The wheel of the transfer machine began to spin. Hearing it, the girl sprang to her feet. “Livy!”
Maxine got to the child first. She put her back to the machine and pointed her knife at the president’s Scion’s belly. “Move one millimeter closer and I’ll gut you. Believe me, I want a reason to do it.
The girl froze. But where Maxine expected to see fury, there was a weird sort of peace in her eyes.
The president’s Scion stretched to her full height, then backed up, step by step, until she was out of the transfer room, where Maxine couldn’t see her.
Maxine wasn’t going to be lured away from Livy. The child was her only leverage with Lazarus. And now that the drone was out of commission, Maxine sensed there was a chance to get out of this fiasco alive.
Interesting about the president’s Scion, too. The girl’s cowardice confirmed what Maxine had always known. Self-interest ruled above all things.
62
A Panicked Cackle
The drink Dr. Carlhagen had prepared for Jacey sat on the table before him. Maybe one pill wasn’t enough.
He crushed three more andleprixen and dumped them in, stirred them with his finger. He licked his finger and made a face. So bitter. He laughed humorlessly, realizing that Jacey would know the water was drugged after one sip. Maybe he was losing his mind.
Taking up the glass, he considered whether this dose would put him to sleep or put him down completely.
He wasn’t sure he cared.
He put the glass to his lips.
Noises tumbled in from the hallway. It must be Maxine. The very thought of her and her collusion with Lazarus sent Dr. Carlhagen into a fit of rage.
He threw the glass as hard as he could. It smashed against the pixel wall, liquid distorting the image of the surf crashing into the coast.
“Maxine! Get in—”
His eyes tracked the pixel wall, where a pelican swooped along the shore and dove into the water. Something in Dr. Carlhagen’s mind clicked.
He rushed to the wall, horrified as the pelican took off from the water, fish in its mouth. For the first time, he realized the images Lazarus had been showing him here were recordings.
But why? Why wouldn’t Lazarus want him to see what was happening on the island? Unless that ridiculous notion that there had been a military force landing had been true.
The door to his quarters opened. Voices.
Dr. Carlhagen peered from his office door and was stunned to see Captain Wilcox stride in, followed by Jacqueline. Behind them came Dante and a skinny girl wearing a blue wig.
They came straight for his office.
And there she was. Jacqueline. In the flesh.
He stared at her, struck dumb by her presence. She folded her arms and looked him up and down, mouth bunched tight in disgust. “You look terrible.”
The scrawny girl laughed, and Dante looked away as if he couldn’t bear to see Dr. Carlhagen at all. Wilcox said nothing.
Dr. Carlhagen didn’t care about any of them except his one true love. “But you, my dear, are perfection.”
A hum drew part of his attention. It was a familiar sound, but out of place here in his underground facility.
Beyond Jacqueline and her companions was one of his sentinel drones. But they were not permitted inside.
Dr. Carlhagen licked his dry, brittle lips. All his suspicions were correct. Lazarus had turned.
Knowing the capabilities of the drone as he did, Dr. Carlhagen calculated the likelihood of escape as nil. Dread circulated through his body, bringing on an icy paralysis. Their fates were set.
He had Jacqueline right here. So close.
But with Lazarus in control . . . He laughed, high-pitched and warbling. A panicked cackle.
“We are all dead.”
63
The Motherlode
The drone took position between Dr. Carlhagen and Jacey. “Dr. Carlhagen no longer reigns here,” it said. “I do.” It floated from person to person. Jacey recoiled, certain that it had scanned her down to her synapses.
“You will all be confined to this room. I have other tasks to see to.”
It started to fly from the room. Wilcox raised his drone killer. It whined and hissed.
The drone clonked to the floor.
“That was easy,” Meow Meow said.
Dr. Carlhagen’s lips formed a surprised circle. “There’s a chance. We must leave now. Now!”
He came straight at Jacey, arms outstretched.
Wilcox took one arm, Dante took the other. In a moment, both limbs were behind Dr. Carlhagen’s back and locked in Wilcox’s iron grip. Dante searched Dr. Carlhagen’s pockets and found only an empty pill bottle.
“We must go. If there is one drone in here—”
“Shut up,” Jacey said, moving to stand within centimeters of the man.
The first thing she had noticed about Dr. Carlhagen’s office was the smell. It reminded her of Sensei’s dojo after a group of Scions had finished one of his grueling workout circuits.
But in this office, behind the stench of sweat, was something sickly. Dr. Carlhagen himself.
He still wore Vaughan’s body, but it was gaunt, pale. Dark bags hung under his eyes, his cheeks hollow. The near perfect symmetry of Vaughan’s face was distorted by a confused, half-crazed look.
“If the AI has taken over,” Dr. Carlhagen blubbered. “We must leave now!”
Jacey was vaguely aware of Meow Meow patrolling the office, looking at the knickknacks, sizing up of the quality of the crystal.
“We can’t leave yet.” She jabbed Dr. Carlhagen’s chest. “Where’s Livy?”
He licked his lips. “The cryo-ward. I was going to go down and get her started. I was going to give her to you, show you—” His head drooped. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re all dead.”
