Rebel Born (Secondborn #3)(20)

“You don’t believe that demigods formed those mountains, do you?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I wasn’t there—and neither were you. It’s just a bunch of oral history handed down for what seems like forever.”

He frowns again and pushes his hand through his hair. “Okay, we’ll arrive at the Sword Palace soon. When we do, they’re going to give orders to the Black-Os through Spectrum. All the capsules will open.”

“What will they order?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Nothing has been explained, and no directives have been logged, so I’m in the dark.” He looks around and adds, “Literally.”

“The soldiers will be in an altered state, right? Technically, they’re all ‘asleep’—mind-controlled or whatever.” My hand lifts, indicating the capsules near me. “I’ll be expected to be the same—to follow whatever orders I’m given. How am I supposed to pretend that I’m asleep?” A part of me is numb. Another part knows this is the worst plan ever because it’s not even a plan—just a set of impossible circumstances piled on top of impossible circumstances.

“You’ll have to pretend to be integrated, Roselle. They need to believe you’re an active Black-O.”

I raise my hands, palms up. “Yeah, but how?”

“I made something for you—for the moment you woke up. It’s an enhancement. Your implant should adopt it. I created a program based on the master-level-unit protocols. I used something like it for gathering intel, but mine isn’t advanced biotech like this.” He smiles like he made a joke and leans nearer to my jacket pocket. “May I?”

“Yes.”

Ransom reaches in, fumbles around, and extracts a tiny black case. The case is security locked. It opens when he holds it to his eye and it scans his retina. Using the flashlight, he finds and selects a small glass ampoule of gin-clear liquid. “Drink this, but let the liquid settle under your tongue for a few moments before you swallow.”

I hold the ampoule up in front of my eyes. “What is it?”

“Most of it is water, but inside is a tiny bit of your DNA and neuro-enhancers. Did you know that a single gram of DNA can store hundreds of petabytes that will last for hundreds of thousands of years? I stored your upgrade in it. It will be absorbed by the—”

As Ransom explains, I open the ampoule and allow the water and DNA to slip into my mouth. I hold it under my tongue while he maps out how this all works.

“You can swallow now,” he instructs, allowing me to clear my mouth.

“How long will it take?”

“I don’t know. A few hours? A few days? I’ve never tested it.”

Panic has me pacing along the grated catwalk. I study the stasis pods closest to mine. My jaw tightens when I recognize the dragon-man a few units down from me. I pause in front of him. His chest is bare. He seems unbreakable—genetically enhanced.

“Cherno,” Ransom whispers near my ear, and then he shivers. “He’s going to be a problem.”

“Why?”

“Agent Crow has made him a permanent part of your protocol. Wherever you go, he goes. His orders are to shadow you—and under no circumstances is he to let you escape alive.”

“Who is he?” My attention roams over the brutal figure who almost doesn’t fit in the capsule. He looks as if he could chew rusty swords with his teeth. “Where did he come from?”

“He’s partly from a museum in the Fate of Stones. Crow extracted DNA from a dragon egg few people believed was real.”

“You’re kidding,” I reply, glancing over my shoulder at Ransom.

“I’m not.”

“What’s he like?” I analyze the impossibly strong creature. His shoulder-length dark hair dances in the compressed air of his capsule. Thick, bristly eyebrows, the same hue as his hair, contrast the scales of his flesh. His skin expresses as more human without the shimmer of the fire to turn it golden in places, and in this non-light, it has the appearance of an intricate tattoo.

“I don’t know. He’s a drone. I’ve never spoken to him unfettered from the Spectrum. He was never part of my division.”

“We could use some allies. Do you know which one of these capsules is Hawthorne’s?”

Ransom’s Spectrum apparatus, attached to his temple, blinks with erratic flashes. “He’s not racked.”

“Racked?”

“He isn’t in a capsule,” Ransom explains. “He’s part of a security detail on the main deck protecting Agent Crow.”

Rage flares in me. “Why does he keep Hawthorne so close?”

“I don’t know. Why does he do half the things he does?” Ransom grumbles. “You’ll drive yourself insane trying to figure out reasons behind the things Census agents do. Most of the time, they act on some maniacal impulse to spread terror around like it’s a virus and infect the world with their particular brand of fear.”

I’m about to agree when something in my mind triggers. A burst of energy surges through me, akin to the explosion of a fusionmag pulse, but without the pain of being shot. Everything shimmers with golden light. My eyes wander, literally seeing energy glimmer in a heady brilliance of liquid gold along the channels that provide power to the capsules. Large concentrations of charged atoms dance in the air and cover everything like a thin layer of sparkling diamond dust. Walls and images form from the golden pixie grime. They’re shapes and outlines of invisible worlds that project from the soldiers nearest me. Maybe these are the memories that agents can remote-view or the AI constructs that keep soldiers passive?