It had been a prophetic statement. Manhattan fell to the Accordance not because the Resistance was weak, or the mafias untrustworthy. It fell because the UN Headquarters was locked into the siege. A coalition of diplomats from collaborating countries signed a treaty with the Accordance, deeding their portion of Manhattan property to the alien invaders. It was surprising how much of Manhattan was foreign-owned. The recapture of Manhattan by the Accordance was completely legal by both international and galactic law.
The last time I saw him, he was contemplating martyrdom. He had made the arrangements for his family to escape. I was to leave with my parents for another city and start over. But he would not come. I begged him like a child to forget about being a symbol and come with us. He tried to explain, and his words were more for my parents than for me.
“A dishonorable enemy will always give the double insult. They will rape you, then call you a slut; rob you, then call you a beggar; work you to exhaustion, then call you lazy; scar your body and mind, then call you ugly. An enemy with honor fights hard, kills clean, and remembers your name with respect.
“If you must lose, arrange as best you can to lose to an enemy with honor. War is a little less terrible when honor is mutual. If that becomes impossible, then leave a message in your death for those who will come after you.”
I fought against the bands, hating Hideo again for intruding and digging up fossil pain. My grandfather had tried to prepare us all long before the Occupation. There were family legends of cousins and siblings sent out to prove themselves for a year with zero credit and no safety net, not even change for a call to beg to come back home. Most came back, but some didn’t, perhaps on purpose. He hadn’t been a kind man—fair, yes, but driven in ways that few could understand. Other family rumors spoke of a childhood on the streets, an earlier family lost with his first fortune. They never said how. Murder by rivals was extreme yet possible. A fed-up wife returning to her in-laws with the children was more likely. I never found out. But it made him create a family ethos that only made sense after the Occupation. Otherwise, we might have been labeled dysfunctional and abused. We would have been pitied. Instead, there was a man dancing through my life’s experiences, pretending for a moment that he had been born a Singh of the line of Bismil Singh.
The world changed again, as if granting me respite, and I found myself in the Speakeasy, sitting at a table with Ken and Devlin. Ken was examining my wrists, which were bleeding, and Devlin was leaning sideways into my personal space. “Are you all right? Amira?” he kept saying worriedly. “Are you all right?”
“My God, stop asking me that and get me a drink,” I snarled at him.
They looked at each other, baffled, and then back at me in concern. I blinked, and the Speakeasy faded away. I was sitting on a white floor, leaning against a white wall, in a place I’d seen before on a screen. I refocused on Ken and Devlin and realized they were neither dressed in uniform nor seated in chairs, but crouched down beside me in power armor with helmets retracted. Ken had an MP9 hanging slack from his shoulder and Devlin held another wavering at half-readiness as he covered the door.
“No. No no no no. Are you really here? Why are you here?”
“You called us,” Ken said. “And you should have called us sooner! Look at you!”
“Why would I do that? This is the last place you should be!”
Ken gently picked me up. “Let’s get you out of here first.”
“I can walk!” I lied angrily. I was weak and dehydrated. The strongest part of me was my voice. I definitely wasn’t thinking straight, but I knew something was deeply wrong. “Go without me! Get out now!”
Devlin set his MP9 to his shoulder and put his helmet up. It slowed, stuck halfway, then subsided back into the collar of the suit. “What the hell?” he said, just as Ken swore.
“Suit malfunction,” he said, shaking a leg that had a strangely frozen knee joint.
“Quick, give me your weapon,” I ordered.
“What?” Ken said, but he started obediently moving the gun from his shoulder. “No, wait . . . what the hell?”
I watched his elbow lock in place. “Bastard! It’s too late. I’m sorry. If I called you here, I’m sorry.”
The door opened to reveal Hideo in his long coat, JP and Slate in the casual khakis that functioned as Ship uniform, and Rai similarly dressed and very subdued. I figured out from the cursing in stereo from Ken and Devlin that both suits of power armor had locked up fully.
