Prodigal (63 page)

But not before Lea could catch her.

She dragged Avalon away, while Nathan rushed in beside her. Avalon went cold in Lea’s arms, hardly moving. Only her eyes fluttered—not the dead silver orbs left by the Mons virus, but
human
eyes imbued with all the color of life.

“I see you,” Avalon rasped.

Lea nodded, not knowing what to say.

“I know,” she told her. “You injected yourself with the virus, didn’t you?”

“It was the only way,” Avalon said. “I had to make them believe.”

Lea smiled grimly.

“You sure had me convinced.”

Avalon smiled in return—a death’s mask, something Lea had wanted for so very long. Now that she had it, she wanted nothing more than to look away.

“Lea,” Nathan said. “We have to leave.”

Avalon swallowed hard, struggling to find one last fiber of strength.

“He’s right,” she said. “But there’s something you need to know.”

Avalon drew Lea close, whispering in her ear. She then let go, as understanding dawned across Lea’s face.

“It’s up to you now,” Avalon said. “Do what you know is right.”

“I will,” Lea promised. “I will.”

A tiny shuttle ejected itself from
Almacantar
’s landing bay, its engines leaving a cometary trail as it traversed the darkness. Smaller sections of the towing vessel’s hull broke off in the wake of its departure, plummeting into Earth’s atmosphere ahead of the spaceframe—catching fire amid the ionized gases in a spiral dance.

With Nathan Straka at the helm and Lea Prism next to him, the shuttle came about when it reached a safe distance. The ship moored itself in orbit, a perch from which its two passengers could witness the beautiful and brutal display unfolding before them. Neither said a word as the huge vessel began her final plunge, content to let
Almacantar
speak for herself. As the ship cleaved in two, the fore and aft sections drifted apart and died their separate deaths—much like Nathan’s memory of his life aboard. It was only yesterday, but seemed so long ago, details sinking into the quicksand of his nervous system: a reminder of the forces at work inside of him, every bit as potent as his quaking hands.

Nathan knew he didn’t have long.

But he was grateful for the chance to say good-bye.

The fuel elements in
Almacantar
’s engines then ignited, consuming her like a stellar aftermass. Lea blocked the light with her hands, but Nathan just sat and watched until it hurt. Tears welled up in his eyes, splitting those last moments like a crystal lattice—and when he wiped them away, she was gone. A burning cloud of dust and debris quickly dissipated into vacuum, wiping
Almacantar
away forever.

Nathan felt Lea’s hand upon his own.

“You did good back there,” she said.

Nathan breathed deep, a cold and alien sensation.

“Not good enough.”

“It always seems that way, doesn’t it?”

He turned to her.

“I’d like to go home,” he said, “while I can.”

Lea stared through the window at the only home they could return to. The Western Hemisphere was a blank canvas, points of light suggesting the outline of its former self. So much destruction. So much potential.

“So would I. Whatever happens.”

Central Park was empty, the cry of a hundred sirens echoing along its paths. Lea walked the paths under a leaden sky, the smell of smoke carried on a cold wind—acrid, but with trace elements of a working civilization. Main power had yet to be restored to the city, but pockets had sprung up everywhere. Ancient generators, not fired up for generations, provided a steady drumbeat to the rhythms of the street—now rife with the dialect of black marketeers, freelancers, and every other species creeping in from the Zone. Without the Axis, boundaries had become meaningless in Manhattan. It was the anarchy and chaos the
Inru
had always wanted.

Lea stuffed her hands in her pockets, walking toward the last place she wanted to be. Looming over the trees, she caught her first glimpse of the Chancery—far less majestic than it used to be, but still an oasis of aristocracy in the new world order. One of the few places with functional electricity, the building was like a beacon in a storm.

Lea crossed the street, greeted by several armed guards instead of a doorman. She negotiated passage with her CSS credentials, for as long as she still had them, heading for the elevator under their strict watch. As the doors closed, she punched the button for the twenty-first floor—bracing herself for the long journey sure to follow.

Upstairs, she found the entrance to the corner penthouse wide open. Entering cautiously, Lea glanced around the palatial apartment. Most of the lights were out, a gloom hovering over the expensive period furniture, as gray as the sky outside. Lea noticed several empty bottles of liquor strewn about, amber spills hemorrhaging across mahogany floors and tracing rivers through broken glass. She stepped around the damage, calling into the stillness.

“Bostic? Are you here?”

Lea heard a scuffle from inside his office.

The doors were parted slightly, muffling Bostic’s presence. Lea went in, not bothering to knock. In return, Bostic ignored her—hunched over his desk and leafing through his copy of Sun Tzu.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she said.

