Unleashed (3 page)

“What is witchcraft?” The two words make sense separately, but when I search my brain for a joint definition, I come up empty.

“I'll have Sevan give you an upload on the subject,” Raze offers. “But essentially, the townspeople of London think she's evil because of what she can do. According to the records we found, her unique abilities surfaced and the people of seventeenth-century London—who have virtually no knowledge of advanced genetics—didn't take it lightly. She was put on trial for her life.”

My stomach turns. “Did they convict her?”

Director Raze fidgets uncomfortably. “Yes. They burned her at the stake the very next day.”

I launch to my feet, pounding a fist on the table. “We can't let that happen. Dr. Alixter wouldn't want it. She's too valuable to the Diotech agenda. We must rescue her so that she can be fixed. So that her defect can be repaired. I will go now. I will change the course of these events and bring her back before they have a chance to burn her.”

“Now, now,” Raze cautions me. “We must act wisely and prudently. Impulsive decisions such as that will only lead to more trouble. You are thinking like a child, not a soldier.”

I ease back into my seat, feeling foolish for my rashness.

“We have developed a strategy that we feel best serves the company,” he assures me. “You will leave tonight.”

I start to stand again, but one look from Raze and I lower back down.

“You are not going to save her.”

I blink, certain I've misunderstood him, even though my hearing is twenty times better than any human being's.

“What?” I ask. “Surely, you should consult with Dr. Alixter before deciding that—”

“Dr. Alixter and I have spoken. We are in agreement.”

“You are going to let her burn?”

It doesn't make any sense. I have the same animosity for the girl and her betrayal as Dr. Alixter does, but letting her die seems excessive. And a waste of Diotech resources.

“I didn't say that,” Director Raze counters.

“You said I'm not going to save her,” I argue. I know I should back down. I'm speaking out of turn and challenging my superior, but I can't help it. His actions seem ludicrous to me.

“You aren't going to save her …
yet
.”

When I tilt my head in confusion, Raze removes a small box from his pocket and slides it across the table toward me. He gives me a permissive nod and I flip open the lid. Inside is a pair of Diotech-issued nanoscanners and a small cube drive. I study them curiously.

I first learned about nanoscanners from Sevan, the head Memory Coder on the compound. They're used to scan the cerebral cortex and transmit the memories that are stored there. They're constructed using a thin, translucent substance that fuses to the skin, making them virtually undetectable.

“We have reason to believe she's been contacted by a sworn enemy of Diotech and that she might have information we need,” Raze explains.

“What information?”

He purses his lips, as though he's trying to decide how much to divulge to me. “We won't be sure until we learn what she knows.” He motions to the box.

I pull it toward me and remove one of the scanners, pressing it against my fingertip. It tickles as it fuses to my skin and disappears into my flesh. “You want me to transesse to 1609 and scan her memories,” I say in sudden realization.

He nods.

I shake my head. “Nanoscanners require physical contact to operate. How am I supposed to get close enough?”

Raze smiles. “Don't worry. We have a plan.”

6: Imprisoned

Transession three feet across a lab is one thing. Transessing five hundred years into the past is another. I was warned by Director Raze that I would feel disoriented, maybe a little dizzy. But when I arrive behind the church next to Newgate Prison, I have to lean against the stone structure to support my failing legs as I gag and retch up half of my morning meal.

My stomach is looping and convulsing, my head is aching, and every time I try to focus on something, my vision blurs. It takes about an hour for me to feel normal again. Fortunately I left myself enough time to orient to the temporal relocation and the sickness that comes with it

Did Dr. Alixter really do this when he went to find the girl?

My body is strong and advanced and built to withstand almost anything. I can't imagine what transession would do to a frail, normal body.

Once the nausea has died down, I brace myself for another jump and transesse into the private chambers in the back of the church. These are the offices of Pastor Thomas, the priest assigned to hear the girl's last confession, according to the historical archives.

This jump is small and doesn't require a time displacement so it's significantly less debilitating.

The priest is sitting at a rich mahogany desk, scribbling longhand into a thick leather-bound book that lies open on his desk. The floor creaks beneath my sudden weight but he doesn't lift his head when he hears it. “Yes, my child?”

A part of me wants to study his movements, his speech, his choice of words. If I'm going to replace him, I'll have to be convincing. But the other part of me—the impatient part—wants to get this over with quickly.

My impatience wins.

In less than a blink, I am behind him. My legs move faster than he can register. He barely has time to look up before my elbow is crushing his windpipe. The air wisps out of him as I squeeze. My muscles are tempted to finish him completely, as they've been built to do, but I can hear Director Raze's voice in my mind:
“Don't kill him,”
he warned me before I left.
“We don't want to set off a disastrous chain of events by altering history.”

I release the pressure and his body wilts. He falls headfirst against his desk. I feel his pulse. It's weak but there. He will wake up in a few hours with a horrific headache, made worse by the distorted, choppy recollection of what happened to him. Not to mention the confusion of being mysteriously disrobed.

I close the chamber door and bolt it with the lock. Then I get to work undressing him. I don his long, white-collared black robe over my clothes, pulling the sleeves down to cover the genetic implant on my wrist and the hood down to block my face. The less anyone sees of me the better. I check that my nanoscanners are secured to my fingertips and then place the cube drive in the pocket of the robe.

I access the memory of the prison blueprints that Sevan gave me in an upload. With a breath to steel myself against the imminent disorientation, I close my eyes and focus on my next location: the inside of Newgate Prison, where the girl is awaiting her execution. I reason it's best to bypass any guards or security checkpoints. Not that I can't handle myself against a few archaic weapons, but Raze warned me to keep things clean. Minimize my body count.

