I Am Not Junco Omnibus: Books Four - Six Read online

  I take another drag and watch her study my face. Fucking bitch. What the hell does she know about anything? She wasn't there when Inanna stripped me of skin, she has no idea what it means to be trained as a soldier in Stag Camp, she wasn't there when every person I ever trusted walked out on me and left me to go insane. Even Gideon is guilty of that one. And she wasn't asked to help save the Fallen Archers of the Band and their entire race of people.

  Cora throws up her hands and swivels her seat so she doesn't have to look at me. Her judgment stings a little but I'm doing my best. Why can't it ever be enough?

  "Believe me, Cora, I'd like nothing more than to have the man I love all to myself on a little habitat out in the middle of the Band and forget all this is happening. But I can't. Because it's real. And either I make the hard choices or billions of people will die. So I'm gonna make them and no one's gonna stop me. If a few thousand souls have to be sacrificed, hell, a few million even, I don't care. It's got to be done."

  She snorts out a sad breath of air through her nose. "You're sick, you know that? You're all sick. I hope someone kills you."

  "They've already tried, believe me. I've been sick since the day I was born and I've been dead more than once already." I wait for her to look back at me, to meet the gold light pouring out of my eyes. "But I've got a promise of satisfaction on my side, and what will satisfy me now is retribution."

  Her jaw clenches and then she turns away for good.

  We land and taxi over to the exit portal. I stand and wait for the door to be opened and the crew is all present when I engage the invisibility and walk away, calling out a half-hearted thank you as my boots clang down the metal stairs.

  Chapter Nine

  The Dallas planet pad was designed at the height of the Beautification Justification period of metropolitan architecture that started just after the Succession Wars ended in 2098. Beautification Justification translates to: If you're gonna fuck up the entire planet with the destruction of large tracts of land, at least make it something the locals can be proud of.

  Back when the first pads were being constructed there was almost zero thought as to how the suborbitals would impact the massive populations of people that surrounded the major cities of the world. London built the first pad, with Los Angeles and Jersey finishing up their pads within a few months of London.

  The problem was that all three places were so densely packed with people that there was absolutely no room to create the miles of tarmac necessary for a safe landing. So they razed houses and paid off the landowners. Thus inserting a massive space port into suburban neighborhoods. Eventually people lost interest in smelling rocket fuel twenty-four seven and the areas around the pads were cleared and more commercial facilities built.

  Of course by that time the property values had been destroyed, people lost a lot of money over the deal and war was declared on the evils of planet pads.

  Just when the uproar was starting to heat up, South America and Australia both decided they needed their own spaceport to compete with the Northern Hemisphere. In a global race to see who could be the first to finish, South America clear-cut almost fifteen thousand square miles of rain forest. Couple that with an explosive failure during the maiden landing that killed everyone on board, then started a fire lasting for almost two weeks, and you can guess how well that went over.

  Enter crazed environmentalists in Sydney Harbor.

  The Australian government modified their plans real fast and erected the first viable Southern Hemisphere pad in the middle of the Simpson Desert under the watchful eye of whatever corrupt organization was running environmental building codes and park permits at the time.

  It was a clusterfuck of fuck-ups, came in four billion dollars over budget and no one was happy about having the promise of expedited travel arrangements being sidetracked with a multi-day trip to the desert.

  There are now no fewer than three brand new metropolitan areas in and around the Simpson Pad. I bet Oceania is so glad they decided to make that pad so far away from civilization so they could save the environment. Taught those world travelers a lesson.

  Enter Texas.

  Texas just doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks, but they do have a fair amount of their economy dependent on tourism so their solution to the planet pad hostility was to erect it right over the former Dallas downtown, standing on top of pillars that spanned almost a thousand feet up in the sky with the tallest skyscrapers acting as facade pillars of the foundation.

  A new city was bustled into existence while the old one underneath was vacated or simply forgotten. The hanging railway dangles from the upper city, swaying wildly as the cars navigate the intricate highway system that fills the cavernous underbelly with noise non-stop, all day and night.

  You gotta hand it to the Texans. They are a bunch of crazy bastards.

  This started the Beautification Justification massive development period in the United Republics. Texas made the Dallas planet pad so out-of-this-fucking-world spectacular no one cared that eight million people were either displaced or worse, left underneath the topside city to wither away in darkness and poverty, out of sight and out of mind.

  And this is where I stand now, under the beast, smoking a cigarette stolen from the jacket of a man in a government flier I was not supposed to be in, just before I entered a hotel I had no legal access to.

  Layla was right to be impressed with the circuitry coursing through my body. My career in covert data-theft is just about to take off.

  Dallas is exactly seven hundred and forty-five point four six miles from Council 3 and that's where I'm going. But first, some provisions and a well-deserved night off with an old friend.

  John Hando. They call him Hand for short.

  God, he's really beautiful. I say his name over and over in my head as his father Vincent introduces me to the other associates. I try and pay attention, I really do. But that John Hando is so fucking gorgeous I can't take my eyes off him.

  He's staring back at me too and this makes my whole body tingle.

  I drag my attention away from the boy and listen to the mission.

  This is child's play.

