Unstrung

by Kendra C. Highley

  The party-goers are on their feet now, clapping as Maren takes her place on the dais. “Thank you everyone. Truly. This isn’t about me, it’s about the children of Triarch City and the surrounding sectors. Providing health care to our city’s children is of upmost importance to me. Protecting our future from all threats is my life’s work, and I’ll whatever it takes to ensure Triarch’s children are safe.”

  Quinn and I slip back to the shadows. Listening to Maren talk, it’s hard to believe this woman is the same monster who created my race, only to use us and our labor to make the currency she’s donating to the hospital. Maren is gracious, elegant, and thoughtful. The crowd is in the palm of her hand. Well, almost all of them.

  Caldwell looks intensely bored.

  Excitement flutters in my stomach. Could Quinn be right? I tune out the rest of the speech to study Caldwell. His eyes are sharp, moving restlessly around the room. This is a man who doesn’t miss much. Instinctively, I trust him. I can’t say why—it’s just a gut feeling—but for the first time tonight, I start to hope.

  After the speech, when everyone has returned to their drinks and their gossip, Quinn says, “Caldwell’s still standing right by Maren. Any idea how we can lure him away?”

  “Yes,” I say, thinking of the drunk man ogling my “assets” earlier. “I’m going to get him to look at me.”

  Quinn splutters something, but I ignore it, flitting onto the dance floor. Once I’m in Caldwell’s line of sight, I toss my hair. His head turns a fraction. That’s it, keep watching the pretty girl, Mr. Martine. I stroll slowly toward the bar and glance back at him over my shoulder. He murmurs something in Maren’s ear, then starts my way.

  Quinn edges away along the wall, heading toward the men’s room, as I approach the bar. Once there, the artificial doing the bartending gives me a puzzled look. “What are you having?”

  “Red wine, please,” I say.

  The bartender glances both ways, then leans over the counter and gestures me closer. “You can’t drink that stuff. You know that, right? The lady would have us both stripped down for parts if I give you alcohol.”

  I nod seriously, showing him my wrist. “My client asked me to get a drink for him.”

  Now the bartender looks sympathetic. “Of course. May your service be short this evening.”

  The gentleness in his tone is surprising. “Yours as well.”

  The bartender snaps to attention. “What would you like, sir?”

  A man sidles up next to me. “Vodka tonic, please.”

  As my guardian angel mixes up Caldwell’s drink, I toy with my wineglass. “Having fun?”

  “As much as can be expected.” He gives me a conspiratorial wink. “I imagine you’d say the same, eh?”

  “I don’t know. Parties change up the monotony.”

  The bartender shakes his head at me behind Caldwell’s back as if to say I’m on dangerous ground, showing way too much independence for a Bolt. Caldwell doesn’t seem to mind, however. He takes my elbow and guides me to the edge of the room.

  “You look familiar,” he says. The playful smile leaves his face. “Too familiar.”

  My heart stops. “People are always saying I look familiar. Average face, maybe?”

  “Not even close, ” Caldwell says, moving us into a dark corner. “I know he’s here somewhere. You wouldn’t have known to come, otherwise.”

  The lie pops out from sheer panic. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

  My shoulder twitches and Caldwell’s scowl deepens. “Stop with the lies.” He grabs my arm and forces my wrist up. “I’d know Quinn’s work anywhere—I’m the one who programmed him. And you, for that matter.”

  The party melts away. There’s nothing in the universe but Caldwell. His eyes are locked on mine, and I feel stripped bare. “Quinn’s waiting in the men’s room. I’m supposed to spill my wine on you to send you his way.”

  Caldwell huffs out an angry breath. “There’s no need to ruin my suit. I’ll go there presently. Once I come out, do not make eye contact with me again, understand? If you get caught, I won’t be able to help you escape this time.”

  I jerk in surprise. “What?”

  For one moment, his glare softens, and he squeezes my hand. “You don’t remember even now? Not even about our afternoon games?” He looks relieved when I shake my head. “Good; the precautions worked.”

  Maybe he spoke too soon, because a brief memory surfaces—I’m very young, eight or so, and playing chess with this man. The scent of his aftershave…it’s the same now as it was then. He’s not letting me cheat at our game, and is very proud when I come close to beating him. I gasp and Caldwell gives me a small, sad smile.

