Parched (28 page)

“But what you're doing is wrong!” I cry.

“Perhaps according to your morality,” he allows. “But not to mine. Eden is the pinnacle of human evolution, Tess. It's a society that has been thousands of years in the making. Project Aevum will allow it to be fully realized.”

I can't believe he is justifying this, so cold, so calm. “Hunter,” I say, trying to keep my voice even, “there's no need for drastic measures, okay? Let's just—let's just talk about this.”

He smiles, amused and intrigued. “What an interesting thing to say,” he says softly. “I can't imagine anyone in Eden who's taking more drastic measures than you right now. Do you assume you are better placed to make this decision than I am? I may not be human, but I am conscious. Just because you don't like what you hear doesn't make it immoral.”

“Yes it does!” I snap, throwing up my hands. “What you're talking about is absolutely
insane
.”

He is wholly unperturbed by my anger. “You've studied the world's history, Tess. You know I'm not the first person to decide the fate of millions. They had their reasons. I have mine.”

“Those men were all monsters,” I say harshly. “You really want to be in their ranks?”

Hunter's eyes move around my face with austere assessment. “Anger,” he muses softly. “Such an interesting emotion.”

“Yes, lucky you're not ‘distracted' by that,” I snarl sarcastically. I flash on Hunter holding my sore hands across Abel's dining room table. “How can you even say that? You have emotions, Hunter, I've seen them!”

Hunter's face drops into complete blankness, as if I'd just switched him off. “No,” he says flatly. “I don't.”

Hunter's been faking his emotions. Simulating them. A murderer playing a boy to manipulate me.

Just like I did. This is karma.

In the dim light of my mother's office: “Hello, Magnus.”

“Tess. You are not permitted to be here.” His deep voice rumbled and I put one finger to my lips
.

“Shhh.”

Obediently, his voice dropped to a low murmur. “I am glad you are.”

I giggled, cocking my head to the side. “That's me, little boomerang girl. Always coming back.” I made my way over to the hulking man-machine in the corner
.

“Do you like what I'm wearing?”

His large head moved down, then back up as he looked over Izzy's come-hither outfit
.

“Yes.”

A shiver of electricity ran through me as I put one hand on his huge bicep. It was cold and hard. “Can you feel that?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like how it feels?” I murmured, letting the cool of his exterior absorb steal the heat of my hand
.

“Yes.”

I started running the tips of my fingers up and down his arm, tipping my head up toward his. I know he can feel it, my finger-pads racing up and down, up and down. “Do you like that?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me. Tell me that you like it.”

“I like the feeling of your hand on me, Tess.”

“Do you want me to continue?”

“Yes. I want you to continue.”

“What about this?” I whisper, pressing more of my body against the bulk of his. “Do you like this?”

“Yes. I like that very much.”

I stopped and quickly pulled myself away
.

His deep voice rumbled immediately. “Please continue to do that.”

“Who is in charge of you?” I asked sharply
.

“Simutech and Doctor Francesca Rockwood,” he replied. “Please continue to touch my arm with your hand.”

I hovered a few inches from him, looking deep into his dull, silver eyes, barely able to stop my voice from becoming a snarl. “Who. Is. In. Charge. Of. You?”

I can almost see the processes whirring clunkily in his singularix, as his excited nervous system battled with his logic circuits
.

“You are, Tess. You are in charge of me.”

“That's right.” I exhaled, flushed with success. Guess what, Mom? Lowering your little project's logic circuits to maximize his emotional susceptibility? Big-time success
.

With a smile full of secrets as dark as witches', I pulled his head down to meet mine
.

Stumbling, I knock over a vase of roses. It crashes to the ground, scattering the flowers across the polished floor. Roses and thorns crunch under my feet.

“Tess?”

I wish I could burn these memories out of my brain. I used the feelings Magnus had for me with a callousness I can't bear to recall. But his feelings
were
real.

Breathing hard, I look Hunter right in the eye. “You were designed,” I say, “to have emotions. You should be able to feel things. Correct?”

