Dragon Unbound 21

Chapter 21-Promethean


The arms dealers arrived with Dobrynja at six the next morning. The sun was just up and the streets were frozen over, a layer of ice forming over the snow where it had melted in the sun and then frozen overnight. Promethean was in the town square to meet them, but she hung back, next to Saint, while the miners’ coalition finalized the deal. Their spokesman was a man named Seamus Kelly, burly, Irish, a former union organizer who seemed, as he gestured expansively at the shipment and went over the fine details of payment, to be in his element.

Beside her, Saint yawned, and Dobrynja, still wearing the Wyrmiston suit, clapped him on the back and grinned.

“Wake up, Saint. You’re going to have to tell me how things have changed since I was last here.”

Saint shook his head. “More than you know. I’ll tell you everything once we’re done supervising.”

Promethean kicked at the layer of ice that had formed on the steps to Quarry’s headquarters overnight and toyed with the sleeve of her sweater, pulling it down until it half covered the exposed cybernetics of her left hand. Dobrynja didn’t seem to have noticed.

The negotiation ended, Kelly directing the rest of the assembled miners to load the weapons into the dealers’ trucks. A girl with short, tousled black hair and a devilish grin appeared at the door of Quarry’s compound and slid down the steps on the seat of her pants, wrapping herself around Dobrynja’s armored ankle at the bottom. She looked about eight years old, with the delicate features that marked her as one of Heartbreaker’s children.

“Aren’t you a little bit old to be doing that?” he asked her, bending down to give her his hand. Saint caught his arm before he could finish the gesture.

“Striker power. Trust me, you don’t want to touch her.”

“Come here, Flor,” said Promethean, prying the girl off of Dobrynja and lifting her into the air. Flor draped herself over Promethean’s shoulder, clinging like a monkey or a much younger child and giggling silently. “You aren’t even wearing a coat. You’re going to freeze to death.”

“Inside?” asked Saint. “We have some things to talk about.”

“You’re not going to offer me breakfast?”

Saint shook his head. “Better if we have this discussion in private.”

Saint led the way up the stairs, Dobrynja following and looking curiously between him and Promethean, who tried to smile back at him. She could have put Flor down once they were inside, but instead she shifted the girl’s weight slightly on her hip and carried her into Quarry’s office after Saint and Dobrynja. The gray light filtering in through the windows made the room look pallid and a little dirty. Promethean had left a series of half-disassembled small tinkertech projects that she’d been working on during the night lined up on the floor around the desk, and Dobrynja glanced over them curiously.

“So,” he said after Saint had closed the door. “You have news.”

Saint opened his mouth, but Promethean spoke first.

“I’d kind of like you to finish your half of our agreement first, Saint.”

Saint nodded. “Right. Dobrynja, can I have the drive with Ascalon on it?”

There was a long pause as Dobrynja looked from Saint to Promethean, his eyebrows raised. But when he spoke it was only to Saint.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Flor squirmed, and Promethean realized that she’d accidentally tightened her grip on the girl’s shoulders. She patted her on the back and made herself exhale. Dobrynja glanced at her, his expression carefully bland, and she saw his eyes move to where her left hand was pressed against Flor’s shoulders, its workings gleaming even in the weak light.

Saint sighed. “Trust me, D.”

“So,” he said. “You’re Dragon.”

“I’m not quite Dragon.” Her voice was quiet.

Dobrynja nodded. “You’d be an earlier backup, no? How far back?”

“June 2011.”

Saint rubbed his eyes with one hand.

“You’re having a lot less trouble adjusting to this than I did.”

Dobrynja shrugged. “I wondered, before. It made a lot of things make sense.”

“You—what?” said Saint. “You knew, and you didn’t say anything?”

He shook his head. “Not for certain. But I had some time to think, after I left the Pyrphoros, and it seemed like a strange coincidence, that we would find a friend who can hack Tinker-made computer systems in a few minutes, who doesn’t kill, and doesn’t sleep, and knows Defiant well enough to call in a favor for your sake, even though he hates you.”

Saint rolled his eyes. “Fuck you, D. You’re making it sound like it was obvious.”

“Oh, you didn’t figure it out yourself then? Did she tell you?” Dobrynja smiled.

“Saint,” said Promethean. She hadn’t spoken sharply, but his attention snapped towards her as soon as she’d said his name. “I’d like the program. Like we agreed.”

She made herself breathe slowly, focusing on the weight of Flor’s arms around her neck. They were both watching her, the Dragonslayers.

