by A. L. Davroe
Their eyes light at this sudden realization. Sid takes a step forward, eager. “So, we just need to get everyone to that breech.”
I can’t help my bitter scoff. “We just escaped a city filled with Disfavored who were killing Aristocrats alongside the androids. Have you forgotten that? You wanna take the last few survivors up to the Outer Block like lambs to the slaughter?”
Sid’s open mouth closes and he looks away.
“Point taken,” Quentin says. “Pass the packs out among the survivors. Remove the food and water first.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” I say, “Monopolizing the food and water?”
“It is,” Gus says. “These people don’t know self-control. It will be gone in one sitting.”
Grimacing, I nod. He has a point. To be fair, they don’t control their own food normally anyway, their habitat control systems do. So, I doubt they’ll miss it. “What do you want to do about the fact that these packs aren’t gonna last?”
Gus says, “Obviously, you’ve got a plan already.”
I smirk. He knows me way too well. “A bit of one. But I’m not sure.”
“No one has a better idea.” Gus holds out his hands. “Go ahead.”
“Maybe,” I venture. “We could leave the bulk of everyone here and send some scouts forward. We could see what’s ahead of us and perhaps, if what I’m thinking is correct, the people who took most of the supplies came through some sort of break in the tunnel in the Outer Block, er, Kairos. If they came in then maybe we can get out—find some supplies, come back, and get everyone to Cadence as planned.”
The boys glance back and forth at each other. I wait for one of them to pose the obvious argument—that the people of Kairos don’t like us and any Aristocrat going out there would most likely be killed. But what other choice do we have? I steel myself, glance between the three of them, hoping for a better plan. But when their eyes meet mine—amber, green, black—none seem to argue.
Gus says, “Okay,” and immediately looks to Quentin.
Quentin nods. “We’ll send a small scouting group out tomorrow. For now, do like I said with the food and water, distribute the supplies. We’ll rest here for a bit, regain some energy, then start out in a few hours.”
“You’re not afraid of them coming through the door?” Sid asks. “Wouldn’t you feel better moving us all a little farther along?”
“No, at the rate these people would move? If the rebels or the androids were going to come through the door, they’d get us whether we’re right here or a day’s walk away. Besides, I don’t want to push them. I want to give them some down time to rest and wrap their heads around everything.” Quentin turns and examines the room. “Why don’t you take these storage crates and push them against the doors. They’re pretty heavy and it’s more between us and what’s on the other side. I want everyone to feel as safe as they can. We’ll use the empty storage rooms for some privacy. Once they’re settled, I’d like to speak with you and the other Dolls.”
chapter four
Post-American Date: 7/4/232
Longitudinal Timestamp: 12:12 p.m.
Location: Sub-Tunnel 6
Sid and the other Dolls have done as Quentin has requested and now people are drifting into the empty storage rooms. I stand with my new bag slung over my shoulder, apprehensive.
“Aren’t you going to set your bedroll up?” Gus asks.
I lift a shoulder, sheepish. “I don’t really know where to set it up.”
He smiles warmly. “Next to mine, obviously.”
I open my mouth to ask where, but one of the Dolls calls to him. “Gus, Quent wants to see us now.”
Giving me an apologetic smile, he touches my arm. “Set up wherever. I’ll come find you as soon as I get everything all squared with Quent. Then we can have some time alone, I promise.” He steps forward, kisses my forehead, and draws away, his fingers leaving a tingling trail of want along my arm.
I stare after him, longingly, even after he’s disappeared into the room Quent and the other Dolls are crowded into.
“Are you all right, dear?”
Startled, I glance around. I hadn’t realized anyone was close to me. At my shoulder is an elderly lady. By elderly, I mean she looks like she’s maybe fifty, which probably means she’s at least a hundred. She’s a Custom I think, but from what I can see she has had no Alterations or Modifications. Her dark hair is peppered with gray and there are fine lines at the corners of her mouth and purple eyes.
“Uhm,” I say, not entirely sure what she means by the question.