“I would have let the sergeant call you earlier, but it took me a few days to figure out how to expand and improve on her training-suit overrides.” As he spoke, he helped me down from Ken’s immobile arms and stepped away. My legs gave way and I slumped to the ground. None of them moved to help me up.
“So, JP, I have all of Sergeant Singh’s experience and information without relying on her to willingly join us on our terms. Hmm?”
JP nodded in grudging acknowledgement, but her look to me was apologetic.
“And Rai, I have two fully operational suits of power armor and, which is even more important, zero casualties. Mm-hm?”
Rai nodded and swallowed. She looked terrified, and I wondered if she regretted not taking advantage of that brief window for escape I had given her.
Hideo wasn’t finished. “And you will notice that in addition to my achieving both of your goals, I have also managed to reach mine earlier than scheduled—the capture of the three heroes of the CPF. ”
“Capture isn’t keeping,” Devlin threatened through clenched teeth.
“True,” said Hideo. He spread his hands and the armor cracked open. Ken and Devlin half-fell, half-stepped out and immediately rushed to grab me and brace me upright between them.
“You’re free to go. You’re free to return.” Hideo smiled. “But if you try to leave New Jacksonville, you might find that a little difficult. After all, the city is mine.”
PART
TWO
* * *
11
* * *
“What are you looking at?” Ken asked, coming to stand beside me.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
It was a half lie. I was staring down at the street from the second-floor window of our new accommodations. The street was a solid, permanent line of fresh paving, part of the original infrastructure. They could have had us hidden away, but they didn’t need to. By putting us in plain view, they increased the number of spies that could tell on our movements. I watched people passing by, knowing now to check beyond the visible spectrum. Almost every other headscarf and wrap bore the 507 stamp of allegiance. Once, the sight would have filled me with joy. Now, under house arrest and unsure of the future, I couldn’t even concentrate long enough to come up with a single escape plan.
“I really messed up,” I said quietly.
Ken rubbed my shoulder soothingly, and I was so depressed that I let him. “It’s not over,” he said.
I gave him a glare. “I hope you’re preparing your excuses for Anais. Make it my fault. He always felt I would lead you two astray.”
“We’re not going to do that, Amira,” Devlin said.
I turned around. He walked into the room with his hands full of . . . stuff. Wires and transistors and bits and pieces that looked like they’d come from a museum. I examined them as he spread them out on the small dining table.
“Interesting hobby. How long have you been building these?”
He grinned. “Since I learned how to steal the materials.”
I turned my back on the window and came closer. Radio was vintage, niche, a toy for children and an obsession for a few committed adults. I’d never had time to play with old tech when all my hours were spent keeping up with the new. “Is this going to help us get out of here?”
“It might. Ken told me that the CPF inherited a large chunk of radio bandwidth from the old, pre-Accordance armed forces.” He nodded to Ken to continue.
“We don’t use it because our communications tech
is much more efficient now, but it’s still there, and it’s still monitored. Your Ship colleagues have blocked us from the networks, but they won’t expect this.”
I tried to ignore the sting when he blandly said “your Ship colleagues” and addressed Devlin instead. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Yeah.” Devlin squinted doubtfully at the scrap metal on the table. “I think so.”
Footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs; someone was coming up from the streetside entrance. Devlin quickly whipped the four corners of the tablecloth up and around his science project and slid the whole bundle under the couch. Only three people walked freely into the townhouse like that—Hideo and JP, of course, and on one nervous occasion, the concierge from the hostel paid us a visit to hand over my mail. I’d scanned her from head to toe and found no mark of allegiance at all, which I found confusing. The mail, or rather her excuse to visit, consisted of my invoice from the hostel and a brief note from Lia Chaudry. The note tersely informed me that Wilmer was fine, they had both left New Jacksonville, and I was not to attempt further contact with them unless they indicated otherwise.
