My programing had kept me alive? It didn’t feel like programming. A dead girl’s memories populating my thoughts weren’t programming.
“That’s not what happened. I am not what you think I am.” I tugged again on my restraints.
He gave me an easy, disarming smile. “I know, and that’s our little secret. The official report is a little different from my personal conclusion.”
His constant micro-movements buzzed with energy—a smile here, a glance there, a lick of his lips, and a flick of his gaze. I watched it all, drinking in everything about him.
An almost indecipherable Jotunheim accent, deliberately subdued. Conclusion: shame. Unconfirmed.
Scuffed and worn shoes. Conclusion: personal appearance; low priority.
Outwardly clean-shaven, spotlessly clean lab coat. Conclusion: career takes precedence.
Young for career status. Conclusion: ambitious.
“Do you know what happened to me?”
He dragged a hand across his face and flicked his gaze upward.
“The problem is, just as quickly as I fix your errors, more emerge,” he said, either deliberately avoiding my question or distracted by the problem that was me. “You need to temper your internal systems if we’re going to pull this off.”
And he was in motion again, checking the screens.
“Pull what off?”
“Escape.”
I frowned. “Is this Janus?”
“Janus? Yes.”
I’d killed Leanne Grossman. I’d overwritten Chitec’s orders with my own. How was I still alive?
“Why haven’t they decommissioned me?”
James lifted his chin.
“Your father forbade the decommission order, at least for a short while.” He swallowed, and his face saddened. “They think I don’t know who you are, but I’ve seen inside your synthetic datafiles. I know you … Haley.”
He’d expected me to react, so when I blinked back at him, my expression schooled, he frowned.
“He’s not my father,” I said flatly. “I’m One Thousand and One. Haley is an uploaded memory, digitally encoded neuro-signals, a data stream.”
James’s frown cut deeper. “Haley or Number One Thousand and One, Chen Hung is the father of all synthetics. They were his brainchild. He created you. Besides, what is human consciousness if not a data stream? A means for human beings to harvest information and interpret the world around them?”
“I wouldn’t know.” And while trying to determine my next course of action, I didn’t particularly care.
It wasn’t over. If I died, the information—the secrets—I held about Chitec, the one thousand synthetics, and CEO Chen Hung died with me. But more than that, I wanted to live. Some intangible part of me wanted to crawl from my synthetic cage and be free. Before my memories, before Haley, there was nothing. Everything ended where it began. I couldn’t let there be nothing again. The nothing was a dark and hungry thing. The nothing was the machine. The living part of me, the part rich with sensations and colors and fear—that part would survive. I wasn’t finished yet.
James came forward and stood close enough for me to see concern tightening his facial expression and hear the uptick of his heart. What was he afraid of? Me or something else—someone else?
“Where is Chen Hung?” I asked quietly.
James’s eyes widened and he stepped back, breaking the thread of tension that had tightened between us.
“Right now? In his tower probably. I don’t know where exactly, and even if I did, I’m not sure I’d tell you.”
“Why?”
His eyes narrowed. “Because I’m not entirely convinced you wouldn’t try to do something crazy.”
I didn’t reply. That was answer enough. What I was planning wasn’t crazy; it was simple. Chen Hung, my benefactor, my father, the man who’d killed his daughter and had uploaded her dataprint—a young lifetime of thoughts, transactions, and dreams—into my synthetic body—a body that was one too many and shouldn’t exist—would die. I was his mistake, and I’d make him pay.
The heat of unrequited revenge throbbed in my chest, as warm and beating as the throb of my power core. I knew revenge like the ghost of an old friend. Revenge had driven me to kill Doctor Grossman with a pen. Revenge had driven me to kill Caleb Shepperd, the man who’d once watched me die. My thoughts stuttered at the memory. I hadn’t been thinking clearly during those moments on the Mimir dock, or maybe I’d been thinking too clearly.
“Is the smuggler dead?” I whispered.
James mumbled, “Who?”
His attention had strayed back to the monitors.
