Читать книгу The Rift Frequency - Amy Foster S. - Страница 12

Each trip through the Rift is becoming easier. I explained to Levi how I managed to basically fly within its tunnel and then use the gravity and light of the approaching Earth to get my bearings and end up on my feet instead of my ass. He seemed dubious, especially with the part about us not being grappled to each other, but in the end he trusted me and we both walked out of the Rift on our feet with only minor stumbles.

The first few seconds are always the tensest. Where will we end up? In the middle of a volcano? A freeway? Someplace where a Rift will be seen as a horror and we, by default, some sort of monsters? Thankfully, we find ourselves in the middle of yet another forest and when I listen, I can hear nothing but animals scurrying, and from somewhere above, the screech of a bird in flight.

I stare at the ground and then the trees. The terrain looks to be high mountain desert, the landscape I’ve seen and loved on family trips to central Oregon. It’s rocky and barren at my feet, but then the desert disappears as my gaze lifts upward to the ponderosas. From this vantage point it is clearly the Pacific Northwest.

But there’s something off.

I mentally scan all the trees, making a slow 360-degree sweep. I take a mental picture of each one and close my eyes, calling them up in my memory. I compare them side by side. The smell is right. Ponderosas are smoke and evergreen. I walk up to one and put my hand on its large, rough bark.

“They’re too perfect, right?” I ask Levi to back up my hunch. “And the placement—it’s meant to be chaotic, but there’s a pattern to it.”

Levi squints a little and cranes his neck back and forth. “Yeah. The branches of that one,” he gestures, meaning the one I’ve touched, “and the one eighteen feet away are almost identical except for two variables. That doesn’t happen in nature.”

“So, it’s man-made and the trees must have been cloned. What kind of an Earth is that, you think?” I ask him.

“I don’t know, but you must have clocked those buildings about six klicks away. We should go and check it out.”

Before I can answer we hear a noise, a buzzing, getting closer. Without saying anything further, we both grab our rifles and unclip them from our chest pads. We don’t have to wait long to see the source of the sound. It’s a drone, although it’s not like any drone I’ve ever seen. It’s a silver disk that’s just hovering with no discernable way of actually flying. I stare at it, almost transfixed. It gets closer, and then light pours out of a thin circular strip in its midsection. The light races up and down our bodies in a long blue flash.

Observing is one thing, this is obviously something else. I point my rifle at it and squeeze the trigger twice. The drone stops and drops almost immediately and I breathe out a sigh of relief.

“That was either a really good idea or a really bad one,” I say before Levi can, because I know he’ll have a choice comment.

“I vote good one. That thing was scanning us.” I side-eye him because I think he just lobbed me a compliment. Levi walks over to the downed object and bends forward to have a better look.

“Don’t touch it, even with your foot,” I warn.

“Yeah, okay, Mom, are you sure? Because weird alien hovering silver disks that scan people never explode.”

“Noted. Thank you, Levi.” I leave him be for a couple of minutes. It’s not like I couldn’t make useful observations, but I’ve already annoyed him with my previous—and admittedly unnecessary—comments, and besides, my skill set in that area leans more toward noticing the tree thing. Levi’s mind is more mechanical. Which, if I’m being honest, kind of pisses me off a little bit because it feels so typically gender biased. Citadels don’t do gender bias. Except, it seems, in this case. Right here.

Annoying.

Levi straightens and walks back over to me, but before he can say anything we both hear another noise and this one is much louder. It is the sound of helicopter blades slicing through air.

“That came out of nowhere,” I say, taking hold of my rifle yet again. My pulse quickens. “It’s almost on top of us, so where the hell did it come from?” We both look up to the sky and sure enough, it’s a chopper. It is moving with alarming speed, and at two hundred yards away, it’s closing in fast. I can see its sleek design—black chrome and streamlined, with none of the bulky aerodynamics of helicopters on our Earth.

“We’re on a future Earth. A time line way more advanced than ours. We must be.” Although I don’t know why I bother to say it. Levi has eyes. I suppose saying it out loud makes it more real somehow, because right now I feel like we’re in a movie.

“We could run,” Levi suggests.