  "Just tell me who and where. I've got it covered." I take my attention back to Hand as the room erupts into chaos. They are not sure of me, and that's OK. I'm not quite sure of them either. But this John has me a little closer to the edge of being convinced. His brown eyes alone are deep enough to swim in and they are beckoning to me, they want me to come take a dip.

  "I'll take him for backup." I point over to Hand and everyone stops. "You guys want a fucking resume? Or what? A demonstration? You just let me know. I got piano lessons tomorrow at 1300 so let's get this fucking show on the road. The last suborbital leaves at 0115 and I'd like to get some sleep tonight, so I gotta get a move on."

  It's almost impossible for me to stop looking at his face, but I force myself to find Vincent Hando and take a deep breath.

  "Piano lessons?" Vincent asks.

  "Yeah, you know, the instrument? I play four days a week and tomorrow I've got a lesson at 1300 and I'm not about to miss it over a stupid assassination job. So give me the deets and let's do this."

  They are stunned silent now.

  "Who are you?" An older man across the room, sitting quietly through all this, is the one speaking. His hair is pure white but since this whole family is Texican, I suppose it used to be jet black like everyone else's.

  "Semaj Prodigy, I fucking told you. Why'd you let me in if you're not sure of who I am? Am I wasting my time here? Because I could be riding right now. Michael is already pissed off I missed yesterday's lesson and James is the only reason I got out of it today. So let's go. Make up your mind or I'm leaving."

  "Riding lessons?" Vincent again.

  "What is it with you and my personal life? Do you have a job for me or not?"

  In the end they most certainly did have a job for me. I killed seven people that first night, with Hand's help of course, then got lost i
n his eyes as he took me over to the planet pad. We never did have any time for sleep but that was OK with me. Him too, I think.

  I dreamed about him all the way home.

  It was the best fucking dream I ever had.

  I take another drag of the cigarette and look across the street to the pawn shop. It's got a twenty-five-foot perimeter wall that surrounds twelve entire city blocks which reminds me a little of the Stag, but that's where the similarities end. This place has never seen the sun and the sun was the only bright thing about the Stag. And the Stag was a place for secrets and hiding, while this place right here, even with the razor wire and overzealous weapons system mounted on the perimeter wall, practically reeks of family and love.

  I can hear the bustle of activity inside the compound even as people and traffic whizz past me on the dark street. I get a few looks, some boys call at me, egging me on with dirty names and promises of sex, but I ignore them.

  If they want a fight they can come get it.

  But they don't.

  It's funny how people from the street automatically know if you're a victim or not. No one, and I do mean no one, has ever fucked with me down in the belly of Dallas. And I've walked some pretty fucking scary neighborhoods down here alone in my Dallas days.

  I toss the smoke and head towards the pawn shop. Its most distinguishing feature, besides the wall and razor wire, is the sign out front that blinks in yellow neon announcing bail bonds and gold bought and sold.

  I press and hold the buzzer for six seconds and wait.

  It takes six minutes of me standing still and silent before a crackly voice addresses me over the wired comm affixed to the outside of the gate with a sloppy epoxy job.

  "Yes?"

  "Reporting in."

  "Verification?"

  I have a moment of jitters as I pull up the old code, but push it down and answer the man before any sort of detectable pause can be identified. "Semaj Prodigy."

  I hear a distant laugh on the other end before the comm cuts out and I stand for a few more seconds in silence.

  "Who?" A familiar voice this time.

  I repeat myself. "Semaj Prodigy. Standing down."

  They pause as I pivot and smile and salute up at each of the six security checkpoints surrounding me in the doorway.

  A light flashes down and I close my eyes and let it wash over me. The scan feels good, reminding me of all the weekends I spent here in Dallas with these people.

  The gate clicks. I pull it open and enter the next vestibule. The door behind me closes, then another click and I open the second door which takes me into a small interior room with two-way glass on all sides. The lights go off and I hear the door open.

  My heart jumps a little as the footsteps make their way towards me.

  "Junco?"

  I zero in on his artificially lit-up face, courtesy of my newly enhanced vision screen. "Hand?"

  He pulls me towards him and the lights come on at the same moment. His night-vision goggles bump up against my head as I am squeezed. "I really thought they’d killed you that night."

  "Sometimes I wish they had," I whisper into his chest.

  I haven't seen him in a long time, not just the years Inanna stole from me either. My senior year at cadets was a flurry of a lot of things, one of which happened to be local freelance jobs supplied in quantity by Hand's father, Vincent, in exchange for money, weapons, armor, and a whole assortment of survival gear.

  But that was also the year Gideon came home near death, I went insane and killed a bunch of mutant projects, Matthew stole my memories then tried to kill me on the sniper range, and I finally got my revenge.

  It was never the same after that. And Hand never got to hear why.

  "You've been on the news, Junco. Tonight, that rock-star chick, Cora? She said you commandeered her suborbital and held her hostage, all the while telling her how you planned on killing billions of people with your revenge."

  I smile. "What a bitch."

  Hand pulls his goggles down his face so they dangle over his chest and his dark brown eyes flash as he grins. "You just tell me what you need, Junco. I've got your back."

