Unstrung

by Kendra C. Highley

  Stewart ignores him. He’s the nervous one, sweating every detail, real or imaginary. It’s exhausting. “Well, Ms. Pate, what do you have to say?”

  Drummond’s smile broadens. He likes to see people squirm. I find it disgusting; his pleasure at my discomfort is too…obvious. I clear my throat, hoping they don’t notice my forehead is damp. “Everything went fine until I had the chip in hand. I easily avoided all the typical security systems, but I didn’t know the blue light was engaged. Like Turpin said, I’ve never seen anything like it, so there was no way to plan for it.”

  “Must be some kind of DNA reader,” Mr. Drummond said, more to himself than anyone else. He exchanges a meaningful glance with Stewart. “She touched something and set it off.”

  I shake my head. “I wore gloves.”

  “What about your hair?” Mr. Stewart asks, literally wringing his hands in his lap.

  That remark pisses me off. I’m not a rank amateur. “What about my hair?”

  The bodyguards shift a step forward, crowding the room. Turpin’s jiggling in his chair, putting off nervous vibes. His eyes practically beg me to watch my mouth.

  The bodyguards take another step closer. The bigger one, who proves my theory that some people can survive without a neck, breathes down on my head. Only the ticking of Turpin’s antique carriage clock—which I strongly consider turning into firewood for this little ambush—breaks the silence.

  Finally I give in. “It was up in a tight bun under a stocking cap. Just like always.”

  “Is there any chance a stray hair got loose?” Drummond asks, like I’m a student who’s disappointed a teacher rather than the master thief he hired.

  “There’s always a chance.” What do they want me to do, shave my head? Because that won’t happen. I don’t care how much they pay me.

  “That must be it.” Stewart heaves a sigh. “She was careless and a piece of her hair fell onto a DNA detector.”

  “Hey, you can’t blame me for this. It’s not like I have a neoprene suit.” I look around the room, the hold on my temper slipping loose. “And no one has a DNA detector that sensitive! They read skin cells, and only from direct contact, not shedding!”

  “You don’t know that!” Bright spots flare up on Stewart’s cheeks and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to have a stroke.

  Drummond looks a little concerned, too. “If they discover you, they discover us. And we all know what the Quad does to people who cross them. You’re a liability.”

  “Are you threatening me?” I ask.

  “Just stating the obvious,” Stewart answers for him. “It’d be better for you to be dead than a danger to us.”

  I rise slowly. “I dare you to try. Chances are very good I’d take you out before the meathead behind me catches up.”

  “Lexa! Enough!” Turpin snaps as the bodyguard in question audibly growls. He turns to our clients, who both look like they’re considering throttling me. “Please, let’s all just calm down. If Maren has some kind of super-duty cellular DNA detector now, we’re in worse shape than we thought. The jumpsuit you procured for Lexa is good, but it breathes, meaning skin cells can get through.” He stands and paces back and forth behind his desk. “Give me a few days, and I’ll contact some of my friends to see if they’ve heard of this type of security measure. Jole is looking at the chip now. We should have the decoded plans very soon.”

  Drummond leans forward in his seat, his smile gone. “Fine. But one more slipup and this arrangement is over. I trust I don’t need to remind you what penalties you face if we’re implicated. You and your entire team.”

  Turpin’s face pales in the soft lamplight. “No, Mr. Drummond.” He gives me a hard stare. “We both understand the consequences. We’ll deliver the plans for the K400 artificial line exactly as promised.”

  Our clients make ready to leave. One of the bodyguards checks the hall like assassins might lurk just out of sight. The other shepherds our clients through door. Drummond smooths invisible wrinkles out of his immaculate wool suit, while Stewart stalks on heavy feet. The bodyguard watching his back gives me a very ugly look. I want to stick my tongue out at him, but I worry I might not get to keep it if I do. Turpin follows to make sure all of them depart the warehouse.

  I sag in my chair, my head aching. I’ve been working nonstop for months and I’m worried I always will be, until I lose my edge or get killed by the Quad. Which will happen first is anyone’s guess. Of course, Drummond’s bodyguard might murder me first. Cheery thought.

