Twinmaker

Q sounded hurt and puzzled, as if the universe had personally reached out and slapped her.

Dupe, she thought, feeling much the same. Someone’s body with someone else’s mind. It seemed impossible, but what if it was true? That would explain how Dylan’s behavior had changed so radically, from someone who hated d-mat to someone who used it to try to hunt her down and kill her. It also explained how he had escaped the explosion that had destroyed his home, and how he could be chasing her again now after having been shot in Manteca.

“Wait,” Clair said as a more believable explanation occurred to her. “That trick you did when I was running from him—giving me an alias—could someone be using that back at us?”

“I suppose so. That would explain why I can’t trace his origins.”

So would duping, Clair thought, but she kept that to herself.

“Show me where he’s supposed to be now, in my lenses.”

A red dot appeared in the map she had open. “Dylan Linwood” was pulling out from the d-mat station in Oakdale and moving very fast. He must have fabbed a bike or had one waiting for him there.

Clair kicked out with her chin to talk to Jesse.

“Someone’s coming after us,” she said.

He sat straighter and glanced back at her. The bike slowed minutely. “How do you know?”

“My friend Q told me. You know, she’s the one who called me in the safe house.”

“We’re supposed to be off the grid, Clair.”

“I know. But she’s given me a mask so I’m invisible. That’s not the point. It looks like he’s on the same road as us.”

“What do you want to do? Outrun him? Ambush him?”

Clair pictured herself sitting in the dark, waiting for someone to come into the sights of her gun. Shooting at someone shooting at her was one thing. Premeditated murder was another thing entirely.

“I’m not a murderer, Jesse.”

“Really? You seem pretty good at it to me.”

She ground her teeth on a reply that would have seen her tumbling into the dirt for sure.

“Let’s get off this road,” she said. “If he’s just going to check out the airfield and isn’t actually following us, he’ll never know we were here.”

“I don’t have time to stop and map out another route—”

“So let me do it,” she said. “You drive, I’ll navigate. Deal?”

He thought about it for a second.

“Deal, I guess.”

Clair called up maps in her lenses. The countryside was an inconvenient mess of reservoirs, irrigation trenches, abandoned train tracks, and minor roads that never went in a straight line. There didn’t seem to be any easy way to get where they needed to be. It was like a puzzle or a maze, hypnotic in its complexity. . . .

“Clair?”

She forced herself to focus. If they went to Jamestown, from there they could go north on Route 49 to Angels Camp. The Maury Rasmussen airfield was only six miles farther after that point.

“Take Route 108 on the left,” she said. “That’ll get us out of Oakdale.”

“And then?”

“We’ll go off road. I’ll tell you how when we get there.”

He grunted.

“Bet you’re thinking this’d be easier with d-mat,” he said.

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

And my ass, she thought, sure that cross-country riding was going to be a lot less comfortable than it was by road. It could take all night to get to the airfield at the rate they were going.

A series of clicks came over the open line, followed by Gemma’s voice.

“Hail Mary” was all she said.

The engine snarled, and Jesse propelled the bike even faster than it was already going. She could feel wiry sinews under his top, taut with tension. He was shaking.

“Want to tell me what that was about?” Clair asked him.

“Gemma . . . Gemma gave me some codes before we left Escalon, while we were testing the helmets.”

Clair quashed a momentary resentment that she hadn’t been told. Zombie girl. Jesse’s voice was choked, as though something horrible had happened. “What did she say to you?”

“They got Arabelle.”

“‘Got’?”

“Killed.”

Clair saw a flash of Zep’s broken face.

“For real?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that.”

She believed him. This was the woman whose shoulder he had wept on, who had told him to be brave. Clair had trusted her and put her hopes for answers and safety in her hands. A crippled woman in a wheelchair . . . and now she was dead.

Clair’s insides roiled, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. Q was flashing her.

“Clair, I have multiple targets radiating out from the center of Oakdale. Two of them are coming in your direction.”

She nodded. Forewarned was forearmed, she supposed.

“What happened to ‘Dylan Linwood’?”

“He is in transit again, and I can’t tell where he is going. He’s moving around in a way I can’t explain.”

“Maybe he’s just a decoy, designed to distract us,” she said, taking inspiration where she found it. “Maybe we can use the same trick against him.”

“What do you mean, Clair?”

“We’re supposed to be meeting an airship,” she said, reaffirming her faith in Arabelle’s plan. “Can you see it the same way you’re seeing all this?”

“There is air traffic over Stockton. One of them is heading in the direction of Maury Rasmussen airfield.”

“That must be it.” She hoped it was. “If you copy its profile and send copies in different directions, anyone watching the same data as you won’t know which one is the real one.”

“Clever! They’ll either have to chase all of them down or concentrate on some at random. I’ll try it, Clair. If you maintain radio silence, it should give you some time.”

“That’s all we need.”

“Clair?” said Jesse, opening the line between them again.

“What?”

“Lights behind us. We might have been seen.”

They were just coming out of Oakdale. She didn’t want to look behind her for fear of losing her balance.

“Shit. The turnoff is still over a half mile away.”

Jesse switched off the headlights, and the bike roared beneath them along the suddenly invisible road.

33

“ARE YOU CRAZY?” Clair shouted. “Don’t forget you’re risking my neck too.”

“How can I forget? I can hardly breathe with you strangling me.”

Clair didn’t dare let go. All she could do was close her eyes and hope he knew what he was doing. There were no streetlights. An accident in the dark would kill them as surely as a bullet from “Dylan Linwood.”

“Keep your fingers crossed there aren’t any potholes,” he said. “I’m using an infrared HUD, but it’s still not