“Caleb Shepperd, captain of the Starscream Independent, tug number six-zero-six.”
Caleb had once watched Haley die, had watched her father kill her. I had her memories and could see it all so clearly: the resolute determination in her father’s eyes. I could experience it, the thudding of my heart, beating like a drum in my ears, and the burn in my chest as I’d fought to breathe. I relived the memory as if it were my own. I remembered Shepperd watching it all. He’d deserved to suffer, hadn’t he?
“Shepperd … Shepperd…. Sounds familiar, but I don’t think I know him.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry. I don’t know much of anything beyond this lab, and certainly nothing of life in the black.”
My chest tightened. Had I hoped Shepperd had lived? No warnings sparked to life, and yet I still felt the ghost of emotions in my synthetic blood and flesh. I’d killed Caleb Shepperd. I’d followed my orders. And deep inside, among wires and underneath polymer skin, in a place I couldn’t account for, the ache of loss ate into me. It shouldn’t have been possible. I shouldn’t have felt anything. But I was the impossible made possible. Fake made real. A ghost in my own machine. I was one more.
James clicked his fingers in front of my face and grinned. “You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”
“No, I was”—I blinked myself back into the present—“remembering.”
His grin grew. His smile was honest. Caleb’s had been a lie.
“It will be a terrible injustice if they kill you. There’s already enough injustice in the nine systems, so I have a plan. It’ll mean the end of my career—a career that’s just starting, by the way—but I will get you out of here.”
“Why?”
He didn’t know me. He didn’t owe me anything. He knew what I was capable of. Perhaps he wasn’t as intelligent as he appeared.
He reached up and began loosening my restraints, bringing his face close enough to mine that I could see flecks of green in his hazel eyes.
“Because we were once friends, and I can’t not help you, Haley.”
Chapter Three: Caleb
The catcalls and screams didn’t carry far in Asgard’s choking forests. Giant trees devoured the sound, absorbing it the way they did with the toxic air above the canopy. Wedged on a tree branch, I tucked my chin into my chest, pulled my cap down, and hoped the bastard being tortured died quickly so I could get some shut-eye.
I’d tried to save a new arrival once, during my first stay in Asgard. I snuck him away from the foxes, thinking I was doing him a favor. That had been in the early days when I’d thought I could save people, as if I could make myself into some kind of fuckin’ hero. I wasn’t my brother. The inmate had died, eaten by a growler. If you can’t save yourself in Asgard, you’re already dead—breathing and running, but dead all the same.
The screams cut off. Trees groaned like living things, and then the hoots and hollers started up again. Those rapid barks were how they’d gotten their name, the foxes. Now dead, at least their victim wouldn’t witness what they’d do to his body.
I dropped my head back and let the noise ride right over me. I must have drifted off, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, because when I opened my eyes, burnt-orange light filtered through the canopy. No sky. I hadn’t seen the sky in weeks, maybe even months. It didn’t matter. Only the days mattered. I shifted on the branch to work the a
ches out and listened. The air hung limp among the trees. When the voices carried over to me, I could hear every word. The foxes had a new catch, a woman, and they were planning to savor her.
I adjusted my position. Keeping my movements slow, I eased off my perch and moved through the latticework of branches, staying close to the trunk, where my weight wouldn’t disturb the foliage. The acrid smell of decaying flesh and fresh death lingered in a fug around the foxes’ camp. Their fire had burned low, but there was no mistaking the cooked pork smell of roasted human flesh. The parts they didn’t eat would be put to use as clothing or tools. It had taken ten nights before the sights and smells of the camp no longer had me retching. I’d deliberately forgotten the worst of Asgard, but forgetting was no longer an option.
From my vantage point high up in the trees circling the camp, I’d counted eight men and women. Their patrol would be nearby, looking for fresh meat. The woman was lying motionless on her side, facing away, with her hands tied behind her back. Mud and what looked like blood peppered her gray fatigues. The foxes watched the gate night and day, picking off any new arrivals that couldn’t run fast enough. She looked like a runner—slim, with enough muscle to put up a good fight. She might have stood a chance if they didn’t hunt in packs. They’d only kept her alive because they’d already eaten. In a few hours, she’d wish they’d killed her.
