Replica

CHAPTER THREE

After the unpleasant meeting with his father and Mosely, Nate hoped to go home and get his thoughts lined up, but of course things were never so easy when you were the Chairman Heir of a powerful corporate state. So instead of having time to rest and recuperate, he found himself running a gauntlet of press conferences, interviews, and debriefings.

The press asked the most intrusive and obnoxious questions, of course, focusing on the lurid details and constantly asking him how he felt about everything. He’d been Chairman Heir all his life, so Nate was used to the media circus. That didn’t mean he liked it, and as the day wore on, his responses grew rather more abrupt than was politically wise. When he got asked for what felt like the thousandth time how he felt about having been murdered and brought back to life as a Replica, he snapped.

“How the fuck do you think I feel?” he snarled, then batted the microphone out of his way, fighting the temptation to shove it down the reporter’s throat.

Nate’s press secretary gave him a dark look as his security detail tried to confiscate all the cameras that had caught his little indiscretion for posterity. Nate put the odds at fifty-fifty that the film would wind up on the net anyway.

Screw it. He might be a Replica, but he wasn’t a machine, and there was only so much shit he was prepared to swallow.

He left the press conference only to find a cluster of demonstrators waiting for him at the Fortress’s front entrance. The entrance was sealed off with a double set of gates, and the security forces were keeping the protesters well away from the gates and the street, but that didn’t stop Nate from seeing the signs being waved as his limo pulled out.

REPLICAS AREN’T PEOPLE.

ABOMINATION!

THE DEAD SHOULD STAY DEAD!

YOU WILL BURN IN HELL!

He suspected some of the stuff they were screaming and chanting was even worse, though he couldn’t make out the words. The protest was peaceful enough, and there was no sign that the crowd wanted to fight past the barricade and rush the limo, but their anger was a palpable force. Nate tried to look straight ahead and ignore it all, but it was still a shock to the senses.

Nate was used to being well liked. Even his scandalous behavior was usually treated as roguish charm by the press and the public. The vehemence of the crowd’s anger was more than a little unsettling, though perhaps he should have expected it. Even he had to admit that Replicas were a bit disturbing. The idea that anything he remembered in his entire life actually happened to someone else was going to drive him insane.

It was well past dark by the time he finally escaped and was able to drop the forced smile he’d been wearing all day. He still struggled with the idea that someone had actually stabbed him to death the night before. He could be an asshole sometimes, he knew that, but generally that wasn’t a crime punishable by death.

His bodyguards performed a thorough examination of his penthouse suite before allowing Nate to enter, but once he was inside, they retreated to the vestibule and he was finally able to close the door on the outside world. He had moved into the penthouse on his eighteenth birthday, a little more than six months ago. His father thought his eagerness to move out from under the same roof had been an act of rebellion, and it had. But more importantly, it had granted Nate the only modicum of privacy he was ever likely to have.

His knees feeling suddenly weak, his chest tight, Nate helped himself to a tumbler of expensive whiskey, closing his eyes and savoring the smooth burn as the alcohol slid down his throat. Technically, he was under the legal drinking age, but no one was going to refuse to sell to the Chairman Heir. His hands were shaking, his heart pounding. The pain and the panic he’d been fighting all day tried to swamp him as he finally had a chance to face them without an audience.

Nate gulped the rest of his whiskey, not caring that it was supposed to be sipped. He’d never developed a connoisseur’s palate, despite the expensive tastes he was expected to cultivate, and he didn’t make much of a distinction between the finest aged single malt and rotgut. They both contained alcohol, and that was all that mattered. He smiled tightly, thinking how his father sneered at his lowbrow tastes. The Chairman considered him to be about as cultured as a Basement-dweller, and Nate took pride in it.

