Edge of Nowhere Page 10

  He’d been angry at her. He’d thought she’d abandoned him. He was a fucking fool.

  Laila had dark circles under her eyes. She wasn’t as fat as Zin, but she wasn’t wiry like Aidan—Kit usually thought of her as soft, a word that went well with her pink curls and her hugs, and not so well with her combat boots or the rage that lit her from the inside out. The world had hurt Laila and she was always ready to hurt it back. He wasn’t surprised that she’d fought her jailers, or that the only way they could keep her from fighting was to knock her out completely. A few days of this treatment hadn’t made Laila look as awful as Aidan did. But she still looked sick. Kit laid a hand on hers, which was cooler to the touch than it should have been.

  “How do you feel about being in here with a criminal?” Kit asked Aidan. They didn’t have time for this conversation, and yet he couldn’t keep it inside. The urge to needle Aidan was too strong. And in his heart of hearts, Kit knew he could only save one of them at a time. When he picked Laila first, he wanted to be able to tell himself it was because Aidan was a dick.

  “You know there are arrest warrants with my name on them. I care about justice, not laws,” Aidan answered. “What does it mean to be a criminal when the law is unjust? And Laila needs a union more than any of us. She knows that, even if you don’t.”

  Aidan was stubbornly refusing to be a dick. Him and his stupid idealism. “I’m just saying, she kinda ruins your whole ‘runners aren’t criminals’ thing. Me too, I guess.”

  “Laila was a child when it happened.”

  “Fourteen,” Kit argued. It was dumb that Aidan would say when it happened like the whole thing had been some accident, like fourteen-year-old Laila Njeim hadn’t planned and executed a massive bank robbery all by herself. He was a little insulted on her behalf. She’d gotten caught and served time and hadn’t kept a cent, of course. The two of them never brought up the subject now because she was embarrassed. But Kit still thought she was—and always would be—a fucking badass.

  Laila’s time in juvenile detention might have been something like this. They’d have had to keep her hungry and tired all the time in order to stop her from getting out. The thought made Kit clench his jaw—suddenly fourteen seemed a lot more like childhood. At what age did it become ethically acceptable to starve a person?

  Aidan ignored Kit’s argument. “And the laws that make you a criminal are equally unfair. We need a new legal framework that won’t penalize runners for our abilities.”

  No new legal framework would put emptying other people’s safety deposit boxes on the table, and Laila had proved that runners excelled at that. Kit didn’t think border controls or customs agents would disappear from the world any time soon, either, which meant he’d be a smuggler for the rest of his career… if he ever got out of this damn facility.

  Kit had to get Laila and Aidan out of here. But he hadn’t meant to come here in the first place, he couldn’t carry both of them at once, and those things were still waiting in the Nowhere.

  “How long have you been here?” Kit asked Aidan.

  “A week, I think. Hard to keep track. They brought Laila in after me.”

  “How did you get here?”

  Aidan shook his head. “Don’t know. Whatever it was knocked me out. But it had to be a runner. There’s no way they’d risk using the elevator or anything more official for this.”

  “Another runner brought you here?” Kit’s mouth fell open. Aidan was a dumb idealist and Kit had no time for comradeship, but still. He wouldn’t betray other runners like that. It’s exactly what you did to Emil, a little voice inside him whispered. Would you have done it to Laila if Quint Services had offered you enough money?

  “The only question that remains is who. I’m sure it’s someone both Laila and I know—that would have made us complacent. Unfortunately whatever they used to knock me out has left that whole day blurry.”

  “That’s awful,” Kit said. Quint Services had hired a runner that Aidan and Laila trusted and then paid that person to anesthetize them and bring them here to be experimented on. If Laila and Aidan both knew that person, chances were high that Kit knew them, too. Chances were higher, in fact, since Kit knew exactly who was in the business of not asking questions. And when he’d finally made it home from that other reality, Zin had said your tall friend came by earlier this morning.

  Travis Alvey wasn’t Kit’s friend.

