Broken Wide

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  What happened? I demand. I jack Richards to palm-scan us through. There’s a second interior door we’ll have to get through as well, both of which are shielded.

  The dock workers are freaking out, Juliette scrits.

  I bang my fist on my forehead. Are they calling security?

  I don’t think so. No one else is panicking.

  Keep an eye on it. I’ll wipe their memories later.

  Hurry, Zeph. They keep checking inside the open dock door.

  My teeth grind so hard they ache, but Richards finally has the first door open. We go through the shield together, me right on his heels, so I don’t break the jack. The entranceway to Tiller’s office is a tunnel of misery—the walls are covered with murals of Egyptian slaves being whipped and otherwise tortured. My literal fate if Tiller finds me here. Richards quickly moves forward in his jack-impelled directive to get us inside. A palmprint and voice scan open the inner door, revealing Tiller’s office—I shuffle through the threshold shield with Richards.

  Okay, I’m in the office, I scrit to Juliette, then lurch past a stiff-backed Richards who stands blinking at the door, unsure what to do now that he’s fulfilled his mission. Tiller’s office is filled with death art—scenes of all the ways humans kill each other—which is not unnerving at all. I do my best to ignore that while fishing out the data probe and placing it on Tiller’s desk—it’s so massive that the front edge is close to the center of the room. Okay, are you getting anything? I ask Juliette. I flick a look to Richards, but he’s still firmly under my jack hold. Everything will have to be erased when this is done—memories, vid feeds, and any other trace of my presence here. I nervously glance at the floor, glad it’s polished wood and not carpet that might leave tracks. Richards’ gun weighs heavy in my hand.

  How’s it going? I scrit Juliette, nervously eyeing the data probe. There’s no sign of it doing anything.

  Working on it, her translation-dulled voice says in my ear.

  What about the cameras?

  I said I’m working on it. The annoyance comes through even if the monotone doesn’t change.

  I’m restraining every impulse to tell her hurry up. The oppressive death art is making my eyelid twitch. However this goes down, it’s imperative that Juliette gets out of Tiller’s reach. My own dad may have kept secrets—namely that he was a scientist for DARPA who busted out my imprisoned jacker mom while she was pregnant with me—but I don’t think he has a hidden lair of death art. Not certain about that, but I’d bet money on it. And no matter what, I know he actually cares about us—enough to give up his job and his life to protect us. He literally is that heroic dad on the sim-cast.

  Tiller, on the other hand, is completely mental.

  The seconds are ticking away in my head. The twitch in my eye has migrated to my hand, which freaks me out because I still have Richards’ gun. I return it to the holster at his side.

  My gaze is snagged as a screen on Tiller’s desk lights up. Something’s scrolling furiously past—I hope that’s Juliette hacking in, not me having tripped a silent alarm. There’s a screen on Tiller’s desk—

  I’m in, Juliette’s voice says before I can finish my scrit.

  Relief makes my knees weak. I stumble over to take a closer look, but it’s nonsense—and scrolling way too fast to read. My hand thumps rapidly against the rich wood of the desk—I ball up my fist and use my t-shirt to wipe any prints I may have just left.

  Then I jack a demand into Richards’ head. Does Tiller have surveillance in his office?

  Three cameras in the walls, heat sensors in the floor, anti-jacker shielding around the perimeter, including the built-in safe—

  Wait, what? I shut Richards’ list-rattling down. We’ve got a safe somewhere in the office, I scrit to Juliette, then search the walls. Maybe it’s behind one of the death paintings… I’m afraid to touch anything for fear of leaving traces that will hang me later.

  I’ve fixed the cameras, Juliette says. They’re looped to before you broke in.

  We’ve got heat sensors too, I reply. And probably a log of entries to his office.

  On it.

  I plunge deeper into Richards’ mind, dredging up any other security measures we need to be careful of. He moans and drops to his knees, hands wound into his hair. Memory scourings are painful in a way nothing else is, short of having your mindmap spun. It doesn’t take long to see we’ve got everything covered, so I stop. Not that Richards doesn’t deserve a little agony for being Tiller’s guard dog, but he and Tiller are the monsters, not me.

