Free Unchanged by Jessica Brody Page B

likely dead.
    The closest hyperloop station to the compound is in Las Vegas. The station is deserted when we arrive. Dane says all departing and arriving capsules were canceled today to allow us to travel without being seen. The cost of such an expensive endeavor was apparently covered by AFC Streamwork, where Mosima’s show airs, as was the cost of our genetic disguises—in order to protect the exclusive reveal they paid for. If one person managed to capture an image of us, it would be uploaded to the Feed in a matter of seconds and the streamwork’s exclusive would be ruined.
    We are escorted through the station by Director Raze’s security team—twenty guards dressed in black with mutation lasers strapped to their belts.
    We’re positioned in a sea of clacking shoes, blocked from every side in case any onlookers manage to steal a peek through the darkened synthoglass of the station windows. A precaution taken on top of all the others.
    Our departure date and time were not released to the public so there shouldn’t be anyone lurking, but Director Raze says you can never be too careful. Any company can have a mole.
    Crest also had us don dark, large, old-fashioned sunglasses and MagBall caps. I notice that the logo flashing in the nanostitching of Kaelen’s cap belongs to the Denver team, which is currently in first place, while mine is the Detroit team, currently in last place. Even if that was a coincidence, I find it terribly fitting.
    As we pass through the massive hyperloop station with its domed ceilings and modern light fixtures, I take in the closed shops that normally sell snacks and motion sickness meds for passengers who can’t handle the pressure of the vacuum. A few even advertise varieties of alcohol for those who just want to make it all fade into the background.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Killy, a female security agent, says to me, clearly reading the trepidation on my face. “It only feels warped the first time. You’ll get used to it.”
    I nod to one of the darkened shops. An ad for meds is playing on the window screen, despite the store being closed. “Do you ever need those?”
    She follows my gaze. “Never.” She pats her stomach. “Gut of steel.”
    I tilt my head curiously, which seems to make her laugh.
    â€œIt’s an old phrase. It means nothing makes me feel sick. Kind of like you.”
    I want to tell her she’s wrong. So much makes me feel sick.
    The memory of Lyzender’s face.
    The small cube drive chafing my toe at the tip of my shoe.
    The hollowness of Rio’s eyes.
    The way Dr. A regards me as though I really am diseased. Diseased in the mind.
    I don’t say any of this, though. I keep walking with my head up and my gaze forward. We reach a bank of lifts and split into groups to ride them to the fifth floor of the station. The voice in the lift tells me it’s the embarkation level.
    I’m not sure what will await me when the door opens. I’ve seen hyperloops on the Feed and, of course, in my uploads, but I’ve learned that things tend to feel very different when you’re standing right in front of them.
    The first thing I notice when we exit the lifts and I see the open capsules awaiting us is the smell. It must be the gases they use to seal the vacuum tubes at the end of the loading track. Or maybe it’s my own fear that I smell. A mix of metal and singed air. Like something burning.
    Burning.
    I stop walking, suddenly overtaken by the recollection of scent.
    Burning.
    Burning what? Wood?
    No. Flesh .
    The thought makes my stomach roll. Why would I think of burning flesh?
    The memory of my witchcraft trial in the year 1609 flickers to my mind but it doesn’t match. It feels more immediate than that. More recent.
    â€œEverything okay?” Killy asks, coming up beside me.
    I blink rapidly and force myself to smile. “Yes. It was just … the smell. It caught me