I transesse into a long corridor. It's dark, lit only by torches mounted to the walls. There are no windows. The single guard standing watch jumps in surprise when I appear, trying to make sense of my sudden presence. He looks me up and down, taking in my black hooded robe.

“Father,” he says haltingly. “My apologies for startling you. I didn't see you enter.”

I give him a curt nod, choosing not to speak.

“Come to hear the prisoner's last confession?” he guesses.

Another nod.

He snorts as he beckons for me to follow him down the corridor. “Won't do her much good,” he calls over his shoulder. “She's beyond even God's help.”

We arrive at the end of the hallway and the guard bangs his sword between two of the metal bars, making a horrendous clanging sound. Inside the tiny cell, I see the murky shadow of a person lying on the ground. The form rouses at the sound of the clanging and pushes itself up.

I suck in a sharp breath.

This is it.

After all this time, I'm finally going to see her.

The loathsome girl who defied Dr. Alixter and betrayed Diotech.

“Last confession,” the guard announces, and I nearly cringe at the edge in his tone. The girl looks pathetic in this cage. She's so clearly beaten down and disheartened.

I can hear Dr. Alixter's voice in my head.
“Sera is unlike you and me. She is dangerous … She will say anything she can to turn you against me.”

I push away the pity I feel and stand up straighter.

“What?” The girl rises and turns toward us. Her face is filthy. Skin caked with dirt and tears, hair so dirty, it looks black. The stench of her is toxic. She wipes uselessly at her cheeks, doing nothing more than smearing the grime around.

Right now, she is not the beauty she was created to be. She is not extraordinary. She is not superhuman. She looks about as broken on the outside as she is on the inside.

And yet something happens to me in that moment. Something I will never be able to explain no matter how many uploads in advanced vocabulary I receive. It's as though someone has suddenly siphoned all of the oxygen out of this prison. Out of this
country
. It's as though someone has reached inside of me and is stirring my organs with a wooden spoon.

The sensation quickly becomes too much to bear and I cast my gaze downward. But I can feel her looking at me, studying me. I'm thankful for the hood that shrouds my features. It was donned as a thin veil. Now it feels like armor.

“The priest has come to hear your last confession and bless your soul,” the guard explains.

I brave a quick glimpse from under my hood. She is no longer looking at me. She is focused on the guard and his words. She can't follow them. I don't blame her. Yesterday I had no comprehension of the words either. Not until Sevan gave me an upload on seventeenth-century society, religion, and language.

The guard sticks his sword through the slats once more and waves it menacingly at her. I know she could destroy him if she wanted. If she has even half my strength, his sword would be no match for her. But she dutifully retreats to the far back corner of the cell while he fumbles with his key in the large iron lock and slides the door open for me.

I hesitate for a moment, eyeing the distance between her and me.

Why am I suddenly afraid to enter this cell? Why am I suddenly afraid of
her
?

I am the strong one. She is the weak one. If she were to try anything, I could have her pinned and yielding in a second.

Then I realize it's not a fear of attack that plagues me. It's something else. And it's not exactly
fear
either. Not in the truest sense of the word. It's more like a struggle. There is a force outside of myself that seems to be pulling me, and yet an equal force inside that holds me back. The powers are so equally matched, I believe I could stand here forever, locked in their opposing currents. If it were not for Director Raze's voice in my head, repeating my directive, I might never find the courage to break through this invisible battlefield.

Her vibrant purple eyes rise to meet mine. Even against the backdrop of grime and filth, they are radiant. They are luminous. They are the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.

She searches for a face behind my velvet hood, turning her head this way and that. I duck my head to avoid being seen. Not that she'd recognize me. Yet I still prefer to remain anonymous, in case it serves me later when Director Raze assigns me my next mission.

“
Who
are you?” she asks. The doubt is as saturated in her voice as the dirt in her skin.

I refuse to meet her eyes, even though every cell in my body is begging me to.

I know I have to answer her. I have to speak eventually. She needs to trust me. I'd rather not take her memories by force. It would be significantly messier that way.

“My apologies, Sarah.” I refer to her by the alias Director Raze said she was operating under. “I am a member of the clergy of the Church of England.”

My accent is flawless thanks to my upload.

A brief glance at her through lowered lashes reveals that my explanation has made no sense to her. “It's a religious position,” I clarify. “I am here to offer you God's blessing and hear your confessions before you are executed this morning.”

I brave another glimpse to verify that my explanation has registered in her mind, but once again, she looks lost.

“Is there anything you'd like to tell me before you die? Any secrets?” I access the terminology from my recent upload and recite the religious principles commonly believed in this day of age. If not for her sake, then for the sake of the guard. “It is believed that if you die with a clear conscience you will go to heaven.”

The guard scoffs at my comment and I turn to see him smirking. I fight off the urge to yank his body through those iron bars. His head wouldn't fit on the first few tries, but I'd eventually succeed.

I turn back to the girl. “So,” I prompt. “Is there?”

“No.” Her voice is so soft. Almost delicate. She is truly, genuinely scared. And for some reason, I feel the need to comfort her.

I fight that off as well.

Tricks,
I remind myself.
Manipulations
.

“She is dangerous.”

“Very well.” I nod and begin to move toward her. Skittishly, she backs away, looking like a cornered animal.

“W-w-what are you doing?” she stutters.

“I'm blessing you.” I extend my hand toward her face. The nanoscanners are invisible against my skin, even with our enhanced vision. But the closer I get to her, the more I feel that strange, invisible force pulling me in. It yanks at my arm like a puppeteer commanding a marionette. My body wants to touch her. My mind screams that it will only make things worse. My body wants to be near her. My mind wants to run away.

I fight to steady my shaking hand as I reach toward her. All five fingers press against her skin at once, and in that instant, all five fingers are alive with a spark of something electric. Something warm. Something enigmatic.