Ignoring Dax’s concerned look, I gaze out over the now moving horizon over Jenica’s shoulder. We make fun of her, but that is one dedicated member of the Resistance. She’s also one hell of a pilot. I often wonder about Jenica’s past and why she’s as hardened as she is. I’ve never known a child to be born that way. Something had to have happened, but behind the machinery that takes up most of one side of her head and face, I can’t find a clue. She’s as hard as ever and I wish I could be more like her. She doesn’t seem to care when we come back empty-handed. I, on the other hand, can’t stop thinking about it.
Seeing that empty, trashed house in Dallas brings back so many memories and I can’t help but think of my own family. Those thoughts bring an acidic taste to my mouth. I turn toward the window and stare at the moving clouds beside me and wonder if that taste will ever go away.
***
Two
Blythe Sol, Dax Janner, and Jenica Swan
Restoration Resistance Headquarters
August 15, 4010
I am grateful when Jenica lowers the hovercraft over the desert landscape of Nevada. After so many years away from my hometown in Georgia, the rust-colored walls of Red Rock Canyon look more and more like home every day. Calm sweeps over me as we hurtle along through the canyon, shaded from the stifling Nevada heat by the mountains jutting up from the ground. While we encountered snow in Texas, the state of Nevada and its desert stretching away from the still-bustling Las Vegas, is nonetheless hot as hell. In fact, global warming and our ruined ozone layer have rendered it even hotter.
Everyone is glad we didn’t encounter the M.P.s, especially with the scared and likely malnourished refugees in the back of our craft. We are all capable of fighting when necessary, but our Resistance is a peaceful one and we try not to kill when we don’t have to. The round, steel portal carved into the side of the canyon opens to allow us entrance and we are soon hurtling through the dim metal tube that leads to headquarters and home.
As we shoot out the other end of the tube, the citadel that was built into the red mountains as a haven for our kind comes into view. Jenica dodges other crafts and steers us toward Hexley Hall, the living quarters of all refugees. There are so many of them that Hexley Hall is filled to over capacity. These people will likely have to share space with some of our other residents until construction is finished next door on Regent Hall. For now, I’m sure these folks are just happy to have a place to lay their heads without fear of arrest or execution.
Jenica lands the crafts and unbuckles her harness, turning toward the scared people huddled at the back of the aircraft.
“All refugees come to the front of the craft, where I will document you and pass you on to the matron of Hexley Hall, Milica Brady. She will see you all settled into your quarters and provided with food.”
“What about the others?” a voice calls from the back of the craft.
I whip around in my seat to put a face to the masculine voice. A blond head appears from behind the others, followed by a broad pair of shoulders, and deep blue eyes that lodge my heart in my throat. The refugees part to reveal him and I can only stare, slack-jawed. He is as large and wide as Dax, with smooth skin and features that seem chiseled from stone. His brow is furrowed over eyes narrowed on Jenica. I look across the aisle to find Dax staring at me quizzically, and then back at the stranger.
“Excuse me?” Jenica asks, her tone sharp. “What others?”
“When do we help them? The other Bionics stuck out there?”
Jenica’s jaw hardens and her hardware hums as she narrows both eyes, human and machine. “We don’t use that term here,” she says, referring to President Drummond’s nickname for us. The Bionics, they call us—humans modified by government equipment. They created us and now they hate us, fear us, force us to go into hiding to protect ourselves and our families. Because Jenica’s hardware isn’t as easily hidden as mine, I know that the term is especially sensitive for her, though it doesn’t really bother me. In fact, most of us use the term in reference to each other and others like us. It’s being called a Bionic by ‘the normies’ that puts some of us on edge. It’s the implication that we are not human because of our modifications. It reminds me of the word ‘nigger’, which over the thousands of years that word has existed, has not lost any of its power. People with dark skin continue to call each other by the moniker, closing off the rest of the world from saying it and getting offended when the word comes from white lips. It is the same with this word, this epithet that labels us as different from everyone else.
