by Rachael Craw
Ethan ignores the looks and whispers but I can tell by the stiff set of his shoulders he loathes the attention as much as I do. We come to a space between two vans and Ethan stops. Davis and Lane don’t hesitate and immediately begin to unpack supplies, Jamie quickly joins them. Ethan points Helena and me to the comms van. He wants me out of sight and I am more than happy to comply. We climb inside the mobile comms centre. Helena takes a stool before the bank of LCD screens and flips the keyboard up from the side unit. She hands me headphones and sets her own in place. My fingers tremble as I hook them over my ears. I try not to look back over my shoulder, out the open door. The bandwidth is a storm of foreign static and simmering hostility. The greater part of my focus goes into resisting the pull to dive into it.
“They hate us,” Helena says, gripping the edge of the keyboard.
My breathing comes shallow and fast. What could we do if they tried to attack? How could we defend ourselves?
She swallows and turns to me. “I’m very sorry for what happened to your brother.”
Her eyes are soft blue and I can’t look away or speak either.
“I was wrong.” Her voice so low it’s almost a whisper. “I shouldn’t have forced you to see Luca.”
Luca? The broken boy in her KMT.
I shake my head, a small jerky negative. “You were right. I needed to understand.”
Lines tighten around her eyes and she turns to the screens. “No one should have to live like this.”
What can I say? Nothing useful.
She shows me how to log on, and bring up each team member’s tracker. Basic information, current vital signs, service history. Beneath my name and a terrible photo is a list of infringement notices. Helena closes my file without a word. Davis has a service sheet longer than my arm. Lane has been clocking up merits for a couple of years. Even Jamie has a list of merits logged from Orientation that I had no clue about. His Spark count sits at five with only the one loss – his first. Ethan’s file scrolls and scrolls. Merits and accolades, lists of promotions. My eyes start to blur.
Then the screens wipe clean and Knox’s face is there in triplicate, pale blue eyes glittering with polite malice, cleft chin, silver brown hair.
My stomach twists.
“Attention, operatives.” His voice crackles through the earpiece with an odd echo and I realise his voice is coming from outside the van as well. “Alarming information has reached the Executive regarding a serious breach in protocol that affects us all.”
My body ignites with adrenaline. This is it. He’s found his proof. He’s about to call for my capture. There must be more than a hundred active Shields in the transport bay. I won’t be able to fight them off. Ethan and Jamie will try to protect me. I can’t let them get hurt. My only choice is to hand myself over. I yank the headset off and let it clatter onto the keyboard.
Helena startles. “Evangeline?”
She’s about to find out her adoptive father has a child she knows nothing about. It doesn’t seem right. Not like this. Not in front of the whole goddamn compound. I want to reach through the screen and grab Knox by his throat. “I have to go but … don’t be mad with Ethan. He was just trying to do the right thing.”
“Mad?” Her eyes dart from my face to the screen to the scene of eerie stillness out in the transport bay.
“Davis,” Ethan hisses beside the van. “Take her now and go.”
I swivel my stool and launch myself at the open door.
Ethan blocks my exit with a rough shove. “We will follow as soon as we can.” He slides the van door closed with a loud clang.
“No! No!” I hammer the door but he holds it closed.
“What is this?” Helena leaps up, the headset tearing from her ears, Knox bleating silently on the LCD screens, a dim echo of his voice in the transport bay.
The driver’s door opens and Davis launches into the seat and guns the engine. “Put her out, Evie.”
The van lurches forwards and beyond the tinted glass agents leap aside. Shouts and cries go up around us. Fists pound the sides of the van. I see the confusion and disbelief stirred by Knox’s words, faces transforming with disgust and mounting anger. Panic makes me cold and I begin to shake. No. No. I turn to the back windows and watch in horror as Ethan leaps up onto the half-unloaded pallet, hands up to the crowd, raising his voice to call for calm. Jamie and Lane prepare to defend themselves and the supplies as agents hem them in.
“No.” I press my fingers to the glass and look up as the huge screen above the dispatch centre comes into view. Knox, mild as milk, relays his news. A picture of Ethan flashes up in the corner.
