If one believed the media, the Earth should be falling to pieces, yet here sat perfection.
Dad says they’re lying to us.
She thought about the parents rushing her down that hallway in that recurring nightmare. White metal floor, steel walls, harsh lights. Everyone around her hurrying, panicking, worried. Hands attached to faceless people grasped her shoulders and pushed against her back, comforting but urging her to move faster toward a door that terrified her. She scowled at her reflection on the window, trying to imagine what could be in that room to scare her so much.
It’s a nightmare. They aren’t supposed to make sense.
The bus came to a stop at a traffic light. Kiera picked at her backpack, gazing at nothing in particular outside until a blonde woman walking a poodle caught her eye. The dog’s legs didn’t move at all. It glided along as if it had wheels for paws, but the pink leash pulling it hung slack. Kiera’s mouth dried out and her throat tightened. Her lunch crawled up into the back of her mouth.
Am I sick? She squeezed her bag, wishing it were her mother or father.
“Ash, look at that dog.”
Her friend leaned forward to peer past her at the window. “Aww. He’s cute!”
“Are its legs moving?”
The instant she asked the question, the dog came to life and trotted along.
“Yeah. You really are out of it today, Kier.” Ashleigh poked her in the ribs.
Kiera kept her head down, looking at nothing but her book bag as the bus drove, stopped, drove, stopped. Each time it halted, she rocked forward in her seat and students shuffled by on the way to the door. That same feeling of wrongness she’d had earlier returned, and with it, an odd scratchy feeling in her throat as if she’d stuck her finger in deep, trying to make herself throw up.
She gagged, covering her mouth with both hands. Breath stalled. For a second that felt like forever, she gasped for air, unable to breathe or even close her mouth. Something plastic wedged between her teeth, forcing her jaw open. She tried to shout, “help,” but only a zombie’s moan escaped.
The next thing she knew, a hand shook her by the shoulder. She lay across the bench seat on the school bus.
“Hey kid, wake up. Last stop,” said the driver. His curly, wet-looking black hair hung down to his waist. Skinny, the same red-orange Hawaiian shirt with white flowers he always wore draped off him like a flag. “Come on… I wanna get home.”
“Huh?” Kiera pushed herself up to sit, squinting at the windows. Her house waited three down from the corner where they’d stopped. She was the last student left on the bus. “Oh… sorry. I guess I fell asleep.”
Yawning, she shuffled down the aisle, flip-flops scuffing. Again, the oven-like heat when the doors opened made her cringe. Bracing herself, she plodded down the steps. Her right foot hit the sidewalk and iced over with a sensation like thick slime oozing between her toes.
“Gah!” she screamed and jumped back up into the bus.
“Come on, kid. Hurry up,” grumbled the driver.
She looked down. Dry foot. Dry sidewalk.
“This is so messed up.” She lowered herself again and hesitated, toes an inch from contact with the ground.
“Don’t make me ‘help’ you out the door.” The driver chuckled. “C’mon kid… it’s hot.”
Kiera eased her foot down. Normal. No freezing squish. A sudden panic drove her to a sprint over lawns to her porch. After keying in the house code, the front door slid sideways and she rushed into more air conditioning.
Dad’s and Mom’s shoes lined up by the wall to her left, below coats that hadn’t been worn in years. She kicked off her flops and padded into the living room. Her father sat on the couch, one arm over the back, watching pro speedball. He started to smile over his shoulder at her, but his head snapped to face forward. The gesture repeated again and again, sped up like a malfunctioning robot.
Kiera backed up, wide-eyed. “Dad? What’s happening?”
Mom, in one of her skirt suits, walked in from the kitchen. “Hurry up, hon. You’ll be late for school. Late for school. School. School. School.” She twitched, her voice fragmenting into crunchy computerized scraping.
Kiera screamed.
Mom vanished.
Dad looked back over his shoulder, smiling. “Hey, hon, how was school?”
She stared at him.
Mom glided in, wearing a tank top, pink sweat pants, and white socks. “Heading to the gym, sweetie. There’s some fruit if you want a snack.”
