first. But when they sense you’ve
Sparked
, yes. For now, they’ll come if they’ve registered my breach in protocol.” She touches the back of her neck. “My tracker is overdue for an upgrade, it’s almost completely dissolved. They didn’t respond after the alley so there’s a chance they might not register the breach.”
Tiny white stars pop in my peripheral vision and I’m picturing a futuristic laboratory, bodies on slabs, scientists in white masks with lethal hypodermic needles. An alarm going off and heads turning to flashing red computer screens. A breach! Men in black with laser guns leaping into hover cars. Behind Miriam’s head the cupboard doors begin to pulsate.
“The tracker relays my signal to their database. It tells them where I am, if I’ve bonded with a
Spark
, deactivated a
Stray
, or if I’m injured and in need of medical attention. It also picks up on illegal terminology. Red flags. You hit enough demerits you’ll get a call from your
Watcher
. Hence the whispering, not that volume probably makes much difference. If my tracker were at full strength, I could scramble the speech receptor with a magnet.” She makes an impatient noise in her throat and rubs her face again. “Screw it. There’s too much to explain. If they call, I’ll say I was deliberately using illegal terms to get their attention.”
I barely notice Miriam’s sudden resolve. My head feels cavernous, vaulted ceilings of echoing space. You’d think with all that ballooning room the important questions could form a civilised line, biggest to smallest, from
Why God, why?
to
Do we get uniforms?
Instead, I blurt, “It’s in your neck?”
“Base of my skull. When it’s at full strength it feels like a small pea-sized lump beneath the skin.”
I feel squeamish and she says something about nano-tech and dissolving amino-acids and the stars turn supernova around me.
“Put your head between your knees.” She catches me by the shoulders. I was slumping sideways? Next I’m bent double, drooling on my charcoal silk, eyes watering at grooves in the floorboards and the scarlet enamel on my naked toes. Blood rushes in my ears. “I’m sorry.”
She rubs gentle maternal circles on my back. “I know. It’s a lot to take in.”
The clatter of the cat door, paws padding the floor, then the nudge of a soft furry skull. Buffy purrs in my ear, rubbing her whiskers against me. I want to bury my face in her fur and sob. Pressure swells my lips and face. I mumble, “Who are they, though? What do they want?”
“They were a paramilitary operation that specialised in biotechnology, genetic engineering, private security. Things got messy and then there was a change in management. Now they want to right their experimental wrongs.”
I leap at the hint of blame. “So, it’s
their
fault I’m like this and Kitty’s in danger? Affinity
made
the Stray?”
“They weren’t always the Stray. They were Strikers. Optimal amplifies the natural affinity of those with Active Frequency Sensitivity for defence or attack. The Stray are a result of a mutation in those with the attack affinity.”
I groan, no better for asking. Probably worse. Overwhelmed, my mind goes blank again. I flap my hand, bonelessly weak. “I’m bleeding.” The stain has seeped right through the bandage across my palm.
“Damn. Hold on.” She rises from the table and I tilt my head a little, catching a blur of staggering speed as she disappears up the hall, scaring Buffy who darts away to hide in the living room. Goosebumps prickle my arms and legs. A cupboard hinge squeaks through the ceiling, heavy things shift and shush over the wood floor, a pause then the whisper of movement in the hall. She’s back in the kitchen with a brown leather case and I’ve had no time to gather a coherent thought. “Keep your head down.”
“You’re so fast,” I whisper.
“Yes.” She moves above me, unzipping the case on the table. The rustle of plastic packaging,
Sparked
, yes. For now, they’ll come if they’ve registered my breach in protocol.” She touches the back of her neck. “My tracker is overdue for an upgrade, it’s almost completely dissolved. They didn’t respond after the alley so there’s a chance they might not register the breach.”
Tiny white stars pop in my peripheral vision and I’m picturing a futuristic laboratory, bodies on slabs, scientists in white masks with lethal hypodermic needles. An alarm going off and heads turning to flashing red computer screens. A breach! Men in black with laser guns leaping into hover cars. Behind Miriam’s head the cupboard doors begin to pulsate.
“The tracker relays my signal to their database. It tells them where I am, if I’ve bonded with a
Spark
, deactivated a
Stray
, or if I’m injured and in need of medical attention. It also picks up on illegal terminology. Red flags. You hit enough demerits you’ll get a call from your
Watcher
. Hence the whispering, not that volume probably makes much difference. If my tracker were at full strength, I could scramble the speech receptor with a magnet.” She makes an impatient noise in her throat and rubs her face again. “Screw it. There’s too much to explain. If they call, I’ll say I was deliberately using illegal terms to get their attention.”
I barely notice Miriam’s sudden resolve. My head feels cavernous, vaulted ceilings of echoing space. You’d think with all that ballooning room the important questions could form a civilised line, biggest to smallest, from
Why God, why?
to
Do we get uniforms?
Instead, I blurt, “It’s in your neck?”
“Base of my skull. When it’s at full strength it feels like a small pea-sized lump beneath the skin.”
I feel squeamish and she says something about nano-tech and dissolving amino-acids and the stars turn supernova around me.
“Put your head between your knees.” She catches me by the shoulders. I was slumping sideways? Next I’m bent double, drooling on my charcoal silk, eyes watering at grooves in the floorboards and the scarlet enamel on my naked toes. Blood rushes in my ears. “I’m sorry.”
She rubs gentle maternal circles on my back. “I know. It’s a lot to take in.”
The clatter of the cat door, paws padding the floor, then the nudge of a soft furry skull. Buffy purrs in my ear, rubbing her whiskers against me. I want to bury my face in her fur and sob. Pressure swells my lips and face. I mumble, “Who are they, though? What do they want?”
“They were a paramilitary operation that specialised in biotechnology, genetic engineering, private security. Things got messy and then there was a change in management. Now they want to right their experimental wrongs.”
I leap at the hint of blame. “So, it’s
their
fault I’m like this and Kitty’s in danger? Affinity
made
the Stray?”
“They weren’t always the Stray. They were Strikers. Optimal amplifies the natural affinity of those with Active Frequency Sensitivity for defence or attack. The Stray are a result of a mutation in those with the attack affinity.”
I groan, no better for asking. Probably worse. Overwhelmed, my mind goes blank again. I flap my hand, bonelessly weak. “I’m bleeding.” The stain has seeped right through the bandage across my palm.
“Damn. Hold on.” She rises from the table and I tilt my head a little, catching a blur of staggering speed as she disappears up the hall, scaring Buffy who darts away to hide in the living room. Goosebumps prickle my arms and legs. A cupboard hinge squeaks through the ceiling, heavy things shift and shush over the wood floor, a pause then the whisper of movement in the hall. She’s back in the kitchen with a brown leather case and I’ve had no time to gather a coherent thought. “Keep your head down.”
“You’re so fast,” I whisper.
“Yes.” She moves above me, unzipping the case on the table. The rustle of plastic packaging,
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