“No. Why waste the energy? If we’re going to have to fight, we’ll need it.” So both of us just stand there unmoving as the helicopter approaches. It’s noisy, but it’s not overwhelmingly loud. In a way, the propellers are almost soothing. They whoosh in the cloudless sky in precise measures. When the chopper is about fifty feet above us, the door slides open and two men emerge. They don’t jump, but rather float down gracefully as if being lowered by cables. Except there are no cables, and no pilot, either.

I just look at them and stare because, holy fuck, I literally don’t know what else to do. I look at Levi, and he’s just as dumbstruck. Finally, I have to say something.

“Did Jason Momoa and Andy Warhol just fly down from up there?”

“I feel like yes, that is what happened. Unless we’re being drugged or that drone thing brainwashed us.”

When the two men are about twenty feet away, I put my rifle up. “Stay where you are. Do. Not. Move,” I yell. They both stop and look at us, puzzled. As if the way they arrived was totally normal and why are we surprised.

“Hello!” Jason Momoa says enthusiastically (which already seems not very Jason Momoa–like, though I don’t know him personally, obviously). “You are humans, yes?”

“We will not harm you,” Andy Warhol says brightly. “We were alerted to your presence and were sent to retrieve you.” They both take a step forward.

“I said don’t move, and keep your hands up!”

More bewilderment, although they don’t come any closer. Eventually they both raise their hands. “We do not possess any weapons. We are no threat to you,” Jason Momoa says earnestly.

“Fine. You can come closer, but stop when we tell you, and walk slowly,” I command. When they are about ten feet away I tell them to halt. “I’m going to frisk them. Cover me.”

“Really? You’re going to go frisk Aquaman? That’s going to be your job?” Levi throws out.

“Not now, Levi. God.” There’s a time and place for sarcasm, but this is not it. I quickly move over to the two and I am able to get a good look at them close-up. If I needed any more proof that something absolutely bonkers is going on here, I get it after I see their silver eyes. They are as round and luminous as full moons, but the irises are a darker silver, the color of bracelets or rings left forgotten in a drawer. On Andy Warhol it looks creepy as fuck. On Jason Momoa it’s kinda sexy in an otherworldly way. Both have hair cut close to their scalps and they are wearing matching slate-gray outfits, though uniform is a bit of a stretch. They are dressed the same, but there is no ornamentation, not even buttons. Just plain jackets over trousers. Even with all that, though, it’s their skin that really gives me pause. It doesn’t look right. It is without blemish or lines, fine or otherwise. It’s as if a newborn baby morphed into an adult. I’m not sure yet what these people are, but this is definitely not an Earth like ours—not an echo Earth.

My rifle is clipped, which leaves me with both hands free to pat them down. I do this efficiently and without lingering, even on Khal Drogo.

“My name is Thunder,” he says kindly.

“Really?” I say, even though of course it is.

“And this is my colleague Ragweed.”

“Hello,” Andy/Ragweed offers. Okay, the names are weird (and more than a little unfair).

“They aren’t armed, Levi, you can put your gun down.” Levi slowly lowers his weapon and moves with steely determination toward us. As he approaches, I know he is noticing the same exact things that I did. It’s clear that he feels threatened. I do, too, but I can hide these things better. His posture is yardstick straight and he’s clenching his jaw.

“I’m Ryn and this is Levi. Where are we?” I ask with determination.

“North 44°3′29″, West 121°18′51″,” Ragweed answers efficiently. I don’t even need to check in with my partner. We are both well aware that these are the coordinates of central Oregon. Just as we thought. Still, latitude and longitude are not as helpful as an actual city name.

“What year is it?” I ask a little more impatiently.

“I am afraid I cannot answer that question. We do not keep time in the same way that I think you probably do,” Ragweed offers regretfully.

“Yeah, well,” Levi says while resting his forearm on the butt of his rifle, “maybe you should just give it a try anyway. Let us be the judge of what we can and cannot figure out.”

Both men look past us, in the distance. I have a feeling that their eyes are providing some kind of digital interface. More than likely, we are all being monitored and they are awaiting instructions.

Finally Thunder says, gently, “I am sure you have many questions. We cannot provide you with the answers you are looking for. We have been designated to deliver you to our doyenne, who will be able to discuss your questions in detail. We are simply escorts.”

