Mahir are you there?
Mahir I need you to reply RIGHT NOW. It’s important or I wouldn’t be trying to break radio silence.
Mahir, PLEASE. If you’re ignoring these messages because you think I’m fighting with Dr. Abbey or something, PLEASE. I NEED TO TALK TO YOU. I can’t talk to Becks or Shaun until I talk to you.
MAHIR GODDAMMIT YOU ANSWER ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW.
… fuck.
—Internal chat log, user AKwong to user MGowda, August 1, 2041.
We have removed all tracking devices and self-destruct triggers from the subject, who continues to self- identify as “Georgia Mason.” She was made aware of the realities of her situation by Dr. Lake before we reached this phase, and her psychological progress has been nothing but encouraging. I believe she will remain stable in the long term, providing we are able to secure her release. My team can keep her isolated for a few days more; Dr. Thomas and his lackeys are distracted with the final preparations to awaken her replacement.
This has crossed a line. This experiment has always been both disgusting and morally questionable, but for the first time, it has become obscene. She’s a real person. She knows who she is, even if she is only that person because of us. She thinks, she feels, and she wants to go home.
How did we ever come to this?
—Taken from a message sent by Dr. Danika Kimberley, August 1, 2041. Recipient unknown.
Twenty
We left the Brainpan and returned to the Agora. Breaking into the CDC in broad daylight would take a stupid plan and render it actively suicidal—not something I was in a hurry to do, all indications to the contrary aside. Besides, even if it had been full dark, I would have insisted on going back to the resort. There was no way we were going to take Maggie into the field with us. Not for something like this.
She was silent during the drive, almost shrinking in on herself as she listened to Becks and Mahir arguing about the best ways to bypass CDC security. She’d been a part of this team almost from the beginning, but that time was coming to an end, and we all knew it. When this was over, if she was still alive, she wouldn’t be one of us anymore.
I parked the van in the Agora garage and twisted around to face her. “Maggie, I—”
It was too late. She was already out of the van and on her way to the airlock door. I froze where I was, not sure what I was supposed to do.
“Let her go.”
For a moment, I thought the voice was Georgia’s. Then I lifted my head and saw Becks looking at me.
“She’s made her choice. That doesn’t mean she feels good about herself. Let her go. We can talk to her when we get back.”
“Yeah,” I said, answering them both, and unfastened my seat belt.
We didn’t talk as we followed Maggie’s path to the airlock. The lobby was empty when we arrived. Somehow, that wasn’t much of a surprise. We didn’t discuss our next move. We just split up, each of us heading for our own room to do whatever it was we had to do in order to feel like we were ready. If you can ever feel ready for something like this.
Becks and I hadn’t had much time to get unpacked—or much with us to unpack—but there was enough that it took me about fifteen minutes to get everything together, double-checking the ammo in every gun and the straps on every holster. I even retied my boots. It never hurts to be overprepared. Then I stopped, looking at the empty room, and closed my eyes.
“This is all I’m going to leave behind,” I said aloud. “No apartment. No belongings. No family. Just a hotel room that won’t remember me tomorrow.”
“I’ll remember you.” Georgia’s hand on my shoulder was gentle. I started to turn toward her. “Shhh. Don’t open your eyes. Just come with me.” She tugged me to the bed, pushing on my shoulder until I sat. “Now you’re going to get some rest.”
“George—”
“Don’t argue. You don’t do well on sleep dep. You never have. Now, go to sleep. You have hours to kill before the sun goes down.”
She was right. I knew she was right, just like I knew she wasn’t there; she was the part of my mind that gave a damn about keeping the rest of me alive. I still took an unimaginable amount of comfort from the feeling of her hand on my shoulder as I fell backward on the bed, eyes still closed, gear still on, and let myself drift off into sleep.
My dreams were full of screaming. I saw my team die half a dozen times, in half a dozen ways. Oddly, that helped, because every time I saw one of them get killed, I saw something else that wouldn’t work for getting us into the building alive. We were going to need to be careful, and quick, and never hesitate.
The light in the room was dimmer when I finally opened my eyes. George was gone, but that didn’t matter; she’d be back, and soon. She always came back.
I went to the bathroom, splashed some water on my face, and then began the final preparations to depart. I was loading my pockets with clips when a speaker hidden somewhere in the room chimed, and the voice of the Agora said, “Mr. Mason, I apologize for the interruption, but Mr. Gowda has been trying to reach you for the past fifteen minutes. I didn’t want to wake you. Will you accept the call?”
“If I don’t, he’ll probably wind up coming down here to yell at me,” I said, still working. “Hell, I’m surprised he hasn’t already. I’ll take it.”
“Thank you.” The Agora went silent, followed by another chime.
“Shaun?” It was Mahir this time, sounding worried. Business as usual, in other words.
“Hey, Mahir. What’s up? Aren’t you like, three doors down? This takes ‘lazy’ to a new level, don’t you think? Then again, I just spent the whole day asleep, so who am I to talk?” I couldn’t fit any more clips in my pockets. That was a bummer. I picked up my tablet, clipping it to my belt. There was one nice thing about this particular suicide mission: We’d downloaded floor plans for all the major CDC installations as part of our research weeks ago, right before we followed Kelly into the Memphis office and got her killed. Seattle was a major enough office that we had pretty good blueprints. It didn’t show any secret tunnels, but it had the public areas. At least we wouldn’t be lost while we were rushing off to our deaths.
There was a time when that thought would have made me uneasy, rather than reassuring me. It’s amazing what has become comforting since the start of the Ryman campaign.
“Alaric tried to get in touch with me.”
My head snapped up. No one respects radio silence like a Newsie. It’s practically one of their sacred creeds, right alongside “protecting your sources” and “off the record.” “Did he say why?”
“No, and that’s why I’m concerned. The message he left was basically ‘you know this matters, or I wouldn’t be doing it,’ over and over. I already tried dialing one of his burn phones.”
“And?”
“There’s no response. I’ve left a message and sent an e-mail to one of Dr. Abbey’s encrypted addresses, but—”
“Do you want to stay here and keep trying to reach him while Becks and I go to the CDC?”
“What? No.” Mahir actually sounded offended. “I didn’t come this far to be left sitting on the stands when things are finally getting interesting. I do intend to return to my career once I’m no longer a wanted fugitive, and the more I can learn, the better my prospects will be.”
“You’re a natural-born snoop, Mahir,” I said, and picked up my pack. “You ready to blow this taco stand?”
“Have you ever even
“Sure. There was one right next to campus. Are you ready to
He sighed, attempts at levity dismissed in an instant. “Yes. Much as I’m afraid of what’s to come, I rather do
