Howard - The Almost Girl
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- Year:2013;2014
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The Almost Girl: summary, description and annotation
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Seventeen-year-old Riven is as tough as they come. But coming from a world ravaged by a devastating android war, she has to be. There?s no room for softness, no room for emotion, no room for mistakes. A Legion General, she is the right hand of the young Prince of Neospes, a parallel universe to Earth. In Neospes, she has everything: rank, responsibility and respect. But when Prince Cale sends her away to find his long-lost brother, Caden, who has been spirited back to modern day Earth, Riven finds herself in uncharted territory.? Thrown out of her comfort zone but with the mindset of a soldier, Riven has to learn how to be a girl in a realm that is the opposite of what she knows.? Riven isn?t prepared for the beauty of a world that is unlike her own in so many ways. Nor is she prepared to feel something more than indifference for the very target she seeks. Caden is nothing like Cale, but he makes something in her come alive, igniting a spark deep down that goes against every cell in her body. For the first time in her life, Riven isn?t sure about her purpose, about her calling. Torn between duty and desire, she must decide whether Caden is simply a target or whether he is something more.? Faced with hideous reanimated Vector soldiers from her own world with agendas of their own, as well as an unexpected reunion with a sister who despises her, it is a race against time to bring Caden back to Neospes. But things aren?t always as they seem, and Riven will have to search for truth. Family betrayals and royal coups are only the tip of the iceberg. Will Riven be able to find the strength to defy her very nature? Or will she become the monstrous soldier she was designed to be?
Howard: author's other books
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Amalie Howard
THE ALMOST GIRL
To Valerie, because she couldnt be here.
PROLOGUE
THREE YEARS EARLIER
The slight figure is lithe and quick, a shadow of a shadow in the darkness. It runs along the edgy gloom of the halogen-lit streets, flying over electric fences and scaling walls with the practiced ease of a skilled athlete. One would never suspect that it was being chased by an entire army of soldiers, but it was, several hundred of them.
In a fluid twist to gauge the remaining distance from its pursuers, the runners profile is visible for a brief second. It is the face of young girl, barely fourteen, as she glides into a narrow alley. Blood drips from a self-inflicted gash in her arm, the silver implant shed dug from the wound slipping from her fingers to the oily ground before it is crushed beneath her boot.
Glancing at the gauge on her wrist, she sees a red flash that tells her that shes nearly at the eversion checkpoint. Her timing and positioning must be exact for the universe transition. She ducks into a crouch as the first of the small army reaches the dark alleyway; he is faster than the others.
Theyre always fast.
Surrender yourself, a voice says. The soldier stands, weapon at the ready. He knows that she is there. The girl steps out from behind a crate. There is no fear on her face, just a silent calmness, an acceptance of the situation. The soldiers are programmed to obey and to subdue hostiles, but she tries to divert them anyway. She knows that nothing she says will deter the soldier after all, shes been their leader for the better part of a year.
And now, she is the traitor the fugitive.
Stand down, Lieutenant, she says firmly in a husky voice far too mature for her years. The soldier doesnt even acknowledge her words. That is an order.
Surrender, he repeats, raising the electro-rod slightly. General.
His voice is dead, just like the rest of him, but he understands exactly who she is. Hes half-alive but still far from a mindless drone. She sees a glimmer of blue sparks at the rods three-pronged tip. Hed have it set to stun she knew, but she wasnt going back alive. She couldnt go back.
OK. Have it your way, she says.
The girl lunges at him, barely half his size, to slide on her knees beneath the blunt edge of the metal rod swinging toward her head. Her hand snakes out, a fist thumping into the hard, cold flesh beneath his ribs lightning-fast, and the soldier grunts, doubling over at the dull crack. In a reverse motion, her fist slices past his Achilles tendon, the blade between her fingers a blur, and he crumples to the floor.
They may be immune to pain, but theyre still made of flesh and bone.
Not losing momentum, she jabs him in the back of the neck just above the top of his spine with the point of her knife. The strike is snake-like and true. A spark and the sharp smell of singed flesh, and in a matter of seconds, the soldier is lying prostrate on the ground, twitching slightly, disabled for the moment.