Davis swerves and we hit the huge ramp to the surface. My teeth clatter with the impact but my cry cuts out as I glimpse through the windshield the open mouth of the tunnel ahead, framing a starry sky. My head spins.
“What is going on?” Helena shouts. Bracing her arms against the roof and the side of the van, she swivels to look back at the screens. Ethan’s face fills the monitors now. She scrabbles to pick up the headphones.
“Put her out!” Davis yells again, his eyes fierce in the rear-view mirror.
I lurch to the back of the seats, barging Helena and knocking her into the keyboard, which crashes into the LCD screens. Wrenching open the medi-kit, I grab the metal infuser and prime the trigger. My hands don’t even shake. Helena is only partway to her feet when I pull her back against me, taking her off balance. I jab the infuser against her neck and pump the trigger as she slaps at my hands, a stream of furious German hissing through her lips.
In seconds she slumps against me. The van hits another bump and we’re on the flat. Out the window is sky – so much sky we’re drowning in it.
DAVIS
“Attention, operatives. Alarming information has reached the Executive regarding a serious breach in protocol that affects us all …” I replay the broadcast from the beginning, my coat and hat discarded, Helena propped in a harness, head nodding. Grim-faced, Davis keeps his eyes fixed on the desert road, putting hard miles between us and the mountain that hides the opening to the compound. My heart doesn’t race any more. No one is chasing us. My whole body feels bled dry.
Ethan and Miriam fill the screen, their ID headshots. My ID follows with Aiden’s black-and-white school photo, the same one from the file we have at home. I guess they could have accessed a copy online – my brain picks at this pointless detail. The crimes are laid out: corruption of archives, forged documents, an unsanctioned affiliation, theft of biological property. That’s me – biological property. It goes on and on. A relentless breakdown of Ethan and Miriam’s intent to deceive, their treason and hypocrisy, then mine.
Knox only gets halfway through his demand for me to be handed over. Juno interrupts the announcement on a new feed. Her flawless face gives no hint of emotion. “All current assignments and their team members are protected by the covenants of the Reform, in accordance with the Primary Objectives of the World Council of the Affinity Project. All claims and disciplinary proceedings are on hold until assignments reach their full completion. Any interference with current assignments in the field, or in the compound, will be counted as a direct violation of World Council command. Counsellor Knox is stepped down from his position. Angela Allen is appointed as interim Chair. As this is our first Supply Protection run under a new Proxy, it is of utmost importance that we return quickly to our appointed work. Remember, every one of you is an Asset and your contribution matters.”
The feed cuts out and the screens return to the database Helena had been working on. I pull off the headset, prop it on the battered keyboard and take a hunched step to the front of the van. I lean shaky arms on the passenger headrest. Davis removes his earpiece. I catch the end of Juno’s announcement replaying through the tiny speaker. I want to defend Ethan, to explain, apologise, fight. I want Davis to scowl and swear and shake his head in disgust at the hypocrisy and lies then I can punch him in the side of the head.
“Thirsty?” He pops t
he central console and pulls out a bottle of water.
“Really? Am I thirsty?”
He shrugs and pulls the sipper cap between his teeth then drinks. The strong lines of his neck shift as he swallows. One hand on the wheel, he nearly drains the bottle but stops to offer the rest to me. I sigh, snatch it from his grasp and finish what’s left. Davis taps a button on the dash and static hums through the speakers. “Tesla will have coordinates for us.”
“Unless Juno is peeling his remains from the floor of the transport bay.” I crush the bottle. “I wanted to hand myself in. I would have gone quietly. No fuss. He should have let them take me.”
Davis purses his lips. “Have you met your father?”
Father.
I strangle the bottle, twisting the soft plastic until it splits apart, dropping it on the floor.
“No Hulking-out in the van.”
“What if Knox goes after Miriam while we’re out here?” I press my forehead against the upholstery. “Now he knows for sure what – what I am … he’ll go after her. She’s only got a medic with a signal like a civ.”
