Renegade (22 page)

Excited murmurs, lots of exchanged glances. And most of them, young. Not the hardened mercenaries I was expecting, though many of them did look a little rough around the edges. None of them were the men in the driveway from Jensen’s place, either.

I was surprised to see overstuffed couches and love seats, a small kitchen in the corner with a microwave and full-sized refrigerator, and on the counter, a restaurant-style soft drink dispenser. A foosball table sat next to a pool table. Two fifty-five-inch-screen TVs dominated the room. In the far corner, three young adults sat in front of computer monitors, busily tapping away.

“So, these are my people,” she said, spreading her arms wide.

The boy closest to us chewed his sandwich and raised his fist. “Free technology!” he said, through a mouthful of crumbs. The others nearby heard, and repeated the words. “Free technology!” soon rumbled through the room.

I frowned. Free technology? The question must have shown on my face, because Quinn responded. “Not what you were expecting? Don’t worry—money is important to our quality of life. But we try to only gain it from big business and the government, and to subsidize our bigger goal—to share technology with the masses. Information should be free—a right, not a privilege.”

A few scattered cheers.

Quinn straightened then, folding her arms. Her clear voice carried. “Don’t get too excited yet. I’m sure you heard about the tracer—I’m going to be needing some answers as to why we didn’t see that coming,” she said, turning to glare at the boys in front of the computer monitors.

“None of our alarms were tripped,” said a brunette girl with glasses.

“Well, find out why! Jared, Teek, I want updates, as soon as possible. We need to get this back under control. And everyone, break time is almost over.”

Something in her pocket buzzed, and she grabbed a phone. She frowned at the screen before turning to me. “I need to go check on this—then I’ll be back to bring you up to speed. Dixon, can you stick with Mila for now?”

The fidgety boy of Asian heritage dropped his cards and pushed away from the table with an easy smile. “Sure.” Quinn patted my shoulder, then turned and exited the room, leaving a trail of vanilla behind her.

“Welcome to Club Quinn,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “So, you’re really an android with feelings? What’s that like?”

His question was bold, but full of curiosity, nothing else. It probably shouldn’t have felt so weird, but it floored me. No one had ever asked before. Not even Mom.

I hadn’t really meant to respond—to any of them—but I couldn’t resist. It felt good to be out in the open for a change. Not having to hide who I was from the world. “Normal, freakish, both at the same time?”

Dixon’s slow smile revealed a crooked front tooth. “You’ll fit in just fine here, then. We’re overflowing with freaks,” he said, but he didn’t sound concerned. No, he made
freak
seem like an attribute.

Not sure what to say, I followed him over to the table, surprised by the sudden lifting of tension from my shoulders.

A boy with buzzed blond hair, rangy-lean muscles showing beneath a tank top, and a match between his teeth, waited until he saw Quinn exit the room before pushing up from the card table. “That really her?” he said, giving me a once-over. “’Cuz she don’t look like all that.”

“What did you expect her to look like, Leo?” the stringy-haired guy next to him said. “One of the girls from those magazines you hide in your sleeping bag?” He snickered, but Leo just shrugged.

“Dude, they make a chick from scratch, least they can do is add a little . . .” His hands shaped two oversized semicircles near his chest. “No offense,” he added.

Stringy-haired boy gave this half snicker while beside me, Dixon jiggled his leg. “Shut it, Leo.” Then to me, he whispered, “Sorry.”

Stringy-hair said, “Dude, I’d shut up if I were you. I think you’re pissing her off.”

Leo shrugged. “My apologies. If it helps, I talk to all the girls like that.”

Wow. Okay. “I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse,” I answered, though if I were being entirely honest, I’d admit that being treated like every other girl under the circumstances felt surprisingly good.

Leo twirled the match with his teeth, his chapped lips curling into a slightly feral smile. “Yeah? Good. I like to keep people guessing.”

Okay, then. Maybe I’d just avoid this one.

An oversized bear of a man with red curls pushed to his feet, blocking Leo’s path. He appeared at least five years older than the blond, and must have outweighed him by a good thirty pounds. “You’ve got the manners of a gutter rat,” he said, rolling his words in a lilting burr. Scottish. He turned his back and extended his hand to me. “Excuse these brutes—they don’t get out from behind their monitors enough. I’m Samuel, the civilized one in this rat hole.”