  Then he’s gone, sucking down his drink as he strides to the men’s room.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Art of Disguise

  I’m not sure what to do with my wineglass and my fingers are sweaty against the crystal. Try as I might, I can’t remember anything else about Caldwell and I’d been too stunned to ask him questions. Why is he glad I don’t remember him? When did he teach me to play chess?

  And why do I have the feeling he cares more about me than he let on?

  I wait for several minutes, continuously walking around the edges of the ballroom to keep from being snagged and forced into service. A few men block my way at one point. One pats my behind and the other stands much too close until I concoct a good enough excuse to leave them. Soon my dress is damp with sweat and my makeup is running. What’s taking Quinn so long?

  In the center of the room, there’s a shout, then a tray of wine glasses crash to the floor and shatter. Everyone freezes as Horsey-teeth makes a run for it, followed closely by the security guards I met with while talking to Piers. The escapee bangs into waiters, sending canapés flying. A women in a molten-orange dress slips on a pile of cucumber sandwiches and falls to the floor. Horsey-teeth jumps over her, scampering like a mountain goat toward the emergency exit. The door bangs shut behind him. When the guards try it, the door won’t open—he must have wedged it closed from the outside. The guards take off the other direction, running flat out toward the main entrance.

  For a few heartbeats the room is silent, then the band strikes up again. People turn back to their drinks or make their way to the dance floor. Caldwell leaves the men’s room and weaves through the crowd until he reaches Maren’s side. From the way she’s gesturing, I guess she’s asking where he’s been during all the excitement. He pats his stomach, wearing a pained expression and she gives him this “poor baby” look. Caldwell kisses her cheek, nods to the guests, then slips out the front door, a bodyguard keeping pace a few steps behind him.

  A moment later Quinn comes out of the men’s room. I rush to meet him. “Did you get it?”

  “We can’t talk here.” He’s pasty and sweat coats his upper lip. “Let’s go.”

  He leads me to an alcove at the back of the room. Behind it is the door to the service area. The white-coated artificials give us a quick look as we make our way down a long hallway lined by a steel counter where plates of cheese puffs appear from a chute. Waiters pick up their trays with the grace of a well-rehearsed ballet, never missing a step as we weave around them. Not one of the men says a word to us.

  “Are you sure this is safe?” I ask, following Quinn as fast as my demon heels will allow.

  He nods but doesn’t answer. We come to a heavy door that lets outside into a walled off bay where the dumpsters are stored. He stops, for good reason.

  Three police tanks hover overhead, their searchlights turning dark streets into day. I peek around the alcove’s wall into the alley in time to see two cruisers speed by, sirens wailing. Three men, Maren’s guards, run around the corner, and I duck back into the alcove, pushing Quinn behind the dumpster. The smell of old shrimp and decaying lettuce is overpowering. I hope it’s enough to encourage the guards to move on.

  Quinn pinches his nose shut and breathes through his mouth. Footsteps get closer, th
en stop in front of the alcove. A flashlight beam shines over our heads. I hold completely still, thinking I could knock the guard out if he comes inside. I hope it doesn’t come to that.

  A man calls, “All clear,” and the flashlight clicks off. Boots clomp back toward the front of the building.

  We wait until the sirens fade into the distance before I creep out from behind the dumpster and take a look. “The alley’s empty. Do you think they were looking for us?”

  “Who else would they be looking for?” Quinn asks.

  “Horsey-teeth.” I say. “You know, the guy Piers was asking me about? His men chased him out of the ballroom while you were meeting Caldwell.”

  “Huh,” is all he says before leading me away from the building. We cross the street, careful to stick to the shadows cast by the towering skyscrapers, then take a right at the next corner. Quinn doesn’t stop until we reach a monorail station a few blocks away. It’s an elevated platform with steep stairs and by the time we reach the top, I’m breathing hard and my toes feel broken. From here, I can see the police tanks making their sweep, but they’ve moved further downtown. We’re safe for the moment.

  I find a bench in a dark corner and take a seat. “Do you think any of those waiters will turn us in? It’s not like we were stealthy about our departure.”