Glancing around, the girl listens for sounds of the others before emptying the soldiers pockets quickly. As well as the rod, she sticks a communication earpiece, a long-handled knife, six packets of dried food dust, and two pen-like instruments into her own black knapsack.
It is more than she could have hoped for.
The soldier stirs with a whining noise, and the girl grasps his face between her hands, pulling open his eyelids with her thumbs and forefingers. His skin is cold and clammy but hes not dead; far from it. Her blow to his cortex chip would only have caused it to reboot, but the nanocells in his retina would still be relaying real-time to her pursuers. She wants the message to be clear and stares directly into his eyes, straddling his chest with her knees.
Dont try to find me, she growls. Dont send anyone. If you do, they will end up like this one; that I can promise you.
Her hands twist, tugging the soldiers chin upward and jamming his knife into the back of his neck. It is such a smooth motion of her hands that the soldiers body barely twitches as she severs his spinal cord, the critical connector between the brain and the body. Her face will be the last thing her pursuers see. The light in his eyes fades but its only a trick of the shadowed gloom around them. Theres no life in these creatures only death.
The sensor on her wrist flashes to blue. Without a backward glance, she is away in an instant, swallowed up by the inky darkness, punching in a sequence on a flat computer-like device connected to the sensor. After a moment, all thats left in her wake is a brief shimmer in the fabric of space and air. Shes gone.
PART ONE
THE OTHERWORLD
PRESENT DAY
COLORADO
My thoughts rain like spatters of blood against the colorless landscape of drab walls and wooden faces. A bell rings, and it is a mad rush as chairs are pushed back loudly. A tall woman with a no-nonsense face calls for silence.
The class roster for the end-of-year projects has been posted in the hallway. You have been paired in groups of four with a different assignment based on what we have covered this semester. If you dont know your partners, I suggest you meet them quickly, as these projects will count for half of your final grade.
A collective groan rolls its way across the classroom.
But Mrs Taylor, a girl three rows across stands and complains loudly, why cant we pick our own groups? Wouldnt that be better for everyone?
Miss Hall, in the future, if youd like to say something, please refrain from yelling it across the classroom. The groups have been allocated according to last years class standings.
But
The groups are final, Miss Hall. Mrs Taylors voice brooks no argument, and the girl falls silent, although her face remains puckered with frustration as she exits the classroom.
I sit huddled at the back, waiting until the classroom is almost empty before gathering my things and walking noiselessly to the front.
Mrs Taylor? I ask. My voice is slightly roughened from a lack of sleep, and the teacher jumps, looking up questioningly. I paste a suitably contrite look on my face. Sorry to startle you, Im er Riven. I transferred in last week. About the groups
Ah, yes, Riven, I do have a note about you, as a matter of fact, Mrs Taylor says, shuffling through a pile of papers on the desk. You have already been assigned. Its on the board along with the others. If you run into any trouble, let me know. Mrs Taylor pushes the wire-rimmed glasses up her nose, her dark eyes sharp. Anything else?
No, thats it, I mumble, unable to hold back the yawn that overtakes my facial muscles.
Are you alright? You look quite pale.
Im fine, just tired. Jet lag, I smile and hoist my backpack over my arm. Thanks, Mrs Taylor.
Riven? I freeze at the door and turn my head in her direction. Her black eyes are still piercing, unsettling as if they can see right through me. I feel an odd, unwelcome shiver take hold at the base of my spine. Welcome to Horrow.
Thanks, I mumble and shift away from her impaling gaze. Shes looking at me as if she knows who I am an imposter, a stranger.
A killer.
I sneak a glance into the classroom once Im in the hallway, and Mrs Taylor is back to studying the papers on her desk. I must have been wrong. I yawn again as exhaustion consumes me. In my tired delirium, Im starting to imagine things. Ive been pushing myself way too hard without enough rest intervals between jumps. Its foolish and reckless.
Black dots fill my vision. Im disoriented as if the ground is tilting beneath my soles. I glance down, only to see the checkered tile floor undulating like a breaking wave. Gasping for breath, I haul open the first door I see.
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