Coda by Emma Trevayne Read Free Book Online

used to be, like, immunity or something. I don’t know.”
    The sun is too hot. “The Corp would know if the twins weren’t tracking after being exposed. And there’s nothing we can do to stop that first time.”
    “Yeah, I guess.” She sighs. “I’d like to hear it, though. Just to see what it sounds like. How it’s different. I think a lot of people would.”
    “You have to promise me you won’t get involved in that,” I say, grabbing her wrist. “It’s dangerous, Haven. Your father was talking about catching them for a reason. Please, promise me.”
    Hypocrisy tastes like burnt toast. She raises herself on one elbow to properly look at me, and I see my own omissions reflected back by her eyebrows.
    “Okay,” she says finally. “Okay, chill. It was just an idea.”
    A tempting one. Just for a second, I let myself think about what it would be like to somehow spread the word, the sound of unencoded music. To be able to sing for Haven, alone, or with the band around me. I could teach the twins about real music.
    “I know. Come on, princess, let’s go find something to do.” I’m still holding on to her, my thumb against the tiny area of skin over her ID chip. She frowns when I let go and stand up.
    We leave the park, and I hide my shaking hands in my pockets. I need to get to a console soon.
    I glance at her face. I can wait.
    The streets this far north are lined with stores, faces of steel and neon beckoning, a mobile rainbow brighter than the sun. Haven would probably go in if she were alone and spend credits on outfitsof latex and lace that would make me want to blind every man who could see her.
    She leads me into a dusty, hushed library. Everything in here is old. Few new books have been printed since before the war; the ones that have been are Corp manuals. There’s enough here for anyone’s lifetime, especially mine. When I was younger, I wondered why the Corp let us have books. In my mother’s last months, she finally told me. I guess by then she had nothing to lose.
    Neither does the Corp. Relics of the past aren’t indulgences or evidence of generosity, they’re reminders. Warnings. Look, they say. Look at how the society that produced these things ended. The lessons, virtues, morals, and freedom they teach are something to fear, not covet.
    An hour is lost in brittle pages: Haven finds the funny stuff she likes while I rifle through novels for mentions of music overlooked in the cull.
    I creep up behind her. She’s somewhere else, head bowed, submerged in an old world.
    “I should go home,” I whisper.
    The book hits the floor with a heavy thump and a cloud of dust. “You ass!” She wheels around. “You did that on purpose.”
    “Yeah.”
    All the way downstairs, she tries not to smile. The doors slide open and noise floods in, too loud after the reverential hush. We step outside, one single step before I freeze.
    She’s an Exaur, the woman who is crossing the street away from us in a creased orange uniform, her head bowed, oblivious. I don’t have time to go through a list in my head of all the things she could’ve done to earn the worst punishment the Corp can dish out and still keep the person alive.
    “Stop!” Haven yells, her voice joining the wail of the patrol-pod’s siren as it turns the corner too fast. “Stop!”

Almost too late, I grab Haven before she runs out into the road. The woman crumples on impact with the pod; blood sprays up the windshield like drops of acid rain. Once, twice the body bounces, skidding to a stop near the opposite curb.
    “She couldn’t hear you,” I say into an ear that won’t stay still because Haven is shaking violently. “She . . . Exaur. She couldn’t hear the siren.”
    “I—” Haven gasps, doubling over. Vomit sprays our shoes, staining the air sour, and I tighten my grip on her arms, holding her until she seems steady again. I grit my teeth and breathe to quell the nausea.
    A crowd has assembled behind us. I don’t think