Reclaiming Shilo Snow Read online

  What? He frowned and swerved to find her beside him, drink in hand. Where’d she come from?

  A sudden commotion caught his attention as Danya and Claudius loudly greeted Sofi and went to join her and Ethos. He shook his head. He should join her too. He had things to tell her—concerns, dangers. But his limbs felt tired. Slow. And his head . . .

  “I promised you the truth,” Lord Ethos was saying above the ruckus from his place next to Sofi.

  Miguel followed his long fingers as he pointed at the Delonese—the ones clustered along the room’s balconies, followed by the others cluttered here and there on the varied silver staircases and levels beneath the glass ceiling, surreptitiously watching him and the other humans. To the right, a group was making music while the crowd above kept breaking into song. On the left, some were using their bodies to invent new movements—to complement the people behind them who were doing mathematical equations on tapestries that were beyond anything his brain could fathom.

  A scene of perfection.

  Except for the reality hidden beneath the planet’s surface.

  A few yards away, one of them spotted Miguel and raised a glass. Calling for a toast to their favorite ambassador.

  “To Miguel!” the group around him cheered, and Alis joined in, nearly sloshing her drink on his day-old suit.

  “Reality is not everything it seems.” Ethos was still speaking to Sofi, but his gaze had landed on Miguel and Alis. “While you’ve been assuming the worst intentions, your friends have been enjoying themselves. Even to the point they’ve come round to our way of thinking.”

  “And which way is that again?”

  “Miguel, join us!” Claudius waved, interrupting Ethos to slip his arm around Sofi’s shoulder. Danya laughed at the intrusion, her high cheekbones giving away her Delonese heritage despite an otherwise well-practiced and well-played Earthen persona.

  Miguel’s skin rippled. Was it his imagination or did Claudius’s hand seem to whip through the air too quick? The lights flickered, making Miguel squint and rub the ache from the back of his neck. He shook off the confusion and went to join Sofi—to protect her—to tell her what the Delonese were planning for her, what they were planning for those shells below and possibly for Earth.

  Before he could reach her, he was cut off by a group of Delonese. Walking. Dancing. He pushed and wrangled to get past, but they refused to make a way. Almost as if on purpose. A second later they picked up their unity chant—the same as last night. The universe constellations emerged in a flood of colored lights throughout the room. The aliens all moved to stare up at the domed-ceiling stars while blending their voices in the uncanny tone of drones.

  He leaned to peer beyond the dome glass and scanned the compound and their position within it, which was five stories up and adjacent to the enormous council chambers—in the very heart of the area’s barracks and shuttle bays. And beyond those, the vast forests and icy landscape. Covered with that creamy fog.

  That fog.

  He stood back. And looked closer at the people in the room.

  The matching faces, identical movements, and unblinking eyes. From his experience with them, not one of the Delonese in here was under the age of forty-five—and yet they looked and moved as healthy twenty-year-olds. They were seven-foot-tall replications of perfection.

  Pay attention, Miguel. What do you see?

  Aliens who look like flawless humans.

  “No, what do you sense?” he could almost hear his padre ask.

  Miguel studied the atmosphere. The aliens were chanting now. “We are created from technology and born into a product of beauty. We will rise higher through our own experience, community, and personal power.”

  And yet something in their tones—

  Oh.

  As a too-tall, tough-skinned, foulmouthed child, he’d experienced it in the dogfights he’d watched. And later, in the eyes of angry patients desperate for a cure from certain Corps. More recently, he’d found it in the faces of those dying over in the black markets.

  It’s what had made them all good fighters.

  When you knew you were dying, you fought harder, without wavering, because survival was all you had. Every time.

  And from the flavor of fear prickling his senses in this room . . .

  The Delonese were a freaking ticking time bomb.

  They were a society who’d overengineered themselves until nature could no longer take its course. And now they were on a clock, counting down to extinction.