  As he climbs back to his feet, I carefully inspect a Renaissance painting where baby-like-things are being slaughtered. Horrific, but I can’t see anything on the wall behind it without taking it down. I move on to the next one—a disgusting depiction of a wild-eyed man devouring a corpse—then I nearly trip over something. It’s an elaborately carved sculpture that’s set against the back wall—a serpent or dragon spiraling upward, fashioned out of glistening dark wood. It’s as tall as me, and at the top, the dragon is holding a ball in its upwardly turned mouth.

  Not a ball… Juliette, I’ve got an orb. I reach toward the serpent’s mouth, then hesitate.

  What? You’re kidding.

  Not kidding. The last time I touched one of these, it had some kind of skittery feedback that only affected jackers. I grit my teeth and snatch it. The strange sensation slides up my arm, making my teeth rattle. Plus, it’s too big to stuff in my pocket, so I pull my t-shirt off, over my head, and wrap the orb in it.

  Zeph get out.

  What? My heart lurches.

  Get out. Get out. My father—

  I don’t wait for more. I snag the data probe of Tiller’s desk, then jack Richards to lurch into the tunnel of death with me, hesitating just long enough to close the door behind us. Then we repeat that through the next door. I fling my reach out, panicked, afraid Tiller will come around the corner any second, but there’s no one else in the north wing… yet. With Richards by my side, I break out into a full run toward the loading dock.

  Zeph, hurry. He’s at the front door.

  I’m almost to the dock. What about the cameras?

  I got them looped, but I didn’t get much else. Run, Zeph.

  I don’t bother to respond. The dock workers see me coming—me and Richards booking it down the hall. One just backs up, wide-eyed, while the other staggers down the side of the truck like he’s going for something in the cab. Weapon? Communication? I put on a burst of speed. Richards and I breach the shield simultaneously—I jack the dock workers to stop before they alert the whole compound to what’s going down. The one by the cab trips and falls hard on his face. Crap. He’s knocked himself out, and I have jack in deep to wake him. He’s groggy, and he will have a bruise, but his expression is slack, same as Richards’ and the other worker. I sprint, bare-chested, t-shirt-wrapped booty tucked under my arm, toward the northeast wing, stopping only when I duck around the corner, back into the blind spot. Then I quickly rummage through the memories of all three, erasing any trace of me jacking them, replacing the lost time with some busy work they won’t notice they never did. That and a trip-and-fall to explain the bruise and the headache. Or possibly a concussion. I plant an impulse to get it checked, assuaging my guilt a little. The dock workers aren’t evil—they’re just doing their jobs. Another kind of drone, like Wright’s meat puppet or Tiller’s orbs. I leave Richards with some intent to check out their latest shipment, whatever it is.

  Then I lurch across the gap between buildings and head for the door to the northeast wing, scritting to Juliette as I go. Made it. I’m almost—

  Abort. Abort. Don’t come back.

  What? I freeze halfway through the door, just steps from Juliette’s lab.

  Instead of a reply, she comes careening out of her lab.

  I link into her head. Juliette, what the—

  My father! She hauls me inside the building, and the door bangs shut. Then she snatches the t-shirt-wrapped orb out of
my hand and slips just the orb into her lab coat pocket—a lab coat she wasn’t wearing when I left. Before I can ask, she shoves me up against the wall… and kisses me. Which freaks me straight out, but I’m too stunned to do anything. Footsteps scuff the concrete flooring behind her. Juliette jerks back and whips around—Tiller stops short when he sees us.

  I scramble to put up my secondary mind, so I’m not completely empty of thoughts—although my face must show my utter surprise.

  I see you’re occupied. Tiller smirks.

  A shudder runs through me. Partly because I’m not sure we’re safe and partly because I’m shirtless. Juliette has my t-shirt balled up in her hand.

  Juliette is mentally cursing at her father, an impressive and frenetic stream of insults and outrage at Tiller for interrupting and embarrassing her.

  He throws up his hands. Fine. Come see me later. I’ll be in my office.

  We both just stare as he turns and stalks away.

  When I’m sure he’s out of mindreading range, I link to Juliette, Did you wipe everything?

