Prodigy (3 page)

June nods at me, so I speak up instead. “We need your help,” I say. “Please. I came
for Tess, but I’m also trying to find my brother Eden. I don’t know what the Republic’s
using him for or where they’re keeping him. We figured you were the only people outside
the military who might be able to get information. And finally, it seems like my leg
needs to be operated on.” I suck in my breath as another spasm of agony sears my wound.
The man glances down at the leg; his eyebrows furrow in concern.

“That’s quite a list,” he says. “You should sit. You seem a bit unsteady on your feet.”
He waits patiently for me to move, but when I don’t budge, he clears his throat. “Well,
you’ve introduced yourselves—it’s only fair for me to do the same. My name is Razor,
and I currently head the Patriots. I’ve been leading the organization for quite a
few years, longer than you’ve been causing trouble on the streets of Lake. You want
our help, Day, but I seem to remember your declining our invitations to join us. Several
times.”

He turns to tinted windows that face the pyramid-shaped landing docks lining the strip.
The view from here is amazing. Airships glide back and forth in the night sky, covered
in lights, several of them docking right over the pyramids’ tops like puzzle pieces.
Occasionally we see formations of fighter jets, black eaglelike shapes, taking off
from and landing on the airship decks. It’s a never-ending stream of activity. My
eyes dart from building to building; the pyramid docks in particular would be the
easiest to run, with grooves cut into each side and steplike ridges lining their edges.

I realize that Razor is waiting again for me to respond. “I wasn’t entirely comfortable
with your organization’s body count,” I offer.

“But now apparently you are,” Razor says. His words are scolding, but his tone is
sympathetic as he puts his palms together and presses the fingertips to his lips.
“Because you need us. Correct?”

Well, I can’t argue with that. “I’m sorry,” I say. “We’re running out of options.
But believe me, I’ll understand if you turn us away. Just don’t turn us in to the
Republic, please.” I force a smile.

He chuckles at my sarcasm. I focus on the crooked bump of his nose and wonder if he’d
broken it before. “At first, I was tempted to let you both wander Vegas until you
were caught,” he continues. His voice has the smoothness of an aristocrat, cultured
and charismatic. “I’ll be blunt with you. Your skills are not as valuable to me as
they used to be, Day. Over the years, we’ve recruited other Runners—and now, with
all due respect, adding another one to our team isn’t a priority. Your friend already
knows”—he pauses to nod at June—“that the Patriots are not a charity. You’re asking
us for a great deal of help. What will you give us in return? You can’t be carrying
much money.”

June gives me a pointed look. She may have warned me about this on our train ride,
but I can’t give up now. If the Patriots turn us down, we’ll really be on our own.
“We don’t have a lot of money,” I admit. “I’m not going to speak for June, but if
there is
anything
I can do in exchange for your help, just say the word.”

Razor crosses his arms, then walks to the apartment’s bar, an elaborate granite counter
embedded into the wall and shelving dozens of glass bottles of all shapes and sizes.
He takes his time pouring a drink; we wait. When he finishes preparing it, he takes
the glass in one hand and wanders back to us. “There
is
something you can offer,” he starts. “Fortunately, you’ve arrived on a very interesting
night.” He takes a sip of the drink and sits down on the couch. “As you probably learned
while down on the street, the former Elector Primo died today—something many in the
Republic’s elite circles have seen coming. At any rate, his son, Anden, is now the
Republic’s new Elector. Practically a boy, and
greatly
disliked by his father’s Senators.” He leans forward, saying each word carefully
and with weight. “Rarely has the Republic been as vulnerable as it is now. There will
never be a better time to spark a revolution. Your physical skills might be expendable
to us, but there are two things you can give us that our other Runners can’t. One:
your fame, your status as the people’s champion. And two”—he points his drink at June—“your
lovely friend.”

I stiffen at that, but Razor’s eyes are warm as honey and I find myself waiting to
hear the rest of his proposal.

“I’d be happy to take you in, and you’ll both be well cared for. Day, we can get you
an excellent doctor, and pay for an operation that’ll make your leg better than new.
I don’t know the whereabouts of your brother, but we can help you find him, and eventually,
we can help you both escape into the Colonies if that’s what you want. In return,
we’d ask for your help with a new project. No questions asked. But you’ll both need
to pledge your allegiance to the Patriots before I’ll reveal any details about what
you’ll be doing. These are my terms. What do you think?”

