Chapter Fifteen-A

  Ascending the stairs was hell come to Earth, each step eliciting a gasp, a butcher’s knife cleaved clean through bone to lung, and Malory almost passed out. It would have been simple to take the freight elevator for cattle to the surface, but she craved the spectacle of passing back through the boutique like a Roman general of yore on a triumphal procession—a child-like want to impress, to be seen as something greater. It was irrational, and she knew it, but she’d given up any self-preservation sensibilities the moment her hand was reduced to ruins. When she pushed open the door that led into the store, the world went quiet. Workers paused mid-order, packages wrapped in soft paper suspended between them and their customers. No one spoke. No one moved to halt her progress, limping and covered in sweat. She emitted the aura of a wounded animal, of something cornered and dangerous, as if getting too close would unleash the primal instinct to murder and continue on. They knew better. When she was halfway through, the tired manager lifted a parcel of sirloin steaks and tossed them to her. He nodded and let out a deep breath. Mal flashed him a lazy mock salute with her wounded hand, bandages soaked through.

  Outside, Bagley continued its debauchery unfazed. A couple took snapshots in front of one of the holo trees to commemorate their night out, a young kid tried on new shoes for the coming school year, a toddler begged their bedraggled parents for an action figure of a mercenary Mal didn’t recognize, and three women tried to find the freshest fish to cook for dinner. Everyone gave her a wide berth as she walked, and Mal gave a little wave to the old man as she passed the noodle stall. She went the long way to the main entrance; she didn’t have it in her to climb the stairs that led straight to the street. As she made her way, Mal passed a billboard for Hua Tech’s new flagship synth-skin that showcased a woman covering her implants with pristine iridescence, massive holograms of corporate logos floating overhead, a shabby man holding a cardboard sign begging for credits, and an aerial vehicle showcase with new fuel-efficient engines. When she finally passed under the archway at the entrance, she didn’t look back. She didn’t head for the abandoned body van. Instead, she queued for the monorail and sat near the window to watch the city lights blur past on the way to the Black Hands headquarters, a couple steaks on the seat beside her.

  As the city scrolled by, Malory replayed the moment on her network when Banks’ eyes dimmed. She reveled in the fraction of a second when they went dark forever, the culmination of a desire for revenge that stretched back years. She felt the tension coiled in the branches of the tree scarred on her back release for the first time since the man had branded it there. It would have been more enjoyable if her body wasn’t on the verge of collapse. She pressed the side of her head against the window and listened to the rumble of the engine, the click-clack of wheels on the tracks. It had been satisfying to avenge herself upon the mad bastard, sure, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted, needed more, to fight the world itself—the implant poked and prodded into every fold of her brain and she didn’t have the energy left to fight it. The ghost needed her, so it wouldn’t drive her to the point of no return. At least, that’s how she muddled through the slow surrender. She fell asleep to the noise of steel herding passengers on their way and dreamed of the ocean. Lapping waves, the sea-salt spray, a backlit silhouette of a woman in the sun framed by countless grains of sand. There was happiness there from long ago, but not hers.

  Malory woke up as they pulled into a stop and remembered the pain. She’d left a stain on the seat next to the meat where her hand rested, but there was nothing she could do about it. She watched the crowd outside and focused on their faces. It was easy for them to blend together, all the features meshed and blended into Generic Face #4, to fade into background noise her brain ignored, but that day was different. Out of the corner of her sleepy organic eye, she saw a dinner jacket laced with dark and gold in flowing obsidian—one she’d seen before. There was the same optical blur of an implant throwing out digital noise to disguise the features of a man’s face, the same obscene wealth wielded like a cudgel to keep the peasants in the dark. Before she could process what she was doing, Mal sprang from her seat and sprinted, her injuries temporarily forgotten, one clumsy boot in front of the other past the passengers that shot looks of bewilderment, until she was out in the station. The steaks were still in the seat. She didn’t stop.

  He was nowhere to be found. She was frantic, and scanned faces and upper bodies for that damned jacket, drawing in shallow and ragged breaths; she never stopped moving, even when her body screamed for her to give it up. Not looking meant accepting defeat. She had seen the man that adopted her sister, the man that absconded with her twin into the ether, never to be seen again. Mal pestered the Doc daily to help find her, and despite all his promises to look, the constant reassurances, the talk of contacts and data brokers, it never amounted to anything. And there was the first concrete lead she’d ever had, a moment where a long-awaited reunion was possible, probable even, as long as she kept moving. As long as she found that man again. She grabbed at anyone wearing clothes even remotely similar to spin them around for a look, but he had vanished. She had seen him, she was certain. She refused the doubt that sprouted the longer she searched. She had seen him. He had been right there, walking. In her desperation, she took hold of a stiff shoulder that refused to move and faltered. Her ribs had enough, and she fell, sprawled out on the station floor like a fish gasping for air. She had seen him, and she had been too slow.