“I’m sorry,” the stranger says, running long, slender fingers through his hair. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
Jenica nods once, but I can tell she’s still not fond of him. She’s not fond of anyone who speaks out of turn. “I am sure you didn’t. You should be more careful about throwing that word around. As far as the other victims go, that is not your concern Mister…”
She looks up at him pointedly, pen poised over her clipboard, human eyebrow raised.
“Gage,” he answers. “Gage Bronson.”
Jenica writes something in her neat, precise scrawl. “Mister Bronson, rest easy. The very capable field soldiers you see in front of you are working hard every day to rescue those of our kind that need it.”
Gage doesn’t miss Jenica’s emphasis on ‘our kind’; it’s obvious by the pulling of muscles around his mouth and flash of defiance in his eyes. He swivels those eyes toward me and I am frozen in his stare, unable to look away. We look at each other just long enough for me to notice there’s a rim of silvery gray around the outside of his blue irises before I tear my gaze from him, embarrassed. Gage doesn’t say anything else to Jenica, but he has definitely made his presence known, and I’m officially curious.
What is he doing here? He’s obviously not one of us; he looks like he belongs in one of the metropolitan areas, those unaffected by nuclear war or radiation. He has none of the desperation in his eyes that most of us carry in our fight to stay alive. There’s determination there, though, and I can’t help but admire that.
Jenica motions the refugees forward and they step up one at a time to register. I wait patiently in my seat as she records their names and other stats, including their bionic appendages. When she gets to the dark-skinned girl I locked eyes with earlier, she answers that her skin has been genetically modified to have the hardness and durability of Kevlar. I see Dax’s eyebrows shoot up and several of our other crew members whistle and murmur to each other. A girl with skin made of Kevlar would be an amazing addition to our team. She says her name is Yasmine Zambrano and I make a mental note to remember it.
When she gets to Gage, of course he lists no bionic appendages, confirming what I suspected. What he does next, though, blows me away. He reaches down and picks up a little girl, one I hadn’t seen before now and holds her against his chest.
“Agata Schwenke,” he says. “Seven years old. Bionic spinal cord and bionically engineered left brain.”
If Yasmine’s revelation was enough to stun everyone, this was definitely one to blow that right out of the water. I look into the soulful, wide eyes of little Agata and see intelligence there. Part of her cerebrum, the segment that computes logic, math, and speech, has been bionically enhanced. Agata is more than likely smarter than everyone on this craft. The Professor will want to study her, I’m sure.
Gage and Agata are last, and Jenica leads them all toward the opening and ladder, where they climb down and are met by Milica Brady. I watch from my window as the matron greets them and then motions them toward the front doors of Hexley Hall, Jenica’s notes in her hand.
As they disappear into the building, I wonder about Gage and the little girl. Is Agata his sister? His daughter? Whoever she is, I can’t help but think him brave for bringing her here. If the Military Police ever found out he had been here or helped a Bionic escape, he would receive the death penalty. She must be someone important if he braved coming to the very center of the Resistance to
save her.
Jenica boards the hovercraft again and my thoughts leave Gage and little Agata. I will seek them out later, but decide for now to think about a hot meal and my warm bed. Jenica steers the hovercraft toward the Mosley building, where the ‘foot soldiers’, as she likes to call us, live. At some point I know I need to visit the Professor and talk with him about adding Yasmine to our team but first, a shower and a hot meal are calling me.
***
“I don’t trust him.”
I already know who Dax is talking about, but I don’t want to let on that Gage has been popping in and out of my thoughts since I clapped eyes on him earlier, despite my attempts at changing the direction of my thoughts. Clad in only a bra and clean pair of pants after a shower, I’m rifling through my dresser for a shirt. Dax is reclining on my bed, his hair still damp from his own shower, his long legs propped up on my footboard. He’s watching me get dressed, but I take my time. I have no reason to be a prude around Dax; he’s seen a lot more of me than just my bra. Not on purpose, but that’s just kind of the way things are when you share a bathroom with a girl but don’t know how to knock.