  Especially not if he’d been the one to bring Laila and Aidan here. Kit didn’t have proof, only suspicions. “Do you think the person might have messaged you beforehand? Is any of your tech in here?” Kit asked. “Maybe we could figure it out.”

  “They took it somewhere. I’m sure it’s locked up far away from this room.”

  “Shit. I’m gonna get y’all out,” Kit promised. “I just need to think.”

  “This place has fucked up the Nowhere somehow,” Aidan said. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

  “I know. I feel it too. And there are these… ghosts. Or something. I keep getting knocked off course.” Kit frowned. “But I feel okay now. I could try to get one of you out.”

  “If you only take one of us, they’ll know something’s up. They’ll cover their tracks and move elsewhere,” Aidan said. “Come back with someone else and take both of us at the same time. We can make it a few more days. We’ll look out for each other.”

  That was what Laila had always said Aidan wanted to do with his union. Maybe Kit could stand to listen for once.

  “Okay,” Kit said. He tilted his head toward Aidan’s IV. “You want me to take that out?”

  Aidan shook his head. “They’ll know if you do. And I’m fighting it.”

  “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

  8

  Every Person for Themselves

  It would never stop freaking Emil out, the way runners could just vanish. He’d been cavalier with Kit about their encounter in the supply closet, and he didn’t like to show fear in front of his team, but the truth was that the Nowhere scared him. He’d been worried, these past few months, that this secret cowardice was somehow preventing Heath and Winslow’s trial from working on him. As if the Nowhere could sense his weakness, and it was rejecting him.

  Worst of all, Emil was privately relieved by this rejection. He didn’t want to spend any more time in the Nowhere.

  And yet he was envious of Kit’s ease with it, and Lenny’s successful trial. It was a foolish kind of pride. He’d turned himself into an A student and a winning athlete. Why was he failing at such an important goal? Why couldn’t he be the one who’d gained superpowers?

  The footsteps that had caused Kit to run kept approaching, and eventually their owner came into sight. He was a young man Emil had never seen before, with wavy brown hair and blue eyes. He was strong-jawed and handsome in the way of classic movie stars, his face symmetrical and masculine, his shoulders square. He wasn’t as tall or as big as Emil, but few people were. He would have looked at home in the Orbit Guard, but instead he was at Facility 17, presumably working for Quint Services.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m Caleb Feldman. I just transferred here. I’m a nurse.”

  A stranger showing up meant it was time for Emil to be Team Leader. He’d been enjoying just sitting and listening to Kit—but Kit was gone. “I’m Emil. Please join us. Are you hungry?”

  Caleb shook his head. “Just wired. Couldn’t sleep and heard people talking. I hope I’m not interrupting?”

  He was, but it wasn’t his fault he’d landed in the middle of a mess. Emil opted for friendliness. “No, just a late-night chat among friends. This is Lenny and this is Dax.”

  “Where’re you from, Caleb?” Lenny asked.

  “Inland New York,” Caleb said. “My grandparents hate it when I call it that and always complain that it’s not ‘the city’ and it never will be. But it’s also safe from the tide.”

  “Ha,” Dax said. “So this’ll feel pretty small, then.”

  Lenny laughed. “I’
m from rural Arkansas and this place feels small.”

  “Even though you can look out the window and see the vastness of space?” Caleb asked. “Or the Moon up close?”

  That was a good sign. Anyone who was romantic about space could probably get along with his team. And until they found evidence that they absolutely couldn’t continue with the mission, Emil wanted harmony. “You’re right,” Emil said. “Can’t beat the view. The people are alright, too. You wanna join us for hockey soccer tomorrow afternoon?”

  “I’m sorry?” Caleb said, obviously fighting off a smile.

  “Low-gravity asteroid hockey soccer,” Lenny said, in his most serious voice. “Or as I like to call it, the beautiful game.”

  “Isn’t that what people say about actual soccer?” Caleb asked.

  “Shh,” Dax said. “Don’t tell him.”

