The Second Rebel, page 19
Isn’t he my supervisor? No. No, he can’t be. His oddly empty office. The fact that I never saw his artwork despite his being part of the art department. His muscular frame and callused hands.
He’s my manager—a man hired to manage me. He’s… he’s something else. A spy. And with a partner helping him—are they a duelist pair? From what I know of Hiro’s in-depth subterfuge training as a Dagger, posing as a middle manager might’ve been easy for Mathieu.
But why hasn’t he rushed up to me and arrested me? I have no doubt he could outrun me—I’m in heels, by the thousand gods.
You’re only a piece of the puzzle, I realize. He wants to follow you to the big picture.
No one would believe that I could program the naildrive to break into Val Akira Labs’ servers, so he wants to follow me back to whoever wrote the thing. I am just a bread crumb on a trail to Castor’s operation.
The anxiety disappears as anger overwhelms it, filling up my chest and burning in my face. I can still imagine Mathieu’s smug look every time he talked down to me. Even now he’s not taking me seriously.
Fuck that.
I swipe into my chat program and ignore the bulk of Castor’s messages. My coworker and his partner want to meet up later, I type as quickly as I can. They’re thinking dinner at our place.
Castor’s reply comes half a second later. Why don’t you take them out? Just as I thought. I need to lose them and get to the address of the safe house he gave me.
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. He can see that I’ve read the message, and that will be enough. I drop the compad he gave me on the ground and dig the sharp heel of my shoe into it as I walk over it, crushing it to pieces.
As for my personal compad, I slip into a particularly thick patch of crowd, rudely bumping into strangers and ignoring dirty looks shot in my direction, and let it slip from my hand into an open bag. If anyone tries to track it, they’ll find it leads them to a woman with a haughty face wearing a dress more expensive than the flat I grew up in.
I risk a glance back and see that Mathieu’s still following. Without my compad’s camera, I’ll have to be more careful when checking from now on. My heart beating in my throat, I cut in a different direction from the flow of traffic into a nearby mall. I join the midmorning shoppers as they pass through the flexglass doors, ignoring the attendant who offers to help me find what I’m looking for. I walk by a big silver kiosk for pet cloning services and check my tail in the reflective surface. Mathieu’s still there, but has fallen farther behind.
My fear and anger give way to determination. I can do this. I can do this. In typical CCAD tradition, Isa and I used to do a lot of our research here. Even before the Keres Art Collective, we would come to the top floor café for afternoon tea and plan how to reach one place or another and what we’d paint once we got there. How well does Mathieu know this mall—know this city? We used to run through the alleys at night and climb to the heights and spray our art on the crystal sides of buildings, high enough for everyone to see. Does he know those hidden places?
At the door to a store called Persephone’s, I flash a smile at the attendant and head directly for the back. Slipping the naildrive out of my pocket, I strip off my uniform coat and toss it on a rack of clothing examples. I step out of my heels and kick them beneath another rack. From my bag, I retrieve my favorite pair of boots, the only thing worth salvaging, and drop the purse—ID and all—near the counter.
“Can I help you?” a different attendant asks, but I ignore her. “Hey—”
Mathieu’s entering the store, the attendant greeting him in her chipper way, when I pass through a swinging door to the back room. On the other side, I drop my boots, slip my feet into them, and hit a button on the side to engage the auto-laces. They tighten comfortably around my ankles. Now adequately shod, I stomp farther into the stocking area.
All clothing stores are basically the same—find something you like on the example racks, an attendant will take your measurements, and the drones in the back produce the item to fit you perfectly. Back here it’s business as usual, machines humming along, bladed hands cutting fabric into patterns, needles rhythmically sewing seams, and drones zipping by overhead to manage progress. At the end of one line, a rack of finished garments waits as if set aside just for me.
“Excuse me, you can’t be back here!” an attendant with green hair shouts as I approach the rack. I hadn’t seen her until she spoke, but she’s got an armful of clothing, so she won’t be able to grab me. Besides, I know they’re not paid enough to deal with thieves.
