They were in Serassi’s genetics laboratory, where she had taken Nok for testing. Serassi’s head swiveled toward her as though she had forgotten Nok was lying flat on the examination table with tubes snaking into her veins. Something had changed over the past few days. Serassi had been spending more time in the house, not just observing it. She rarely input research findings into her hip computer, even when Nok made up a really juicy lie about baby-raising practices. And last night, Serassi had hung photographs of Sparrow on all the dollhouse walls. Simulations of what she would look like as a baby, and as a toddler, and as a little girl in a lavender dress. Serassi had superimposed herself in all the photos, like a doting mother. Nok and Rolf weren’t in any of them.
Now, in the lab, Serassi dismissed Nok’s correction. “Yes. Babies are sugary. Not sweet. Of course.” She turned back to the three-dimensional model of the baby on the glowing surface. The image glowed a little itself, but otherwise it looked alarmingly realistic. The projected baby was crawling, which meant she had to be around six months old, if Nok had learned anything from reading all those parenting books.
She ran a hand over her belly and accidentally brushed one of the sensors. The image of the baby flickered like static on a television set and then righted itself again. Serassi punched a few more commands into her hip pad, and the baby fast-forwarded until she was twenty pounds bigger and was walking now, unsteadily, waving her little arms.
There was something in Serassi’s face that hadn’t been there before, as she watched the projection. Even though she was cloaked, there was a glisten of pride and desire all mixed up together that made Nok’s heart race with fear.
Serassi punched a few more keys, and the toddler fast-forwarded again. Now the baby fat was gone, and the child’s black hair, slightly curly at the ends like Rolf’s, hung down to her shoulders. The little girl skipped in a circle.
Nok pressed her hand again against her small belly bump. The fetus was just a little over twenty weeks old, yet here she was as a four-year-old. She had Nok’s eyes.
Serassi punched in another few commands and the girl’s face shifted slightly. Her hair was shorter; her limbs were too.
“Hey!” Nok sat up in alarm, jostling the equipment, making the image flicker. “What did you do to her?”
Serassi gave her a slow, annoyed-looking blink. “I am running a variety of programs to see what effects various diets and outside factors will have on the child’s development.”
“Well, don’t. It’s creepy to see her change like that.”
“They are all possibilities for how the baby will grow depending on what external factors I expose her to.”
“We,” Nok said tensely. “What we expose her to.”
Serassi leveled her a black-eyed stare, then turned back to the screen. “This is if she receives a protein-rich diet, and if I mimic her environment to be that of a high altitude.” A few more buttons, and the girl shifted again, her hair slightly lighter. “This is if she receives a primarily vegetarian diet, at a low altitude, in an area with strenuous terrain.”
“And if she grows up on an alien space station, eating replicated food that all tastes like chalk?”
“As far as the child is concerned, she will not even know what Earth is.” Serassi’s face was perfectly emotionless. “Or rather, was.”
Before Serassi had taken Nok away for this round of examinations in the laboratory, Rolf had whispered in her ear: Cooperate with her. Don’t give her any reason to be unhappy with us. But Nok had never been good at controlling her temper. “Yeah,” she muttered, “because it’ll be totally normal to have a dozen Kindred observers watching through a missing wall of our house.”
Serassi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It is not up to you to decide how the child will be raised.” The image of the girl sat cross-legged, playing a game on her hand that Nok used to play, too.
“Sparrow,” Nok said.
Serassi cocked her head. “What did you say?”
“Her name is Sparrow.”
She was pushing it, she knew. And yet she detested that possessive look on Serassi’s face. It was the same look Miss Delphine, her talent manager, had worn when she sent Nok to fashion shoots in dirty warehouses. As if her life wasn’t her own.
The blue sensor above the door suddenly flickered, and Cassian entered.
