5

FRACTURE

I END UP on Caden and Shae’s old street in front of what used to be their house. Instead, there’s a brand new home in its place with a perfectly manicured lawn, looking as if it’ d always been there. No one would suspect that a year ago, I had been the one to detonate a cleaner device in this exact location so that we could escape the four Vectors on our tail. Caden’s home had been blown to bits, and June, a friend of Caden’s mother, had been an unexpected casualty of the explosion. It seems like a lifetime ago.

“Excuse me? Can I help you?” I turn toward the voice. A woman sits on a bicycle in the driveway—obviously the house’s new owner. Her face is apprehensive, and I can imagine how I must appear—disheveled, dirty, and covered in dried mud—a homeless, angry waif standing in front of her home.

“No,” I say, managing a bleak smile. “I used to know the people who lived here. We went to the same high school.”

“Horrow?” she asks in a guarded tone, eyeing me as if I’m about to rob her house in broad daylight. “We moved in the spring.”

I nod. “It’s a great neighborhood,” I say lamely and cross the street. I can feel her eyes on me until I get to the end of the block. I don’t know why I went back. Maybe it was to remind myself of who I used to be when things were simpler—when I was a soldier following orders, and Caden had been nothing more than a target. Now, he’s the one issuing the orders… orders I must follow.

A horn honks behind me. I recognize the truck and its owner immediately as it slows by my side, but I frown and keep walking, tucking my hands behind my back just in case. “You know, Bass, if I thought you were the stalker type, I wouldn’t have gotten in your truck.”

“Not stalking, I swear,” he says, driving at a snail’s pace beside me. “Finished my shift and was heading home.”

“On this exact road?” I respond drily.

He runs a hand through his unruly curls. “Well, not this exact road, but I saw you crossing a couple streets back, and did kind of follow you. Sorry. Too stalkerish?”

“You think?”

“It’s just that you stand out a lot.…” His face turns the ruddy color of his hair. I glance down at my clothing and shrug. It’s a small town, and I do stick out like a sore thumb. “So, you need a ride somewhere? Or how about a soda?”

“No,” I say and then add in a gentler voice. “Maybe some other time, Bass.”

His smile is overly bright, as if he’s trying to hide his disappointment. “Okay, I work at the Engineering Center most nights if you’re ever on campus doing your soil stuff. Near the Oval?”

“Sure, I know where it is,” I tell him. “I’ll see you around.”

“You sure I can’t give you a ride somewhere?”

“No, it’s okay. I need to walk. Clear my head.”

I watch as Bass’s taillights disappear at the end of the street. I have to chalk it up to a coincidence. I mean, I’ d been with Caden, Era, and the Faction for hours, and Bass’s truck would have stood out on Era’s street. I don’t know why I didn’t go with him to get a soda and take the edge off. Anything would be better than wandering aimlessly around a town that I’ d left behind a year ago. But I can’t be with a boy right now—especially one who is clearly giving me signals—not after what happened with Caden. I sigh. Or maybe that’s exactly what I need… a distraction.

“Get it together, Riven,” I growl at myself, disgusted by my desire to punish Caden for something that he didn’t ask for in the first place. It’s not his fault that he has to figure out the best way to save everyone—that’s what leaders do. They have to put their people before their own needs. Still, I can’t quite curb my bitterness at the thought of Caden and this unknown princess together… laughing, and kissing, and god knows what else. My fingers curl into fists, and I take several gulps of air to keep my raging jealousy at bay. “Stop acting like a selfish, infatuated idiot,” I mutter. “Complete the mission.”

The sound of car wheels slowing behind me makes me pause, and I whip around ready to tell Bass that if he doesn’t back off, he isn’t going to like the consequences. But it isn’t a truck, and it isn’t the face I expect. My fury drains away.

“What do you want?” I ask the driver of the silver convertible.

Charisma glances at me and then leans over to open the passenger door. “Get in.”

“How’ d you find me?” I ask after a minute, tossing my backpack to the floor of the car. I slam the door as hard as I can without breaking it, and she winces. “Your boyfriend have another fancy nano-tracker that I don’t know about?”

“No,” she says. “I had a feeling you’ d be here. Or at Horrow.”

My lips twist at her perceptiveness. Horrow would have been my next stop. “So, where’re we headed? Back to the ranch?”

“My place,” she says, shifting the car into drive. We ride in silence for a while, until she turns off the main road to a curving side street with charming cookie-cutter houses adorning its perimeter. She parks the car in a driveway at the far end of the street in front of a modest two-story house. “My parents are at work. I live on campus,” she adds. “The existence of parallel universes doesn’t do anything to curb parental expectations. I’m enrolled at CSU.”

