Unstrung Page 4

  I frown. “Of course I’m being watched. I’m a wanted criminal.”

  “No, Lex,” he says. “Word on the street is the Quad is trying to find you. Not the three us of us—just you. And they started looking before we lifted the chip.”

  My jaw drops open. “What are you saying?”

  “We think they want to force you to work for them,” Jole says. When I take a step toward him, he catches my hands in his. “We won’t let that happen.”

  I pull my hands free. “Why didn’t you tell me until now?”

  Jole and Turpin share a look, then Turpin sighs. “Because we thought the first thing you’d do was roll into town to thumb your nose at them. It’s one thing to send you out on jobs—you’re good at staying invisible when you need to be. It’s another to turn you loose to look for trouble.”

  The way he says it rankles me. Like I’m some idiot kid who can’t find her way home from the candy store without chasing a puppy into a dark alley and falling right into a creeper’s arms. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Can you?” Turpin asks, suddenly angry. “You got stimmed at every turn before Jole’s accident. We have to protect you from yourself because you sure as hell haven’t been able to do it.”

  Jole winces and Tupin’s face flushes. Yeah, he knows he made a big mistake pushing that button with me. I carry enough scars without having my worst mistake thrown in my face.

  “Well, thanks for the talk, Dad,” I say. “This errant child is going for a walk, if that’s permissible.”

  I storm from the room without waiting for an answer, wondering how much more I can take before I go bat-shast crazy.

  Chapter Five

  Lies and Liars

  Despite being grounded, I leave the warehouse, ignoring the chuckles from the workers packing boxes on the shipping floor. They know me as Turpin’s wayward niece, and I’m giving them a nice show, cursing as I stalk through the doors. Let them think I’m throwing a fit. They’d be right…they just don’t know it’s justified.

  Turpin and Jole hid the truth from me. I’m on the Quad’s radar, and they never said a thing. They lied. That’s never happened before. Since I can’t lie convincingly about, well, frakking anything, I’m very wary of people who do. Turpin may’ve led me into a life of crime, but he always tells me the truth.

  Or so I thought.

  I follow the broken concrete path behind the warehouse down to the old wharf on our side of the lake. Soon I’m surrounded by dilapidated wooden buildings that used to be bars and shops before small animals and birds took them over. Perfect place for a good sulk.

  I sit down on a patio behind an old seafood restaurant and start throwing rocks into the lake. Even with real wood furniture selling at a premium, no one has stripped these buildings, probably because the boards are rotted and bleached a dull gray by the sun. Scrubby grasses line the lake’s edge, yellow and brittle, not like the green parks with molded-plastic benches and play equipment bordering the other shore. What did the lakefront over there look like before the Quad restored order? Was it just as wild and unkempt, or was it worse? We have pictures of the days before the fall, but no one wants to remember the worst of times, so I have no idea what everything looked like when Turpin was a kid—when babies went hungry and desperate people overthrew the government.

  That’s how Maren took over, I think. People were so ready to forget their misery, that when she stepped into the light with her speeches and her solutions and her Bolt army, they bought into it. I’ve seen those speeches—they get repeated over the feed all the time—and she is dynamic. More importantly, most of her promises come true.

  There’s always a tradeoff, though. Maybe Maren and the Quad rescued the city, but they haven’t changed human nature one bit, despite how hard they try. The people who say they love you can still hurt you. Jole should understand that better than anyone, given what happened to his family.

  By the time evening falls, I’m half-starved and tired of brooding. I know I have to lie low, but sometimes a girl needs a plate of noodles and some time away from home. There’s a place I can go on the outskirts of town. If you’re a criminal and you need to eat while getting caught up on the latest news, Noodle Slide is your best—and only—option.

  A tiny thought snakes through my brain…maybe a stim dealer will be there.

  As quickly as it came, I shove that thought away. I do not need to a hit. I don’t.

  Trying not to think about it, I sneak the bike out the side door on glide power and coast to the highway, but I’m not stealthy enough. My com buzzes before I even reach the bridge. Turpin sounds irritated. “I thought we agreed you were grounded.”