“The medic is a civ.”
My head pops up. “What?”
“Juno keeps a few on staff. CIA.” Davis bobs his eyebrows in the rear-view. “She’s got some progressive ideas, Counsellor Thurston. She won’t let anyone near your mom.”
It sends a shiver through me, hearing Davis refer to Miriam and Ethan as my parents. Is he just pretending he’s not shocked? Isn’t he curious? Doesn’t he doubt Ethan’s actions for a moment?
“I wouldn’t hand my kid over to Knox,” he says, as though he’s read my thoughts. “I’ve seen what they do to Proxies. Screw that.”
A lump forms in my throat. “You’d let the world burn for the sake of the one?”
Another shrug but his jaw sets hard.
“I’m sorry,” I say and wish I didn’t sound so grudging. “For kicking your ass, for letting Jamie kick your ass, then using your signal to keep me from going full Carrie.”
He snorts. “I only let you pin me so you wouldn’t sulk.”
“You are so full of it.”
He gives me a lazy smile.
I bite back a retort. I’m not in the mood for banter and I’m not sure I want to let him off the hook completely. I twist my neck to get a better view of the sky. Davis nods at the passenger seat so I clamber through the gap giving him a close-up of my knee and elbow. Plunking down into the seat, I lower the window and freezing air blasts into the van. It doesn’t bother me on account of the sheer bliss of breathing unfiltered air. I lean out and my eyes stream. I tell myself it’s because of the wind but the sky is huge and beautiful – crazy beautiful – and the stars make my throat ache. I didn’t feel it this intensely after four weeks on the psych ward, why this time after forty-eight hours below ground? Forty-eight hours … “It’s my birthday.”
Davis swivels his head, his blue eyes searching my face. “Seriously?”
“Here’s to being eighteen and on the run.”
He sighs. “Here’s to you. Eighteen.”
We fall silent again. I’d like to have a good cry. I stare at the road, a sleek black ribbon winding through the night, and the cold wind cuts me to pieces, sharp and sweet. When I’m sure I can hold it together, I close the window and lean my head back on the seat.
“Davis,” my father’s voice crackles through the speaker.
I jerk upright. “Ethan?”
“Hangar eight. We will be twenty minutes behind you.”
“What happened?” I lean towards the dashboard, my voice shrill. “Are you okay? Is everyone okay?”
Davis taps his ear – Ethan can’t hear me. He flicks the talk switch. “Hangar eight. Roger that. Any casualties?”
“Negative. We have a reprieve. Counsellor Thurston has taken care of it.”
“You’re okay?” I ask, leaning closer though I have no idea where the mic is. “Is Jamie okay? Lane? None of you were hurt?”
“Why is Evangeline conscious?” Ethan barks.
Davis grimaces. “Sorry, sir, I’ll take care of it.”
“Now, agent.”
“What?” My voice winds up several notches. “I saw you surrounded by an angry mob! Knox outed you as AP enemy number one and you’re upset about transport protocol?”
Ethan sighs. “We are fine, Evangeline, but transport security is paramount. Please get into your harness and do as Davis says. We will see you soon.”
I swear and slump in my seat.
“You heard the boss.” Davis nods towards the back of the van.
“He wouldn’t have to know. We could leave it till we’re five minutes out.”
“Listen, Furiosa.” Davis tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “I’d love nothing more than to score some points to get myself out of the red with you, but as it turns out your dad scares me more than you do. So either you get back there and put yourself to sleep or I’ll do it for you.”
I screw my nose up and make a rough job of climbing the seats, giving him a solid thump with my knee in the process, muttering under my breath.
The corner of his mouth twitches up but he doesn’t retort.
I sit carefully next to Helena, not wanting to bump her. “Why didn’t you let her stay conscious with me?”
“She can’t sabotage the transport and take you back to Knox if she’s unconscious.”
I nearly stab the infuser into my leg. “What?”
“I don’t think she would have.” He lifts his hand from the steering wheel, a dismissive gesture. “But if she told Knox about you and Gallagher, I’m not sure she’d hesitate to hand him Affinity Project property to get you right out of the way.”