“Who’s that?”
I turn to face him and Dax purses his lips and tilts his head. “Yeah, okay, like you haven’t been thinking about him?”
My cheeks get hot and I tug on the hem of my shirt. “What? I have not! I mean…you know…”
Dax grins. “Relax, Blythe, I just meant that I know you’re curious about him and that little girl. A bionic brain? It’s unheard of.”
I turn toward my mirror, plucking the uncomfortable contact lens from my eye with a sigh.
“The Professor is going to love that one,” I say as I blink a few times, allowing my robotic eye to refocus on my reflection. It gives me a reading of all my vitals and I blush when I realize my heart rate has spiked during our conversation about Gage. I let my wavy hair down and run my fingers through it, feeling much more like myself now that I’m in my room, showered and wearing clean clothes.
“Ready?” I ask.
Dax leaves his reclined position on my bed and stands, his head nearly scraping the low ceiling of my room. I’m lucky enough that I don’t have to share quarters with anyone, but Dax might as well be my roommate since he’s always here. He drops his pilot’s jacket over a chair and removes his sweater, revealing a gray, sleeveless undershirt that showcases his barrel-wide chest and powerful arms. I roll my eyes at the sight; now the girls will be mooning at him over dinner and asking me to introduce them to him when he’s not looking.
“What?” he asks with a shrug at my annoyed expression. “I’m hot.”
Fucking perfect.
“Let’s go,” he says, patting his empty belly. The sound of his titanium ribs echoes in his chest and the clanking of his footsteps are heavy. He’s taken off his boots and is walking barefoot, his prosthetics peeking out from under the cuffs in his cargo pants. The titanium echoes on the floor as we walk, falling in with the other members of our team who are leaving their rooms for the dining hall. Mosley Hall is a mishmash of outcasts, half-human half-robots, who have all shed their disguises. Titanium gleams everywhere as the sound of hardware echoes from the walls. Eyes glow, cogs whiz and whir and I feel more at home surrounded by these sights and sounds than I do anywhere else. Energy levels are high and it seems that Dax and I are the only ones who have come back empty-handed.
Olivia McNabb, a spunky eighteen year-old with bionic adrenal glands and a titanium right hand runs up beside me in a blur of blonde hair. Anytime I feel a rush of air whipping around or past me, I always look for Olivia. Her enhanced adrenal glands give her an extra boost of adrenaline, giving her lightning quick speed and reflexes. She’s removed her polyurethane glove and uses her robotic hand to push her messy bangs back from her face.
“Hey, how’d it go out there?”
Dax shrugs but cuts his eyes at me. I feel concern emanating from him and I know he’s wondering about how I’m feeling after staying in that trashed house. It’s something we do while on missions, but nobody knows better than him how hard it is for me to be reminded of my own trashed house burning to the ground, or the loss of everyone I’ve ever loved. It feels even worse when we don’t get there in time to save the people we are there to save.
“No M.P.s, no Bios,” he answers simply as we leave Mosley Hall and cross the arcade toward the dining hall, which is situated right at the center of Restoration Resistance Headquarters. The grass beneath our feet and the blue sky and clouds overhead are synthetic, but I appreciate them. The Professor created the program to give us a sense of still living in the outside world. It appeals to all of our senses, so not only can I feel the grass, I can smell it, as well as the scent of approaching rain. A soft breeze tricks me into thinking that this is real.
Without the changing weather we’d just be living in a gigantic hole carved into the side of a mountain. I appreciate the normalcy of rain or snow every now and then. It follows the patterns of the seasons—at least, the seasons we used to have before the ruined ozone layer—so for now we’ve got a pleasantly balmy summer and a slight chance of rain.
“That’s too bad,” Olivia answers. She turns to me with an impish smile and I already know what’s going to come out of her mouth next. “You get a good look at that Gage guy?”
I keep my gaze straight ahead, avoiding both Olivia’s and Dax’s stares. I can’t afford to let them know that I still can’t get those blue-gray eyes out of my head.
