Shake

by Chris Mandeville

  I watch Daum, dragging out the moment. From the look on his face, it won’t be a minor thing if I spill that he was sleeping. Finally I look back at Spires. “He wasn’t asleep. He had his back turned so I sneaked over to check out the lock.”

  I glance at Daum, making sure he reads me loud and clear—he owes me. He’s not happy about it, but he nods. So the lock fiasco wasn’t a total bust.

  A woman in a burgundy jumpsuit storms into the room. “What’s going on?” Her scowling face has more ink than a comic book cover.

  “Everything’s norm,” Daum says.

  “It didn’t sound norm. What in the eff happened?”

  “Novalie,” Bel calls.

  The woman turns to Bel. “Who the eff are you?”

  “Bel Raskin, Piers Dietrich’s daughter,” Bel says, rising from the bench. “And your friend.”

  “I’ve never seen you before.”

  “That’s because history changed while I was on an auth mission. Take me to Med like you’re supposed to, and we can clear this up.”

  “There’s no such thing as auth time travel,” Novalie says. “What the eff are you trying to pull?”

  “Nothing,” Bel says, and I’m impressed how sincere she sounds. “I want to prove I am who I say I am. A rapid DNA will show I’m a Jenny. Compare it with my mom’s DNA and you’ll see—this is my real time.”

  Novalie’s hands perch on her hips as she stares at Bel and bites a piercing in her lower lip.

  “Come on, Novalie,” Bel says. “Why wouldn’t you want to test me and find out?” I don’t detect even a trace of mean-girl in her tone. Amazing. I didn’t think she was capable.

  Finally Novalie turns to Spires. “Why weren’t they taken to Med?”

  “Dietrich’s orders.”

  “Dietrich herself?” Novalie asks.

  Spires nods. “She put us on Security Priority One.”

  Novalie’s face goes slack. “Gods damn it.”

  “Might as well get comfortable,” Spires says, gesturing to an easy chair.

  “I have a better idea,” Novalie says. “I’m going to walk out of here and we’re all going to pretend this never happened.”

  Spires steps toward her, his hand moving to his gun. “I can’t—”

  “Don’t draw that weapon,” Novalie barks.

  Spires freezes.

  “You know something’s not right,” Novalie says. “They should be in Med.”

  “We have orders,” Daum says.

  A look from Novalie makes him take a step back.

  “I’m going to check into this,” Novalie says.

  Spires draws a sharp breath.

  “I’ll be careful,” Novalie says. “I’m not getting recycled over this, and neither are you. Sit tight and I’ll be back.”

  Daum looks to Spires. Spires stands stock-still and silent, his meaty forehead bunched in a scowl. Finally his empty hand leaves the holster and he nods.

  Without another word, Novalie turns and leaves.

  “Is this good?” I whisper to Bel.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  It seems like this has promise. I mean, at least someone is going against the status quo, someone who seems pretty powerful, or at least determined and ballsy. I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but I’ve got nothing else to latch onto. Especially now that I know the lock is unpickable—can’t pick it if you can’t touch it.

  “Daum, get everyone nutrition,” Spires orders.

  Daum makes the kitchenette appear again and pushes buttons. I hear whirring noises, then he places a glass under a spigot. There’s burbling as the glass fills with a greenish-gray liquid. He takes it to Spires who’s back in the easy chair with his feet up. I’m not surprised when Spires doesn’t say thanks.

  Daum fills two more glasses and brings them to the bars.

  “I’ll go,” I say to Bel.

  I meet Daum at the front of the cell and take both glasses. “Thanks.”

  He nods, then turns away.

  “Wait, what is this stuff?” I ask, not wanting to burn an opportunity to build a connection.

  He turns back. “Nutrition.”

  I sniff one. Ew, it smells like sauerkraut. “Yeah, but what is it?”

  “Protein, carbs, fat.”

  “Okaaaay.” I take a tentative sip. It’s disgusting. I force myself to swallow the bitter, gritty glop, and it leaves a chalky coating in my mouth. “Gross.”

  “You’ll get used to it.” Daum walks away.

  “Doubt it,” I say under my breath. I really, really hope I don’t have to.

  I give Bel her glass and she downs it without even making a face.

  “How can you even?” I set my full glass on the floor.

  “Do you always have to be so drama? It’s like a smoothie from your time.”

  “Uh, no. Not even close. What’s in it? Don’t tell me fruit.”

  “Labs grow food down here. Nothing goes to waste. This is a mixture of leftover matter.”

  “So appetizing. Not.” I spot my water glass on the floor by the bars. I go over and chug it, trying to wash the vile taste from my mouth. It doesn’t work.

  I return to the bench and sit beside Bel.

  “Drink up,” she says. “That’s all you’re going to get.”

  “Geez, what kind of future did you bring me to? Please tell me there are still Micky D’s.”

  “Out in the world, but not down here.”

  That’s the second time she’s said “down here,” like we’re underground or something. “What do you mean, down here? Where are we?”

  “In the old BART tunnels under the city.”

  “What? Why?”

  “After the White War, when researchers discovered the wormhole here, a small Resistance colony was established to keep the wormhole secret from the ASPs.”

  “Asps? Like snakes?”

  “A. S. P. American Syncretic Party. ASPs for short. They evolved from what you know as Nazis.”