I nod my head and look to the ground as a wave of nausea washes over me. I’ve heard this speech before because I’ve made it. It’s the same speech I give to all the Immigrants who came through the Rift at Battle Ground, and I doubt these two would give up any more information than I would. However, they are decidedly less aggressive than the Citadels are, and if there is some kind of equivalent of a Village on this Earth, chances are that’s where Ezra would be. There’s also no chance in hell that a place like the Village could hold me and Levi. Still, going with them is a risk—I’m not sure we could elude them and get our packs and the QOINS up and running without incident. Just because they don’t have weapons doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous.

“And you guys just fly around, hoping to run into someone? Escorting people places?” Levi asks stubbornly. They aren’t going to give us anything useful.

“Yes, I can see why you would think we have the ability to fly. I assure you that we do not. It is technology, built into our boots, using a combination of the planet’s magnetic core and micro thrusters,” Ragweed offers, but why? Why is that information something he’s willing to give up, unless …?

“You want to take us up there? With your shoes?” It’s an amusing thought, but I am not amused.

“You will agree to come with us now?” Thunder asks brightly. I don’t think I actually agreed to anything, but he is certainly hopeful.

Levi must see me mulling and he leans in closer, not near enough to actually touch me, but close enough so that he can speak almost in a whisper that they hopefully can’t hear. “They seem pretty harmless, and if you want to know if Ezra is here, then I think we have to go with them. We just have to demand that we stay together and we get to keep our things with us at all times so we can Rift out if we need to.”

“To be clear: You do understand that it’s Jason Momoa and Andy Warhol with silver eyes offering to take us in their Blade Runner helicopter, right? Because I’m still coming to grips with that, and there is no scenario we thought of that included anything like this in our strategic planning sessions,” I add, concealing at least half of my mouth with a well-timed itch to my top lip.

I can practically hear his eyes rolling. “Yes, I understand that we are in the Multiverse. And yes, this is batshit crazy, but it’s the Wild West out here, so what else do you want to do?”

“Fine,” I say to everyone. “We will go on the condition that we will not be separated from our things or each other.” I watch as they pause. It definitely seems like they are getting information visually from the implants that are their eyes. I think I might be way more freaked out by this if I had never watched Black Mirror. “Oh, and no flying. Send down a rope or something. You must have a backup in case your rocket boots don’t work.”

Ragweed grabs hold of my arm. “Excellent. We will now escort you to the doyenne.”

I give him a stern, unflinching look. “Take your hands off me. Now.”

Ragweed does not remove his hand. I look at Levi, who has backed away from Thunder. His look is a clear warning. “We must escort you to the doyenne safely,” Ragweed tells me, undeterred.

“Yes. But. Do. Not. Touch. Me,” I growl.

“We must escort you to the doyenne safely.”

“Remove your hand or I will escort my fist into your throat.”

Ragweed seems not to hear me, or not understand. He simply holds on tighter, attempting now to pull me toward the chopper. “We must esc—” But I don’t let him finish the sentence. I’ve set a boundary, a rule. I asked, maybe not so nicely, but a girl shouldn’t have to be polite when asking a man not to touch her. I yank my arm away from him and pick him up by the throat. His body lifts up into the air and his feet are off the ground. Ragweed has that faraway look in his eyes. He is not struggling. His body has gone slack.

I exhale loudly and pitch him up and out, tossing him in the air. He lands with a dull thud, his head hitting a tree trunk.

Oh shit—did I just kill him?

His eyes are still open, but he isn’t moving, never a good sign. I spin on my heels toward Thunder and Levi. This whole situation is tense as fuck. Why wouldn’t he just do as I asked?

“I don’t know what ‘escort’ means here,” I say to Thunder, “but where we come from it implies a certain amount of protocol. All he had to do was direct me, verbally. I know I look young, but I can follow directions. Apparently your buddy over there can’t. I won’t be held responsible for actions I take when I feel threatened.”

Levi’s stance has gotten wider. His chest is thrust forward slightly. If Thunder isn’t a complete moron he’ll notice this and not try anything. There is an awkward, almost painful silence as Thunder looks at his fallen colleague and then out past him above the tree line.

“Yes. I understand. Another team will come and retrieve Ragweed. I will escort you safely to the doyenne without physical contact. Cable. Harness.” Given these people’s weird names, I hope he’s asking for what I think he is and not sending more “escorts” down. Still, who is he talking to? I don’t see any kind of comm system. I frisked the guy and he has nothing on him, not even an earpiece.

