Chapter Ten

  Three hundred serrated teeth cut through the water, all that blue, an open maw set to devour her a chunk at a time, and Malory was mesmerized—from dorsal fin to high-octane tail. There were no Great Whites anymore, but the mechanics were sleek, exacting in the recreation; a perfect predator assembled piece by piece for the new aquarium. The Doc caved after so much pestering and contacted Martin and Spencer to get Mal out of his hair for the day, and she had wandered while waiting for the boys to arrive. The excitement was far too much to resist. She was a mess of apprehension, and as she watched the ancient beast swim back and forth, its false eyes never leaving her, she wondered what terrible things the two had been through since the party: were they trapped mopping shit from floors and drinking themselves into a stupor, as she had been? Or had they gone through far worse, been turned to soldiers and forced to kill? Did they still have an inexhaustible will to live, and would she recognize them? She followed the shark’s malevolent gaze, mocked its desire to consume with thoughts of riding it to battle in the sunken streets of a city.

  “Hey,” a voice called. A heavy metal hand grabbed Mal’s shoulder and spun her around. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

  “Martin,” she said. He towered over her, and she had to look up to meet his eyes. They were still kind, but that’s where the similarities ended. If the two hadn’t grown up together, she’d have never known the bruiser in front of her used to piss the bed. “Sorry I started without you.”

  “It’s good to see you,” he said. There was so much chrome slotted on his frame, he must have weighed a ton. It was surprising the flooring held under him. Arms, legs, jaw, the skeleton to support it, all new, improved. Someone in the administration had invested a fortune to remake the man, and it wasn’t for running a soup kitchen. “Got held up at security.”

  “What have you been up to?” Malory asked. The simulacrum of a shark still circled behind her, beholden to its programmed instinct to hunt.

  “They threw me in the arena,” he said. There was a sorrow there—one that spoke of violence, of a regretful fist on broken bones. He shrugged. “The fights are rigged, but some people don’t follow their scripts.”

  “I bet the crowds love you,” Mal said. A longing sprouted in her sternum to spread her arms wide, to wrap him in the hug of an older sister, but she didn’t. They were strangers with a shared past, and she let the feeling fade even if she wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do.

  “They spend their credits well enough,” he said. He shifted, observed the people around them. Reflexes ready for a brawl to break out. He no longer fit the mold she had in her mind.

  “Look at what the cat dragged in,” another voice called. Spencer, still as skinny as ever, appeared next to them. His legs were replaced below the knee with Cheetah Mk.4s from Bridges Applied Mechanical; they were designed for speed, at the sake of everything else.

  “Hey, brat,” Mal said.

  “Let’s get this shindig started,” he said. He seemed the most well-adjusted of the three and vibrated with energy. He bounced in place. “I’ve got a few hours to burn before my next delivery.”

  “They made you a runner?” she asked. There had been a dozen or more in the Doc’s lab over the weeks she was stuck healing, and she knew it was as dangerous a gig as the poor bastards selling bootlegs on the corners.

  “Fast enough to outrun bullets with these bad boys.” He held up one of his feet to show them off, until he registered Martin’s implants. “Don’t seem all that impressive now, though.”

  “I’d prefer running to fighting any day,” Martin said. Once the bell sounded, he wasn’t permitted an escape.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “What do you guys wanna see?” Mal asked.

  “The stingrays,” they said at the same time.

  They headed into the building, past holograms of jellyfish, sea turtles, and eels—there were entire schools of fish swimming in choreographed unison. Coral reef, as artificial as it was beautiful, vibrant in each display. They walked along the glass, through tunnels in the water as if they were deep-sea explorers and had discovered life still existed there instead of the trash that choked it out. People were everywhere, pointing out their favorite animals. All the exotics were handled by advanced emitters to save on costs, while the more mundane were factory-built automatons. Tiled floor beckoned them ever onward. At intervals, advertisements were shoved into their faces unceremoniously and begged for engagement, for them to buy, buy, buy more products—designer denim as blue as water, a sea salt soy-paste, named figurines, and a subscription service for a new cartoon about Detective Clownfish. When they found the stingrays, they marveled at how they were polished to a sheen. Skate wings carved through the water with so little effort they looked like they were flying. Their tails trailed behind like a promise to end anything that got too close, and Martin pressed his face against the surface.

  “You know, I heard they have a real octopus in the VIP section,” Spencer said. He wiggled his fingers and rocked back and forth.

  “Wanna see it?” Malory asked.

  “Won’t have credits for something like that until my next fight,” Martin said. He left a smudge on the tank as he turned to them.

  “I can get us in,” she said. The hack was tucked in her jacket pocket, and she was glad she’d remembered to bring it.

  “I’m down,” Spencer said. He started to walk away before he realized he had no idea where to go. “Lead the way.”

  It took them a half hour before they found the entrance nestled between the dolphins and sea otters. Mal held the rectangle to the scanner and sighed when it let them through. She was bluffing and hadn’t expected it to work. Inside, they found a swanky lounge surrounded by a colony of clanking penguins, a dozen holographic seahorses, and a polar bear with its fur coated in iridium and other precious metals. There, all the way at the back, the monarch reigned over its kingdom of steel and illusions. Eight flexible arms, lined with little suckers, unscrewed the lid from a jar and retrieved its contents. Scattered around it were LEGO blocks, synth-plastic rings, and a dozen puzzles full of treats. In its black eyes, it held a loneliness so vast it could fill every tank in the place if given form, and Mal wanted to set him free. What was another corporation out to get her? Together, they watched the octopus move about its prison and change color periodically. Whenever it solved a puzzle, it shoved the treat into its mouth like it hadn’t eaten in years. It never shot its ink. The only real animal in the aquarium, and it was reduced to a centerpiece for the rich to gawk at.

  “Not quite what I expected,” Martin said. He crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side to save an image on his network.

  “Yeah,” Mal said. She wanted to leave before she did something she’d regret. There was an employee access door nearby, and she’d use it to come back later if she changed her mind.

  “They should have given him a friend,” Spencer said. He sat on a fancy stone bench with a plop and ran his hands along the engraved surface.

  “Anything else you guys wanna look at?” she asked. It was nice to be together again, but it wasn’t the same. Time marched forward, always. The innocent kids who played hopscotch in the shadow of the wall, or whispered complicated plans of guns and girls to each other on the couch were stranded in the past.

  “I think I’m good,” Martin said. His stomach growled, and it echoed through the area. “And I’m starving.”

  “There’s a food court near the entrance, but it’s so overpriced,” Spencer said. He stood from the bench and gave it a thumbs up in his mind. The wealthy lived such different lives.

  “My treat,” Mal said.

  A klaxon warbled, and red emergency lights kicked on throughout the aquarium. The water around them morphed into something sinister, something hungry. Alerts fed directly into Martin and Spencer’s feeds that urged immediate evacuation, and it left them at a loss. There was no coming skyfall; something worse was happening, and their reunion was caught in the middle of it. The other visitors in the VIP section funneled out until only the three remained, and they let curiosity gnaw at them.

  “Wanna check it out?” Spencer asked. He was too confident in his ability to escape.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Malory said. The low light closed in, and if they went to see, she knew they wouldn’t leave unscathed.