“Good afternoon,” Hideo said cheerfully as he came in, much like Devlin had, with laden hands. “I got Southern this time. I hope you don’t mind lots of fried starch.”
He set the takeaway food containers down on the coffee table in front of the couch. Then he stepped back almost shyly. “The food’s safe. Seals intact, nothing tampered with.” He swept out an arm to show off the room. “House is clean of bugs, as you already know, Amira. Sorry that I didn’t tell you about the shielding.”
“It’s fine,” I said coldly. “I only used a small pulse. It didn’t hurt much.”
“Yes, and notice how I gave you back your favorite weapon, your . . . Bugkiller.” His tone went judgmental for a second, then promptly dialed back to friendly. “You should use the jeep I gave you. I’ve parked it below; keys are in the ignition.”
Ken leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “Could we use it to drive back to Orlando?” he asked sarcastically.
Hideo flashed him a brief apologetic smile and shook his head, then faced me soberly again. “The point is, we are not enemies. We are still us and they are still them. I understand you’re not happy with me—hell, JP’s furious with me right now—but that doesn’t mean we can’t look to see where our interests align.”
Devlin spoke up, his voice resonant with suppressed rage. “You kidnapped Amira, tortured her, lured us here, and stole our armor, but somehow you think our interests might align?”
Hideo walked up to him and stopped within arm’s length, demonstrating a fine balance between showing respect and showing no fear. “Captain Hart, I believe that we take after our parents more than we care to admit. I admire your dedication to human life, which I am sure you learned from your father, Thomas Hart. I admire Amira’s tenacity and I would expect nothing less of the granddaughter of Bismil Singh.” He looked over his shoulder at Ken for a moment. “You I’m still not sure about, but you’re consistent, and that makes you refreshingly predictable.” He returned his gaze to Devlin, insistent, persuasive. “All of you have done your best to preserve humanity, however your methods may have varied. I hope one day you can begin to see me in the same light.”
Devlin didn’t quite relax, but he exhaled slightly, and with that cue Hideo nodded and turned away to focus on me. “We still have much to talk about. JP insists I make amends with you, and I know the only way I can do that is to show you the method in my madness.”
“Later,” I growled. “I still feel like killing you.”
He raised his hands and retreated a couple of steps. “Fair enough. Until the next time.”
Ken pushed his point. “But seriously, we’ve been blocked from the train station, cut off from the networks, and shut in. You expect me to believe you’ll let us get in that jeep and just drive about as we please?”
Hideo sighed. “Well, there might be a small tracking function in our jeeps and you might find yourselves slightly herded if you try to go somewhere you should not go, but apart from that you are free to move about. Don’t abuse my hospitality.”
He dipped his head in farewell and left. We waited for the retreating footsteps and the closing of the door.
“Let’s test him,” Ken said. “Bring the food—it’s picnic time.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Devlin said, kneeling to retrieve his tablecloth-full of archaic tech.
“Of course. Don’t you know I’m refreshingly predictable?”
Devlin and I exchanged a slightly scared look at Ken’s deceptively gentle tone.
“Hideo knows how to get into people’s heads,” I warned Ken. “Don’t let him get to you.”
Ken gave me a look of utter exasperation. “We’ve been stuck here for two days. Can’t I have a little rant?” He paused and said morosely, “I know I’ll go down in history as a sellout. I just hope I can live long enough to do something big enough to change that.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, enough of this ‘live long enough’ talk,” Devlin said, pushing his hands out as if pushing away the idea of Ken dying. “Let’s get out and enjoy some fresh air and food.”
+ + + +
We headed north, away from Orlando. I drove out of the confusing tangle of the city center and let Ken take over. He brought us to the edge of the suburbs and then handed over to Devlin, who had the least driving experience out of all of us. Devlin was nervy and overcautious at first, but then he began to get cocky, and the journey grew loud with shouted advice, cursing, and the sudden screech of tires. Ken saved us all by noticing “the perfect picnic spot”—an overgrown lawn in front of an abandoned house. We settled ourselves, cracked the seals on our food, found it still warm and delicious, and demolished it.