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  The man she’d grabbed before falling looked down at her and scoffed before resuming his journey. The ghost materialized and squatted beside her. She ran imaginary fingers through Malory’s hair, but Mal did not rise. She laid there, her head a whirlwind. What a stupid, worthless piece of shit. She bled on the station tiles. Tears welled in her eyes until they reached critical mass and rolled down her temples. If she had just been faster, looked harder, been more skilled. If only she pushed through the pain. If only she wasn’t a dumbass, a blight on the world. If only. After a few minutes, an old crone poked her in the leg with a wooden cane.

  “You better get up and move before security comes. They don’t treat vagabonds kindly,” the old crone said. She pointed the cane over at an observing security camera. She was trying to be nice, warning that way, but it felt condescending. As if kindness was all she could afford to someone in such a state.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Mal managed. She scowled, and struggled back to her feet, and wiped her face on her sleeve. She wasn’t sure what to do, and it was difficult to think.

  The old woman scurried away once Malory was standing. Mal took in short, shallow breaths and hobbled over until she was directly underneath the CCTV camera. She looked up and stared at it. Her skeleton key hack wasn’t even close to ready, and when she tried to activate it, code whirred in her vision. It spat out too many errors to count. She tried again, felt the implant heat up and the stinging of raw nerves. She persisted. She was willing to try until she passed out, if it was necessary. The ghost reached out to hold her hand, and Mal accepted it, curled her fingers around the nonexistent palm. A confusing warmth spread through her—a heat that contained multitudes, from sympathy and the reassurance of a watchful sibling to the chaos, discord, and hostility of a broken mind thoroughly consumed by spite. The warmth spread, and the hack smoothed out to dig its way inside. Minutes passed, and the travelers flowed around her; business men in suits on their way to increase shareholder profits at the expense of all else, nervous and divorced men on their way to date nights free of their clinging c children, and workers heading to slave away in private cubicles, each and every one avoiding her.

  // BREACH PROTOCOL INITIATED SUCCESSFULLY

  // PLEASE STAND BY…

  //

  // LOADING…

  //

  // ERROR

  // RETRYING

  // ERROR

  // RETRYING

  // RETRYING

  //

  // SUCCESS

  // DOWNLOADING RELEVANT SURVEILLANCE FOOTAGE…

  //

  // DOWNLOAD COMPLETE

  Malory couldn’t believe it. It didn’t feel real, and shouldn’t have been possible. She looked over at the ghost, at the woman that used to be Evie, who smiled and faded away. Maybe it wasn’t all bad having the entity trapped inside her mind. Maybe. Mal wandered back into the station to board the monorail as slow as she could. When she reached the empty platform, it was the first time she could recall not having to suppress the urge to dive head first onto the tracks. Seemed like a good sign, even if it would have put an end to the agony. The day had been a gauntlet of abuse, but it had been worth it. She did most of the cleaning job, made ZenTech suffer the loss of an entire retrieval team, put an end to Banks’ villainy once and for all, and had a lead to follow for the first time. She’d do it all again, even knowing the cost. When the train pulled in, she boarded in a daze. She knew the Doc was going to scold her like a concerned father, but that was okay. Welcome, even. It was nice to know someone gave a shit what happened to her outside of the people she’d grown up with—they hadn’t chosen their association, but the Doc had, and that was special.

  The guards at the headquarters moved to stop her from entering when they saw the bloody bandages on her hand, but they paused and gave a show of respect when they noticed how severe the wounds were. It was obvious she was there for treatment, and so Mal limped past them and through the lobby, that sepulchre quiet. She stuffed her hand in her pocket to avoid tracking blood through the solemn place. No one else was ever there at the same time. When she boarded the elevator and pressed the button for the lab, she had to resist collapsing. It took all she had to stay on her feet. It was just a bit more, so she bit her lip and leaned against the wall. She looked forward to the painkillers and sleep the most. It was going to be at least a month of recuperation and boredom, but it was the perfect excuse to take stock of her disordered emotions. To troll through the station footage over and over for a glimpse, for that lead to follow back to her sister. She wondered if Maya was as desperate for a reunion as she was, or if her twin even missed her with access to that kind of wealth as a distraction.

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