  “It’s not likely. The K400s only do what they’re programmed to do.” Quinn plops down next to me. “Besides, I kind of hope we looked like we were hurrying off to a job.”

  “Well done,” a gruff voice whispers behind us.

  I’m up in a blink with my fists cocked. Horsey-teeth steps out of the shadows and gives me a derisive look. “Girl, don’t bother. I can turn you over my knee any time I want to.”

  My legs are shaking, but my hands are steady. “I doubt that, old man, but if you want to try, let’s go.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure, you hotheaded little monster. I know every move you have.”

  So fast I barely see it, the man’s hand shoots out, grabs my arm and twists it behind my back. I yank against him, but it’s no use. Pissed beyond sense, I stomp down on his foot, catching his toes with my heel.

  “Now that hurt,” the man says, sounding very annoyed. He lets me go with a little shove. “Quinn, you want to do something about this hellcat?”

  “Lexa, Doc’s right. You need to stop,” Quinn says. “I’m surprised you recognized us, though. I thought our disguises were pretty good.”

  “I’d recognize you in a gorilla suit, kid,” Doc says. “I bet Caldwell spotted you, too.”

  I turn. Quinn’s lounging on the bench like nothing happened. “You know this man?”

  “Of course.”

  “At the party, you said you didn’t know him!” I smack Quinn on the shoulder. “You lied!”

  “And that bothers you, I bet,” Horsey-teeth says, “considering you can’t lie to save your soul. Assuming you have one to begin with.” He smiles, then reaches into his mouth and pulls out…dentures. His real teeth are straight and small, much more suited to his face. The shaggy black hair turns out to be a wig, covering close-cropped gray hair. “Quinn’s been working against his security programming for years, haven’t you, boy?”

  Quinn laughs. It’s a dark laugh…like one convict to another. “Every chance I had.”

  My shoulder twitch was programmed in? “You better teach me how to do that.”

  Doc takes my seat on the bench, giving me a look that dares me to complain. I cross my arms and stare back. Shaking his head, he asks, “So, did Caldwell give you anything or did we make asses of ourselves for nothing?”

  Quinn pulls a small card from the pocket of his too-tight pants. “Maren suspended the K800 program until they could plug the leaks. The information has been locked down and sent to deep storage.”

  Doc grunts. “Mainframe security protocol, then?”

  “That’s what Caldwell said. He gave me the mainframe’s number and location,” Quinn holds up the card, “but that’s all the information he had. We’re going to need a good hacker to get the data.”

  They both look at me expectantly. I’m still too confused to bother telling them hacking isn’t one of my skill sets. “Tell me what this is all about first.”

  “I told you she’d be a lot to handle,” Doc says.

  “You also said we need her,” Quinn says, his voice cold. “And I agreed. It’s what Lexa and I were made for. Two halves of a whole, right? She doesn’t remember, but I do. Living without her has been hell.”

  Hell? I start to ask what he means, then close my mouth because it’s kind of obvious. I knew he missed me, but this is something more. And what of the fury lurking just below the surface? His shoulders are bunched up, his fists clenched in his lap. The look he pins Doc with would melt steel. A shudder runs down my spine. My disappearance didn’t just hurt him…it made him very, very angry.

  Why?

  “Take it easy, boy. We can’t solve all the wrongs of the universe tonight.” Doc watches a police tank circling nearby. “I don’t have much time. Piers is on my tail—he saw through my disguise too fast for me to overhear anything good at the party. I’m dangerous to you. It’s probably a good idea to cut contact until you have the primer.”

  “We’ll need the original chip, too,” Quinn says, slowly relaxing his shoulders. “Lexa can get that for us.”

  Before I can tell him Turpin wouldn’t give me a civil word, let alone the chip, a stabbing pain blasts through my head. I press both hands to my temples, feel myself retching, but I can’t see. Voices babble, someone pushes me onto the bench, but it disappears in a fog. I’m sliding, falling…the concrete is cool…

  The little girl stands in front of me, hands on her hips. Her hair is brown now. So are her eyes, and her skin is as dark as mine. The room is no longer white, but bright and cheerful, with sunny yellow walls and a small bed covered with a quilt. Behind the girl is the most sophisticated data-center I’ve ever seen.

