CHAPTER 27
I’m half-carried to the campus medical unit, fading in and out of consciousness. Pain churns my thoughts and I pass out before we get there. After that, consciousness comes in short bursts. The most I register is that I’m in a tiny bunk and people keep poking me. Time feels like a crazed whirl, slowing sometimes to murky minutes that I think will never end. Moments of clarity come to me at times, like I’m surfacing from a confusion of noise and sound. At one point, I imagine I hear Blake’s voice and see a blurry vision of him beside me. I get the impression he’s reading to me from a book and his face looks worried and drawn. I want to reach out to him, because something is so terribly wrong. But I’m tired and my eyes drift closed, sleep crashing over me. When they open again, he’s not there and I think perhaps I imagined it.
When I finally surface and manage to stay awake, I see I’m tucked in a small room, a medic bracelet on my wrist. Cora sits in a visitor chair near me, dozing. I make a small sound and she looks up.
‘How are you?’ she asks.
‘I’ll live,’ I croak, feeling confused. ‘Are we in town?’
‘No.’ Cora’s smile is tight. ‘The nurse said she had orders to keep you on academy grounds.’
‘Yeah?’ I struggle to sit and Cora jumps up to help me.
‘Yeah.’ Once I’m up, she sits back down. ‘The nurse wouldn’t tell me why you were here. The only reason they let me in was because they thought you’d like to wake to a friendly face.’
‘They were working on breaking my lock with Blake,’ I say. ‘Something either went really wrong, or really right.’
‘Sounds dodgy as hell, if you ask me,’ Cora says. ‘You’ve been out of it for nearly two days.’
I take a few minutes to register this, then my weary brain remembers the last time I saw her. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’m fine.’ She leans forward, voice dropping. ‘I don’t remember much, but Blake told me what you did.’ She leans in quickly to wrap her arms around me. ‘Thank you.’
The memory of what happened with Blake feels like a thousand years ago. His face flashes through my mind, the image accompanied by deep sorrow. A piece of me, somewhere inside, is missing, and I begin to wonder if maybe we had real feelings for each other, because the sensation of loss is suddenly overwhelming.
Cora sits back, swiping at damp eyes. The corner of her mouth quirks up. ‘Blake came to discharge me from the medical centre. We had a long talk.’
‘What did he say?’ I try not to sound too interested. I want to know if Blake came here to read to me, or if I just imagined it.
‘He told me I need to slide again. Soon. That I’ve got to face my fear.’
‘Your fear?’
Cora’s hands fidget in her lap. ‘I just can’t bear the thought of sliding. Not yet.’
‘I know you can do it,’ I tell her.
She swallows noisily. ‘I’m afraid I’ll get lost again.’
I straighten in the bed and inject some steel into my voice. ‘You’re a fighter, Cora. Just like me. I know that when you’ve got to make a choice to slide, you’ll find the courage to do it.’
‘Yeah?’ Cora sounds doubtful, but also like she doesn’t want to argue with me. She shifts in her chair, her gaze settling on a small posy of roses by the window. ‘Those are pretty.’
‘Who sent them?’
‘I checked the card when they came in.’ Cora grins. ‘They’re from Aaron.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘That’s nice.’
‘Nice?’ Cora looks ready to strangle me. ‘This is a signal, Josie. A signal he’s putting out to you.’
‘What kind of signal?’ I ask suspiciously, thinking of his slick moves back at Eckhart’s house with the mystery woman.
‘That he’s available, cute, interested in you, and massively rich.’
‘Great.’ I force a smile. ‘Ticks all the boxes.’
‘Darn right it’s great. You just need to play hard to get.’
I roll my eyes. ‘No problem.’
After a dinner of rich, cheese-clotted lasagne and a fluffy chocolate mousse, Eckhart appears, checking in on me. There’s a gleam in his eye as he talks about testing whether the break has worked for good, and I can tell he’s excited from the way his hands keep clenching and unclenching. I don’t point out that if I’d known how much breaking the lock would hurt, I might have reconsidered.