“Yeah,” I answer as calmly as I can. “What about him?”
Olivia rolls her eyes. “Okay, play dumb. I’m just going to go ahead and say it. He’s freakin’ hot.”
Dax frowns and I see the corners of his mouth tense. I laugh at him, which only draws his dark, hawkish gaze toward me. I shrug.
“How’s it feel to have to share the henhouse with another rooster?” I ask.
Dax doesn’t answer, but his lips tighten and I think he’s about to blow a gasket.
“Dax doesn’t trust him,” I offer, filling in the silence.
“Really? Seemed all right to me.”
“Olivia, if you would think past how fast you can spread your legs for this prick, you might actually see the truth.”
Olivia flips Dax the bird with her bionic hand. “Fuck you, Janner.”
She’s pretending to be mad, but her wide grin says it all. Oliva is the Resistance Headquarters slut and everybody knows it. She and Dax have even gone at it a few times, but I pretend not to know about it. For some reason, the thought of my best friend and the neighborhood ho’ getting it on fills my mouth with bitter bile; it’s not exactly a topic of conversation I want to pursue.
“Come on, you two, use your heads,” Dax continues, stopping just outside the doors of the dining hall. “How many Normals do we have running around the place?”
“Not that many other than the family members of the other Bios.,” she answers. “Oh, well, other than the Professor, but he doesn’t count. He’s practically one of us.”
“Exactly. There’s a reason we don’t let them in. We have no idea what he wants or why he’s here.”
“He’s a family member too. He’s protecting the little girl,” I argue. As soon as the words are out, I regret them. Dax is staring at me as if he’d like to shake some sense into me. Deep down I know he’s right and I should be suspicious of Gage. After all, there’s a reason that we are here. “Look, I just don’t think we should be crucifying this guy just because he talked back to Jenica, or because he’s not a Bio. There are other people here just like him who have brought their children, siblings, or parents to Headquarters to try to escape the M.P.s. You know that the penalty for harboring a Bio is death in most states. This guy has nowhere else to go.”
“We don’t know what kind of connections he might have or what kind of information he might be feeding someone on the inside,” Dax argues, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper as a few more of our team and some of the refugees walk past us and into
the building. “We have managed to stay hidden for years and letting this guy in could prove to be our most fatal error.”
“Well, what do you suggest we do about it, Captain-Fucking-Know-It-All? The Professor never turns anybody away unless they give good reason. So far as I can tell, all he’s done is rescue a little girl,” Olivia challenges, her hands on her round hips. Dax’s jaw ticks and I know he’s about three seconds away from smashing her face in…that is, if he could catch her first.
“Don’t you have someone you could be screwing right now?” Dax counters.
Olivia sways her hips and bats her eyelashes. “You offering, baby?”
“That’s enough!” I interject. I don’t like the way Olivia is looking at Dax and I’m in no mood to watch those two get into it. Besides, I want to know exactly what Dax’s position is on Gage. We have always agreed on everything, but I have a feeling that Gage is going to be one of those topics best not discussed by us.
“So, are you going to answer the question?” I ask once the two have stopped staring daggers at each other. “What do you think we should do about Gage if he turns out to be dangerous?”
Dax shrugs. “Simple. Kill him.”
***
Three
Blythe Sol, Dax Janner, and Olivia McNabb
Restoration Resistance Headquarters
August 15, 4010
6:00 p.m.
The dining hall is buzzing with conversation as always, but I can’t hear a word of it. It’s all unintelligible—a jumble of noises and sounds, much like the hum of the hovercraft that brought us home. I stand in line to receive my ration, purposely avoiding Dax’s gaze. Olivia is as silent as I am and I can tell that what Dax said out on the steps is burned into her mind as well. I can see it in the width of her eyes as she watches him accept a bowl of a soup and a hunk of bread. Neither of us can believe how easily a statement so brutal could have come from his mouth.
The Bionics (The Bionics Series Part 1) Page 2