
Born in Tonbridge, Kent in 1979, Pippa's family moved to the South West of England where she grew up among the dramatic moorland and sweeping coastlands of Devon & Cornwall. With a family history brimming with intrigue, complete with Gypsy angst on one side and Jewish survivors on the other, she draws from a patchwork of ancestry and uses it as the inspiration for her writing. Happily married and the mother of two little girls, she resides on the Devon & Cornwall border.
Sign up to her mailing list here.
@pippadacosta
pippadacosta
www.pippadacosta.com
pippadacosta@btinternet.com
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