I eyed the beefy hand, my gaze traveling back up to catch a wide mouth that looked meant for smiling and a broad walnut of a nose. Pale skin and deep brown eyes, alight with humor.

“Mila,” I said, taking his hand. He shook it gently before releasing, and that gesture seemed to act like a balm to any of my remaining nerves.

I could like this guy, I thought. And maybe that meant—I could like it
here
.

A tall blond girl, who’d been silent the entire time, scooted her chair to make room for the one Samuel had pulled up for me.

“I’ll just watch,” I said, relaxing into the seat. It was so difficult to fathom how their acceptance could be real, but I didn’t believe they were pretending.

Even though no one so far had accepted me for what I was. Ever. Not even Hunter.

Fresh pain lashed at me, and I wrapped my arms around my waist.

My admission that I didn’t know how to play degenerated into a chorus of surprise, and conflicting instructions on how to win at poker.

“Always go for the better hand.”

“Don’t listen to him—do you see how small his stash of matches is? If the electricity goes out, he’s totally fu—”

“Poker’s a sport for wee girly men anyway—no offense to the ladies,” Samuel interjected.

Someone groaned. “Oh, here we go again. Talking about how real men throw trees for fun.”

Leo scowled, clearly not wanting to hear that. He leaned closer to the blond girl and grabbed a piece of her hair. “Hey, Abby, maybe you’ll finally change your mind tonight and let me—argh!”

As quick as a snake, she’d grabbed his free hand, while her other hand shoved the matchstick under his fingernail. Hard.

He jumped to his feet and shook his hand, cursing. “Jesus, Abby, what the hell is wrong with you? I was only messing around.”

Abby caught my eye and flashed me a quick grin, an action which softened the bony planes of her face. I returned her smile. I was pretty sure I could like this girl. Dixon cracked his knuckles. “As you can see, most of us can take care of ourselves. Side effect of living on the streets. Before Quinn found us, of course.”

“How did she find you?”

He shrugged. “Some of us, through state testing. She hacks the system, finds the high scorers who lack the economic means to do the college thing. Or sometimes, just through the hacking community. Sooner or later, we tend to get in a bit of trouble. Samuel, over there, she rescued from jail time. She cleans us up—well, all except for Russo,” he said. The stringy-haired guy flipped a card at him in response. “And then, gives us access to technology and sets us loose. A hacker’s dream life.”

“So, you basically . . . do what?”

He shrugged. “Steal shit.”

Abby, who hadn’t said a word until then, popped her head up. “Not just to steal it, though. To share it. We steal technology from the rich so the poor can benefit, too.”

I had a billion more questions, but just then, Quinn strolled back into the room. She spotted me and waved me over. I rose reluctantly, a little annoyed at being separated from the others so soon, while she clapped her hands. “Everyone, make sure you continue following through on uploading that last feed. And remember—keep watching Holland’s movements. Don’t screw anything up—I want monitors going twenty-four-seven, email accounts scrutinized. Samuel, Teek—the video equipment—you’ve got that under way?”

“On it,” Samuel said, saluting. Teek simply grunted from his post at the computer.

She gave a satisfied nod. “Perfect.”

The space filled with the sounds of chairs being pushed back, people rising to their feet.

“Dixon, I need you and Abby to take Mila to the equipment room and get her prepared.”

Equipment room.

Prepared.

Visions of Holland’s lab, his reprogramming machine, assaulted me. Never, ever again.

I backed away, assessing the room for the nearest weapon. “I’m not prepping for anything,” I said, backing away.

Samuel guffawed and patted my arm. “Down, tiger. Quinn just wants to make sure your stealth mode is on, so we can keep the military out of your pretty little head. Though it’s not so pretty right now, with the way you’re glaring at me like you’d just as soon gnaw on my skull.”

Abby snorted. “It’s those pretty ones you’ve got to watch out for, Samuel. They’re always the skull gnawers.”

Their easy camaraderie soothed some of my tension away. “That’s all you’re doing?” I said, looking directly at Quinn.

“I’ll walk you through every step, if you like,” she said, holding my gaze steadily. Not even a hint of rancor at my suspicions showed. Either she was good—very good—or she really did want me to feel comfortable.