  “I thought you always told the truth.”

  There’s a hiss on the other end, like he sucked in a big breath. “Fair enough, but it’s not a good idea for you to be riding around. Come home so we can talk.”

  I cut the connection and turn off my com. I’m not in the mood to talk.

  The city stretches out before me, tall steel-and-glass buildings turned gold and orange and silver from the sunlight off the lake. Delivery craft fly the opposite direction, heading back to the warehouses for the night. My side of the road is almost empty and I push the bike hard, enjoying the rush of wind battering my jacket and helmet. I pass a data screen on the way in. A blank-eyed man wearing green coveralls is working controls at the fusion plant. A pretty woman in a blue suit observes his work. I barely catch the caption as I speed by:

  “Artificials—making Triarch better…for YOU!”

  I roll my eyes. What Bolt ever made my life better?

  Just before I reach the main artery into the city, I take a side street that leads to another, then to a dark alley. There’s a hidden parking area along the back of Noodle Slide, and it’s full. Guess I’m not the only one in need of dinner.

  I squeeze the bike into a space and take off on foot. The restaurant looks more like a biker bar than anything. The front door is covered over in black microfilm which has scratched through in a few places. Ambiance is something you get at other places. Want the best garlic chicken lo mein in Triarch? Deal with the scratched door.

  I slip inside and pause to let my eyes adjust to the gloom. Most of the tables are full and the line to place an order is three deep. A few people Turpin deals with nod hello, but most ignore me so I watch the large screens mounted on the walls run news programs while we wait. One feed is showing an interview with Maren DeGaul about her newest charity cause. I can’t seem to get away from her today, literally or figuratively. What a pisser.

  Maren looks delicate on camera, almost doll-like, with her exotic Asian features, long dark hair and perfect little figure. She’s at least sixty years old, but she looks like she’s forty. Money will buy you eternal youth, or at least eternal middle age, it seems. Hard to believe she’s a ruthless business woman, but packaging is frequently misleading. I would know—we “adjust” the calorie counts on our cookie boxes at the warehouse all the time.

  “So, Ms. DeGaul,” the reporter asks, “tell us more about the Children’s Hospital.”

  “I’d be happy to, Anna,” Maren says. She sounds cultured, with a rich voice that always has a hint of a chuckle in it. “The future of Triarch is very important to me. With our newly signed contracts for artificial labor, I’ve pledged twenty-five percent of Precipice’s income to initiatives geared toward improving our children’s lives. More funding for schools, stricter guidelines for nutrition and most importantly, funds for the hospital.”

  I tune her out as a large man gets up from his table in the back. His profile is familiar and my stomach twists even as my pulse lurches ahead. He’s one of Candle’s bodyguards, and she’s the best stims dealer in town. Skies, why now?

  An itch starts at the base of my neck. She doesn’t come here, my brain insists while I clench my fists against the craving. This place is too lowlife for her. Maybe the bodyguard came for noodles, just like me. Or maybe Candle sent him for takeout.


  Willing myself to forget, I swallow hard and focus back on the feed. By now, the reporter has finished with Maren, and is talking about unrest in the outlands. “More disorder today in the unincorporated areas to the northeast. Triarch City leaders are responding to calls for assistance from Valardia and Lance Bay to cull the threat. The governor pledged peacekeeping services as well as equipment.…”

  The picture switches over to a group of Special Forces in full riot gear patrolling the fence bordering the farmlands at the edge of Sector Y. Smoke wafts up in the distance, beyond the fence. I know other incorporated city-states run nearly as well as Triarch, but the factions living in the outlands are always causing trouble. Some say they’re people who don’t want to live by the rules, and refused to move into the protected areas. I don’t particularly like all of Triarch’s laws, but I don’t get the fighting, either. They had a choice…and they chose to live outside.

  As the line shuffles forward, the smell of cooking garlic is suddenly overcome by violet perfume.