I don’t try to make any excuses, I simply grab an ugly jacket—so dark green it’s almost black—and throw it on. “Hey!” she shouts. I pull the hood up over my hair just as Mathieu bursts into the back room.
“Lucinia, stop!” Mathieu shouts, but I’m already sprinting for the shop exit at the back that leads to the stairs. He dodges the attendant, who drops the custom clothes she was holding with a shriek, and follows me down a row of sewing lines.
At the end of the line, I slide between the legs of the table, coming up on the other side and jumping for the door. I fling it open as Mathieu launches himself over one of the sewing tables, clearing it as if it were easy. Shit! Of course he would if he’s a duelist.
In the stairwell, I slam the door closed between us and take the stairs two at a time. Each floor has branching hallways that lead to the backs of other shops, and four floors up from where I started, I head down a cold corridor. I can do this, I keep chanting to myself. I am not the useless girl they think I am. I hear Mathieu’s dress shoes clicking behind me, and I pick a shop at random and dart in.
This one isn’t a clothing store. The back room is full of racks, filled with various electronic items from floor to ceiling. The drones at work pull the items that someone out front orders and deliver them. I almost lose myself in the maze, then spot a drone and follow it out.
“The fuck—” an attendant says as I appear from the back door.
I check the feed on my com-lenses for her basic identity. “Surprise safety inspection, Andrea,” I bark at her, and she straightens up so fast I have to fight a laugh.
But that rising feeling of joy is smothered in my throat as I spot Mathieu’s partner entering from the front. His eyes snap past milling shoppers and directly to me. Without faltering, I turn around and head back into the warehouse.
I have no idea if Mathieu followed me into this shop, but to be cautious, I choose a different row from the one I previously used. Unsurprisingly, the big guy—who I’m thinking of as the Rapier of the two—bursts into the back room.
“Lucinia!” he screams, and I stumble, catching myself on a rack of puppy drones.
I’m tall, but he’s huge. In a fight, there’s no way I could win. That childhood instinct of mine rises up at the sound of yelling—make yourself small and quiet—and I actually think… that’s not such a bad idea.
I crouch where I am, taking shelter behind the boxes, and peer through the racks. I spot him as he slows from a run to a methodical walk. He moves silently, head whipping around, a predator hunting. He thinks I’m the prey.
“We can help you, Lucinia,” he says. “I’m Parson, and I can be either your friend or your enemy.”
“We don’t want to be your enemy, Lucinia,” another voice calls—Mathieu’s. He’s in here too.
Shit, shit, shit… How am I supposed to outrun two of them?
“We know all about the people who contacted you,” Mathieu goes on. He’s farther away than his partner, from the sound of it.
“We just want to hear your side of the story,” Parson says, louder than before. Closer to where I’m hidden. “Did they threaten you? Did they force you to work with them? You can tell us.”
My anger rears its ugly head again, digging claws into my stomach. Do they really think I’m stupid enough to fall for their ruse of kindness?
Parson starts down the row next to where I’m hidden. I see his boots stepping lightly, coming closer and closer…
“I know you, Lucinia,” Mathieu says. “I care about you.” Bullshit. If he wanted me to believe that, he should’ve been kinder to me at Val Akira Geneassists, instead of acting the part of the pompous asshole to perfection.
“You can trust us,” Parson says, directly on the other side of the rack from me.
I stand up, brace both hands against the rack, and push. Parson meets my eyes through the boxes at the exact moment he realizes what I’m doing, and he releases a shout as the rack and all the boxes of robotic animals come crashing down on him.
“Parson!” Mathieu shouts. I hear his footsteps as he rushes to his partner, and I duck low and run for the next stack.
“She was here!” Parson shouts, and I hear scuffling behind me—Parson extricating himself? Mathieu stopping to help? I don’t look, just move as quietly and as quickly as I can toward the stairwell.
