“Most likely she’d have Malik kill me,” Argent says. Divan doesn’t disagree.
Divan opens the vial and sniffs it, thinks for a moment, then replaces the stopper and hands the vial back to Argent. “Do it,” Divan says.
“You . . . you want me to poison you?”
“Certainly not. But I have no qualms about you putting it in someone else’s espresso. Whoever you like. I trust your judgment.”
The idea that Divan trusts him with anything—especially something as serious as this—is a surprise to Argent.
“You’re asking me to be your assassin.”
“The Eastern world calls such assassins ninjas. Many of them serve as personal aids to their masters. Is this a position you can rise to, Argent?”
It’s the first time he can remember Divan calling him Argent instead of Skinner.
“Yes I can,” says Argent. “And you don’t need to give me a million bucks, either.”
“Perhaps I will,” Divan tells him. Then adds. “In time . . . in time.”
6 • Malik
Malik has to admit the plane is as amazing as he thought it would be, and his own prospects are even more thrilling. His brother, the philosopher, wants no part of the family business. That leaves Malik first in line to inherit it all. His mother knows Malik is the strongest link in the family chain, which is why she’s brokered this deal with the Dah Zey.
If we play our cards right, you’ll be running the Dah Zey one day, she told him. Merging with them isn’t a matter of surrendering, it’s infiltrating, and these Burmese fools are too stupid to see it!
In the meantime, however, he’ll settle for the Lady Lucrezia and its airborne harvest camp. But when he’s in charge, things will be different. For one thing he’ll have a proper staff—and his first order of business will be to jettison the half-faced freak right out the Sayonara Hatch into oblivion.
Such are Malik’s musings when his uncle pays him a visit.
“Skinner tells me you have an interest in seeing UNIS in action,” Uncle Divan tells him.
Malik is cautious. “He told you that?”
“Yes—he doesn’t have access, so he asked if I could do it. I’d be happy to.”
Malik sits up, unable to hide his excitement. “Thanks, Uncle Divan.”
“Don’t mention it. But before we go into the harvest drum, you’ll need to put these on.”
He tosses Malik a one-piece garment that looks like long underwear, only heavier. As Malik examines it, he sees that it’s made of metal. A very finely woven chain mail.
“What for?”
“For your own protection, of course.”
Malik quickly dons the metallic one-piece and follows his uncle to the front of the jet, where the automated harvesting unit awaits.
“Can I watch an unwinding?”
“Of course,” says his uncle cheerily. “I think you’ll find it an eye-opening experience.”
7 • Divan
The Lady Lucrezia lands in Kamchatka at dawn. Several hundred stasis containers are unloaded—the result of twelve unwindings that took place in flight. There’s only one small container that was not put up for auction. This box Divan takes to his personal quarters for safekeeping.
Although new AWOLs have been brought to the Lady Lucrezia from his Russian holding facility—enough to fill all the empty beds in the harvest drum—Divan takes none of them on board.
“Next time,” he tells his confused supply crew. “Pay the parts pirates what we owe them, and next time I’ll take them on board.”
As for Sonthi, Divan does not put him off the plane. He tells his sister that he’s had a change of heart and wants more time to consider their proposal. The Lady Lucrezia is refueled and airborne again in half an hour.
But shortly after reaching cruising altitude, Divan notices several things that could only be called red flags. His chef will not look him in the eye; Bula is mysteriously missing; and the portside windows bring in a spectacular sunrise—which means they’re heading on a southerly course instead of due west, as is Divan’s traditional flight plan. He doesn’t need a compass to know that they’re heading for Burma and that the pilots are now working for the Dah Zey.
All these things he keeps to himself at breakfast, playing his own hand very close to the vest. Even Skinner has a poker face this morning, although he does give Divan a surreptitious nod to indicate that they are in league.
Malik is late for breakfast. No one is concerned.
“You should send Skinner to get him,” Dagmara tells Divan. “Eggs Benedict is his favorite.”
“I’m sure he’ll be along shortly,” Divan assures her. It’s as Skinner brings the morning espresso that Divan turns to Sonthi. “Now, let us discuss the terms of your proposal.”
Both Dagmara and Sonthi watch with interest as Divan takes his time squeezing his lemon rind around the edge of his espresso cup.
“The terms,” Sonthi says, “have already been negotiated. There is nothing left but for you to accept them.”
Sonthi takes a sip of his espresso. Dagmara takes a sip of hers.
“In that case, there’s nothing more to discuss, is there?” Divan says, and brings his own espresso to his lips.
8 • Argent
He pours juice. He takes away plates. He watches and listens, all the while his heart pounding so painfully in his chest, he fears it may explode. Did he confuse the cups? He doesn’t trust his own memory. What a time to be uncertain.
Divan has taken a sip. All three have. How strong is the poison? How much of it must be ingested, and how long does it take to work? What sort of ninja is this clueless about his own methods?
