Nova Read Free

into his tip-pad, his fingernails as precise as a surgeon’s scalpels. He saves the file and codes it into an identity chit the size of my pinky. Loading it into a small insertion gun, he holds out his left hand, palm up. A silent request for my hand, I realize after a second.
    Touching him is the last thing I want to do, but I give him my hand anyway, this time prepared for the rush of fear and adrenaline the contact brings. Taking my hand, he turns it over and staples the chit into my palm, right into the fleshy part at the base of my thumb. The metal spikes sink into my skin, and I jump as the chit’s biometal filaments unfurl and spread up through my palm to twine themselves into the nerves of my fingers.
    “Did that hurt?” Rowan asks with a frown, releasing my hand and absently fingering his own chit.
    I cock my head at the question, thinking.
Did
it hurt? The sensation was so brief, I can’t place it. Finally, I shake my head. “You just surprised me.”
    “Sorry,” he apologizes. “All right, Lia. You’ve been temporarily assigned a cot in Cargo Bay 8A. You can use your ID chit to get food in the cafeteria, and here’s your sleeping kit. We hope to get everyone a change of clothes within the next couple days, but for now you’ll have to make do with what you have from the transport.” He shrugs apologetically at my plain gray jumpsuit, then hands me a bedroll wrapped around a towel and toiletry kit. Gesturing toward the entranceway, he offers a few final tips. “The nearest cafeteria is in the main hub, that’s here, along the yellow ring on Level Five, and the cargo bay where you’re assigned is along the red ring on Level Eight. We’ve posted a map right outside the bay so it shouldn’t be hard to find. For now, we’re asking that you stay . . .”
    *36:00:00*
    The clock activates so suddenly in my mind, my head involuntarily jerks a bit to the side. The fog vanishes, dissipated in an instant as though it never was. Memories come slotting into place, their edges sharp enough to leave furrows in my mind, and suddenly I know. I know exactly who I am.
    My name is Lia Johansen, and I was named for a prisoner of war. She lived in the Tiersten Internment Colony for two years, and when they negotiated the return of the prisoners, I was given her memories and sent back in her place.
    And I am a genetically engineered human bomb.

2 RELIEF POURS THROUGH ME AS the last crystal-clear memory clinks into place. After weeks of being enslaved under a cloud of confusion, of second-guessing every thought and double-checking every memory, I am free. My mind clear and my identity assured; my purpose—unquestionable. Even my fears are not so powerful now that I understand them. I stand in the enemy’s camp, a genetically engineered human bomb created from some scientist’s DNA. All around me are people who would destroy me if only they knew they should, while in front of me stands the man who could reveal me with a touch. No wonder the sight of him was enough to make me panic.
    “. . . can be confusing at first,” PsyLt. Rowan is saying, his voice sounding far away to my negligent ear, “but remember that the levels—”
    *35:59:59*
    “—have been coded into four sectors—red, yellow, green, and blue—”
    *35:59:58*
    “—which each correspond to one of the quadrants of the hub. So if—”
    *35:59:57*
    “—you get lost, just look at the floor. Do you understand, Lia? Lia?” He reaches out a hand toward me.
    Don’t let him touch you, don’t let him touch you, don’t let him touch you!
    Attention snapping back to the world around me, I jump back just in time to avoid his hand. “I’ve got it,” I quickly affirm. “Thanks. For everything. I think I can manage.”
    Even as his brow furrows in concern, I am already nodding and stepping away toward the bay entrance. I shiver, recognizing just how close I came to being discovered. With the memory overlay shattered and my true memory restored, all