The Remnant. Laura Nolen Liddell

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      “Oh, now,” he said. “Don’t look so upset about it. We do have a plan.”

      “Ah. As long as there’s a plan.”

      “And here he comes now,” said Marcela.

      I looked around, but apart from the three of us, the crawl space was empty. “He?”

      Marcela pointed through the floor above us. I squinted over the walkway and across the length of the hangar. A hooded figure swept into the room, accompanied by a change in the air, perceptible even from as far away as we were. As I watched, the guard on duty rushed toward him, but he held out a hand, and I saw that he was young: his hand was smaller and less muscular than Eren’s, or even Isaiah’s. The hand touched the guard, and the guard fell to the ground, writhing, and then was still.

      The hooded figure barely noticed. He swept toward the panel on the wall, and the door closed. His face was shrouded, but if my creeping suspicion as to his identity was right, that door wouldn’t open again, no matter who was on the other side.

      He turned toward us, and my guess solidified into ice: Adam.

      Adam was a genius, a prodigy. Those were the only words appropriate to describe his fluency with the burgeoning technology of the Ark’s various systems, some of which he’d created himself, and nearly all of which he’d modified to suit his own strengths. I didn’t know much about his brief life on Earth, but, up here, the only family I’d seen of his was Amiel, his sister.

      He worked for Isaiah. We’d done exactly one job together: the Noah Board.

      At first, I’d liked him fine, in spite of the fact that he reminded me of myself, minus the tech proficiency. But during the heist, he’d killed without thought, and his methods were ruthless. It made him unpredictable. If you asked me, which apparently no one had, it was dangerous to work with a person like that. And not just to our enemies. To us. Surely Isaiah could see the need for limitations, for distance, with someone like that.

      I shivered, allowing the weight of the ship to pull me down into myself. “Isaiah. No,” I whispered. “He can’t be controlled.”

      “I don’t need to control him. I just need him to do his job. Sound familiar?”

      “Yes, you do,” I said.

      He approached at a leisurely pace, his hood anchored around his face for the length of the catwalk, and I felt my nerves set themselves on edge as he passed panel after panel on his path through the hangar.

      Of course he was coming for us.

      When he reached the panel above our hiding spot, he produced a long, thin black rod and swiped it over the controls. They zwipped and fizzled before going dark and rebooting. When the subsystem came back online, he pressed a hand against the biometric scanner, and we watched, breathless, as it keyed to his vitals. A moment passed, and the panel was his.

      Only then did he turn to us.

      He stooped to work an opening in the pipes around the catwalk, then assisted Isaiah through the floor and onto the platform in front of the hatch.

      Marcela went next, giving me an appraising look as she accepted Isaiah’s outstretched hand. I popped myself up through the hole before anyone could reach for me.

      Now that he’d taken control of the security systems in the hangar, Adam let his hood fall back to his shoulders. His face was as young and bright as I remembered. He flicked lightning-quick fingers over the panel, and the hatch popped open.

      The airlock was exposed. It lay open at our feet, awaiting us, barely longer or wider than a body. We couldn’t access the Arkhopper without it, but the mere thought of crawling into it made my fingers go cold. I decided not to look at it. I couldn’t afford to take my attention away from Adam, anyway.

      “Hi, Char,” he said, his voice softer than I remembered.

      I gritted my teeth. What was the play here? “Adam.”

      He smiled robotically. “Sorry about last time.”

      Last time, he’d shot me, rather than let the mission fail. His intent to kill had been as plain as the nose on his unlined face.

      “So,” he continued after my silence, “you and me. Together again.” There was an eagerness in his voice that belied his youth, but he showed far more restraint than I’d have otherwise credited him with.

      “No.” I directed my response at Isaiah. “We’re not.”

      Mars and Adam blinked. Isaiah’s face was outwardly passive. I continued. “I don’t want anything to do with him. Least of all now that the other Arks are involved.”

      “Not all of them,” said Adam.

      Isaiah spoke as though he hadn’t heard us. “This is a standard two-seat hopper. It can be piloted remotely, or with the manual controls. Pretty self-explanatory, from what I’ve heard. I’ll be in constant contact while you’re in transit.”

      “Two seats? I’m not going. Not with him.”

      A brief tension pressed Adam’s jaw forward, then he was calm again. Unreadable.

      I swallowed. “He’s dangerous, Ise.”

      Isaiah regarded me mildly. “He’s learning. And I thought you believed in second chances.”

      “This is my chance to learn from our mistake: send him away.”

      “Get in the airlock, little bird.”

      My lips went numb. “No.” My voice was pathetically quiet.

      Adam looked from me to Isaiah, eyes wide, but said nothing.

      “Don’t make me threaten you,” said Isaiah. “It’s bad for our friendship.”

      I wet my lips, unsure of myself, of everything. Except this. “Take my hand, Isaiah. I need you to understand me. I’m not doing this mission if Adam’s a part of it. And if you know me at all, you know this: you can’t make me.”

      “I’ll go,” said Marcela.

      We looked at her. My hand was still tightly wound around Isaiah’s.

      She spoke again. “You need two people. I’ll do it.”

      I took a breath and tried to think, but the airlock lay beside me like a grave. If we were trying to stop the Asian Commander, or whoever it was, from blowing a hole in the Remnant, Adam was nothing but a liability. To everyone. Whether or not I was there. I had to stop him from getting on the hopper.

      “It should be me,” I said softly.

      “I agree,” said Isaiah.

      “Well,” said Marcela. “That’s settled, then.”

      “But I… I have demands.”

      Isaiah raised his eyebrows. СКАЧАТЬ