by A. L. Davroe
I nod again, understanding that Guster must have disappeared to open the door for the rebels. He and Quentin and Lady Cyr had planned the rebellion. Had been ready to escape through the service aerovator, but no one had accounted for how horrible the virus truly was. I look up into his hard eyes, and my lips tremble as I speak. “K-Kill your father?”
The skin under his eyes pinches. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he growls. “He did this to me. Do you know what it’s like to have this forced on you? Do you have any idea what he did to my mother?”
I shake my head, not understanding what he’s talking about. A moment of silence ticks by as I search for some way of derailing his anger. “C-Can we fix it?”
Quentin’s hand slips slightly on my neck as he draws far enough away to look off to the side, truly thinking about my question. “I don’t know,” he says finally, his voice calm again. Then he turns back to me, his face intent. “But I don’t know if I want to. His methods were extreme, but perhaps what Simon did was for the best.”
A crazy laugh garbles up my throat. “They died today, Quentin. Your mother and father. All those people. Don’t you care?”
Quentin’s hand tightens on my throat again as his whole body sweeps flush with mine, pinning me vertical. He stares into my eyes. “I’ll say this once. My mother meant the world to me. She was more important than you’ll ever know,” he hisses. He blinks, his face confused. “Do I honestly look like I’m happy my mother and Zane and all those people are dead?”
He may have plotted the death of his father, but he’d cried genuine tears for his mother. His mother, who planned that assassination with him. His father had done terrible things to him and his mother. What could he have done? What could the wife and son of the President have endured to make them plot to kill the city’s most beloved man? I shake my head.
His thumb arches up and gently presses itself into the soft flesh under my jaw, making my head go still. He stares into my eyes again; this time there’s something vulnerable there. “Good,” he says quietly, too intimately. “I would hate for someone—especially you—to think I’m heartless. I’m just…” He pauses, searching for the right word, his face going softer and more exposed, revealing the boy that he is. “Trying to figure this out. All that death. It’s hard to think anything good might come out of it.”
I swallow. “I only wanted something good. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I’m so sorry.”
He looks back at me and smiles a smile that could melt anyone’s fear, his fingers brushing along my throat. “I know.” Then he kisses me.
Quentin’s kiss is a memory torn forth from the back of my mind and set forth for intense examination. First that moment in the dark of the room upstairs where I thought he was Gus, and now this. His lips, the way he kisses me, the arch of his body against mine, the way his fingers linger on my neck—never a threat at all—is the same way Gus kisses me. Not the Gus outside the door, because I haven’t kissed that Gus, and his lips wouldn’t feel the same anymore—they’re too badly destroyed—but the Gus I know from Nexis. It’s the kind of kiss that I can’t refuse, because there’s a kind of love and emotion in that kiss that we both seem to recognize, so I don’t refuse. I kiss him back.
Eventually, he pulls away; the desperation in our bodies is too much to let it go on. Quentin stumbles backward, staring at me like he doesn’t quite realize what just happened. I can feel the heat on my cheeks, can feel the drying track marks of tears, hydraulic fluid, and blood itchy on my hot skin. He looks away, his own face redder than I thought possible for someone with skin as unreal as his.
He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
I reach up and touch my lips, confused. “Who played that game?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
He looks away.
I repeat myself, my voice growing louder with confusion. “Who played that game, Quentin?”
He turns and punches the button. The doors open again. Gus rushes in as Quentin rushes out, and he takes me into his arms. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
I scrunch my brow, searching for Quentin beyond. “No, he didn’t hurt me,” I say, my voice relaying disbelief. Scared the crap out of me, sure, but he didn’t hurt me. Even when he had his hands around my neck, he was aware of my body enough to know the difference between what controlled and what hurt. That kind of knowledge only comes with knowing someone very well. I’m not entirely convinced that Quentin, volatile and confused as he is, could hurt me.
Chapter Forty-six
Post-American Date: 7/4/232
Longitudinal Timestamp: 1:20 a.m.
Location: Dome 5: Evanescence
Sid’s cat-like eyes scan the console before him. We’re in a small utility closet just beyond a door leading onto the ground level of Evanescence. “Looks like they’ve breached gates A, C, and D. There’s no telling how many of the Disfavored have come through.”
Quentin shifts on his feet, his face contemplative. “We need to get out of here.”
Gus nods in agreement.
“What?” I gasp. “We can’t leave.”
Gus glances down at me and then at Quentin. Quentin gives a curt nod before turning back to watch Sid navigate the command board. Gus’s fingers grasp around my upper arm and lead me a distance away from where the other Aristocrats have clustered nervously around Quentin.
When he gets far enough away that no one can hear him, he says, “We have to leave the city.”
My eyes go wide. “No.” He shushes me, his eyes searching beyond my head, looking to see if anyone heard. I attempt to lower my voice, but my panic is clear. “What do you mean, leave? You can’t leave. We have to fix this.”
Gus puts his hands on my shoulders, whether it’s to shut me up or steady my suddenly gelatinous legs, I don’t know. “I know, but we can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous.”