  I think so. Her expression has a residual terror when she turns. The question is—why does my dad want me in his office?

  I have no answer, not a good one anyway. As far as I know, Tiller’s never let his daughter visit his office before—with the Temple of Death there, I can see why. Can’t be anything too terrible—if he knew anything, he’d be hauling me off already. Which I hope is true.

  She visibly shudders and beckons me to follow her back in the lab.

  I get my t-shirt back, but then she just ignores me in favor of the orb she’s pulled out of her pocket. Apparently, we’re not talking about the kiss.

  As I pull my shirt on, I link to her, I should get a sim-cast award for playing your boyfriend.

  She’s digging out tools to take apart the orb. At first, she ignores me, then she turns a still-terrified expression to me. I didn’t know if you’d make it… I didn’t know…

  Hey, it’s okay. I step closer. She’s shaking. I was kidding.

  She focuses again on the orb, attacking it with some tiny electrical prod. I’m taking this thing apart, then I’m culling through the data grab. She stops stabbing the orb long enough to flick a look at me. I’m getting us out of here, Zeph. Out where it’s safe. Then she goes back to it with renewed zeal.

  And I can’t disagree with that. I decide the jumble of fear, anger, and maniacal determination swimming around in her head doesn’t need me in there too… so I let her work.

  I only hope whatever she finds is enough.

  The rocky outcropping is just outside my reach.

  I shift my foot, but my toehold is tenuous, and I’m close to losing my finger grip on the mountain face. I’m panting with the effort, and a drop of sweat itches as it meanders down my face, but I can’t spare anything to wipe it. My muscles are heating with the effort, and I will fatigue out soon. I grit my teeth and groan through them as I stretch and reach and… just snag the narrow outcropping with the tips of my fingers. I work my hand into a full grip, then rest my head against the rock face for a moment and just breathe.

  I’m climbing a virtual wall in a resistance suit, but the adrenaline and the release are real.

  That I’m horribly out of shape is undeniably real as well.

  But my muscle memory from years of landscaping work is quickly coming back—just what I need to cut the cramped-up tension of being trapped in Tiller’s estate. It’s been three days since I broke into his office, and he keeps skulking around the estate in a foul mood, but never leaves. He hauled Juliette into his office, and she came back spooked like crazy, but she refuses to talk about it, and I’m not going to scour her memories—she says Tiller’s no wiser about the break-in, and he hasn’t killed me yet, so I guess that’s all I need to know. Ever since, she’s been frenetically buried in data and tinkering in her lab. I’m getting on her nerves, just hanging around and doing nothing. It’s not like I enjoy it either—being unable to do anything makes my skin itch.

  Speaking of itch… I twist my head to wipe sweat on my shoulder then contemplate my next move. The virtual puts me near the top of the climb, sun blazing with no heat overhead and a large bird of prey circling. Climb or die. Nice touch. I shift my weight around, foot to foot then hand to hand, giving relief and prepping for the final ascent. A lateral handhold to my right is calling—looks easy—but I’m running out of strength. I need to make a run for the top, or I might not make it this round. I spot an easy toehold next to my knee, and I can’t decide if the program is giving me an assist or I just missed it before. I take it, bracing up and reaching for a jutted-out rock with a tuft of grass. Once I have that, a crack to my right seems the next step, but it’s almost too far. I lean into it, stretching my body out spread-eagle against the rock face… and just as the tip of my climbing shoe touches it, the fingers on my left hand lose their grip.

  I growl out my frustration as I fall—the thump of my landing on the mat includes my head and goggles. The virtual jostles enough, plus the stars swimming in front of my eyes, that the illusion is completely destroyed. I push up to sitting, rubbing my tweaked shoulder and slapping the button to deactivate the resistance fields… then freeze at the sound of footsteps behind me. I kept my secondary mind broadcasting the whole time, but still… I hurry to reach out mentally as I shove up the goggles and twist. There’s a girl standing a few feet away, hands out like she was coming to help me…

  Wait… that wildflower mindscent… I blink away the leftover virtual haze then squint.

  The hair is all wrong—way too much red—and her eyes are bright green, but…

  Tessa? I link into her mind.

