Unchanged (9 page)

I nod to one of the darkened shops. An ad for meds is playing on the window screen, despite the store being closed. “Do you ever need those?”

She follows my gaze. “Never.” She pats her stomach. “Gut of steel.”

I tilt my head curiously, which seems to make her laugh.

“It's an old phrase. It means nothing makes me feel sick. Kind of like you.”

I want to tell her she's wrong. So much makes me feel sick.

The memory of Lyzender's face.

The small cube drive chafing my toe at the tip of my shoe.

The hollowness of Rio's eyes.

The way Dr. A regards me as though I really
am
diseased. Diseased in the mind.

I don't say any of this, though. I keep walking with my head up and my gaze forward. We reach a bank of lifts and split into groups to ride them to the fifth floor of the station. The voice in the lift tells me it's the embarkation level.

I'm not sure what will await me when the door opens. I've seen hyperloops on the Feed and, of course, in my uploads, but I've learned that things tend to feel very different when you're standing right in front of them.

The first thing I notice when we exit the lifts and I see the open capsules awaiting us is the smell. It must be the gases they use to seal the vacuum tubes at the end of the loading track. Or maybe it's my own fear that I smell. A mix of metal and singed air. Like something burning.

Burning.

I stop walking, suddenly overtaken by the recollection of scent.

Burning.

Burning what? Wood?

No.
Flesh
.

The thought makes my stomach roll. Why would I think of burning flesh?

The memory of my witchcraft trial in the year 1609 flickers to my mind but it doesn't match. It feels more immediate than that. More recent.

“Everything okay?” Killy asks, coming up beside me.

I blink rapidly and force myself to smile. “Yes. It was just … the smell. It caught me off guard.”

She nods understandingly. “It gets me every time, too. It's nothing like watching it on the Feed, huh?”

The streamworks have tried to emulate the fourth sense. The screens will sometimes emit the delectable scent of baking bread when a character is in the kitchen, or the perfume of flowers when someone is running through a meadow, but it's never quite real. The sweet smells are too sugary, the scent of rain too sharp. Whatever they do, they can't seem to match the real thing.

Each capsule holds six people so our group is split into five parties. Kaelen and I are separated. Dr. A, Dane, Director Raze, and two other agents are assigned to the first capsule with Kaelen and I'm assigned to the last one along with Crest, Killy, and Agent Thatch, Raze's second-in-command.

Before Kaelen boards the capsule, he stands before me, studying my disguised face. For the first time, I take a moment to study his, too. His straight nose is now slightly crooked, his vibrant aquamarine eyes have dampened to a dull, Normate green. There are tiers of wrinkles under his eyes like he hasn't slept in days. His high cheekbones have sagged down his face, and his strong, squared chin is now cone shaped and tilted upward. Even his lustrous dark blond hair seems like it was washed with filthy water.

But I can still see him behind the disguise.

He's still there. My beautiful Kaelen.

He traces the outline of my temporary cheek with his fingertip, as though he's trying to memorize it.

“Not so perfect now,” I joke.

Kaelen's lips crack into a smile. “So that's how you'd look as a Normate.”

I strike a pose similar to those I've seen countless times on the fashion streams. “What do you think?”

Despite how Kaelen responds, I know exactly what
I
think. Even though I haven't seen my own reflection, I finally look how I feel.

Flawed. Crooked. Blemished.

Without answering, he bends down to kiss me. His misshapen mouth feels foreign against mine. We are two strangers kissing for the thousandth time. But the tingle of warmth he leaves on my lips is one hundred percent Kaelen.

“I'll see you in less than thirty minutes,” he murmurs. Then he climbs into the capsule, taking the third seat of the six-row passenger arrangement. As soon as his weight is registered on the seat, the triple-crossing metal restraints secure around his upper body, prohibiting him from even waving goodbye to me.

I watch the door seal shut and the surface darken. It's for the passengers' own safety. And sanity. Evidently, if you were able to see how fast you were traveling, you might warp out and try to break free, which would surely kill you.