In three seconds I’m relieved to see a pulley being sent down from the chopper. Still, I find it odd that Thunder has not gone over to Ragweed to make sure he’s okay. I have my back turned to him because, quite frankly, I don’t want to know. I have no idea how they do things here. That might be normal. I’m beginning to wonder if these people, like the trees around us, are clones. It would be a logical reason as to why Thunder isn’t more concerned about Ragweed’s safety. Still, you can’t know what you don’t know and my hope is that my explanation, my very clear vocalization that I felt threatened, will be enough for what just went down.

We make our way to right below the hovering aircraft and its muffled blades. “I’m going first,” Levi tells me. It’s not a suggestion. I put both my hands up in surrender. Thunder is keeping a respectful distance. The device they sent down looks a little like a swing with a crisscross seat belt that you step into. Levi figures it out quickly enough and secures himself in with the carabiner they’ve provided. He holds on to the cables on the side, and once he does Thunder says, “Retract,” and the seat shoots up with alarming speed.

In short order it’s my turn. I get myself in and braced for the ride. This time, when Thunder gives the verbal command, he follows me up in the air with the same impressive speed.

Once I climb into the helicopter I see that it is compact, but there’s enough room for at least six people to sit comfortably on two padded benches. There is no cockpit or jump seat. There isn’t room for a pilot at all. The whole thing is automated. I feel like that’s cool as much as it is terrifying. The doors are mostly windows, so as we begin to ascend and veer off I get a better view of the trees and their odd layout from this vantage point, meant to look wild but really spaced in a sequential pattern, which is easy to discern when you know what you’re looking for.

I don’t get much of a look, though, because this helicopter is fast. And not just regular fast but, like, bullet train in Japan–style fast. The landscape below me becomes a blur, but it only lasts a couple of minutes. The chopper slows as we approach the city. I peer down and look at the entire scope of this place. Everything is gray and green, like a giant stone sundial covered in moss. There are tall high-rises ringing smaller buildings, though not many roads. The few streets branch out like perfectly proportioned sunrays. We are clearly headed to the center of this circle, an impressively large building with a solar-paneled roof in the shape of two giant butterfly wings. The building is concrete, as it seems the other structures in this city are as well, but there is fluidity to it, an odd sense of motion to the heavy architecture.

The helicopter touches down softly and without so much as a bump. The landing pad is a raised cement platform in the middle of a large expanse of grass. This grass, like the ponderosas, is too green, too perfectly mowed. It almost looks like carpeting. The doors open and Thunder solicitously waits behind as Levi and I exit. I see there is a stretch of concrete leading from here to the building.

I also see others. They stop and watch us, and I can’t help staring in turn. Like Thunder and Ragweed, many of these people have famous faces. I see Meryl Streep, Gandhi, Neil deGrasse Tyson, Princess Diana. It’s just too weird. Awesome but weird. My clone theory is starting to feel more and more plausible.

The path leading to the building we are going to starts blinking blue. How they get cement to turn color is another neat trick, but considering what I’ve seen already, it’s almost hardly worth noting. The blinking lights flash more rapidly and turn into arrows, and it’s apparent that this is the pathway we are meant to take. I don’t love being told so explicitly what to do, but I figure this is the fastest way to find out if Ezra is here, so I stay on the path.

We arrive shortly at the entrance and two massive glass doors slide open. I center myself to steady my heart. I have no idea what these people are or what they want from us. I have just injured—more than likely killed—one of their own, so that’s going to play into this equation. On top of that, if Ezra even showed up here, would they tell me? And how will I find him if they won’t? It’s a mix of frustration, fear, and curiosity coursing through me as I walk through the doors.

Once we step inside there are more famous people sprinkled among others I don’t recognize. I notice they are dressed more for comfort than fashion, but there is a certain element of minimalist chic going on. Everyone is wearing loose-fitting cotton or linen clothing. Some of the women wear leggings with long tunics past their knees, almost like traditional Indian dress, but without the vibrant colors. In fact, all the colors are muted: grays, blacks, ivories, and rusts with more browns than reds. The people move silently around us, staring with unabashed moon-eyed curiosity, and it’s unsettling, so I take in my surroundings instead.

