Shattered (34 page)

“No!” Ani screamed. “Stop!”

“That's for the kick in the balls, skinner,” the man grunted.

I waited for another blow, but it didn't come.

And when I opened my eyes, the guards had retreated, lined up a safe distance away, weapons aimed. Ani knelt at my side. “You're fine,” she said. “You'll be fine.”

I touched my fingers to my face, lightly, half expecting to feel a crater of dented flesh. But mech bones were tough. My face was still there. I was still there.

“Just get out of here, Lia,” Ani pleaded. “They won't hurt you if you just
go.
”

“Oh, I don't think she's ready to go just yet.” Rai Savona melted out of the shadows, his black eyes flashing with the pulses of blue light. “If you don't mind stepping into my office for a moment?” he said politely, as if I'd arrived for a business meeting.

Ani's eyes narrowed, accusing. “You said she'd be
safe
.”

“And you thought you could trust him?”
I VM'd, disgusted.

“She'll be with me,” Savona assured her. His voice was the same one, honeyed and smooth, that he'd been using for years to woo Faithers. His eyes were the same ice. “What could be safer than that?” I followed his glance to the guards, whose weapons were still at the ready. Whose eyes were on Ani.

She grabbed my arm, trying to hoist me off the ground.

“Get off.” I knocked her away. I didn't need her to lean on.

One step at a time: I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, waited for the world to balance. I imagined I could feel my brain knocking around loose in my head, wires frayed and jangling. But that was an indulgence. That was the ghost of org weakness, refusing to die. I was a mech, and I was intact. I rose to my knees, planted one foot on the ground, then, with effort, pushed myself upright on two feet. Gravity defeated.

Ani wouldn't look at me. Savona wouldn't look away. “If you're done with the melodrama, we have a few things to discuss.”

“After you,” I said, forcing myself not to stare in the direction
that the dead man had disappeared. That wasn't important now. What mattered was getting through this, and getting out.

Except I no longer believed that was going to happen.

Ani touched my arm. “Lia—,” she began and stopped. She just stared at me, eyes wide.

I waited.

Nothing.

I shook my head, then followed Savona into his office. Left her behind.

Savona's office was nothing like Auden's. The latter had been simple, almost austere, its only ostentation the antique desk at the center of the room. Savona's desk was twice the size and state-of-the-art, a wide, nearly transparent slab with network vids and zones dancing across its surface. The walls were illuminated with pics of Savona with his wealthy patrons and starving acolytes, interspersed with golden plaques and tributes. I was surprised he hadn't equipped the room with the same glowbars that lit up his stage, so that he could labor beneath a golden aura.

The door locked behind us with an audible click.

“Taking a risk, aren't you?” I asked. “Trapping us in here alone together? My body's replaceable. How about yours?”

“I don't expect you to attack me. You're too curious about what I have to say.” He settled onto one of the couches and gestured for me to take a seat on the other.

I stood.

“If you think you can turn me like you turned Ani—”

“Not worth my time,” he said. His dark eyes gave nothing away. There was something familiar in his expression, I thought. It was the lazy pleasure of a cat batting a mouse between its paws, gauging whether the rodent would be more fun dead or alive. “Now, don't you have a question for me?”

“I don't need to ask you anything,” I snarled. “I know what you did.”

“Oh, really?” He chuckled lightly. “I highly doubt that.”

“That man out there—”

“Jackson?” Savona's lips widened into a predatory smile. “Good man. Works himself to the bone in the Synapsis mining operation.”

“He's supposed to be dead.”

“His lovely wife and four children will be disappointed to hear that,” Savona said wryly.

“How?” I asked. “That's all I want to know.”

“Why should I care what you want to know? If I'm this diabolical genius you imagine, do you expect me to just confess?”

Mostly, I didn't expect that I'd be leaving the Temple any time soon. I imagined myself locked in a room again, access to the network jammed—maybe my own brain jammed, neural network overwhelmed by high-voltage shocks, lying on a dirty floor, eyes open, brain closed, hidden away long enough that anyone who might care to look for me would forget to bother.

But without hope, there's no point in fear.

“Deny it all you want,” I told him. “But I'm going to find out what's going on. What you did.”

“You saw what was done to your friends,” he said.

I shrugged.

“But you're not afraid.”

“Machines don't feel fear,” I said. “They don't feel anything. Remember?”

“I seem to recall your father's a rather powerful man,” he said. “Maybe you suspect he won't allow anything bad to happen to you. You're thinking to yourself that your skinner friends know you're here, and if I attempt to hold you here, your loving father will intercede.” He gave me a thin, knowing smile. “Or maybe you expect your poor friend
Auden
will save you.”

“You don't know me very well,” I said coldly. He wanted an unfeeling machine? He could have one. “So I should probably mention that I hate people telling me what I'm thinking.”

“Hate's such an ugly emotion.”

“Funny, then, that you spend so much time spreading it around.”

“I wouldn't expect something like you to understand the nuances of human emotional experience.” The preacher tones were back. “The Brotherhood of Man is an organization of love. We embrace that which is noble in the human spirit. Ours is a mission of purification and distillation. Elimination of corrupting elements and parasites clinging to the social organism.”

“But you don't hate,” I said sarcastically. “Because
that
would be wrong.”

“I've told you before, Lia,” he said. “I bear no ill will against you—any of you. Not every problem is its own cause. Hating the symptoms won't help us cure the disease.”

“Tell me whatever it is you want to tell me, or let me out of here,” I said. “Since I can't actually
die
of boredom, my options are pretty limited.”

“Fine, let's talk about the unfortunate attack at Synapsis.” Savona stretched out on the couch, lacing his hands behind his head.

“Fine. Talk.”