After he leaves, a woman from the academy’s administration appears and instructs me to get dressed and follow her. To my amazement, she escorts me to my very own room on the same floor as Cora’s. My gear from the dorm has been moved and now sits on the pristine white bed. The knowledge that I was to have my own personal space makes me hug the brisk woman with gratitude. Fortunately, she seems accustomed to these displays of affection, and with a shadow of a smile, she leaves to let me settle in.
After double-checking the integrity of my puzzle-chest and finding it as strong as ever, I feel my talents stir inside and sense they’ve become stronger, more robust given their continual practice since arriving at the academy.
I stretch out in the bed and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. The next morning, it takes me a long time to rise, my thoughts sluggish, limbs heavy. After grabbing a muffin and coffee from a break-out room, I check my schedule. I’ve been allocated a day free of classes, probably the one advantage of being unconscious for a couple of days, but my late afternoon session with Wendell and Vogel still stands. Settling on my new bed, I review the notes Cora has sent me about classes and make a study plan. An hour later, hopelessly swamped with notes, I decide to take a walk.
The day outside is bright and cheery, the sun warm against my skin. The air seems to smell sweeter than usual and I take it all as a good omen. Cora is safe. The locked thread has been broken, according to Vogel at least. I’m where I’m supposed to be.
Despite these cheery thoughts, I can’t help but feel like I’ve misplaced something dear to me. Distracted by this unexpected feeling and the occasional fragmented memories of what happened with Vogel, my mind wanders, and suddenly I realise I’m no longer outside. In fact, not only am I inside, but I’m standing outside Blake’s room.
Shaken that I hadn’t even noticed where I was going, I glance over my shoulder to confirm I’m alone in the corridor and debate whether I should knock on his door.
Pretend I’m checking on him.
Pretend I’m testing whether the lock is still in place.
Pretend that I don’t suddenly feel like something intimate has been ripped from me, leaving behind a vacuum of emptiness. Unable to help myself, I touch his door then give a start when I realise it’s already open a crack.
‘Blake?’ I push the door open further and step into his room. Clothes are strewn all over the floor and his bed is a shambles of creased sheets.
‘I heard you were finally out and about.’
Turning, I see Olivia leaning against the doorframe behind me. Her hair is slicked into a smooth ponytail, her skirt shorter than I would ever dare. I try not to think of the expensive dress she’d bribed me with, now crumpled at the bottom of my rookie bag with the stain I couldn’t get out no matter what.
‘Blake is out on assignment,’ she says. ‘But don’t worry, he’ll be back soon enough.’
My eyes narrow on her. ‘Are you following me?’
Olivia smirks, but she doesn’t answer my question. ‘Guess this clears the way for you to make your big move on Aaron.’
‘I’m not planning on making moves on anyone,’ I tell her stiffly.
‘Don’t try to kid me. You and Aaron are the same. You’d do anything for that chance at power. After all, I bought your loyalty for a stupid dress.’ She bares her teeth. ‘You were easy prey, Josie Ryder.’
‘Shut up.’ I’m furious, my anger fuelled by the fear that Blake hurts inside as much as I do. I push past her and hurry down the corridor, wanting to put as much distance between us as possible.
Olivia doesn’t make a
ny effort to follow me. ‘Don’t forget. You owe me, and I’ll be collecting very soon.’
I don’t respond. Technically, she’s right. But I don’t like her insinuation of blackmail, and I’m pretty sure that when she approaches me next, I’ll be telling her where to shove it. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
CHAPTER 28
Instead of my usual session with Vogel the next day, I sit down with Aaron, while Wendell and Eckhart monitor us from inside a viewing station. My talents are exactly how I remember them, strong and sure, the lethargic sensation gone. But there’s something else that wasn’t there before: a hollow and empty sensation that gnaws inside my chest, as if I’m starving. Of course, I keep this to myself, knowing it to be a legacy of the break. Time, I tell myself. Time will heal the hunger.
