Unstrung

by Kendra C. Highley

  “Lexa, what’s gotten into you?” Turpin asks. The gentleness in his voice makes me cry harder.

  I tell him everything, about the lake house job, the party, meeting Caldwell, stealing the primer. I even tell him how Quinn walked out on me a few hours ago, how I worry I’ll fail the other artificials, how it will be my fault if they all die, and the added pain of knowing I’ll survive even if I do fail. All Turpin does is make soothing noises, never interrupting, until all my words are said.

  “You’ve been through so much and I basically abandoned you,” he murmurs. “I want to apologize for asking you to leave. I acted like a coward. You’re family, no matter what or who you are. I should’ve been a better man. But I promise you something…I will never let you go again.”

  Caldwell loved me once, going so far as to create me to resemble his niece, and I loved him back. But he wasn’t my father. My real dad got the shast kicked out him less than three days ago and still has the capacity to dry my tears. I sit up and blow my nose. I’ve cried more in the last week than I have in the rest of my life. Jole would say I’m going soft. I’d say I’m acting human.

  I’m not sure which one is more insulting.

  Now that my crying jag is over, I feel my strength coming back. The fault for all our troubles rests with one tiny, black-hearted lady. It’s time to settle the score.

  “You can make it up to me,” I say, using the charming voice I save for asking for expensive toys. “You can tell me the security hack is ready to broadcast.”

  Turpin laughs. “Jole’s been putting it together for the last few hours. It should be ready by nightfall. He also acquired all the gear you need. I can’t believe it, but a lot of my contacts came through in a big way. Seems we aren’t the only ones with a grudge against Maren.”

  I stand. “I’ll go test the equipment to make sure it’s in working order. Can’t afford a tangled line tonight.”

  “You do that—I want you safe. I’ll be waiting for a full report when you get back.” Turpin smiles. “We’re going to put a small camera on your vest. Mark says it’s to keep tabs on you, but really it’s so we can all watch the ‘Lexa Show’ live and in color.”

  His words hit me like a shot of adrenaline. I’ve never been one to mope and I’ve been spoiling for this particular fight for quite some time. Gears, the girl in the white room knew this day would come from the time she heard the word “scrap.”

  “Make sure you have a data pad handy when the show starts, then,” I tell Turpin. “Because I plan to bring Maren’s house down.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Flying High

  The new jumpsuit is a flat gray, and it fits like it was made for me. So do the shoes.

  “Everyone loves to hate the Queen,” I say, admiring the descent vest. Its new reel system won’t jam or hang the way the old one did. In fact, all the new equipment is top of the line. I chuckle. Turpin’s friends sent only the very best. Never underestimate the power of resentment.

  Speaking of resentment, Quinn hasn’t returned. I worried about him for a while, but during my debrief with Mark a few minutes ago, Mark mentioned he saw him down at the clinic, talking to Doc and Turpin. He’s not dead; he’s just avoiding me.

  If this thing goes bad, there won’t be a chance to make it right, and I’m sure Quinn knows that. Well, so what? I worked on my own for years. I can do it again. The pain I feel, right next to my breastbone, is indigestion.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Lex.

  I reach for my black case and pull out the last syringe of Exeprin. It seems fitting that I’d use the last one for this job. I take a seat on the bed in Doc’s back bedroom and plant my feet firmly on the ground, just in case. My eyes closed, I whisper, “Go to work,” jam the needle into my thigh, and press the plunger.

  This ride is smoother than anything I’ve experienced. Is it because I’m so stone-cold determined? Or because I know I can’t afford to get crazy right now? Whatever the cause, my body vibrates with unspent power. The skyline near Maren’s building forms in my mind. I see the rooftop from which we’ll launch. I know the positions of every laser trap and where the “suspension mode” lights are located. Mark gave me the layout of the lab and the rest of the seventy-first floor. We’ll have to use every trick in our bag, but between Jole, Doc, and me, we’ve got some sneaky—and rather unpleasant—surprises planned for Maren’s guard detail.

