Disruption (11 page)

‘You’re a liar,’ he said, his own voice just as flat.

I was too unnerved to respond. Before I had a chance to gather my thoughts, a loud gunshot echoed from below. Quentin jolted, and looked over the boulder. I closed my eyes and briefly pressed my lips together before joining him.

We didn’t need the binoculars to see. The man who had just been roughed up by a guard was now motionless on the ground.

Just. Another. Demonstration.

Quentin swallowed repeatedly, probably trying to stop himself from retching. He slumped back behind the rock. There were frightened cries from the negs below, and soon others were being hit with the blunt ends of the guard’s weapons.

‘They just … They killed him,’ Quentin stammered, his face sapped of colour, his eyes brimming with remorse.

I pulled on my gloves, angry at yet another life being stolen as I’d stood by and watched, still unnerved by our entire conversation. I threw a dispassionate look in Quentin’s direction. ‘Have you seen enough?’

L
ater that night, I sat in Gus’s apartment staring at the new tunnel map, just one of the handy scores from our data upload yesterday. Unfortunately, the upload hadn’t given me the one thing I really wanted. But on the bright side – we’d managed to compile enough saleable intel to get some more money flowing in.

‘There was a flag on his name,’ Gus said out of nowhere.

I flinched and darted a look at him. He was staring down at some papers, avoiding my eyes. ‘You said there was nothing,’ I said.

He shrugged nonchalantly, but I saw his jaw tense at the implied accusation. ‘Easy, tiger. It was just a flag, nothing we can really work with. It’s years old, probably from around the time he was first brought in. It’s unreliable at best. You know how often negs get moved around. You’d have more chance finding him in Afghanistan and you know it.’

He wasn’t exaggerating. My hands fisted tightly.

‘Where, Gus?’

He leaned back in his armchair, looking towards the ceiling as he sighed. ‘You’re not going to find him, Maggie. But you
are
going to get us both killed, or locked up.’

‘Where?’ I repeated.

He didn’t look back at me as he answered. ‘His name pops up in relation to a core junction. Possibly a testing facility he was taken to briefly. But we are talking about the
core
here, Maggie.’ He paused to meet my eyes. We’d both heard the rumours of what went on in the core – horrific and invasive experiments on negs, brainwashing, torture, execution chambers.

I schooled my features back to neutral, but Gus had already seen my reaction. As if reading my mind, he gave a small nod.

‘And even for me,’ he said softly, ‘it’s impossible to get you physically in and out of there without being caught.’

I just stared at him.

And waited.

I knew that the ‘core’ was the headquarters of the once-government site originally designed to withstand nuclear attack. And
he
knew what I was going to do. He knew I had no choice. And more importantly, he knew
he
had no choice.

‘We’ll need maps and passcodes,’ he said finally, still not looking at me, still not happy. ‘The kind that don’t come easy and cost a lot of money. Money we don’t have.’ He paused before adding, ‘And fresh DNA, Mags. DNA is the only thing that will open up those labs.’

I swallowed and nodded calmly even as my stomach flipped. This could be it. This could be my way to finding Dad.

And we both knew who could likely gain us access to a high-level clearance door.

The question was, would Quentin let things go that far?

Saturdays were a routine, like every other day. When Quentin strolled into the garage, I was well into the work-out portion of the day. Working out didn’t just keep me fit, it always helped me sweat the nightmares – filled with the unnamed faces of all the people I’d left to rot in those tunnels – out of my system. The advantage of belonging to a family too poor to own a car was that the garage was an open space. I’d taken full advantage, setting up a boxing bag and a number of weights I’d collected along the way.

‘Hey,’ Quentin said over the music. I stopped kicking the bag and wondered briefly if he’d been watching for long. I went into a world of my own when I was training.

I turned down the music, using the time to catch my breath. ‘Hey.’

He gestured to my hands. ‘You’re supposed to wrap them.’

Sure, they were red and would be bruised and grazed tomorrow, but they almost always were. I shrugged. ‘Don’t get time to wrap them when I need to fight, see no point when I’m training.’

He gave a slight nod. ‘What discipline do you study?’

‘The type that doesn’t get me dead,’ I said, turning back to the floor mats with a bottle of water in hand.

He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, waiting.

I sighed. ‘Muay Thai.’

He gave a low whistle. ‘Intense.’

‘It’s clean, it’s upright, and as street smart as they get.’ Most of the other martial arts spent too much time rolling around on the ground for my liking.