Bostic finally looked up at her, red-rimmed eyes betraying a lack of sleep and a full-tilt bender. A bottle of bourbon told the rest of the story, sitting on his desktop next to an empty glass.

“Seemed like a good place to be when the world ended,” he replied, pouring himself a fresh one. Sluggishly, he raised the bottle toward her. “You’re a bourbon gal, aren’t you? How about a drink?”

“Sure.”

Bostic hurled the bottle at her. Lea ducked as it narrowly missed her head, smashing against the wall behind her.

“This is all your fault!”

Lea just shook her head, laughing softly.

“What the hell’s so funny?”

She strolled over to the chair next to his desk and took a seat.

“You,” she explained. “What’s with all the drama, Bostic? With your charm, I’m sure you’ll find a way to con the Assembly into keeping your job.”

“The Assembly is dead.”

Bostic sank into his chair. Lea felt the stale contact of his shock—though it was nothing compared to her own.

“Lyssa crashed the cryofacility in Vienna,” he went on, almost as if he had a pathological need to tell her. “All the firewalls they had in place, all the barriers between them and the surface—and she carved them up like it was
nothing.
”

A world without the Assembly.
It seemed inconceivable.

Almost like a world without the Axis.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“One thing’s for damned sure,” Bostic said, pointing at her. “I’m not taking the blame for
this
—no way. That was
your
decision, Prism. If anybody’s gonna pay, it’s gonna be
you.
”

“I’d reconsider that if I were you.”

The corporate counsel blinked at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nathan Straka told me about the CSS directives,” she explained, “the ones that kept
Almacantar
’s captain in the dark about the signals they picked up from Mars. After that, I did a little digging. Turns out the records vault back at headquarters was still in pretty good shape.”

Lea took a memory card from her jacket pocket and slid it across the desk.

“
Your
orders,” she finished. “The proof is all there. You’re the one who planted a free agent on board that ship. If it wasn’t for your power play, none of this would have happened.”

Bostic sobered up in a hurry.

“It was a signal of unknown origin,” he said. “It could have been anything—even
extraterrestrial.
We
had
to investigate.”

“Not without informing the crew.”

“What if it turned out to be a profitable discovery?” he pleaded. “For God’s sake—there were franchise rights at stake, Lea! Do you have any idea what that means?”

Lea stood up to leave. “I’m sure it’ll make a great defense at your trial,” she said, and headed out.

“Wait!”

Lea froze at the door but kept her back turned to him. She wanted to taste his desperation first—the same way Bostic had dangled her on the hook when they last met like this.

“We can make a deal, Lea.”

She closed her eyes and prepared herself. Dealing with Bostic was like selling her soul a piece at a time—but the man knew how to play the game. Lea hated to admit it, but so did she.

Turning back around, she found a man ready to do anything.

So she kept it simple. “What’s it worth to you?”

In spite of everything, the medical wing of Special Services was almost deserted. A single nurse maintained a lonely vigil at the main station, the pale glow from her desk monitors making her expression even more vacant—as if she worked from sheer routine, not knowing what else to do. Lea checked in with her when she stepped off the elevator, the two of them exchanging a nod but little else.

“Nathan Straka,” Lea said.

“Second door on the left,” the nurse replied. “He’s our only patient.”

Lea followed her directions down to the room, finding the door closed. She knocked softly, listening carefully for a response—heartbroken at the raspy voice that struggled to answer.

“Come on in,” he invited, still warm and welcoming.

Lea wasn’t sure what to expect when she walked in, having prepared herself for the worst. Novak had warned her that the effects of betaflex poisoning would advance rapidly near the end—but to her surprise, Lea found Nathan sitting up in bed. He smiled at seeing her, though his eyelids were heavy, the light behind them fading but restless.

“How did it go?” Nathan asked.

Lea sat down on the side of his bed. “Like we thought,” she replied. “He didn’t like it much, but he eventually saw things our way. He knows he has a lot to lose.”

“All the more reason to keep you in business.”

Lea nodded. “Something like that.”

Nathan coughed, a painful, racking spasm. Lea tried to help him, but he held her off until he could recover on his own. Even now, he punished himself. “They said it would be quick,” he chuckled. “Sure doesn’t feel that way.”

Lea took his hand. “You don’t have to wait here. I can get you out.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

“A short trip,” Lea told him. “There’s something I want you to see.”

The Tank was nothing like she remembered. The patterns of synthetic life, once so brilliant and chaotic behind the glass, now floated in a dull gray suspension—retreating into itself, like the implosion of a neutron star. Occasional flickers of life connected between the elements, but only with random frequency. Any intelligence that once resided there had long since fled, leaving behind only traces of its essence. It was, for all intents and purposes, dead—though the ghosts of Lea’s own memories persisted, projecting themselves on the matrix in her reflection.