“Let me guess—you’re studying applied physics or computer science?”

She shoots me a wry glance before rummaging in her purse for her house keys. “Biochem.”

“That’s interesting. I would have thought Philip or Era would have dictated your courses, considering you’re now in the proverbial fold.”

“I like understanding how the body works,” she says while unlocking the front door. “Come on. You look like you could use a long, hot shower.”

I follow Charisma inside the foyer, taking in the details of the neat living room and kitchen before tracing her footsteps up the staircase. The photographs above the steps are artfully arranged, showcasing a happy family—mom, dad, Charisma, and another dark-haired girl. “Nice pics,” I say.

“My mom’s a photographer.” Charisma grabs a towel from a nearby linen closet and shows me to a bathroom. She looks at my clothes. “I’ll find you something to wear while I put your stuff in the wash.”

I glance at her tall, willowy form. There’s no way anything of hers will fit me. “I’ll just keep what I have on.”

“Gross, Riven.” She wrinkles her nose, and I almost grin at the brief glimpse of the girl that I remember meeting senior year. “You smell like horse manure. I’ll find you something, don’t worry. Now go.”

I close the bathroom door and squat down in front of my backpack, pulling my Vector suit from its depths and hanging it over the towel rack. The self-cleaning function has already done its job. I unhitch the harness from my shoulders and place my ninjata blades on the floor before removing my soiled clothing piece by piece—cargo pants, shirt, underwear. Charisma’s right. They do stink. I empty the pockets of my pants, removing all the random gear I’ d stashed, and shove the pile of clothing outside the door.

I stay in the shower far longer than I’ d planned, letting the scalding hot water wash away the layers of dust and grime. After shampooing my hair and scrubbing my skin raw, I remain under the spray until the water starts to turn cool. I wrap myself in a fluffy towel and brush my teeth with a new toothbrush that Charisma had placed on top of the towel. The face reflecting back at me in the mirror is tanned and healthy, eyes bright. A shimmer of blue radiates up my cheek. You’ d think that a year on the road would have taken its toll, but not on me. The nanotech does a good job at keeping my human cells in prime operating condition. Running a comb through my tangle of dark hair, I pull it through the strands until my hair is a gleaming black curtain. It’s longer than I’ve ever worn it, making me look years younger and more girlish.

“But you’re not a girl,” I say softly to my reflection. “Are you?”

With deliberate precision, I heft one of my ninjatas, running my thumb across an edge that’s sharp enough to cut through metal wiring, and slide it across the curtain of hair. By the time I’m finished, the girl staring back at me is androgynous and fierce. Her mouth is a slash across her face, her cheekbones almost as sharp as the blade in her hand. This girl won’t let anyone close. She’ll die doing her duty.

A knock on the door jerks me out of my thoughts. “Hey, take your time, but when you’re ready, I put some clothes in the bedroom across the hall. Yours are still in the dryer.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m going to make us something to eat,” Charisma says, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

I pause for a beat, staring at the closed door and wondering about her angle. She’s obviously on the inside with Era and the Faction, and she knows exactly what I am, but out of everyone, she’s the only one I trust. Or maybe it’s the old Charisma I’m trusting.

Shrugging, I clean up the mess, scooping up clumps of hair and dropping them into the garbage. I lift up my Vector suit, fold it, and place it back into the backpack, along with the items I’ d emptied from my pockets. In the bedroom, Charisma has left a worn pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. They’re not hers—maybe her mom’s? Or the other girl I’ d noticed in the photographs. I shrug and pull on the clean clothes, pleased at the near fit, and make my way downstairs, depositing my gear in the hallway.

“Tuna, okay?” Charisma asks me. Her eyes widen as she takes in my textured, shorn hair but, to her credit, she doesn’t say a word.

“Sure.” Having been on the run for so long, I’ve overcome my distaste for all manner of organically sourced fare. The engineered food packets I’ d brought with me from Neospes had run out by the fourth month. I had to learn to eat this world’s food or starve. I like fish the least, but I’m not about to complain. I sit at the breakfast island and bite into the sandwich. Charisma sits opposite me and takes a dainty nibble of hers.

“Thanks for the clothes,” I say after chewing my mouthful.

“Stephanie. My sister’s.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister. Younger or older?”

A look of anguish crosses her face. “Younger. She’s sick. Lives in hospice. We found out a couple of years back that she had some kind of invasive heart disease.” I stop chewing and stare at Charisma, a painful lump forming in my chest. She swallows. “I’m sorry. You don’t need to be burdened with any of this.”

“No, it’s okay,” I say. “I want to hear. How is she?”