Kiera stood rigid as a statue, turning her head to gawk at her mother, who only seconds before had been dressed up. Mom stepped into her sneakers by the door, then headed down a hall out of sight. Seconds later, the whirr of the garage door opener came from the distance.
“Dad, I think I have a brain tumor.”
He laughed. “Oh, come on. School couldn’t be that bad.”
“No, I’m serious. I’m like hallucinating or something.” She dropped her backpack and ran around the sofa to sit next to him, clinging, trembling. “I’m really scared.”
Her father stroked her hair, hugging her tight. “Oh, sweetie… you’re under a lot of pressure. I swear they’re piling too much work on eleven-year-olds these days. When I was your age, algebra and trig didn’t happen ’til high school.”
Still shaking, she managed a half-hearted shrug. “I guess we’re smarter now.”
“There’s fruit on the table,” said Mom from behind.
Kiera jumped, sitting up and whipping her head around to stare… at an empty kitchen.
“What’s gotten into you?” asked Dad.
Pain stabbed her midway between shoulder and elbow in both arms. Similar jabbing pierced her thighs and calves. Kiera shrieked and jumped up, swatting at the points. Her father tilted his head, watching.
“Is that a new dance or something?”
“Ow! Dad! Stop being a jerk!” She lifted her arm and examined it. No blood, no mark. Pain gone. “I’m feeling stuff that isn’t there and hearing stuff that isn’t there. I wanna go to the hospital.”
“All right, I’ll call. I suppose you are overdue for a checkup.” Dad made a hand gesture, which summoned a holographic panel in front of him. He tapped a few keys and a dark-skinned woman with long, black hair appeared.
“San Antonio Medical Pavilion. My name is Ankita. How may I assist you?”
Dad smiled. “I’d like to make an appointment for my daughter, Kiera. She’s complaining of phantom pains and hallucinations. Probably stress, but she thinks she’s got a brain tumor.”
“I see.” Ankita glanced to the side. A flutter of beeping suggested she typed. “Has she experienced any headaches, seizures, loss of motor control, personality or memory changes, problems sleeping or remembering things? Any vomiting?”
“Uhh,” said Kiera, “Does déjà vu count as memory problems? Stuff at school feels like it’s happened already. I remember it, but it hasn’t happened. A little headache, but it only lasted a couple seconds. I did stay up too late last night.”
“Hmm. I see you’re with Citadel Corporation, Mr. Quinn. We can get your daughter in Thursday at the earliest. 10:00 a.m. okay?”
“You want me to wait three days? I might have a brain tumor!” Kiera shivered.
“It’s more likely you’re exhibiting early signs of schizophrenia,” said Ankita, deadpan. “I wouldn’t worry about imminent threats to your health. Please try to remain calm and if your situation changes, contact us again. Your case number is S125197B. Have a wonderful rest of your day.”
Kiera stared at the empty space where the holographic face had been floating. “Did she just call me schizo? Is that supposed to make me feel better than having a tumor?”
“Well, a psychological issue is less scary than invasive brain surgery.” Dad smiled.
“Dad? Your sense of humor sucks.” She frowned.
He stood, pulling her into a hug. “I think you’re overtired. Go take a nap.”
“When will we
wake up?” asked Kiera.
As soon as it’s safe, said Dad in the back of her mind.
“What?” asked Dad. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She threaded her arms up between them and rubbed her face. “Never mind… Maybe I’ll take a nap and this weird stuff will stop.”
Her father peeled her eyes open with his thumbs, tilted her head side to side, felt around her neck, and put his hand on her forehead. “Seems fine to me.” He winked.
“Is that your legal opinion?” She quirked an eyebrow.
Dad chuckled.
“Hey, wait. Why are you home? Aren’t you prepping for a case?”
“We’d be no good to the company if we worked ourselves until our brains turned to mush. Took a mental health day.”
She headed into the kitchen and its icy air-conditioned floor. After snagging an apple from a thick wooden bowl at the center of the table, Kiera went upstairs to her room, scuffing her feet over the grey plush carpet for warmth. She left her backpack and the apple on the desk next to her computer and crawled into bed. Within seconds of her face making contact with the pillow, her eyes popped back open.
