by Tania Hutley
“Is anything else different?” asks the doctor. “Any other idiosyncrasies particular to that Skin?”
Though I don’t understand her words, I get what she’s asking. “There’s a screen in my arm,” I say, lifting it and turning my wrist up so they can see the shiny panel embedded there. When I tap it, a six-digit number glows red. It’s like the Knights’ version of a band.
“That must be your identification number,” says Cale. “Better hope they don’t scan it, or they’ll know you’re an imposter.”
“And there’s this.” I concentrate on my hands and make armored claws extend from my fingers. I’m not sure how I know what to do, but it feels natural.
“Hand-to-claw combat,” murmurs Cale. “A definite advantage.”
As I’m making the claws contract and my hands go back to normal, I hear Tori say goodbye to the person she’s talking to. A moment later she comes back in. “It’s done. All the Fist sections have agreed.”
“Booyah!” Spade pushes his woollen hat back from his forehead, a toothless grin splitting his face. “We’re going to kick some armoured ass.”
Doctor Gregory gives Spade a questioning frown.
“It might be better if you don’t know what’s going on.” Cale tells her.
Still frowning, she turns back to me. “I have many more questions to ask you, Milla. Are you able to sit down in that Skin? It would be more comfortable than staring up at you.”
“We have planning to do,” objects Tori. “We don’t have time for a whole lot of pointless questions.”
“They’re not pointless.” Cale narrows his eyes at me. “This loyalty you feel to Director Morelle. What exactly does it mean? Do you think you’ll be able to fight against her? Or will the Skin influence you to turn on the Fist when the firing starts?”
All their heads jerk toward me, and it’s obvious none of them had considered that possibility. I hadn’t thought about it either. And now I’m not sure how to answer.
Closing my eyes, I picture Director Morelle in front of me. For a moment I try to imagine attacking her, but a wave of revulsion turns my stomach.
“I need to protect Director Morelle,” I say reluctantly, the words fighting their way out of my mouth. “I can’t hurt her.”
Tori drags in a shocked gasp of air, and Spade’s mouth drops open. Keren sinks slowly onto one of the beds as though her legs have given way.
Doctor Gregory’s mind pad is already covered with notes, but more appear, writing themselves onto its surface as fast as she can think them.
“What about your fellow knights?” asks Cale. “Can you fight them? Or do you need to protect them too?”
I imagine drawing my gun and shooting one of my squad. My body doesn’t react, though there’s a strong itch in my brain. I should get to my squad and find out what my orders are. My job is to obey. I’m a soldier in the director’s army, and it’s my duty to…
Clenching my fists, I force myself to cut those thoughts off. “I think I can do it.”
“You think?” Tori sounds incredulous. “What if you can’t? We’re all putting our lives on the line.” She sweeps her hand around, including Cale, Keren, and Spade in the gesture. “And not just us. All Fist members. The entire organisation. If you get inside the Meat Locker but can’t wipe any chips, we’ll have no chance.”
I nod. Those thoughts weren’t mine, and I refuse to let this Skin tell me how to think. I’m Milla, not a mindless robot soldier. I won’t let it change my brain.
“I can do it,” I say.
“Are you sure? Because if you have any doubts—”
“I’m certain.”
She lets out a long breath, staring at me as though she can see what’s going on inside my head.
“I’ll be with her,” murmurs Cale, trying to reassure Tori.
I nod, as though I think Cale’s presence will matter. The truth is, compared to the Knight Skin, his human body is so puny that he may as well not be there at all.
Chapter Eighteen
The battle site the Fist has chosen isn’t far from the Meat Locker.
Inside the base of a New Triton scraper is an enormous cab manufacturing plant, so huge that it takes up all the available room in the Old Triton section of this building. The New Triton part of the building is probably fancy with big windows. Down here, its raw walls are made of thick, reinforced concrete, with small ventilation holes at regular intervals.
Far above my head, giant machines piece together the cabs’ panels in mid air. The panels are held up by claws at the end of long, thin arms that remind me of spider’s legs. The arms lower the structures to the ground floor as needed, for those laboring below to do the detail work on the cabs. I’d be constantly terrified one of the metal panels would drop on my head, but I guess the grunts who usually work here are used to it.
Now, however, the factory is silent. The grunts have gone, the huge machines are frozen, and the stompers who were overseeing the workers are lying dead on the floor.
Brilliant lights are set impossibly high in the factory’s ceiling. They’re strong enough to illuminate the stompers’ bodies, though one of the Fist members is currently aiming his weapon to shoot out the lights. Before he squeezes the trigger, I sweep my gaze over the stompers’ bodies, trying to figure out why I feel nothing.
The stompers have been murdered, but I don’t feel any regret for their deaths. I’m not glad about it either, though I know exactly how cruel some stompers can be.
Is the Knight Skin stopping me from feeling any emotion for them? Or am I still numb from the deaths of Gareth and Franco? Either way, I’m relieved I can look at the bodies without feeling anything. It makes everything a lot easier.
I glance up to the giant mechanical claws that lift and lower the cabs. Almost a hundred Fist members climbed them and are now tethered to the huge concrete wall that faces the street. They made themselves rope slings, and they’re dangling in front of the structure’s ventilation holes with their weapons trained outside.