The whiskey helped soothe away the panic attack, and Nate paced in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that fronted his living room, looking out at the twinkling lights of the city. He had a breathtaking view of what everyone still called the Empire State Building, despite the fact that it had been officially renamed the Paxco Headquarters Building. Usually, he appreciated the view, but tonight he was struck by how vast and dangerous the city was.

Kurt was out there somewhere, alone, hunted. Nate put his hand on the glass and closed his eyes, wishing he could sense Kurt’s presence, wishing some magic would flow into his body and show him where to find him. Surely, Kurt would contact him eventually, would reach out for the help only someone of Nate’s station could offer. All Nate had to do was wait and be ready when the time came.

He’d feel a lot more ready if he had some concrete plan for how he was going to help Kurt when he found him. Obviously, he would have to find some way to smuggle him out of Paxco. Even if Nate could find the real killer, Kurt would never be safe in Paxco again. He was supposed to be presumed innocent, but that wasn’t how things worked in the real world, and the stain would never wash off.

“Hurry up and contact me,” Nate whispered, as if willing Kurt to do it would actually make it happen.

Kurt had friends in the Basement, Nate reminded himself. Well, maybe calling them “friends” was a bit on the generous side, but he had connections. People who’d be willing to hide him and protect him from Mosely’s security forces, as long as he had money.

As soon as the thought hit him, hope surged in Nate’s chest. To survive in the Basement when he was being hunted, Kurt needed money. And Nate knew exactly where he could have gotten his hands on what he needed if he’d been daring enough to try for it.

Setting his empty glass down, he closed the drapes to protect from any unwanted watchers, then crossed to the bar with its impressive array of bottles and decanters. The floor of the bar was rich green marble, but the bar itself was of carved mahogany. Mahogany doors hid a minifridge from view, and beside the fridge was a decorative carved panel that looked like solid wood.

Nate felt along the sides of the panel until he found the little metal protuberance, then pushed. Something clicked, and the panel came loose in his hands. He laid the panel on the floor behind the bar, then peered into the thin vertical compartment the panel had hidden.

Ordinarily, the compartment held stacks of neatly banded hundred dollar bills. Real dollars, not company scrip. Scrip was the currency of choice for all legal transactions, and your ordinary Employee never laid eyes on a real dollar bill. But if you were going to spend any time in Debasement, you wanted the real thing. Oh, the black marketeers and sundry criminals in Debasement were perfectly happy to relieve you of your scrip, in epic quantities. But if you had real dollars, you could buy just about anything your heart desired. Without any official record of the transaction.

Nate, in his official capacity as Chairman Heir, had access to dollars that would make any Basement-dweller’s eyes gleam with greed, and he’d been squirreling them away ever since he’d gotten old enough to understand their significance. He and Kurt had always tapped into that supply whenever they’d made their illicit trips to Debasement together, so Kurt knew exactly where the stash was hidden.

His eyes told him that the hidden compartment was empty, but, like an idiot, Nate had to reach in there and feel around anyway. But no, there was not a single dollar bill left in the compartment. Which was good news. It meant that Kurt had enough money to buy his way out of Paxco. Human smuggling was big business in the Basement, and Kurt would know just who to contact.

The less heartening news was that Kurt hadn’t left anything for Nate. No note, no good-bye, no explanation. Kurt was a beginner at reading and writing—skills that weren’t highly prized in the Basement—but Nate had been steadily teaching him. Kurt could have managed a note, even if it would have been clumsily written and riddled with spelling errors.

For half a second, Nate wondered if he was being the most naive human being on the face of the planet. To anyone but Nate, the theft of all those dollars with no explanation would be evidence of the most damning kind.

Was there a chance Kurt was guilty?

Nate dismissed the thought. He didn’t care what anyone else thought. He knew Kurt, and Kurt hadn’t done this. He’d taken the money, but Nate could hardly blame him for that. Every second he’d spent at the apartment would have increased the danger that he would get caught. So Nate couldn’t hold it against him that he hadn’t taken the time to write out a letter of explanation.

