Renegade (23 page)

I thought about what Dixon had said, about the military. About antiwar ideals and saving lives. Maybe I could help these people. Maybe I could find a place here, helping prevent future Hollands.

The warm patch in my chest grew and grew until it blossomed into something more tangible: hope.

“Over here,” he said, pointing at a nook tucked into the far corner of the room. As I looked, my android functions kicked in, and I scanned the room at record pace.

And in the middle of it all, a reclining cot, adorned with a black and rose cushion. Hovering above that was a strange metal helmet—only with holes and wires everywhere. I edged forward, uncertainty giving way to stony resolve. I sat down, then twisted until I was lying on my back, legs propped up, head on the built-in headrest.

The click-click of Quinn’s heels preceded her into the doorway. She smoothed an errant strand of auburn hair off her face. “So are we almost ready to start?”

Jensen poked his head into the doorway. Quinn waved him in. “You going to watch?” she asked.

He gave me a cursory glance and grimaced. “No, thanks. Let me know when you’re done.”

Another pinch, sharper than the last, at his rejection.

Stupid, I berated. I didn’t need him.

As I glanced around, once again marveling at how different things were here than I’d expected, I realized something had been niggling at the back of my head. In Holland’s compound, they’d given me some files, before my second test. One included reports on a man named Trenton Blaine, who, according to the file, was the founder of the V.O. The other contained a photo of a younger man thought to be a mole for the group. Granted, the photo had been blurry, but still. None of the people I’d seen so far were even close to matching, and I’d had yet to hear anyone refer to another member as Trenton. Besides, every bit of information pointed to Quinn running the group.

“Who’s Trenton Blaine?” I asked.

Her head jerked to the side and her blue eyes widened. “Where did you hear that name?” she demanded.

“Holland. He gave me some files when he captured me.”

She waited, shoulders tense, as if for me to tell her more. When I didn’t offer up further information—there wasn’t much to tell—she relaxed her guard. “That’s a pseudonym for a man who works for us sometimes, but he rarely stays at the compound. He has a family. We mainly just recruit him for special jobs.” She flicked an imaginary piece of lint from her suit. “You never saw a photo?”

“They didn’t have one. So, he’s not the founding member?”

Quinn laughed then—a full-bodied, rich laugh that filled the room. “No. That’s just what I want Holland to believe. It’s pretty much cake, given that he thinks women aren’t smart enough to run things.”

“All the stuff I read at Holland’s compound? Even the Agent Orange? That’s all bogus?”

She shrugged. “Having your father die of military-inflicted chemicals sounds like a legitimate reason for a gripe, right?”

“What about the mole?”

Quinn busied herself with the monitor, shook her head. “Fictional. A wild goose chase, to keep Holland distracted.”

That struck me as odd, but ingenious. If Holland knew the group existed, why not give him a false lead to chase down? Then, all his resources would be sent that way, while Quinn could continue operating without disruption.

She hit a button on my recliner, and it rose, slowly and smoothly, until I was almost upright. Then, she grabbed the dangling helmet and pulled it down. “Okay, let’s begin.”

T
he helmet swallowed my head, flooded me with the scent of copper and steel, encasing my skull in a sleek, chilly prison. Slow, deep breaths helped relax my ready-to-bolt muscles. “What are you doing now?”

She adjusted the fit of the helmet. Then, she pulled down the mass of wires that dangled beside it. After reaching into a silver box and extracting a pack of long, thin needles, she began attaching a wire to one, and then pushing it into my scalp.

I braced for pain, but of course, felt none. The very limited pain sensation I’d been programmed with rarely surfaced. All I felt was a foreign presence invading my skull.

“First, we need to locate your tracking mechanism. Once we find it, I can fry it—permanently.”

See? Nothing to fear, and everything to gain.
Still, my pulse pounded. This was too reminiscent of another lab.

The sound of someone clearing his throat interrupted us. Quinn craned her head over her shoulder. “Oh, good, you’re here.”