Nok sat straighter—it was the first time she’d seen him since the cage. He was cloaked, and just as robotic as always, except his eyes shifted to the black panel anxiously. If Cassian noticed the projected four-year-old girl playing hand games on the glowing surface, he didn’t say anything. He exchanged a few words with Serassi and then turned to the door.
“There are no observers,” he said in English. “It is safe for you to enter.”
Cora hobbled in, favoring one leg. Nok leaned forward so abruptly that it screwed with all the sensors and the image of Sparrow flickered wildly. Cora’s hair was dirty and streaked with sweat; she was wearing a torn gold ball gown; dried blood was crusted on her left shin.
“Cora?” Nok asked incredulously.
Cora’s eyes went wide. “Nok!”
Nok kicked her legs off the examination table and threw her arms around Cora. “What happened?”
Cora shook her head. “It’s a lot to explain, but I’m okay. And you? You’re okay?” She looked around at the lab’s medical equipment.
“It’s just . . . baby stuff,” Nok said, glancing at Serassi. “There’s this projection and . . .” But Serassi was watching her keenly, and she stopped. She wanted to tell Cora about the dollhouse, about the lies she and Rolf had made up, about Serassi’s increasingly possessive behavior.
But Cassian interrupted their reunion. “Cora, sit on the table. Serassi will repair your wound.”
Serassi gave him a look that said she had no intention of doing anything of the sort, and they spoke in flat Kindred words for a moment. Serassi’s voice went extra tight—the closest thing to an argument two cloaked Kindred could reach.
Nok pinched herself so that they wouldn’t be able to read her mind and stepped out of their earshot. “Please tell me you’re getting us to that safe room soon,” she whispered to Cora. “Serassi’s got this weird obsession with Sparrow, like Rolf and I don’t even exist. She’s going to cut Sparrow out of me and lock us away in cages any minute, I swear.”
“I did have a plan, but . . .” Cora looked down at her bloodstained hands, and Nok wasn’t sure she wanted to know what had happened. “But Cassian might suspect too much now. If anything happens to me, Leon will get you to the safe room.” She glanced at Cassian. “Listen, don’t get your hopes up, but we found a clue that someone might have tampered with the algorithm that claimed Earth was gone. We’re trying to get real proof.”
Nok’s heart thundered. “We could go home?”
But Cassian and Serassi had stopped speaking, and Nok squeezed Cora’s hand hard, a signal not to answer in case they were listening. Serassi turned to one of the cabinets, where she traced a pattern and took out the repair tool. She worked efficiently, healing Cora’s wound slowly and methodically until the skin was entirely patched. If it hadn’t been for the dried blood crusting Cora’s foot, Nok would never have known she’d been wounded.
Cassian turned to Cora. “We must go.”
Nok threw her arms around Cora again, breathing in the scent of mud on her clothes, with only a trace of ozone. “Don’t leave.”
“Just hold on a few more days.” Cora squeezed her hand.
It was the same quick, tight squeeze Cora had given to her the first day they had woken in the cage, with no idea where they were. At the time, Nok had been so crippled by fear that she’d barely been able to string words together. Now, she could feel how much she had changed. Instead of balling up and rocking back and forth, she could fold the fear into herself, tuck it away carefully behind a mask of indifference, just like the Kindred. There, it could grow, and fester, and give her a steady stream of anger that she could twist into
strength.
Serassi ripped Cora out of Nok’s arms before she could say good-bye, and shoved her toward the open doorway. The door slid closed.
Nok was again alone with Serassi.
On the glowing surface, the projected image had changed again, this time to Sparrow as she truly was, a barely developed fetus, tiny arms visible when the image wasn’t flickering.
Nok’s fear folded itself into a knot again, tighter and tighter.
Serassi reached out toward the projection, fingers brushing against the formless shape tenderly. “Sugary,” she cooed. “Such a sugary little thing.”
28
Cora
THE LAST TIME CORA had been in Cassian’s quarters, everything she’d known about him had been a lie. He wasn’t the low-level Caretaker he claimed to be, powerless in the face of the Warden—he was the Warden. So when the door to his room slid open, she expected to find chambers befitting his rank.