June looks from me to Razor. Then she lifts her chin higher. “I’m in. I’ll pledge
allegiance to the Patriots.”

There’s a slight falter in her words, like she knows she’s truly turned her back on
the Republic. I swallow hard. I hadn’t expected her to agree so quickly—I’d thought
she would need some persuading before she committed herself to a group that she so
obviously hated just a few weeks ago. The fact that she said yes tugs at my heart.
If June is giving herself to the Patriots, then she must realize that we have no better
choice. And she’s doing this for my sake. I raise my own voice. “Me too.”

Razor smiles, rises from the couch, and holds up his drink as if to toast us. Then
he sets it down on the coffee table and comes over to give each of us a firm handshake.
“It’s official, then. You’re going to help us assassinate the new Elector Primo.”

I
DON’T TRUST
R
AZOR.

I don’t trust him because I don’t understand how he can afford to hide out in such
nice quarters. An officer’s quarters, in
Vegas
of all places. These rugs are each worth at least 29,000 Notes, made from some sort
of expensive synthetic fur. Ten electric lights in one room—all switched on. His uniform
is spotless and new. He even has a customized gun hanging on his belt. Stainless steel,
probably lightweight, hand embellished. My brother used to have guns like that. Eighteen
thousand Notes and up for a single one. What’s more, Razor’s gun must be hacked. No
way the Republic is tracking those for fingerprints or locations. Where did the Patriots
get the money and skills to hack such advanced equipment?

This all leads me to two theories:

One—Razor must be some sort of commander in the Republic, a double-crossing officer.
How else can he stay in this barrack apartment without being detected?

Two—the Patriots are being funded by someone with deep pockets. The Colonies? Possibly.

In spite of all my suspicions and guesses, Razor’s offer is still as good as we’re
going to get. We have no money to buy help on the black market, and without help,
we have no chance of finding Eden
or
making it to the Colonies. Also, I’m not even sure we
could
have turned down Razor’s offer. He certainly hasn’t threatened us in any way, but
I doubt he’d just let us walk back out onto the streets, either.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Day waiting for my response to Razor’s statement.
All I need to see are the paleness of his lips and the pain laced across his face,
just a few of the dozen signs of his fading strength. At this point, I think his life
depends on our deal with Razor.

“Assassinating the new Elector,” I say. “Done.” My words sound foreign and distant.
For a moment, I think back on meeting Anden and his late father at the ball celebrating
Day’s capture. The thought of killing Anden makes my stomach churn.
He’s the Republic’s
Elector
now.
After everything that’s happened to my family, I should be happy for the opportunity
to kill him. But I’m not, and it confuses me.

If Razor notices my hesitation, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he nods approvingly.
“I’ll put out an urgent call for a Medic. They probably won’t be able to come until
midnight—that’s when the shifts change. It’s the fastest we can be on such a tight
schedule. Meanwhile, let’s get you two out of those disguises and into something more
presentable.” He glances over at Kaede. She’s leaning against the couch with hunched
shoulders and an irritated scowl, chewing absently on a lock of her hair. “Show them
to the shower and give them a pair of fresh uniforms. Afterward, we’ll have a late
supper, and we can talk more about our plan.” He spreads his arms wide. “Welcome to
the Patriots, my young friends. We’re glad to have you.”

And just like that, we’re officially bound to them. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing,
either—maybe I never should’ve argued with Day about this in the first place. Kaede
motions for us to follow her into an adjoining hall in the apartment and guides us
to a spacious bathroom, complete with marble tiles and porcelain sinks, mirror and
toilet, bathtub and shower with frosted glass walls. I can’t help admiring it all.
This is wealth beyond even what I had in my Ruby sector apartment.

“Don’t be all night about it,” she says. “Take turns—or get cozy and shower together,
if that’s faster. Just be back out there in a half hour.” Kaede grins at me (although
the smile doesn’t touch her eyes), then gives Day a thumbs-up as he leans heavily
on my shoulder. She turns away and disappears back down the hall before I can reply.
I don’t think she’s forgiven me entirely for breaking her arm.

