Down the hall we race. Rak stuns another guard, and I nearly trip over the man as he falls. Two drones zoom around the corner ahead of us, screaming an alarm tone and blasting stun pulses at us. One of the blasts hits Rak, and he shudders, struggling to stay upright. Throwing open one of the hallway doors for cover, I drag Rak behind it and snatch the scrambler from his shaking hand. A few seconds after I press the button, the drones' alarms shut off, and they glide away toward the lab we just left.
I shake Rak, squeezing his jaw hard through his mask. He's still shuddering from the effects of the stun blast. Stupid drones.
Hauling him up, I stagger along the corridor, half-dragging him until he regains control of his legs.
By that time it's too late.
A shout behind us. "Stop! Hands above your heads!"
Five guards at the end of the hallway. They're not close enough to stun us yet, but they are near enough to shoot us with boltfire if we try to escape.
As he lifts his hands, Rak pulls the bottle of water from his belt.
Drops it.
And crushes it under his foot.
The next second, a whip of glittering water snakes from his hands, rushing at lev-train speed down the hallway toward the guards. It hits the first row square across their bellies, and they're thrown backward into the others—a tangle of limbs and boltfire and stun blasts and screams.
We hurry down the next hallway, Rak still struggling to control his legs. And there it is—our escape route.
In a facility like this, drones collect the trash and compact it neatly into bags, which are vacuum-sealed and shunted down a chute into a large bin, which is rolled out once a week and carted away. The chute is exactly where the plans said it would be, and it looks just wide enough for Rak to slide down.
I hold the door flap up for him and help him wrangle his legs onto the slick belt. He disappears the next second, flying into the dark depths.
Voices are growing louder, approaching the corner of the hallway. I plunge headfirst into the chute after Rak, hoping I was quick enough that the oncoming guards didn't see my boots disappearing down the hatch.
I'm sliding fast, faster, faster—I'm not going to be able to stop. Maybe there's no bin at the bottom. Maybe I'll be smashed onto concrete. I clench my teeth as I streak through the screaming blackness—and then I thump onto a body, and pair of arms close around me.
I tumble off Rak, my legs sinking into the sealed cubes of garbage. Clumsily we clamber over the edge of the bin and drop to the floor.
We still can't talk, in case there are cameras or monitor drones in here. But I do risk illuminating my com's low-light, and by its glow I can see a bit of the room we're in. There's a large, open elevator, the rough unfinished kind, using for hauling bins of garbage back up to the surface. We can't risk using the elevator, and it's probably been shut down anyway, because of the alarm.
Breathe. I lean over, my hands on my knees, and I draw a lungful of stale air through the cloth of my mask. How I would love to rip it off! I feel like I'm suffocating.
Rak lays a warm hand on my back, a wordless reassurance. Gently he guides me into the freight elevator and boosts me up to the hatch in its ceiling.
This is also part of his plan. My least favorite part.
Exerting all my strength, I push the hatch door up and over until it falls open. Hooking my arms and elbows over the edge, I pull with every bit of muscle I have, while Rak pushes against my boots. I'm anything but graceful, but I manage to hoist myself up onto the top of the elevator.
Rak leaps and catches the edge, pulling himself up after me. I wish I could watch him do that without a shirt on; I can imagine how his muscles would flex and harden—
He snaps his fingers at me, and I remember what I'm supposed to be doing. We each have a grappler attachment for our paraguns, and an anti-gravity clip on our belts to help with the climb. Alik warned us that the anti-grav clips don't have more than ten minutes of charge. Any climbing beyond that will involve our own muscles, working against the deadly draw of gravity.
A three-story climb should bring us back up to ground level, where we can exit the building by the same hatch that admits the trash bins.
Rak counts down on his fingers—one, two, three—and we aim and shoot our grapplers. The clanking as they catch is so loud, I'm sure all the guards in the building must have heard it. For a tense moment we wait, sweating in the near darkness.