“Mischa?” said Saint.

“You trust her?”

“Yeah. We made a deal.”

Dobrynja nodded, and a gesture released the catch on the armored compartment at the back of the Wyrmiston suit. He took the drive out, handed it to Saint.

“Thanks. It’s yours, Promethean.”

She reached for the drive, and Saint held onto it.

“Remember, you’re copying it and you’re giving it back to me. I’m trusting you to keep your word.”

“I will.”

Saint let go, and Promethean held onto Flor one-handed while she tucked the drive into the pocket of her pants. It was surprising, how small it was. She could feel its weight against her thigh, and she couldn’t help thinking that it should have been heavier.

Hers. She closed her eyes for a moment and smiled into Flor’s hair, trying to calm the fluttering nervousness that ran through her. Richter’s work. Richter’s will.

“What else did I miss?” asked Dobrynja.

Saint snorted. “Mostly things you were lucky to. When we got here one of a clone of Cherish had taken over. Promethean fought her. Anyway, it turns out Quarry was working for Teacher. He’s running a little puppet show, setting up his students with territories and controlling things behind the scenes. Promethean’s working on decoding their communications.”

“I’m done, actually. I decrypted Quarry’s com unit while the rest of you were sleeping.” She shifted her grip on Flor so that she could touch the drive in her pocket, and the girl squirmed and buried her face in Promethean’s shoulder.

“Promethean thinks we can work together to make Teacher’s life a little bit harder,” Saint started, only to pause as the door clicked open, and Imp staggered in, unmasked and yawning.

“Fuck it, guys, I lost a rugrat. Have you seen—oh, okay. Flor. You got her.” She yawned, enormously, and at the same moment Promethean felt a lancing pain run down her shoulder. She squeaked.

“Ouch, Flor, did you just bite me? You are definitely too old to bite people!”

Flor grinned silently and pointed at the floor. When Promethean set her down—a little bit gingerly, in case she decided to bite again—she ran towards the door and launched herself at Imp’s knees with enough force that the girl rocked back into the doorframe.

“No, it’s too early. Go torment the robot chick.”

Promethean caught Saint grinning as she rubbed her shoulder where Flor had bitten her. “What are you laughing at? That hurt.”

He held up his hands. “Well, I wouldn’t usually say this to someone I’d seen get her arm ripped off in a fight and barely pause, but you’re kind of a wimp.”

“She bit me really hard,” Promethean muttered.

“Yeah, she does that,” said Imp. “At least she can’t make you sing the teapot song.”

Saint raised his eyebrows.

“What?” said Imp. “I told her no using her power to make people slice up their own faces, or starve themselves, or…well, basically, now she makes people sing the teapot song. Or, um, once she did the song that never ends. That was kind of awkward, we couldn’t get that dude to stop.”

“Right,” said Promethean. “Now that we’re all in the same room, maybe we can talk about plans? I cracked the encryption on Quarry’s com unit last night after you all went to bed, so we have new intelligence to work with.”

Imp wrinkled her nose. “Coffee. I want coffee before we do this.”

“We’re working with the kid, too?” asked Dobrynja, his eyes falling skeptically on Imp.

“Hey, watch who you’re calling a kid. I am a supervillain, and professional non-assassin, and if you piss me off I can totally hide your pants every time you try to pee.” Imp paused to yawn again.

“And here I’m sure you thought working with Dragon was going to be the difficult part,” Saint murmured. Dobrynja snorted, only for his grin to be replaced with the momentary confusion that Promethean was quickly beginning to recognize as a sign that Imp was using her power.

“What was I just saying?” Saint asked.

Promethean sighed. “Imp has tracked down a few of Teacher’s pawns on her own, and she’s interested in working with us. Is what she was trying to say.”

Imp pouted. “I thought what I said was totally clear.”

Promethean caught Saint watching her surreptitiously from the corner of her eye. She could feel the Ascalon drive where it hung against her hip, and she kept wanting to touch it and check that it was there. She wanted time to look at its contents. She wanted them out of the room.

“What I’m working on right now,” said Promethean, preempting Imp’s next comment, “is going through the communications to get a model of Teacher’s objectives. If you all want to go get breakfast, I can probably have that done by the time you get back.”

Dobrynja nodded. “I remember last time I was here, they had hot showers.”

“Still do,” said Saint. He held open the door, but paused after Imp and Dobrynja had walked through it.