The ceilings are incredibly high, at least three stories with long pendulous lights that hang down from the ceiling like necklaces. There are elevators, but we veer away from them and end up at a frosted glass door that slides open with our approach. Inside this room is a man who I don’t recognize and a woman who is Tilda Swinton because of course Tilda Swinton would be here.

Thunder stays at the door, and any trace of his earlier goodwill has dissipated. In a way, I almost find this more imposing version of him comforting. It’s kind of how I expect Jason Momoa would actually be. In the middle of the room is an ivory-colored reclining chair and there is a bunch of equipment lined up on a tray that is hovering a few inches above the ground. I have a sinking feeling I know where this is going. I glance at Levi, who has focused all his attention on the man seated on a low stool by the chair. If I were that man I would be very worried right now. But he does not seem worried at all. His unremarkable face is open and gentle. His posture, though straight, is not rigid.

“My name is Feather,” he opens with quiet confidence. “I am the head of the biomed division here. I understand that you do not want to be touched, but if you will allow me, I can repair your eye in less than ten seconds. Please?” He asks kindly. My eye. It must still be bruised from when Levi hit me on the island. It has been throbbing, a dull ache that I have ignored and, admittedly, my vision hasn’t been 100 percent. There is more than a good chance that he actually fractured my orbital bone or even my maxilla.

I look to the chair and then back again at the man who I suppose is a doctor, or something like it. “How would you fix this?” I ask skeptically.

“We have a patch. It has the ability to instantly heal damaged tissue. It is painless and I promise to apply it only to your eye.” A Band-Aid that can heal cuts and bruises instantly? That’s the kind of thing a Citadel could really use—the kind of thing that would stop our parents from worrying about our time at all those fake martial arts classes ARC says is a mandatory part of the curriculum but which is of course just a cover-up for the injuries we sustain.

“And it is not just your eye. The initial scan our drone sent back before you shot it down revealed that you both were exposed to a dangerous level of radiation. I could fix that as well, but it would require cooperation on your part.”

“Radiation?” asks Levi cuttingly.

“The microwave Earth,” I remind him. I assumed we had just been burnt, but of course there was bound to be more than just toxins in the atmosphere. These people found it with a blinking light. We don’t have anything like that sort of tech, and now it seems like my earlier paranoia about our lack of technological advancement wasn’t paranoia after all. I think these people probably have a lot of things that would help us, save us even.

Still …

“I didn’t notice it before,” I say to Feather calmly. “We were outside. There was a helicopter over our heads. You all look like famous people, except for you. I don’t know who you are,” I tell the man honestly. “But that,” I say, pointing to the woman who is silently standing behind him, “is Tilda Swinton with silver eyes, so I’ve been distracted, but not here. Not now. The thing is, you don’t have a heartbeat. Your chest moves up and down and you blink, but you don’t have a heartbeat.”

Feather looks past me. He is doing that same zoning-out thing that I watched the others do. He quickly shifts his eyes to me after almost twenty seconds and says, “I do not have a heartbeat, but that does not mean I do not want to help you. I promise, I would never hurt you. None of us would ever hurt you. It goes against our very nature. And our nature does not change. Ever. It is why Ragweed did not fight back. He did not even struggle, because he might have accidentally harmed you if he had done so.”

“We’re looking for a friend,” I try, but Feather holds up a single hand.

“Please. I do not want to appear disagreeable. I am not authorized to answer any of your questions. My only job here is to make sure that you are healthy. I am asking that you let me do my job.”

“I think you should let him, Ryn. I think they really can help us and they did let us keep our weapons.” I curl my lip up and throw him an incredulous gaze. Why is he talking like that? Is he trying to good cop/bad cop this situation? Because I may have already killed one of them, so the jig is up on that front. It doesn’t matter how much ass he kisses or how official he tries to sound; they probably won’t see us as anything more than teenage crazies.

“Look, I’ll go first.” And before I can do anything Levi has his pack off and is sliding onto the chair. He unclips his rifle and holds his hand out. “Here. Take it,” he tells me.

“Well, they aren’t clones or zombies. So, this means that this must be some sort of Westworld Earth, and how shocking that you would be so down with that.”