“It’s just that”—she smiles at me and gestures to one of the occupied rooms—“I notice you’re not bedding down with the other girls your age.”
“They don’t like me much.”
“Really? And why is that?”
I blush, suddenly self-conscious, but she doesn’t wait for me to answer.
“Could it be that Natural face of yours? Girls your age can be so catty.” She touches her chin in thought. “Or perhaps it’s your earlier admission to planting some sort of virus and causing this hullaballoo? I’m sure most of them heard you admit to that. I’m sure many of them believe you.” Her eyes seem to be laughing. “Not that it’s true, of course.”
I swallow. “It is true, actually.”
“About the virus? Sure. But you didn’t cause this. Takes two to tango, my daddy always said.”
I smirk at her. She has a strange accent. I like it. And I like that she doesn’t take things at face value—she questions them.
“Or maybe,” she continues, “it’s because you’re the walking dead? Kids don’t learn anything about zombies and vampires these days, they’re ill-equipped to deal with the undead, emotionally or otherwise. I’m sure they’re terrified of you.” She chuckles, coughs behind her hand, then shakes her head as if annoyed. “Damn lungs. This is my third pair.”
I want to ask how old she is. It’s possible she’s older than a hundred. She could be two hundred. Talking about zombies and vampires and hullabaloos, whatever those are, I’m sure she just might be that old. You can live forever now, swapping out your dead or dying parts as fast as a new one can be grown for you or receiving gene therapy to reverse the aging process altogether.
“I’m Violet Von Baren,” she says, stretching out a hand.
I take it and shake it, like I learned through my father’s historic files. “Ellani Drexel.”
“Oh, I know.” She shakes my hand very enthusiastically. “That’s how I know you’re a dead girl, after all. I saw the memorial service—for you and Warren. Don’t suppose he’s still alive, too?”
The name pushes a pin through my heart and I look away. “No.”
“Darn.” Violet sighs. “That man was a genius. Fun to talk to.”
I nod in agreement as I finger the chips again. At this point it doesn’t surprise me that Violet knew my father. Feels like he knew just about everyone and I never even noticed. “He made me everything that I am.” The girl who cracks codes and plants viruses that destroy cities. Wanting to change the uncomfortable subject, I glance behind me. “Well, Violet, it looks like it’s just us.” I indicate the now vacant hall. Everyone has found a room. “I don’t suppose…” I lift a shoulder, feeling a little shy.
“You wanna be my roomie?” she asks, grinning huge pearly white teeth at me. Stepping close, she grabs my arm and drags me in a circuit, glancing into rooms as she continues talking. “Now, I have this whopper of a story to tell you. It’s about my son, Leopold. That’s a fine name, isn’t it? I always wanted a cat named Leopold. And I wanted to call him Leo for short. That means lion, did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Obviously I couldn’t have a cat. We haven’t had domesticated animals in Evanescence since that awful parasitic infection killed them all off, so I just named my son Leopold instead. It was almost the same. He was sort of cat-like, especially after he got himself a whisker Mod. Didn’t land on his feet, though, p
oor fool. Didn’t have nine lives, either.” She starts cackling hysterically and even though I don’t get the joke, I smile because I think I’ve just found a new friend, even if she’s a little bit strange.
As we pass one of the rooms, Bastian and Sadie both look up at the intrusion of Violet’s pneumatic voice. I pause, drawing Violet up short, and step into the room, which is empty save the two of them. I glance between them and attempt an awkward smile as I meet Bastian’s dark eyes. “Hi.”
Bastian gets to his feet and launches himself at me, tugging me out of Violet’s grasp and suffocating me in a bear hug. “I thought you were dead,” he whispers thickly into my hair. “Don’t you dare leave. Not ever again.”
I hug him back just as hard. I don’t really know what to say to make it okay for him. It just feels good to have him back again. I wish it had been like this with Delia. I wish she’d thrown her arms around me and started to cry when she saw my face. Maybe she still will, maybe, like Bastian, the shock just needs to wear off.