Shaking my head, I pull away from him. “No. No, I won’t. Where would we go, Gus? It’s death out there, you know that.”
“No more out there than in here. Besides, we wouldn’t go to the wasteland,” he reassures. “Quent can get us into the Undertunnels. We can go to Cadence.”
“Cadence?” The blue dome. Our sister city. Only one of many supposed domed cities spanning Post-America. A city that is inhabited by people who have genetic ancestors and a Pre-Dome history similar to ours, but that might be the only thing we have in common. I try to think of what it must have been like for my mother when she came to Evanescence from Adagio and had to integrate herself into a new culture. Uncle Simon said they forced the G-Chip on her.
I think about what Quentin had said about President Cyr having done terrible things to his mother. What if he forced that on her, too? What if, unlike my mother, Lady Cyr’s Mods and Alts had been forced on her? If Lady Cyr was from the outside then she would have been a Naturalist too, right? Did that mean she’d wanted Quentin to be a Natural like me? Did that mean that she’d taught Quentin Natural values, made him not want to Mod and Alt himself? Had he been forced to Mod and Alt himself despite how he felt? What would that be like, to go to bed loving who you are only to wake up with completely new skin that you hated?
What if we go to Cadence and that happens to all of us? I don’t know what that would be like, having something so monumental forced upon me. “We don’t know anything about Cadence.”
Gus’s hands slip off my shoulders. “It has to be safer than here.”
I look up at the cement ceiling. “I don’t understand. We could regain control of the robots. Quentin is President now—he can change the rules, he can let the Disfavored live inside the dome. He can change things to be right. Why do we have to leave?”
Gus shakes his head, his eyes sad. “I’m not sure you understand the reality of what’s going on here. For one, we won’t be able to get the robots back. The G-Chips are frie
d and with the amount of droids out there, regaining control of the Mainframe is impossible. Besides, to the Disfavored, this is a take-over—a changing of regimes. It wasn’t supposed to get this far. The electricity was only supposed to be down for a minute, the rebels were supposed to infiltrate and cause a ruckus. The security droids were supposed to cut them down in an instant. It was only meant to shake things up, to cause a commotion that would, hopefully, let Lady Cyr step into the President’s position. Putting her in the position as President would have meant new hope for us. But…”
I look away, feeling bitter. I had that hope, too. “But it got out of hand,” I finish for him.
He gives a curt nod. “Without the security droids to help control the Disfavored they’ll be impossible to reason with. They’ve taken this opportunity and run with it. We won’t regain control of the city—they’ll kill us all.”
“But you helped them get in,” I reason. Then I remember what Uncle Simon said about the game. “You gave them the Gaming Houses—helped them realize they should rebel. You’re on their side.”
Gus scoffs bitterly, his eyes shifting to the Aristocrats once more. “We also represent that which they hate. Do you honestly think they’ll let Quent and the others live? No, I have to go, if only to make sure they get out of here safely, especially Quent.”
I scowl. “Who cares what happens to that monster?”
Inhuman, Modified eyes level on me and peg me with an icy glare. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t like him?”
“He killed my parents,” I reason, trying to make myself reject the notion that he might have played the game.
The icy glare goes wide. “What? Quentin had nothing to do with that.”
“He’s a Cyr.”
“He’s his mother’s son, not his father’s, and Lady Cyr was your mother’s best friend,” he growls. His eyes find Quentin, and he keeps his gaze fixed on his friend as he says, “They were part of the same revolution. Do you honestly think Lady Cyr or Quent would have anything to do with your parents’ deaths?”
I look away from him. “I don’t know anything anymore. No one is who I thought they were.” A long silence passes. I scan the Aristocrats clustered around Quentin. Some are watching him, others are watching me. They had to have heard me, about being responsible for the virus. They know that Quentin talked alone with me. I wonder what they suspect. I wonder if they blame me. I look for Delia and Sadie and Bastian. I’m still wearing the mask. Do they realize who I am yet? Would they forgive what I’ve done? Forgive me for making them lose this world they loved so much? I rub my foot against the floor trying to cope, to let everything sink in. “So you’re just going to drag these poor people away with you?”
“We’re saving them, Elle. If you don’t want to come, then don’t. You can test your luck against the Disfavored. You’re still a Natural after all; maybe you’ll be able to blend in. As for the rest of us…” His eyes sweep the others, making a deliberate point. “We’re not that lucky.”
I suddenly remember Gus telling me the story of his brother Max. How Max had been so disgusted that his little brother had been Modified that he’d nearly beaten him to death. The Disfavored hate the Aristocracy, perhaps more than the Aristocracy hate the Disfavored.
And why shouldn’t they? The Aristocracy lived in the safety of the domes while radiation and pollution cut down the unlucky Disfavored. Because the Aristocracy had such advanced technology and the convenience of a robotic working class, they enjoyed leisure and comfort while the Disfavored worked themselves to the bone every day just to put horrible food on their tables.
I remember the gruel that Meems fed me before I hacked and reprogrammed Tasha, and a rock forms in my stomach. “They’ll kill them all, won’t they?” I say quietly. “Out of sheer hatred and resentment.”
