LUX
This time, she held nothing back.
They were going to shoot Jim. Her brain churned with words and images, things she’d never seen but were in her mind anyway: Guns have bullets and bullets kill. Kill means dead—they will make Jim dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
This was intolerable.
Her blood roared in her veins. She trembled with anger, with fury at the ones who would make her Jim dead, who would dare hurt him.
This time, she let her body do all the thinking.
And she became powerful.
She moved with speed and grace she’d never felt before. Heady with her own strength, she marveled at how easy it was to make them fall, to drop them one by one.
Chop.
Kick.
Duck.
Sprint.
Her brain picked out target points: this chin, that stomach, this chest. Her body followed through with deadly precision. She melted from one attack to the next, flowing across the grass, her muscles hardening into steel at the right moments, then relaxing so she could spin away and pursue the next target.
Eliminate the threat.
And there were so many threats.
She kept an eye on Jim. He and Sophie were running away—good. Go, she thought. Get away.
She’d identified the leader: the woman in white. Much like the girl Mary on the beach, this one gave orders. She was the most important threat, and Lux had to eliminate her.
She sprinted across the grass, and leaped for the woman’s throat.
But then the woman was gone. Lux hit the ground hard and rolled, landing in a crouch. The woman was quick; she had stepped aside just in time to avoid having her throat punched. Lux tightened her fist and tensed, but before she could spring again, she felt a sharp jab of pain in her neck: Moira Crue and her needle.
Immediately a warm sensation spread up her neck and enveloped her skull. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, but her vision blurred and darkened. She lurched forward blindly, reaching for the woman in white, but she was helpless and weak. Her strength melted away, abandoning her; she landed in a crumple on the grass, tried to crawl, couldn’t find the strength.
As she lay there, fading from the world, one last thought managed to surface and swirl across her mind before she lost her grip on consciousness:
Jim said don’t fight them.
But I fought them anyway.
011101110110100001100001011101000000110100001010 Drowning water all around no air cannot breathe Jim where are you help me please oh what what what am I? What is happening to me please stop stop stop! Falling darkness must protect must protect011101110110I must protect1000011000010111010000100000I must01100001011011010010000001001001 . . .
When she woke, she was lying on her back, on something soft, and she was soaked with sweat. She jerked upward, only to find her hands and feet were stuck.
Groggily, she blinked away the static in her eyes and looked around. She was inside. In one of the rooms. The light above her hummed; it was too bright, scalding her.
She groaned, her voice sludge in her throat.
Her head was a riot of numbers and words, nothing making sense, all scrambled up, all jumbled out of order. And it hurt. Her skull throbbed, her eyes throbbed, and she felt a swirling in her stomach that kept surging into her throat.
“Lux,” said a voice.
Moira Crue’s face appeared, flickering and out of focus.
“It’s okay, Lux. You’re safe.”
“Jmmm.”
“He’s okay. You did your job. You protected him.”
“Moira . . .” A different voice. Lux rolled her head to see who it was: another woman with dark hair, dark eyes, white coat.
“Her primary concern is protecting her imprintee,” Moira said. “She needs to know he is safe or she’ll go into shock. I’ve seen it happen before, when we were testing Clive.”
“She looks like she’s going to throw up.”
“It’s a combination of stress, sedatives, and overstimulation. She’s been exposed to too much too soon. They normally need several days just to acclimate to their own bodies. Lux has been forced into a maelstrom of completely new experiences and sensations. Remember, everything she is seeing and hearing, she’s seeing and hearing for the very first time, with nothing but her chip’s limited data to interpret for her. If she’d been awoken properly, she’d have plenty of time and therapy to help her along. As it is, she’s had to largely fend for herself.”
“If Strauss catches that pilot and—”
“Sh. You’ll spark another anxiety attack in her. If they catch Jim—the pilot—and . . . if that happens, we’ll have only two choices. Put her in an induced coma until we can find a way to reverse the imprinting, or . . .”
Silence fell. They both stared down at her.
Then Moira Crue said, “Let her sleep. She’ll fade in and out the next few hours. It’s best we give her time to process.”
Their faces disappeared, and for a long time, the room was silent.
Lux didn’t like being alone. To occupy herself, she replayed Moira Crue’s words in her mind, searching for answers, for understanding. There was so much, so many words that slipped through her fingers and evaporated before she knew their meaning. It was too much, all too much. She floated on a dreamy wave of warmth, her muscles limp, her mind sluggish. Eventually, she gave up on thinking and shut her eyes, losing herself in darkness.