“Go after her!” Parson screams, the last thing I hear before I’m through the back door.
I break into a run in the hallway. My legs ache, but I ignore them. Aching is good. Aching means I’m still alive.
When I hit the stairs, I go up. I know the roof of this place like the back of my hand, know how to move from one building to another. This was one of the best places for CCAD students to spray without being immediately caught. I can lose them up there. Hopefully.
I come to the roof and don’t stop to think. The mall is built flush against an entertainment complex, and I run across the flat rooftop to the two-meter climb, jump, seize the edge, and begin to pull myself up.
“Lucinia!”
I don’t stop, even if his voice is a needle prick on the back of my neck. I pull myself onto the entertainment complex and roll back to my feet. Mathieu sprints for me across the mall roof, looking no less impeccable than he did at Val Akira Geneassists, his blue jacket still pristine.
I run for the greenhouse on top of the entertainment complex, darting through open glass doors and into a world of plants. The smell of wet soil would otherwise be pleasant, but I can only think about the man behind me. The duelist on my tail.
An operator looks up from the vegetables he’s watering, his face going pale when I don’t slow my pace. At the last moment, I spin around him and hop over the row of tomatoes. A bit farther on, I make a sharp right at long stalks of corn and head for a side exit. I don’t look back, don’t allow myself to, knowing even the slightest hesitation will mean Mathieu catches me.
Outside the greenhouse, I head for a row of wooden stairs built by graffiti artists to reach a cluster of governmental buildings below. I don’t bother taking them individually but jump from landing to landing. My breath comes heavy and my heart beats so fast I can feel it in my fingertips. When Mathieu appears at the top of the stairs, he pauses as if he’s feeling the effects of the chase too.
I’m coming up on the place where I’ll lose him.
I cross the roof, painted with various graffiti—a well-known council speaker wearing a dunce’s hat, a gray-skinned and big-eyed alien figure with a giant phallus, text that used to say KILL ALL COCKROACHES and now says KISS ALL COCKROACHES, along with the tags of various artists trying to make a name for themselves. None of mine have survived up here, except maybe the little two-tailed cat that Hiro inspired, but I don’t have time to check. I come to the ladder that leads to the tallest government building and climb it, hand over hand.
“Lucinia…” Mathieu, behind me. I don’t listen. Don’t stop. Almost there…
The dome looms above me, programmed clouds passing by in a way that looks natural only if you’re not looking closely. I reach the top as a wash of pixelated colors hits me. The only place left for me to go is to the next building, and the only way to get there is to jump.
A jump I can make and Mathieu, wearing dress shoes, can’t.
Though… will I make it? My ankle is still sore and my lungs burn as I pause halfway across the roof. If I jump now, tired as I am, will I plummet to my death on the streets below?
Mathieu comes up the ladder behind me. “Lucinia, stop!” But he’s tired too. I can hear it.
Digging the toes of my favorite boots into the ground, I push myself into a run. Everything disappears other than the physical—the colors of the dome, Castor’s expectations, Mathieu chasing me—there is only this moment, my arms pumping at my sides, my legs straining beneath me, my face burning—
I plant my left foot and jump—
I fly over the street below, embraced only by tranquility. I am breathless. I am weightless. Around me the graffiti by hundreds of artists blurs into a rainbow collage. Images give way to shades interspersed by shadows, and for a moment, the city herself, lifting me on wings of pride, whispers, This is where you’re meant to be. After years of searching, disrespect swallowed with a smile, I have found my place and I can do this gives way to I am doing this.
This—a girl who uses her talents to help others, who risks herself because she can—is who I’m meant to be.
I land on the opposite roof, stumble a few steps, and fall to my hands and knees. I suck in desperately needed air, sweat pouring down my face, and look back just in time to see Mathieu running to make the jump after me.
“No!”
The word comes to me unbidden. I see what he fails to. He reaches the edge of the building and plants his foot, but his dress shoes aren’t made for anything other than looking good, and he slips the slightest bit as he launches himself at the gap.
