Burn (13 page)

“If you think those aliens are cooperating with you, you're even more stupid than the rest of your family!” Rufus shouts.

Kellan's cheeks darken. “Sir,” he says, his voice turning gravelly. “I'm going to have to order—”

More curses. Kellan looks helpless. Purely out of impatience, I snatch the scanner from his hand and wave it over the door. Despite the barrier, it flashes blue. The thing can scan through walls and doors.

Sung's dark eyebrow arches as he notes the device's capability. “Good to know,” he says.

I nod and hand the scanner back to Kellan as Rufus shouts, “You think the scanner protects you? Those H2 don't need to scan orange to do damage.”

“Neither do you,” Graham calls.

“It's all you're going to get tonight, dude,” I say to Kellan. “Just do your scanning, and we'll sort the rest tomorrow.”

He moves away from Rufus's door as Brayton Alexander emerges from his room at the end of the hall. “What's going on?” he asks, smoothing his rumpled blond hair across the top of his head.

“Someone tried to steal the scanner, Mr. Alexander,” says Kellan.

Brayton's eyes go wide, and then he scowls. He closes his eyes as Kellan scans him blue. His cheeks still look sunken with fatigue, and I swear there are new streaks of gray in his pale hair, though that may be the light. “Obviously the thieves didn't succeed,” he says in a tight voice. “And equally obvious, it needs to be guarded more closely.”

“Agreed.” I tuck Christina a little tighter to my side. “I'm betting they'll try again,” I say. “Speaking of, Brayton, you must know the security and surveillance systems of this compound pretty well, right?”

I look to Graham and Sung, who said they saw someone running down the infirmary hall. Graham shrugs and looks at the floor as he mutters, “It was dark, and the guy was moving fast.”

Brayton leans back against the wall, his face pinched with anger. “I do know the system well.” He leans forward and glares at Kellan, the circles under his eyes making him look like a ghoul. “But I don't appreciate being under suspicion, especially since we both know the surveillance cameras would have detected any intruder.”

Kellan stands his ground. “That's what we're talking about, Mr. Alexander. They were hacked.”

Brayton blinks at him. “What?” He pushes himself off the wall. “I can take a look if you'd like.”

“We're just trying to scan everyone in the building right now,” says Kellan. “Then I'm reporting to Angus.”

Brayton slumps a little. “Tomorrow, then,” he says quietly, and Kellan nods.

I'm about to remind them that we might not have a tomorrow because the scout ships could come for the scanner at any time, but Christina leans on me like she agrees with them, and my own fatigue is making me feel so heavy that I'm about to sink to the floor. And suddenly, I realize I'm not holding Christina up—it's the other way around.

“Gentlemen,” she says, “if you're done with me and Tate, I'm taking him to his room. He hasn't slept in nearly two days, and I'm sure you can manage without him, seeing as it's your job.”

Graham snorts with laughter, and he, Sung, and Brayton step out of the way. “You want me to let you know if someone scans orange?” Kellan asks.

“I'm sure the gunshots will give me a clue,” I mumble. Because I'm done. Someone on this compound tried to steal the scanner, and the surveillance that protects it is inadequate, and all of that will have to be figured out. And if I'm really lucky, someone else will handle it so I don't have to. I have enough to do.

Christina is digging in my pocket. She pulls out my ID card and slides it into the card reader at the door of the Archer suite, then guides me inside. “I have to go back to the computer lab and work on bringing those satellites online,” I say.

Christina puts her arm around my waist and leads me toward the bed. “Doing that won't stop the scout ships from coming here.”

“But it could keep the invasion force from taking over the planet.” I try—and fail—to stifle a yawn. “I have to figure out the password to activate the satellites. One password.” Something I've done dozens of times in the past, and it's never been this hard. Possibilities flash in my brain and then evaporate. I'm too exhausted to hold on to a single one.

“Tate, if you try to keep going, you're going to pass out,” Christina says, placing her warm palms on my cheeks. “You've been awake for almost forty-eight hours. You've been through so much.” She draws me down and gives me a featherlight kiss. “You're not at your best.”

“I'm sorry I left you alone for so long,” I say as she gives me a gentle shove onto the bed. This is a huge suite, with several bedrooms, an office, and a kitchenette. I force myself not to think of the fact that my dad was the last person to spend the night here. “I had to try to figure it out. I should go back right now and keep trying. It's not just the satellite shield. It's the combat vehicles, too. I have to—”

“You will, Tate,” she says softly, pressing a glass of water into my hands. “After you rest.”