  Turpin comes in and slams the heavy office door behind him with a dull thunk. “Can you please learn to watch your mouth? I’d rather not get my throat slit because you sassed the clients. Which is precisely what will happen if you give Mr. Stewart a heart attack.”

  I want to retort, but I’m too tired. “Okay, boss.”

  Now he looks suspicious. “That was easy. What’s wrong?”

  “Just worn down,” I say.

  “Lexa, I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.” He settles into his leather desk chair and faces me. “Just be careful…this job is more complicated than I think any of us realized.”

  “We knew it would be,” I say, shocked he’d admit—out loud—that he worried about me. “Going up against the Quad, and especially Maren, isn’t exactly the safest idea we’ve ever had.”

  Turpin takes off his glasses to polish the lenses on his shirt. “True. But—”

  The office door bursts open and Jole stands on the threshold, breathing hard. “I saw the clients leave. I came up as soon as I could. Stupid leg makes me slow.” Jole limps to Turpin’s desk. “We’re in trouble.”

  “I knew it.” Turpin drops his glasses on the desk and pinches the bridge of his nose.

  “Wait, what are you talking about?” I ask, looking between them.

  Jole gives me a worried glance. “I cracked the chip. The K400 data isn’t on it.”

  “I stole the wrong thing?” This is bad. This is so very bad. “But I took the chip as instructed!”

  “You lifted precisely what we told you to,” Turpin says, sounding old, weary. “We’ve been set up.”

  I turn to Jole, dreading what he’ll tell me. “Skies, what’d you find?”

  “The beta plans for Maren’s newest model along with engineering notes and materials lists.” Jole’s fingers tighten around his cane’s handle until his knuckles go white. “Lex, we stole the blueprints for the next-gen artificials. Not just for one system. We stole all of them.”

  My stomach flips over. We’ve been in big trouble before…you can’t make a career out of taking other people’s stuff without making a few enemies. But this is different.

  It’s a direct blow against Maren.

  Chapter Four

  Gods and Monsters

  I stare blankly at the wall in my room. My Exeprin high has worn off and I changed back into my pajamas at the first chance, unable to get the chip off my mind. Our little team has ceased being annoying but forgettable, and has become a critical target. Everyone from cops to bounty hunters to the Quad’s security team will be after us. All because we stole the wrong thing. Sure, we hadn’t planned to steal that particular chip, but our mistake doesn’t change one simple fact.

  We are so dead.

  “…run another diagnostic,” Turpin calls from the hallway. He’s been holed up in the lab with Jole, examining the data on the chip. A moment later, he knocks. Unlike Jole, he waits for me to say “come in” before opening the door.

  “Hey,” he says, taking a seat on my desk chair. “You okay?”

  I drop my pillow over my face. Maybe I should suffocate myself with it. “If I hadn’t tripped and set off the alarm, there’d be no trace of how the chip was taken. Now…they’ll find us.”

  “Lexa, there’s no way to plan for the unknown. Besides, anyone else probably would’ve set that security device off sooner and not gotten away.”

  A headache starts throbbing behind my eyes. Stars, this is the worst time t
o be coming off Exeprin. “I’ll remind you how you said it wasn’t my fault when we’re rounded up by Maren’s people.”

  “You won’t have to,” Turpin says. “I’m the one who took the job. We go down, you can blame me.”

  He sounds so dejected, I sit up, hugging the pillow to my chest. Maybe I should be scared, but a morbid curiosity about Maren’s artificials gets the better of me. “What are the new versions like? Can you tell from the plans?”

  “Most of it is over our heads—the genetic engineering data is very complex—and part of the chip is heavily encoded. But I understand enough to know these are the most human-like versions I’ve seen. Circulatory systems that actually regenerate synthetic blood cells, skin cells that scab over when cut, fully functional digestive tracts. Stars, even their hair, fingernails and bodies will grow like a human’s.”

  My headache intensifies. “Wait, what do you mean their bodies will grow?”