Nothing happens. Rak nods to me, and we tug on the grapplers to make sure they're secure. The heads of them have barbs that shoot out and grip upon impact, and sensors that send a warning vibration down the line if the grip is compromised.
Together we activate our anti-grav clips and begin the climb.
Without my body weight pulling me down, the climb goes faster than I expected. Since I'm lighter than Rak is, my clip's charge should last longer than his. Hopefully, we'll both reach the top before the charge runs out.
The harsh metal of the grappler cord chafes my hands, even through my gloves. I'm glad I didn't take them off to climb. Using my toes, I find holds along the wall—pipes and electrical boxes and pitted places where chunks of concrete have been knocked loose.
We reach the exit hatch at the same time. Now I have to heat my way through the hatch without burning myself, or Rak, or our grappler cables.
Rak clings to the wall beside the hatch, gripping a pipe with both hands, his toes tucked into niches in the concrete. He's still got anti-grav, but the lighted readout on the clip at his belt shows only one bar of charge left. He's prepared in case it suddenly gives out.
I notch the grappler cable into my belt and lock it in place. My belt isn't a climbing harness, though, and it wasn't made to handle my entire weight, so it isn't much to rely on. Propping my feet against the threshold of the hatch, I let go of the cable. I'm weightless, floating, held in place by my toes. Leaning forward, I splay my fingers against the large door and let my energy flow.
It doesn't flow as freely as it did earlier, at the lab entrance. I know there's a limit to my ability; I've just never found out where it is. This wouldn't be a good time to find out, hanging above the gaping darkness of this elevator shaft.
Wave upon wave of heat rushes from me into the metal door. It's thicker and stronger than the lab doors—harder to soften, harder to collapse.
Rak's anti-grav alarm beeps. Beside me, his breathing grows quicker, heavier.
I force myself to stay in the zone. If I lose focus, this will take longer, and we could both die.
I am power, I am heat. You will move for me, you will melt for me. A flood of power surges from me into the metal.
My anti-grav alarm chirps. Out of power.
My body drops, my belt catching painfully under my ribs, and I cry out with the pain, sending a final push of energy toward the door. With a crackling hiss it disintegrates, showering me with super-heated dust. I stifle a scream as the particles burn through my cloth mask and my jacket in a couple of spots. My feet slip off the ledge, kicking in midair.
Crack.
My belt is splitting. I seize the cable with both hands, my legs flailing over the abyss of the elevator shaft, trying to find a foothold. My right knee smashes into concrete.
There's a scrape of boots as Rak swings himself onto the ledge of the exit hatch—then his hands close over my upper arms, and I'm lifted, pulled up onto the ledge, through the hole, and onto to firm, safe ground. I gasp, shaking, touching my ribs tentatively. The jerk of the belt when I fell may have bruised them, but I don't think any are cracked or broken.
We survived. We made it out of the elevator shaft.
Still, we're not safe. Not yet, because the expanse of the Amzen Building courtyard stretches before us.
Rak's fog has long since faded, and we're exposed here, at the back corner of the building. Three drones are already heading our way, wailing alarms, winding up to blast us with stun pulses. Quickly Rak conjures the mist again, hiding us as I smash the scrambler butt
on as hard as I can. Without waiting to see if the drones are fooled, we grip each other's hands and run for the fence.
My energy is nearly spent, but I manage to soften part of the fence, and Rak kicks it free so we can squeeze out. Then we're running, weaving through the dumpsters and old iron vats and piles of rusted beams, craving their concealing shadows.
Blood thrums in my head, and my feet and lungs pulse with pain as we run faster. The alarm from the building behind us keens on and on, shrill and heart-stopping, echoing across the wasteland of abandoned yards.
Suddenly, mercifully, we're at the spot where we left the bike. Rak mounts, and I swing on behind him, and we rise into the air and speed away, toward the city. As the tall buildings and traffic close around us, I welcome them. They're a shield to us, a mass of teeming life in which we can bury ourselves and be lost to anyone who may have tried to follow.
