The Deep Link (The Ascendancy Trilogy Book 1)

by Sicoe, Veronica

  34

  The Syndicate started bombing TMC hubs and surveillance towers today, and all my prepping and testing suddenly feels like I've wasted what little time I had. The district's in an uproar—there are sirens everywhere, people running, shuttles buzzing, strobes flashing in the glowing night sky. And my heart has shrunk to the size of a pebble.

  Preston's 'assets' are breaking into TMC facilities, stealing weapons, hacking bots and drones, kidnapping officers and blowing up storage units. So far the Ticks have only sent out troops to contain the panic and overall damage, but it's just a matter of time before they start fighting back in earnest. It won't be a fair fight.

  Maybe I should have done something sooner. Something radical, something brave. But it's too late now. My hesitation to do more fills me with guilt, but I'm forced to swallow it down. Now that people are actually dying, every minute counts.

  "Going somewhere?" Bray asks, leaning against my doorframe.

  I glance at him over my shoulder and keep stuffing my backpack. "What do you want, Bray?"

  "You're ditching, aren't you?"

  I ignore him and continue packing. I have to find Preston, and ram my fist down his throat like I should have done long ago. He's the root of all this. I can't let him get hundreds of people killed.

  "Now look who's the real coward. The moment things get rough—"

  "Stuff it, Bray. You wanted to come here as little as I did, remember? Weren't you the one trying to convince me it's all a really bad idea? Make up your damn mind."

  "Oh, I've made it up alright. I won't let you leave just like that."

  I look up. "What's your problem?"

  "You are."

  I pull the straps tight on my backpack and throw it over my shoulder. Then I turn to scowl at him in earnest. "Get over yourself, Bray, and get going. You're in my way."

  "And you're not leaving," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I won't let you walk out on me."

  "On you?" I startle.

  Bray grins nervously, still blocking my way out.

  My palms itch. I grip the straps of my backpack tighter. "Get out of my way, Bray."

  "No."

  I step up to him. "Move the fuck aside."

  "No can do, Miss."

  I push against him. He resists and shoves me back. I try to walk around him, but he grabs my shoulders and pushes me against the wall. "Listen you selfish little—"

  "Don't insult me."

  He shoves a finger at my face. "It's your fault we're in this shit situation. Because of you and your goddamn 'infection' Preston got the crazy idea he could beat the Ticks. You crashed us into that alien ship, and fucked up my mission—my life! And now you want to ditch? I don't think so."

  "You don't have to stay here either," I say, trying to talk my way around him. "Leave while you still can."

  "What a wonderful idea." He chuckles, breathing down my face.

  This is getting weird. Something's up with him. Whatever it is, it's keeping me from doing what I have to do.

  "Let me tell you something, Taryn." His voice is almost a whisper. "You're trouble incarnate. Ever since we met, things have gone south for me really fast."

  He's so close now I can smell his skin, so close I can see his pulse race quickly through the veins on his neck. "Stay," he whispers, leaning into me. "Be with me." He cups my face in both hands and covers my mouth with his.

  His lips are hot and moist. His tongue presses fiercely against mine. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer, sucking the breath out of me.

  My skin is a sheath of white noise.

  I push him away.

  He comes back harder and pins me against the wall. He kisses my neck fiercely, nipping at my skin.

  Sparks cloud my vision.

  His hands slide down to my hips, and his mouth finds mine again. His fingers crawl over my belly, unfasten my overall. They sneak inside it, trembling hotly over my skin.

  Beneath the rush of contact, a dangerous rumble awakens within me.

  "Bray, I can't do this."

  He shoves his tongue into my mouth, and slams my head against the wall. I push him away, but he doesn't care.

  My insides coil up in flames.

  "Bray, stop."

  He's eager and determined, and stopping is not an option. I pinch him hard in the side. He draws his head back, scowling at me like a startled animal.

  I take a deep, sobering breath. "It's not going to happen, Bray."

  He tries to kiss me again. I avert my face.

  "You want me too. I can feel it in your body," he says. "We've had this thing going on from the very beginning."