But the thought that Kurt was now forever out of his reach, doomed to live the rest of his life in hiding, sat heavily on Nate’s shoulders. As did the realization that without Kurt’s account of what had happened on the night of his murder, Nate might never know who had really killed him.

By the time Mosely finally allowed Nadia to go home, the heat in her cheeks and the weakness in her knees told her she was running a fever, and she felt like she was at death’s door. When she was escorted down to the security station’s lobby, her mother was waiting for her, sitting rigidly on the edge of a straight-backed chair, her chin held high and her eyes flashing with fury as she worked to maintain her fabled aura of superiority. No doubt she’d been sitting in the station’s lobby all day, but you’d never be able to tell by looking at her. Her makeup was still perfect, her hair neatly coiffed, her clothes unwrinkled. Nadia didn’t even want to think about how she looked right now.

Apparently, she looked as wretched as she felt, because as soon as her mother caught sight of her, the anger in her expression eased and a hint of concern entered her eyes. Nadia wanted to fling herself into her mother’s arms and sob, but of course the daughter of a president would never dream of doing something so undignified in public. No, Nadia’s eyes were merely watering because she was sick and exhausted.

“Please take me home,” she begged before her mother could say anything. “I need to lie down.” She sniffled loudly, playing up her illness in hopes of staving off a maternal lecture. She was rewarded by even more softening of her mother’s expression.

“My poor baby,” Esmeralda Lake murmured, reaching up to touch the back of her hand to Nadia’s forehead. “You’re burning up.” She glared at the two officers who had escorted Nadia, her face conveying the impression that she would hold them personally responsible for Nadia’s illness. Nadia noticed that neither of the men would make eye contact with her mother, both shifting awkwardly where they stood, and she suppressed a smile. Esmeralda might derive her status from her husband’s rank rather than her own, but she knew how to wield that status to devastating effect. Even big, bold, alpha-male security officers squirmed on the receiving end of her displeasure. Now, if only Nadia could somehow keep all that displeasure from being aimed at her.

Her mother put an arm around Nadia’s shoulders, and it took everything Nadia had not to lean into her and let the tears loose. She was holding on to her self-control by the most fragile of threads. Nate had been murdered. Nadia had been questioned like a suspect, threatened with a stay at Riker’s Island. Bishop was running for his life. And she had allowed herself to be bullied into spying on her best friend and future husband. It was all too much to handle, and yet somehow she had to hold it all inside.

“Where’s Dad?” she asked, the cold having turned her voice into a hoarse croak that would embarrass a frog.

“He’s in a meeting,” her mother answered. Nadia fought a wave of hurt that her father would allow himself to be called away at a time like this. “With the Chairman,” her mother hastened to add when Nadia gaped at her. “He couldn’t very well refuse to see Chairman Hayes, now could he?”

No, of course he couldn’t. And Nadia couldn’t help suspecting that Chairman Hayes had deliberately separated Nadia from her support system. It was clear to anyone who had eyes that her father was the softer, more sympathetic of her parents. Her father would take one look at her now and immediately cosset her like a sick child. She doubted her mother would let her off so easily.

Naturally, the press were camped out in front of the station. When the security team had arrived in the morning, Nadia had been wearing no makeup and had on drawstring pants and a light, boxy sweater. They hadn’t allowed her to change before bringing her in, and no doubt she looked the worse for wear. The idea of having her picture taken when she looked like that made her want to crawl away and hide.

Her mother apparently didn’t like the idea much, either. At her command, the security officers walked them to the waiting limo, using their jackets to shield Nadia from view. She had no doubt that tomorrow’s gossip columns would be filled with those photos, even if all they showed was the cluster of security officers.

Nadia let out a breath of relief when she climbed into the limo. Then she saw the look on her mother’s face and braced herself for the lecture she’d known was coming.

“Really, Nadia,” her mother said with a shake of her head, “what were you thinking, running off on your own with Nathaniel last night?”

