“Howdy, beautiful,” Fix said to the girl, winking as he passed by.
Diesel blew the boy a kiss, then pinned Lemon in her stare, following her walk across the room with those dark, hooded eyes. She was wearing a fresh coat of black on her lips, more black paint around her eyes and on her fingernails. Diesel didn’t feel exactly hostile, but if Lem had expected the girl to fall down thanking her for saving her life, she wound up disappointed.
Lem followed Fix into Section B, into the wash of current and electric hum. She found herself studying that big metal door that led into Section C again, the large red letters sprayed on its skin.
SECTION C
NO LONE ZONE
TWO PERSON POLICY MANDATORY
She wondered what it meant. What was behind it. She reached out with her senses, felt the current flowing through the walls, coursing around that digital keypad. She could sense a trickle of electricity beyond—the hum of computers on low power, she guessed. But beyond that, she felt a massive—
“Get the funkin’ lead out, Shorty,” Fix said.
Lemon blinked, pulled from her reverie. The boy was waiting on the stairs, staring at her expectantly.
“Where we goin’?”
Fix started trudging up the stairs to the level above. “Major’s office.”
Lemon fell into step behind him, trepidation in her belly as he led her up the flight of stairs. Again, she could sense the hum of electrical current in the ceiling, a strong power source close by. Fix walked up to a metal hatchway set with a digital lock, marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. He banged on it with his fist.
“Enter,” called a voice within.
The big boy opened the hatch, marched inside and offered a smooth salute.
“Presenting our guest as ordered, sir!” he said, clicking his boots together.
“Thank you, soldier,” the Major said. “I saw Brotherhood patrols in the desert this morning. Tell the others to be doubly careful with surface protocol.”
“Sir, yessir.”
“Dismissed.”
Fix saluted again, marched back out, and with a point of his chin, indicated Lemon should go inside.
“It’s all right, Miss Fresh,” the Major called. “Come on in.”
Hands in pockets, Lemon mooched through the hatchway into a large office. The space was set with a broad metal desk, computer equipment, printers, rows of shelves with more books. Hundreds of different titles. Reference books and fiction books and a dozen different copies of the Goodbook, old and beaten, dog-eared and torn. The Major was seated on an old leather chair, his uniform crisp, his scarred face clean-shaven, not a single white hair out of place.
Lemon saw every inch of wall was plastered with photographs of the desert outside the facility. Long slices of ocher sand and broken foothills and spectacular mountain ranges. But instead of the washed-out gray she’d grown up with, the sky in the pictures was every shade of blue—dark and pale and everything between, or rippling in new shades of gold and orange and red.
“Wow,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen the sky that color.”
“I’m old enough to remember when it was like that for real.” The Major smiled, indicating a chair in front of his desk. “It’s something of a hobby for me. You’d be surprised what a little editing software can do. These are my reminders. Of everything we had and lost. And with the Lord’s grace and a little luck, of what we might have again.”
Lemon slipped down into the chair, looking around. A hatchway behind the Major’s desk led into another room. She was certain that was where the power source emanated from, but it was sealed tight with another electronic lock. She could see lettering on the hatch, but it was obscured by the Major’s photographic collage, a rainbow of colors—some she’d forgotten even existed.
The air was warm and pleasant. The chair was soft and the Major’s eyes were kind. Her belly was full and her clothes were clean, and she felt the urge to stay here forever as an almost physical ache in her bones.
“Grimm tells me you’re still set on leaving us,” the old man said.
Lemon blinked, turned to look at him. There was no anger or accusation in his statement. But he seemed sad somehow.
Disappointed, maybe.
“I have to,” she nodded. “I’ve got friends out there. They’ll be looking for me. I have to let them know I’m okay.”
“I respect that. A soldier’s first duty is to her unit. But…”
The Major ran a hand across his brow. Clearly searching for the right words. Lemon was reminded of Mister C for a moment. The old man had always been a bit awks around her and Evie. He might’ve been some fancy neuroscientist back in Babel days, but dealing with teenage girls hadn’t ever been his strong suit. The time he’d tried to sit her down for “the talk” was locked away in a vault somewhere deep in Lemon’s memory, marked with a large DO NOT OPEN sign.
The Major cleared his throat.
“I don’t mean to pressure you, Miss Fresh. And—”
“It’s fizzy, you can call me Lemon.”
The Major nodded. “All right, then, Lemon. I don’t want to put you under any pressure. I know you have an obligation to your comrades. But you must understand…most deviates don’t enjoy the same kind of evolutionary advantages you do. Someone with your gifts is extremely rare. You could be a real asset to us here.”
“My friends need me,” she said. “Sorry.”
The Major heaved a sigh. Slowly, he nodded.
“I understand. We’ll be very sorry to see you go. But in truth, I have to admire your loyalty.” He looked to a photograph on his desk, and Lemon caught a hint of sorrow in his voice. “Friends are family in a world like this. And family is more important than anything under heaven.”
The girl glanced at the picture. It looked old, a little faded. It showed a smiling woman with short black hair and dark, shining eyes.
“She your wife?” Lemon asked.
The Major blinked, as if catching himself in wandering thoughts.
“My daughter. Lillian.”
“She’s pretty.”
“She was,” the old man nodded, sorrow in his voice.
Was…
Remembering himself, the Major passed the picture across to give her a closer look. Lemon could see the man in the shape of the woman’s chin, the line of her brow. She had a beautiful smile, mysterious dark eyes. She was pregnant, pretty far along, by the look—her stomach swollen and heavy.