“What if I fail?” I whisper, closing my eyes as I sip the water, then concentrating hard to set it on the bedside table without dropping it.

“You won't.” The bed dips as she settles her body next to mine. She gently lays her head on my chest. “Go to sleep.
Please.
Just for a few hours. We're all right at the moment, and we'll figure out the rest when you wake up.”

I want to argue, but I'm so exhausted that I can't even open my mouth.
I'll only sleep for an hour, then I'll wake up and figure this out.
It's the last thought in my head before my brain shuts down and takes the world away.

I WAKE SLOWLY TO MORNING SUNLIGHT FILTERING
through the curtains. “Shit!” I bolt upright and scrabble for the phone by the bed, frantically checking the time. It's nearly nine. There's a note on the pillow next to me.
Went to breakfast with Leo, but wanted to let you sleep.

A jolt of frustration makes me crumple the paper, but then I notice something written on the other side:

Please don't be mad ~ C

My fingers trace the initial she used to sign off, realizing, as I look again at the date display on the phone, that it's Sunday morning, and our prom was last night. That was where we were supposed to be, laughing and dancing and being stupid with our friends. And instead of getting a hotel room and hoping for the best, I was here. Christina was with me, but it wasn't exactly the romantic scenario I'd envisioned.

This last week has stolen all my hopes for a normal, carefree end to my junior year. What it hasn't stolen is how I feel about Christina. That's only stronger every time I look at her, which makes it both awesome and terrible that she's here.

I get up and shower quickly. As I dress in some of the clothes my father left in the drawers, I remember all the simmering tension of the night before, the hair-trigger suspicion of the Black Box guards, the way they collared her just for being a stranger, the way they looked at her when they discovered she was H2. As I walk to the main building, where the cafeteria is located, I call my mom. She doesn't pick up, so I leave a message. “Just checking in. I hope everything's all right.” I wonder if she ever left the morgue last night.

The guards at the main entrance don't scan me, and I'm not sure what that means.

I make it to the cafeteria in time to catch Leo and Christina finishing their food. Christina gives me a nervous look, but when I smile, she relaxes. They're at a table with Angus, Race, and Congers, and for a moment I pause, struck by the weirdness of that sight. Christina still has stitches in her head because one of Race's agents shot her last Tuesday. And now she's listening politely to something he's saying while she sips her coffee.

I grab some cereal and milk and join them, noticing that the scanner is sitting in the middle of the circular table like a centerpiece. “Why aren't we scanning people as they enter the building?”

Race wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Everyone on the compound was located and re-scanned by six this morning. Now it's a matter of priorities. There's a lot we don't yet know about the device, and we're wondering if our time wouldn't be best spent trying to figure out whether it has additional capabilities.” He runs his fingers down the side of the scanner, across those little ports. He's noticed them, too.

Congers, his hair neatly combed with a perfectly straight part, looks around at the people in the cafeteria. Several factory workers, wearing gray coveralls, hunch over their scrambled eggs while they stare coldly at a group of Core agents quietly eating their own breakfast at a table across the room. The agents' tense postures tell me they're glad their weapons have been returned. “I'm not sure any amount of scanning will reassure either side.”

Angus pulls his napkin from his lap and drops it over his half-eaten plate of food. “It'll take more than a day to resolve centuries of mistrust. It has nothing to do with the scanner or the Sicarii.”

“But maybe it should,” I say. “I'm not saying one has to be a Sicarii to try to steal the scanner; I'm just saying we shouldn't rule it out completely. There's a lot we don't know about how they operate.”

Angus shrugs. “All we know is that everyone is accounted for and no one scanned orange.”

“Are we going to figure out what happened to the surveillance system?” Leo asks, using the bottom of his shirt to clean his glasses.

“It's on a long list of things we have to do.” Angus rolls his head on his neck. “I have a team on it. Rufus is leading it up.”

I nearly drop my spoon. “What?”

Angus scrubs a hand over his face and scratches at his beard. “He's an expert in the kind of power grid we have here, Tate.”

“My point exactly,” I snap. “He wouldn't even come out of his room last night. How do you know he's not hiding something?”