  "We had nothing." I try to free myself, but he won't let me. He shifts his weight and grabs my chin between his fingers.

  "If you don't get off me right now, you're gonna be sorry, Bray. I swear."

  He strokes my face. "Feisty. I like that about you."

  "Fuck off."

  "You know? I think you and I could make it out there. We could actually have a life together."

  "You're crazy."

  "Think about it, Taryn. Just think about it. It's our best chance. It's our last chance."

  His pupils are dilated, his breathing shallow.

  I vividly remember different eyes absorbing me, a different skin trembling beneath my fingers, as I was blissfully consumed by a different, inhuman hunger. Something uncoils inside me like a poisonous snake.

  "No," I tell him. "I don't want you. Simple as that."

  Bray stares at me, arrested in the turbulence created by my words like a glider caught in the wake of a rocket.

  He lets me go.

  I rest my head against the wall and look at him, slouching before me, breathing heavily.

  "I thought you—" he starts, then takes in a breath between stiff lips. "Never mind." He turns his back on me.

  "Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea," I say, even though I don't remember ever having done so.

  He stops in the doorway and looks back at me. Then he's gone.

  What the hell was he thinking? Have I really given him the impression I'm interested? Has he been flirting with me and I didn't notice? I sigh and wipe my face. I don't have time to worry about this shit now.

  "Taryn?"

  I startle, and pick up my backpack. "Hey, Jade."

  "What are you doing?" He closes the door behind him, and rubs his face. I'm relieved to see he's not out there, involved with the attacks.

  A powerful rumble shakes through the building, and the lights go out. The intercom's service light turns on, bathing everything in a cold blue light.

  "I have to go, Jade. I'm... meeting Denise somewhere," I lie. I've already put him through so much, I won't ask him to do anything more for me.

  "Everyone's scattered, gone underground," he says. "We're in com silence for the next hour or so. The Ticks sent out some nasty e-crawlers to track us." He sits on the bed. I drop my backpack, and sit next to him for a second.

  "The Ticks won't stick to e-crawlers and patrols for long. You'd better get out of here, Jade. Go somewhere safe."

  "Armed combat isn't the worst I've been through, and you know it."

  I look at his face, pale and drawn in the blue light. "Speaking of which, you never told me your story. Where were you all these years after I left Maza?"

  "My dad died in the Raids. My mom and I, and Henry,"—I suddenly remember his brother, a toddler when we were in school—"were deported to a relocation center on Procyon. Darkest years of my life."

  "What happened?"

  "We almost starved." He rubs his forehead with the back of his hand. "My mom... She had to do things to keep us fed. I couldn't take it. When a guy offered me a job to transport some things to the asteroid belt, I took it in a blink. Didn't whisper a word."

  "The belt—where the prison camps are?" I imagine a fifteen-year-old Jade, desperate and scared, trying to support his family. I swallow, my heart sinking.

  "It was an org-pack," Jade'
s voice fades to a whisper. "Small enough for me to swallow. Undetectable, the guy said. Nothing dangerous. Would have earned us a thousand credits—enough to make it for a whole month in that rat hole. But by the time I reached the Atara prison the org-pack had dissolved and flooded my bowels with hyoscine. I would've died if I hadn't been arrested. The Ticks purged my guts and imprisoned me for five years, for trafficking mind-altering drugs."

  "Hyoscine... Where have I heard that before?"

  "'Devil's Breath.' An old Terran drug made from tropical trees. Just a whiff of it turns you into a tool; no free will, no memory, perfectly docile. In high dosages it wipes your memory, makes you mad with hallucinations, and kills you within days. The bastard wanted his friends in the prison to use it on the guards and break out. The risk of it killing me wasn't his problem."

  I remember the scratch and cut wounds on Jade's stomach, the aftermath of so many FTL fugues reliving the hell he must have gone through back then, and a lump forms in my throat.

  "Ah, don't worry, Bug-Nut. I don't remember much of my stay on Atara anyway."

  "What happened to your mom and your brother?"