“I’m so glad you guys are here,” I admitted. “I stretched myself too thin, and I’ve been out of the game for too long. I should never have gone in without a proper backup plan.”
Devlin shot me a look that was pleased, embarrassed, and guilty all at once. Ken’s face was amused and smug. “Yes, you shouldn’t have. Goodness know where we’d be if we all went running off without a backup plan. Right, Devlin?”
“Shut up,” he mumbled. “So, what Ken is trying to say is that he reminded me of the importance of backup before I went sprinting off to save you.”
“In his defense, your SOS was a little terrifying,” Ken said.
“Still not sure that was me,” I said defensively.
“It probably wasn’t,” Devlin agreed. “I haven’t been able to contact base at all. I even tried Anais.”
“In Communications, New Jacksonville has a reputation for being a bit of a mess,” Ken said. “Unregulated, but not openly lawless. I don’t think anyone realized how much was going on beneath the surface.”
“Tell me about backup,” I insisted.
“Cleland—he’s in Comms—was monitoring our power armor. He’ll at least be able to report where and when we were captured. I’m not sure if we can count on Anais to send help. He’s been very good at sweeping bad news under the rug. So we told Boone to look for us unofficially if that happened, set up our own encryption/decryption protocol and everything.”
“That’s where the radio comes in. We can build a transmitter and send a nice loud burst in the direction of Orlando. Cleland should be able to pick it up and then we use the jeep’s radio to listen for a reply.”
“A nice loud burst that Hideo can also pick up.” I scoffed.
“Not until it’s too late,” Devlin said. “The point is, he can’t stop what he doesn’t expect. And if we move quickly, he can’t even prove it was us.”
I was silent for a moment. Hideo had proven to be pretty good at expecting all possibilities. “We can try,” I said finally.
“I need a couple more days to finish the transmitter, steal an extra battery or two to boost the signal, and scout out locations for the best reception,” Devlin said, ticking points off
finger by finger.
“Don’t we need an antenna?” I asked, imagining a massive steel tower.
Ken nodded to the jeep. “You’re looking at it.”
“Hmm,” I said. I needed to learn the basics of radio so I could stop wasting time on stupid questions.
+ + + +
Our secret science project shaped the days nicely. We went out driving for lunch, always north, always during the day, doing our best to show we could be trusted while clandestinely plotting escape. Devlin’s driving improved. Ken taught me what he knew about radio and pointed me to resources for more information. I told them about Jasen’s secret life as a spy and a clone. Ken had guessed the first after conversations with Boone, but the clone bit was a shock to both of them. I filled in the rest of the story with Russo in his creepy life-support and data chamber, six living clones scattered about the world and four frames of dead clone tattoos. Jaws went slack. They were genuinely speechless.
Ken recovered first. “Boone didn’t know about that, I’m sure of it.”
“You and Boone friends now?” I asked cheerfully.
“We found a middle ground,” Ken replied with caution.
Devlin took charge of the construction and working of the transmitter. Ken handled the calculations—frequencies, range, power, geography. When they went off into a technical discussion, I was able to follow them, but I preferred to make myself useful browsing the span of the frequency dial on the intact radio in our borrowed jeep. Much of it was silent, as expected, but sometimes intriguing spikes of static would scrape through. I made a note whenever that happened.
At one stage, Ken left Devlin to work solo and turned his attention to my receiving radio. When he was finished, I had more bandwidth and much better reception. I soon found an intermittent hum and warble on the low end of my new scale. A sense of familiarity nagged me. The pattern—and I was sure it was a pattern—plucked an old string of memory.
“You all right, Amira?” Ken asked.
I was doing what I rarely do, projecting information onto a monochrome object in my visual field for a quick and easy read. My eyes would have been twitching rapidly; my face would have been slack as if I was falling asleep. I didn’t blame Ken for checking on my welfare.
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