  Packing the rest of my gear takes only a minute. I practice reaching for things with my eyes closed in case I’m stuck in the dark at some point. My reflexes are sharp, my movements nimble. Head held high, I exit Doc’s house. It’s a little past nine o’clock, and the air is chilly. Nice night for a little bedlam. Jole’s waiting on the sidewalk with Mark and three other security guards. All of them, even Jole, are armed with dart guns. Like always, I forget about my best friend’s hidden talents because of his crippled leg; he’s an excellent shot.

  I give the group a grim nod. “Everybody ready?”

  “We’re good to go,” Mark says. “Quinn’s on the com, deploying the other teams. He’s in the first car going into the city. We’ll have forty on the ground, plus the six of us.”

  I feel a little pang at the mention of Quinn’s name, but don’t turn on my com. Once I go into the Precipice building, I won’t be able to use it anyway—too easy to trace by Maren’s security team. “What are we telling the artificials when we set them free?”

  Jole grins. “I recorded, ‘Pain switch deactivated. Amass at Precipice Building’ on the hack feed. Depending on the security level in the dormers, we expect a crowd of hundreds within minutes, swelling into the thousands not long after. Quinn’s teams will be working to move everyone into position.”

  “Sounds like we’re ready, then,” I say. “Let’s get this party started.”

  We pile into a tiny hover car that might comfortably hold four small people, but not five tall men, me and our gear. I end up on Jole’s lap. The ride in is tense. Mark takes side roads, old subway tunnels, even a jogging trail through a park, to avoid detection by the police. At one point, we take cover in an abandoned garage as the police fly overhead in hover tanks.

  One of the other guards—I haven’t learned their names yet—gives us a running update on Quinn’s instructions and how everyone is doing as we move into the city. Three cars have made it to their positions already, but one was caught on the outskirts and all five artificials dropped off the com channel. We have no idea if they are merely captured or dead.

  Once we’re four blocks from Maren’s building, we ditch the little car. Spun up on Exeprin, cooped up in a confined space for ninety minutes, I’m ready to fly. The guys unload our equipment and Jole pulls out his data pad. He motions for us to head north, into the heart of the city. The streets are quiet. Why wouldn’t they be? It’s not safe for humans to be outside after dark with dangerous Bolts ravaging the countryside. I bet even the Night People are hiding.

  A hover tank flies high overhead. Sticking to alleys, we make our way to the staging area. We’ve chosen an oval-shaped office building for our launch site. It’s a bank, I think. Once we’re there, Jole tricks the service entrance into thinking we have a key, and the door swings open.

  We take the elevator to the top floor, then the stairs to the roof. As we’re setting up our equipment, I start to think it’s all too easy. Why isn’t someone watching this building? Uneasiness prickles at my back. It’s like I know something bad is about to go down.

  Then the city clock chimes eleven and we share worried glances. Nothing happens for a few seconds. I’m about to breathe easier when one of Mark’s security guards spasms violently.

  Mark gasps and rushes to his side, but it’s too late. The man’s eyes roll up inside his head and he collapses. Mark crouches down next to him, holding the man’s hands. A few minutes later he lets go and closes the man’s eyes.

  “He’s dead.” Mark turns away. “I just hope he didn’t feel anything, that he was already gone before he su
ffocated.”

  “What happened?” I ask, hurrying to his side. “I thought we had more time!”

  “Test round,” Jole said. “Doc said there might be a few deactivations an hour ahead of the main push to ensure the signal is working and as a warning that the program is almost complete.” When Mark glares at him, he holds up his hands. “We didn’t want to worry anyone with a ‘might be.’ Especially if there was nothing we could do to stop it.”

  “But it also means our window to stop the main shutdown is shrinking by the second.” I turn to the remaining two guards. “What are your names?”

  They give me a funny look, but the good-natured blond guy who gave us the running commentary while we drove in says, “Baxter.”

  The other, a smaller version of Mark with brown hair and a stocky build, says, “Terryn.”

  Now I know. If something happens to them, at least I know their names.