But there was only the same lonely chair, the same hard bed, the lone square drinking glass.
She turned to him in confusion. “I thought this room was just part of the act.”
“I told you that not everything was a lie.” He crossed to a cabinet and handed her a thin towel. There was no mirror in his quarters, only the dull reflection of the black panel. In it, she saw that almost every inch of her skin was caked in sand or blood or sweat.
I killed a man, she thought, and her hands started to shake. But at least it hadn’t been for nothing. Lucky was eighteen now, not nineteen. Safe.
She scrubbed the towel over her face. As thin as it was, it absorbed dirt almost magnetically, and when she was done, there was no sign of her fight with Roshian except the torn dress. She couldn’t possibly return to the stage in that condition, but maybe that was just as well. There were some things you couldn’t come back from.
Cassian disappeared into the bedroom; the sounds of cabinets opening and closing followed. Cora sank into the single chair, staring at the empty square glass. It felt like years ago since they had sat here, drinking and sharing stories about each other’s worlds. That night had been the start of something forbidden but undeniable between them, that had come crashing down when he’d betrayed her. And now here she was, her life and her future in his hands once more—but this time she was the one doing the lying.
He returned to the main room. He had cleaned up and was tying knots along the side of a fresh uniform. A triangle of copper-colored skin flashed from the unknotted top of his shirt, showing a deep scar there that, if extended, would match the smaller one on the side of his neck.
“You’ve never told me how you got that scar.”
He still didn’t look at her, though his mouth twitched darkly, like the memory either pained or amused him. “Perhaps I will tell you one day. Or perhaps Mali will.”
“Mali was there?”
“Mali gave it to me. There was a time when she thought I was the enemy, though I was only attempting to help her. She understands that now. I am still waiting for you to reach a similar realization.”
His voice had gained an edge.
He finished tying the knots, then grabbed a pair of boots from a cabinet. “I must dispose of Roshian’s body. Tessela can hide it for a short period of time, but we cannot risk anyone discovering it and alerting the Council. If they were to learn of any of this, everything we’ve worked for would be destroyed. They would restrain you for murder—it doesn’t matter that he was human. You would have no chance of running the Gauntlet. No chance of freedom. You would be lucky if you ever got to speak to another human.”
“What about Roshian’s rifle? It’s human-made. It could be useful if anything goes wrong.”
“It is too dangerous to hold on to anything that could be traced back to him,” Cassian said. “But if anything ever happens to me, go to Fian or Tessela. They are ready at all times to enact the secondary plan, should it come to that.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“Free humanity ourselves. Destroy the enclosures. Remove the human wards from menageries and private owners. Take them all to a neutral satellite station until we can establish a more permanent colony.” His fingers flew over the thick laces of his boots. “But that would mean war. There are only several hundred Kindred sympathetic to our cause, on a station of two million. Chances of success would be minimal.”
He finished lacing the second boot and then started to slide on a pair of gloves, glancing at her torn gown. “I will bring you a replacement dress. Until then, you will find clean clothes in the bedroom. Try to rest.”
She could feel his agitation in every step. He was already halfway to the door.
“Wait,” she said.
He stopped, the left glove only halfway over his hand, and turned slowly.
“We need to talk about what happens now.” She took a deep breath. “And I don’t mean now that I’ve killed a man. I mean, what happens now. Now that you’ve read Leon’s mind. Now that you know I never intended to put myself at risk by running the Gauntlet, but meant to cheat it instead. And humiliate you in the process.” She laid her hands flat on the table and seriously wished that empty glass was full of something that would make this conversation easier.
Not the slightest trace of surprise showed on his face. As she’d suspected, he had already known.
He slowly peeled off the the left glove, as though all his previous hurry had vanished. Slowly, he approached the table. For a second, Roshian’s black eyes flashed into her head. Behind the disguise he must have had human eyes, and a human mind, and a human body. She wished she could brush a hand over Cassian’s eyes and have him be just as human.