Tori, Keren, and Spade are up there with the rest, almost too high for a human to see. But with my enhanced vision, I can make out every strand of Tori’s hair as the breeze lifts it, and her intent expression as she peers out through the small hole, waiting for the knights to arrive.
The Fist member aiming at the lights squeezes the trigger. Gunshots echo through the cavernous factory and one by one, the lights explode. It’s mid afternoon and New Triton will still be bright, but as the lights go out, the people at the windows become dark shadows in the Old Triton gloom.
Cale is standing next to me. He shifts impatiently, his expression tense with a strain I don’t feel. A small pouch under his shirt is stuffed full of poppers, and a few other supplies.
He lifts his hands, showing me his wrists that are bound in front of him with thick cords. “You ready, Milla?” he asks.
I nod, putting my big, armored hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
We stride out of the factory together. In the middle of the deserted street outside the factory is a huge pile of mattresses. The Fist must have raided a shelter, because there are dozens of them. Walking past them, I push Cale ahead of me as though he’s my prisoner. And as we move away from the factory, I can’t help but picture all the Fist members peering through the factory’s ventilation holes with their weapons trained on me. Maybe I should be afraid that somebody will give in to the temptation to attack a knight, even if I’m on their side. But all I feel is relief that we’re finally heading toward the Meat Locker, where the itch in my brain wants me to be.
At the Meat Locker, my squad will be waiting for me and I’ll get my orders. At least, that’s what the itch is telling me. But I can’t let it control me. I refuse to let Director Morelle make me into one of her brainwashed soldiers.
We round the corner. The Meat Locker is at the other end of this street and not far ahead is the spot where Gama was murdered.
We stop beside the remains of the stall where Cale hid
last time we were here. It’s still standing, though more of its structure has fallen down. Cale ducks inside it like he did last time, managing to hide himself in the ramshackle remains.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Call her,” I say with a nod.
Though I don’t hear anything, a few moments later he says, “Done.”
I stride back toward the factory, but only until I’m just around the corner of the street. Tori was waiting for Cale to give her the signal, so any moment now—
BOOM!
Though I’m expecting it, the explosion still makes me stagger. It’s deafeningly loud, and the buildings around me shake. A moment later, I feel the heat from the blast on my sensors, then the glow of a fire lights up the Old Triton gloom. Dozens of mattresses are burning.
I wait, my heart thumping for several endless seconds.
My hand creeps toward the screen on my arm as if it has a mind of its own. I have to fight the overpowering urge to activate it so I can receive my orders.
Finally, I hear the thumping of metal boots coming from the Meat Locker. Still I wait, letting the knights get closer.
Two squads of knights round the corner, and I march toward them as though I’m striding away from the blast.
“Hurry,” I shout. “We need backup.”
“What’s going on?” demands the leader. “Our orders are to investigate and report back.”
“We’re being attacked. The Fist has formed an army and attacked one of Director Morelle’s factories. They’re holed up in it, and this is our chance to take them out. You get to lead the attack.” I point toward the factory. “But first call in and tell the command center to send all available troops. Now.” I spin away from them, heading in the direction of the Meat Locker.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
“To mobilize the rest of our forces. This is an emergency. Hurry!”
I jog around the corner, not looking back until I’m out of sight. I’m banking on the fact the knights are used to taking orders. More than that, they’re programmed to take orders. Questioning what they’re told isn’t part of that training.
Sure enough, I hear twelve sets of metal boots moving quickly away, heading toward the huge fire that’s lighting up the outside of the cab factory. I walk back to where Cale’s hiding in the falling-down stall, hugging the wall so the knights guarding the Meat Locker’s entrance can’t see me.
“There were two squads,” I say quietly.
“How many more do you think are in the Meat Locker?” Cale emerges from his hiding place.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
Waiting is the hardest part. But only a few seconds later, we hear the cracking of gunfire from the factory, then the blast of another explosion. The ground shakes so hard that more of the ramshackle stall crashes to the ground. If fighting so close to their base doesn’t tempt all the knights out of the Meat Locker, nothing will.
Sure enough, more boots thump on the sidewalk, the sound harder to hear over the rising sounds of battle behind us.
“This is it,” I mutter.
Cale nods and steps out from behind the stall. I put my hand his shoulder and push him in front of me, steering my prisoner toward the Meat Locker.
Four knights and six stompers jog toward us, weapons drawn.
“Hurry,” I shout to them, not slowing. “My squad needs help.”
“Status?” asks the leader.
They’re probably expecting some kind of soldier-talk in reply. I hesitate for just a moment while I search for something to say that won’t make them suspicious.
“Status critical,” I bark. “My orders are to secure this prisoner and return. We need every available soldier to flush out the terrorists who are holed up in there.”
Whether that was the right thing to say or not, I have no idea, but a barrage of gunfire from behind me is distracting them anyway. I push Cale forward, urging him to move faster, and we stride past the knights and stompers.
To my relief, they keep going, jogging toward the sounds of battle.