He's silent. But I'm right. I know I am.

“Why did you tutor me?” I ask suddenly.

“Abel ordered me to.”

“Why?”

Hunter remains inscrutable. “I don't know,” he replies.

“You must have a theory. If you're really so
smart
.”

His eyes dart to mine, then shoot away. A crack. A crack I can get through. “Abel wasn't getting you to watch me,” I think aloud. “Abel didn't know about Kudzu.”

Then why insist we spend time together?

“Does Abel know,” I ask, “what the Trust intends to do with you?”

After a moment, Hunter nods. “He does.”

“And does he disagree?”

“He's not permitted to say.”

“What do you think?”

Hunter's gaze draws away from me. “Abel does not approve,” he says softly.

I'm remembering things. Abel watching me refuse to eat the mushroom risotto. Abel asking me about my time in the Badlands.

“Is it possible,” I continue, “that Abel thought I could—I don't know—help? In your development? That I could be a . . . good influence?”

As the words leave my mouth, I feel certain I am right. Abel didn't support building a genocide machine. He was using me to expose Hunter to a different way of seeing things. Or to make Hunter feel things.

What was it my mom said defined consciousness? Free will. Morality. Empathy. Hunter has free will, or so he believes. And he believes he is acting morally. But empathy? No. You need emotions to feel empathy, and he doesn't think he has those. Abel wanted me to help Hunter feel things. Yes. If Hunter did feel empathy, maybe he wouldn't be able to go through with Project Aevum. If he cared about the Badlands like I did, maybe he wouldn't be able to destroy them.

Time is running out. I have to convince Hunter to come with me. I have to do it now. And to do that, I have to get this boy-machine to feel.

“Why did you save me from the Quicks?” I whisper.

Again, my question is met with silence. I move slowly toward him, keeping my voice soft.

“Why did you save me back at Simutech? You could've killed me. Why didn't you, Hunter?” His eyes are on the floor, staring at the space between us. I feel so incredibly exposed. My face burns. My heart thumps. “Is it because you care about me?”

Still, nothing. But he's not moving away. Slowly, I reach for one of his hands. He flinches. “It's okay,” I whisper, stopping for a second. “It's okay.”

My fingers find his. They are warm, pulsing with genetically altered blue blood, powered by mirror matter. Gently, I lift his hand until it's near my face. I press his fingers onto my cheek, so he can feel my skin. Finally, finally, he lifts his eyes from the floor and lets himself look at me.

In those eyes is so much confusion and pain and fear, it breaks my heart. “Hey.” I smile.

His eyes don't leave mine. His voice, just barely audible: “Hey.”

This tiny word floods me with an ocean of hope. I press his hand harder onto my face. “Do you remember,” I whisper, “when you held my hands that night at Abel's? They were red and sore, and you asked me what happened to them? Do you remember?”

“I do.”

“And do you remember earlier tonight?” I move closer still to him, until I can feel heat radiating from his body. “Right before I left. At the river. Do you remember that?”

“I don't forget anything.”

I move my hand from his, and miraculously, his stays in place, holding my cheek. “I thought you were going to kiss me.”

He's silent, searching my eyes with his.

I stare up at him. Even now, even knowing what I know, I feel attracted to Hunter. No. More than attracted. Connected. “You have feelings, Hunter. You have them for me.”

His eyes dart cautiously between my lips and my eyes. He wants to kiss me. My spine prickles. “How do you know?”

“Because,” I tell him honestly, “I have them for you.”

He blinks, stunned. “For me?”

I nod.

His eyes are darting between mine; left, right, left, right, left, right. “I felt scared,” he says haltingly. “When I saw you at Simutech. You were bleeding, and the Quicks were after you, and I felt scared. Not for me. For you.”

“Yes.” I nod again. “I was scared.”

“And that's . . . normal?” he asks, sounding embarrassed.