Grogginess told her she’d fallen asleep and woken back up. The light in the room didn’t appear different, so she hadn’t slept into the evening. She stretched, adoring her soft blankets for a while, lacking the willpower or strength to get up. Downstairs, the TV kept playing the sounds of speedball. A high-energy announcer screamed about something. Between his distorted yelling and the TV being downstairs, she couldn’t make out anything other than the man being happy at whatever some player named Burkhauser did.
Kiera sat up, swishing her feet side to side under the soft blanket. She felt much better, and nothing in her room or out her window looked strange. A quick trip down the upstairs hall to the bathroom later, she flopped at her desk and pulled out her QuickTab. It synced to her home computer in a few seconds, and she opened homework assignments on her forty-inch monitor.
That eerie sense of déjà vu returned when she read over the list of modules. Every one of them had a familiarity that made her swear she’d done them before. Nonetheless, she plowed on, munching on her apple while working over math, history, programming, robotics, Spanish, and art. For whatever reason, Mrs. Martin in English hadn’t assigned any homework.
“Sweet.” She grinned, and glanced at the clock. Ten after five. “What the heck?”
Kiera peered back at her bed. It felt as though she’d caught more than a twenty-minute nap. After all the time she’d thrown at homework, it should’ve been much later. Even if she hadn’t fallen asleep.
“Today is one messed up day.” She glanced at her computer. “Call Ash.”
A window opened, showing a still-image of her best friend’s goofy smile, lips covered in hot-pink lipstick and giant, star-shaped glitter earrings dangling from her lobes. In a few seconds, the image disappeared, replaced with video of Ashleigh. The scenery behind her looked like the commerce-plex food court.
“Hey, how much longer are you going to be shopping?”
Her friend grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, hey. You wouldn’t believe this dress Mom found at Blue Barn! It’s gorgeous, and they marked it down to $180. I’m gonna wear it to school tomorrow.”
Kiera put her feet up on the desk, ankles crossed. “That’s cool. I guess you’re eating there? What time are you coming back? Wanna hang out?”
Ashleigh grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, hey. You wouldn’t believe this dress Mom found at Blue Barn! It’s gorgeous, and they marked it down to $180. I’m gonna wear it to school tomorrow.”
“Ash, knock it off. Stop messing with me.” Kiera poked at the screen. “I’m serious. I’m having a weird day.”
Ashleigh grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, hey. You wouldn’t believe this dress Mom Mom Mom found at Blue Barn! It’s gorgeous, and and and they marked it d-d-d-own―”
Her friend froze again as a still image.
“Error,” said a grown woman’s voice, seemingly from the ceiling, drawn out into ‘Err-roar.’
Kiera yelped and looked up. The call dropped. “Dad! Dad!?”
Silence.
She scrambled out of the chair and ran to the hall, shouting, “Dad?”
It occurred to her that the TV had gone silent.
Kiera ran downstairs to the empty living room, wide-eyed. “No… No… this isn’t happening. I’m not going crazy.” She padded over to the couch and felt the cushions. All cold. She grabbed at nothing, and the house computer’s holographic terminal appeared. She pushed the button to call Dad.
He answered in three rings, seated at a desk in his work office. “Hi, hon. What’s up?”
“Umm. Where are you?”
“At work. Where else would I be at this hour?” He leaned aside to show more of the office surrounding him for a second. “You know I’ve got a major case on the plate right now. Sorry for being a ghost so much these days, but that house isn’t paying for itself. We’re buried under a landslide. Can you believe people are mad at us for not cleaning stuff up fast enough? As if we made the pollution.”
“You were just here. I got home from school and you were watching speedball.” Her lip quivered.
He bowed his head, sighing. “I know I’ve been spending too much time here. I’m sorry. Please don’t have a meltdown on me. I promise as soon as I can, I’ll take two or three weeks’ vacation. You’ll be sick of me.” He grinned.
“But you were here…” said Kiera in a small voice. “I…” Maybe I didn’t even go to school today and I just woke up? “Ugh, this is so strange. Sorry.”