Behind him, Meow Meow was digging through his desk drawers. She pulled out a pill bottle after pill bottle, giving each a little shake. She held one up and smiled. “Prixie! The motherlode of prixie.”
“Leave it,” Jacey said. She stepped aside and motioned to the door. “Take us to the cryo-ward.”
Defeated, Dr. Carlhagen nodded, and Wilcox let him shuffle forward.
64
Atone for Killing
Leslie listened to the whirring sound coming from the transfer room down the hall. She had her back to the wall, in case Senator Bentilius leapt through the door.
She knew what she must do, but the horror of it paralyzed her. She held the speargun in her hands, the slender black shaft connected to a length of thin line, neatly coiled. The barbed tip, still stained with Sensei’s blood, gleamed.
Leslie regretted not having it ready when she had followed Kirk into the transfer room. Things had happened too quickly. She had watched, stunned, for a heartbeat too long while Kirk battled with the drone.
The sound of the transfer machine pulled her out of the frozen moment. Moving swiftly but quietly, she stepped toward the transfer room door, speargun raised.
It wasn’t far. Ten steps. Now eight. Now five.
An ache built in Leslie’s chest. The weight of the backpack holding Belle’s server seem to double, then triple.
This was as much about Belle as it was Livy.
Leslie stepped through the doorway, found Senator Bentilius standing next to Livy’s body. The wheel of the transfer machine was a white blur.
Without turning, the senator said, “So you’ve come back.” The woman toyed with her blade. “Do you suppose anything has changed in the last minute?”
Leslie didn’t answer. She understood that the senator was backed into a corner. The AI was in control here. It needed Senator Bentilius to guard Livy’s body. The senator knew that if she failed, the AI would have no use for her.
The senator didn’t bother to look as Leslie approached. She merely raised the blade and gave it a wiggle so that Leslie could see it more clearly.
The wheel of the transfer machine continued to spin. Livy’s pale
hands and feet twitched.
Lips pressed tight, Leslie sighted down the spear.
I’m sorry, Belle.
She pulled the trigger.
With a click and a sharp snap, the spear blurred away from Leslie. It struck Senator Bentilius in the back. The force of the impact made her stagger, and the blossoming pain caused her hands to come around to the shaft jutting from her body.
The knife clinked on the tile floor.
Leslie shoved the injured woman aside. She heard a thump as the woman collapsed.
Leslie’s heart was on the verge of shattering. But she would not let that pain stop her now. Later, she would weep, and she would apologize to Belle. But she didn’t think she would ever be able to atone for killing Belle’s body.
Livy’s eyes were closed, but she was still breathing. Leslie didn’t know what happened during a transfer. She didn’t know if the transfer had even begun, or if it was nearly complete.
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t let it continue. There would be no returning Livy to her body the way Leslie had been restored. She knew the AI wouldn’t bother keeping a copy of the child’s mind.
Leslie yanked the cot from the wheel. A red light flashed on a control panel somewhere to her left, and a squawking alarm sounded. The AI’s monotone voice blared out of a hidden speaker, “Return subject to wheel. Return subject to wheel.”
Hands trembling, she fought to loosen the straps. “Wake up, Livy. Wake up, sweetie!”
She scooped the child from the cot and carried her out the room.
The senator lay behind her, writhing in an ever-expanding pool of blood.
65
Back Into Oblivion
The entire universe collapsed into one point. It was bright and dark at the same time. On the good side, there was no thought. On the bad side, there was pain.
Awareness was required for pain to exist. This awareness noticed a rapid thump, a subsonic pounding that shook the universe like waves of gravity.
The thump brought into the awareness a realization. There was something else there, too. A self. It had once known itself as Humphrey, and this self was rising to consciousness.
And that consciousness was fire.
With a whoosh as enormous as a tsunami rushing over land, Humphrey drew in the breath that pulled him back from death. And into hateful life.
All at once, the pinpoint of the universe exploded. Now he had a body, fingers, face, toes. And every nerve ending cried out.
If he had any sort of weapon in his hand, he would’ve turned it on himself without hesitation. Anything to end the agony. But that assumed he would’ve had any control over his muscles. Which he did not.
His body writhed and convulsed and rolled on the floor. One second he was crumpled into a fetal position, the next his body extended, back arched, foam bubbling from his lips.
It was never going to end. It was always going to be like this. This was hell.
A fleeting thought skimmed across his mind, an idea about bearing up under the discomfort. Something Sensei had told him. But the notion flitted away as new contractions twisted his body.
“Stand. Stand. Stand.”
Humphrey didn’t know if he even had legs. His lower extremities felt like they had been chewed away by a shark.
“Stand. Stand. Stand.”
His body relaxed all at once, the last remaining strength used up.
He opened his eyes and saw through a haze of tears the cryo-ward stretching away from him. The drone floated a meter off the floor in front of his face. It repeated its command. But Humphrey saw no threat in it. He wanted it to blast him with its plasma. Because maybe that would push his mind back into oblivion.
It did not fire again.
