I smile weakly. “Edo, I told you, please just call me Ryn.”
“It is a form of respect, Citadel. Like the great castles and fortresses on your Earth, you do so much to keep us safe. Citadels are our greatest defense and it is my job to make sure that you do not become a ruin.” Edo checks the electronic pad in her hands and looks at my IV bag. “Though I must say, there are times when you make that increasingly difficult.”
I look at the clock on the wall. It’s almost one. I have been out for hours. Not good. “Then why don’t I call you Doctor Edo, or Nurse Edo, or … What are you, again?”
“Because there is no name for what I am in your language,” she answers kindly. “But if it makes you more comfortable I will simply call you Ryn.” Edo squeezes my shoulders lightly. I feel the pressure of her cold, hard hands, but it is not unpleasant.
“You always say that, but then you forget.” She gives me a look that says in a million years she would not forget anything, and I sigh. “How bad is it?”
“Not bad at all. A little concussion. We’ve given you medicine and the swelling is gone. Your brain is back to normal. We put you to sleep so that you could heal.” Edo once again looks at the silver pad in her hands. She could be checking my vitals, but because she is a Roone and the implants were designed by them, I am almost positive she is checking to make sure the chip is functioning at full capacity. I reach back and feel a small metal disk the size of quarter, which is magnetized to attach to my implant. “If I keep getting these little concussions I’m going to turn into one of those football players who goes off the deep end one day.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about. But we have repaired all the damage done to the tissue around the concussed area. It’s as if it never happened, and your implant …” Edo smiles, but the smile is weird, off somehow.
“What about my implant?” I ask, immediately sitting up.
“It’s fine. I promise.” Edo’s smile is genuine this time. I can’t say why, but I know she is not being totally honest with me. I am an expert in detecting even the barest hint of a lie, and my experiences at The Rift have meant my expertise is not limited to humans. I would push, but I know that I would never get a straight answer. Most Roones remind me of robots. Since they are responsible for the chip that created the Citadels, I am naturally resentful of them. Edo, though, is unlike others of her kind. She is warm and even funny. Still, she is not different enough to confide in me. Instead, I take that one moment when she let me see something in her face that I shouldn’t have, and file it away for later.
I pull the magnetized disk off my neck and hold it in my hands. It just looks like a shiny, round piece of metal to me. I examine it for a second or two before handing it back to Edo. She takes the disk and attaches it to her pad.
“My team?” I ask, stretching my back.
“Training. But you are not going with them today. I have put you on twelve hours of bed rest. You can do that here or at home. Your choice.”
“Oh my God. Home for sure. No offense.” I grin.
Edo looks at me warmly. “You did well today, Citadel Ryn. You killed at least three Karekins. No one from our side was seriously injured. A victory.” Edo does not sound victorious.
“Today, yes,” I concede. “But what about tomorrow? What about when five hundred come through—or five thousand? What then? And why? Why haven’t we been able to get any intel on their agenda? Why isn’t everyone more freaked out about what’s happening with them?” I try to sound logical—Roones don’t deal well with too much emotion—but I’m sure there’s a ton of frustration in my voice.
“I don’t have an answer to those questions, though they are good ones,” Edo says carefully.
“Come on,” I say, sitting up straighter and giving her a level stare. “The Karekins must have a way of navigating The Rift, of passing information through it. If that’s the case, then why isn’t every single person on this base—and every other base, for that matter—working their asses off to figure that out? If they did, wouldn’t that mean you could go home?”
Edo takes a step away from me and hugs the pad closer to her chest. “I do not think about home anymore. It is pointless and painful. Words, explanations, reasons—none of those things help when tragedy strikes. We just do what we can to continue. To survive.” Edo sighs and it sounds like a rush of wings. She steps closer to me. “I am sorry, Citadel Ryn. For the pain that you feel today and every day. I truly am. Why don’t you get some rest for a little while longer and then you can leave with your team?” Without waiting for me to say anything in return, Edo walks out the door.
AS VI IS DRIVING ME and Abel home in my car, I feel almost 100 percent, apart from a slight headache that could have nothing to do with the fighting. The conversation I had with Edo is still with me. There was something about it that wasn’t right, but since it is only my intuition guiding that feeling, I don’t feel confident in sharing my thoughts with Violet or anyone else on the team. I don’t even know what I would say to them because I’m not sure if Edo was lying or if she was, in fact, trying to hint at something else—though what that could be, I can’t imagine. Something about my implant? We get to our house and Abel gives Violet a funny look. “Aren’t we going to drop you off first?” he asks. Man, he’s observant for a teenage boy.
“Nah. I’m going to walk home. I know Ryn has a bunch of work she needs to do by tomorrow. I think she wants to get a jump on it.” I roll my eyes. Violet is mothering me. She wants me to get to bed after the day I’ve had, but I feel fine. It’s also a terrible lie—I cringe at how lame it sounds. But Abel just shrugs, says good-bye, and runs into the house.
Violet lives less than half a mile away from us. If she runs, she’ll be home in less than two minutes. I feel antsy. I don’t want to go inside just yet. “I’m going to walk with you.”
“Ryn …” she starts.
“I need the air. I know I’m supposed to be resting, but as long as you don’t mind not running, I think it’ll be fine.”
“I think you already know I’m fine with not running,” Violet says, not bothering to hide the exasperation in her voice.
“Good,” I tell her as I head toward the direction of her house. We live in a quiet, leafy part of Battle Ground called Meadow Glade. It’s early in the season, so the leaves have not yet turned. Vi is unusually quiet.
“I’m sorry again, about the crack I made about you and Boone. It was shitty.”
Violet shrugs. “It was. But it was also true. There’s a part of me that’s glad you said it out loud. Somebody had to.” More silence. A couple cars and a kid on a bike pass us. “Do you think you’ll ever get it removed?”
I bite my lip, unsure of what to say. I know that I have to say something, just to make my friend feel better, but she wouldn’t want my real answer.
“Well, if I make it to thirty, I might,” I lie to her. We were told that at thirty, we could have our chips removed and go on and live a normal life. Settle down. Get married. Have kids. It’s a wonderful dream to sell us. But I know I will never take it out. First of all, I doubt I am going to make it to thirty. Even if I do, I would be so totally messed up from doing this job that I am positive I would be a crap wife and an even worse mom. I would worry all the time about The Rift, but without my enhanced abilities, I would have no way of defending my white-picket-fence