“We don’t know anything yet except for the fact that we’ve been exposed to radiation, which I believe because I don’t feel all that great. Do you?”

I swallow hard and push my thumbnail into the pad of my index finger. I don’t have a clue how I feel. There’s my eye. And Tilda Swinton. And the rocket boots. I guess now that I’m thinking about it, I suppose I do feel a bit hot and disoriented, but isn’t that more likely an indicator of our present circumstance than radiation? To Levi’s point, though, I can’t be sure.

“Fine,” I say, grabbing hold of his gun and stepping back.

“Thank you. Your name is Levi, I believe? Now, in order to neutralize the radiation, I am going to have to take a sample of your blood. My colleague Shrine will create an effective treatment once we know the precise levels of toxicity in your body.”

“That’s fine, but only you are allowed to have any contact with me. She can’t touch me.” Whoa, I’m surprised and impressed. Levi must think Tilda’s a bit sexy (quite frankly so do I, and I’m not even into women). He’s ensuring the Blood Lust won’t kick in.

“It is only me. Shrine is the head of our chemistry division. She is here only to create a compound agent,” Feather assures him.

“Okay, go ahead.” Feather gracefully picks up a metal tube with the tiniest of needles on the end. He sticks it quickly inside the crease of Levi’s arm, into his vein. I can see there is a clear window in the tube and in maybe two or three seconds a large portion of blood has been taken, almost like a vacuum.

“That is the first part done. Normally I would not activate the holo-sets, but in the spirit of transparency you should see exactly what I am seeing.” Feather plugs the metal tube into what looks almost like an electronic tablet but thinner. We don’t have to wait long. It takes less than a minute for the images to pop up, seemingly out of nowhere. The first thing we see is something that looks like different lines of tape with varying thicknesses, hovering in midair. Then behind Levi, and slightly above his head, another Levi appears … naked.

Feather examines the image. I don’t know where to look. I’m a soldier. Nudity isn’t an issue for me, but it’s kind of like I’m staring at a naked photo of Levi, which feels weird and icky. Feather notices the wound from the beach right away. “I see there is tissue damage here. Would you allow me to repair it with one of our biopatches?”

“Sure,” Levi says indifferently. He had glanced at the image when it first went up. He’s well aware that his naked bod is floating right before my eyes. If he’s embarrassed, he sure isn’t letting me know. I look down at my boots. I hear paper ripping. I don’t need to see exactly what’s going on. It’s not like Levi can’t handle himself if things suddenly go sideways.

I look up when I notice Feather’s hands rapidly touch the projection. With two fingers he plucks at the naked holographic form. Levi’s skin is removed so that now the image displays his musculature only. Again, Feather picks at the body and the muscles are taken away, leaving only bones and organs. After a cursory examination of those, Feather dismisses them with a short flick and a turn of his wrist until all that remains is Levi’s skeleton and circulatory system. Feather sticks one hand in and opens his palm until we are actually inside Levi’s blood stream. And then, with two flat hands, Feather enhances the image so that we can see the cells themselves. I suppose with who I am and everything I’ve experienced I should be past surprise.

I am not past this.

Air gets trapped in my throat as I bring my hand to my mouth. Levi is staring at the display, but then he looks at me and I know we are thinking the same thing. How did we even get here? There is a sudden weight to this room. It is thick and heavy with all the things we should be doing. Parties and part-time jobs, football games and essays. We can’t unsee this. We can’t have normal. I accepted that long ago. We weren’t like other kids before, but now, after this trip, we won’t even be like the other Citadels.

“Display toxins,” Feather says with quiet authority. And there again, hovering in the air, a list of words comes online. Ammonia, sulfur dioxide, lead, mercury—the list keeps scrolling. I think a lot of this stuff we were exposed to on our Earth. And some words I just don’t know. I look past the words, to the strange strips running almost around the room like a news ticker. Oh shit. Of course I know what this is.

“You’ve sequenced our DNA.” It’s not really a question, more of a statement. Check our blood, okay, but this veers dangerously close to crossing a line.

“It was necessary, for an accurate holo-projection.” I stare at the black marks as certain lines begin to ping and flash in different colors. Feather stares at them. I stare at Feather. These angry, perfect lines. These unnatural stretches of biology, pocked and darkened like craters on the moon. I don’t want to see it. I fight the urge to look away, but I stand firm.