Nadia groaned and closed her eyes, leaning her flaming cheek against the cool glass of the dark-tinted window. The coolness felt momentarily good, until it shot a chill through her entire body and she shivered violently. She wasn’t even trying to manipulate her mother this time, but it worked anyway.

Esmeralda sighed. “Never mind. We’ll talk about it later, when you’re feeling better.”

Nadia huddled in on herself and wished for oblivion. She didn’t want to think about anything, least of all about what the future would bring. How she wished she could turn back the clock and change the decisions she’d made last night. If she’d refused to let Nate bully her in the first place, maybe things would have turned out differently.

By the time the limo pulled up in front of the Lake Towers—named after Nadia’s grandfather, who had been the first president in their family line—Nadia was barely conscious. Someone—she was so out of it she wasn’t sure who—carried her into the building and up to her family’s apartment. She had the vague impression of someone else helping her out of her clothes and into her nightgown, and then the next thing she knew, it was morning.

Nadia’s eyes were crusty, and her head felt stuffed with cotton. When she reached up to rub the grit from her eyes, she noticed the IV stuck into the back of her hand. She blinked in confusion, having no memory of having seen a doctor.

“Someone lied about getting her flu shot this year.”

Nadia wondered what drugs were dripping into her blood from the IV, because she felt like she was reacting in slow motion. She heard the voice, then had to take a moment to figure out which way to turn her head to face the speaker. With an involuntary groan, she turned to the right and saw her older sister, Geraldine, sitting in the corner armchair Nadia liked to use for reading.

“Gerri?” she asked, noticing that while her voice was still hoarse and croaky, it didn’t hurt to talk. The improvement was certainly welcome. “What are you doing here?”

As eldest daughter, Gerri was their father’s heir, a role she took very, very seriously. Gerri might take a day off from work if her husband or children were on their deathbeds, but she surely wouldn’t do it because Nadia had a nasty cold.

Gerri smiled ruefully. “Mother drafted me. She has a dinner party to plan and didn’t feel she had time to properly, um, debrief you.”

Nadia closed her eyes and prayed she’d slip back into a deep sleep. She’d dodged the proverbial bullet last night when her mother cut the expected lecture short. She should have known that wasn’t the end of it. And she knew exactly why Esmeralda had chosen Gerri as her weapon. From what Nadia could tell, all mothers learned how to wield guilt like a deadly weapon, and Esmeralda liked to make certain Nadia was always aware of how her actions affected not just herself, but her entire family—including Gerri’s two kids, Rory and Corinne.

Gerri rose to her feet and came to sit on the edge of Nadia’s bed. She wore a ruby red power suit that said she planned to go to work after she was finished “visiting.” With the red suit, alabaster skin, and nearly jet black hair, she looked like an evolved version of Snow White: beautiful and deadly, instead of beautiful and fragile. She was twelve years older than Nadia, so they hadn’t exactly grown up together, but Nadia had always admired her sister’s strength and certainty.

Gerri’s marriage was an arranged one, of course, and her husband was—in Nadia’s opinion—a nasty little toad of a man. But Gerri never complained or seemed unhappy. She did her duty as an heir, as a wife, as a mother, with never the slightest hint that she might want something more. Gerri was the ideal Nadia strove to emulate, but she always seemed to fall a little short.

All of which meant Gerri would have little sympathy for Nadia’s dilemma. Nadia’s duty was clear: protect her family at all costs. If the only way to protect her family was to give in to Mosely’s demands and stab Nate in the back, then so be it. She would just have to figure out how to do it without him ever finding out.

“How are the kids?” Nadia asked her sister. It was a long shot, but maybe if she could get Gerri talking about her kids, she could squirm her way out of the “debrief” Gerri was supposed to give her.