  The guys go to work, setting the anchors for the zip line I need. I walk to the railing and check distance to the balcony on the Precipice building. A hundred yards, maybe more, and the angle is going to be steep. It’s going to be a big jump.

  Mark taps me on my shoulder. “Turn on your com, channel eighty-two.”

  “Aren’t we on eighty-one?”

  “It’s a private channel.”

  He doesn’t tell me anything else before returning to the group. Wondering why all the mystery, I tune into eighty-two. “LP online.”

  “Hey.”

  My heart does a little flip. Okay, a big flip. “Does this mean you’re talking to me again?”

  Quinn sighs. “I told you I’m a complete ass.”

  “I believe you,” I say, careful to keep any anger out of my voice. This isn’t the time or place for it.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Even with the com half drowned out by the wind, I can hear how deep the apology is. Like it cut him down to the bone. How do I respond to something like this? “It’s okay” isn’t enough. “I forgive you,” is too self-righteous.

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  “Why?” he asks. “I’m the one who…Lexa, why would you be sorry?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. Gears, I’m so relieved to hear his voice, I’m about to cry. What the frak is wrong with me? Even as I ask myself the question, though, I know exactly what’s making me feel so burdened and sick inside.

  Guilt.

  He went through hell because I abandoned him. Not by choice, but I still feel responsible and I have to unload this burden so I can save everyone else. But it’s more so he and I can forgive each other and start over in a new place.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry for disappearing. For not being the person you’d thought I’d be after all these years. For everything you had to go through without me. I’m sorry for not being there. And for not trusting you—because I do. I remember enough to know that you are the one person I can trust in anything.”

  “Thank Stars this is a private channel,” he says, chuckling. “Sounds like you’re going soft.”

  “That’s your response to me baring my soul?” I say, laughing in relief and surprise. “Next time I see you, I’m going to make you wear that see-through shirt as punishment.”

  “Promise?”

  My laughter turns to giggles. He’d probably do it, too, just because I asked.

  “Lexa, we’re a team. We’ve always been a team. I know you’re still figuring these things out, and I’m not going to pressure you into a relationship you aren’t sure about. It was unfair of me to assume you’d remember everything and we’d be right back where we were seven years ago like nothing had ever happened.” His tone is rough with emotion and my stupid eyes start watering again. “My goal is to make sure you’re safe and happy. That’s all it’s ever been. And if that’s all it ever is, then I’ll be happy.”

  He pauses long enough that I think we’ve been cut off. “Quinn?”

  His sigh is heavy. “I’m here. Look, I’ve been fascinated by you since I set eyes on you in the prep-room. I was only ten, but I knew then we were made to go together. You were my only friend for three years. That’s how I learned what loneliness truly meant, because the pain of losing you was excruciating. When Caldwell set you free, he took half my soul. I wasn’t jealous that he didn’t let me go with you. I was angry we were split apart.”

  Warmth steals its way from my chest all the way to the ends of my fingers and toes. Who needs Exeprin when you have this? “Then I better get going.”

  “W-wait!” Quinn splutters. “I bare my soul—I tell you I have separation issues—and you say, ‘I gotta go?’”

  “Yeah,” I say. “There’s only forty-six minutes until midnight and if it’s all the same to you, I don’t want to risk your life by wasting time chatting. If I make it through this job, you can tell me funny stories about the old days to your heart’s content. Right now, though, I’m in a bit of rush.”

  “That better be a promise.”

  I smile. “It is. I’m leaving for the office now. Keep my place warm until I get back.”

  “I have, and I will.” I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Fly, Lexa, fly.”

  “They’ll never see me coming,” I promise. “And they’ll be sorry once I’m done.”

  It’s judgment time.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Cutting the Strings

  “Make sure they get the angle right,” I yell to Jole. “If I crash into the side of Maren’s building, this whole plan goes downhill fast.”

  “They know what to do,” he shouts. “Quit worrying so much.”

  I check my watch. We have forty-one minutes. “I’m ready when you are.”