Quentin nodded, looking down and stepping out of his leather shoes.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked, taking a gulp of water.

He gave me a small smile as he unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and began to roll up his sleeves. ‘Seeing how it holds up against karate.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘You know karate?’

He shrugged. ‘A bit.’

I smiled at that; he was clearly trying to downplay it. ‘Okay, but you’re about to get your ass kicked.’

He returned my smile and walked past me to turn the music back up.

We danced around each other. I could see he was trying to make me comfortable. He was clearly worried I’d be too chicken to kick the shit out of him. He really didn’t know me.

‘Rules?’ he asked. Then I kicked him in the stomach.

‘Okay, no rules,’ he grunted, spinning to return the favour.

Men are stronger. It’s just a fact of life. It wouldn’t matter how much I trained or how strong I was, they had more weight to throw around and, judging by the stinging pain making its way up my side, Quentin knew what to do with that weight.

I moved in close and struck his chin with my elbow.

‘Cheat,’ he said, shifting his jaw from side to side.

I stepped back and shook my head. ‘Not in Muay Thai. We get all eight points, including knees and elbows.’

‘Interesting,’ he said.

‘What colour belt?’ I asked, though I already knew. He moved with such precision. Another Quentin surprise.

‘A dark one,’ he answered slyly.

Then we moved in again, blocking and dodging kicks, taking a shin here and there. It was fun. And even if I was impressed, after a short while I had his measure. When he moved in with a round kick that should’ve taken me down, I crouched low and spun fast, coming up behind him and grabbing his arm as I did.

Men might have the strength, but girls have the speed.

With his arm now locked hard around his back, all I had to do was squeeze and he’d be in a world of pain. ‘Give,’ I said.

He chuckled. ‘Give.’

After a quick shower, I returned to my room. Quentin was back in position at my desk. It wasn’t like he had much choice. It was either the desk or my bed.

I towel-dried my hair and caught him watching me when I looked up. I raised my eyebrows mockingly to cover my blush. He looked away.

‘So, what’s the deal with your family? You go gallivanting around at all hours of the night and your mom is completely oblivious?’ He shook his head. ‘At least my parents pay attention,’ he mumbled.

I moved so fast, the sound of my sharp slap across his face shocked us both. All I saw was red. ‘Don’t go there,’ I warned. ‘My mother is not oblivious. She doesn’t have the time to be oblivious, between working nine shifts a week at the hospital and all weekend as a cleaner for rich bastards like you. She barely has time to eat.’ I stepped back, some of my anger fading to sadness with my words. ‘And even so, she leaves dinner for me almost every night and makes time to speak with me every day, even if it is just on the phone. And why does my mother have to do all of that?’

He stared at me.

‘Because her husband is a neg, and she was left with all of his debts, a family to feed and now the new Poverty Tax on top of it.’ I stepped towards him. ‘All thanks to M-Corp.’

The silence lingered, but Quentin surprised me. He didn’t look away. He held my eyes and finally gave a nod. A forfeit.

‘I was out of line.’ He swallowed. ‘Of all people, I should know how easy it is to look at a family from the outside and make assumptions that aren’t correct.’ He half laughed. ‘Or in my case, from the inside.’

I slumped down on the edge of my bed reeling from my emotions. ‘Forget about it. It’s not your fault.’

He nodded, but his eyes said he wasn’t entirely sure of that. After a few beats of awkward silence, Quentin spoke. ‘There’s a party tonight.’

I was grateful for the subject change. ‘And you want to go and be Mr Phera?’

He seemed irritated by the question. ‘I have to go. My mother has already started to become suspicious, asking why I haven’t turned on my tech in social situations.’ He glanced quickly at me, then back at his feet. ‘They want to meet you.’

I chose to ignore that comment for now and reached into my drawer to pull out one of the vials I’d put aside for him. ‘I was able to make enough for four doses. It is a basic mix of synthetic pheromones – your usual epiandrosterone and androsterone mixes. But unlike enhancers, this changes the way your signal reacts with each person’s individual signal, so that you don’t just have one broad signature.’

‘So it will seem like …’

I nodded. ‘Like you’re completely normal, reacting better with some than others. But it won’t last all night, Quentin. You’ll be safe for two hours, but don’t risk it beyond that.’

Quentin stared at the vial as he repeated, ‘Two hours.’ He looked up. ‘Will you test it with me?’

‘No,’ I said, too quickly. I had to turn away from him to close my eyes and steady my heart rate. ‘I refuse to be any part of the system.’