Day slouches the instant Kaede’s gone. “Can you help me sit down?” he whispers.

I put the toilet cover down and ease him gently onto it. He stretches out his good
leg, then tenses his jaw as he tries to straighten out the injured one. A moan escapes
his lips. “I’ve gotta admit,” he mutters, “I’ve had better days.”

“At least Tess is safe,” I reply.

This eases some of the pain in his eyes. “Yes,” he echoes, sighing deeply. “At least
Tess is safe.” I feel an unexpected twinge of guilt. Tess’s face had looked so sweet,
so wholly
good.
And the two of them were separated because of
me.

Am
I
good? I don’t really know.

I help Day take off his jacket and cap. His long hair drapes in strings across my
arms. “Let me see that leg.” I kneel, then pull a knife from my belt. I slice the
fabric of his pant leg up to the middle of his thigh. His leg muscles are lean and
tense, and my hands tremble as they brush up along his skin. Gingerly, I pull the
fabric apart to expose his bandaged wound. We both suck in our breath. The cloth has
a massive circle of dark, wet blood, and underneath it, the wound is oozing and swelling.
“That Medic better get here soon,” I say. “Are you sure you can shower on your own?”

Day jerks his eyes away, and his cheeks turn red. “Of course I can.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “You can’t even stand.”

“Fine.” He hesitates, then blushes. “I guess I could use some help.”

I swallow. “Well. A bath instead, then. Let’s do what we have to do.”

I start filling up the bathtub with warm water. Then, I take the knife and slowly
cut through the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around Day’s wound. We sit there in
silence, neither of us meeting the other’s eyes. The wound itself is as bad as ever,
a fist-size mass of pulped flesh that Day avoids looking at.

“You
don’t have to do this,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to relax.

“Right.” I give him a wry smile. “I’ll just wait outside the bathroom door and come
help after you slip and knock yourself out.”

“No,” Day replies. “I mean, you don’t have to join the Patriots.”

My smile dies. “Well, we don’t have much of a choice, do we? Razor wants both of us
on board, or he’s not going to help us at all.”

Day’s hand touches my arm for a second, stopping me in the middle of untying his boots.
“What do you think of their plan?”

“Assassinating the new Elector?” I turn away, concentrating on unlacing, then loosening
each of his boots as carefully as I can. It’s a question I haven’t figured out yet,
so I deflect it. “Well, what do you think? I mean, you go out of your way to avoid
hurting people. This must be kind of a shock.”

I’m startled when Day just shrugs. “There’s a time and place for everything.” His
voice is cold, harsher than usual. “I never saw the point of killing Republic soldiers.
I mean, I hate them, but they’re not the
source.
They just obey their superiors. The Elector, though? I don’t know. Getting rid of
the person in charge of this whole goddy system seems like a small price to pay for
starting a revolution. Don’t you think?”

I can’t help feeling some admiration for Day’s attitude. What he says makes perfect
sense. Still, I wonder if he would’ve said the same thing a few weeks ago, before
everything that had happened to his family. I don’t dare mention the time I’d been
introduced to Anden at the celebratory ball. It’s harder to reconcile yourself to
killing someone who you’ve actually met—and admired—in person. “Well, like I said.
We don’t have a choice.”

Day’s lips tighten. He knows I’m not telling him what I really think. “It must be
hard for you to turn your back on your Elector,” he says. His hands stay slack beside
him.

I keep my head down and start pulling off his boots.

While I put his boots aside, Day shrugs out of his jacket and starts unbuttoning his
vest. It reminds me of when I’d first met him back on the streets of Lake. Back then,
he would take off his vest every night and give it to Tess to use as a pillow. That
was the most I’d ever seen Day undress. Now he unbuttons his collar shirt, exposing
the rest of his throat and a sliver of his chest. I see the pendant looped around
his neck, the United States quarter dollar covered with smooth metal on both sides.
In the quiet dark of the railcar, he’d told me about his father’s bringing it back
from the warfront. He pauses when he finishes undoing the last button, then closes
his eyes. I can see the pain slashed across his face, and the sight tears at me. The
Republic’s most wanted criminal is just a boy, sitting before me, suddenly vulnerable,
laying all his weaknesses out for me to see.

