Chapter Text
CHANGBIN SEO
ID #0082688359
BORN 11 August 106 T.E., AMERICAN REPUBLIC
FF 437 MEDIA HITS, REVERSE CHRON
POSTED 12 JAN 126 T.E.: EX–AR AIR FORCE CADET, CHANGBIN SEO, HAS BEEN CONVICTED AND SENTENCED TO A SIX-YEAR PRISON SENTENCE AT THE END OF A SPEEDY TWO-WEEK TRIAL …
Green text trekked across Chan’s vision, documenting the crimes of one Seo Changbin, who had already led a very productive life of lawbreaking despite having just turned twenty-three not long ago: one count military desertion, two counts international theft, one count attempted theft, six counts handling of stolen goods, and one count theft of government property.
That last conviction hardly seemed to do the crime justice. He’d stolen a spaceship from the American Republic’s military.
Hence, the spaceship that he was so proud of.
Though he was currently serving a six-year sentence in the Eastern Commonwealth for attempted theft of a second-era jade necklace, he was also wanted in Australia and, of course, his own America, and would be standing trial and no doubt serving time in both countries for the harm he’d done there as well.
Chan slumped against a breaker panel, wishing he hadn’t checked. Escaping from prison himself was bad enough, but assisting the escape of this criminal—a real criminal—and doing it in a stolen spaceship?
Swallowing hard, he peered back through the opening he’d made between the mechanical room and the prisoner’s cell. Seo Changbin still sat on his cot with his elbows propped on his knees, thumbs twiddling.
He wiped his damp palm on his bleached-white jumper. This was not about Seo Changbin. This was about Queen Levana and Emperor Minho and Prince Callisto. The innocent child Levana had tried to murder twenty-two years ago, but who had been rescued and smuggled down to Earth. Who remained the most-wanted person in the world. Who just happened to be Chan himself.
He’d known for less than twenty-four hours. Dr. Erland, who had known for weeks, decided to inform him that he’d run DNA tests proving his bloodline only after Queen Levana had recognized him at the annual ball and threatened to attack Earth if Chan wasn’t thrown into jail for being an illegal Lunar emigrant.
So Dr. Erland had sneaked into his prison cell and given him a new foot (his had fallen off on the palace steps), a state-of-the-art cyborg hand with fancy gadgets that he was still getting used to, and the biggest shock of his life. He’d then told Chan to escape and come meet him in Africa, like that would be no more difficult than installing a new processor on a Gard3.9.
This order, simultaneously so simple and so impossible, had given him something to focus on other than his newfound identity. Good thing too because when he dwelled on that, his entire body had a tendency to seize up, leaving him useless, and this was a bad time to be suffering from indecision. Regardless of what he would do when he got out, he was sure of one thing: not escaping meant certain death when Queen Levana came to claim him.
He peered back at the inmate again. If he had a close destination in mind, and a working spaceship at that, it could be the key to his escape.
He was still twiddling his thumbs, still obeying his command—just leave me alone. The words had been fire in his mouth when he’d said them, while his blood had boiled and his skin had burned. The sensation of overheating was a side effect of his new Lunar gift—powers that Dr. Erland had managed to unlock after a device implanted on his spine had kept him from using them for so many years. Although it still seemed like magic to him, it was really a genetic trait Lunars were born with that allowed them to control and manipulate the bioelectricity of other living creatures. They could trick people into seeing things that weren’t real or experiencing made-up emotions. They could brainwash people into doing things they wouldn’t otherwise do. Without argument. Without resistance.
Chan was still learning how to use this “gift” and he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed to control Seo Changbim, just as he wasn’t sure how he’d managed to persuade one of the jail guards to move him to a more convenient cell. All he knew was that he’d wanted to strangle this inmate when he wouldn’t stop talking, and his Lunar gift had surged at the base of his neck, spurred on by stress and nerves. He’d lost control of it for a moment and in that breath Changbin had done precisely what he’d wanted him to do.
He’d stopped talking and left Chan alone.
His guilt had been instantaneous. He didn’t know what kind of effect it had on a person, all that brain manipulation. And, more than that, he didn’t want to be one of those Lunars who took advantage of his powers just because he could. He didn’t want to be Lunar at all.
He huffed, blowing a curl away from his face, and ducked through the hole that had been created when he’d pried the urinal out of the wall.
Changbin looked up as Chan came to a halt before him, arms akimbo. He was still dazed, and though he hated to admit it, he was actually rather attractive. If a man happened to like that sharp jaw and intense eyes. Although, he also was short like Chan, slightly shorter but what he lacked in height he had ten times in annoying confidence.
Chan took in a stabilizing breath. “I forced you to do what I wanted you to do, and I shouldn’t have. It was an abuse of power and I’m sorry.”
He blinked down at his metal hand and the screwdriver sticking out from one finger joint. “Are you the same man who was just here?” he asked, his voice surprisingly clear, even with his heavy accent and nasally voice as he spoke their global language. For some reason, Chan expected him to slur his words after the brain manipulation.