  Turpin goes to my window. “Instead of making adults, like usual, these prototypes appear to be equivalent to six-year-old children. All of them with critical thinking processors akin to a person with a one-forty I.Q. The plans cover maturity cycles and learning rates by age. The only thing I can guess is that her scientists want to mimic the learning capability of a child’s brain.”

  My room suddenly feels cold. “We stole the plans for a super-race of fake human beings?”

  “It would seem that way. And all of them programmed to think the way the Quad wants them to think. Hyper-intelligent, but without the experience or knowledge to have true free will. I’m wondering about that, though,” he says, coming to sit on the edge of my bed. “If Maren’s playing God to this extent, how will she maintain control of her ‘kids?’ Can you imagine them as teenagers?” He gives me a rueful smile. “You’re hard enough to handle.”

  I punch his arm, more out of respect than annoyance. Everything is so topsy-turvy, I wonder if I’m going soft. Soon I’ll be letting Jole off the hook for coming into my room without knocking. “Maybe it’s good we stole those plans. The new K600s are advanced enough that I can hardly tell they’re artificials. These new…things would be an abomination. A crime against nature.” I stand and pace, needing to put my nervous energy into the ground. If I don’t, I’ll blow, and I can’t afford a meltdown. “Bolts shouldn’t be so human. It blurs way too many lines, don’t you think?”

  “The bigger question is what we tell our clients,” Turpin says. “Because we can’t give the chip to them. It’s too dangerous.”

  He has a point. “I say we tell them the chip self-destructed as we decoded it. Who cares if they get angry. I’m less scared of them than I am of Maren.”

  Jole appears in the doorway, his face gray with exhaustion. He’s limping more than usual, like he always does when he gets overtired. A stab of remorse darts through my chest. My stupid mistakes have a way of ending in pain—and not always mine.

  Jole seems to know what I’m thinking. “I’m okay. Really.”

  I turn away, the events of the last eighteen hours hitting me right between the eyes. It’s like I have no control over anything—including myself. Unable to contain the frustration raging through my blood, I pick up a ceramic ballerina figurine and throw it against the wall. Shards of pink glass explode across my bed.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! That was an antique!” Turpin says. He gets up and grabs my arms before I can smash the crystal butterfly Jole gave me last year.

  “I don’t like girlie stuff! You know that and bought it for me anyway!” Skies, I’m heading for a real tantrum, but I can’t stop. My head pulses in protest as I jerk my arms free. “Besides it’s mine, right? I can break anything I want!”

  “Lexa, calm down,” Jole says. “We won’t get anywhere if you lose it now.”

  My fingers curl around the butterfly, but I can’t throw it. Jole said those exact words ten months ago, when I’d been edged on stims. I remember how my eyeballs rolled around in my head, how Jole held me down while I screamed at the ceiling, convinced octopi the size of spiders were oozing down the walls. I promised to stop that night, but my need was greater than my resolve. Whoever I belonged to as a child made sure I was good and hooked before dropping me on Turpin’s doorstep. It took breaking something I loved more than the butterfly to stop me.

  Slowly, slowly I let the butterfly go, whispering, “I’m sorry.” My guilt balloons in my chest. Such a heavy, sick feeling that tears prick my eyes. “Sorry.”

  Turpin heaves a great sigh. “You know what? There’s nothing we can do tonight except keep watch. Lexa, why don’t you crash for a few hours? Jole and I have work to do.”

  I want to argue that Jole’s tired, that Turpin should take watch by himself, but I know neither one will listen to me. Instead, I see them out and collapse on my bed, not caring if I dream or not.

  I’m asleep in less than thirty seconds.

  * * *

  The little girl’s hair is darker now, like she wears a crown of ashes. She smiles at her visitor, glad to have company in the dead quiet of the white room. “They told me I’m seven.”

  The boy smiles back. His skin is the color of coffee with too much cream, and his black hair is a little too long. When it curls across his forehead, he brushes at it with a quick hand, forgetting he’s wearing a cleanroom suit. He chuckles when his fingers brush his face mask. “I’m almost ten.”