I swallow a scream as he flies. He stretches his arms forward, reaching, desperate—but somehow he makes it. Somehow he lands on the edge of my roof.
Then one of his shoes loses purchase. His arms pinwheel as he tries to correct his balance, and I force myself to my feet, not sure whether to run toward him or away.
The hesitation can’t last more than a second, but it feels like a lifetime, and his eyes widen in fear as he realizes what’s happening, as both feet leave the roof and he slips away.
I reach for him. But he’s too far away, and my fingers grab at nothing.
He falls, and his face twists, all his accusation and anger melting into a resolved sorrow.
Down he tumbles—down, down, down—
Until he hits the ground below with a sickening crunch.
Screams and sobs reach me from the sidewalk. People run toward the incident, as if there’s anything they can do to help.
But there’s nothing to be done. Mathieu’s dead.
* * *
IT’S NIGHT BY the time I reach the safe house, the dome’s simulated sky a backdrop of deep blue full of fiery white stars. It’s all a lie. The stars don’t look like that from Venus’s surface.
It took me longer than I thought it would to return to the bottommost level of Cytherea and the Arber neighborhood. After the accident with Mathieu—the memory of the splatter of him on the street turns my stomach—I headed for one of the middle levels and burned some time in a theater.
Now, standing in front of the safe house, I ping the apartment number and wait. Castor’s face appears on the door screen a moment later, and I look up at the camera so he can see beneath the hood of my dark jacket. The door clicks, unlocking as he grants me entrance.
I enter the building and start up the stairs, but halfway there, I come face-to-face with Castor on his way down.
“Lucinia—” He cuts off.
It’s only now that it all settles into my bones, the adrenaline drop making me more exhausted than before. I could sit down and fall asleep right here, right now.
“I got it,” I say, reaching into my pocket to retrieve the naildrive. Castor’s long legs eat up the space between us until he’s only one stair above me, and then his arms are around my shoulders, and he’s slouching in order to hold me to his chest.
“Castor…” His name slips out of my mouth, a whisper into his jacket. He is warm and steady, and I didn’t realize how badly I needed to be held, after everything that happened today, until now. My body goes soft against his, and I lean into him, allowing him to hold us both up.
“I thought…” He doesn’t finish.
“I’m okay.”
I’m sure that waver in his voice is because he thought that I’d lost the naildrive. Or maybe that I’d been captured, even killed because of my involvement with him. He releases a heavy sigh. Is it relief that he doesn’t have to shoulder the guilt of my death, or could it possibly be something more?
He breaks away from me. I use the last of my strength to stand on my own two feet. “Don’t worry now. I’ll take care of everything, Lucinia.”
“Luce,” I say as he turns away from me, not even asking for the naildrive. “You can call me Luce.”
“Luce,” he repeats, trying the nickname for himself. He starts up the stairs, gesturing for me to follow him. “You’re safe now, Luce.”
I want nothing more than to believe him.
CHAPTER 16 LITO
AN EXCLUSION ZONE IS IMPLEMENTED IMMEDIATELY AS DELIMITED BY THE SENTRIES. ANY HUMAN PRESENCE WITHIN THE EXCLUSION ZONE WILL BE REGARDED AS HOSTILE AND ACCORDINGLY LIABLE TO FORCEFUL NEUTRALIZATION.
From “The Synthetic Ultimatum,” the Synthetics’ final communiqué to humanity
“Lito!” Sorrel’s voice echoes down the hallway, cutting through my much-needed sleep. I’m up and moving to the command center before my brain catches up with me.
“What’s happening?” I ask, rubbing my eyes to clear them. We’d changed our route to more safely travel in gray space; after four days of nothing appearing on our radar, I’d begun to feel hopeful that we’d lost our Icarii tail.
Sorrel leans over the command panel, hands pressed on either side of one screen in particular. “It might be a different patrol that caught wind of us, I don’t know—but whoever it is, they’re burning hard and will be on us soon.”
