Despite Orbit Tower II having a massive parking lot surrounded by a nearly 30-foot-high gray wall, Adam and Vicky had to leave the blue compact car parked outside, across the avenue.

  The parking meter bot detected them leaving the building and waited by the car. Adam entered the code on the robot’s terminal to deduct the small fee from his account and slid into the driver’s seat.

  He started the 909, pulled onto the avenue, and only then broke the silence.

  “Do you think…?”

  “No,” she interrupted. “There was no way we were walking out of there with laurels on our heads. I told you, the Satellites catching up to us—or to me—was inevitable from the moment I first set foot in this country.”

  “I was gonna ask if you think these people know about the Binary Project.”

  “Oh. That? I have no idea.”

  “Well, you heard that bull in a tux spouting off about nomenclatures and radiation levels. The guy’s a walking encyclopedia! He must know I’ve got the mark of a science experiment stamped right on my butt. Otherwise, what was all that about ‘seeing what’s in my genes’?”

  “Hang on, dear. The numbers he rattled off could’ve been last week’s lottery results for all we know, and neither of us can fact-check him.”

  “I know,” Adam said, gripping the wheel. “But think about it. How did we find out about the project?”

  “Through those old files,” Vicky said, trying to guess where he was headed.

  “Exactly. The files Juzo carried were copies, and they were destroyed that night while we were running from Broga. Could any folder have survived and somehow ended up with these guys?”

  “Highly unlikely,” she said.

  “Yeah, but a lot of things are unlikely until they’re not,” Adam countered. “On the other hand, the original files are still intact and in the hands of your country’s Military. Though I remember your friend—Pablo Rigel, was it?” The name had surfaced in Adam’s mind as if Juzo had whispered it to him. “I know Rigel got rid of the pages that implicated Juzo and me. So, technically, no one should know Juzo and I are part of the project or that we’re… clones. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  Vicky felt a chill run through her, as sharp as when Adam had mentioned Broga and Brun in his sleep. She had never disclosed what Juzo had confessed to her. So how much did Adam actually know about the project? If he knew he was a clone, did he also know Broga’s true identity under the A60 disguise?

  Adam’s eyes were on her, waiting for an answer. “Well…?”

  Vicky shook her head.

  “Yeah, yeah, Pablo hid your names,” she said, clearing her throat. “But if one day you find blueprints to build an android that shoots white fire, and later you meet one, it doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots.”

  “Exactly. Which brings us to the next question: how often do your country’s Military and the Satellites share notes?”

  “I doubt they do,” she replied. Before he could fire another question, she stopped him. “Wait, Adam. Why is it so important to know if these people are aware of the project?”

  Adam sighed. “Because if they know, maybe they can tell me what’s gonna happen to me,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “The clones before Juzo and me… they all ended up reduced to ash and fire. I need to know if that… if that’s gonna happen to me too.”

  Vicky reached for his hand, trying to give him a reassurance she didn’t fully feel.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “I’m sure that won’t happen to you.”

  Adam nodded. “Yeah, well…” He let out another long sigh. “It’s awful living in uncertainty.”

  “Only when you have just a little of it,” she murmured, almost to herself. “If you have it in abundance, it loses its power to keep you up at night, you know? It becomes this sort of cushion you can mold to fit your head. You think about it today, maybe tomorrow you don’t… the day after, perhaps. The alternative is paranoia or madness.”

  Adam cracked a small smile, easing some of the tension in his face.

  “Soldier, detective, nurse, and now philosopher,” he teased. “So many talents, and yet your analogies still suck.”

  Vicky smiled back.

  But the cloud in Adam’s expression soon returned, and his hands tightened on the wheel.

  “I’m worried about the radiation I’m emitting,” he admitted.

  “Easy, easy,” she said. “I haven’t heard of any cases of Kappa radiation poisoning, if that makes you feel better.”

  “No offense, Vicky, but until today, you thought Kappa radiation was only detectable in specific geographic areas. Now you find out it’s emitted by a rock—and by the idiot driving this car. I guess it’s something like the Eddanian charm you told me about, but with Kappa radiation instead of Tau, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah… well…” Vicky didn’t really know what to say. “It makes sense now that I think about it, yeah. Just like the… delightful Halstein said, there was a time when I did recon work for the army. I used to map out Distortion Focus and catalog them.”

  “No wonder you know so much about them,” Adam remarked.

  “Right. Anyway, if you looked at a Kappa Point through a quantum spectrometer, you’d see its electromagnetic spectrum is white—same as your Fotias,” she said.

  “And like my dumb last name,” he added. “The good thing is, they’re not going to deport you, right? Not for now. Are you happy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was hoping for a little more excitement.”

  “Yes,” she repeated, raising her fist but with the same lackluster spirit as before. “I’m curious to see what these people will do after analyzing that rock,” she said, and leaned back in her seat. “The Satellite Agency already has a neurotoxin in their arsenal that suppresses the serum we Grenadiers carry in our blood—something similar to what the Imperialists use to de-Grenadier a soldier. Maybe they’re trying to study the rock to replicate the suppressive effect Kappa radiation has on any Enhanced Fluctuating Discharge. Can you imagine? That way, they wouldn’t need to inject anyone with neurotoxins or rip out implants. Just exposing someone to a radiation emitter could strip them of their powers. They could incapacitate an entire squad of Grenadiers without lifting a finger.”

  Adam glanced at her.

  “You think Halstein’s goal is to give the Imperialists an ultimatum? Threaten them with those emitters? Like, force them to abandon their tyranny or something?”

  “No. I wasn’t imagining something so noble… or invasive. More like something opportunistic and heartless—selling the secrets of Kappa radiation to the Imperialists. The Imperial Council would sacrifice their own mothers for intel that valuable. Think about it: by placing emitters in strategic locations, they could deal with deserters who still have their powers—like me—without needing to confront them directly.”

  “Yeah, that does sound more likely,” Adam agreed. “Hey, if I’m apparently a human antenna emitting Kappa radiation… I remember you said it makes people bleed from the ears, right? Shouldn’t you be bleeding right now?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe that depends on how charged you are. Do you remember if Simon and I bled that night in your loft?”

  “No… not clearly. Honestly, when I’m, y’know, on, I don’t remember much of anything. It’s like I’m not even myself.”

  Vicky touched her chin thoughtfully. “It’d be interesting to see if you can alter my discharges. Even more interesting to see what happens if you’re hit by a Fotia… just a small one, of course.”

  “I don’t like the enthusiasm in your voice,” he said.

  “Relax, I’ll be gentler with you than Kitty was,” she teased, winking. Reaching into the back seat, she pulled out a duffel bag.

  “And that is…?”

  “Comfy clothes.” Vicky patted the bag. “And my Daedalus jetpack.”

  “And that’s for…?”

  “You asked me to train you; now’s the time. Let’s head out to the desert, beyond Proxima, like last time.”

  To her surprise, Adam nodded with a knowing smile and took the highway out of the city. A bit of exercise might help him forget, at least for a while, the weight of so much uncertainty.