Moving around too much while you're in the loop, especially going around the turns, can also be dangerous. The restraints are there not only to keep you from getting jostled, but also to keep you from injuring yourself by trying to rotate your body.

I can see why some people opt for the alcohol.

I watch Kaelen's capsule glide slowly toward the tube entrance, stopping to await its departure window.

The next part happens almost too fast for even me to register.

The tube opening unseals, the vacuum takes hold, and the capsule blasts inside, shooting off like a bullet before the tube is shut again, a mist of gas swirling behind it.

If you blink, you'll surely miss it.

I watch in a panicked daze as three more capsules shoot off into the loop before a tap on my shoulder jolts me back to the present. I turn to see Killy pointing toward the next capsule, which has just appeared on the loading track. “We're up.”

Bracing myself with a deep breath, I step into the vehicle, taking the third row just as Kaelen did. Crest bounces into the seat behind me. “How thermal is this? I have the best job in the world!”

The restraints extend from both sides, pinning me to the seat. I know I should be used to being confined by now, but the thought of being trapped inside this capsule for the next 27.2 minutes is making me hyperventilate.

I start to recite the square root of pi.

1.77245385091
 …

“How are you feeling, Sera?” Killy calls out.

“Fine,” I say, and then quickly amend my answer to “Great.”

But I find it impossible to inflate the word with any enthusiasm.

The door seals and I watch the station disappear as the glass dims to black. I can feel the loading track vibrating under my seat as we move toward the tube entrance. Soon there will be nothing beneath us but air.

Only twenty-eight tour stops to go, I think as the capsule slows to a heart-pounding pause.

Then I'm thrust against the back of my seat with the force of the earth falling.

 

16

REACTIVE

I'm grateful when we finally begin to decelerate less than thirty minutes later and our capsule connects with the loading track that brings us into the Los Angeles hyperloop station. It feels good to have something sturdy and metal underneath me again. As opposed to the rush of unreliable air.

We pull up to the disembarkation platform and the black tint of the synthoglass dissolves, allowing me to view the inside of the station. As I struggle to turn my head to peer out, I expect to see Kaelen waiting for me on the platform, his genetically disguised face greeting me with a crooked smile. But I'm met with a far more disturbing reality.

A man I've never seen before is lying unconscious on the ground, his body contorted in the most unnatural way. He's not moving. I don't think he's even breathing. A pile of shattered DigiCams lie in pieces next to his head.

Five people—more unrecognizable faces—are gathered around him. Someone kneels down to check his pulse. Another—a stocky man with longish hair—shouts something I can't hear through the thick glass of the capsule. I follow his feverish gaze across the platform and suck in a breath when I see his angry bellows are directed at Kaelen.

At least I think it's Kaelen. He's still disguised by the injection and his face is twisted in such rage, he barely even looks human. He's being held back by four of Raze's burly security agents and I immediately understand why. He looks like he wants to
kill
someone. My gaze darts back to the man lying motionless on the platform.

Or perhaps he
already
has.

Did Kaelen do that?

The minute the question pops into my head, I have my answer. Kaelen wrestles free from the agents' grasp and lunges himself forward so fast, I doubt anyone can follow the trajectory of his movement except me.

He clobbers the shouting man, knocking him hard onto his back. His head crunches against the unyielding surface of the platform. Kaelen thrusts a fist into the man's face. Blood splatters Kaelen's disfigured cheeks and the surrounding floor.

“Oh, flux,” I hear Crest swear behind me. “This is bad.”

My mind finally reacts to what I'm seeing and I struggle against my restraints, wedging my hands between my body and the metal bars pinning me to the seat, but it's no use. I can't force them to budge even an inch.

Synthosteel.

I twist my head again, straining to see what's happening on the platform. My heart thuds violently in my chest as I watch Kaelen continue to pound the man's face. But the man is no longer fighting back. His arms have fallen limp at his sides.