“It’s all right, sweetie. I should be home before you go to bed tonight.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“See you later.” He blew her a kiss and hung up.
Kiera trudged upstairs, scratching at the spot on her left arm where the phantom needle had poked. Still no sign of a puncture mark or even pain. When she reached her bedroom, she sat on a pile of small pillows arranged in the corner, facing the sixty-inch display panel hooked up to her Supernova 2 game console. No angry vid mails had arrived from any teachers or her parents, so she must have gone to school. With homework done and Ashleigh playing head games, she had a few hours to kill before bedtime.
Why is she being like that? Kiera felt sorry for herself for a minute or two, and got over it.
Seconds later, the title screen of The Concordant Sequence filled her monitor, depicting a massive armored door that guarded the final alien bunker. She’d been playing the game for-seeming-ever, running back and forth across a virtual landscape, completed every quest, hunted every achievement, found almost all the gear, and cleared everything except for that final bunker. The game had ninety-four of them, all underground complexes where a series of tunnels, creatures, and puzzles stood between her and ‘beating’ the game.
She’d been bashing her head into the final bunker over at least four months. The mission setup had the alien fleet in orbit, an automated group of ships controlled by the boss at the bottom level. If she took too long to get there, the creature would trigger a bombardment that vaporized all life on Earth, and the game ended with a loss… before reverting to her last saved game. Again and again, she’d tried it. Sometimes she made it to the end boss, but had suffered such a beating on the way down, she couldn’t survive the encounter. Most of the time, she took so long in the hallways fighting past the automated defenses and aliens, the orbital fleet fired in the middle of the boss encounter, ending the game.
Cross-legged, Kiera set her elbows on her knees, gripped the controller, and narrowed her eyes.
Her character appeared in the starting room, a metal cube with glowing green lights pulsing in patterns over the walls. One door led forward. She mashed the button to skip over the “We’re all counting on you to save the world,” monologue from her soldier’s commanding general. As soon
as the cutscene ended, she rushed forward into a corridor of black metal. Dim overhead lights created lots of shadows and places to hide, but with the giant timer ticking down, she didn’t bother.
Two yellow-bodied aliens, each with four arms and two rifles, opened fire from behind cover at the end of the hallway, supported by two turrets in the ceiling. She ran into a slide, tossing an EMP grenade that disabled the turrets as she skidded to a stop behind a large machine attached to the wall. From there, she traded fire with the two aliens, taking them out with ease.
Up and running, she stopped at the end long enough to shoot straight up and destroy the stunned turrets. Experience points! Left offered a shorter route, but it contained two sentry robots with missiles and a lot of armor. They had a good chance of dropping power up crystals, so she often risked the fight, but it took forever to kill them. The other way required traversing a much longer corridor. It didn’t have any aliens, but did have tons of annoying turrets. They didn’t hit hard, but they almost never missed. Annoyingly so. No matter what she did, they hit her. Dodging didn’t work, sliding to cover didn’t work, and throwing the controller across the room didn’t work.
She got angry even thinking about it and headed left.
Minutes later, she finished off the second of the two heavy bots with a third of her life bar left and no more healing packs.
“Crap.” She raised her arm to chuck the controller, but changed her mind. She hit the command button to reload the game and start again. “I hate this level so much. It’s too damn hard.” On a whim, she went to the character screen and stared at the special abilities tree. Most of her points had been spent into the combat branch, with some in survival. She’d barely touched stealth since she lacked the patience. Sneaking around to ambush enemies took like ten times as long as smashing them head on. “Okay… I get it.” She flipped to the inventory page and used a Rom Flash item, resetting her points. “Game developers like stealth. I give up.”
A short while of allocating special abilities later, she reworked a stealth build with enough in the combat group to enhance ambushing attacks. Her character’s rifle damage dropped to 125, about one-third of what it had been, which made her expect a waste of time, but ambushing could hit for 2,500 according to the final ability at the bottom of the stealth path. That should one-hit-kill most things, and do in a single unit of ammo what it took her up-front build about twenty shots to accomplish. Counting armor, more like forty.
Citadel: The Concordant Sequence Page 3