I couldn’t see who was approaching, but I heard the heavy scrape of footsteps ripple across the carpet.

A face appeared in front of me, topped with red curls. Samuel.

I relaxed a little. For some reason, the oversized Scotsman put me at ease.

“Samuel is an expert in all things AV and GPS, so he’s going to help me make some adjustments here. I bet . . .” She broke off, fiddling with the helmet until it was adjusted just so, then backed away to the keyboard on the tiny table. “Samuel, take a peek?”

The redhead gave me a jaunty salute, before peering at the monitor, whistling an off-key tune under his breath.

“Nope, not there.
There
,” he said, pointing.

“Got it! Hang on—” Quinn hit a few keys. The helmet started to warm up, smothering my scalp with a dry heat. A thin vibration, like that of a tuning fork, buzzed through my ears.

“Ah, ah—keep facing straight ahead,” she warned, when I made a motion to turn toward the monitor she watched like a hawk. I caught a glimpse of pink-tipped fingers flying over the keys, and the tip of her tongue protruding between her teeth, before Samuel’s snap got my attention.

“Look this way. I’m sure you’ve never seen such a fine hunk o’ a Scottish specimen before, have ya, lass?” he said, executing a slow turn while his voice dipped into an exaggerated brogue. When he faced me again, he winked. “There you go. You’re doing perfect.”

Quinn swore under her breath, but a moment later, she clapped her hands. “Aha, just what I thought—no, they didn’t make your video feed live, but I think it can still be done. Samuel?”

“I know it’ll be hard to keep your eyes off my stunning physique, but you keep looking straight ahead!” Another wink, and he ambled his considerable girth over to Quinn.

I lay there, waiting, listening to them mutter to each other, occasionally argue. And always, the constant tapping of fingers.

Finally, Quinn’s voice rang out, triumphant. “I think we’ve got it. In three . . .” Her fingers flew faster. “Two . . . one.”

“And you’re offline,” she said, but continued to poke around.

“Hmmm . . . okay. No, no . . . damn,” she muttered, humming in between words.

“What is it?”

A pause. “Oh, nothing, really. Just some parameters that we can alter later, if need be. But we’ll discuss that another time,” she said when I stiffened.

“Well, that’s it for now. Hang tight while I disconnect everything . . .” A minute or so passed, filled with her on-and-off humming. Suddenly, I was free. “You can sit up now.”

That was it? She’d done exactly what she’d said, and that was all? No attempts to tap further into my head? To copy my data? To reprogram me or terminate me, or cut me up and sell me for scrap?

“You don’t have to look so surprised,” she teased, watching my expression. On a more serious note, she added, “Look, I know you have no reason to trust me yet, but we’ll get there. I think it’s time to finish our talk now.”

I waved good-bye to Dixon and Abby, then followed Quinn back into the hallway. She led me to a room I’d yet to visit, a little way down on the left.

From what I could gather, we were in her office; only it was less office, more mini-lounge. The walls were adorned with monitors, four tall by four wide, and she had an Ikea-style desk. Four computers hummed on top. In the corner was a freestanding shelving unit, holding snacks and a fancy espresso maker. A mini-fridge squatted next to it. Besides the monitors, the walls were bare, except for a single framed photo.

Her and Holland, what must have been years ago. Sitting at an outdoor table on a patio somewhere. They weren’t embracing, but the way their heads tilted toward each other suggested intimacy. His face, still unwrinkled then, swam before me, and rage churned, reaching out with inky black hands and holding my body hostage to its grip.

She followed my gaze and nodded with grim satisfaction. “I knew we’d agree on this.”

“How do you know him?” I asked.

Her lips parted, but before she could answer, a familiar voice boomed from the door.

“She knows him because they were in the military together. She’s the one who actually came up with the initial plan to create you.”

Dad.
Dad.

