Forged by Erin Bowman

trigger—Bree made sure of that—but the shape of the weapon feels startlingly familiar in my hands now.
    Clutching it, I skirt up the nearest row of glass coffins. Tubes run in and out of each, connecting to equipment below the table. I catch a shadow of something in the murky liquid to my right and can’t help but pause. I bend at the waist, peer closer. There’s something behind the glass, small and pale. It vaguely reminds me of a stillborn calf I once saw birthed in Claysoot.
    I twist and examine the coffin behind me. The shape in this one is much larger. I lean until my nose is against the glass and almost cry out in shock. There is a body suspended in the murky liquid, the nub of his nose pointing toward thesurface. He looks dead. Sallow skin is pulled tight over his frame. Fingers are no more than bones. I can see every last one of his ribs. It’s like he’s decaying, but somehow I know it’s the opposite. He’s growing. He’s being born.
    They all are.
    I’m in a lab. I’m in a lab in a production facility.
    I thought the Forgeries came from Taem, and at one point, they must have. Maybe some of them still do. But the Compound is producing them in far larger numbers, shipping them out from the docks somewhere beneath my feet.
    In the bottom right corner of the tank, a display reads Subject #C317, 21 days . I twist and check the first tank I peered into. Subject #C317, 5 days . I tear up the aisle. C317 , C317 . Over and over. Every single Forgery in this row has the same origin.
    And right then I know that Harvey has accomplished what Frank always wanted: a Forgery that can be created again and again, off any previous version of itself. The original subject no longer matters. Frank is no longer limited to one Forgery from every human. He has his limitless model now, and he’s growing his army. An army that can have a new soldier in roughly one month’s time, given the tank I’ve paused next to. Inside is a boy with my build, his skin smooth and youthful, his muscles clenched even in sleep. His display reads twenty-nine days.
    Snippets of the conversations I overheard when first stepping off the boat flash through my mind. Shipments to Radix and Haven and Taem. Others still heading to Lode. Domed cities. Frank is manning them with Forgeries.
    But for what? What is he planning?
    I hear footsteps at the far end of the lab. I’m about halfway up the aisle with nowhere to run. Stupid curiosity. I shouldn’t have stopped to examine the tanks. Shouldn’t have stopped for anything but Blaine and Emma.
    The footsteps grow louder. Harvey steps into view at the end of the aisle. He sees me and his face goes blank.
    I pull the rifle up, the butt against my shoulder, the sight trained. “Freeze right there!” I say. “Point out the way to the holding cells. Then get down on your stomach and let me pass!”
    The silent alarm cuts out without warning, throwing the room back into an odd state of glowing, iridescent blue. It’s harder to see now. It feels vaguely like twilight—depth is difficult to discern—and everything seems suddenly familiar. Harvey at the end of my narrowed line of vision. My finger on the trigger. A palpable tension in the air.
    I’m going to have to shoot him.
    I need to do what Bree prevented that day in Taem.
    â€œYou couldn’t just wait,” he says, glaring.
    Wait for what? To be tortured, inspected for scars?
    â€œI had a plan,” he says, “and you’re ruining everything. I could have—” Harvey flinches, bringing the heel of his palm to his temple. A half dozen armed Order members spill into the aisle behind him. I turn to flee, but my Forgery is already there, thrusting an arm out. He’s holding something small and compact. My body seizes up. There’s a burning sting—everywhere and relentless—and then the sensation of falling.

TWELVE
    I’M IN A NEW ROOM ,