  He peered at Ethos. This was why they’d shown up to assist Earth eleven years ago.

  To prey upon humanity’s genetic pool for survival.

  The realization dawned—they weren’t actually trying to hide the fact they were stealing children. They were hiding their reason for stealing them. Because the very need that empowered them to justify the abductions was also their deepest weakness.

  They have a weakness.

  He shut his eyes and tried to tune out that blasted droning of identical voices and faces, and focus on how to exploit that weakness.

  “And in the end, we will be greater,” they were saying. “We will be conquerors of our own truth, our own will, our own death. We will be rulers of destiny.”

  He sniffed. At least they were motivated. He’d give them that.

  “You see where our problem lies, don’t you?” Ethos murmured near his ear.

  Miguel’s eyelids flew open. Ethos stood beside him, waving a hand to encompass the room. “In order for us to exist—and for our races to coexist—we must be willing to assist one another. As we have done for you. You see, in our minds, it is not your lives that are the price, but ours.” He stared at Miguel. “And we will do anything necessary to protect them.”

  Ambassador Ethos switched his gaze over to Claudius and Danya and beckoned them.

  When they reached him, Claudius patted Miguel’s back. “Lord Ethos is convincing you too, eh?”

  Miguel analyzed him. His features, his expression, the droning lilt in his tone. Miguel’s throat went dry as the ache reappeared in his spine. He peeked up at Danya. What had they done to him? This was Claudius, but not the version he knew.

  “It’s a bit to take in, I know.” Claudius was grinning appeasement. “The trade-off required—the gifts. But, Miguel, believe me, no one values every life they take more than these people. They honor each one for the gift it might bring them.”

  Miguel couldn’t speak. If he did he’d likely punch Ethos across the chin for whatever he’d done to his best friend.

  He shook his head. It wasn’t adding up. He needed to get his bearings.

  He needed to get back to Sofi.

  “You okay there, bud?” Claudius took a sip of a sparkly drink. “You look like a ghost.” He stepped closer and peered into Miguel’s face. His voice dipping as he asked Ethos, “Will you be able to get it all?”

  Miguel frowned.

  He turned to force his way to Sofi, but she was already there, fighting to get to him. He grabbed her arm as the silvery air rippled against the glass dome. He could feel the warmth radiating from her slim-suit, followed by her lips so close that her words caught against his skin.

  “I hate this place,” her mouth whispered. “I’m ready to go home.”

  16

  INOLA

  The hovercar was still there—two lanes to the right, seven lengths back. Blue, nondescript, the same that’d been there since she’d left the FanFights twenty minutes ago. Different from her security team’s, but still going the same speed and same direction. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe not.

  Inola took her black hair down from its bun and swiped back to the video on her handscreen. The one she’d secretly recorded in Ms. Gaines’s Corp 30 office when she’d gone to confront her last night. Proving once again her intuition was correct.

  “I had to, Inola,” Ms. Gaines said. “The other Corps were getting too close. What would they have done had they discovered what we were doing with their kids
? With our kids? That we were jacking the games? Corp 24’s Altered would’ve ruined everything.”

  Inola’s voice broke in. “So you had them killed, along with my son?”

  “They were going to expose us! All that work we’ve put into this company to help people—to make them better!” Gaines was practically foaming at the mouth. “It would’ve been thrown away.”

  Inola looked out the window at the sunset dousing the buildings in pink and gold. Artistic shades rippling off the mirrored skyscrapers and in the sunglasses of myriad passersby. She peered in the rearview mirror again. The hovercar far behind them moved into the lane as soon as Jerrad did.

  “I see it, madam,” he said, without moving his gaze from the highway. The next moment the car slowed and edged off onto a side street and Inola exhaled. She was just being paranoid.

  “I took care of it, Inola. Don’t you see?” The vid on her screen kept playing. “We had to delete the evidence! If the Delonese knew we’d let their secret escape, they’d be called into question too. It could rock the entire political system, and people would’ve lost faith in them and us. If you’d kept your daughter under better control—”

  Inola clicked it off.