  Even before she smiles, I know it’s her. The gentleness of her concern, the sharp brilliance of her thoughts: I know her mind even better than her face.

  I scramble up from the mat, my thin t-shirt sticking—I’m covered in sweat from the climb, and I’m sure I don’t smell too good, either. But I’m so high from seeing her, I don’t care. She steps in as I stand, smile wide on her face, and the thoughts she’s having… about how she’s been watching me climb, muscles flexing and strong…

  Sweet mercy. I put up a hand and narrowly avoid the kiss she has every intention of starting. And not ending any time soon. I stumble back until I’m up against the climbing wall, a faux rock jutting into my back.

  We can’t. Tessa. I’m breathing hard, but it’s not from the climb.

  No one saw me come here. I made sure of it. The hurt on her face mirrors the twinge in her mind.

  It takes all my willpower not to jack that emotion away. Or to solve this with a kiss. Cameras. Tiller will see.

  Oh. She backs off a step.

  I’m rapid-sorting through the places Juliette has cleared of cameras—her bedroom, the lab, the theatre—but I can’t be seen sneaking into those with another girl. A girl not Juliette. And by all rights, Tessa shouldn’t even be here.

  I have a thousand questions, I link to her. The urge to touch her is still running through my body. I cross my arms to keep them corralled and lean against a somewhat flatter stretch of the wall.

  Her smile is back, and the pain seems to lift from her mind, both of which gush relief through me. She’s dressed in the slim black pants and white tailored shirt of the staff so I can guess at least part of her trajectory here. The why and how and what in the world? are a mystery.

  So she replays it for me, like readers do, with pictures and feelings and thoughts that are more than just words. She enlivens the story with the animation on her face and the expressive movements of her body. Days ago—still the day of the protest—she and Kira were testing the new Jacker Voice chat-cast booth when Sammi comes bursting in to say Juliette and I were in trouble—Sammi got my scrit and was convinced I was in Tiller’s custody and in terrible danger.

  Which were dead-on true. But Tessa doesn’t need to know that.

  She goes on with her one-woman play, recounting her argument with Sammi, who was ready
to storm the estate with a full military assault. Tessa talked her down but agreed to go in as a spy. Which, of course, only Tessa could do, being a reader.

  Although I had to practice the lying part. Tessa’s bright green eyes are eager and wide. It’s so strange—so different from her beautiful brown ones. And it took a while to infiltrate the company that supplies Tiller with his staff.

  I’m flat-out amazed. And change your hair. And your eyes. And… I had no idea you were capable of such deviousness, Ms. McIntyre.

  She grins wide.

  My need to touch her is making my mouth ache. So… I’m okay. Obviously. And Juliette’s fine, too.

  I know. She gives a short nod. I’ve been here since early this morning.

  I smirk, and warmth flushes through me. So you’ve been spying on me?

  She rolls her eyes. And Juliette.

  I tame my grin. So you can tell Sammi to stand down.

  I will when I leave tonight. I’m just a one-day sub. One of the staff came down with a horrible stomach virus.

  I arch an eyebrow. You poisoned one of the staff? This is not a side of Tessa I ever expected to see.

  She scowls. That was Anna’s idea.

  I snort out a laugh. Not just a mental one, either, but straight from the gut. Almost as much as I want to touch her, I want to talk to her. Normal, out-loud talking. Even with the thoughts mixed in, just our weird mix of jacker and reader interplay—it’s who we are. How we fit. And there’s a dull ache in the pit of my stomach as I stand, back against the climbing wall, not daring to get closer than a few feet away.

  I want so badly to… I replay the last kiss we shared, in the closet of the Mediation Center.

  She bares her teeth at me. No fair teasing! She counters with one of our makeout sessions back at Aaliyah’s Home. One of the really hot ones.

  I unlock my arms and grab onto the handholds of the climbing wall to restrain myself. Okay! Have some mercy. You know that’s a game I can’t win. I might control people’s minds, but readers have the best imaginations—they’re constantly awash in everyone’s fantasies and daydreams from the time they change. They’ve literally seen it all—and have it on ready recall in their minds.