‘Why? It’s not real anyway.’

I shook my head. ‘I turned on my Phera-tech on the test day because I had no choice. That is the only reason I will ever turn it on.’

‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘Then you’ll just have to come with me then.’

I blinked. ‘Sorry. Can’t.’ Even if I wanted to, which I didn’t, I still had to clean the house for Mom and I had a load of study to get through.

His eyes narrowed and I instinctively crossed my arms. ‘How do I know you’re not setting me up?’ he said. ‘That you didn’t just need my help to get in that lab the other night and now you’re going to take me down?’ He leaned back in my chair. ‘I want you nearby in case anything goes wrong and, since I went underground for you, you can come to a party with me.’ He finished with a satisfied grin while I settled for a scowl.

‘Fine. I’ll be the designated driver.’

He scoffed. ‘You don’t have a car.’

I looked out my grimy window at his shiny black BMW and smiled. ‘Yours will do.’

I had no idea what to wear to one of these things and I was most certainly not up-to-date on the latest fashion trends – the last magazine I downloaded was
Tasers and Other Defensive Tools
. I avoided the school party scene like a disease, and even if I hadn’t, I’d never have been included in this particular clique. My total net worth was way too low.

I perused my wardrobe options. It took about three seconds. There really wasn’t much to choose from, so I grabbed the cleanest of the two outfits I wore when I had to play the vixen part in a trade – I hoped it would help me remain inconspicuous. Finally, after messing around with some colours, I wiped my face clean and settled for a heavy dose of mascara and dark grey eye shadow, smudging it around my eyes. I knew that colours were currently the rage, but pink and I just don’t mesh.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I shook my head. I looked okay and, though I probably wasn’t Quentin’s cup of tea, my outfit had its appeal. It isn’t that hard to put on fitted clothes and make the most of what you had. But still … I looked longingly at my sweats and T-shirt handing off the edge of my bed.

Quentin was standing by his car when I walked out. His eyes dropped to my feet and I suddenly felt nervous. Why? I couldn’t say. I’d worn Stella’s damn heels before, and my black jeans and black singlet were hardly daring, just tight and more … exposing than my usual clothes.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Should’ve brought the bike,’ he murmured.

‘Sorry, I was all out of wannabe Barbie clothes,’ I snapped, unusually defensive.

He watched me, his mouth slightly ajar at first, then lifting at the edges.

‘Car access!’ I said, holding my arm out and contemplating turning tail and storming back into my house. I knew I didn’t look like he wanted me to, but the way he kept looking at me made me self-conscious. It was annoying.

Quentin tapped his M-Band a few times and then held his band close to mine as he transferred driver privileges to his car. Car keys were a thing of the past. ‘Do me a favour and never
ever
change your wardrobe,’ he said, keeping his eyes on me throughout the transfer.

I glared at him.

He shook his head slightly, as if confused by me. ‘You really don’t get it, do you?’

‘Get what?’ I said, already exhausted with the conversation and missing my sweat pants again.

He opened his mouth as if to respond, but then he took a small step back, speaking softly. Now it was him who seemed awkward. ‘I’m a neg, Maggie. What I think doesn’t matter.’ He half laughed and opened the car door. ‘You’ll see for yourself when we walk into the party tonight and every pair of male eyes fixes on you.’

Out of all the insanely rich kids from school, Morris Delaware was one of the few I could actually stand, so I was relieved to discover the party was at his house – which just happened to look out over sprawling lawns equipped with terraced, Tuscan-styled gardens and an indoor pool. Naturally.

Morris was the son of a popular senator, a star on the athletics track, a solid grade getter, and came from ridiculous wealth. Rumours circulated that, since his Phera-tech was fitted a couple of months ago, he’d rated impressively on a number of occasions.

By the time we arrived, the party was already in full swing. A bunch of people were hanging out on the front veranda, which looked like it swept all the way around the house.

It didn’t take long for people to recognise Quentin’s car and start waving in our direction. It was at this point I noticed just how nervous he was.

‘Stop,’ I ordered, holding down his bouncing knee. ‘You’ll be fine. I promise this will work. Just remember –’

‘Two hours,’ he cut me off.

I nodded, looking down.

He opened the vial. ‘Just swallow?’

‘Yep.’

And he did, both of us taking note of the time. He had until 11 p.m.

Quentin punched a few keys on his M-Band and an activation beep sounded. His Phera-tech was live. The next person he walked by with active tech – everyone inside that house over eighteen – would rate with him.