I don't speak until we're back at Rak's building. On his floor. In his apartment, with the door locked behind us.
It's strange that this tiny suite of rooms, tucked away in an old building, in a less desirable part of the city, is where I feel most safe.
We stagger into the living space, sink to the floor by his bed, and sit there for a few minutes in silence. Then Rak takes off his goggles, his mask, his belt, his boots, pack, jacket—he doesn't stop until he's in his black sleeveless shirt and pants and bare feet. He tips back onto his bed, lying full length and sighing.
"By Death's Dark, that feels good," he says.
I follow his example, stripping off everything but my pants and shirt. My legs will barely hold me, but I manage to crawl onto the bed beside him.
"You did well tonight, Zilara," he says. "I couldn't have asked for a better partner. You'd make an excellent rebel soldier."
Warmth flows through me at his words. I'm so comfortable here, and so very tired. I should drag myself up and go home before someone misses me.
But Rak angles his body toward mine and slides his hand across my bare stomach, where my shirt has scooted up. He strokes lazily for a while, before leaning over to kiss the exposed skin. I tremble at the touch.
I won't be going home. Not tonight.
22
I'm not a dewy-fresh morning person.
The first time I woke up beside Gareth, his beauty stunned me. When his amber eyes opened and met mine, I whispered "Good morning," overwhelmed that I was actually in the bed of such a gorgeous boy. He turned away, rolled out of the sheets, and said, "There's an extra toothbrush in the bathroom drawer. Please use it as soon as possible."
Waking up nestled against Rak is different. He's already seen me sweaty and sun-baked, smelly and weary, caked in blood, tear-stained and furious. There's nothing I have to hide from him, no one else I need to pretend to be.
He loves me. Every part of me, even the weirdness and the ugliness.
He shifts beside me, groaning pleasurably as he gathers me close. There's a deep rumble in his chest, like a lion purring in satisfaction. Trapped in his arms, I am more relaxed than I have ever been in my life. Body and soul, at peace.
"Zilara," he says against my hair.
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
"And I—" I stroke the muscles of his arm; "I adore you."
He chuckles, squeezing me a little tighter.
But as much as I want to stay exactly like this, my body does have needs, so I disentangle myself and make my way to the bathroom. He has stocked it—or maybe Safi helped him stock it—with plenty of toiletries, including some tooth cleaner pods. I crunch one of them in my molars, feeling the faint buzz of the newly activated nanites working over my teeth to destroy bacteria and eliminate odors. I still prefer a toothbrush, but the pods are definitely handy.
Rak comes in to use the bathroom while I'm showering; I can see his tall figure through the frosty glass of the shower door. Maybe it should gross me out that he's taking care of business while I'm in here; but mostly I'm excited that he feels this comfortable with me. And maybe I'm a tiny bit turned on by the fact that I'm standing naked under the water, with him washing his hands just a few steps away.
And then continuous flow of the shower changes.
The warm water lifts and coalesces, curling around my body in glittering tendrils like long, liquid fingers—rippling, caressing, laving every bit of me, flowing over my lips and chest and across my stomach, curling around my thighs, between them. I gasp, and Rak chuckles.
Then the water returns to its normal sprinkle, and the bathroom door closes behind him.
When I finish in the bathroom, I dress in the same tight black clothes I wore last night. Rak is at the table, the contents of our packs scattered before him.
"So what did we get?" I lean over his shoulder.
"A lot." He picks up a data stick. "I waved Alik and Safi—they'll be here soon to help us sort through it and discuss. I figure we don't want to attach these sticks to anything with uplink or GGL access, just in case it triggers some kind of alert. Safi is bringing some equipment so we can examine them safely without being tracked or tagged."
"Good. Have you checked the newsfeeds?"
"No."
"What's your house system's activation word or name or whatever?"
He shifts his gaze from mine and raises his voice. "Princess, engage."
