The Lost Children of Andromeda: 2052 Ends With Z

Chapter 4

ALLISTER ADAMS

Ground Zero, Former Capitol Hill, the District

Day 215

Allister eyed the stranger, wary of her intention.

"Me? Allister Adams? Uh...depends on who's asking," he said.

"Well, it's not me asking," the woman answered. "I already know."

He opened his mouth.

"Stay here," she said.

His mouth snapped shut. Who is this Alpha gen and how do they know my name? he thought.

To him, it all felt wrong. Every passing moment was proof that his mom had been right about why he needed to lay low. He watched the woman closely, suspicious of everything that had gone on since his ride on the A.E.T. Trac. She didn't appear worried about him as she moved along the doors she'd dragged him through, considering whatever was beyond them. The siblings perhaps.

"Where are we?" Allister asked, looking over the interior, then back at her.

She tapped her chin but didn't answer.

They were in a musty, vacant foyer surrounded by manufacturing equipment. Welding stations and mass-production-style machines sat next to large engine parts, detached aircraft wings, and loose metal shavings. The facility appeared to be either temporarily shut down or recently abandoned.

Once again, he lifted his wrist and held it there, hesitating to speak, Call Mom, into his Cynque. And once again, he second-guessed the idea and dropped his arm without saying it.

"Look...I don't know why you were giving me eyes on the A.E.T. Trac. But I'm a little triggered right now because you know my whole name and your eyes light up."

"Mm-hmm," the woman said.

She passed him on her way back from the double doors and stopped at the wall behind him.

"If I get mixed up in some mega EV stuff, I'm toast—"

"Hush, will you," she interrupted.

Without looking, she traced her hand along the wall next to them, only stopping when she found a digital panel. One tap of her finger and it sprang to holographic life.

He narrowed his eyes at her bare, slender wrist.

The woman wasn't cynqued.

Everyone was supposed to be cynqued.

"Okay, pause. Who are you?" Allister asked. He pointed at the flesh-toned scar peeking above her sleeve, the place where the wires would've invaded. "Why aren't you cynqued?"

Sunset Turtleneck, as Allister had nicknamed her, punched in a long code, her lips pursed in confidence. The door's windows lightened to reveal the street.

"You're an Evolutionary, yeah? Is that why?" he pressed. "You with C20?" He a step forward, waiting for a response. Nothing came. "Uh, you keen to answer or you just—"

Sunset Turtleneck held up her palm and shot him a glare as she returned to the doors. She moved along the row of them, almost dancing between each window, back and forth and back again.

"They're still out there, waiting for you," she said.

"Who's they?" he asked.

"Depends on who's asking," she quipped. She, now facing the street, leaned closer to the glass, then answered, "They...is C20. More specifically, the Density Twins. I suspect you have something they want"—she glanced down at his feet and back to the window in one fluid motion—"though I imagine it's not your shoes..."