“Not good. I kind of lost it junior year after she went back for a more aggressive round of treatments. There was a real possibility that she was going to die, and nothing I could do about it. I started spiraling downward. I didn’t want to think, so I did really dumb things. That’s when we met.” She pauses, and I know we’re both thinking of the time she’ d nearly been killed after being drugged by a group of strangers. “It should have been me, not her. She was always the one who wanted to do things—travel, get married, have kids.” Charisma smiles through a sheen of tears. “She had a bucket list when she was nine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“After the incident at Horrow with you, I told my parents what was happening, and decided to get some help. I knew the way I was acting wasn’t helping her.”

“What are the doctors saying about her prognosis?”

Charisma takes another bite before answering, her face strained. Considering she never told me she had a sister, it wouldn’t surprise me if she clams up. For a second, it seems like she’s going to do just that, but then she takes a deep breath as if it’s a burden she needs to get off her chest. “She’s not responding to the new treatments. She needs another transplant, but it’s not like there’s an endless supply of donor hearts lying around. Her body rejected the two she’s had.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

“It’s so unfair,” Charisma murmurs, her mouth twisting. “You think that technology will make things easier, but it doesn’t always work that way. Right now, Stephanie’s in an induced coma—she doesn’t have much time left. Her heart’s going to fail, and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it. I can’t imagine life without her.” Charisma’s voice breaks. “Philip told me about what happened with your sister. I’m sorry, too.”

I shrug, refusing to allow thoughts of Shae to filter into my mind. I keep my voice monotone and the conversation focused on Charisma. “Is that why you’re studying biochemistry?”

Her eyes meet mine as if she can see right through the deflection in the conversation. “Yes. Molecular biology and immunology.”

“For your sister?”

“Something like that.” Charisma’s face contorts as if I’ve touched a raw nerve. From what she’s said, it sounds like there’s no way her sister will survive long enough for anyone to help. “Philip says your medical technology used to be way advanced before your Tech War.”

My eyes narrow with understanding. “Is that why you got involved with him and Era? Because you think they can help your sister?”

“I saw the Vectors, Riven. I know what your people are capable of. Your medical tech is far better than anything we have. Is it too much to hope that maybe Steph could survive there, in your world?”

“Maybe,” I say gently. “But it’s not likely. Our environments are too different.”

“But Caden’s here.” Charisma’s voice is quiet, pleading. “You’re here.”

“Caden’s a product of both universes. He was genetically predisposed to live in both worlds and his body adapted more easily than anyone else’s could have. And me”—I allow the blue light to flicker across my irises—“well, we both know what I am.”

Her eyes widen at my theatrical display. “Amazing,” she breathes.

“I’m not amazing, Charisma. I’m a cyborg. A thing engineered with human DNA and cybernetic wiring. There’s nothing amazing about any of it. My lunatic father experimented on himself and on me. I’m the product of that. Nothing more.”

“You really have no idea how lucky you are,” Charisma says. “So many people would kill for your ability to self-heal.”

I take another bite of my sandwich and chew slowly. “I’ d take my chances to be normal in a heartbeat.”

Charisma busies herself making two cups of tea. Something about her body language seems off, but maybe I’m reading too much into it. We’re both tired and wound up. She turns back to me with an unaffected smile that makes me relax. “Until New York, I wasn’t sure exactly what you could do. I don’t even know if I believed it, until I saw you jump out of a moving aircraft. Like, X-Men style. It was kind of insane.”

“That was dumb,” I admit, returning her grin. “But, then again, I tend to leap first and think later.”

“And you weren’t hurt?”

“Not a scratch,” I say and then add “lucky,” after the look of wonder on her face.

She shakes her head. “Era was right. She said you were something special.”

I blink, surprised that Era has had anything good to say about me. After all, I’ve caused the Faction no end of trouble with my vigilante antics trying to find my father over the past year. Then again, considering I now have to find the man and beg for his help, it’s no surprise that she’ d be on my side. “What’ d she say?”

“You were the future.”

“The future of what?”

“People, maybe?” Charisma shrugs, drawing her lip between her teeth, working through something in her head. “So, the nanobes in your blood protect you? They rebuild broken cells?”

I look at her sharply. The question is nonchalant, but together with the rest of the conversation, alarms are going off in my brain. She avoids my eyes. “Charisma, I don’t know what you think you know or what Era or the Faction told you, but my DNA can’t be replicated.” I pause. “It can’t help your sister.”

“You don’t know that. We made the tracker with your blood. Maybe we could synthesize it.”