Goosebumps prickle my arms. “You think she told Knox.”
He gives me a drilling look in the rear-view. “It wasn’t me.”
My chest gets tight. Now isn’t the time for this conversation but I need to say it. “Malcolm … they will claim me. The Reform won’t protect me and Ethan can’t fight them forever. I can’t be your cure.”
“I don’t want a cure – never have – and I’m pretty sure I’ve told you that before.”
I shut my mouth and think for a moment. Our conversation in the men’s gym on my first night back in the compound – Davis and his sense of purpose. “Then … what?”
He hunches in his seat.
I sigh and lift the infuser to my neck.
“It’s genetic Russian roulette, isn’t it?” He grinds the words out like it’s against his better judgement. “My first Spark – I was seventeen. I’ve been active almost four-and-a-half years. Statistically, less than twelve per cent of Shields find an eligible match for a sanctioned affiliation. Maybe six to eight per cent could find a Cooler – fewer with third-generation Assets. Two thirds of all matches are identified in the first six months of activation. If the database hasn’t found an eligible match for me in four years, chances are it will never happen. Coolers who’ve failed to deactivate can still gain a sanction because there’s zero chance of signal amplification.” He stops to draw breath, aware that he’s talking fast and forces himself to slow down. “The odds of being paired with someone you can stand, let alone someone you like … must be pretty slim.”
“For some more than others.”
He ignores the jibe. “I just think … we work – that we could make things work. If it’s a choice between meaningless hook-ups and being alone for the rest of my life or being with someone I actually like – a friend …” He peters out.
I lower the instrument and stare at the van floor.
“Look, I’m in no hurry to pick china patterns. I just thought … in a year or so my signal will set. Jamie and Helena will be long gone and … you might be in a better place to consider … another option.”
It’s like a root canal without anaesthetic. I close my eyes, rub my face.
“I’m not an idiot,” he says. “I get you and Gallagher – it’s all mystical love steroids and whatever – I wasn’t s
uggesting …” He releases a heavy sigh. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Occasionally.”
He snorts and his shoulders relax a little.
“I don’t get a choice.” My voice wobbles. “Not this time. Even if I did, you deserve better than being treated like some genetic freak’s consolation prize.”
“Doesn’t feel like a compliment.”
“You don’t want to be with someone who’ll always be thinking about someone else. Someone who’s selfish and desperate enough to say yes to you just because she’s terrified of being alone.” My voice cracks on alone because I’m not pathetic enough already.
His jaw knots in profile. “Like I said, I’m not an idiot and you’re making some pretty big assumptions about what I want and who I am. And frankly, you’re underestimating yourself. If you’re anything like your folks, I doubt two–three years from now you’d still be sitting at home falling apart over Gallagher. You’d be pulling your shit together and getting on with life. College, travel, photography. Whatever. You might have a few screws loose right now but you’re an intelligent, practical, no-pissing-around kind of woman. You’d suck it up and make the most of things.”
Dumbstruck by Davis’s assessment of me, I don’t know what to say. It seems cruel to point out that Miriam and Ethan stayed single, or that Synergist Coding ruins you for anyone else’s signal. I try to imagine kissing Davis, touching him. It only makes my chest tighten and my brain scramble with a trespass alert. It also makes me sad – sad for Davis, sad for me – because he’s right. Okay, he’s not Jamie but he’s sure as hell not nothing. For one thing, I’d have to be dead not to notice he’s gorgeous, but he’s also smart … funny, honest, kind – in his gruff way. And … I trust him, I feel safe with him – safe to be myself. I like him. A lot. I wouldn’t have gotten so upset if I didn’t. We do work – bickering and snarky and rolling our eyes at each other. Maybe we could have found a way through, forged something … different.
Helena rocks next to me, bumping my shoulder – her erratic signal spiking in the bandwidth. Is that what she’ll do with Jamie? Take him back to Berlin or follow him to the UK and make it work? Find a way through, forge something different?