  She blushes. Something about the boy makes her feel safe, even in the white room. She really wants him to be her friend. “Will you visit me again?”

  “Yes,” he says. He gives her a shy glance through thick eyelashes. His eyes are a startling dark blue, exotic against his warm skin and in stark contrast to the pale girl. “I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

  The girl’s face suddenly goes blank. She stares at him. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  The boy pats the girl’s arm in a reassuring way. “Just take a breath or two. It’ll come back to you.”

  She shakes her head, backs away. “Why are you here? Who are you! Help! Somebody! Stranger!”

  The boy’s face falls. “Don’t you remember me?”

  The little girl opens her mouth, but loud beeps come out. Louder, louder, louder…

  My com is squawking at full volume. Jole must’ve set my alarm tone to “annoying chicken” while I slept. I slap the off button and stretch out in bed. The sun is bright in the narrow window, but I’m not in the mood to get up yet. Now that I’m awake, I can’t shake the feeling I know that boy from my dream, that he means something important to me. But how can I? I don’t know any boys except for Jole. Still, my heart beats faster when I think about him. What’s my deal?

  The only real explanation is that I’m a little crazy.

  Stars, I already knew that.

  Quietly cursing the Exeprin for stirring up my unconscious mind, I crawl out of bed and get dressed. I’m on my way to the kitchen for breakfast when raised voices in the lab catch my attention.

  “…should’ve known better!” Jole shouts.

  “You’re questioning me?” Turpin yells back. “I’m trying to take care of her. And of you, after—”

  “Don’t you dare go there,” Jole growls. “And that argument is wearing thin. Lexa deserves better.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about it. We need to keep her clean,” Turpin says. I don’t hear what he says next because he lowers his voice, so I creep closer to the door.

  “Then she should know before she lands in bigger trouble,” Jole snaps. “You treat her like a child sometimes, and it isn’t right.”

  Treating me like a child? Sure I’m grounded the next few days, but I run off to steal things in the night like a frakking wraith—definitely not kid stuff. What’s Jole talking about?

  “Of course I treat her like a child sometimes—especially when it’s in her best interest,” Turpin says. “She’s like my own kid. So are you. And right now, I feel like grounding you, too!”

  Something clatters across Jole’s l
ab table. “I’m grounded enough, thank you.”

  “I’m sorry.” Turpin sounds broken. “I know the last several months have been hell for you. It’s just this job is so important—”

  “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had sex?” Jole asks out of the blue. “Almost a year! I’m twenty years old—I should be out in bars picking up guys from the university, not closed up in this mausoleum. And far as I know, Lexa’s never even been kissed. She’s seventeen for Stars’ sake! She should be shopping, flirting with boys…anything but climbing into locked buildings in the middle of the night!”

  Jole’s accusation surprises me. Thinking back, I don’t remember a time when being kissed by a boy crossed my mind. I’ve been too busy to worry about that stuff.

  That can’t be normal…can it?

  Unsettled, I file that thought for later, focusing on the bigger problem. I burst through the door and they both jump like startled old ladies. “Something I need to know about?”

  “Where’d you come from?” Turpin asks, sounding embarrassed. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “Obviously,” I say. “So what’s the story?”

  “We have to tell her,” Jole says.

  “No,” Turpin says, more firmly than I expect from him.

  A cold feeling steals up my spine, raising goose bumps on my scalp. “You’re going to let me take the fall for the chip, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely not.” He sounds exasperated. “I would never sell you out.”

  “Then I deserve to know what you were talking about,” I say. “Start talking or I’m out of here. Jole’s right. I’ve missed a lot of things acquiring for you. Maybe it’s time I got out before I blow another big job.”

  Everyone falls into a shocked silence. I’ve never threatened to leave before. It’s a total bluff—I don’t even know where I’d go. But…my shoulder didn’t twitch when I said it. Did I really mean I’d leave? The very thought scares me.

  “That’s not necessary.” Avoiding my eyes, Turpin says, “The reason for the house arrest isn’t just the botched job. You’re being watched.”