Tori and the other Fist members are now facing at least sixteen knights and six stompers, and it’s likely to be a lot more. Every squad patrolling this part of Old Triton will rush to help. They may even have been called in from further away by now.
If I don’t manage to get into the Meat Locker and start wiping chips, the Fist won’t stand a chance.
The two knights guarding the door of the Meat Locker are just ahead of us. They’re the last obstacles to getting inside, and they stare at me as I approach, obviously on high alert.
“What are you doing, soldier?” asks the one on the left. It has a woman’s voice, and its tone rings with authority.
“This man is an important prisoner.” I shove Cale forward while he drags his feet, making a show of struggling against his bonds. “The director wants him kept safe until backup arrives. He must be alive and unharmed. Those are her direct orders.”
The knights barely glance at Cale. “We didn’t get those orders,” snaps the woman.
“I’m not surprised.” I push Cale closer. “It’s chaos out there.”
“We can hear it,” says the knight on the right of the door. He sounds very young, like he’s barely past puberty. “What’s going on?”
“Transfer your orders to me,” demands the woman. She holds up one arm and the electronic panel above her wrist lights up. She expects me to do a transfer by holding my own wrist close.
“The orders were verbal.”
“Then I’ll need to confirm them.”
As she moves to tap the screen in her arm, I weigh my chances of being able to get Cale safely out of the way and overpower them both. Then Cale yanks his hands free of the bindings around his wrists, and pulls a popper from the pouch under his shirt. He drops it at the knights’ feet and ducks to the side.
My heart lurches, before I realize he didn’t activate the popper. The knights don’t notice it’s not live. They jump away, scrambling to get out of range.
As the woman brushes past me, I whip out my gun and grab her neck. Before she has time to jerk away, I press my gun into her bat-like ear. The itch fills my head, and I have to force myself to pull the trigger.
The boy stumbles backward, yanking out his weapon. “What the—?”
I drop the woman’s body. As she crumples, six bullets strike my torso, the force of the impacts knocking me backward. When the boy stops firing, I charge him, slamming him against the wall.
He struggles against me, managing to bring the gun up to my head. I ram my shoulder into his chest and grab his arm, bashing it against the concrete. Cale steps in close, shoves a gun into the knight’s ear, and puts a bullet in his brain.
I drop the knight’s body. It’s a good sign that no more knights or stompers rushed out of the Meat Locker to help the guards, but we can’t be sure they’ve all left the building.
“Stay behind me,” I order Cale as I go in through the Meat Locker’s front door.
Just inside are a couple of meeting rooms with tables and chairs. I can’t imagine the knights needing to sit, but maybe stompers use the rooms. Or it could be a planning area where their officers discuss strategy. Right now the rooms are empty, with no knights or stompers to be seen.
Past the meeting rooms is a locked door with a sensor beside it. To get in, I’d need to swipe the panel on my wrist against the sensor, but I doubt my stolen Knight Skin would have clearance to open the door. More likely it would set off the alarms and bring all the knights running back to base.
The door is solid metal set into a concrete wall. I slam my shoulder into it anyway, putting all my strength behind it. Most doors would explode into toothpicks. This one doesn’t so much as tremble.
I glance at Cale. Anxiety is written across his face. There’s only one way to get through this door, and if it doesn’t work, our plan has failed before it started.
Bringing up my wrist, I move to position it against the door sensor.
&
nbsp; “Wait!” Cale grabs my arm and pushes it down. “Use one of the knights from outside.”
Of course.
I drag in the female knight’s body and hold the screen in her arm against the sensor. The door slides open.
Letting out a relieved breath, I step into the massive room I saw on the holo, filled with hundreds of pods. Each pod consists of a narrow, contoured bed with a screen and control panel above it. Inside each, a boy or girl dressed in military fatigues lies with their eyes closed. Tubes snake into each kid. One tube is attached to their arm. Others disappear inside their clothes. It takes me several horrified seconds to realize they’re feeding the kids and taking away their waste using the tubes. The director didn’t show that on the holo.
Other than the hum of all the equipment, the enormous room is silent and still. Above each pod, the monitors show the soldiers’ vital signs. The pods and monitors look just like the one I saw on the holo, which means each should each have a failsafe button that will wipe the chip of the soldier inside.
Cale comes up beside me and gives a low whistle. “So many of them,” he murmurs. “Like zombies asleep in their coffins.”
“They’re not all sleeping.” I point to where a woman in her twenties and a young boy are pulling themselves out of their pods. The tubes they’ve had to yank out of their bodies are lying behind them.
“The knights who were guarding the door.” Cale pulls a small mask out of the pouch he has hidden under his shirt, and puts it over his face.
I raise my voice to a shout. “Stop, or I’ll shoot.”
The young boy raises his arms above his head, fear in his expression.
The woman ducks behind her pod. “You’re too late,” she yells. “I already called in to base and told them we’d been infiltrated.”
Cale throws a small round ball at her. Unlike the last popper, it breaks open when it hits the ground. Instead of an explosion, it lets out a loud hiss.
According to Doctor Gregory, the Knight Skin I’m using won’t be affected by the sleeping gas. Something about it having an enhanced respiratory system, but her explanation was longer and more complicated. I just hope she was right.