Humphrey gazed stupidly across the floor, his jaw slack. His tongue was thick and swollen, as if it had been stung by a thousand bees. He couldn’t swallow. The hot sting of bile inflamed his esophagus and burned his throat on every inhalation.
His vision began to narrow. The drone continued to blare.
The world dimmed. And just as he lost consciousness, a shadowy figure stumbled through the door. It stopped a moment, then tiptoed toward the command console.
66
Enough Stickiness
Dying wasn’t how Maxine had imagined it. She had expected more drama, more life flashing in front of her eyes.
It turned out that death was exactly like life—full of calculation, scheming, and unredeemed debts. Maxine had always hated President Annabelle Rochelle. A politician who had always been one step in front of her. And now, the bitch’s clone had shot her with a spear.
Maxine was lying on her face, arms outstretched. The pain hadn’t really set in as much as she’d expected for such a grievous wound.
She only felt it when she tried to move. Oddly enough, the pain was in her abdomen. Her right flank. She realized, after her third try to get her feet, that it was the tip of the spear just millimeters below her skin, but not quite poking out.
Impaled. She wasn’t sure if being shot through with a spear counted as being impaled.
It certainly wouldn’t count if it didn’t go all the way through.
The blood loss worried her. There seemed to be an awful lot of it on the floor now, and yet she was still breathing. She suddenly cared that she hadn’t been shot all the way through. It seemed like a half-assed death.
The alarms and red lights filled the room with too much nervous energy. “Shut that off!”
Lazarus ignored her. The alarms continued to sound.
Maxine felt along her back, tentatively touched the shaft of the spear. She wanted it out. Now. But there was no point pulling it from her back. The barbs of the arrowhead would tear her guts and, she guessed, what remained of her liver, to shreds.
If she had any chance of finishing her remaining business in this life—namely, killing the president’s Scion—she had to get this damned thing out of her.
She knew it was better to leave it in, from the standpoint of not bleeding out. But she expected the last minutes of her life to be full of violence. She didn’t want the spear impeding her ability to stab the girl ten or twenty times.
In fact, the speargun was there on the floor. It would be quite nice to use it on the girl.
Gritting her teeth, Maxine forced herself to hands and knees, allowing the searing pain to burn her guts. She tipped herself sideways, then fell onto her back.
The spearhead burst through her abdomen and into open air, accompanied by a gout of blood. Maxine blacked out for a moment. A scream ripped from her lips as she came back to consciousness.
No time for suffering. She gripped the exposed shaft between the thumb and forefinger of both hands. With a shriek, she pulled. It came up four centimeters. She blacked out again.
She came awake. It had only been a few seconds. She pulled again. It came easier now. She pulled again and it slid free, trailing a thin line behind it.
Blindly, she flailed with one hand on the bloody floor until her fingers encountered her knife. She looped the line over the blade and cut it free. Pressing a palm to her wound, she struggled to her feet. She found the line coming from her back and pulled it out.
Her eyes paused on the Scion boy. He lay dead next to the drone he’d taken out. The broken machete was embedded deep in the machine. Pity. That might have been nice to use on the girl’s neck.
The transfer room was a sort of medical facility. Maxine ransacked the cabinets, pulling out bins of syringes and hospital gowns, until she found a box of gauze. She pressed a wad to the wound in her front and did the same to the one on her back. The blood provided enough stickiness to keep them in place while she bound a hospital gown around her middle and cinched it tight. Blood seeped into it immediately.
She pulled out all the cabinet drawers. “There’s gotta be some of that damn andleprixen down here.”
She was rewarded at the last cabinet. She thumbed open the lid, jammed her fingernail through the foil, yanked out the
cotton batting, and spilled four pills into her hand. She swallowed them dry.
The knife slid nicely under her hospital gown bandage. Like a dagger on a belt, she thought. She snatched up the speargun and the spear—now sticky with her own blood—then stumbled from the room. As she strained up the steps, she fitted the spear into place.
67
The Jugular Vein
Leslie laid Livy’s body on the tile beneath the console in the cryo-ward, taking care to lower the child’s head so that it wouldn’t so much as bump on the tiles. Beyond the console, twenty meters into the ward, a drone floated above Humphrey’s body.
A terrible wheezing and gasping noise, barely audible over the drone’s hum, told Leslie that Humphrey still lived. Nothing she could do for him at the moment. She had more work to do.
Summer had told her to look for an array of computers just like this console. Not that the girl had known about the cryo-ward, or this particular control console. But she’d said that network connections and power connections were plentiful in such places.
Arms trembling, Leslie removed her backpack, again taking care to set it down silently. She unzipped the top and pulled out the heavy square server box. It made the slightest scrape and clunk as she set it on the floor. She peeked over the edge of the console. The drone had not moved. It had started shouting at Humphrey to stand.
Leslie lay back and scooted deeper under the console, searching for a place to plug in the server. The coil of cables that Summer had provided was looped around her forearm. She spotted a box with clasps. A door panel was open, but there were no network ports inside. Just a few unlabeled boxes. Computer hardware of some sort, she assumed.
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