“Wait. You’re doing what Mansfield wants?” Zayan shakes his head. “No way. You can’t let that guy win.” Like most Vagabonds, Zayan and Harriet loathe Mansfield, creator of the mechs that perform most of the jobs that would otherwise employ, house, and feed countless millions of desperate, homeless humans.
Harriet turns on Zayan. “He wouldn’t do that! You’re going to fight this, aren’t you, Abel? You don’t have to do it alone. Noemi’s our friend, too, and besides, we’re not going to let some antiquated egomaniac steal away the only decent boss we’ve ever had.”
Abel puts one hand on each of their shoulders. The buzz of activity in the hangar seems to flow around them, oblivious to the drama taking place. “I appreciate your loyalty, and your friendship.” It’s still strange to him to have real friends, to have a life that Mansfield’s plans play no role in. To Mansfield it must be unfathomable. “But this is something I should do alone.”
Zayan protests, “Stop being noble!”
“I’m not being noble. I’m being practical. Putting you two at risk serves no purpose, except perhaps giving Mansfield other targets with which to threaten me.” Abel resumes walking, eyes straight ahead. Purpose steadies him; perhaps seeing that will steady Harriet and Zayan as well.
But it’s Virginia who gets in Abel’s face. “Listen to me for a minute, all right? You say Mansfield definitely has Noemi; okay, I believe you. But we also know what kind of person Noemi is. The sacrifices she’s willing to make, and the ones she won’t. She wouldn’t want you to do this for her. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Abel says. “I do.”
Virginia continues, “I know you care about her, Abel. But that doesn’t mean you have to die for her.”
“I don’t intend to.”
That stops her, and she and the others exchange glances. The slowness of human brains must be agonizing at times.
Taking pity, Abel explains, “Obviously I have to help Noemi if I can. If ultimately there’s no way to save her except by sacrificing my own life, I will.” He offered to do that for her once, volunteering to destroy the Genesis Gate.
But he’s never stopped looking for another way.
“Mansfield believes he can control my actions,” he adds. “So he presents me with a binary choice, never understanding that I would look for a third option.”
The smile returns to Virginia’s face. “You’re not turning yourself in. You’re going to break Noemi out.” When he nods, she laughs out loud. “Now that’s the Abel I know.”
“We’ll help,” Harriet promises, but he shakes his head.
“If this can be done at all,” he tells her, “I can do it alone. If it can’t, you won’t be able to help me. You’ll only be other people I have to worry about.”
She and Zayan share a troubled look. They don’t like Abel’s orders, but they’ll follow them. It would never occur to Mansfield that Abel might try to outwit his creator. Even less would the man imagine that Abel would have friends who’d help him. Abel feels as if he’s beaten Mansfield already. In one sense, he has.
But he can take no comfort in that, not when Noemi’s forty-eight hours are already running out.
7
NOEMI AWAKENS IN THE WOMB.
Or so it seems to her at first—she’s floating, surrounded by a blurriness that’s faintly tinted pink. In her daze, she wonders if reincarnation is true after all.
As the drugs begin to fade, however, she becomes aware of bars around her, almost like a cage. The faint prickling on her skin starts feeling like a force field. Beyond the rosy haze, she can discern movement more clearly. Shadowy figures take on human forms. One steps closer, getting near enough that she’s able to make out a face.
Recognition jolts her awake. “Mansfield.”
“Welcome, Miss Vidal,” Mansfield wheezes. “It’s very good to meet you at last.”
Burton Mansfield’s face looks pale even through the pinkish glow of the force field. He’s more frail than he was when she saw him on-screen six months ago, and she would’ve sworn that was impossible. A Tare model supports him on one side, her face revealing no acknowledgment that Noemi’s in the room. Mansfield wears a plush robe swaddled thickly around him. His gray hair is so wispy as to be almost nonexistent.
But Noemi’s blurry mind can’t help but see, beneath all the wrinkles in his skin, the outlines of Abel’s features. This is what Abel might look like as an old man, if he could get old.
How could someone so wicked create someone so good?
“Forgive the limitations of my hospitality,” he says, gesturing vaguely about her. Noemi hangs suspended in a force field projected from a metal framework that forms the illusion of a cell—one she could step through easily, if she could only get to the ground, but she can’t. “You’re a strong young lady, and a trained soldier at that. Can’t treat you like the average houseguest… though you are very, very welcome.”
She tries to remember how this happened. Her mind offers images of the drill piercing her helmet—then goes back to her journey through the Gate—and finally memory returns. The first terror she feels isn’t for herself, but for Genesis. “Did you—you infected us with Cobweb?”
“What? Good lord, no. What’s the point in that?” Apparently Mansfield doesn’t think of poisoning a world as evil, only as impractical. “I have certain political connections, you know. Word reached me of Earth’s biological-warfare plans—mostly because a few government ministers felt smug about cutting back their orders for more Charlies and Queens. But I didn’t see a shortfall. I saw an opportunity. I knew once the plague took hold, Genesis would send either someone to get help or an envoy to surrender, and you were by far their likeliest candidate. Assuming you hadn’t already blown yourself up, that is. You do have a temper on you. Now, I suppose you’re