  “Darling Lex!”

  Candle’s voice drowns out the feed and scrapes my nerves like a steel spatula on a dirty cooktop. Steeling myself—I will say no, I will say no—I turn and smile. “Hi.”

  Per usual, she’s dressed like she’s been invited to the governor’s house. Her synthetic fur coat and leather shoes are much too showy for Noodle Slide, but that never stopped Candle. Today her hair is magenta…it matches her purse.

  “I haven’t seen you for a while.” She wags a perfectly manicured nail at me. Despite her outfit, I sense a little desperation in her tone, especially when she says, “I’m hurt, darling. Did you find better parties elsewhere?”

  “No,” I say carefully, willing myself to be strong. “I just—”

  “Now, now, no need for excuses. Old friends always welcome each other back with open arms.” She slips a small packet into my hand. “Just a little gift. Come see us soon, my lovely girl. We miss you.”

  She saunters away, giving me a coy smile as she disappears out the front door. My palm has gone sweaty around the little packet. I know what’s in there. It’s a two pack. Enough to jack me up tonight and tomorrow if I want it. Enough to drive out all the demons the last few days have dredged up. Enough to forget my past, my present and my future.

  I want them.

  So I do the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I force myself to relive Jole’s accident. The way he startled me on the roof. How I panicked and pushed him over the edge. The look on his face as he fell, fell, fell. How he cried out in pain when he hit the girder.

  Then the silence after he passed out, before my own screams started.

  Sick to my stomach and no longer hungry, I drop the stim packet into a tub full of dirty dishes, making sure it dissolves.

  I’m not hungry anymore, so I head out to my bike. Maybe Turpin was right. Maybe I’m incapable of taking care of myself.

  Chapter Six

  Never Been Kissed

  Turpin is waiting for me on the first floor when I pull inside the warehouse. He stands there, arms crossed, tapping his foot while I shut down my bike. I’m supposed to be angry with him. I’m supposed to tell him he has no right to order me around, to be mad I left, or to lie to me like he did.

  Instead, I feel safe. Turpin being pissed with me is normal. And I can’t get angry about it, not now, not even when he starts the conversation with, “Where the hell have you been?”

  “I went to the Slide. I was hungry and wanted some noodles.” I spread my arms wide, asking for peace. “It was a stupid move. Reckless. I get it. Trust me.”

  His eyes narrow. “What happened?”

  He knows me too well. Turpin came prepared for a fight, and got an apology? Yeah, that would set off my inner-alarms, too. But I don’t want to tell him how close I came to getting into real trouble. “I didn’t like the look of the crowd.”

  “See, that’s what I’m worried about. Someone is bound to sell you out if we’re not careful.” He sighs. “Quick Tony called me today.”

  Quick Tony is this ancient friend of Turpin’s. When he was young, apparently he could outrun any cop, whether on foot or in a vehicle. Now his speed is somewhere between slow and crawl. Still, he hears more news—true or false—than anyone else we know. “What’d he say?”

  “That Maren’s people were out in droves today, asking questions all over town. Quick Tony said they never told him what they were looking for. I can hazard a guess, though.”

  “Me, or the chip?” I ask.

  “Could be either, or both.”

  “Great. That’s just great,” I say. “I wish we never took this job. Can we have a redo?”

  Turpin gives me a thoughtful look. “No…but I have an idea or two on how to fix things. I need some time to work it out. In the meantime, you stay inside.”

  “Sure, boss.”

  He leaves me to tend my bike. Once I’m done, I consider my options. What will I do with my time now that I’m off the job? I don’t understand genetic engineering at all, so I can’t help decipher the chip. But I can’t go outside, either.

  I go to my room and start up my data pad. The usual public service announcement video plays before I’m allowed to access anything—this time alerting the good citizens of Triarch that curfew for children ages twelve to seventeen has been changed to nine p.m. effective immediately. I laugh; I have no intention of staying inside after nine p.m. Then again, I’m not a good citizen.

