DC-035’s Year 16 benchmark tests have been flagged as abnormal. Her inconsistent performance is likely related to her unorthodox level of extraneous studies.
Recommend immediate cessation of unnecessary education, along with a four-month course of remedial dissociation and meditative training.
Internal Memo, July 2078
NINETEEN
Gray stuck around after dinner to help clean up. Knox and Nina kept feeding them all, so the least he could do was pitch in without complaint.
Then he got caught between Dani, who was washing the dishes, and Rafe, who was drying and putting them away. Normally, their customary bickering would amuse or at least entertain Gray. But Dani was in a mood, and she seemed hell-bent on sharpening her claws on Rafe.
Rafe, of course, responded to every swipe with increasingly outrageous flirtation. His lazy drawl and teasing come-ons only pissed her off even more. Eventually, Gray made his excuses and practically fled the kitchen, leaving them to handle the dishes on their own.
They barely noticed.
Gray headed upstairs to see Maya, then stood outside her bedroom door without knocking for so long that Nina wandered by. She smiled and told him to check the catwalk that connected their buildings.
The night air was surprisingly cool as he climbed the steel stairs past the kudzu and swung out onto the catwalk. Maya was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the expanse, her back resting against the railing, her gaze fixed on the distant lights of the Hill.
He cleared his throat. “Mind some company?”
Maya started, her gaze swinging to him. A smile lit her face as she patted the spot next to her. “Not at all.”
He sat next to her and stretched his legs out in front of him. The catwalk wasn’t quite wide enough to accommodate their length, so his boots dangled between the railings. “That’s what the Hill looks like from here?”
“Yeah. Almost pretty, huh?” She shook her head. “It’s not that far away. Not even twenty kilometers. But it’s like a different world up there.”
Curiosity assailed him. The key to understanding Maya lay somewhere between them and the distant, twinkling lights. “Which building did you grow up in? Can you see it from here?”
“The tallest one.” She pointed to the central TechCorps headquarters, which thrust skyward in the midst of a cluster of massive skyscrapers. Bright lights on the roof shone straight up into the air, giving the impression that the building itself extended into the starless sky. “Everything above the two hundredth floor is considered a penthouse. Each floor belonged to a different executive. Birgitte’s was 217.”
The TechCorps treated its data couriers well—materially speaking, anyway. They had innumerable creature comforts, their glittering cages stuffed with baubles and trinkets. To a lesser extent, they did the same thing with their Protectorate techies. Conall often spoke wistfully of having every wish fulfilled, every whim indulged. Maya’s situation would have been even more luxurious.
But false. Everything about that excess was meant as a distraction, to make the DCs forget that they were glorified copy machines, walking, talking memory banks with no independence, no free will.
No life outside those shining walls.
Gray may have grown up in a grubby orphanage, but at least his childhood had been honest in its deprivation. No one would have looked on and envied it for short-sighted, misguided reasons.
He reached out and clasped Maya’s hand. Her fingers were warm, soft except for where the blunt edges of her nails pressed against his skin. “I did not grow up on the Hill.” He pointed off to their left, where heavy darkness obscured the roads and buildings. “St. Jude’s was right over there, on North Avenue. Not far away at all.”
“The orphanage?” she asked softly.
“It’s gone now. Burned to the ground close to ten years ago.” He tried to smile. “Someone saved me the trouble.”
Maya tugged their joined hands over to rest on her knee. She ran her fingertips lightly over the backs of his knuckles, a sweetly soothing caress. “Do you want to tell me about it?”’
“You don’t really want to hear it, do you?”
“It’s you,” she whispered. “I want to hear anything you want to share with me.”
It wasn’t pretty, his life. He’d sketched a vague picture for her before, a rough outline that left out most of the depth and the shadows. Filling all that in by talking would mean she could never forget even the slightest, silliest detail.
But when she said she wanted to know him, Gray believed her.
“We had visitors,” he began haltingly. He wasn’t sure how to describe the strange mix of hopeful parents and shrewd businesspeople that had flowed in and out of the home. “Some were people looking to adopt. But there were also folks from local businesses—tradesmen who were looking for cheap apprentices. Shopping for labor, essentially.”
He glanced over at her, braced for her horrified expression. But she only gazed at him, waiting.
So he continued.
“The nuns only bothered to show the really little kids to the prospective parents. That’s all they wanted, anyway. Babies. But depending on who you went to work for, apprenticing wasn’t half bad. They’d feed you and clothe you, but mostly they’d teach you, so at least you’d come out of it knowing how to do a job. And some of them were decent people, maybe even most.”
She stroked his palm, the caress gentle and soothing. “But you ended up somewhere else.”
Not because he hadn’t wanted it. For years, he’d done his best to distinguish himself in the eyes of the local tradesmen—he’d demonstrated his strength, his stamina, his cleverness. But he’d been passed over every single time, left to rot in the orphanage and be turned out the moment the clock ticked over on his childhood.
“The Protectorate recruiters were the only ones who wanted to take me on,” he admitted. “I don’t know why I’m not blowing glass or laying brick. A trick of the Fates, I guess.”
“Oh, Gray.” She shifted to her knees so she could face him, her eyes soft with echoed pain. “I’m sorry.”
“It could have been worse. But you can’t help but wonder…” He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “What was wrong with me? What did they see that was so unbearable?”
“Nothing is wrong with you.” Her voice was fierce. “If they couldn’t see what you are, something was wrong with them.”
He smiled—at her insistence, her sincerity, and the sheer lack of logic in the assertion. “You’re biased.”
“What, because of the time you lured me into a trap? Or my boss thinking you were a random serial killer?” She huffed and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “Gray, I had every fucking reason in the world to look at you and see someone bad. But do you know what I see?”
He suspected he did, and he longed for and dreaded the answer in equal measure. “What?”
“You’re careful. You’re guarded. How could you not be?” She leaned closer, her voice a whisper. “But you’re loyal. And patient. And protective. You think through everything and don’t make a move until you know what it will cost. And you’re so, so gentle with me.”