Two
Blythe Sol, Dax Janner, and Jenica Swan
Restoration Resistance Headquarters
August 15, 4010
3:00 pm
I am grateful when Jenica lowers the hovercraft over the painted landscape of Nevada. After two years away from my hometown in Georgia, the rusty walls of Red Rock Canyon look more and more like home every day. Calm sweeps over me as we hurtle along through the canyon, shaded from the stifling Nevada heat by the mountains jutting up from the ground. While we encountered snow in Texas, the state of Nevada and its desert stretching away from bustling Las Vegas, is still hot as hell. In fact, global warming and our ruined ozone layer have rendered it even hotter.
Everyone is glad we didn’t encounter the MPs, especially with the scared and likely malnourished refugees in the back of our craft. We are all capable of fighting when necessary, but our Resistance is a peaceful one and we try not to kill when we don’t have to.
The round, steel portal carved into the side of the canyon opens to allow us entrance, and we are soon hurtling through the dim metal tube that leads to Resistance Headquarters… and home.
As we shoot out the other end of the tube, the citadel that was built into the red mountains as a haven for our kind comes into view. Jenica dodges other crafts and steers us toward Hexley Hall, the living quarters of all children and family members of refugees. There are so many of them that Hexley Hall is filled to over capacity. These people will likely have to share space with some of our other residents until construction is finished next door on Regent Hall. For now, I’m sure they are just happy to have a place to lay their heads without fear of arrest or execution.
Jenica lands the craft on the lawn of Hexley Hall and unbuckles her harness, turning toward the scared people huddled toward the back of the aircraft.
“All refugees come to the front of the craft, where I will document you and pass you on to the matron of Hexley Hall, Milica Brady. She will see you all settled into your quarters and provided with whatever necessities you were unable to bring with you.”
“What about the others?” a voice calls from the back of the craft. I whip around in my seat to put a face to the masculine voice. From behind the others appears a head of blond hair, a broad pair of shoulders, and deep blue eyes that lodge my heart in my throat. The refugees part to reveal him and I can only stare, slack-jawed. He is as large and wide as Dax, with smooth skin and features chiseled from stone. His brow is furrowed over eyes narrowed on Jenica. I look across the aisle to find Dax staring at me quizzically, and then back at the stranger.
“Excuse me?” Jenica asks, her tone sharp. “What others?”
“When do we help them? The other Bionics stuck out there?”
Jenica’s jaw hardens and her hardware hums as she narrows both eyes, human and machine. “We don’t use that term here,” she says, referring to President Drummond’s nickname for us. The Bionics, they call us—humans modified by government equipment. They created us and now they hate us, fear us, force us to go into hiding to protect ourselves and our families. Because Jenica’s hardware isn’t as easily hidden as mine is, I know the term is especially sensitive for her, thought it doesn’t really bother me. In fact, most of us use the term in reference to each other and others like us. It’s being called a Bionic by outsiders that put some of us on edge. It’s the implication that we are not human because of our modifications.
“I’m sorry,” the stranger says, running long, slender fingers through his hair. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
Jenica nods once, but I can tell she’s still not fond of him. She’s not fond of anyone who speaks out of turn. “I am sure you didn’t. You should be more careful about throwing that word around. As far as the other victims goes, that is not your concern Mr.…” She looks up at him pointedly, pen poised over her clipboard, human eyebrow raised.
“Gage,” he answers. “Gage Bronson.”
Jenica writes something in her neat, precise scrawl. “Mr. Bronson, rest easy. The very capable field soldiers you see in front of you are working hard every day to rescue those of our kind that need it.”
Gage doesn’t miss Jenica’s emphasis on ‘our kind’; it’s obvious by the pulling of muscles around his mouth and the flash of defiance in his eyes. He swivels those eyes toward me, and I am frozen in his stare, unable to look away. We look at each other just long enough for me to notice that there’s a rim of silvery gray around the outside of his blue irises before I tear my gaze from him, embarrassed. Gage doesn’t say anything else to Jenica, but he has definitely made his presence known, and I’m officially curious.
What is he doing here? He’s obviously not one of us; he looks like he belongs in one of the metropolitan areas, those unaffected by nuclear war or radiation. He has none of the desperation in his eyes that most of us carry in our fight to stay alive. There’s determination there, though, and I can’t help but admire that.
Jenica motions the refugees forward, and they step up one at a time to register. I wait patiently in my seat as she records their names and other stats, including their bionic parts. When Jenica gets to the dark-skinned girl I locked eyes with earlier, she answers that her skin has been genetically modified to have the hardness and durability of Kevlar. I see Dax’s eyebrows shoot up, and several of our other crew members whistle and murmur to each other. A girl with skin made of Kevlar would be an amazing addition to our team. She says her name is Yasmine Zambrano, and I make a mental note to remember it.
When she gets to Gage, he, of course, lists no bionic appendages, confirming what I suspected. What he does next, though, blows me away. He reaches down and picks up a little girl—one I hadn’t seen before now—and holds her against his chest.
“Agata Schwenke,” he says. “Seven years old. Bionic spinal cord and bionically engineered left brain.”
If Yasmine’s revelation was enough to stun everyone, this was definitely one to blow that right out of the water. I stare into the soulful, wide eyes of little Agata and see intelligence there. Part of her cerebrum—the segment that computes logic, math, and speech—has been bionically enhanced. Agata is more than likely smarter than everyone on this craft. The Professor will want to study her for sure.
Gage and Agata are last, and Jenica leads them all toward the opening and ladder, where they climb down and are met by Milica Brady. I watch from my window as the matron greets them and them motions them toward the open doors of the hangar, Jenica’s notes in her hand. As they disappear, I wonder about Gage and the little girl. Is Agata his sister? His daughter? Whoever she is, I can’t help but think him brave for bringing her here. If the Military Police ever found out he had been here or helped a Bionic escape, he would receive the death penalty. She must be someone important if he braved coming to the very center of the Resistance to save her.
Jenica boards the hovercraft again, and my thoughts leave Gage and little Agata. I will seek them out later, but decide for now to think about a hot meal and my warm bed.