I catch a glimpse of the four agents who were restraining Kaelen. They're all itching to reach for their mutation lasers, but a definitive shake of the head from Raze changes their minds. Instead, they storm toward him, trying to pull him off the man. Kaelen's mouth stretches in what I can only assume is a roar and he quickly thrusts each of them back, sending them flying through the air. One of them slams into our capsule. His frozen, terrified face presses against the side of the glass before he slides slowly to the ground.

I let out a desperate cry as I, once again, thrash under my restraints. “Crest!” I yell. “Get me out!”

Whatever happened in the three-minute gap between Kaelen's arrival and mine, I'm the only one who can stop it.

“I know, pearl,” Crest soothes. “I know.” But the misery in her voice tells me she hasn't a clue what to do, or how to release us.

“We have to wait for the capsule to engage the sensors,” Killy says.

With my back still pinned to the seat, I try my best to bang on the glass of the capsule, hoping it may give way, but at this awkward angle, my fist is only capable of making a weak
plunk
against the synthetic surface.

“Who are they?” I ask Crest, peering at the strangers who have scattered to opposite ends of the platform in an attempt to escape Kaelen's wrath.

“Paparazzi probably.”

“How did they know we'd be here?”

There's only silence behind me and I know that Crest is shaking her head in stunned disbelief, words escaping her.

When I peer out at Kaelen again, his hair is tousled, his clothes are slightly askew on his large, muscular frame, but it's his face that's the least recognizable of all. Stretched in unbridled rage. His eyes are wild, revealing too much white as he searches for more challengers. But there are none to be found. The rest of the crowd—including Raze's remaining agents—have backed away, pressing themselves against the perimeters of the platform.

I can tell from the hunger in Kaelen's eyes that he wants more. He's a monster looking for prey. His eyes land on one of the cowering paparazzi in the corner and my chest starts to constrict.

No,
I silently plead.
Don't do it.

But telepathy has never been one of the languages Kaelen and I are fluent in. He starts to move toward his next victim. Slowly and purposefully. I bang on the glass. “No!” This time I shout it. It's no use, though. I can't hear him and he can't hear me. Not that the sound of my voice would do anything to stop him now. He's too far gone. I can see that.

Finally, a
whoosh
echoes like music in my ears and I feel my restraints loosen. I shove them away from me and bolt through the capsule door the instant it unseals. I'm in front of Kaelen in a nanosecond, positioning myself between him and the man he's set on destroying. Blocking his path, I place my palm flat on his chest. To my surprise, he stops at my touch. But he doesn't look at me. His eyes are fixed on his destination.

The familiarity of his intense gaze crashes into me as I realize I've seen this reaction from him before. In a New York City subway station in the year 2032. Kaelen attacked a man he believed was a threat to me. One minute he was perfectly fine, and the next minute he wasn't. He just kind of …
snapped
.

Back then, I didn't know what to do about it. Fortunately, now I do.

I press against his shirt with my thumb, fourth finger, and pinkie, like a pianist playing a chord.

Then I lift all five fingers up and bring down only my thumb.

Next, I press fingers one, two, four, and five into his chest, followed by two, four, and five.

In less than a few seconds, I've played out two four-letter words.

CALM DOWN.

He blinks, his heavy breathing gradually returning to normal, but the fury on his face doesn't dim. His eyes dart wildly around the station, nostrils flaring, pupils dilated, teeth clenched.

I keep going. My fingers move fast but methodically, the letters flowing out of me one tap at a time.

Thumb, index, fourth, pinkie
=
L.

Thumb, index, middle
=
O.

Thumb, index, middle
=
O.

Thumb, fourth, pinkie
=
K.

I pause, indicating a new word.

A.

T.

Pause. New word.

M.

E.

Kaelen obeys and turns his hungry eyes to me. He's caught on to what I'm doing. It's a code we invented to keep our minds sharp and to be able to communicate with each other without speaking. Each combination of fingers corresponds to a letter in the alphabet. Like a piano concerto of words.