This is who we are.

“Your DNA has been altered,” Feather says to Levi. There is a melancholic tone to his voice. It’s almost as if seeing this hurts him. But we knew our genes had been messed with, so it’s not really news to us. “You are not even entirely human.”

That, however, is news.

“What?” Levi and I both say at once.

“Your DNA has been spliced with other species. Not all of it, obviously, but here,” he says, pointing to one of the red flashing parts. “And again here.” His long finger gestures to another line, this one a bluish purple, like a bruise. “I cannot even say what species resides in your genome. It does not exist here on this Earth.”

Not entirely human. What have they done to us? What does that even mean? There is too much information buzzing around in my head. I need to process this, alone, with Levi. I don’t like the idea that these people have figured something out about us that we ourselves didn’t know, and I certainly don’t want to let on that I was in the dark about my genetic alterations, at least right now. It will make me appear ignorant, weak.

“You can still fix the damage done by the radiation, though?” I ask deliberately. If Feather isn’t going to answer any of our questions, then I am not going to answer for this.

“Yes. Ryn, would you please change places with Levi?” Levi hops off the reclined chair and I slip onto it. It isn’t leather, because it doesn’t smell like leather, but it is certainly one of the best imitations of it that I’ve ever seen. “You will allow me to fix your eye, please?” I just nod my head and Feather opens a paper package and holds up a tissue-thin piece of material. It is cool to the touch and slightly wet when he puts it on my bruise. After a few seconds he removes it, and sure enough, even without touching it, I can tell that whatever swelling was there has gone because my vision is better.

“You can go ahead and take my blood, too,” I offer, knowing that I will need a neutralizing agent that differs from Levi’s because we’re bound to have different levels of toxins in our cells. I push up the sleeve of my uniform and watch diligently as he takes the blood painlessly. Again, he plugs the silver tube into the tablet and in a matter of seconds the holo-projectors begin to work.

I am well aware that Levi can see a naked version of me, but I notice that he doesn’t stare. He finds another place for his eyes to focus on, which is a relief. I already feel too exposed. It took me years to accept and adapt to what my body could do. And now there’s this.

Not entirely human …

Keeping my face deliberately passive, I think about Edo. She’s a liar. She might be under ARC’s control, but she kept this from me. So, what are we? Part Karekin? Dinosaur? Maribeh? We could be a hundred different species. There’s also a good chance that not even ARC knows the truth of it.

Feather wastes no time in plucking the skin and musculature off my holographic form. I catch Levi’s eye. I wonder what he thinks about all this. He has put our rifles in the corner with our packs. He is standing with his arms folded, his brows knitted together, and his full lips stolen by a thin-lined grimace. For just a split second, all this fades away and it is only the two of us. The two Citadels who know the truth behind our strength and speed. We are as alone as we had been back on that deserted island. I almost want to reach out for him, just to steady me, to hold me fast to where we are, but that would be inappropriate and would likely trigger the Blood Lust. Instead, I bring my fist up to my heart and push down, hoping there will be some kind of comfort in the pressure.

“Ahh. Yes. There. Your orbital socket has a small hairline fracture. We do not have anything that can repair this quickly, but I will assign one of my colleagues to look into it.”

“Thank you,” I tell him honestly. They may be weird, but they are helping. They are playing by the rules, and more importantly, Feather has not appeared even remotely judgmental about his discoveries. As my own genome begins to display, I watch with rapt fascination as it unfurls around the room. I barely notice as Feather dismisses Shrine to presumably make up our anti-radiation cocktail.

I see the same blinking and alerts on certain bands of the code. The parts of me that are alien, the molecular rips and cuts that have been twisted around DNA that I can only begin to imagine. Feather cocks his head and examines a strip more closely. He reaches into the band and expands it. In doing so, he enlarges the microscopic images into a panel that we can all see. The vicious helix spins but half the ladder is bright orange.

“You and Levi share the same DNA alteration except for here; this is a mutation that he does not possess. Do you have some sort of ability that he does not?”

“A slightly higher tolerance to certain medications,” I offer.

Feather’s face remains passive. He stares at the spinning gene for quite a while. And then, he looks at me directly, his silver eyes boring into me. “I do not think that is what this is.”