  "Never saw them again. Managed to track my mom by public record, with Preston's help. She died five years ago on the streets, still back there on Procyon. Haven't found Henry yet."

  "But you're still looking for him." He doesn't answer; doesn't have to. "How did you meet Preston anyway?"

  "Met Vik first, actually. We were released on the same day."

  "Vik was in prison? What for?"

  "Ask him. He knew about Preston from someone, and contacted him about a job. We were broke and homeless and Preston had money. Stuck with him from there on out."

  I take his hand in mine, squeeze it. "I'm sorry you had to go through all that."

  "You didn't have an easy life either," he says, squeezing back. "I checked your records before we picked you up from Maza."

  I realize I never checked out his records, back when I still had a synet. I was so obsessed with the idea of making first contact I never even bothered.

  "Thanks," I say quietly.

  "For what?"

  "For helping me." I look into his chocolate-brown eyes.

  "I'll always be here for you, Taryn." He leans in toward me. His breath is warm and soft, his presence soothing. He puts an arm around me, holds me tight, breathing into my hair. I feel small and protected.

  Then he kisses me.

  I let him, reluctantly.

  He's gentle and slow. His hand slides over my shoulder, traces over my neck and earlobe and slips into my hair. He kisses me longer, breathes harder, wants more.

  I turn my head away and gasp. Tears well up in my eyes.

  He notices and stops. Hugs me gently instead. "It's okay. I understand."

  He doesn't. He has no clue.

  He lets me go and stands back up. "Don't twist your mind over this, Taryn. I'll be fine."

  "I'm sorry, I—"

  "Forget it," he cuts me off and opens a cubbyhole. "I have something for you." He pulls out a small pouch, opens it and holds out something dangling on a thread. I walk over and take it. It's a piece of Dorylini mandible, charcoal and sleek, lined with barbs.

  "Jade, what—"

  "I thought you'd like to have it, since you lost the other one."

  I inspect the mandible more closely. The shiny, hard chitin is burnt at one end, but it's otherwise intact. I notice an unusual hole in one of its barbs. This is Edrissa's mandible. It almost burns in my hand.

  "You like it?" Jade asks.

  "Where did you get this from?"

  Jade stares at me, hesitating at the anger in my voice. "I went out to get you when that alien ship opened fire on the hive. I ran as fast as I could, but they had picked you up already, and there were these... there was this this pile of..."

  "You got this from the bodies outside?" I ask sharply.

  He nods.

  I drop the mandible at our feet, pick up my backpack and throw it over my shoulder.

  Jade picks the mandible back up and turns it around in his hand, avoiding my gaze. "I'm sorry."

  "Yeah, me too." I open the door.

  35

  Bray stomps up and down the length of his room, picking up the shards of his stupid illusions. How could he have thought she'd give a damn about him? She of all people—the bitch who threw his fragile life into chaos. He should be mad at her, but he can't. Instead, he's mad at himself for dreaming of a life with her.

  Preston contacts him on an encrypted synet com line, giving him a set of coordinates. Bray would rather dig a hole for himself inside that frozen, toxic river than go to Preston. He goes anyway.

  Erano's streets are roaring. Sirens are blaring, cars and shuttles buzz around like angry wasps, armed Ticks march in groups yelling at people to clear the streets. Every now and then, a boom announces yet another explosion, followed by a new column of smoke rising toward the dome.

  Bray sneaks through alleys and side-streets, ducks around parked cars and containers, making use of shadows and various commotions to cross the district undetected. By the time he gets to Preston's coordinates, his nerves are on edge, that damn beast of a woman almost forgotten.

  The building is a closed down storage facility. Bray walks up three stories, past locked doors and 'No Trespassing' signs, and enters a small maintenance room in the attic. Preston greets him with an absent nod. He's working on his synet, probably coordinating Syndicate movements. Vik is crouching before a narrow window, wearing tactical lenses. Franky's here too, busy with his flexpad. He offers Bray a brief, puzzling stare, then continues working.

  Bray walks over to Vik and leans against the wall, peering out the window over his shoulder. "What are we doing here?"

  "Stakeout," Vik says. "This is yours." He hands Bray a makeshift detonator.

