And that’s a problem. Multiple problems. No helmets means less protection from the MAW device, assuming part two of my plan works and I can figure out how to get the dampeners turned off. But it’s worse than that, too. My hope had been to liberate a suit and helmet from a security team member for Kane. Then it would be just three anonymous suited people in the tunnel, three people who would likely be assumed to be security team members, bringing over the dead or reclaimed personal items to back up Verux’s version of events. But without helmets, Reed and I will be immediately identifiable if we try to cross back over toAres.
“Damnit,” I mutter. I give the helmet one last desperate yank, but the clunk of metal and plastic against wood is as unforgiving as it sounds.
I have to let it go.
So I do, but the helmet falling away from my fingertips feels like surrendering. Like accepting our fate before we’ve even begun to fight.
I glare in at Reed, as if this development is his fault. Which, in theory, it kind of is because all of this is his fault. His and Verux’s.
Behind me, Kane paces restlessly in the hallway. I don’t want him to wander off. It’s so dark out here, without my helmet light, but I can hear his movements, the soft whisper of his boots against the plush carpeting.
At least, I hope it’s him.
I push that thought down with a shudder. It’s not real. None of it. It’s just a trick, feelings and sensations created by a machine.
“Come on,” I say to Reed, more of a challenge than an invitation. Because if it was hard for me to give up my helmet for practical reasons, Reed will surely only go that route kicking and screaming.
He disappears from view for a moment, but before I can whisper-yell at him, he’s back. Minus his helmet but carrying the dying work light from the LINA. He must have pulled it from the mattresses where Kane or Nysus stuck it.
It’s not much light, but it’s better than nothing.
I raise my eyebrows in reluctant respect. So, he’s not completely useless then.
As if he can read my thoughts, Reed gives me a haughty sneer.
Fine. Whatever.
I step back as he works to squeeze himself through. “Here, give me the light,” I say.
But he refuses, locking his fingers tight around the dimming oval. Talk about a petty grasp for control.
As soon as he’s free, though, I understand why.
He immediately turns away from us—away from the bridge—and starts hauling ass toward the bulkhead doors and the spiral staircase to the atrium.
I have to run to catch up to him, the empty arms of my enviro suit flapping against my legs and hips.
When I’m even with him, I push him into the wall. He stumbles over his own feet, still clumsy in the suit but not as much as he was with the helmet on.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand, my voice straining with the need to be quiet against the desire to shout.
Once he regains his footing, he shoves back at me. But I’m expecting it, and it does little to move me.
“This is my mission, my assignment,” he snarls. “I am taking back control.” He straightens up. His hand drifts up unconsciously as if to adjust the tie he’s not wearing, or—I belatedly realize—his damn Verux generation pin.
I gape at him. “Did you miss the part where they’re planning to kill us?”
He opens his mouth to respond, but I cut him off. “No, forget that. How about the part whereyour death specificallyis meant to sell their version of events?”
“My father is an executive at the highest level of—”
“Which is exactly why Verux needs you to die here,” I point out. “Besides, you’re not getting out of here alive. Max will make sure of that. You’re his fucking replacement.”
Reed blinks rapidly, his expression going slack, as if that idea had not occurred to him.
“And these people, the security teams, they don’t give a shit who your father is. They’ve already committed to the cause, for money, for benefits for their family, whatever. Your dad may not have signed off on your death, but I bet someone at Verux did. And if you get in the way, you’re one more obstacle to them getting whatever it is they’ve already decided is worth dying for.”
His eyes narrow at me. “You just don’t want me to go to them because then they’ll know you’re out,” he says.