  Finally, I’m allowed to log into my library. An old novel, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, catches my eye. It has a parental warning label for subversive material—my kind of book. I’ve just settled in to read, trying to understand Huck’s strange dialect, when I’m interrupted.

  Jole, for once, knocks.

  “Come in,” I call.

  He limps into my room. The bags under his eyes emphasize the gray irises, and he’s wearing the same clothes he had on last night. I don’t like the way he’s favoring his hurt leg; his walk is even more lopsided than usual. How can I stay angry with him when he hurts so much?

  “What can I do for you?” I ask, a little more stiffly than I mean to.

  Jole winces. “I came to apologize. We shouldn’t have kept secrets from you. I’m…sorry.”

  Deep down, I believe him. Saying he’s sorry takes a lot out of Jole, and that’s enough to convince me. Besides, even if they were wrong, they meant well. Sort of. “Apology accepted.”

  “Thanks.”

  He turns to go, but the other thing he said to Turpin earlier is nagging me now, and I need to get it out in the open. “I heard you talking about how I’ve never being kissed.”

  Jole runs his hand over his face. “Oh, Lexa, I’m….Skies, I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

  “The funny part is I never thought of it myself.”

  “I’m not surprised, to be honest. Living at Turpin’s, it’s not like you have the chance to go out like a normal person.”

  “Well, neither do you,” I say without thinking.

  Jole glares at the floor. “Yeah, but I didn’t come here until I was fifteen. Before my parents…before I came to Turpin’s, I went to school and everything. Had a house, lots of friends, a normal life . . .”

  I try to change the subject, angry with myself for reopening the wound. “Look, we don’t—”

  But it’s already too late. He throws his cane into the corner of my room, his face twisted with a kind of anger I rarely see from him. “Never trust a Bolt. Especially the higher-end models. Remember that, okay? They’re programmed to be charming, so you get comfortable, think maybe this one’s different, maybe he’s more human than the rest. Then he takes everything you ever had and isn’t sorry because no matter what you thought, he’s not human at all.”

  I squeeze Jole’s arm. “I have no plans to trust any Bolt, dead or alive.”

  “Good.” His shoulders relax. “What were we talking about before?”

  “My lack of kissing experience.”

&nb
sp; He just nods, not taking the easy opportunity to tease me. I hate seeing Jole withdraw like this. Bringing up his parents always sends him off to a place that’s hard to reach.

  “Um…so what’s it like, being kissed? Is it slobbery?” I blurt out, instantly feeling stupid. Curiosity is a bitch sometimes.

  Jole snaps out of his daze. Looking like he might laugh, he says, “Only with someone who doesn’t know how.”

  “Do you know how?”

  His face flushes. “I’ve been told I’m really good at it.”

  “Teach me, then.” Everything’s a skill, right? I can’t be embarrassed by this stuff, not if I want to seem normal.

  “No, Lexa. I’m…out of practice for one thing.”

  I cross my arms. Now that I’ve asked, I’m warming up to the idea. “Where else am I going to find a willing victim? And if you tell me to ask Turpin, I’m going to strangle you in your sleep.”

  “But kissing me, it wouldn’t be like the real thing. We’re friends…and I haven’t ever kissed a girl.”

  That’s his excuse? Lips are lips, boy or girl. Even I know that. “It’d be close enough. Please?”

  “Are you sure?”

  I notice he still doesn’t sound very sure. “Yes. You never know—I might get captured one day and kissing my guard might help me escape. Your training could save my life.” I give him a big smile.

  Jole squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head back and forth. “Lexa, that’s…you’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Skies….oh, what the hell. Come on, let’s get it over with.”

  I scoot next to him, then pause. “Where do I put my hands?”

  “On my shoulders is fine for the first try.”

  He sounds amused and it grates on my nerves. I plunk my hands on his shoulders, taking a moment to brush the lint from his navy T-shirt. “Now what?”

  Jole doesn’t answer me. Instead he cups my face in his hands and a jolt runs through my middle.