  In an angry voice, she asks, “Where’s Quinn? You haven’t let me see him all day!”

  I start to answer, but a man, standing behind me, beats me to it. “He’s busy, sweetheart. That little stunt you two pulled…” The man sighs. “Quinn’s off apologizing to Miss Maren for the mess. He’ll be back when he can. Why don’t you do your homework like we asked?”

  She stamps her foot. “I want Quinn! And I hate you calling me sweetheart. Mr. C is the only one allowed to call me that because when you say it, it sounds like you’re being mean.”

  I turn. The man she’s arguing with is a younger version of Doc. His gray hair is streaked with brown and he has fewer wrinkles, but he looks just as irascible. “How about I start calling you Hellcat instead? Would that make you happy?”

  The girl glares, but I can tell she’s trying not to laugh. Eventually she does. “Fine, I’ll do my homework. But please bring Quinn. I don’t sleep good without seeing him at least once a day. Please?”

  A ten-year-old Quinn appears in the doorway. His eyes are swollen and red, but there’s a smile on his face. “Boo! You’ve seen me. Now do your homework, or the tools will get you!”

  Then he scampers off, and the girl gives chase, shrieking and laughing.

  I come to, drooling on the cement. My head’s pounding and my skin is flushed, but I’m shivering, too. Is this what a fever feels like? I don’t know—I’ve never had one.

  Quinn kneels next to me, wearing a relieved smile. “You scared us.”

  I struggle to sit up and he helps me onto the bench. Even that little movement makes my head hurt so badly, my eyes ache. “I’m cold.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Doc says. He shrugs out of his dinner jacket and hands it to me. “You had a memory download, didn’t you?”

  The jacket smells like old man and cinnamon, but it’s warm enough to stop my shivers. “I guess that’s what it was, but why did I faint?”

  “Your non-critical systems shut down so your brain could retrieve the memory.” Doc grasps my chin to pe
er into my eyes. “Your brain can repair neural pathways during sleep as well. Do you dream?”

  “All the time.” I wish he’d let go of me. I feel wretched and….annoyed. Because I remember. He was my combat and games teacher. He was also one of my makers—a scientist with a military background. “You’re always this crusty, aren’t you, Dr. Mendal?”

  Doc laughs for the first time and releases my chin. “Only when I’m awake.”

  I try to remember more about him, but nothing comes. Without further memories, I don’t know if I can trust him or not. “Why are you helping us?”

  “I think that erasure worked too well,” Doc mutters, more to himself than me. “Sorry about that, kid.”

  “You erased my memories?” Somehow, this doesn’t surprise me.

  “No. Caldwell did.”

  Now that surprises me. “Why?”

  A monorail is whooshing down the track to our stop. Doc steps to the edge of the platform. “Plausible deniability for after you escaped. If you didn’t know you were an artificial, no one could find out by questioning you. It seemed the safest way since you aren’t able to lie. That little shoulder tic wouldn’t go away no matter what we tried. Maren’s security engineer has a sick sense of humor.”

  Quinn rubs the back of his neck. A sick sense of humor is right—I can’t lie and he has a pain switch embedded at the base of his brain. “Wait!” I say as Doc steps into the empty train car. I jump up to catch him. “Why did Caldwell want to help me escape?”

  Doc gives me a puzzled look. “To save your life.”

  He gets on the train and it glides out of the station. I feel like throwing my shoes at the monorail as it goes by. “No one ever wants to give me a full answer!”

  “If it makes you feel better, there’s a lot he doesn’t tell me. Probably for the same reason they wiped your memory. If we get caught, we can’t tell what we don’t know,” Quinn says, sounding tired. The rage from before is gone, leaving him slumped on the bench. “But to answer an earlier question about why I’m working with Doc, he’s one of the few friends I have on the outside. Maren fired him not long after you escaped, saying he programmed you to be too willful, like it was all his fault or something. She couldn’t prove it though, which is why he’s still alive.” He gives me a dark smile. “Maren isn’t a total monster. She only kills people if she has proof they screwed her over.”