  “Lenny is one of the originators,” Emil said. “It can’t really be explained, only experienced.”

  “It also can’t be won,” Dax warned. “So don’t get your hopes up.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Caleb said. “So that’s what you do for fun around here? Hockey soccer?”

  “And science,” Dax said.

  “You get paid for the science,” Lenny said.

  “Still fun, though.”

  “Is it hard to be so far away from your friends and family?” Caleb asked. “What’d you say to them when you took this post?”

  Emil was friends with his team. Sure, he had family on Earth, and a few old friends, but they were accustomed to him serving in the Orbit Guard. His parents and Zora knew they only got to see him occasionally, and that sometimes he couldn’t tell them things. This was hardly a change at all.

  Dax shrugged. “Most of the people I care about in the world are here.”

  Lenny nudged their shoulder, then fist-bumped them.

  “We all signed up for an eventual mission to go even farther away,” Emil said. “So we’re not exactly a good sample. But I think it’s natural to feel homesick. Are you missing someone in particular?”

  Caleb lifted one shoulder. “Not really. I get along with my parents and my sister, but we’re not that close. We’ll be fine with some mail or a virtual visit every few weeks. When I told them I got this job, they congratulated me.”

  “‘Sorry, Mom, I love space more than you,’” Dax joked.

  “How long have you been working for Quint Services?” Emil asked.

  “A few months,” Caleb said. Emil was surprised by that, since Facility 17 was such a secret that only the highest ranks of Quint Services employees were aware of it. “I got a great evaluation and then pestered my supervisor about where the really exciting research was happening, and then just kept being so damn great at my job that finally they relented and sent me here.” He flashed them a winning smile, and Dax and Lenny both returned it. “I’m so curious about Heath and Winslow’s research. I did a lot of reading before I transferred up here, but it will be different to witness it in person. Are there any born runners up here to train you, in the event that the trials succeed?”

  “No,” Emil said as blandly as he possibly could. He hoped to God that Kit had made it out for real this time, for his own safety—even though that might mean never seeing him again. “Just us.”

  “That’s a strange choice on Quint Services’ part, don’t you think?” Caleb pressed.

  It was a touchy subject for a stranger to bring up in their first conversation. Dax and Lenny were reticent, waiting to follow Emil’s lead. He was suspicious of this stranger, but he couldn’t trust Quint Services, and honesty would keep things simple. Eventually, he said, “Yes. It is.”

  “Are you sure they didn’t bring any runners in? As consultants or something?”

  Caleb hadn’t picked up on their reluctance to talk about this. Why was it so important to him? “Not to my knowledge,” Emil said. “But I don’t know everything.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice,” Caleb said, gracing them with another easy smile. He was a good-looking man, and Emil wondered if he knew how charismatic he was. “Just wondering, you know. I had this friend, and back in the city—well, you know, Inland—they were always sending people around, trying to persuade him to join up. I thought they must be doing that all over. It’s actually how I got interested in Quint Services in the first place. My friend didn’t want anything to do with them, but after a while, the recruiter came around so much that I asked if they had any openings for medical personnel.”

  “Your friend was a runner?” Emil asked. The news that Quint Services was trying to recruit born runners was an interesting development, but he wasn’t ready to let Caleb know just how interesting.

  “Yeah,” Caleb said. “Just a guy I know, really. We were roommates for a while. Aidan.”

  “Wait, Aidan Blackwood?” Dax asked. “That agent provocateur type? Quint Services tried to recruit him?”

  Emil didn’t miss the flicker of interest in Caleb’s face. It was gone by the time he replied, nonchalantly, “Oh, you’ve heard of him.”

  “I think he came up in my research on runners,” Lenny said. “Kind of an agitator, right?”

  “You don’t know him from the news?” Dax asked Lenny and Emil, disapproving. “Just because we’re not on Earth doesn’t give us license to ignore everything that’s going on. Aidan Blackwood was in that photo that was circulating all over Elevate and other social media last month, the one of a young man getting knocked out by a cop. He jumped into Franklin Station wearing a t-shirt that said ‘BORDERS DON’T EXIST’ and started making an unauthorized speech in the commons.”

