Then I head for the nearest transit station, every step ringing with the same thought, over and over:
If she has wired that device into her own nervous system, I am going to kill her.
After I make sureitdoes not kill her first.
CHAPTER 5
LYN
I couldn't just leta problem like that lie.
Sure…I tried. I went out for beers with Riley and I drank water like a good girl.
I laughed, I hung out, I forced my shoulders to fucking sink. I even let myself feel tired, the good kind of tired that usually meant I’d sleep hard and wake up clear-headed. I did not need to go back to the lab. Idid not need to go back to the lab.
…I needed to go back to the lab.
I’mon my wayback to the lab.
This is the quality that makes me both a great scientistandan obnoxious asshole. The trait that landed me in infinite timeouts as a kid, but also in the most prestigious graduate programs in the galaxy.
I do not let go.
And I’m not letting go of this. Not now.
No one stops me as I go back to Engineering and swipe my keycard, and security doesn’t say a word as I return to the lab. My card works, the little green light on the lock chiming to life. That alone is enough to convince me Rhyss didn’t actually want to keep me out.
Resting was a suggestion, right? And it isn’t like rest is really possible when my thoughts are racing at about a mile a minute.
The lab has this midnight quiet I love, a stillness that lends itself to intense focus. No sound creeps in from outside…barely even any light. My station is waiting for me, beckoning me back like,Hey—hey Lyn. We’re gonna figure this out so fuckin’ fast, you’ve got this.My computer comes to life at my fingertips, screen flickering, and I can’t deny the sense of relief that comes with actually being able to work.
I access the data, crack my knuckles.
I’m just going tolook.
The spike from earlier sits there, a wound in my otherwise flawless readings. I scroll through the logs, making sure I actually pulled the right input every time and that I didn’t fuck anything up the night before. Nope…it’s all correct. Neurological data from real pain, translated into something I can feed into my computer.
“It should have worked,” I mutter to myself. “What the hell did I do wrong?”
I glance over at the hardware I’ve been working so hard on, connected to a bunch of small wires, just…waiting. It’s right there, ready to go. Itworkedfor those first few tests. I was right on the verge of figuring all this out, then I got totally sidelined by faulty inputs.
But live subjects don’t provide faulty input.
It would be a textbook mistake, wouldn’t it? Mad scientist shit. I can’t get the thing to work…so I try it on myself. It’s the classic downfall of every H.G. Wells hero, every Mary Shelley villain.
It would be so fucking stupid to do this.
But.
But.
…a pinprick couldn’t hurt, right?
I carefully pick up the translator, gingerly holding it in my fingers. I’ve been manhandling it for months, but now…now is the moment of truth. Now is the moment when I’m going from theoretical to factual.
I press it to my temple; take the wired pad and attach that beneath my ear.
Then I exhale into the mic on my computer, pressing record…because even if I am absolutely not supposed to be doing this, there’s no fucking way I’m not going to record the results.
