“Precisely,” said Cat, sounding pleased. “It’s also equipped with a number of upgraded weapons technologies. My own design, of course.”
“Awesome,” said Pru faintly. She felt dizzy.
“The sentience allows the dragon to forge a unique bond with the human in the cockpit, but it’s a particular process. Pilots are used to choosing their mechs. A sentient mech chooses its pilot, not the other way around. I suspected Rebelwing had imprinted on you when Alexandre called me about the rooftop incident. When you mentioned your memory loss in the elevator shaft, I knew for sure.” At Pru’s incredulous expression, Cat shrugged. “You cannot expect me to have been fully absorbed in donut displays for twenty minutes. I did overhear most of Alexandre’s interrogation. The temporary blank space in your memory is a side effect from the imprinting process.”
Pru massaged her temples. “If this . . . Rebelwing’s so great, how did you lose her in the first place?”
“For the same reason prize stallions escape if you leave a stable door open,” said Alex dryly. “I did tell you this would be the cost of sentience, Cat.”
Cat sniffed. “We wanted to create a mech smart enough to imprint on your brain in the cockpit! She wasn’t supposed to be smart enough to sneak out of a military compound, much less hop a Barricade wall!” Her glare snapped toward Pru. “And she wasn’t supposed to imprint on anyone besides Alexandre.”
Pru glared back as good as she got. “I didn’t ask to bond with Robo Reptile, you know,” she said, pushing clumsily back to her feet. Grass stalks scattered off her skirt.
“Where are you going?” demanded Cat.
“School,” snapped Pru. “Robo Reptile is clearly a problem for the Coalition and its interns, not me. You keep your mech on a leash next time.” Those last words left a bitter pang of guilt in Pru’s mouth. Silver eyes blinked inside her head, as she remembered how it had felt to see the world through those eyes, really see, the whole city cast into sharp, cinematic definition.
“You can’t go back to school,” said Alex.
“Watch me.”
He grabbed her elbow. “If Cat’s right—and she’ll be the first to say she’s usually right—you can’t just waltz back into a chunk of city overflowing with civilians. So long as Rebelwing thinks you’re her rightful pilot, she’ll never stop looking for you.”
“Not until we reverse the imprinting process,” said Cat.
Pru jerked herself out of Alex’s grip, cheeks hot as she redirected her glare toward him. “And how the hell do we do that?”
Alex raked his fingers through his hair, curling the ends. For the first time, Pru noted faint purple shadows beneath his eyes. They’d all gone far too long without a wink of sleep. In a weird way, it really was a typical prep schooler’s night. “We go someplace safe from prying eyes and try to force the dragon to follow. Cat can manage the . . . un-imprinting process from there.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You’ll have your life back. If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” said Pru instantly. She paused. “But where will we go?”
The Lamarque boy slipped a small, surprised smile her way. “To see my uncle, of course.”
* * *
Barricading Beat: Your Number One Source for Citizen Journalism!
Posted by BRIGHTEYES006
As of Wednesday, 3:00 P.M., rumors have emerged of meetings between UCC Inc.’s Executive General and so-called “father of wyverns” Harold Jellicoe himself. In light of the disturbing reported sightings of winged mechs over New Columbia’s walls, does this signify an escalation in the arms race—and a threat to Head Representative Lamarque’s carefully negotiated peace with our Incorporated neighbors? Discuss in comments!!!
* * *
THE UNDERGROUND METRO RIDE toward the residence of Gabriel Lamarque, square-jawed people’s hero of the Partition Wars, and elected Head Representative of the Barricade Coalition, was decidedly awkward. The train, usually packed with New Columbia’s miserable car-free commuters, ran crowd-free and smoothly this early in the morning. That left Pru and her three unlikely companions—Alex, Cat, and Anabel, who’d emerged from the coffeehouse narrow eyed and unspeaking—scattered across the train compartment. Alex and Cat bent together, muttering at each other in low, urgent Spanish. Which left Pru curled in one corner seat and Anabel tucked into another. Silence stretched thin between them like cheap butter.
“Can we talk?”
Pru jerked her head from the grimy side window. Anabel, rising from the opposite seat, hovered over her. One perfectly manicured hand rested on her hip, the other clutched a railing. Only the pallor of her knuckles gave away how uncomfortable she actually felt.
Pru closed her eyes. “Not sure what we have left to talk about.”
“You could have called, you know,” said Anabel. “Or texted me. When you got to the study before I did, and ran into Alex. You didn’t have to go tearing off into Incorporated territory by yourself like some kind of idiot adrenaline junkie.”
“I had a drop to make.”
“We had a drop to make,” Anabel corrected icily. “You just decided to handle it alone, without so much as a word to me.”
“Wow, really, you want to talk about withholding information? And by the way, you didn’t seem to care much at the time. Too busy revving up an audience for your revolutionary rock show.”
“I’m not your mother,” snarled Anabel. “It’s not my job to teach you common sense. I figured no harm, no foul; you came back unscathed, right? Until you started talking about dragons and memory gaps. I played it cool so you wouldn’t flip out, but then I texted Cat and Alex—”
“Oh, good,” said Pru, feeling brittler still. “More fun facts you share about me with your Coalition buddies. Without my knowledge. What a hoot!”
Anabel glared, once, then shut her eyes, breathing out slowly. “Okay. There’s a lot I should have been straight about with you, right from the start. I meant that, when I said it back at the coffeehouse. I really am sorry. But Pru, can you put yourself in my shoes for, like, fifteen seconds? I signed about a hundred different nondisclosure agreements about this internship. I couldn’t just spill my guts to whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted. And you were—”
Pru’s mouth twisted. “—just a criminal?”
“Would you let me finish?” snapped Anabel. “I’m a criminal too, don’t forget. The only difference between my crimes and yours are that I started smuggling on a Barricade Coalition permit.”