Gerri’s ironically raised eyebrow said she saw right through the ploy. “They’re little demons sent from hell to torment me,” she said with a fond smile. “Corinne has an ear infection, and Rory is in one of those everything-goes-in-the-mouth phases. And if you think you’re going to divert me that easily, I’ll have to ask the doctor to check your meds.”

So much for delaying the inevitable. Nadia stared at the nearly empty IV bag. She had no idea what the doctor had given her. The label had been blacked out, which meant whatever it was had come from the black market. Thanks to import taxes, some medications manufactured by rival states were preposterously expensive and best bought under the table. Illegal, of course, but it was a rare Executive who used no contraband. Nadia wondered if she could pretend the drugs were making her too loopy to handle a serious conversation.

“I’ll give you the rundown of what happened, but please skip the lecture,” Nadia said. “I know I shouldn’t have gone off alone with Nate at the party, but you know how he is. I tried to stand up to him, but he’s a force of nature.”

Gerri gave her a hard look. “You’re going to be his wife. You’d better learn to stand up to him or he’s going to walk all over you for the rest of your life.”

Easy for Gerri to say. She’d inherited their mother’s backbone and their father’s power. She had no trouble issuing orders, and no trouble having those orders obeyed.

“You try standing up to Nate someday,” Nadia grumbled. She wasn’t sure who would win a battle of wills between Nate and Gerri, but if she had to bet, she’d place her money on Nate against just about anyone.

“I don’t have to. You do.”

Nadia flopped over onto her side, facing away from Gerri. “Fine. Tell me how inadequate I am. There’s nothing I’m more anxious to hear right now.”

Gerri sighed. “Don’t be like that. I’m not saying you’re inadequate.” She laid a hand on Nadia’s shoulder and squeezed. “I love you, you know. I’m just trying to help. I know Nathaniel would be a handful for anyone, but I also know that you’re the one who’s going to be stuck with him, and you’re the one who’s going to have to learn to live with him without being miserable.”

Nadia sniffled, though the black-market mystery drug seemed to be knocking out her symptoms with remarkable speed. Illness would not be her cocoon for very long. “Most girls would laugh at the idea that I’m ‘stuck’ with Nate.”

“Most girls don’t have enough of an imagination to see what a pain in the ass he is.”

Nadia turned over to face her sister, surprised by the words. But then, maybe she shouldn’t be. Gerri was the heir to their father’s presidency. Nate was far from the most dutiful heir in the world, but he had no choice but to fulfill some of his obligations, which no doubt meant he and Gerri had attended many a business meeting together. Clearly, Nate hadn’t made the best impression.

“I know you like him, Nadia,” Gerri continued, “but to be perfectly honest with you, I can’t see why. He’s nothing but a spoiled brat with an enormous chip on his shoulder and a deeply rooted conviction that he’s God’s gift not just to women, but to the universe itself.”

Nadia blinked. Gerri was not a kiss-ass, but it wasn’t like her to be so openly critical of someone who outranked her—and who held the future of their entire family in his hands. As long as nothing went wrong in the next two years and Nadia ended up formally engaged to Nate, their father would eventually be promoted and given a seat on Paxco’s board of directors—a seat that Gerri would inherit, when the time came. The power and prestige that came with becoming a board member were considerable, but there was another perk to the position, perhaps the most important perk of all: board members and their immediate families were eligible for periodic backup scans, and if there was a preventable death in the family, there was a high likelihood a Replica would be animated. Gerri had almost lost Corinne to a particularly virulent strain of flu that had swept the continent last year, and she was more aware than most of how fragile a human life could be.

Gerri smiled tightly. “I’m sorry to be speaking ill of your future husband. I just can’t help thinking that if he’d behaved like a responsible adult, you wouldn’t have been dragged into this mess.”

On that, Nadia and Gerri could agree.

“There’s no use wishing Nate didn’t act like Nate,” Nadia said. “I’m not stupid enough to think he’s magically going to change.”

“You’re right, he’s not. Which means you have to.”