“Let's say, hypothetically, there was no attack.” He closed his eyes, smiling like he was having a particularly pleasant daydream. “Or not a serious one, at least. Let's say the toxin was plain old Naxophedrine, causing discomfort and unconsciousness but no fatalities.”

“But I—” I stopped myself, suddenly realizing how stupid I'd been, revealing the thing I'd tried so hard to hide. That I had been present for the attack.

“But I was there!” he cried in a high, mocking falsetto. “I saw them die!” He opened his eyes and sat up, leaning toward me. “Did you? Did you
really
?” He pressed a hand to his eyes. “You can't always believe what you see.” And when he pulled his hand away, his eyes were bleeding, a trickle of red running down each cheek.

I was proud of myself for not screaming.

Savona wiped away the blood or whatever it was. “It's a brave new world, Lia. Anything's possible. You should know that.”

“They worked for you.” I said it, but I couldn't believe it. I'd
seen
them. Stepped on them.
Mourned
them.

“No one works for me,” Savona corrected me. “The Brotherhood is composed of volunteers, serving the people not
me
. But let's say, hypothetically, that the so-called casualties of the Synapsis attack were affiliated with the Brotherhood. That perhaps the video, the one with your face so inconveniently plastered all over it, was doctored.”

And suddenly, in a unexpectedly visceral way—visceral, like I could feel it in my nonexistent gut, like for a moment I could taste what fear used to mean, in all its shivering, hair-raising, stomach-twisting glory—I was afraid. Because I knew how this story ended. The supervillain exposited his crimes, but only before offing the hero. In the story it was a mistake, giving the hero time to escape and shout his discovery to the world. It was a ridiculous roadblock placed in the path of inevitable success.

But I was no hero, and I didn't have an escape plan. “Why are you telling me this?”

I am not afraid,
I thought, repeating the lie in a trembling mental voice, twice, three times. Faithers had left blood vengeance behind them. They talked a good game, but they didn't do violence, lunatics or not.

Of course, Savona was an
ex
-Faither.

“You asked,” he said.

“Now what?”

“Now you leave,” Savona said.

“Leave? Just like that?”

“Just like that. I won't have your father”—his lip curled in distaste—“snooping around my facility. So you run home, and you tell everyone how the big, bad Rai Savona didn't desecrate a hair on your godforsaken head. And you keep our little conversation to yourself.”

I didn't bother asking if he was insane. It seemed self-evident. “Why would I do that? So you can enjoy your war between orgs and mechs without the inconvenient truth getting in the way?”

“You're glad that those forty-two people are alive,” Savona said. “Each and every one of them. Even though they deceived you? Each and every one of them?”

“Surprised?”

“I can only assume you'll want to ensure they stay alive,” Savona said. “Your silence buys them life. But if you choose to break my confidence …” He let the threat dangle in the silence.

“You'd
kill
your own followers?” I finally said, unwilling to believe it.

“I won't have to do anything. They do what I tell them to do,” he said steadily. “They're willing to give anything for our cause.”

“You're bluffing.”

“Maybe.” He smiled. “Care to test me? If you'd like a demonstration, I can call your friend Jackson in here—although his wife and children may not thank you for it.” He shook his head in mock sadness. “So many Brothers and Sisters beyond that door, willing to do anything to protect their families.”

“By dying?”

“By ensuring that your kind doesn't destroy us.”

Savona paused, waiting for me to spit something back at him. But I could see the crazy in his eyes. I'd seen what he did to Ani—this was a man who could talk people into things. Maybe he was right, and he could talk people to their death. He folded his hands together on his lap, almost as if he were praying. “I've given you this information because I can't have you poking around here, out of control, trying to dig up the truth. And I can't risk keeping you here. This seemed the quickest way to shut you up. I'm sending you back out into the world. With a promise. The Synapsis attack was not your fault—those ‘deaths' were not on your conscience. But if you say anything to
anyone
, I'll know. These deaths will be real—and they'll be on
you.
”

“You don't think I have a soul,” I reminded him. “What makes you think I have a conscience? Maybe I don't care how many orgs have to die.”

“Maybe,” he said. “And maybe even if you go to the authorities without any proof, you'll be able to convince someone to trust the word of a skinner over that of Brother Rai Savona. Certainly it would be to your advantage to try. I suppose it will be an interesting experiment. I'm willing to take the risk—I
know
what I'm willing to sacrifice for my cause. The question is, how much are you willing to sacrifice for yours?”

“You're disgusting.”

He offered up a humble smile. “Our flaws are what make us human. You wouldn't understand.” Savona stood. “We're done here.”

“Wait.” Asking was a show of weakness, but maybe I was weak. “What about Auden. Where does he fit into this?”

“You mean does he know I'm speaking to you tonight? Does he know about the attack? All of it?”

“Any of it.”

“Why would you believe anything I had to say?” Savona asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“I won't.”

“And yet you still want to know.” He was looking at me like I was a science experiment, one he'd written off as a failure that had suddenly produced some unexpectedly intriguing results. “After everything you've done to him—and everything you've seen—you still believe he's on your side.”

“Just tell me.”

Savona raised his eyebrows. “Ask yourself, Lia, why was it
your
face on that video, declaring war on the mechs? Why would I choose
you
? Especially since your father's connections, his ludicrous campaign, make you a particular liability. Certainly compared to a skinner from a city, with no connections, no family, no power. Why would I go after
you
?”

“I have no idea why the hell you'd do anything.”

“I wouldn't,” he said. “And
I
didn't.”

It was a long, dark walk back to the car. Alone.

The kind of walk that gave you time to think. A silent night, a mile of cement and weeds. A face in my head, a dead man walking.

And Sloane, Ty, and Brahm left behind.

Ani left behind.

Why was I always the one that got away?

Not that I'd gotten away with anything. Not if I believed Savona's threats, his deal. Their lives for my silence.