“I'll be providing oversight,” says Congers.

Leo's eyes get wide. “Oh, man. Rufus won't like that.”

“We need the mutual accountability,” says Angus, putting his enormous hand on Leo's skinny shoulder. “If each team is a mix of humans and H2, we have a built-in watchdog system. Neither side is going to cover for the other.” He gestures from the Core agents to the factory workers. “It means we'll have less of this mistrust.”

“Or more of it,” says Christina softly, staring into her cup of coffee.

I touch her leg under the table, and she takes my hand. “Are there Core agents helping in the defense stations?” I ask. “It might be good to have fresh eyes on the horizon.”

Congers nods. “There are also agents working in the factory, to build the mobile attack units your father designed.”

Angus runs his thick knuckles along the underside of his chin. “There's been a lot of debate about the plans. It calls for a hole to be cut into the roof of each vehicle, to allow for the placement of that giant lens. Some folks on the design team think it's a flaw.”

“They haven't been able to determine the intended purpose for those lenses?” I guess I shouldn't be surprised. My dad designed for himself. He didn't bother writing explanations so everyone else could keep up.

Angus shakes his head. “Some of the design team want to eliminate that part of the modifications. I can't say I disagree. It seems like a risk to have a giant glass lens in the roof of the vehicle—especially if you're fighting something that's flying overhead.”

Race frowns. “Do you realize what Frederick Archer accomplished before he was killed?” As soon as that word comes out of his mouth, he cuts me an uneasy glance and clears his throat. “He was working with alien technology more advanced than anything on Earth. And he not only figured out how to make it functional—he extrapolated an entire defense system that might be the key to protecting this planet from total annihilation.” He leans forward, and his voice rises. “And he basically accomplished all of it with a blindfold on. No plans, no explanations, and almost no context. Yet still, he did it. The scanner. The satellite shield. And these mobile attack units. The building blocks are all in place—all we have to do is figure out how to put them together and use them.” Race sits back, his nostrils flaring.

Angus blinks at him. “I guess you're of the opinion that the lenses should stay,” he says with a bemused chuckle.

Race looks at me. “I'm saying that if Fred Archer had designed a weapon using peacock feathers and rubber bands, I'd build it and trust that it would do the job.”

Something in my chest loosens, even as my throat gets tight. “Yeah,” I say hoarsely. “Dad never designed things without a purpose.” But it's one more thing to figure out, and we may not have time. It's been nearly twenty-four hours since that Sicarii scout ship discovered the location of Black Box. Why haven't they attacked yet? What are they waiting for? “I'll take a look at it later if the weapon design team can't figure it out, but I have to get back to work on bringing the satellite system online this morning.”

Congers stares at the scanner, his expression grim. “Assuming we can activate that satellite shield, will it still be functional if—”

“If those Sicarii come in here and blow us up?” I interject.

Angus regards me steadily. “The servers are very protected, deep underground. Bombs probably wouldn't do it. But if these Sicarii get boots on the ground and gain control of the compound, they could probably take it down.”

We sit in silence for a moment, and then Angus scoots his chair back abruptly. “We'd better get moving,” he rumbles as he stands up.

Race turns to me. “In the spirit of mutual trust, Tate, I was thinking you and I could work on the satellite defense system together, maybe figure out the technology, which pieces of the wreckage your father used to create the system and the scanner.”

I look into his eyes, the whites still shot through with crimson. It's not possible to trust him, not completely, but after what he said about my dad, it's a bit easier to think about working with him.

Also, there's no way I'd let him look at the satellite plans by himself. “Sounds good.”

Leo pokes my arm. “Can I come?”

Race looks to Angus, who nods. “Don't underestimate this boy,” Angus says proudly.

“He knew my dad well,” I say. My voice sounds hollow. I think he knew my dad better than I did.

As I dig into my breakfast, eating as quickly as possible, Angus asks Christina if she'd like to help out on the factory floor. They need all the assistance they can get. Christina looks relieved at the idea of having something to do and eagerly agrees. Angus waves to a ridiculously tall, lanky guy with black hair and olive skin, and when the dude comes over, Angus introduces him as Manuel Santiago, oldest son of the Santiago patriarch and a member of the weapons design team. He appears to be in his midtwenties and, like so many others, looks short on sleep and highly caffeinated this morning. He shakes Christina's hand and tells her he could use some help inputting raw data to create a simulation to test the weapons systems for the combat vehicles. I'm not sure whether it'll be boring or cool, but Manuel seems easygoing and friendly. He doesn't ask her what her last name is. He seems interested only in having an extra set of fingers to enter data, considering the urgency of getting the vehicles battle-ready. Christina kisses my forehead and leaves with him, telling me she'll see me at lunch.