Nadia wanted to slap herself. She’d walked right into that one.

“I did what I thought was right at the time. Nate suggested he was going to make some kind of trouble if I didn’t leave the party with him. If I’d known what was going to happen, of course I’d have called his bluff. But I didn’t know. How could I?”

Gerri pursed her lips. “I know hindsight is twenty-twenty. But still, even if Nathaniel behaved like a complete boor, that would have reflected poorly on him, not on you.”

“And if he’d created some kind of international incident, it would have been my fault.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Gerri snapped, her narrowed eyes and the intensity of her disapproval making her resemblance to their mother more obvious. “No one’s going to hold a sixteen-year-old kid responsible for the Chairman Heir’s actions.”

Heat rushed into Nadia’s cheeks, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of her sister’s dismissive reference to her as a “kid” or because she realized the ridiculousness of her own argument. She might have felt guilty if Nate had done something scandalous in retaliation for her refusal, but that hardly would have made his actions her fault.

“You went off alone with him because you wanted to,” Gerri concluded. “I was sixteen once myself, you know. I understand the lure of hormones, and I even understand Nathaniel’s appeal to a girl your age. But you’re not some little nobody Employee who can afford to indulge her every whim. You have to think about consequences, not just to yourself, but to all of us.”

Nadia wanted to sink into the softness of her bed and disappear. How could Gerri simultaneously be so right and so wrong? Obviously, Nadia’s hormones had nothing to do with why she’d let Nate draw her away from the party, but she was pretty sure there had been some part of her that had wanted to go with him, despite the risks. If she were being perfectly honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she sometimes enjoyed—or at least envied—Nate’s recklessness. The idea of taking part in it could be … supremely tempting.

Unable to think of a good reply, Nadia settled for silence, picking at the loose edge of the tape that held her IV in place. She was ready to have the thing out and get out of bed, if only to escape Gerri’s penetrating gaze.

“I guess you already know you made a mistake,” Gerri continued in a conciliatory tone, “even if you won’t admit it. But what’s past is past. Tell me what happened at the security station. Mother never could get a decent explanation for why they held you for more than fifteen hours. I refuse to believe even a black-hearted bastard like Mosely would think you’re an assassin.”

Nadia felt sure Mosely had at least briefly entertained the notion, as ridiculous as it might be. Slowly, reluctantly, she told her older sister about her interview with Paxco’s chief of security. It was like picking at a scab, and though the fever was gone, she started shivering anyway.

“What are you going to do?” Gerri finally asked, chewing on her lip.

Nadia fought to contain another shiver. “I don’t have a whole lot of choices,” she said morosely. It probably would have been better for her if she hadn’t received medical treatment last night. As long as she was sick and feverish, she couldn’t be expected to spend much time with Nate, and the less time she spent with him, the less Mosely would expect her to learn.

“No,” Gerri agreed. “But you’re going to have to be very careful. Nathaniel would not take well to you conspiring with Mosely, even under the circumstances.”

That was something Nadia didn’t need to be told. If something Nadia did or said helped Mosely locate Bishop, Nate would never forgive her. It wouldn’t matter that her future and the future of her entire family rested on her shoulders. He would never stomach betrayal, not unless his Replica was a substantially different person from the one she’d known. Their marriage had been arranged by their parents, and Nate and Nadia didn’t have much say in it, but she was sure Nate would find a way to convince his father to pick someone else if he got angry enough.

“Don’t be afraid,” Gerri urged, taking Nadia’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “We’ll get through this. Do you know anything about Kurt Bishop that Mosely isn’t likely to know? Anything that might help?”

“He’s Nate’s valet,” Nadia said. “Why would I know anything about him? Other than that he was born in the Basement and isn’t ashamed of it.”

Gerri thought about it a moment, then fixed Nadia with a frank look. “If you knew anything more, would you tell me?”