  Bray's hand feels clammy touching it. It's made of a re-purposed nacom with a fingerprint reader on top. The display shows a standby connection to the TMC grid he painstakingly hacked by himself just a week ago. "What's this for?" His voice is shaky.

  "See that hub, seven hundred meters up-street? That little baby will trigger a series of commands at the touch of your thumb, and blow that hub sky-high."

  Bray looks around, feeling disconnected from reality. Preston argues loudly with several unit leaders, unable to confine his irritation to his synet. Franky's fingers scamper over his flexpad. Sirens howl in the distance.

  Bray stares at the detonator in his hand as if it could spring to life any moment and bite him. He swallows dryly, and holds it out to Vik. "Can't do it."

  Vik nods toward Preston. "His orders."

  Bray holds out his hand firmly. As if on cue, Preston draws in, a fierce frown etched into his forehead.

  "What took you so long?" Preston asks. "Never mind. Get to work, we don't have all night."

  "No." Bray's voice is much softer than he intended.

  "What's that?"

  "Won't do it."

  "The hell you won't. Stop wasting everyone's time and activate the charge. That detonator's coded to your print—to grant you the honors, so to speak."

  "I'm not doing it," Bray says, this time resolute. "Maybe it's all I've got, but I've still got a say in this."

  "No you don't, Bray."

  "Fuck you. You don't own me, doc."

  "Of course I do," Preston growls. "I busted you out of that prisoner transport back on Bessel's Eye; gave you a purpose, food and shelter, the clothes on your back, and ass to fuck these past nine years. Your guts would be feeding the plants in a greenhouse right now if it weren't for me. So get it through your head that everything you are belongs to me. I own you, body and mind."

  Bray's fingers close around the detonator. Sweat drenches his shirt and the room contracts around him. He wants out. But he can't move. A thousand thoughts cross his mind, all fighting viciously for his attention, one in particular circling around and around, making him sick: he should have left with Taryn.

 
Preston straightens his glasses. "Whenever you're ready, Mr. Dakins."

  Bray stares out the window at the TMC hub. Lots of people scurry around it. He stares at the detonator in his hand, worried his thumb might have somehow slipped over the fingerprint reader. He leans his head against the window frame, breathing heavily.

  A series of explosions erupts on the skyline. A deep shudder runs through the building and through his bones.

  "Now," Preston orders.

  Bray's throat constricts as several sirens go off, crying out in a multiplied howl. Lightning strikes down from the overcharged dome in dozens of places.

  "Now!" Preston yells.

  Vik grabs his arm, staring at him expectantly. The hub still flickers in Bray's swimming vision. People run across the street, yelling and pointing at the smoke swallowing up the horizon.

  "Do it!" Preston yells.

  A flinch, and Bray's thumb comes down.

  The hub bursts into a spray of shards and flames, flung outward on the lip of a shockwave to pierce and shatter all windows nearby.

  Preston slaps him over the shoulder and cackles. "Well done, boy!"

  Bray's face is numb. He looks down into the street, as Vik hurriedly packs away his gear. "We need to go."

  Bray rips the lenses out of Vik's hand and crouches at the window. The street is swallowed by smoke. He finds the hub's smoldering carcass in the green-and-red view of the lenses, zooms in and searches, stomach tightening with every passing second. The hub's shuttle landing platform has collapsed on a man. Two others try to pull him free. They're screaming at each other, pulling harder in tandem. The trapped man's torso comes loose in a spurt of blood and guts.

  Another explosion. Part of the building keels over—people stumbling, screaming, men and women—and hits the ground in a wave of rubble, burying them all.

  Bray can't breathe.

  A siren falters and dies less than a click away. Then a sharp whistle cuts through the air.

  Bray drops the lenses. The air around him feels sticky. He watches the others bend their knees, pivot, and dive in slow motion, pushing off the floor toward the door, right as the first missile hits across the street. The floor shudders and Bray scrambles for traction, squirming away from the window and the spittle of shards flying at him. He feels big and clumsy, much too slow, much too close to everything.