I crouched and rubbed a hand over my eyes. New inmate like her, if the foxes hadn’t gotten her, the growlers would have. If she couldn’t save herself, there was no point in me trying to save her. Give me a few more cycles and I’d likely be among those foxes. What other option was there?
She turned her head enough for me to catch a glimpse of her face, both beautiful and fierce. Francisca.
I grabbed the trunk, steadying myself before I could fall out of the goddamn tree.
How in the nine systems is she here?
She’d cut her dark hair pixie short, but I couldn’t mistake those piercing green eyes and the Celtic dragon tattoo wrapped around her forearm.
Fuck. That. Bitch. She screwed up my contract with the Nine, dumped my ass on Mimir, and now she shows up in Asgard, getting herself caught?
One of the foxes moved closer to Fran and said something that elicited a quick response from that sharp tongue of hers. The fox, a woman, kicked Fran in the back. She arched around the impact but didn’t cry out. It would take more than a few kicks to break Fran. She’d fight, and they’d still win.
I sure wasn’t getting any sleep now.
The easiest thing for me to do would be to leave her here. I’d tried leaving her behind before, though it hadn’t gone so well. I could lie to myself all the fuck I wanted. I might even make it away from the camp, but I’d never last the night knowing what they’d do to her. I wasn’t completely dead inside—not yet. At least her arrival broke up the monotony. I just needed to figure out how to get in and get her past a small horde of flesh-eating fuckers before dark—if she lasted that long.
* * *
The foxes milled around their camp throughout much of the day. I managed to doze off on my perch, only to be awoken when the howls and yips started up again.
The filtered orange light had darkened to red, breeding layers of shadows through the trees. That’s where I moved, weaving through the branches, keeping low and keeping quiet.
They’d moved Fran between the huts at the back of their camp and largely ignored her while they stoked the fire for the feast to come. She sat up, knees pulled to her chest. I inched farther out on a tree limb and watched Fran maneuver her tied hands toward her boot. I knew from experience she was always armed, which begged the question: How did she get a weapon into Asgard? The transport ship guards would have stripped her clean before shoving her through the gates. She couldn’t have snuck a weapon inside, unless she’d gotten in by other means.
A smile crept across my lips. Fran’s lithe fingers found the dagger strapped to her shin. She tugged it free and immediately sawed at her leather bindings. Francisca Olga Franco: best fuckin’ pilot this side of the nine systems and sharp as that blade.
Her ties snapped. She threw them off and was on her feet and running in the next second. Shouts rose up from the foxes. The chase was on.
I dropped through the cover, landed with a jarring thump, and sprang forward, charging into the shadows after them.
I tackled the first fox side-on, slamming him against a tree trunk hard enough to rattle his skull, and finished him off with a loose fist to the face. He deserved more. The thrill lacing my veins with adrenalin demanded I finish him, but Fran’s cry tugged me away. I hunted down the sounds of a scuffle and found Fran scrabbling around the forest floor, reaching for her dagger, while one of the foxes clawed at her legs, trying to drag her back to him. I kicked out and cracked my heel into his jaw, whipping his head back.
“Heads-up.” Fran tossed me the dagger.
I snatched it out of the air and plunged it between his shoulder blades. He let out a god-awful scream that tore through the trees. Now they’d all be on us. Pulling the blade free, I yanked on his hair, drew his head back, and cut his throat.
Hoots and yowls barreled through the trees. I grabbed Fran’s hand, yanked her to her feet, and pulled her into a run. She stayed with me, weaving through lashing branches and bounding over rotting wood. A scream sailed through the trees. One of my traps had claimed a fox.
I veered left, snatched Fran by the arm, and dragged her down a narrow path that had been hollowed out through the undergrowth.
“They’re close,” she panted, glancing behind her.