Nadia swallowed hard, not sure how to answer. She loved her sister, but Gerri would never stick her neck out for someone like Bishop. Not because she was a bad person, but because she would tolerate no risk to the family.

“I was questioned for fifteen hours yesterday,” she finally said. “I’m not an idiot. I know how much trouble I’m in, even though I had nothing to do with the murder. I told Mosely everything I know.”

“I thought there might be things you’d be willing to tell me that you wouldn’t tell him,” Gerri prompted. “I have my own resources, you know. Maybe I can help find Bishop without you having to tell Mosely anything. If Bishop could be captured without you having revealed anything to Mosely…”

Nadia took a deep breath and squelched her knee-jerk, angry response. Gerri was just being practical, trying to protect their family from Mosely without destroying the potential marriage arrangement. But sometimes practicality made Nadia want to scream with frustration.

“Do you even care that Bishop isn’t guilty?” she asked, unable to remain wisely silent.

Gerri frowned. “You can’t know that. There were witnesses who saw him fleeing the scene of the crime with blood on him. That sounds about as damning as evidence can get.”

Maybe it did, if you actually believed it. Maybe she was being naive, but no matter how she looked at it, Nadia couldn’t imagine Bishop hurting Nate. Certainly not killing him. No, Bishop was nothing but an easy scapegoat, a powerless Basement-dweller who could be very publicly brought to justice in very little time and with a minimum of fuss, at least in theory. Was Mosely even entertaining the possibility that Bishop wasn’t guilty? It hadn’t seemed so to Nadia, and she hated the thought that the real killer—whoever it was—was going to get away with it so easily.

“But if the evidence didn’t point to him,” Nadia persisted, “would you care? If you were sure he wasn’t guilty, would you still cheerfully hand him over to Mosely to be executed?”

The look in Gerri’s eyes turned flat and hard. “I wouldn’t ‘cheerfully’ turn over my worst enemy. But if turning over an innocent man was what I had to do to protect my family, then I’d do it. I certainly hope you’d do the same.”

Nadia averted her gaze. Gerri was right, and she knew it. Her first duty was to her own family.

“Tell me you’re not going to risk my children’s future for the sake of some lowlife Basement-dweller who’s probably guilty as hell,” Gerri insisted when Nadia didn’t answer quickly enough. “Nathaniel should have left the creature in the Basement where he belonged.”

Nadia’s chest tightened with the effort of holding in her outrage. She’d be the first to admit she didn’t like Bishop, but he was neither a lowlife nor a “creature.” It wasn’t his fault he’d been born in the Basement. No doubt his life there had been unsavory, and he had probably done some illegal and immoral things to survive, but he should still be entitled to a certain level of decency and fairness.

But hers was the minority opinion among Executives, who felt that providing the most basic necessities for human survival—food, shelter, and rudimentary health care—was an act of unparalleled generosity toward Basement-dwellers, who contributed nothing to society at large, were unemployed, and generally unemployable. That most were born into it and couldn’t escape didn’t lessen the taint of their status.

But what Bishop should be entitled to was irrelevant. Nadia had already promised Mosely that she would be his spy, and she couldn’t afford lofty ideals.

“Have you ever known me not to do my duty?” she asked Gerri, bitterness dripping from her every word. Most of the world envied the members of the Executive class for their money and power and privileges. Most of the world had no idea how much personal freedom those privileges cost. Nadia would give it all up in a heartbeat if she could be an ordinary Employee who could choose her own path in life. But that was a luxury she would never have.

“I’ll do what I have to do,” she finished. She couldn’t blame Gerri for wanting to secure her children’s future, but she also couldn’t quite stand to look into her sister’s face anymore. “Just don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

Gerri made a little snorting sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. Nadia risked a quick glance at her sister and saw from the tightness around her mouth and eyes that she wasn’t happy about it, either. Which made Nadia feel just a little better, even if it didn’t change the ugly reality.