Chapter 50
Ver

Before I can reach Aryl, a pale brown hand with long white fingers capped like mushrooms latches on to my own, tangles around it, and pins it to a wall.

Who would want this fungal limb attached to their body? The sticky material is so cold! I can feel each individual hair on each stem. I shut my eyes, shut out the horror.

Now my brain is conjuring an image of Cal wearing that hand, pinning me down. His eyes are soulless blanks. Yuan controls all of him now.

I open my eyes again. A forelimb with razor claws flies at my face. I duck as low as my back will let me. Pain plucks my spine. I stay crouched, bracing for impact—

Everything within two meters of me drops to the floor. A rain of body parts: silicone, metal. Pattering to rest. Suddenly harmless.

I exhale. Beyond the stalled limbs, more terrors edge in. But for the next few seconds, I am safe. How? Who has bought me this precious time? I look around wildly but see no sign of an intruder.

The workers keep staring at their computer screens, furiously manipulating their controls. All of them are concentrating, but their eyes are blank. They do not care about the outcome of this brawl. They are simply protecting their employer.

Among them, though, one woman’s mouth is screwed up in a scowl. The shape of her nose is familiar, as well as the angle of her mouth.

Jaha! She has sneaked in disguised as a worker, likely during the shift change we just saw—morphed briefly into the employee she used to be. She must have severed the connections between some of the limbs and the workers controlling them.

A lion’s paw on the ground before me trembles. The screen on its palm lights up with a message.

Control room. Up three flights of stairs on your right. You’ll need a worker’s iris scan to get in. Hit emergency alarm. Up to you now, Ver-hai.

I would recognize Jaha’s tone anywhere. She believes in me—so much that she once felt threatened by my talent. Now, she is counting on me to save us all.

I have not moved faster than a brisk walk in two years. But now is the time to ignore the resistance of my body. I run.

Sparks shoot down the outsides of my legs, and cramps rocket through my abdomen as I cross the room. Inhale, exhale, push forward. I propel myself with two weak legs and my cane, which by some miracle is still in my hand. It seems to weigh a ton.

By the time I cross the barrier into the rows of cubicles, the workers have noticed that something is amiss—that none of the artificial limbs can touch me.

Their eyes fall on Jaha, the only person still typing. One of them approaches and rips off her goggles, revealing her face for all to see.

“Go!” she shouts at me as workers surround her, pulling her out of her chair and bending her arms behind her back.

If only I were as strong as Aryl, I would turn back and help her. But I am not, so I must trust that she will manage on her own. Jaha is from this moon. Survival is in her blood.

I can survive too. I want to.I want to live.

I want to see Pangu rise again.

The stairwell is a black echo chamber. Each of my footfalls sets off a thousand more sounds, bouncing off the walls. I am falling, hauling myself up the stairs. Pulling myself up the rail with one hand. My cane flails in the other, trying to make up for my tired and wobbly legs. Sparks of pain zip from my hips to my feet. My vision fades to a muddy haze.

But somehow I climb. One flight, two. Three flights, turn the corner—

A shadowy silhouette. Weaponless, except for the blade of a smile and eyes that burn electric blue. Behind him, the larger shadow of his protector, and the door labeled CONTROL ROOM. Above him, on the ceiling, the retinal scanner that will grant access to that room.

Pauling Yuan and his bodyguard stand between me and my last hope.

“Who would have thought you’d be the last one standing?” Yuan says. “Pity. If you’d taken one of those sets of legs back there, you’d be out by now, running across the desert. But alas.”

I feel around in my back pocket for the loaded syringe and peel off the cap.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Yuan says, chuckling, even as he steps aside to stand in a corner. “Acid spray? A pocket knife? Well, Osmio brought something too.”

The bodyguard lunges, fists raised.

I block the first punch, aimed at my neck, with my cane. Osmio sees it coming and brushes it aside. The impact rattles through my arms, wringing each joint. I cannot do that again. But I will have to let him get close to inject him. I need to jab one of his veins . . .

Osmio aims his fist at my chest this time. I twist painfully, as far as my spine will allow, to dodge the blow.

I shuffle toward the corner where Yuan stands, hoping that Osmio will moderate the strength of his blows if Yuan is within striking distance.

The next hit is meant for my groin, an area I cannot defend. But Osmio lowers his head just enough—

I jam the needle into the purple vein on the side of his thick neck and push the plunger.

At the same time, the pain hits me. Blunt and explosive, spreading from my ribs, where his fist has dug into me, through my abdomen. Bones splinter. There is no air left in my lungs to scream. Please . . .

Ketamine does not work immediately. Even a large dose takes twenty, thirty seconds to circulate through the body. That is why I have chosen a thick vein in Osmio’s neck, so that every microliter from the syringe will be carried directly to his heart.

Osmio punches me again, in my abdomen. My broken ribs shift inside my chest. The pain is blinding, deafening, numbing. I can barely sense anything else.

But his movements are becoming slower, less precise. The ketamine is plugging up his NMDA receptors, inhibiting his nervous system from communicating with itself. If he is hallucinating, I hope his visions are hideous.

Now Osmio cannot lift his arms. His fists unfurl. He rocks backward and forward, as if deciding where to fall. Yuan shrinks farther back into his corner, eyes darting from side to side. He leaps—but not soon enough.

Osmio crumples, crashing into his boss. Yuan topples with his bodyguard, pinned on the floor beneath Osmio’s powerful body, his face showing the first signs of fear.

I fight to stay conscious. To live. I hold my abdomen in a futile effort to stop the internal bleeding. Is my lung punctured?

I limp toward the fallen men. With one shoulder I brace myself against the wall for support. One hand protects my ribs. The other clutches my wavering cane. I do not need this now, I think and toss it to the side.

My fingers curl around the second syringe. I lift it, trembling, and hold it to the murderer’s neck. The silver tip trembles against Yuan’s stubbled skin.

“This is sodium pentobarbital.” The lie slips between my teeth. “You will die painlessly. Just like Osmio. But you will die. Or you can scan me in.”

Yuan’s eyes are wide. With his bodyguard still lying on top of him, he cannot maneuver enough to either escape me or overpower me. He lifts his head, looking toward the sensor on the ceiling. It beeps green, granting access. The door swings open.

I lurch into the narrow control room, fighting the blackness encroaching on the edges of my vision. Beeping buttons and switches and levers are everywhere. Where is it?

The big red button is on a control panel off to the side. EMERGENCY ONLY, a sign cautions.

If this is not an emergency, I do not know what is. My body is breaking—muscles failing to contract, blood rushing outward, lungs depleted of oxygen. I collapse forward, using the last of my strength to aim my palm at the button.