I straighten and reach up to his shirt. My hands touch the skin of his shoulders.
I try to keep my breathing even, my mind sharp and calculated. But as I help him pull
off the shirt and reveal his bare arms and chest, I can feel the corners of my logic
growing fuzzy. Day is fit and lean under his clothes, his skin surprisingly smooth
except for an occasional scar (he has four faint ones on his chest and waist, another
one that’s a thin diagonal line running from left collarbone to right hip bone, and
a healing scab on his arm). He holds me with his gaze. It’s hard to describe Day to
those who have never seen him before—exotic, unique, overwhelming. He’s very close
now, close enough for me to see the tiny rippled imperfection in the ocean of his
left eye. His breaths come out hot and shallow. Heat rises on my cheeks, but I don’t
want to turn away.

“We’re in this together, right?” he whispers. “You and me? You
want
to be here, yeah?”

There’s guilt in his questions. “Yes,” I reply. “I
chose
this.”

Day pulls me close enough for our noses to touch. “I love you.”

My heart flips in excitement at the desire in his voice—but at the same time, the
technical part of my brain instantly flares up.
Highly improbable,
it scoffs.
A month ago, he didn’t even know I existed.
So I blurt out, “No, you don’t. Not yet.”

Day furrows his eyebrows, as if I’d hurt him. “I mean it,” he says against my lips.

I’m helpless against the ache in his voice. But still.
They’re just the words of a boy in the heat of the moment.
I try to force myself to say the same back to him, but the words freeze on my tongue.
How can he be so sure of this?
I
certainly don’t understand all these strange new feelings inside me—am I here because
I love him, or because I
owe
him?

Day doesn’t wait for my answer. One of his hands trails around my waist and then flattens
against my back, pulling me closer so that I’m seated on his good leg. A gasp escapes
me. Then he presses his lips against mine, and my mouth parts. His other hand reaches
up to touch my face and neck; his fingers are at once coarse and refined. Day slowly
moves his lips away to kiss the side of my mouth, then my cheek, then the line of
my jaw. My chest is now solidly against his, and my thigh brushes against the soft
ridge of his hip bone. I close my eyes. My thoughts feel muffled and distant, hidden
behind a shimmery haze of warmth. An undercurrent of practical details in my mind
struggles up to the surface.

“Kaede’s been gone for eight minutes,” I breathe through Day’s kisses. “They expect
us back out there in twenty-two.”

Day twines his hand through my hair and gently pulls my head back, exposing my neck.
“Let them wait,” he murmurs. I feel his lips work softly along the skin of my throat,
each kiss rougher than the last, more impatient, more urgent, hungrier. His lips come
back up to my mouth, and I can feel the remnants of any self-control slipping away
from him, replaced with something instinctive and savage.
I love you,
his lips are trying to convince me. They’re making me so weak that I’m on the verge
of collapsing to the floor. I’ve kissed a few boys in the past . . . but Day makes
me feel like I’ve never been kissed before. Like the world has melted away into something
unimportant.

Suddenly he breaks free and groans softly in pain. I see him squeeze his eyes shut,
then take a deep, shuddering breath. My heart is pounding furiously against my ribs.
The heat fades between us, and my thoughts snap back into place as I remember with
a slow, sinking feeling where we are and what we still need to do. I’d forgotten that
the water’s still running—the tub is almost full. I reach over and twist the faucet
back. The tiled floor is cold against my knees. I’m tingling all over.

“Ready?” I say, trying to steady myself. Day nods wordlessly. Moment’s over; the brightness
in his eyes has dimmed.

I pour some liquid bath gel into the tub and splash the water around until it froths
up. Then I get one of the towels hanging in the bathroom and wrap it around Day’s
waist. Now for the awkward part. He manages to fumble underneath the towel and loosen
his pants, and I help him tug them off. The towel covers everything that needs to
be covered, but I still avert my eyes.

I help Day—now wearing nothing except for the towel and his pendant—to his feet, and
after some struggling, we manage to get his good leg into the tub so I can lower him
gently into the water. I’m careful to keep his bad leg high and dry. Day clenches
his jaw to keep from crying out in pain. By the time he settles into the bath, his
cheeks are moist from tears.