He doesn’t need to wait long for an answer. Sonthi begins to gag and froth at the mouth and falls face forward. His head smacks the table with a thud. His eyes remain open. He’s dead.
Dagmara gasps, then throws an accusing glare at Argent. “You imbecile! What have you done!”
“Precisely what I expected he would do,” Divan says. “Well played, Skinner.”
“Do you have any idea what the Dah Zey will do when they find out he’s dead?”
“That,” says Divan, “is no longer your concern.” Then he pulls out a gun and fires.
It’s a tranq. It hits Dagmara squarely in the chest. She mumbles something in Chechen—most likely a curse—and her head rolls back instead of forward.
“I searched everywhere for Bula,” Argent tells Divan once Dagmara is unconscious. “He’s not on board anymore. They must have killed him when we landed.”
“Or sent him out the Sayonara Hatch.” Divan shakes his head. “Pool Bula, he deserved better.”
“What do you want me to do now?” Argent asks.
Divan smiles. “You would do anything I asked, wouldn’t you, Argent? Such loyalty is a rare commodity in this world.”
Would he do anything for Divan? Argent wonders. This man who cut off the good half of his face and gave it to Nelson—then turned him into an indentured servant in order to earn back the right to have a face again? Argent finds that his answer is yes. He would do anything Divan wished of him. Argent wonders if that makes him broken, or noble.
Divan leans back, as if he has no care in the world. “Go tell the chef that we’ll all be having lamb for lunch. That will keep him busy for a while. And while you’re at it, please bring me another espresso.”
9 • Dagmara
She awakens to find herself staring at a sea of soulless faces. For a moment she thinks it’s a dream, until she realizes where she is. She is sitting before the Orgão Orgânico. Her head is still a bit hazy, but she remembers what happened.
To the left a single male face has its mouth open, intoning a deep bass aaaaaaaaaah. She sees a single finger depressing the lowest B-flat key and follows that finger to her brother, who sits beside her.
“Stop that,” she says wearily, because the sound resonates in her aching head.
“I’m afraid that would be a mistake,” Divan says, t
hen removes his finger. Immediately Dagmara can feel the plane begin to lose altitude.
Divan puts his finger on the key once more. The voice sings again. The plane stops dropping. “You see? When I installed the organ, I made sure it was wired into the autopilot circuit, on the chance that this day might come. A mere flick of a switch has sent the control here. Now as long as the Orgão Orgânico is being played, the autopilot is engaged.”
“Autopilot . . . ,” mumbles Dagmara, still struggling to get her wits back as the tranq wears off.”
“Yes. I’m afraid I had to kill both the pilot and his copilot. They proved themselves to be traitors. The chef as well. Pity. I doubt I’ll ever find one with such talent.”
Dagmara groans. What a mess things have become. Leave it to her brother to spite everyone, including himself. And then something occurs to her that brings on a wave of nausea.
“Malik . . . Where’s Malik? Where’s my son?”
“No longer on board. Mostly. He was put off in Kamchatka.”
“You left him alone?”
“No, of course not. He’s in the company of your distribution network. You’ll be pleased to know that his parts fetched us more than three hundred thousand dollars.”
Dagmara gapes at him. He’s joking. He must be. He wouldn’t unwind his own nephew. What sort of monster would do such a thing?
“While I would love to continue this chat, Dagmara, I’m afraid we’re out of time,” Divan says. “We’ve just crossed into Chinese airspace at an altitude of about 2,300 meters. We’re no longer headed toward Burma, but west. Of course, at this low an altitude it will be a bumpy ride once you reach the Chinese mountain ranges, but not to worry—the autopilot will steer you clear of the higher peaks.”
Dagmara struggles to grasp the things that Divan is telling her. Chinese mountains. 2,300 meters, Autopilot. And Malik. None of it seems real to her. It’s all a hallucination brought on by the tranqs. Please let it be so. Please let it be so.
“I’ll be leaving you now, dear sister. “Saying ‘sayonara,’ as it were. You see, there are two parachutes on board. One for me and one for my valet.”
“Wait—you’re just going to leave me here?”
“I leave you with my prize possession: the Orgão Orgânico. As long as you keep playing, the plane will fly true. At least until it runs out of gas, but her tanks are massive. You’ve got at least twenty hours left, maybe more.”
Then Divan removes his finger from the key. The face stops wailing, closes its mouth, and the plane begins to drop.
“Better play, Dagmara.”
In a panic Dagmara looks at the keyboard and quickly launches into her go-to piece as she had when she first arrived—Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D-minor.” The chorus of disembodied voices fills the space.
“Very good!” says Divan, as he strides away “Keep playing, Dagmara. Keep playing!”
“Divan!” she calls. “DIVAN!” But he’s gone.
And so she plays for her life, buying herself the seconds and the minutes and the hours until there is nothing but soulless voices and fumes.