Crap. I exhale and pinch the bridge of my nose. This has been Charisma’s endgame—learn more about the cyborg and figure out whether my nano-blood could heal her sister. But what she doesn’t understand is that it’ d take a miracle—more than a miracle. “The nanobes are tied to my DNA. Even if we tried, your sister would reject my blood, and the nanobes wouldn’t be able to work, anyway.”

“What about taking her there? To Neospes? To one of your medical facilities. You could do it.”

I stare at Charisma, hearing the desperation in her words. She wouldn’t have confided in Philip—he would have run straight to Era. And Charisma would have been cast out, her security clearance revoked. “You don’t understand, I can’t.”

“But it could be possible, couldn’t it?”

I want to ease the pain brewing in her eyes, but I can’t give her false hope. The price for unsanctioned eversion is death, even if her sick sister could make the jump. “Charisma, even if it were possible, the Guardians would stop you. That’s what they’re there for—to prevent unauthorized breaches. Just as the people in Neospes would kill for your resources, people here would do worse for our technological assets. Your sister would get a new heart, but the cost would be her life. And yours.”

“It’s a cost I’ d gladly pay.” A resolute look comes over her face, the same one I’ d seen back in the tunnels in Manhattan. She eyes me, her soft tone at odds with her calculating expression. “But I understand. Finish your sandwich.”

“I’m really sorry, Charisma. I wish I could help,” I say, finishing the meal in a few quick bites. She doesn’t respond, watching me and nodding twice. An odd sensation flowers in my stomach. “We should be getting back. Caden and the others will be waiting.”

“Don’t worry; we’re good.” She pushes a cup of steaming tea toward me. “I told Philip that we were stopping off for a shower and a change of clothes. Let me go check on the dryer. Your stuff should be done by now.”

As Charisma disappears from the room, my unease at her sudden change in disposition magnifies. I push the cup of tea away and swing off the stool to secure my backpack. My instincts have served me well in the past, and I’ d do well to listen to them now. Desperation drives people to do many things, but it’s Charisma, for god’s sake. It’s not like she can force me to take her sister to Neospes or do anything the Faction hasn’t sanctioned. She has too much to lose.

I sense motion out of the corner of my eye and lurch to my knees, but it’s only Charisma holding a pile of my freshly laundered and neatly folded clothes in her arms. She glances over at the island. “You didn’t want your tea?”

“I’m not really a tea girl.” I tuck my ninjatas in the backpack’s sheaths. “Sandwich was good, though. Thanks. I’ll get changed and we can roll.”

A shadow flickers across her face, but it’s erased by a bright grin. “Sounds like a plan.” She thrusts the clothing at me and I reach forward to take it. My senses flicker, but I’m too late to react as I spot the shiny tip of a hypodermic needle beneath the pile. Charisma jams it toward my exposed wrist. “I’m so sorry.”

Defense, I think automatically and jerk my hand away. But I’m not wearing the Vector suit that would have hardened in an instant, preventing the needle from piercing my skin. Instead, a cold sensation slithers along my veins as Charisma drops the empty syringe and backs away with wide eyes.

“What did you do?” My voice sounds thick. I stumble, my backpack falling from my rapidly numbing hands to the floor. I try to focus, to force the nanobes to do their job—attack whatever poison she injected into my system. But nothing is responding. My own harsh breathing is the only sound in the room. I struggle to shape words with my lips and focus my eyes on Charisma. “What the hell did you do to me?”

“You’ll be okay, I promise,” she says in a small voice. “It’s an anesthetic with a neurotransmitter inhibitor so your brain can’t relay messages to the nanobes. They’ve been disabled by a flash electromagnetic pulse. And you can’t move because there’s a paralyzing agent in the mixture.”

She couldn’t possibly have come up with the elaborate concoction on her own. I can only manage one word. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she whispers. “I need to help my sister. Can’t you, of all people, understand that? If you could have saved Shae, wouldn’t you have? Wouldn’t you have done anything to help her, even if that meant breaking a few laws?”

I’m unprepared for the hot stab of pain at the mention of Shae. Now that I’m not in control of my impulses, it’s as if the carefully constructed compartments in my brain are becoming unglued—the ones keeping thoughts of my dead sister safe and buried. I inhale deeply, willing my pulse to even out and my rage to subside. “You don’t understand. It’s not possible, Charisma.”

“He told me it was.”

Her words sound like faint echoes rumbling over a vast distance. I wait for them to make sense in my head, but they’re quickly overtaken by an icy, instinctual fear, one that my gut senses long before my impeded brain can catch up. “Wait, who did? Who told you it was possible, Charisma?”

Before she can answer, my eyes are drawn to movement in the doorway of the kitchen. A familiar figure enters the room as the abyss yawns beneath my feet.

“I did,” my father says. “Everything is possible. Isn’t it, my dear?”