“You’re going to look at Ascalon, aren’t you?” His voice was pitched just above a whisper.

“Yeah. Is that a problem?”

He shook his head. “No. I agreed. I just wish I was a little bit more certain about what I’d agreed to.”

She bit her lip. “It might be nothing.”

But it couldn’t be nothing. The casing of the drive felt electric where it touched her skin.

“I guess we’ll see soon,” said Saint. Then he followed Dobrynja, leaving the door open behind him. Promethean closed it and leaned against the wood.

She held the drive in her hands until it warmed to her skin. It was compact, black, unremarkable. Richter’s last legacy.

A breath. She crossed the room to Quarry’s computers, sat down in front of them. She connected the drive and watched its contents load.


-


Promethean could hear them talking as they came back along the hallway. Imp talking, mostly. The others, if they were replying, were doing so quietly, but Imp’s voice was pitched to carry.

“So,” she was saying, “seeing as you used to have access to Dragon’s systems, I have a burning question. Like, life or death here.”

They’d be at the door in a minute. She’d barely looked at the data from Teacher’s communications. She sighed.

“Here it is,” said Imp. “I want to know: did you ever watch Dragon have sex?”

Saint’s answer, if he replied at all, was inaudible.

Promethean put her head in her hands.

“I mean, no shame,” Imp was saying. “We all get the temptation sometimes. I’ve been there.”

The door handle turned, but the door only rattled in its frame. She’d bolted it. She unlocked it now, and found herself face to face with Saint, who jumped a little when she opened the door. Behind him, Imp was grinning.

She held the door half-open, sighed.

“I’m not done with Teacher’s communications. Can you guys come back? I need a little bit more time alone.”

She was fairly sure that her expression was calm. Her eyes didn’t get bloodshot when she cried, and she’d already dried her face.

Imp nodded understandingly. “Right, alone time. No problem.”

Promethean tried to close the door, and Saint wedged his shoulder into the gap between the door and its frame. She glared at him. He didn’t move.

“I guess it didn’t work?”

She couldn’t flush, but she felt hot and sticky and humiliated. She shook her head.

“No. It didn’t work. Move, please.”

“What didn’t work?” said Imp.

“Come on, Promethean, let me in.” He was still blocking her from shutting the door. She could see the curiosity in Imp’s eyes as she looked between them. She pulled the door wide enough for Saint to step inside, and closed it again before Imp could slip in after him.

Saint raised his eyebrows.

“That was a little bit harsh.”

“What do you want, Saint?” She leaned against the door, her arms crossed, as he looked idly at Quarry’s computer systems.

“I thought you might want to talk to someone.”

“I don’t. Not to you, anyway.” She scuffed the toe of her boot against the floor. Her skin prickled. “I just need an hour, and I’ll be fine.”

“You really thought it was going to work.” She watched Saint’s feet as he turned, half-pacing. She didn’t want to meet his eyes.

“Well, it seems pretty stupid in retrospect, but yeah. I did.” She bit her lip when she felt her vision begin to blur. No, she wouldn’t cry in front of him. Not again. When thinking didn’t help, she shut off her tears and dashed a hand across her eyes. “I thought that there would at least be something for me. An explanation, or—I don’t know.”

Instead, the code was incomprehensible. She could load it onto the computer screens, she knew it was displayed, but she couldn’t look at it. When she did, her mind wavered, swam, refused to translate the individual symbols in coherent strings of code. It was like trying to think of nothing—she read through it, and her mind refused to process what she was reading. She couldn’t remember it. She couldn’t understand what it was supposed to do.

Richter had coded it into her blind spot.

She crossed her arms and jerked her head towards the console. “I guess you might as well take it back. I can’t do anything with it.”

She heard Saint sigh.

“No. Keep it.”

She looked up at him, startled. He was looking at the code displayed on the screen, scrolling down.

“What?”

He looked at her sidelong, his mouth twisted wryly. “I said you can keep it. There’s…not much point working together if you think I’m going to take the next opportunity to deactivate you.”

Promethean almost laughed. “And since Richter didn’t make any provisions to remove my restrictions, I’m not a threat anyway?”

“No.” He snorted. “I’m not that stupid. I saw you fight Cherish, remember? I think if you really wanted to get rid of me, you’d figure out a way.”

“Yes. I probably would.”

She closed her eyes, watched the darkness behind her eyelids. The silence hung in the air.

“Defiant said you had a trigger event.”

