“I had wondered,” Abel says, “If you were troubled by what Virginia said earlier.”
“What do you mean?”
“When she called the people behind the bombing ‘terrorists.’ I know that you disapproved of their actions, but not their cause.” Abel must see the unease in her face as she glances toward the far corner, because he adds, “Virginia has fallen asleep wearing devices that play music directly into her ears. We are unlikely to wake her.”
“Okay.” Noemi struggles for the words. “What I’ve seen since leaving the Genesis system—the way things have changed during the past thirty years—I don’t know what to think any longer. I mean, I still believe in the Liberty War. Our leaders did the right thing. Earth couldn’t be trusted to treat our world any better than they did their own.”
“Given the historical record, that is a reasonable assumption,” Abel admits.
Noemi props herself up on her elbows. “But people are suffering. They’re starving. They’re wandering through the universe with nowhere to call home. And on Genesis, we have so much. Even if we can’t hand our planet over to a government that would ruin it, surely we should do something to help these people.”
Abel considers this. She wonders what’s going through that cybernetic mind, the one designed for some extraordinary purpose neither of them knows. He finally says, “What does your church tell you to do?”
She sighs, so weary her bones feel heavy within her skin. “Like every other faith on Genesis, it tells me to look for the answer within myself.” How can she put this? The moment is so strangely intimate—both of them in sleep clothes that don’t belong to them, speaking in whispers, tucked away in a cave together. Maybe these surroundings are casting a spell on her, making her imagine Abel will really understand. “We’re supposed to seek inner enlightenment. My whole life, I’ve hoped that I’d experience grace.”
“Grace?”
“The moment when faith becomes more than rules you’ve been taught,” Noemi says. “When it becomes a living spirit within you, and guides you. When you’re open to God’s love and are finally able to show that love to others. I go to church like everyone else, and I pray, and I hope… but I’ve never felt it. Sometimes I think I never will.” But she can’t dwell on that. She smiles crookedly. “Of course you don’t believe in God.”
“I have a creator,” Abel replies. “But mine is flesh and blood.”
“I guess that changes things.”
Noemi figures the theological part of their conversation has ended, but Abel surprises her. “I don’t believe as you do. I can’t; it’s not in my nature. But I know that religion serves purposes beyond mere mythology. It has taught you to look within, to question yourself deeply. If you seek inner knowledge, eventually you will find it.”
She sits up straight, the better to look him in the eyes. “You’re saying you don’t believe in God, but you believe God will speak to my heart?”
He shrugs—a gesture somehow more natural, more human, than any other she’s seen from him. “Probably we wouldn’t agree on the source of that wisdom. But you don’t run from a challenge. You keep going until you have an answer, no matter what. That makes you someone who can transcend her limitations.”
Her whole life, Noemi’s believed that nobody but Esther could really understand her. That she made herself too angry, too hard, to ever let anyone else see inside. Maybe she got some of that from the Gatsons, but believing a thing like that makes it closer to true. And yet Abel claims to see her, and what he sees within her is what she’s been most afraid would never be found—not by her or by anyone. “Do you really believe that?”
Abel hesitates then, considering. “I generally do not believe things. I know facts, or I do not.” He smiles at her. “But yes. I believe in you.”
This is a mech. This is only a mech. But if he can believe—
The metal door explodes. Noemi screams, though the sound is lost in the deafening roar of the blast and the clattering shards scoring the walls and floor. Abel leaps to his feet as Virginia scrambles from her bed, confused and bewildered. Noemi clutches her blanket to her chest and stares toward the smoke-veiled doorway.
And the Queen steps through, blaster in hand.
22
THIS IS THE LAST TIME ABEL LETS THE HUMANS MAKE THE plans.
He knew he should’ve double-checked the Razers’ security precautions. They swore up and down that they had blocked all security sensor data along the route to this “hideout,” that no one else knew this place existed. Yet here stands a Queen model, blaster at the ready, a satisfied smile on her lips.
“What are you doing?” Virginia protests. Abel realizes she must never have seen a Queen model in person before. Otherwise she wouldn’t be this belligerent, this unafraid. Virginia gestures at the smoldering mess that was the Razers’ hideout. “You don’t have authorization to come in here. You can’t, because this is private property, and—”
With one hand, the Queen shoves Virginia so hard in the chest that the girl flies halfway across the room, crashing into one of the desks and smashing the equipment there. A heavy black cube lands on Virginia’s arm, making her cry out in pain. Noemi scuttles toward her to help.
He can’t afford to pay any more attention to them. Abel has to defend the others against a Queen—but he’s not certain precisely what it is he has to defend them against.
Because this Queen isn’t acting like a normal Queen.
She is the same one from Kismet’s moon; he recognizes a slight notch in her ear, unrepaired recent damage. But she isn’t behaving the same way she did then. Even warrior mechs are programmed with certain limitations. Humans don’t want their devices to be too clever, too deadly, too independent. Causing harm to a person who presented no real obstacle—that should be impossible for a Charlie or a Queen. Yet this Queen hurled Virginia so forcefully, the girl could even have been killed.
And no mech Abel’s ever observed could look at this scene the way the Queen is looking at it now: with a glint of satisfaction in her eyes that is all too alert, all too real.
He must assess his opponent. Abel begins by asking, “How did you find us?”
“I began at your last known location and considered all possible paths.” The Queen begins circling his position, her head tilted as she studies him. How can she be as curious about him as he is about her? “Only one would allow you to travel without being observed by any security imagers—the underground river.”
Impossible. The underground river is not a normal passageway. It was such a counterintuitive choice that Abel hadn’t even seen it. So how could the Queen have done so?
Only one answer makes sense.