I shook off the knee-jerk response. Not Dad. Jensen. No, wait.
Daniel Lusk.
I might as well start calling him by his real name, like Quinn.

His words sank in, and I bolted upright. “What?”

He strode into the room and made himself comfortable on the couch. “Were you going to call me, or just conveniently forget?” he said mildly, but his wary posture was anything but mild.

Quinn just laughed, and the musical trill floated through the room. “So suspicious!” she said, also mildly. But there was steel laced underneath. Then, noting my surprised expression, she continued. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but he’s right. I am the one who came up with the plan that brought you into existence. Amazing, huh?”

Amazing, insane, terrible, and wonderful. Lonely. Futile. In the end, not enough words existed to encompass the emotions her declaration aroused. I swallowed, my mind reeling, bombarded with questions, unsure of which one to voice first. Nowhere along the way had any of this come up—not from Mom, not from Holland. Not even Jensen. Would there ever be a time when I’d stop being surprised by the past? A time when finally, I knew all there was to know about me and my creation?

Right now, the truth seemed nebulous at best. A never-ending journey where, just when I thought I’d finally struggled my way to the end, the pathway took a sharp turn, once again plunging me into darkness.

She sighed. “Let’s see—since it sounds like Daniel didn’t fill you in, I’m sure you want to be brought up to speed on all the details.”

She leaned back, a faraway look in her eyes. “I came up with the concept of using a high-tech teenage android as an antiterrorist unit. I spent years researching, putting together the proposal, explaining why it would work. Who would suspect an American teenage girl of being a spy? You were to be my life’s greatest accomplishment. I was going to prove my contemporaries wrong, that a woman really could achieve greatness in the military. I shared it all with Holland. Even then, still craving male approval. Only . . .”

Her voice had risen over the last few words. She paused, removed her fingers from the furrows she’d formed in the couch, and began smoothing them out. “Only, he stole it. Holland took my years of sweat and blood and passed my work off as his own.”

“How?”

She laughed then, harshly. “The usual way. We were together. I trusted him,” she said.

Simple words, but ones that made my head spin. I glanced at the photo again, at their tilted heads. “Together? You mean—”

“We were lovers. I was young and stupid, and yes, starry-eyed when someone with his rank gave me the time of day. Our relationship was forbidden, of course it was. And he made damn sure to keep it completely secret. So I had nothing, nothing, to fall back on when I threatened to expose him. He’d taken care to erase anything that could link us together outside of work. He laughed at me—called me a stupid girl. He told me there was no way anyone would take my word over his—a lowly woman, contesting the powerful general—and you know what? He was right. My biggest creation, gone—all because I’d trusted unwisely.”

I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy, an answering outrage, on her behalf. Holland. He destroyed everything he touched.

Daniel cleared his throat, kicking his leg restlessly against the sofa. “Tell her what happened next.”

She scowled at him. “I was getting to that. After that happened, I was too humiliated—too irate—to stay in the military any longer. I felt trapped, like I had no one to turn to for support, and I hated that feeling. I entered the military to feel more powerful, not weaker, and I wanted that power back. Plus, perhaps it’s petty, but I wanted revenge. He deserves it, on so many fronts,” she said, her crystal-blue gaze capturing mine.

Yes. Yes, he did.

“So I formed the Vita Obscura. It doesn’t just focus on military technology, of course, but the more I can steal from them—and especially Holland—the happier I am. Steal from the rich, and get richer ourselves. I recruited the best hackers and engineers, along with a few of the best con men around—they come in handy when I need to finesse information from someone. But the one thing I always knew I wanted back was you.”

She spread her arms wide and smiled, showing even, white teeth. “Welcome home, Mila. You’re finally right where you belong.”

Rebellion. That was my first instinct. Mom certainly didn’t think I belonged here. She’d done everything in her power to keep me away.

But then again, had Mom really ever accepted me, fully? Or had she been fantasizing about a lost daughter?

