Robin Wasserman - Shattered

And I missed you too.

I never understood it as an org, how a thing could be true and not true in equal amounts. When we were kids, they always tried to drill it into our heads, the way the universe constructed itself through a simultaneity of opposition: Light is a particle. Light is a wave. Light is both, at the same time it’s neither. Every reality contains its own opposite; every whole truth rests on two half lies.

These days, it made a lot more sense. That’s what happens when your whole life is an oxymoron.

Now I existed solely thanks to the quantum paradox, my brain a collection of qubits in quantum superposition, encoding truths and memories, imagination and irrationality in opposing, contradictory states that existed and didn’t exist, all at the same time.

I am the same; I am different .

But when it came to my family, different won out. Some things create danger just by existing. I couldn’t go home again, even if he’d asked.

Which he hadn’t.

“I don’t think the authorities will be bothering you anymore,” he said. “But if they do, voice me.”

“Thank you,” I said. Formal, proper, like a stranger. Like him. “And for today. Thanks.”

Like it was no big deal that he’d made it okay, the way I used to think he could make everything okay. I wasn’t a child anymore; I knew better. Some things could be fixed with credit and power and properly applied pressure. Most things, the important things—things like bodies on the ground, bleeding from their eyes, things like what happened when the secops arrived and the guns came out and the losers fell, things like me, stuck between being a person and a thing —no one could fix. Not even him.

My father patted me on the back, twice. Item number two on the list of awkward “fatherly gestures.”

“Ben’s agreed to drive you back,” he said.

“Oh. Now?”

“Unless there’s something else you need?”

As I watched him, trying to figure out what he was expecting me to say, he met my gaze for the first time. But if there was a message encrypted in his blue stare, I couldn’t crack the code. “No,” I said. “Nothing.”

Iwould have expected someone like call-me-Ben to drive a late-model Trivi or maybe even a Petra, one of those neutered bubble cars with a rotating cabin and a collapsible gel body—bland as his wardrobe, suitable for middle-aged trend chasers who preferred safety to style. But the car was a Taiko, black and practically dripping with credit, its bullet shape so streamlined that it was hard to imagine how a human form could fit inside. The wheels were hidden beneath the frame, so there was nothing to break the smooth, sleek line. I’d never seen one up close before, much less ridden inside, but I heard that with the right patch, you could override the velocity restrictions and push it to almost two hundred. Walker had always wanted one, and the fact that I knew anything about them at all was a testament to how crazy he’d been on the subject. You can’t tune out three years’ worth of obsession. (Trust me, I tried.)

The paint was supposedly some kind of special alloy that absorbed even infrared light—it looked like someone had carved a car-shaped hole in the universe and filled it with pure nothingness.

The door swung open. Ben was behind the wheel. I climbed into the backseat, hoping to endure the ride in silence. No such luck. He programmed the nav-unit for Quinn’s estate, then climbed in beside me. I stared out the window, watching my father’s figure recede into the distance.

“You’re welcome,” Ben said once we’d pulled out onto open road.

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“I noticed.”

I kept my eyes on the window. The land was flat here, sprawling green fields stretching toward the horizon. A herd of cows whizzed by in a spotted blur. The road wove through flower-dotted meadows; clumps of willow trees, their spindly, sagging branches kissing the road; acres of greening corn, bowing to the wind. Nowhere to hide, I thought, then wondered how long it would be before I stopped searching for safe harbors.

“No one gets something for nothing, Lia,” Ben said.

I faced him. Hard to believe I’d ever found this guy attractive. Not that his features were anything less than perfect—but there was a softness to them, a waxy, malleable quality, like he’d been molded in a factory, the simulacrum of a real live person. Everything about him looked artificial, from his sparkling brown eyes to his artfully tousled hair to his soft, full lips curving up in a sardonic smile. But: He can be as fake as he wants, and he’ll still be more real than me .

“You’re angry,” Ben said.

“You noticed.”

“That’s exactly why you weren’t informed about the tracking.”

“You mean spying .”

“I understand it displeases you. But it’s for your own protection.”

“I can take care of myself.”

He laughed softly. “Of course. All evidence to the contrary notwithstanding.”

The car vibrated beneath us as we lurched off the highway onto a loose gravel road. “We’re going the wrong way.”

“Scenic route,” Ben said. “You and I have a lot to discuss.”

I thought about opening the door and throwing myself out of the car. It would have been a bit melodramatic, but melodrama seemed appropriate. We couldn’t have been going more than fifty or sixty miles an hour—it would be a bumpy landing, but I’d had those before. Thick skin, strong bones, titanium skull, just a few of the benefits of being a mech.

But if call-me-Ben wanted me, he would always know exactly where to find me.

Another of the benefits of being a mech, apparently.

“The doors are locked,” Ben said.

“No problem.” I gave him a placid smile. “I’m getting used to being a prisoner.”

“You’re not a prisoner, Lia.” Ben sighed and leaned back in his seat. He laced his fingers together, inverted his hands, palms facing out, then stretched his arms with a satisfied groan. “You’re just possibly the solution to a sticky little problem we’ve been having.”

“I doubt that. What do you want?”

“Your friend Jude,” Ben said.

I don’t have friends, I was about to say, then stopped myself. Friends were for orgs, just like family. I didn’t know what Jude was to me—an ally, a protector, an antagonist—none of the old categories fit. He was simply like me .

I smirked at Ben. “Last I checked, he’s not mine to give.”

“I want the name of his BioMax contact.” Ben’s voice was steely.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Let me tell you what I know, Lia.” His features were still just as soft, but his voice, his eyes, were hard. “I know Jude has an inside source at BioMax. That he’s stealing information and technology. I also know that Jude was supposed to meet his contact at Synapsis Corp-Town this week, but he sent you instead. For the first time. And just as you arrive…” Ben shook his head. “That’s some seriously bad timing, don’t you think?”

No more secrets . That was all I could think. Not when they were watching.

“How do you know?” I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.

Ben made a sound like a buzzer. “Wrong question, Lia.”

I wanted him to stop saying my name. There was a little twist in his voice, a glint in his eye, each time he formed the syllables. Like the name was a secret between us. Like he was silently saying, We both know you’re not really Lia Kahn. But I’ll play along if you will .