Perfect Gravity (Wanted and Wired #2)(98)

“And they all have fresh, shiny, new back door access keys,” Kellen added. “Do you want to know the word?”

The word that would activate alternate programming. The word that would disconnect them from the whole-organic humans who controlled them. The word that would put all that power in Heron’s control. Or Chloe’s. Kellen wasn’t super clear on how those two were sharing tasks, but either way, whoever got control of those death-bots wasn’t somebody nurturing kind thoughts about Zeke Medina.

The hand that held the gun trembled, just slightly.

“You won’t do anything,” Zeke said. “You can’t. I know who you are, Hockley. You haven’t changed much since you slunk out of the MIST, disgraced, failing, exposed as a fraud. You weren’t good enough for her then, and you aren’t good enough to save her now.”

Not good enough. Lord, how many times had he heard those words? They didn’t hurt anymore, not when the speaker’s definition of “good” was shit like how fast he could ruin a person’s body or soul or hope. For himself, Kellen counted goodness differently. Goodness was keeping the faith, sticking to his rules, playing fair. Persisting. Not losing hope. He caught Angela looking at him, her dark eyes wide and lovely. Goodness was her, and being with her, and making those scared eyes dance with laughter.

If he could keep her safe and make her happy, he would be the most successful dude who ever lived.

“Guess it sucks for you then,” he told the president, “that all us dumb-ass failure sorts got the best death weapons.”

It was gone almost instantly, but he caught the spark in her eye, the veriest pull at the edge of her mouth. All you pacifists have the best death weapons.

I get you, he told her silently, even knowing she couldn’t hear. I got you.

“Athanatos,” he said.

On the blip board, the white stars pulsed.

Then moved, steady, heading for the podium. Heading for this room.

Medina’s hand went lax as he watched their advance from four parts of the ballroom. He moistened his lips but obviously couldn’t look away.

“What will they do?” he asked. “When they get here?”

“I really don’t know,” Kellen said, “but I’ve instructed them to neutralize the threat. Oh, and I painted a big red dot on your ugly head, designated you a target. So whatever ‘neutralize’ means to a four-hundred-pound mechanical death-bot with titanium hands and a detailed physiological understanding of how your joints all fit together, that’s probably what they’re planning. At least in part.”

“N-series are very creative,” Angela added. “And don’t forget, they have complete behavioral profiles of all your best friends…I mean psychopaths.”

When she spoke, Medina looked back to her. He was still holding the gun, but his arm had slackened, and the weapon now pointed at the floor. It would be easy for him to raise it up again and shoot her. His other hand still gripped her arm like a vise.

Kellen and Angela both had to be smart here, had to be patient. Much as he wanted to leap over there, place his body between her and any threat, he needed to resist. He had a sense sudden moves were bad in this situation.

“Call them off,” Zeke said, looking straight at Angela. “Call them off and I’ll tell you where to find it.”

“It?” Kellen echoed, and he saw Angela’s mouth open, close. Blood fled her face, and he knew what it was.

“Don’t you listen to him,” Kellen said. “Don’t you listen to that lying fuck. This is what he does. It’s his sick superpower. Our girl’s gone, princess. You saw the place. Don’t you let him hurt you.”

Her gaze flew to his, crashing energy in the stuffy air of a small room. What if, what if, what if. He could almost hear her voice forming the words, even though her mouth was closed.

Medina still had ahold of her by the left arm, but she reached the right one out. To Kellen.

He moved to her side, clasping her hand. Yoink darkened her blip board, hopped down from the table, and settled her furry self at their feet.

A trio. A team. A family. Enough.

“Shut up, Zeke,” Angela said.

“You can’t mean to let—”

“Shut up,” she repeated, her voice growing louder, more commanding with every syllable. “I’m done playing your game, being your pawn. It’s a shit game, and you’ve taken it too far. Only this time, you lose. I have all the pieces now, and I am the fucking queen.”

Which was the absolute hell-yeah-est moment of Kellen’s life and also right about the time four hijacked N-series mech-clones burst through the doorway. They disarmed Medina, recited his rights, and wrenched his arms back so tight, his shoulder sockets slipped. Medical knowledge does not necessarily mean an innate sense of gentleness or compassion.

“I thought you were gone,” Angela said in a low voice as the mech-clones cleaned up and hauled Zeke off. “Not many people, especially good people, could endure me, knowing what I’ve done. And I could have distracted Zeke long enough for the mech-clones to arrive. All by myself I could have. I’m kind of a big deal when it comes to giving speeches.”

“I know,” Kellen said.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark and terrifying. “But I’m so fucking glad you came back.”