Both thoughts were equally disconcerting, in entirely different ways.

I couldn’t detect even the slightest hint of a lie, not from any of them. And according to Quinn, I did need to have my stealth reenabled. Otherwise, the second I left here, Holland would track me down.

If I ever left here. With a pang, I realized—I didn’t really have any pressing places to go at the moment. At one time, I’d thought maybe Hunter . . .

My gaze flickered toward the hall, to where Hunter had disappeared through a door. I wondered where he’d gone. If that one last look, across a noisy hallway, was the last time I’d ever see his face.

Claws dug into my heart and tore it into raw, aching strips. No. I couldn’t think about that now. Not when I had to focus. “This way,” Dixon said, jiggling his hands in his pockets. He flashed his charming, crooked-toothed smile, whirling and practically jogging from the room. Abby and I trailed him.

We followed the narrow hall down a semicircle before Dixon led us through a set of doors. We passed three other people, scampering the other way. In so much of a hurry, they barely spared us a glance.

“So, you ready?” Dixon said.

I shrugged, then stopped short when we entered the room. It wasn’t small, but it felt cramped—maybe because it was overstuffed with things. And for some reason, the scent of stale sweat lingered. Like maybe at one time it’d been used as an additional locker room.

The synthetic carpet frayed in spots, showing a faint trail leading to the door. When I stepped inside, my feet crunched the stiff fibers, feeling the uneven wear. A dozen monitors sprawled along the wall. Video surveillance, I realized, of all different locations. Each monitor switched to a new area every five seconds.

I couldn’t suppress the feeling that I was on display.

“They’re mainly programmed with pictures of the individuals we’re hunting down,” Dixon said, his voice animated again. “They alert us in the main computer room when there’s a match. It’s basically all human-free.”

I started to turn away, but an image on one of the screens caught my eye.

Riggs.

Dixon followed my gaze, blanched, then fumbled for a remote on the table. That monitor powered off.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “You just . . . Quinn’s great and all, but you don’t want to cross her.”

I frowned. It was just a picture of him, nothing more. And I couldn’t blame Quinn for being mad. Riggs had broken orders and tried to Taser Hunter.

I returned to inspecting the room, taking in the oversized tables spread out across the floor. Machines in different stages of dismantlement sat on top of them—everything from hard drives to a huge satellite disc to some monstrosity I couldn’t even identify. Every shade of silver and gray under the sun, but with an unexpected burst of color here and there, from a wire or a plastic casing. It looked more like a junk heap than a laboratory, but even so, I felt a chill.

Machines. Any one of those could just as easily be me.

I pictured Three’s melting head and flinched at an unexpected stab of loss. I averted my eyes, hoping to force the feeling away.

“All high-tech stuff we’ve snaked from some bigwig who thinks his security is badass,” Dixon said, pride evident in his voice as he trailed his fingers here and there, touching everything. “Quinn and a few of the engineers work on those as time permits. They figure out the technology, copy and improve it, then share it with the world at a fraction of the original cost. Or often, we release it for free. Anything we can get from the military is an added bonus. Believe it or not, we’ve got a wide range of beliefs here, but we’re pretty much all united on the antiwar front. And if there’s one thing that history’s proven, time and time again, it’s that military research, if left in the government’s hands, always ends in lost lives.”

“So, you really do just sit around all day and steal?”

Abby, a silent companion up to this point, finally spoke. “It’s not stealing if it’s information that everyone can benefit from,” she said, in husky-soft voice. “Everyone deserves access to technology—not just the rich.”

Dixon grinned. “Abby there is an idealist, god help us all.”

Abby stuck her tongue out while I asked, “And what are you?”

Dixon rubbed his chin, as if debating. “Me? I’m a whatever-it-takes-to-get-my-hands-on-the-good-stuff-ologist.”

“Bullshit,” Abby fake coughed. Then she grinned. “He just doesn’t like exposing his softer side, that’s all.”

“Whatever,” he said, but I could tell from the way he looked away and smiled that he was secretly pleased.

A small but growing patch of warmth opened up, somewhere deep inside me, followed by a wave of longing. I’d never had this before, what they had. Even being included on the periphery felt nice.