Violet and I have just started setting up our bedrolls with Bastian and Sadie when the Dolls come door to door to summon us all back out. As we exit, I take the opportunity to hobble between the massing Aristocrats and slide in beside Gus to grab his hand. He squeezes back and we shuffle forward so we’re all crammed shoulder-to-shoulder facing Quentin, but Gus’s arms snake around my waist, keeping me close and protected.
Quentin’s gaze slides over all of us. His eyes look black in the low light. The Aristocrats have found the light-sticks in their packs and many have carried them out. The different colored light-sticks make the inlays on Quentin’s skin twinkle in an eerie reminder of his dead Alts. I glance at the people around me. Some of those who’d only gotten Alts look almost like regular Customs, perfect but dull. Those who relied more heavily on the permanent Mods will never look like normal people without surgery to restore their original forms. Like Delia. Like the Dolls. Without Alts to make them colorful and pretty, they just look like aliens and mutants to me.
“I know you’re all tired,” Quentin says, and his voice reflects his weariness. “So I’ll make this short.”
I’m relieved by that, as I’m eager to finally get Gus to myself for a while. I wish there were enough empty rooms. I’d have him alone if I could.
“Some of you have questions. Others are aware of what’s going on. I’m even hearing that this is some kind of elaborate plan to kidnap you all and sell you to Doll Houses.” His lip quirks, like it’s hilarious. And I suppose it is. “I can’t give you all the answers. I, myself, am not entirely sure what went wrong or who was responsible.” Liar. But I’m thankful he’s not pointing fingers and throwing me under the pod. “What I do know is this: my mother is dead. My father is dead. Most of the people in Evanescence are dead or will be soon, and there is nothing we can do to aid them. The G-Chips no longer work. We can no longer control our own homes or androids. Evanescence has been overrun by robots and Disfavored rebels, and we don’t have the power to dispel them and reclaim our home. Not yet, at least.”
He lets that sink in for a moment, giving us hope, before continuing. I absently start stroking the ridges along the outside of Gus’s arm. Sparks, it’s so good to be back in his arms. I can’t wait to sleep in them again. “I am sorry for all of your losses and for the loss of our home. I, like many of you, would like to be able to take time to myself to be alone and grieve for lost family and friends. However, I have a greater responsibility than my own life. I’m responsible for all of you.”
I still my fingers and swallow. Part of me waits for someone, anyone, to stand up and challenge him. No one does. I glance around at the shadowed faces. Everyone is staring at Quentin, enthralled as if he’s on The Broadcast. How lost these people are. They crave leadership. They crave a hive mind telling them what to do. Even if their new leader is just a beautiful nineteen-year-old boy, these human nanites will respond to whatever program he feeds them. The mere fact that he’s a Cyr is what designates him the one in charge.
Quentin’s continuing words draw my gaze back to him. “It is my goal to get you all safely to Cadence as quickly as I can. Once we arrive, I expect you to obey whatever law comes upon us and attempt integration. It seems a daunting task, I know, but it is the only way we’ll survive our current situation.”
I roll my eyes at the floor. Well, when you put it that way.
“It is my hope that, for the short time we traverse the Undertunnel, you’re all civil and accepting of each other. We’ve all got our differences and we have hundreds of years of programmed thought backing our prejudices. However, Evanescence and her morals are now dead. Once we reach Cadence, there is no telling what she will have in store for us and what passed as normal and proper in Evanescence may not in Cadence. I suggest you keep that in mind and work on making yourselves more malleable.”
A low murmur of frightened voices kicks up and Gus’s arms tense around me. Bile pools in my throat. Those lines were meant for me. I’m the only outcast among them and it rankles me that Quentin feels he needs to discipline them against their prejudice.
“Get some sleep, everyone.” With that, he steps back and the group breaks.
Some of the girls shuffle after Quentin, their voices calling out, “Can we sleep with you and the Dolls tonight? We’d feel so much safer.”
“I suppose I should go help him dispel his groupies,” Gus mutters, drawing away from me. “Where are you sleeping?”