  If she’d kept her daughter under better control . . .

  How many times had that been an issue through the years? “Sofi, don’t make the Corp look bad.” “Sofi, stay in boarding school with Shilo until you’ve learned what real life is.”

  She shook her head. If Sofi was good at anything, it was refusing to be controlled. And while that may have infuriated Inola as a parent, she was grateful for it now. Tick, tick, tick . . .

  Inola peered down to check her handscreen. She hadn’t shut it off since the message had come through, and the blinking text hadn’t disappeared this time.

  If you want to help your kids, head for the black markets.

  Followed by her three: What do you want?

  What do you want?

  Why are you doing this?

  Her stomach knotted and her breathing grew harder. Their message didn’t even make sense. What did they know about Sofi and Shilo?

  Likely nothing. Which was why the whole thing had gotten under her skin. Her team still hadn’t cracked the sender, but they were close.

  Her neck stiffened as she checked behind them again through the hovercar’s rear window. Jerrad’s security team was still there. The blue hover was not. She stretched her shoulders to relieve the tension and melted back against the seat to watch the city skyscrapers and crowds thin as they entered the southeast outskirts of town.

  “It’s not too late, you know,” Jerrad said from the front.

  She sniffed and half laughed. “Are we talking for my parenting or for this little escapade?”

  “Both. Although . . .” He looked up in the rearview mirror. “If you don’t mind my saying—it’ll be alright. You’ve not lost her yet. The Delonese haven’t figured everything out, and she’s not dead. There’s still time.”

  She blinked. Glanced away. “And yet listening to that vid, I think we both know the truth is I lost Sofi a long time ago.”

  He made a sound with his throat.

  She frowned. “What?”

  “How long have I worked for you?”

  “Since a year before Ben died.”

  “And my team watched over your kids during that time with him, and ever since. Even on the farm that day when we stood back because you ordered us to let the Delonese take them, yes?”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Just that if there’s one thing I know, it’s those two kids love you. Your girl loves you.”

  “Thanks for the reassurance, Jerrad, but it’s not quite that simple.” Then, with more humility, “But continue.”

  He shrugged and rubbed his jaw with his hand missing two fingers. “I just expect it’s why she’s so angry, and why she’s sought some kind of love in the arms of boys, and why she’s always trying so hard to get your attention. Not ’cuz she hates you, I can tell you that. You’ve not lost her, madam.” He shook his head and put his attention back on the road. “If anything, she’s just been there waiting.”

  Inola stared.

  If anyone else had said those words, she would’ve ushered them from the car and destroyed their future. Instead, she sat and glared at this man who was, in reality, her oldest friend. And felt her throat swell up with that blasted ache.

  His words . . .

  A mercy and a correction.

  He cocked a cautionary frown and cleared his throat. “It’s also not too late to head back to the safety of your Corp 30 office. Because you and I both know this texting hacker is a nut job using the topic of your kids as sick bait. And the idea that we’re actually giving cred—”

  “I know my kids aren’t there, Jerrad, but there’s obviously something he wants us to see,” she said irritably.

  “Just not sure it’ll be beneficial or safe is all. I’d hate to see your intuition misled by the wrong team.”

  “My intuition cured cancer. I suspect it’ll survive this. Besides,” she added, gentler, after a moment. “That’s what I have you for, right?”

  He snorted his final disapproval and let the tension fall where it may as she turned her attention to the shaded buildings and dirty deserted streets.

  She hadn’t been to this city border section of Old Manhattan in ages. Early on, she’d had to focus on which parts of the city were worth building into her planned, glorified metropolis, and, for every glaring reason in front of her, this hadn’t been one of them. In fact, her most recent visit was probably the last time she’d had to pull her kids out of here when they were trying to sell off Sofi’s old tech items. All she remembered of that time was that it was fuller then—rowdier. The anti-Delonese protestors and anarchists must’ve moved uptown for the week’s FanFights.