  He's the same age as Gideon, but they've never met as far as I know. His black hair hangs all the way down his back, the same way it did when we were younger, and his skin is the perfect shade of golden brown when he gets a chance to stand in the sun.

  "I'm surprised you recognized me, I don't exactly look like the old Junco, do I?" My leaky thoughts betray my insecurities with my new body, but Hand just shrugs.

  "You look real good, if that's what you mean. And your hair is pretty fucking long, Juncs." He reaches out and lifts up a few strands. "I always thought you preferred it shorter."

  "I do, but I've been kinda busy, haven't had time to chop it off. You wanna chop it off for me?"

  He shakes his head. "Nah, I like it."

  My face tingles and I turn away. "I need a bike. I gotta get back to Council 3, like yesterday. You got a bike I can take? I can pay—"

  He waves his hand in front of me. "No, I'm not taking your money. I've got a bike. No big deal. But Council 3 is still off limits. They cleaned it up pretty well, there's even new growth in the worst areas now. But it's forbidden."

  "I have a way to get past all that, don't worry. I have stuff there."

  "It's probably gone, Juncs. Your dad—"

  My exaggerated sigh interrupts him. "I know what he did was wrong, Hand. So please. I just need to get out there, I can't think about anything else right now. And my stuff will be there. It was designed to withstand more than a few nukes, believe me."

  "Hey, Juncs?" He tilts my chin up until I look him in the eyes. "Your dad's crimes are not transferable here, OK? I said I have your back, and I mean it." I nod and he smiles and lightens things up. "Now get your little ass in here and say hello to everyone." He claps me on the back as I pass in front of him and I let each and every one of his many family members squeeze and suffocate me with love until I can barely breathe.

  The Hando house is not a house, it's an old factory. The first two floors of the original six-story building have been gutted and redesigned to accommodate the huge gatherings they have there. It's a common room, not a place where anyone actually lives, because they all have their own houses scattered around the compound.

  When I'm ushered inside the familiar smell of home cooking grabs at my heart and makes my stomach twist in longing for all the weekends I spent here with these people as a teen. There are at least twenty little kids running around—kids who belong to Hand's older brothers and probably some younger brothers and sisters too. This family is crazy about kids.

  The main room is really just one big open-plan living space filled with noise and activity and love. There are several tables lined up end to end so that when family dinner time comes around, everyone is connected by mismatched tablecloths, and place mats, and silverware, and dishes. They don't separate out the kids either, everyone sits together—rubbing elbows and kicking each other under the table due to lack of space.

  No ever complains that there's not enough room.

  It's late right now so I've missed dinner by hours, but the kitchen comes alive and they usher me to another table. Not the family dinner table, but the game table that's part of the open kitchen space. All the adults sit with me and listen to my story quietly and then the space in front of me is filled with rice and carnitas. I wash it all down with cerveza and shots of tequila and enjoy my surrogate family while I can. We push the bad aside and get loud and animated playing cards and laughing. And I really do forget, if only for an hour or two, that my world is falling apart. It's easy to forget all the bad stuff when I'm here with them.

  Later, Hand leads me through the concrete maze of roads and buildings that is the interior Hando compound until we find his house. We're both half drunk and happy as he shuttles me into his living room and pushes me down on the couch.

  "Stay here for a minute, OK? I'm gonna go get you some clot
hes from Mia real fast."

  I stare up at him, his eyes hidden from me in the shadows.

  "What?"

  I shake my head and sigh. "You're a good guy, know that, John?"

  He laughs at my use of his given name. No one calls him John, not even his mother. "You know better, Junco. You of all people know that I'm about the farthest thing from a good guy there is."

  "You're wrong."

  I make out a smile as he leaves to go find his sister Mia.

  The couch is soft and I lean back and let out a deep breath.

  Isten.

  I push him away because there's another name on my mind right now.

  Tier.

  The alcohol makes me want to call for him in my head. The name wants to be spoken so badly but there is no one to speak it to, so I can only say it to myself. The last time we were really together it was on the ship. The night before the drop into the MR before we got my Siblings back. I should've told him I thought I was pregnant because then we would've had a chance to talk about it. Make it real. Now it feels like a dream, like it never happened.

  At least to me it does, but obviously Tier doesn't feel the same way. I did choose Gideon, but not for the reason he thinks. I cannot even imagine what it would be like to lose Gideon. It makes me choke down a sob just thinking about it and it's not because I love him the same way I love Tier. It's just that Gideon has always been there for me. Even if he was gone doing—whatever they used to make him do when I was little—I knew he'd be back.

  And he always did come back. Until all that shit happened before graduation. I have a feeling that's when that picture Gideon showed me back in the Runout tunnels was taken. During the worst days of my life. But somehow his hand draped across my shoulder was enough to make me smile for the seconds it took to capture my fleeting happiness forever.

  I have a sickening suspicion that my bouts of instability have something to do with Gid being erased from my memory. Without Gideon I am a monster. Without Gideon I have no direction. That little compass Tier gave me was wrong. My one true direction lies through Gideon because Lucan isn't the Devil. I am. Gid is the only thing that makes me good. Without Gideon I'm more than bad, I'm evil.