“Yes.” I place my palms flat on his chest and draw myself closer. His body twitches under my hands and I can smell him—mint and ash. “That's
empathy
.”

He starts, jerking away from me. His eyes narrow into slits. “Is that what this is?”

“Hunter—”

“No.” He backs away from me, out of my reach. “You're trying to manipulate me. For your cause. You're just trying to stop me.”

“No, Hunter,” I say desperately. “I feel those things for you,
I do
.”

A noise interrupts us. Through the front windows, I see three floaters prowling in the shadows. Kudzu is looking for me.

I meet his eyes again. “Kudzu has to stop Project Aevum, Hunter.”

“You can't,” he says, voice soft but sure.

“We can if you come with us.” I run to the door and open it. Ling, Naz, and Benji are on the other side of plaza. My heart sings with relief. “Hey!” I call softly.

They see me and swing their floaters in my direction.

I race back inside the shop to find Hunter hidden in the shadows on the far wall. “Come with me,” I plead. “Once everyone finds out what you've done, Edenites will turn on you and the Trust will betray you. They'll kill you, Hunter.”

He says nothing. I hear Kudzu zoom across the plaza.

“Do you care about me?” I ask. “Do you?”

He just stands there, still as a statue. “I . . . can't. The Trust will be at Simutech within the hour. I have to go with them.”

“Tess!” Ling calls quietly.

“Hunter, we can't let Project Aevum happen,” I repeat, my voice rising in desperation. “I mean it. Come with me.”

Nothing. No reaction.

His eyes cut through the darkness. “Are you going to try to kill me?”

“We're going to try to stop you.”

His words are low, almost a growl. “What if I stop you first?”

My heart skips a beat. “Could you kill me, Hunter?” I take a step closer, to less than an arm's length away. Goose bumps race up my arms. “Could you?”

He doesn't answer. His face remains frozen.

Ling calls urgently from outside. “Tess!” The floater engines rev impatiently.

With one final, desperate look back at him, I run outside. The plaza is empty and painted in silver moonlight. I swing myself onto the back of Ling's floater and she guns the motor.

Glancing over my shoulder, I can just make out the ghostly form of Hunter in the florist window, watching us as we ride away.

We head out of the Hive, across Moon River, then north through Liberty Gardens. Ling leads the way, keeping under the speed limit and always on the back streets. We need to stop and regroup, but everywhere there are houses full of people or any number of service subs who could easily be on-cycle. Now that the Trust has identified us as terrorists, the sleeping city feels like a trap ready to snap shut.

We approach a park with a large nature reserve spreading out behind it. “There!” I point. Ling drives off the street and straight through a manicured flower bed. We shoot past swing sets and slide toward the pine trees at the back. Naz and Benji are right behind us.

As we approach the safety of the trees, Kudzu cuts their motors. Wordlessly, we hop off and start jogging, guiding the floaters forward until the trees tangle together into a small forest. The ground becomes soft and springy underfoot.

When we can't see the street or darkened houses anymore, Ling stops. “This is far enough.” She presses her comm into her ear, speaking to who I assume is Achilles. “We just need a minute.”

The floaters fall to one side. For the first time, I get a good look at the others. They look like they've been hit by an airtrain. Skin smeared
with smoke and dried blood from scratches and cuts, bruises beginning to deepen, hair matted and burned. Naz has a deep gash on her head, Ling has one on her lip that is still bleeding. Benji looks the most unharmed, but his eyes are glazed and unseeing. He's the first to speak, his voice sounding thick and strangled. “They killed her. They broke her neck . . . Oh, Lana!” he cries out, voice breaking. Ling rushes over. He buries his face in her neck and starts to sob.

Naz pulls a tightly rolled cigarette from her pocket. Her hands are shaking so hard she can't get the lighter to work. She swears softly under her breath.

I go over and cover her quivering hand with mine. I hold it there until the shaking stops. Then I take the lighter, and after a few tries, light her cigarette. She sucks in deeply and exhales a steady stream of thin gray smoke above my head.