I point to the room I’m sharing with Violet, Sadie, and Bastian. “We’ve got roommates,” I say, regretful.
He smirks his devilish smirk. “Never stopped us in the past, isn’t going to now.”
He helps himself to a long, lingering draft of my blush as he takes a few steps backward. “Ten minutes.”
“Five.”
“Seven, at the most.”
“I’ll hold you to it. I’ll start exacting bodily compensation for every second over.”
“I’ll just take my sweet ass time.” Chuckling at himself, he finally turns away.
Face hot and heart warmed, I start limping back toward our room, but something catches my ear. “Oh, come on, please?” It’s Delia’s raised voice, nearly yelling.
I glance around, trying to find her through the few remaining people in the hall. She’s talking to Gus, who hasn’t gotten very far from where we were standing and is looking darker and more ominous than ever. His expression makes my floating heart sink just as quickly as it had risen. I move closer, drawn to his need of my comfort.
Gus shakes his head.
Delia pouts, her odd bird-like Modifications making the expression look more ugly than childish. “Why?” she demands.
“Things are different now, Lia. I’m…I’m really confused.”
I lift a brow. Lia?
She stomps her foot. “What does she have that I don’t?”
Gus sighs and closes his eyes. “You just don’t get it.” With that, he slips away from where she’s cornered him and steps toward me.
I hadn’t realized he’d even noticed I was coming back toward him.
“Of course I don’t get it,” Delia calls. “You can’t have two lives, Gus. You can’t love two women. You need to make a decision, her or me?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry.” He slides an arm around my shoulder and moves to lead me away. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“What was that all about?” I ask.
Delia yells after us. “You said he was disgusting, Ella. I thought you wanted nothing to do with him.”
Gus goes still.
My blood freezes.
Gus’s voice is a low growl, too low for her to hear. “Is that true?”
Heart pounding, I look up at him. Lie or tell the truth? I lick my lips. I could say that she’s just making it up, that she’s jealous. But it wouldn’t be the truth. Once upon a time, Gus did scare me and disgust me. But that was a year ago, and I’m a different person now. Circuits, why would she say something like that w
hen it’s obvious he and I are together? What’s she trying to do?
Delia continues speaking, her voice choking up. “You didn’t want him. You said I could have him. So why are you taking him from me?”
I cover my mouth, suddenly sick feeling. Oh my sparks. I’d forgotten Delia had always had a crush on Gus. What sort of friend does that make me? She must think me horrible for stealing him. But it’s not like I did it knowingly. I fell in love with a boy in a game. How was I supposed to know it was this Doll now staring at me with Modified eyes? Eyes demanding answers.
I push the issue of Delia away for a moment. I’ll explain everything to her after I save my relationship with Gus. She’ll understand, she’ll give up this silly idea that she has some right to him. I take a deep breath. “There was a time that I felt that way, yes.” His arm moves to escape me, but I grasp his wrist. “But I don’t feel that way anymore. I’ve grown, Gus. You know that I have.”
He tugs his arm, still wanting escape, so I release him. He takes a step backward from me, his eyes wild and hurt. “I thought you were different,” he hisses.
I take a step toward him, desperate and confused. “I am different.”
He continues backing away, shaking his head. He looks like he’s about to punch a wall. “I-I can’t deal with you right now.” And as Delia makes a step toward him, he snaps at her, too. “Either of you.” And just like that, he turns and disappears into the darkness of the Undertunnel.
“Gus, wait!” I call. “It’s dangerous!” I move to follow after him.
“Don’t,” Delia growls, grabbing my arm. “You’ve done enough.”
Tears and sorrow sting my heart. I whip around and face Delia, who just watched her poison cripple my relationship with the only boy who will probably ever love me.
I glare at her, hateful. “How could you say that to him? What are you trying to do? I thought you were my friend.” My words are tight and clipped.
For an instant there is a strange wave of uncertainty in her expression and she drops my hand. But then she shakes herself. “So did I. But obviously that was a lie, just like everything about you. You’re supposed to be dead. You should have just stayed that way.”