  Her screen buzzed, and she flipped on the text-to-voice so Jerrad could hear it too:

  Turn right at the side street, then pull into the underground mall. Head straight until you reach the cages. And caution—don’t stop.

  She glowered. You think? Where am I going? she typed.

  To see your kids.

  Her patience pricked. Not funny.

  Wasn’t meant to be.

  The side street they’d just turned down sloped and took them and the vehicles following into an old underground parking garage. The hoverlights came on, illuminating the cement surroundings of pier supports and off-shooting tunnels that led to a maze of levels—most of which used to hold shops, but now was more like an underground city with living quarters and trading bays, from what she’d been told.

  A man stepped out in front of them, and Inola yelped as the hover swerved around him and kept going. He peered after her with a dazed gaze that said his meals of late had been of the medicated variety.

  Maybe Jerrad was right. Perhaps this was a bad idea and the whole thing was from a crazed hacker Gaines had hired. Maybe it was their way of eliminating her.

  Except, even the VP knew that if anything happened to Inola, there’d be an automatic release of highly sensitive documents. Documents offensive not just to Gaines, but to many others as well. It was partly how Inola had stayed in business so long.

  Everyone needed a layer of protection.

  “Madam.” Jerrad pointed ahead.

  She nodded. And typed, Okay, we’re here. Where are my kids?

  Keep driving.

  “I’m becoming less thrilled by the second,” Jerrad growled.

  “Me too, but just keep going.” She slid closer to the left window to peer out on the makeshift mattress booths strewn on the ground against the walls. There were faces now. Peeking out from the hovels and others standing in groups, smoking and hovering over their telescreens or staring at the car.

  “What do we have here?” someone yelled out.

  “More rich politicians,” another hollered. “Hey, you guys are a little early—the FanFights haven’t ended yet! It’s still down to thre
e players!”

  The crowds thickened, and soon the hover wasn’t just driving past people watching the FanFights. They were also watching real fights—kids against kids, kids against dogs, men against women—with those surrounding them taking bets and cheering or hissing. Inola began to notice the cages here and there. Lined up along the walls. First they held animals. For food or fights, from the looks of it.

  Soon they held people. Inola could barely stomach seeing them, locked in, their faces angry or hopeless. All despising those milling around them. But seeming to despise her hovercar and those of her entourage behind her more.

  The farther they drove through the cement city, the harder the expressions and gazes became, and the younger those beside the adults looked.

  “You guys looking for some fun?” said a lady dressed as a queen.

  “I got you some fun right here! Even give you a discount!” A bald man pulled back the flap of a tent just enough to see inside. Inola looked away and felt her stomach sink into her knees. Oh gad. What was wrong with people? How could they do this to each other?

  Explain how that’s legal? her handscreen asked.

  It’s not, she replied.

  Right . . . And yet it’s allowed by Corp 30 and the CEO who built this city.

  That’s not my fault.

  Then whose fault is it?

  She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to—she didn’t owe anyone an answer. Of course she’d known this stuff was here. Everyone did. All societies had their underbelly, and for her part, she regularly sent raids in to deal with them. She’d built houses for some of them, for gad’s sake! She couldn’t help it that they found their way right back to it.

  Even with the FanFight kids—she’d never sent any here. If the others chose to, that truly wasn’t her fault.

  So where are my kids? she typed.

  No response.

  “Inola,” Jerrad said from the front seat.

  She started to glance up just as her screen went blank again, deleting the messages. She snorted. Then cursed as something hit their hovercar’s roof with a crash. What the—?

  “That’s it. We’re getting you out of here. I don’t know if they recognized the car or they’re just drunk over the FanFights, but we’re done.” He accelerated the hover off the ground and above their heads, almost scraping the cement ceiling, and took off.