They’d done the surgery. They must have.

Other than that, she didn’t appear hurt. She was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, and her arms and legs all looked perfectly undamaged. Her bicep was fully healed. Only a wide, faint scar was visible. Even the frost nip on her chin and nose were gone, leaving perfect, healthy skin.

I reached my arm in, trying to squeeze through the bars. To touch her. But she was six inches too far. My fingertips could reach the cart, and for a moment I thought I could use it to pull her toward me, but that wouldn’t work. It would just pull the equipment off her.

I ran back to the nurses’ station, wildly throwing open drawers and cabinets. The code for the keypad had to be somewhere. But all I found were rolls of bandage and tape and more of those foil sheets Jane had used. Whatever that stuff was, it would be worth billions in the free world, but it was as good as garbage to me here.

“Having trouble?”

I turned, holding out the Taser at Ms. Vaughn. She was standing at the hallway door, apparently unarmed. She wore a business suit. I wondered whether she was the same Ms. Vaughn I’d seen outside, dropping off the new kids.

“Let her out,” I said, but even I could hear the fear in my own voice. Ms. Vaughn stepped into the room, not threatening, not preparing for an attack. Just casual, like we were friends.

I shook the Taser at her. “Don’t come any closer.”

“What are you going to do?” she said. “You came here for her, and you can’t get her. You’ve lost.”

I backed up, cautiously moving to Becky’s cell. Ms. Vaughn followed.

Was there a way I could get her to open the cell?

A second android appeared behind her—another Ms. Vaughn, this one in scrubs, like the Iceman I’d killed. She didn’t appear to be armed either.

I focused back on the businesswoman.

“Are you out of guards?” I asked. “You don’t look dressed for a fight.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Were you going to fight?”

I was at Becky’s room again, and I glanced inside. I still had no idea how to make them go in there.

“Give up,” she said, and reached into her jacket.

No Taser this time. It was a gun. The same make and model as the .38 that Maxfield had once given Isaiah. “We use Tasers because you students are valuable to us,” she said. “But I think you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

I had no options. There was nowhere to run. I was captured, and I couldn’t save her.

Becky’s breathing was deep and loud as the ventilator on her face gave her oxygen. It was the only sound in the hall.

I moved to Becky’s cell bars.

The businesswoman laughed. “You don’t have to take a bullet for your girlfriend. She’s never been as much trouble as you. Besides, she’s already had surgery—we’d hate to waste it.”

That was what I was counting on.

I took a breath, and then turned my back to the android, reaching between the bars. My fingers were so close.

Someone grabbed my shoulder. I dropped the Taser and held myself against the bars, stretching.

My middle finger caught the cart, and the rest of my fingertips, and then my whole hand.

“Benson,” Ms. Vaughn shouted, yanking me back.

I let her. My hand was tight on the cart.

I flew backward, tossed by the businesswoman’s robotic strength. The cart followed, crashing into the bars when it could go no farther.

An alarm sounded, and despite the gun in my face I craned my neck to see Becky, to pray she was okay.

All the sensors and tubes had pulled from her body, and I could see she was fighting for air.

The woman in scrubs yelled at me. “You came this far just to kill her!” And she jumped past us to the bars. To the keypad.

6-5-6-3-8. Buzz. Click.

The bars popped open, and she was inside, checking the cart and pulling it back beside Becky’s bed.

“It’s over, Benson,” Ms. Vaughn said. And then she hit me with the butt of the gun.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I woke in the dark. It took a long time, a fight for consciousness against whatever chemicals were pumping through my body. People came and went. They asked me questions, and I think I answered them, but all of those conversations were lost to me now.

I was in a hospital bed, but the back was propped up so I could see everything in the room. The same white tiles were on the floor and halfway up the walls, and then it was concrete the rest of the way.

The room smelled like nothing. No soap, no must, nothing.

One of my eyes didn’t open all the way, but I felt no pain. I tried to touch it.

My hands were bound with thick leather restraints. My ankles, too.

“Mr. Fisher. You’re awake.”

I turned to look, but could see no one.

It was a male voice, but it didn’t sound like Iceman.

“Who are you?”

“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, Mr. Fisher.” The sound was tinny, like it was coming from a microphone.

Or my ears weren’t working right. Or I was imagining it.

“Are you Maxfield?”

The voice chuckled, deep and warbling, like an old man’s. When he spoke he sounded like he had too much saliva in his mouth. “There’s no Maxfield. It’s a name. It could have been anything.”

“What do you want?”

“Does it matter what I want? I’m here to discuss what you want.”

“You know what I want.”

“Do I?” he asked. “You change your mind a lot. When you first came to my academy, you only wanted your freedom. But soon your freedom wasn’t enough. You wanted freedom for everybody.”

“What do you care?”

“Now I’m not sure what to think. You aren’t concerned about everybody anymore. You’re only concerned about one person. Rebecca Allred.”

“Where is she?”

“Why do you keep shouting?” he asked. “I can hear you perfectly.”

I fought against the restraints. There had to be some way out of this.

“I’m not in the practice of negotiating, Mr. Fisher,” he said tiredly. “I have gotten used to being in control. So it saddens me that things have come to this.”

I stopped pulling against the leather bands, panting, and listened.

“They say you should never begin negotiations without being prepared, without knowing your alternatives to an agreement. What, Mr. Fisher, are your alternatives to a negotiated agreement?”

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

“I’ll help you out,” he said, condescension dripping from his voice. “Your alternative to negotiation is that I kill you. On the other hand, if you do negotiate, I’ll let you live in Fort Maxfield as part of the program.”

“The program?”

“The program,” he said. “You’re very familiar with the program.”

I didn’t want to talk about this. “Where’s Becky?”

“Ah, yes. That’s another part of the negotiation, isn’t it? You can save her or kill her, too. I’m only telling you this so that you know what you’re dealing with. You always want the town or the academy to be more fair, so I’m being fair. I’m telling you the rules.”