“Of course I am.”
“Oh.” His brow furrowed. “You seemed a lot more handsome before.”
Bristling, Chan considered retracting his apology, but instead crossed his arms over his chest. “Cadet Seo, was it?”
“Captain Seo Changbin.”
“Your records say you were a cadet when you deserted.”
He frowned, still puzzled, before he brightened and cocked a finger toward him. “Portscreen in the head?”
Chan bit the inside of his cheek.
“Well, if you wanted to be technical about it,” he said. “But I’m a captain now. I prefer the sound of it. People are much more impressed.”
Chan, unimpressed, gestured toward the mechanical room on the other side of the wall. “I’ve decided you can come with me if we can make it to your ship. Just … try not to talk too much.”
Changbin was off his cot before he finished speaking. “It was my irresistible charm that convinced you, wasn’t it?”
Sighing, he retreated through the hole, careful to step over the disconnected plumbing. “So this ship of yours. It is the stolen one, right? From the American military?”
“I don’t like to think of it as ‘stolen.’ They have no proof that I didn’t plan on giving it back.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He shrugged. “You have no proof either.”
Chan squinted back at him. “Were you planning on giving it back?”
“Maybe.”
An orange light blinked on in the corner of Chan’s vision—his cyborg programming picking up on the lie.
“That’s what I thought,” he muttered. “Is the ship traceable?”
“Of course not. Removed all the tracking equipment ages ago.”
“Good. Which reminds me.” Holding up his hand, he retracted the screwdriver and, after two attempts, released the stiletto knife. “We need to remove your ID chip.”
He drew half a step back.
“Don’t tell me you’re squeamish.”
“Of course not,” he said with an uncomfortable laugh, cuffing his left sleeve. “It’s just … is that thing sterilized?”
Chan raised an eyebrow.
“I mean—I’m sure you’re very hygienic and all, it’s just…” He trailed off, hesitated, and then held his hand out toward him. “Never mind. Just try not to hit anything important.”
Bending over his arm, Chan angled the blade to his wrist as carefully and gently as he could. There was a faint scar there already, presumably from when he’d cut out another ID chip when he’d first been on the run from law enforcement.
His fingers twitched at the invasion, but otherwise he was still as stone. He extracted the bloodied ID chip and tossed it into a bundle of cords on the floor, before cutting a strip of cloth from his sleeve and letting him wrap it around the wound.
“Is it just me, or is this a big moment in our relationship?”
Chan scoffed. Turning away, he pointed at a grate near the ceiling. It was surrounded by tethered wires that snaked out from the breaker panel and disappeared into dozens of holes along the walls. “Can you boost me up there?”
“What is it?” Changbin asked, already lacing his fingers together.
“Air duct.” Chan stepped onto his palms and ignored his grunt as he lifted him. He’d expected it, knowing that his metal leg made him a lot heavier than he looked.
With the added leverage, he had the grate removed in seconds. He set it quietly atop some overhead plumbing pipes, then pulled himself into the opening without hesitation.
He called up the blueprint of the jail’s interior structure to check the direction while he waited for Changbin to clamber up behind him. Switching on his built-in flashlight, Chan started to crawl.
It was hot and clumsy work, with his left leg scraping against the aluminum every few inches. Twice he stopped to listen, thinking he heard footsteps somewhere below. Would there be an alarm when their escape was discovered? He was surprised there hadn’t been one yet. Thirty-two minutes. He’d left his cell thirty-two minutes ago.
The sweat dripping off his nose and the rapidness of his heartbeat made the time stretch on and on, as if the clock in his head had gotten stuck. Changbin’s presence was already filling him with doubts. This was going to be hard enough with just him—how was he going to sneak both of them out?
The thought passed through his skull, startling and clear.
He could brainwash him.
He could convince him that he wanted to tell him where the ship was and how to get to it, and then he could make him decide that he didn’t want to come with Chan after all. He could send Changbin back. He would have no choice but to listen to him.
“Everything all right?”
Chan released the air that had stuck in his throat.
No. He wouldn’t take advantage of him, or anyone. He’d gotten on just fine without any Lunar gift before, he would get on just fine now.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Just checking the blueprint. We’re almost there.”
“Blueprint?”
He ignored him. Minutes later he rounded a corner and saw a square of checkered light on the duct’s ceiling. A tinge of relief, of hope, fluttered inside him as he inched his head out over the grate and peered down.
He saw an expanse of concrete with a small puddle of standing water beneath him and, not six steps from that, another grate, this one larger and round.
A storm drain. Right where the blueprint said it would be.
The drop was a full story, but if they could make it without breaking any legs, this was almost going to be easy.
“Where are we?” Changbin whispered.
“Underground loading dock—where they bring in food and supplies.” As gracefully as he could, he climbed over the grate and maneuvered back around so that he and Changbin could both peer through the grid.
“We need to get down there, to that storm drain.”