  “Here’s the drill,” Jole says. “I’m going to broadcast the hack. Immediately after that, Baxter will connect the line to the Precipice Building. Once the line catches, test it and jump. Stay on the balcony until you see three flashes.” He blinks his flashlight on and off three times. “That means we haven’t seen any activity in the building after your landing.”

  “Then make my way inside. Got it.”

  Baxter holds his air gun at the ready, the heavy zip cable dangling from the super-duty anchor in the barrel. Compared to the little air pistol I carry in my gear pack, Baxter’s looks like a cannon. I sure hope it fires as big as it looks—the anchor has a long trip before it hits concrete.

  Mark assembles a mini satellite dish and Jole plugs his data pad into the jack. He holds his finger over the screen. “Get ready.”

  He taps the button and Mark’s head jerks back. Baxter falls to his knees. Terryn does, too. Jole’s eyes widen in panic, and I let him freak for a moment before pointing at the guys. They’re laughing and punching each either on the shoulder.

  “You should see your face,” I say, grinning. Jole’s mouth is hanging open. “Don’t worry. This happened last time.”

  “We heard the audio message, man!” Mark says, clapping him on the back. “It worked. Every artificial in the city probably heard it, too!”

  Baxter doesn’t wait for the command. He steps to the edge of the roof and fires the anchor at the Precipice building. The cable hisses across the concrete as it uncoils from the anchor on this side. There’s a muted pop, then the wire goes taut.

  I attach my safety rig and clamp the slider handles onto the zip line. This is it. I wave to the guys, run to the edge of the roof and jump. The last thing I hear is Jole squawking in surprise. Maybe I should’ve said goodbye first.

  The angle of the cable is steep and I slide away from the building with crazy speed. The wind roars in my ears, or is the noise coming from the street? It’s hard to tell.

  The balcony is coming up fast; I squeeze the hand-brake on the slider halfway across and sparks fly as metal rubs metal to slow my descent. With a gentle bump, I stop just before the end of the line, which is embedded in the concrete six feet above the balcony. I swing down and ditch the slider behind a potted plant. Time check: thirty-six minutes. Three flashes o
f light blink from Jole’s roof. I’m good to go. I send the signal back with my wrist-light, so they’ll know to retract the line once I’m inside.

  A rumbling noise drifts up from the street below. I peek over the balcony rail; there’s a growing mob of people surrounding the building. From up here, they look like ants swarming a piece of food. Good, Quinn made contact. Maybe a little mob rule will keep the guards busy for a while. Sirens call in the distance—reinforcements will be here soon. I hope they’re so preoccupied that they don’t notice the little birdy on the balcony.

  I fire up the laser-cutter and start burning away the sliding glass door that leads into the building. Once I’ve weakened the glass enough, the door handle comes loose in my hand. A quick hit of liquid nitrogen disconnects the alarm at the top and I creep into a plush dining room with marble floors and a silver coffee service in the corner. The thief in me is already calculating market price for the melted down silver. It’s worth a lot; too bad petty larceny will have to wait.

  According to the blueprints, this is the Executive Dining Hall on the seventieth floor. Maren’s lab is on the seventy-first floor, and her living quarters are in the penthouse on seventy-two. She used to have Bolt security upstairs, but given the press conference I bet she has an all-human crew tonight. Good—our nasty little surprise will work even better.

  I look both ways before slipping into the hall. The hallway is dim, lit only by security lights. Camera domes dot the ceiling. Hoping my vid-scrambler is working, I head for an access panel in the maintenance room near the emergency stairwell. A label inside the panel reads “Climate control, floors 70-72.”

  Just like the plans said. Excellent—time to deploy the “Doc.”

  I put on my gas mask. It covers my eyes, nose and mouth and smells like old tires, but if I screw up with this stuff, I don’t want to end up unconscious in the maintenance room for someone to stumble upon. The gas pellets are in a little pouch on my gear belt. Each pellet is attached to a rubber tube. My instructions are to thread the tube into the vent and smash the pellets. Easy enough. Once the tubes are in place, I squash the pellets under my shoe.