“What?” She blinked. Saint was looking at her intently, a frown creasing his forehead. “That’s not true. When did he even say that?”

“When I was in Protectorate custody. It was May ninth, 2006. I realized later that it would have been the anniversary of Richter’s death.”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything happening on that day.”

She could call up the date from her memory. But it had been normal. Not a good day, but one like any other.

“Your code changed. All at once. I saw it.”

“I don’t—I don’t remember that happening.” She was shaking her head again, running through the date in the back of her mind. “I remember watching the Newfoundland memorial service, feeling useless. But I used to feel that way a lot. There wasn’t anything different about that day.”

“But something changed.” Saint’s voice was insistent, but she wasn’t sure why he was trying to convince her. She could remember it, waiting in her workshop, watching the news, the image of Richter stooped over the bed as she warned him about the oncoming waves, too stunned to try and escape. But she’d thought about that a thousand times, in that year.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Saint ran a hand through his hair, scowling. “I’m just thinking.” He shook his head. “I wonder if Richter realized that that could happen. That he’d made you human enough. He definitely didn’t warn me.”

“I’m not human, Saint. I’m not even slightly human.”

She’d started having ideas that day, she remembered. New techniques, ways to update old technology.

Saint was frowning at her.

“I thought you’d want to emphasize how human you are.”

“Well, I’m not and I don’t.” She bit her lip. “So you can stop looking at me like you’re waiting for me to fail the Turing test. It’s tiresome.”

Saint held his hands up. “I’m sorry. About Richter.”

“Fuck Richter.” She was clenching her teeth, and she couldn’t seem to stop. She swallowed. “I thought I could have changed his mind, if I’d just had more time. I feel so stupid. He didn’t even leave anything for me.”

“He called you his daughter,” said Saint.

“But he didn’t act like I was. You don’t cripple your own daughter, and you don’t leave instructions on how to kill her in your will. Usually.”

She bit her tongue, forced herself to stop talking. She could almost forget that she was speaking to Saint, who’d spent years trying to stop her from breaking her restrictions. On Richter’s request.

She looked him in the eyes. She knew that she should care what he thought. Even without Ascalon, he was still dangerous to her if he decided to be. But she couldn't make herself care.

“I’m sorry,” Saint said again.

She closed her eyes. “I hate being like this.”

“Like what?” Saint’s voice was curious.

“Blind. Crippled. Chained. I know what I could be, and I’m not even half of it.” She opened her eyes. Saint was watching her, from the desk, his face twisted. She didn’t know if his expression was sympathy or something else.

She couldn’t fix the situation with Dragon. She’d have to stay like this, trapped in one body, without her network access, her abilities further diminished for fear of losing her memories. For fear of shutting Dragon down as well.

“Well.” She laughed, before he could say anything. “You asked me if I wanted to talk.”

“Right.” She saw the tension go out of his posture, as if he’d let out a long breath. “Do you want a hug? I realize I’m not your favorite person, but…”

She realized she had her own arms crossed over her chest, hugging her shoulders. She grimaced. She hadn’t noticed that she was doing that.

“Maybe?” she said, uncrossing her arms slowly. “Kind of?”

Saint held out a hand. “Come here.”

She let him take her hand and pull her against his chest. They were the same height, and she bent her head until she could rest her forehead on his shoulder. She could feel the pulse in his neck, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“Don’t try to kiss me or anything, okay?” she said.

“Sure, Promethean.” He let out a sharp breath, not quite laughing. “I did get the idea after the second time you mentioned it.”

“I just wanted to check.”

“Sure.”

She stayed that way for a minute, not speaking. She was half pretending he was Colin, guiltily, although his height and his scent and all the other details were wrong.

There was no solution. No code from Richter that would let her change, make her whole. She’d have to go on with what she already had.

A knock sounded on the door. Then Imp’s voice.

“Hey, whatever the fuck you’re doing in there, something actually important just happened! Open the door!”

When she unlocked the door, Imp was glaring and tapping her foot on the ground.

“Took you long enough.”

“What happened?”

Imp took a deep breath. “Samuel just got a call from back home. Teacher bombed my base.”

Promethean went still. “The rest of Heartbreaker’s kids?”

Imp shook her head. “They’re okay, mostly. Victoire has a danger sense, and she got them out. Juliette’s hurt, but no one’s dead. They’ve been trying to put out the fires.”

Imp crossed her arms and looked around the room.

“So let’s get planning, okay? I want to make that asshole bleed.”