Chapter 30
Ver

I end my holo-call with Aryl and make my way to the older apprentices’ dorms. Even though she told me not to. Begged me, her pleading voice carried by photons through thousands of kilometers of space.

“Please, Ver,” she said. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. Wait for me. We’ll face him together. Please.”

But every minute I spend waiting for her is a minute wasted. Sixty seconds that justice for Cal’s death is still not done. Sixty seconds that I could be using to gather information so I will not die in the Sandbag. We have just three days to find the killer!

So I go, tap-tapping across the darkening courtyard. Each step feels shakier than the last. But waiting around means failing Cal, and failing myself. My sickness will not prevent me from saving my own future. I will face Kricket alone.

If I was healthy, Aryl would not try to stop me. Aiyo, if I was healthy, we might have found Cal’s killer by now! What was her Please, Ver all about? Is she worried that if I get hurt, she will be blamed?

Or maybe she cares about me.

Aryl. Light-footed, magnetic girl, whose movements make shimmering auroras look clumsy. I never thought she would like me. Not even as a friend. My heart leaps up in my chest, then flutters back down. Vibrating, almost. I want to laugh like I have lost my mind. Maybe I have. I have never felt this way about anyone except Cal, a married man twice my age, and my supervisor at that.

I looked at girls many times before, on Three. But this time, there is the possibility of Aryl feeling the same about me. We could make something real happen, and on One we would be no different from any other couple. It would be new, and frightening, and perhaps . . . happy.

If we manage to stay out of the Sandbag.

My heart touches down from its flight and thumps, pumps away. Squaring my shoulders, I walk into the cylindrical tower of the smallest dorm—the one reserved for apprentices who take longer than five years to complete their research. The exterior is a soft, relaxing lavender, a half-hearted attempt to assuage the residents’ fears that they will never leave. But it does nothing to soothe my nerves.

At the row of elevators, I scan my eyeprint. The smells of industrial quantities of bread and farmed fish waft from the first-floor dining hall, and I inhale deeply. A few older apprentices stare at me, but no one tries to stop me. I have not been terminated from the Institute. Yet.

Kricket’s room is on the fourth floor. The corridors are older and uglier than those in my dorm, with lower ceilings and dull, scratched metal doors. Steadying my hand, I push the electronic bell on Kricket’s door.

“Evening, Yun.” Kricket greets me with a smile and ushers me into the semicircular room. He is prepared for this.

Every part of me trembles with fear. I hope Kricket will assume the shaking is a symptom of my health condition.

We sit across from each other on his yellow rug. I had not expected his room to be so neat—no clothes on the floor, no food or products or even stray hairs on the counter. He looks cleaner than usual too. His fiery ponytail is tangled and frizzy, but he has a shaved face and unstained, unwrinkled clothing.

“You look . . . good,” I begin. My attempt at One-er small talk. “Holo-called your boyfriend lately?”

Kricket’s milky-white face flushes, and he fiddles with the split ends of his ponytail. “Just now. And we’re not dating yet.” He tosses his hair over one shoulder. “I’m procrastinating, like I do with everything else. You know how it is.”

I do not, but that is irrelevant. My words come out painfully slowly, but I manage to speak: “If you just spoke with Devon, then you know why I came here.”

Kricket sighs. “Listen, Ver, I know you’re desperate to stay out of the Sandbag. I wish I could help you. But I didn’t kill Cal. I took Devon out to see a film at the Lucent Gaze Theater—we went late, ’cause it was cheaper.”

He raises his flexitab, showing me the two tickets he purchased, plus the receipt. He is being so well-mannered and helpful, even though he is usually a safety hazard. I would be a fool not to question the change.

Just because he bought the tickets does not mean he went. “Tell me about the film.”

Kricket’s voice becomes icy. “The film was great. Nice 3D cinematography. But why are you asking me all this? Jaha’s been chased off campus, and you’re not going after her. Is it because you were in it together?”

My back clenches painfully. “How dare you . . .”

Kricket grins. He loves to irritate people. Whether they are mildly annoyed or ready to dump him in the biohazard bin, it is all satisfying to him.

I press on. “You told Devon there was going to be an inspection and had him leave expired, concentrated benzoyl peroxide out in the basement hallway.”

Kricket laughs. “Maybe. It was a joke. See, he keeps his bench messy. Everyone in his lab rags on him for it.”

“So you knew there would be a bomb in the basement that night. All you had to do was preprogram a bot to bump into it and—bang! The alarms would shriek. The lights would shut off. The murderer could slip into Cal’s lab in the dark. Could corner him and kill him while the rest of the building was emptying out. No one would hear Cal’s scream over the alarm.”

Kricket is shaking his head. “There’s security footage from the theater. There are witnesses, besides Devon. I was there, not in BioLabs.”

“You may not have struck the final blow, but you made it easier for the person who did.”

Kricket smirks. “So what’s my motive, Ver? Got that figured out?”

I say nothing.

“See, that’s your problem. You were the investigator’s pet. You wouldn’t understand how anyone could want him dead. You can’t know what it’s like to work for six years with Cal over your shoulder, telling you that you aren’t good enough, then giving up on you. He never cared about any of us. Not even you. To him, you were an experiment and an experimenter—two for the price of one!”

The truth in Kricket’s words makes them sting even more. But I tilt my chin up, defiant. “Thank you for explaining your motive to me so clearly. Next question: Who were you working with?”

The smile slides off Kricket’s face. He rises to his feet.

Aiyo, have I gone too far? If he decides to strike me, I cannot run.

Balancing my weight between my cane and the wall, I stand. Even so, I only come up to the bottom of Kricket’s nose.

“Careful, Yun.” Kricket presses forward, forcing me back. Up close, he smells of musky cologne. “You should be grateful that I haven’t called the police on you by now.”

I am dizzy with fear, sick with it. Vomit comes up the back of my throat. He could kill me.

“Is this how you thank me?” Kricket whispers.

Everything that comes next happens in slow motion. My foot catches on the leg of his desk. My cane clatters to the ground.

Crash!

I fall, landing hard on my left hip. The pain steals the breath from my lungs. First the impact, then the needles down the sides of my legs. Someone plucking the nerves in my thighs and calves, many times per second.

When I open my eyes, Kricket is hovering over me, fussing, his long red ponytail dangling past his shoulder and almost brushing my face. “Scrap! Are you all right? Can you sit up?”

Using only my arms, I drag myself over to my cane. With its support I manage to stand, bracing myself against the wall with my free hand. The needles in my legs dig in deeper. Sciatica. Something is impinging my nerves, sending pain signals from hips to feet. Tears of pain and frustration run down my cheeks.

“Ver, I’m sorry,” Kricket says, all his bravado gone now. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I swear. Do you need to go to the campus hospital? I can take you.”

Ha, the hospital! They will lock me in a room to heal. Almost as effective as prison, in terms of getting rid of me. That is what he wants!

“I’m serious,” he says. “If you’re hurt, I’ll pay for the treatment. For any new technology you need. If your legs don’t work anymore, you can get new ones. Look, please, don’t cry. Don’t cry.”

He moves closer, and I flinch away, repulsed. Aiyo, I do not want some flashy contraption like Cal’s hand. I just want a body that will support a happy, whole life. My body is not replaceable. I am not replaceable.

Besides, my legs are not the problem. My whole body is decaying. He will never understand how much that knowledge hurts.

He helped murder the only person who did understand.

“Tell me who you were working with,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

Like the wounded animal I am, I turn tail and slink away. The tears on my face are obvious, and it humiliates me that he sees them.