  “Yeah, that’s Aidan.” Caleb glanced at the three of them, suddenly uncomfortable. He must have realized that Emil and Lenny were former Orbit Guard personnel. It had never been his job to bust runners, or Lenny’s, but Miriam had worked station security. She’d spent most of her time dealing with bomb threats made by Adamah—a religious extremist group that didn’t believe humans should live in space—but she’d probably encountered her fair share of runners.

  When Dax had described that photo of Aidan getting knocked out by “a cop,” they’d meant Orbit Guard station security. Miriam wouldn’t have done that to Aidan, if she’d been the one on duty. His memory flashed to her elbow pressing into Kit’s throat, and he frowned. But she hadn’t really hurt him, and she’d been trying to protect Emil from a perceived threat. Still, he gained some sympathy for Caleb’s discomfort.

  Emil had always found the anti-runner attitudes of others in the Orbit Guard distasteful, and he didn’t like being lumped in with them. Would Kit feel the same way as Caleb or Aidan? Would he have reason to fear and distrust Emil?

  “I think what he’s doing is important,” Emil said, and Dax and Lenny nodded their agreement.

  Caleb still looked like he regretted bringing it up.

  “It’s late,” Emil said, offering him an exit strategy from the conversation.

  “Yeah,” Caleb agreed. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

  “Hockey soccer is always played with a beverage in hand,” Chávez explained to Caleb while Lenny uncapped his beer and handed it to him with as much ceremony as possible. “An empty beverage is a penalty of negative one thousand points.”

  Caleb raised his eyebrows.

  “Not drinking is also a penalty of negative one thousand points,” Chávez continued.

  “Hockey soccer is more of a drinking game than a sport,” Emil said to Caleb.

  “Disrespecting the game!” Chávez intoned. “Negative one thousand points.”

  “How is that disrespecting the game? It’s just the truth,” Emil said.

  “Implying that hockey soccer is not a sport is disrespectful,” Lenny said. “Implying that drinking games are somehow inferior to sports is also disrespectful.”

  “So that’s negative two thousand points,” Chávez said. She tsked. “You are not starting this game off well, Mr. Singh.”

  “Emil holds the all-time low score,” Miriam sai
d to Caleb. “I think it was negative forty-seven thousand.”

  “A low score like that is only possible in one-on-one. Hockey soccer is usually played in teams, but players are scored individually, and a team can vote to disavow players who damage their scores,” Chávez said, adopting her most officious tone. “Three-on-three is traditional here at Facility 17.”

  Emil had offered to sit this game out to make the teams even, but apparently that didn’t exempt him from receiving his usual punitively low score. Chávez and Lenny just liked to razz him because he was team leader—and because early on, he’d made the mistake of revealing how competitive he was, which meant they’d never, ever let him win. Since then, Emil had lost points for all of the following: drinking too slow, drinking too fast, spilling his beer, kicking the puck out of bounds, kicking the puck perfectly straight, sighing, having “beautiful, glossy, shampoo-ad-worthy ebony locks,” laughing, not laughing, having “distractingly chiseled abs,” and breathing. Lenny and Chávez had also once docked him points for “being too scrupulous a rule-follower, which is against the spirit of hockey soccer, and therefore disrespecting the game.” But they’d also once awarded him one thousand points “for trying adorably hard” and five thousand “for being so fun to fuck with.” So he still played. Besides, there was nothing else to do at Facility 17 on Sunday afternoons. And they were his team.

  Today, the six people on the court had split themselves up into two groups. Chávez, Jake, and Miriam were on one team, while Lenny, Dax, and Caleb were on the other. Lenny finished distributing their beers and they arranged themselves on the court.

  “It might start as three-on-three, but it always becomes one-on-one because there’s a rush to betray each other at the end,” Miriam warned Caleb.