“I know that you read Leon’s mind,” she said quietly. “I saw it in your face.”
His face gave nothing away.
“Uncloak, Cassian. Please. I don’t want to talk to a statue about this.”
For the count of a few breaths he remained motionless, though she suspected his thoughts must be churning as violently as her own. At last, he dragged over a bench to sit across from her.
“I will not uncloak,” he said slowly. “Uncloaked, I cannot read your thoughts. And what I want from you is the truth. So no masking your thoughts with pain.”
Before she could react, his hand clamped over hers to prevent her from pinching herself. She drew in a sharp breath. He hadn’t put the gloves back on yet and the electric sensation prickled her skin.
“Leon’s mind is a confusing place,” he said. “It is filled with self-doubt and false bravado. I could not read all the details. Only that you never intended to go through with my plan to prove humanity’s intelligence to the Council. That you were only training with me so that you could learn to control the testers’ minds to cheat your way to freedom. I assume all that is true.”
She swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I really am. But I meant what I said. If you expect humanity to excel, we have to play by our own rules, not yours. I have to prove our worth my own way.”
“By cheating.”
“In this case, yes.”
He let out a harsh laugh. “I thought your species demonstrated higher values. I thought you were ready for self-governance.”
“We are,” she whispered urgently. “You told me yourself how dangerous the Gauntlet puzzles can be. Isn’t it the definition of being intelligent to find a way around that risk? Self-preservation? I can cheat the Gauntlet, and then, if you’re right about someone tampering with the algorithm’s predictions, there’s a chance we could go home.”
“Perhaps.”
She was surprised he didn’t contradict her, though there was a strangely hard edge to his voice.
“But there would be consequences you cannot foresee,” he added.
“What consequences?”
He didn’t answer.
“Look,” she said, “you would be humiliated, I get it. But a little bruised pride is nothing compared to what you did to me. You—” Her voice hitched. “You gave me hope and then crush
ed it.”
The wall panel hummed softly, like a trapped insect, and for a while it drowned out all other noise. Then he curled his fingers around hers. “It was all so you, and your kind, could have a better life.”
“Roshian nearly killed me. Is that better?”
He leaned in. “I blame myself for not foreseeing his intentions.” His hands were growing warmer. He glanced at the door, as though remembering the body bleeding out into the savanna sand that, if found, would ruin them both. “Sometimes I think the Council is right when they insist humans are of a lesser intelligence, because that is the only way to explain such a senseless plan to cheat the Gauntlet. And to solicit the Mosca’s help is even more foolish. Just because Leon lives among them does not make them loyal. Everything is a whim for them, whatever they feel like that day, betraying a promise or keeping it.” He shook his head. “Your plan is foolhardy.”
“Maybe the Mosca aren’t trustworthy,” she said. “But neither are you.”
“You said you forgave me.”
She looked down at her hands. “I lied.”
His fingers curled harder around hers. “I’ve done everything for you. I took you from a dying planet. I gave you a world where you could be happy. I gave you a partner who was perfectly matched for you. I’m risking everything to expand your mind, so that you, and all your kind, don’t have to live like animals anymore. I am risking my life and my own freedom—as are Tessela and Fian and many others—because we believe in our mission to free humanity. We are doing this for you.” His hands were shaking now. Try as he might, his emotional cloak was slipping. “Even now, I am bending every rule to find out if your home planet is still in existence, though we both know it would mean that I’d never see you again. And you throw it all back at me like I have done nothing.”
At last, he let her go and stood. “Fian and I will bury Roshian’s body. But I will not let you go through with this foolish plan to cheat the Gauntlet. Either you will agree to run it honestly or we abandon all our plans right here. You can return to the Hunt and survive as long as you can behind bars, until you turn nineteen and they drag you off to an even worse place. Tell me, right now. No lies. No deceptions. What do you choose?”