I'm shoveling the last bit of cereal into my mouth when Brayton walks into the cafeteria. He slept in, and it's done him loads of good. His face has lost the sunken look it had last night. He strides over to our table, doing that meticulous hair-smoothing thing as he reaches us. “Good morning,” he says to Angus.

“Morning,” says Angus. Both Race and Congers sit back a little, watching. “You look like you got some rest.”

Brayton smooths his hair again. “I heard you needed some help figuring out how to bolster the security around the scanner,” he says, nodding at the device. “I told the guards last night that I'd assist.”

“We did need help,” says Angus. “We put Rufus Bishop and Mr. Congers here on it.”

“But I know more about it than either of those two,” Brayton says, his brow furrowed. “I was the CEO, for God's sake. I know all the systems within this compound. It's very shortsighted of you not to use my expertise.”

Angus gives Brayton a friendly smile that does not completely mask the cold look in his eyes. “I had every intention of using your expertise. We were hoping you'd assist in managing the logistical team.”

“The logistical team . . .” Brayton begins.

Angus nods. “Sanitation, janitorial services, laundry, and cafeteria services.”

Brayton stares at Angus. “You don't trust me,” he says slowly, tilting his head. “Have you
ever
trusted me? Was I an idiot to think you did?”

His tone is so controlled, but I've seen Brayton get mad—on Monday in Princeton when I wouldn't give him the scanner, and again yesterday when he found out he'd lost his job. My stomach tightens as I wait for the explosion.

Angus puts his hands up. “Brayton, this isn't the time to rehash the past—”

“Then I won't,” Brayton snaps as he takes an abrupt step back, looking from Angus to the scanner before meeting each of our eyes. “I will work to regain your trust,” he says, gentling his tone. Then he pivots on his heel and marches out, his hand shooting out to grab a granola bar from a rack as he makes his way to the exit.

“He took that better than we anticipated,” Race comments.

Angus lifts his shoulder slightly, a noncommittal sort of movement. “We've had our differences over the years, mostly over his accounting, but also over how brilliant men like Rufus Bishop and Fred Archer were driven away from our ranks because Brayton prioritized profits over anything else. He went after the scanner on his own last week. I had no idea he was trying to buy it from Fred, and no idea how far he'd go to get it. And what he did to Tate is unconscionable.” He folds his arms over his chest. “He'll be watched.”

“He's not the only one who should be monitored,” I say, frustration creeping in. I don't disagree with anything Angus is saying, but Brayton was in his room last night, and he looked too tired to be sprinting down corridors in the main building. Rufus was also in his room, and I can't imagine him sprinting anywhere ever. But maybe neither of them needed to. “This attempted theft was aided, at least, by someone who knows the technology. But maybe whoever masterminded it had help.” I get up from my chair, struck by an idea. “Where's the scanner going to be?”

“For now, when we're not examining it, it will be in a storage room adjoining my office. I'm taking it there now,” says Angus. “All the security staff are needed today to work in the defense stations at the perimeter, since we're concerned about another attack after yesterday. When I'm not in there to watch over it myself, guards will be posted outside the door, at least until Rufus and Bill render the electronic systems foolproof.”

Computers aren't that hard to fool, I want to remind him. But instead, I say, “I'll meet you at your office.” I tell Race I'll be in the computer lab in less than half an hour, then make for the door. Leo follows me out.

“What are you up to?” he asks as I head for the infirmary.

“Low-tech alternatives,” I say, and he grins.

I stroll into the clinic to hear Dr. Ackerman's voice emanating from behind a curtain. In his soft, Southern drawl, he instructs a Core agent to inhale and let it out. The open hospital room still contains a few of the injured, a guy with burns and two others still wearing oxygen masks. For a half second, I consider trying to talk to Dr. Ackerman about where he went after he left the meeting room last night, but if he's guilty of trying to steal the scanner, I can hardly expect him to be straight with me.