“You were always so brave, Sarah.”

Was it possible I was more Sarah than Mila? I remembered Mom being surprised by some of my memories, as though they weren’t exactly what she’d programmed. I looked at Daniel. “Am I like Sarah?”

His boot hit the floor. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, after a lengthy pause. “You aren’t her.” Then, almost like he was talking to himself, he added, “You’re her spitting image, though. When I first saw you, it was like Nicole brought you back to life.”

Three times. Mom had brought Sarah back to life three times. And now, two of those three versions were dead, and any parts of Sarah, lost along with them.

Grief hit me out of nowhere, and I choked on a breath. Part of me, gone forever.

“You’re okay,” Jensen murmured, as though soothing a baby. Was he talking to me?

A whisper of a memory. His face, only younger, as my small hand clasped his much larger one while getting onto the tallest Ferris wheel I’d ever seen.

Him saying, “It’s going to be okay,” as he ruffled my hair.

And my younger, high-pitched voice, demanding, “Promise?”

“You said something similar when we rode the Ferris wheel,” I said.

I watched as his throat spasmed; his mouth opened, but nothing came out. He stood abruptly and turned away, but not before I recognized the pain of loss in his eyes, felt an answering twist of my own heart. Mom. Three. Both gone forever, because of me.

“Are the memories normal?” he asked gruffly, his back still to us.

“What’s normal?” Quinn said. “We’re talking cutting-edge science, prototypes. There is no normal. Only what is.”

“The problem is, Holland didn’t make all of your features as effective as I could have—of course not. The original research wasn’t his, and he had to rely on the scientist who came after me to follow my notes.”

The scientist who came after. I looked at Jensen, my heart twisting. “That would be Mom.”

“Nicole and me, yes. We worked from Quinn’s notes and diagrams.”

“But my grandmother taught me to always leave one critical ingredient out of a recipe you were sharing with someone, so the food was never as good as yours,” Quinn said. “So you’re not completely as I envisioned you. For the final steps, I’ll need access to your brain center.”

My brain center? At my stunned silence, she held up her hands. “Don’t panic. It’s all entirely up to you. For upgrades. I can upgrade your functionality, give you abilities you never had before. New defense systems. I can even help you overcome your emotions, if you choose. Think about it. No more pain, no more sorrow. Ever. I saw the way you looked at Hunter, back in the hall. That has to hurt,” she said gently. “Your mom.” I flinched. “Daniel. You deserve better. You didn’t choose this life, and you don’t deserve to suffer for it.”

For a moment, temptation tugged at me, urging me to consider her proposition. No more pain. No more ache when I thought of Mom. No heart-crushing cascade of devastation when Hunter turned his back on me for good, as he inevitably would.

But, then who would I be? A version of Three? Hadn’t that been what I’d yearned for, these past few days? Maybe ultimately, it would be for the best.

Something buried in the depths of my pseudo human heart rebelled. That was a coward’s way out. Besides, I was just starting to feel accepted for the first time. Maybe life here would be bearable, good even . . . with my emotions intact.

Quinn must have read my decision on my face, because she sighed. “Well, just think about it, okay? It’s your choice. There’s no rush.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Daniel was staring at us again, his expression enigmatic. He opened his mouth as if to say something to me, then thought the better of it.

“Now, let me show you to the sleeping area. I’ve put you in with the rest of the gang—I hope that’s okay?”

Unease brushed across my skin like a chilly breeze, but I nodded gamely. Even though everyone had been accepting so far, I was worried how they’d feel about a machine in their midst overnight. But then I pushed the anxiety away, determined not to succumb to that defeatist mind-set. This could be a brand new start, and I’d be stupid not to grab it with both hands.

She led us to a double door at the end of a tiny hall, which opened into a large, gym-like space. Completely empty except for cots clumped across the floor, in two separate groups. Each cot had a navy blue sleeping bag and a matching pillow, while duffel bags were tucked underneath.