I’m initially hesitant to unleash my talents and thread with Aaron, worried about locking with him, and it takes me a long time to relax enough for the thread to take hold successfully. Our first entry into a computer system is a jarring experience. Used to the organic flutter of human memories, the gleaming cyber network that reaches my inner eye takes some getting used to. The landscape is all gleaming grids and streaming rivers of data, with blinking beacons sitting atop sleek silver towers. I call them bobbly-thingies and Aaron later informs me they’re data centres.
‘Every technopath interprets information differently,’ Aaron tells me later over coffee. ‘It depends on a variety of things. Your background, your beliefs, your perception of reality. A threader would be the same, I suppose.’
When I confess I have a thing for old-school science fiction stories, he just shrugs, then begins to talk about our next project. Not that I’m bothered by his distinct lack of interest in my interests but I’d hoped for some connection with this person I’m supposed to be teaming with. I quickly swallow the disappointment.
After a successful week of Aaron tinkering around inside a cyber system while I watch bobbly-thingies blink at me, Wendell takes us to one of the sub-levels and the elevator opens to a sterile corridor lined with heavy steel doors. As Wendell stops at one door and begins punching in a long code, Aaron explains to me that we’re at one of the D-Levels, a graveyard for old projects.
The room inside is large and one wall is lined with machines and monitors. In the centre of the room, a giant ball of interlocking metal components sits connected to power cables looping from the ceiling.
‘This is a self-reconfiguring robot called a Skymmer,’ Wendell explains. ‘It’s a project that was funded two years ago by Galloway Industries. It’s also a very expensive failure.’ She walks over and raps a knuckle against the metal, making a dull thunk. ‘There were hopes these could be used on terraforming projects, but no one has been able to solve the commissioning issues. Allow me to demonstrate.’
Wendell walks to a wall monitor and begins entering commands. The machine gives a whirr of life before pieces of metal slide back, the ball unravelling to reveal a hunch-backed android. Wendell types in another command and the machine takes a hesitant step forward. Something sparks behind its right leg and the whirring noise is joined by a ticking noise, sounding like a broken fan. The android tries to take one more step, but falters and topples over with a heavy clunk.
Wendell sighs. ‘The biggest problem is its own AI has an aggressive anti-viral program that has blocked all attempts at a satisfactory diagnostic assessment. Therefore, no one has been able to fix the issue.’
Aaron touches my lower back. ‘What do you think? Shall we take a look at the central system?’
‘Suuure,’ I say, but I’m not convinced. I felt brave entering computer systems with Aaron. But entering an android feels like a massive step up. One I’m not sure I’m ready for. After all, who knows what kind of firewalls are in that thing? Or how aggressive its artificial intelligence really is? If we come up against resistance, I’m going to have to be the muscle to protect Aaron, and I’m really not sure how that’s going to work.
Sensing my hesitation, Aaron squeezes my hand. ‘Remember, everything you see inside is your own personal representation. You’ll instinctively know what a threat is.’
I suck in a big breath and nod that I’m ready. It’s now or never. Aaron and I thread and our combined consciousness enters the machine through a central point at the base of its spine. The interior of the android is a dark place, with pulsing grids cross-stitching everywhere.
Aaron leads the way as we hurry along a path towards the tallest bobbly-thingy that has six blinking beacons running down its side. As we travel, I notice our streams of consciousness have transformed into replicas of ourselves, and I wonder if that’s something I’ve intentionally done.
‘Josie.’
Aaron’s shout is a warning. When I look around to see what’s alarming him, I spy something that resembles a mechanical centipede crawling along the thread behind us. I’ve got enough time to register its multiple spiked legs moving in a wave as it bears down on us, clicking and whirring.
Without putting much thought into what I’m doing, I leap up as it reaches us, then come down hard and smash through the centre of its body. The bug makes a gurgling sound and instantly curls up, some of its legs falling off. And though in real life I’d be on a chair by now, screaming my head off, that’s not an option here. Reaching out and mustering all the strength I have, I grab its head and force it to uncoil, then begin tearing off more of its legs. The machine squeals and thrashes about, but I don’t stop until it falls silent.