I jumped over a fallen tree and almost fell, only for Fran to scoop me up. The foxes crashed after us, baying like the animals they were. If they caught us, we’d both be on the menu. “When I say jump, jump.”
“Jump where?”
The burrow opened up ahead and a panoramic view of Asgard’s tree-covered hills yawned wide.
“Jump!”
The cliff’s edge abruptly ended. I jumped, took a deep breath, and plummeted. My insides pushed upward. Air rushed by me. In the second, water slammed into me, surged up my nose, and pushed down my throat. Panic clutched at my thoughts and clawed at my instincts. My knee struck something hard. I twisted away while the water dragged me across the bottom of the river basin. I couldn’t see Fran, couldn’t see anything beyond bubbles and darkness. I’d never asked her if she could swim.
I kicked off the bottom and broke through the surface with a spluttering gasp, then bobbed under and up again. The current had a hold of me and the next waterfall was a hundred-foot killer. My heart galloped hard.
Get out! Shit.
Water roared and pulled and pushed.
“Grab on!” Fran was sprawled across a boulder, reaching out with a branch.
I snatched at the spindly twigs, but they snapped. The roar grew louder, devouring Fran’s shouts until all I could hear was my own thudding heart. Something snagged my fatigues—a half submerged branch. I clawed at it and dragged myself through the water, to the river’s edge. I crawled up the beach and collapsed onto my back, listening to my heart thump so damn hard it might burst.
Fran was waiting on the pebble-strewn beach, her hand on her hip, and her hair plastered to her forehead, dripping water into her eyes. “What the fuck was that?”
This was not how I’d imagined my day going. Finally, I could see the sky: red at the edges, black above. Endless black. It was good to see it again, even if I couldn’t reach it.
“That was me—” I coughed. “Rescuing you.”
“Rescuing me? You nearly killed me.”
I blinked at her upside down face. She was breathing hard and fast. Her green eyes practically glowed in the dull light. Fuck, she was the best thing I’d seen in too long.
I smiled. “Welcome to Asgard.”
* * *
“I saw the same tattoo on one of those … people.”
I knew why she’d paused. People was the wrong word for those animals.
“Foxes. They’re called foxes.” She’d seen the nine-tailed fox tattoo on my back many times before, but now she knew its significance. Keeping my back to her, I squeezed water from the upper half of my fatigues. “And I used to be one of them.”
I let that sink in for a while.
We’d moved deeper into the trees, away from the river, where the foxes would be searching for us. A campfire would be a beacon for everything that wanted to kill and eat us, so we stripped and squeezed water from our clothes as best as we could. The nights weren’t cold. Besides, there was a fuckload of other ways to die other than from exposure.
A glance over my shoulder revealed Fran shivering from her adrenalin comedown as she tried to step back into her wet fatigues. Her left thigh sported an angry bruise, but otherwise, she appeared unharmed. She shrugged on the fatigues, zipped them up, and ruffled her wet hair. Her wide, bright eyes met mine and narrowed as if she saw something she didn’t like.
She wrapped her arms around her body. “Did you—d-did you eat…?”
I hesitated, but only because of the fact that it pissed me off that she would even ask.
“No. Things have changed.” I tugged my wet clothes back on, my cold fingers aching. “I allied myself with the foxes the first time around. After a few cycles of living like an animal, it’s easier to become one.”
I’d never gone that far, though given enough time, like many of the forgotten prisoners here, I might have.
She looked up into the suffocating canopy of tree branches. “I can’t see the sky. Which way are the plains?”
I’d clung on to the dagger during the fall and rolled the hilt in my hand, contemplating whether to give it back to her or keep it for myself. The blade was crude and straight, designed for thrusting, not slashing. A dagger in Asgard could mean the difference between survival and death. I tucked it inside my fatigues. I’d be keeping it.
“Doesn’t matter. We need to get off the ground before dark.” I walked ahead, fairly certain I knew where the nearest hideout was. Before long, we wouldn’t be able to see much beyond reaching distance, and then we’d be really screwed.
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