Gus doesn’t look at me. “Most likely. The Disfavored are a hard, unforgiving people, forged by the broken wasteland they were left to rot in.”
I bite my lip. The world has so many problems, how could I have ever hoped to build anything good out of this mess? I drop my shoulders. “Isn’t there anything we can do to fix this?”
“Perhaps, but it will take a lot of time. We at least need to get someplace safe to regroup and figure things out. We can’t do that here.”
“There’s no telling if they’ll even let us through the Undergate at Cadence. We could be stuck in the tunnel until we die of starvation. And even if we do get in, there’s no telling what it will be like.”
“It’s better to not know what’s going to happen than to be certain you’ll die. We don’t know what it’s like there. They might help us.” Gus forces a smile. “Come on, Elle, it could be like being on a quest in Nexis all over again. You never had any problems fitting in there. You’re more versatile than you give yourself credit for.”
“That was a game. A game my parents designed specifically for me to play,” I remind darkly. “There’s no Oracle to guide us, there’s no spider’s silk, and there’s no waking up.”
He shrugs. “Guess that’s why the Pre-Domites believed in life after death. It’s reassuring to think there’s something else beyond all this. Something to die for.” He plants a hand on mine. “Come with us. I just found you again; I don’t want to say good-bye so soon. Fixing this disaster will be easier if we stay together.”
I look away from him. I honestly don’t know what to do. I want to be with Gus, but I’m also responsible for what happened here in Evanescence. Leaving it now, even with the intent to eventually return, doesn’t seem right. I wish I could ask Meems for help deciding. “Oh my sparks, Meems.”
“What?”
“Meems.” I say more urgently. I pull away and glance around. “I need to find her. I have to make sure she’s all right.” I take a desperate few steps toward the door leading topside before Gus grabs my arm.
“Hang on. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Meems,” I say, my voice growing more desperate. I put a hand to my forehead. “Oh, how could I have forgotten about her? I’ll never forgive myself. Please, Gus, we have to go get her. I can’t leave her to the Disfavored. Who knows what they’ll do to her.”
Gus frowns and looks back toward the crowd. His gaze meets Quentin’s, who has been watching us for I don’t know how long. I look to him as well, pleading. Quentin glances back at the people gathered behind him, then at Sid, then at the screen before him. And then he nods.
“Make sure they follow you to the Undertunnel,” Quentin is saying to Sid. “If any of the others are alive, they will meet us down there. We can get food and supplies out of the cache when we get there.”
We’re standing just on the edge of the Cyr complex, the group of us hidden by a three-way collection of holo-glass screens projecting the gardens that don’t exist. I try to catch Quentin’s eye, trying to ask that pressing question, “Who played the game?” without using words, but he avoids meeting my eyes at all costs.
Gus squeezes my hand. “Are you all right?”
I squeeze his. “Yeah.”
“You’re acting weird.”
I look up at him. “Am I? How can you tell?”
He gives me an “oh please” expression. “I can read you like a book, Elle.”
Elle. That’s what game Gus called me. And this is game Gus’s body, destroyed as it is, and this boy talks to me about Nexis, knew Nadine’s face. How could I wonder who played the game? Still, that kiss… “I’m just worried about Meems is all,” I lie. Then, wanting to change the subject, I ask, “How close are you two? You and Quentin?”
He shrugs. “Very close. Like brothers.”
“I don’t know what it’s like to have a sibling.” For whatever reason, I glance back at Sadie. She looks so much like she has lost a part of herself. Most likely Katrina died back in Bella Adona and probably all of her friends, considering that she’s standing only with an awkw
ard-looking, still bound Bastian. Did she love her friends like sisters? Like how I felt about Delia? I look to Delia who is huddled close to Carsai. Is Carsai Delia’s new sister? The idea makes my stomach hurt.
Gus says, “We’ve been companions for twelve years. He and I have a lot in common.”
Like the same kissing style? I shake my head, rejecting what Quentin did and the feelings he raised in the aerovator. Nothing good will come of this confusion. The bottom line is that, in real life, Gus and Quentin are two very different people. I like Gus—love him. I don’t even like Quentin. Bottom line. I squeeze Gus’s hand, affirming our history and the feelings it brings me. “I’m glad I found you out here in Real World.”
He smiles at me. “Me, too. Not just a game anymore, is it?”
That’s all the answer I need.
Quentin walks over, his eyes still trained on Sid as he leads the Aristocrats through the deserted street. We stayed underground until most of the overhead commotion stopped. There are bodies, robot and human alike, strewn all over the place. Now that we’re out in the open, I can still hear gunshots in the distance, and I’m not so avid to continue.
“How long are they going to keep fighting?” I ask.
“They can’t go on forever,” Quentin whispers. “By this time tomorrow, all of the power cells in the robots will have died.”
“That’s if they don’t remember to recharge,” I add, my voice morbid.
Quentin looks a little disgruntled at that. “Well, let’s hope that’s not the case.”
“What about the rebels?” Gus asks.