When I look up, I see Aaron’s in front of the central data centre, his attention fixed on the code that streams around it. Kicking a twitching centipede leg from my path, I go to join him and wait patiently, quietly elated at my success with stopping the bug.
After our session is finished, Wendell makes a lot of fussing noises when I mention the bug. But Aaron shoos her off.
‘She’s a big girl, she had everything under control with that anti-viral attack,’ he tells her. Wendell shrugs and then tells us we can go, while she begins to run a diagnostic program on the android.
As we leave, I try not to be sore about the distinct lack of thank yous. The more I get to know Aaron, the more I see a focused narcissist who’ll do anything for success. The moment my talent doesn’t perform, I know he’ll toss me. Which is fine, because after my bug smashing exercise, I know I’m back in a big way.
That night, I join Darsh and Cora for pizza off campus. I don’t talk about my threading adventures with Aaron, just murmur that things are going well and change the subject. I certainly don’t mention the hollow feeling inside me and the overwhelming urge to find Blake. Just to see him. Just to talk.
Cadets from Helios sit around the restaurant, chatting over food and sodas, and it’s a comforting atmosphere. The conversation dances lightly around our schedules and study, pausing when our food arrives. The pizza is delicious, but after a few bites, the food curdles in my stomach. I order some water, lost in thought.
‘Josie?’
I realise Darsh is talking to me, his mouth full of pizza, and I shake my head. ‘Sorry, what?’
Darsh swallows and repeats his question. ‘I asked how you were feeling?’
‘I’m good.’ I stare down at the remaining bit of pizza on my plate. Golden cheese oozes over its side, and I swallow back a wave of nausea.
‘You don’t look it.’ Darsh shrugs, picking up another slice and putting it on his plate. ‘In fact, I would go as far to say you look like hell.’
‘Don’t say that,’ Cora snaps at him. She gives me a wide smile. ‘You look brilliant. Mostly. Nothing a lick of lipstick can’t fix.’
Darsh wipes his mouth with a napkin. ‘Want to study tonight?’
I groan. ‘Maybe. My brain is all mush. I’m never going to be able to catch up.’
Darsh taps his head. ‘Why don’t you TP me and see how I store my information for recall? It might give you ideas on how to organise your own thoughts and memories.’
‘I’m pretty sure t
hat’s against Helios rules,’ I remind him.
‘But he’s given you permission,’ Cora says.
‘And I know you’re coming, so it’s cool,’ Darsh says. ‘My mental shields are pretty strong, you know.’
‘Okay,’ I say, somewhat reluctant. But, intrigued by his comment about organising his thoughts, I let my TP slip out. My mind sparks bright as my talent whirls around Darsh once before slipping inside his mind. Beyond the flittering images of memory, I see that Darsh’s thoughts are mostly set in organised chambers and categories that are easily identified. I spy information that I know will help me later, and take mental notes on how I might construct something similar with my own memory. After all, if I can construct a puzzle-chest with my mind, I can do a filing cabinet. Or at least, something like it.
‘Are you doing it?’ Darsh sips his cola and closes his eyes, as if he would be able to see me there, tiptoeing around. ‘I’ve always been able to feel a TP in my head in the past.’
Once I’ve seen the architecture of Darsh’s mind and have stashed aside some good tips, I begin to withdraw, but then a flickering catches my attention. Taking a quick look, I see they’re snippets of memories, caught in time. Darsh as a boy with an ice cream. His parents laughing. Past these easy-to-reach memories, I sense something hidden. Something he doesn’t want me to see. Pushing past the images, I spy a small shoe box tucked deep.
Darsh opens his eyes. ‘You’re done, right?’
I register the sudden nervousness in his voice, but my TP won’t be swayed from its course. Prying up the corner of the lid, I spy an image of Cora laughing over something Darsh has said.
I withdraw quick, feeling dirty I’ve even looked and my face flushes at my intrusion.
‘What?’ Darsh looks worried. ‘What did you see?’
I busy myself with sipping my water. ‘Just like you said. Ideas on how to organise my thoughts. I’ll give it a go, thanks.’
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