10 • Argent
Being ejected out of the Sayonara Hatch is like being launched from a cannon into an ice-cold sky. He tumbles in an uncontrolled plummet. He has no experience or skill at skydiving. He’s just happy he remembers to pull the rip cord to open the chute. At last Argent lands shivering in a patch of snow on a hillside and tumbles to a stop. Divan arrives a few moments later, twenty yards away, perfectly controlled and landing on his feet. He disconnects from his parachute and comes over to help Argent release himself from his.
“Well, that was exhilarating,” Divan says.
“Yeah right,” says Argent, a little too riled to be respectful. “Almost dying is always fun.”
Divan chuckles.
“So what now?” Argent asks.
“I have friends in China, and I’ve already alerted them. They’ll zero in on our beacon. We won’t have to wait here for long.”
Argent suspects Divan has friends everywhere. Except for maybe Southeast Asia. Then Divan pulls something out of his backpack—the only object he salvaged from the plane—and hands it to Argent. It’s a biological stasis cooler about the size of a lunch box.
“What’s . . . inside?” Argent asks.
Divan sighs. “The only part of Malik I didn’t sell. His best part, actually.”
Argent doesn’t dare open it. He knows what it is. “And it’s . . . for me?” Argent asks, scarcely willing to believe it.
“It’s an elegant solution, don’t you think?” Divan says. “It fulfills my promise to you, and allows me to see my nephew’s handsome face once more, without having to suffer the rest of him.”
Argent holds the box closely. He feels awful, he feels grateful, he feels damned, and he feels blessed. How could something generate so many conflicting emotions? He decides to go with the positive ones, because the negative ones will surely drive him mad. “Thank you,” he says.
“I do believe Malik is better off living divided,” Divan says. “It’s certainly better than the life path he was on.”
He tells Argent that he’ll arrange a private procedure to graft his new face once they arrive in Beijing.
“And then you’re free, Argent. I will have you taken to wherever you want to go.”
Argent looks at Divan, holding eye contact—something he never before had the courage to do. “What if I don’t want to go? What if I want to keep working for you?”
“Well then, I’ll pay you a wage worthy of your loyalty.” Divan looks up at Lady Lucrezia’s vapor trail, slowly being torn apart by crosswinds. “When the plane finally does goes down, we’ll all be taken for dead. I intend to take advantage of that. Leave my business. Retire under an assumed name. Of course, I’ll always need a valet.”
They sit down and wait for the arrival of Divan’s “friends,” who will most likely come by helicopter. And as Argent ponders the electrifying prospect of his new future, a question comes to mind.
“Where will we go?” he asks. “Where do you want to retire?”
“Well,” says Divan, “faking one’s death does require a level of continued anonymity.” He feigns to consider the question, but clearly he’s thought about it before. “Did you know that with all that I possess, I’ve never owned a yacht? It has been a long-standing dream of mine to own one, and sail the Mediterranean—sticking only to the smaller, less traveled ports, of course.”
“Sounds like a plan,” says Argent, already settling in to the idea.
After all, what are the chances of running into someone they know?
NEAL SHUSTERMAN, New York Times bestselling author, has written more than thirty award-winning books for children, teens, and adults, including the Unwind Dystology (Unwind, UnWholly, UnSouled, and UnDivided), the Skinjacker Trilogy (Everlost, Everwild, and Everfound), Full Tilt, Bruiser, and The Schwa Was Here, which won the Boston Globe–Horn Book Award for fiction. Several of his books are now in development as feature films. Neal lives in Southern California when he’s not traveling the globe, and can be found online at storyman.com.
Simon & Schuster • New York
Visit us at simonandschuster.com/teen
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Also by Neal Shusterman
NOVELS
Bruiser
Challenger Deep
Chasing Forgiveness
The Dark Side of Nowhere
Dissidents
Downsiders
The Eyes of Kid Midas
Full Tilt
The Shadow Club
The Shadow Club Rising
Speeding Bullet
THE ACCELERATI TRILOGY
(with Eric Elfman)
Tesla’s Attic
Edison’s Alley
Hawking’s Hallway
THE ANTSY BONANO SERIES
The Schwa Was Here
Antsy Does Time
Ship Out of Luck
THE UNWIND DYSTOLOGY
Unwind
UnWholly
UnSouled
UnDivided
UnStrung (an original novella)
THE SKINJACKER TRILOGY
Everlost
Everwild
Everfound
THE STAR SHARDS CHRONICLES
Scorpion Shards
Thief of Souls
Shattered Sky
THE DARK FUSION SERIES
Dreadlocks
Red Rider’s Hood
Duckling Ugly
STORY COLLECTIONS
Darkness Creeping
Kid Heroes
MindQuakes
MindStorms
MindTwisters
MindBenders
Visit the author at storyman.com and facebook.com/nealshusterman
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Unstrung copyright © 2012 by Neal Shusterman
New stories copyright © 2015 by Neal Shusterman
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