Defy the Worlds (Defy the Stars #2)(64)

“And of course to set yourselves up as the planetary leaders,” Abel interjects. “The hunger for power is an ordinary human failing. In this case, however, it appears you intended to use that power for the common good… more or less.”

We have got to talk more about tact, Noemi thinks. But dealing directly with Fouda is more important. “The relay codes,” she says. “We need them to save Genesis.”

“And you’ll get them.” Fouda nods, squaring his shoulders, but Noemi can see the traces of shame in his expression. “As soon as the two of you have helped us fully claim this vessel from the passengers. They’ve taken the docking bay, which means we have no craft to reach their shelter. Until we have that, we’re powerless.”

She’s surprised the passengers had the sense to secure the docking bay. “You’re holding an entire planet hostage?”

“No. The passengers are. Only when we have freed Haven will we help save Genesis—so make sure the passengers comply.”

Fouda’s trying to be proud of his pronouncement. Yet the murmurs around them suggest not every member of Remedy feels the same way. Many of them frown and cross their arms, unhappy that their virtuous mission is turning into a power play.

So how do I best save Genesis? Noemi wonders. By defeating the passengers or by arranging a mutiny against Captain Fouda? The mutiny would probably take longer—

The comm unit next to the captain’s chair begins to buzz. Fouda grabs it. “Yes?”

“Captain Fouda?” Gillian Shearer’s voice cuts through the static, as if defying the signal to muffle her words. “Shearer here. I need to speak with you.”

“How did you get this frequency?” Fouda demands.

“Process of elimination,” is Gillian’s only reply. Tension renders every word taut. “We’ve been able to review certain security data as well, and now I have reason to believe you’re in possession of a mech named Abel. He may not have told you he was a mech—”

“They’re aware of my nature,” Abel says. After a pause, he adds, “Hello, Gilly.”

That must’ve been what he called her when she was a little girl. It’s so strange for Noemi to think of him knowing her then—caring about her—

“I knew you’d come.” Gillian’s breath catches. “I knew you couldn’t stay away, not when Father needed you. He needs you now more than ever. Oh, Abel—he’s dying. Today. This hour. Please, come quickly.”

Even the raw pain in Gillian Shearer’s voice wouldn’t stop Noemi from telling her to go to hell. But the expression on Abel’s face does. He’s not angry. Not closed off.

Oh, my God, Noemi thinks. He wants to go to Mansfield.

He’s still controlled by Directive One.





22



ABEL OFTEN EXPERIENCES THE SAME PHYSIOLOGICAL responses to emotions that humans do, although his design was intended to make those emotions slightly muted. This renders him more efficient and effective—that’s the rationale Mansfield gave, long ago. So your body won’t be shackled to your mind.

In this, at least, Mansfield must have been correct. Because hearing the fear in Gillian’s voice, knowing that his creator is dying not in the abstract future, but at this very moment—it wrenches him apart. If he were human, surely this would be unbearable. That, or Mansfield was wrong, and Abel is feeling every bit as much emotion as a human would. His airways are partly constricted; sounds seem to be coming from far away. His hairs stand on end as though it were his life in danger rather than Mansfield’s. Every physical reaction tells Abel to act immediately or suffer forever.

He remains still.

“Abel?” The desperation in Gillian’s voice echoes within him. “Are you there? Can’t you hear me?”

“Yes, Gillian.” The words come out at a lower volume than he would’ve expected. It’s as if he’s initiated a partial shutdown to conserve energy. He turns to Fouda and says, “This conversation requires a private channel. I should be able to transfer this to the captain’s antechamber, with your permission of course.”

From his place in his crooked, battered, repositioned captain’s chair, Fouda tries to look stern—but only for a moment. Something in Abel’s face, or in Gillian’s voice, has made an impression where all their earlier words did not. “All right, then.” Fouda’s expression turns unreadable as he motions toward the antechamber. “Go.”

Gillian, who must have heard the exchange, says nothing. Yet the sound of her shallow, panicked breathing comes through the comms regardless.

As Abel hastens into the antechamber, Noemi follows him. No doubt she realized he would want her close. He’s wanted to be so deeply understood again, but his pleasure in it is distant, something he knows rather than feels. As he patches the comms through to this small, darker room, she stoops down, searching through the various shards of debris. It is a strange way of giving him privacy, he thinks, but is grateful for her intention.

All of this he senses at a remove. Directive One seems far away—grief for his father eclipsing even the programming meant to ensure Abel would never outlive him.

The silence has gone on too long for Gillian. “Abel? Can you hear me?”

“I hear you.”