Changbin frowned and pointed. “Isn’t that the exit ramp over there?”
He nodded without looking.
“Why aren’t we trying to get there?”
He peered up at him, the grate casting peculiar shadows across his face. “And just walk to your spaceship? In bright white prison uniforms?”
He frowned, but any response was silenced by the sound of voices. They ducked back.
“I didn’t see him dancing with him, my sister did,” said a woman. Her words were coupled with footsteps, then a rolling door being hoisted up on clunky rails. “His suit was soaking wet and wrinkled as a garbage bag.”
“But why would the emperor dance with a cyborg?” said a man. “And then for him to go off and attack the Lunar queen like that … no way. Your sister was seeing things. I bet the man was just some crazy person who wandered in off the streets. He was probably bitter over some cyborg injustice.”
The conversation was cut short by the rumbling of a delivery ship.
Chan dared to peer through the grate again and saw a ship wheeling its way beneath them, backing up toward a recessed loading bay and stopping directly between Chan and Changbin and the storm drain.
“Morning, Ryu-sunbae,” said the man as the pilot descended from the ship. The rest of their greetings were drowned out by the hydraulics hissing on an adjustable platform.
Taking advantage of the noise, Chan used his screwdriver to remove the grate. When he gave Changbin a nod, he carefully eased it up.
Sweat trickled down Chan’s neck and his heart was palpitating so hard he thought it might bruise the inside of his rib cage. Lowering his head, he peered around the dock, checking for any other signs of life and spotted, not arm’s distance away on the concrete ceiling, a rotating camera.
Chan dared to peer through the grate again and saw a ship wheeling its way beneath them, backing up toward a recessed loading bay and stopping directly between Chan and Changbin and the storm drain.
He jerked back inside, pulse hissing in his ears. Luckily the camera had been facing the other direction, but still, there was no way they would both make it down undetected. Then there were the three workers unloading the delivery to deal with, and every moment gone was one more moment toward some guard discovering their empty cells.
He shut his eyes, imagining where the camera was, before snaking his arm out. His hand floundered, flat against the ceiling—the camera was farther than it had seemed in that momentary glance—but then his fingers found it. He grasped the lens and squeezed. The plastic was crushed as easy as a plum in his titanium fist, making a satisfying crunching sound that seemed deafeningly loud.
He listened, relieved as the same sounds of shuffling and chatting continued below.
Their time was up. It wouldn’t be more than a minute now before someone realized a camera had been disabled.
Raising his head, he nodded at Changbin and pulled himself forward over the opening.
He dropped onto the roof of the delivery ship and it clanged and shuddered beneath him. Changbin followed, landing with a muffled grunt.
The talking silenced.
Chan spun around as three figures emerged from the loading bay, their faces contorted in confusion.
They spotted him and Changbin standing atop the ship and froze. Chan could see them taking in the white uniforms. His cyborg hand.
One of the men reached for the portscreen on his belt.
Clenching his jaw, Chan held his hand out to him, thinking only of how he could not get to his port, could not send out an alarm. Thinking of his hand petrified in space just centimeters from his belt.
At his will, his hand stalled and hung motionless.
His eyes filled with terror.
“Don’t move,” said Chan, his voice hoarse, guilt already clawing at his throat. He knew he was every bit as panicked as the three people standing before him, and yet the fear on their faces was unmistakable.
The burning sensation returned, starting at the top of his neck and spreading down through his spine, his shoulders and hips, stinging where it met his prostheses. It wasn’t painful or sudden like it had been when Dr. Erland had first unlocked his Lunar gift. Rather, it was almost comforting—almost pleasant.
He could sense the three people standing on the platform, the bioelectricity rolling off them in waves, crackling in the air, ready to be controlled.
Turn around.
In unison, the three workers turned around, their bodies stiff and awkward.
Close your eyes. Cover your ears. He hesitated before adding, Hum.
Instantly, the buzz of three people humming filled what had become a silent delivery dock. He hoped it would be enough to keep them from hearing the grate open in the concrete floor. His only hope was that they would assume he and Changbin had left through the dock exit or smuggled themselves aboard a delivery ship.
Changbin was staring, slack jawed, when Chan turned back to him. “What are they doing?”
“Obeying,” he said heavily, hating himself for making the command. Hating the hums that filled her ears. Hating this gift that was too unnatural, too powerful, too unfair.
But the thought to release his control over them never crossed his mind.
“Come on,” he said, half jumping, half sliding off the ship. He crawled beneath it and found the grate between the landing wheels. Though his hands were shaking, he managed to twist the grate a quarter turn and pull it up.
A shallow pool of standing water glistened up at him in the darkness.
The fall wasn’t far, but his bare feet landing in the oily water made him queasy. Changbin was beside him in a second, replacing the grate over the hole.
There was a round concrete tunnel set into the wall, barely reaching Chan’s stomach and filled with the stench of garbage and mildew. Wrinkling his nose, Chan crouched and crawled into it.