"Right away, sir," replies the house system, and the wall nearby flickers to life, showing bright, clear images of running newslines, top photos of the day, and weather.
Rak casts me a challenging look.
"I'm not going to judge what you call your system," I say, smirking. "I think it's adorable. Alik and Safi might have a laugh about it, though."
"Princess, show me the top five newsfeeds," he says, ignoring me. His system pulls up several hot stories, none of them involving a robbery at a secret factory for Evolved suppression chips.
I breathe deeply, releasing the tension in my chest. "Looks like we're in the clear."
"For now. But Zilara, what do you plan to do with all this?"
I shrug. "Put it out on the GGL so everyone can see it? Maybe we can uplink it to several different feeds, so it will be harder for the government to take it all down. Once Safi pulls the data off these sticks, we can create a packet of the best files and images and then plant that packet on some nationally accessible feeds."
"Like a bomb." He leans back, tucking his hands behind his head.
"Exactly like a bomb. One made of sensitive information."
"And how will your father react to this?"
"Not well. All the parents who have chipped their Evolved children won't be happy either. But that's not my concern. My goal is getting the truth out. What people do with it after that isn't up to me."
His dark eyes narrow. "You sound like a newsrunner. Isn't that the sort of thing they say?"
"Yes," I admit. "But I'm not one of those story-chasing, drone-wielding stalkers."
"Just a concerned citizen striving for truth and freedom. Like me." He's smiling, but his eyes are sober, even a little sad.
"Rak—" I stop, because I don't know what to say.
He winces. "Don't give me that look. I hate it when you pity me."
"You've given up so much. You left your faction, your country. And I know you still believe in what the Fray are fighting for."
"I do. They are working for freedom, justice, and balance. They sidestepped from the right path when they took you hostage, but it was done out of desperation. And I don't think Commander Therin's superiors would have approved of him actually killing you. It was all a play for leverage."
"I understand, I do. "
"I want to go back someday, Zilara. Maybe, if I can earn enough money to become a doctor, I could return, and help in a different way."
"You don't have to work that loading job," I say. "I can get money to pay for your medical training."
"How? Not even the Magnate's daughter has that sort of allowance."
"What if I took the place on the Rippan C
ollege Aeroball Team?" I scoot into the chair nearest him. "It comes with a scholarship for me, as well as a salary. Might not be enough to cover all your bills, but we could live on it, and pay for most of your tuition."
"Are you sure you want to leave Ceanna? You just made it back."
"Yes, and I'm realizing that in some ways it's nearly as bad as Emsalis."
He raises his eyebrows, incredulous.
"All right, it's not quite as bad. But everything here is so tightly ruled and restricted. People are slaves to their skull-ports and their feeds. We're walled in by buildings, everywhere. I know you miss the open spaces—the desert, the mountains. We have them here, too, but they're shrinking. They're all portioned off and assigned. That strip of forest we went to, with the waterfall—there aren't many of those wild zones left."
He stares at the odds and ends on the table, the proof of what I'm saying. Proof of conspiracy and control. "I don't want you supporting me with your money."
"Why not? It would only be for a while. Once I'm too old and creaky to play aeroball, you'll have to support me with your doctor's salary."
He straightens, his mouth curving in a half-smile. "When you're old and creaky?"
"Yes—most aeroballers don't play past their late thirties."
"That's old to you?"
"It seems old right now."
"So you think we'll be together long enough for you to get old. And creaky." He's smiling wider now, leaning toward me.
"I—um, maybe? I hope so—"
"Tell me something, Zilara," he says, and I shiver at my name on his lips. "If you join the Rippan College team, they'll give you North Dixan residence status, yes? What about me? Will they let me go with you?"
"Oh." I hadn't thought of that. "Maybe. If you were my—my consort, they definitely would."
"Consort— that's like blood-bonding, yes?"
"Yes, except, like I told you, it's more of a legal thing and less of a blood thing."
Princess of Lies and Legends (The Evolved Book 2) Page 22