  “What?” Did she really say Nazis? “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “In this time—at least in my version of it—the ASPs run everything from the government on down. Everything except these tunnels and the wormhole. They believe there are a dozen scientists here working to relieve the pressure on the San Andreas fault. They have no idea about the wormhole or the hundred-plus members of the Resistance.”

  “You,” Spires barks, coming toward the cell. He’s pointing at me.

  My heart jumps into my throat. “Yeah?”

  “Turn around and put your hands on the wall.” Spires’s tone leaves no room for negotiating.

  I stand and put my hands flat on the cold cement, glancing at Bel for guidance. She looks scared, which scares the crap out of me.

  “You with the red hair,” Spires says. “Middle of the cell.”

  Bel presses her lips in a line, then gets up and leaves my field of view without even a glance at me.

  I hear the cell door open, then the swishing of movement. After a moment, the door clanks shut and I steal a peek. Bel’s outside the cell with her wrists bound in front of her.

  “Novalie said take her to Med,” Spires says, thrusting Bel toward Daum.

  “What about me?” I ask.

  “Shut it,” Spires says. “Daum, we’re still Security Priority One. No tagging or talking to anyone.”

  Daum leads Bel away, leaving me with the more challenging mark. I’m sure I could have gotten something out of Daum. Cracking Spires may be beyond my ability.

  At least Bel is going to Med. Fingers crossed she can get to a computer.

  Spires hasn’t told me I can move yet. How long is he going to make me stand here with my hands on the wall?

  “Excuse me?” I call. “Can I sit down?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  I try something else. “Could I have some water?”

  Still nothing.

  I’m getting tired of this real quick. What’s he going to do, shoot me for taking my hands
down?

  I turn and Spires isn’t even looking. He’s sitting at the desk with his back to me.

  I’m tempted to curl up in a ball and wait for Bel to do her thing, but I know better than to count on her, or anyone but myself. I can’t afford to waste any time. “Hey,” I call.

  He’s a statue.

  “Hey,” I say louder. “I really do need water.”

  He doesn’t twitch. It’s like I’m not talking at all.

  I sit on the bench and lean back against the wall. I can’t believe Bel left me hanging with “Nazis.” What happened to the world? I have to find a way to get Spires talking. I need answers.

  Chapter Five

  Flyx

  It was close, but I managed to pull the reports, cover my virtual tracks, and log out on time. Anyone who logs out late, Remo looks at tight, and no one wants that, even when they’re innocent.

  At the STARS office, I drop my transfer drive and Dietrich’s hist-report, and grab my personal from Remo. He grunts without looking at me, so I know I didn’t trigger any alerts.

  Trying not to look like I’m in a hurry, I leave the office, strapping the personal to my wrist as I go. The sec it’s engaged, I tag Daum.

  FLYX: whr u?

  where are you? appears on the screen. There’s a split second when I can stop transmission if there’s an error, but there isn’t, so I let it fly. The algo’s are getting better. Used to be every other word was jumbo.

  No response from Daum. I have zero patience. I tag again.

  FLYX: D u there?

  He’s supposed to be off shift now. Why isn’t he tagging back?

  I stop at the junction, not sure which way to go. Daum could be at Middies, but that’s the wrong direction if he’s still at Detention.

  Wait, what am I thinking? Even if Daum’s at Detention, Allison wouldn’t be—per proto, arrivals go straight to Med. I’ll bypass Daum entire.

  I check which Med tech is on duty—Sharrow. Who the soot is that? It’s got to be Rista switching up names again. It’s not like there could actually be someone I don’t know.

  I tag Rista.

  FLYX: r u wrkng?

  I wait. Two minutes, three minutes. Rista doesn’t respond. Maybe that’s good. Maybe she can’t because she has a patient—one Allison Bennett.

  I can’t keep static. I start pacing. Six steps forward, six back. Six forward, six back. After three minutes I tag Rista again. Then Daum again.

  Still nothing.

  I can’t continue pacing like the caged animals in those horr-awful vid-histories of “zoos.” I have to do something. I key in a new message to Rista.

  FLYX: need info new arrival Allison Bennett. on my way to Med now

  I bust toward Med, toward one Allison Bennett, my odd-clothed girl from past history. Toward what feels like my future. Halfway there, my wrist tingles with a tag. Finally.

  DAUM: not supposed to be tagging. Security Priority One. what’s got you nettled?

  FLYX: need info on girl came through wormhole this a.m.—Allison Bennett

  DAUM: how can you possibly cog that?

  FLYX: it’s her, my odd-clothed girl

  DAUM: come to Med. I have three minutes, no more

  FLYX: almost there

  My feet fly across the cement, my heart racing faster than it should be. I feel like I’m in a dream, like this can’t be actual. Am I about to meet the girl from my maginings?

  At Med, Daum’s waiting outside the door.

  I rush up. “Tell me.”

  “You first. You’re not need-to-know, so how do you?”

  “Is she in there?” I point to the door.

  “No, but she should be.”

  “Then what are we doing here?”

  “Two girls came through the wormhole. I brought the other one—not Allison. This one claims she’s from this time, that she’s Dietrich’s daughter, but I’ve never seen her before.”

  “Bel? What are you playing at? We used to steal her lunch in Prime.”

  “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  Rot. History must have changed. But how, without me knowing? Maybe I was too preoccupied with my odd-clothed girl. I’ve got to be more careful. I’d better find out what Bel knows. “So Bel’s in Med with Rista now?”

  “No, with Sharrow.”

  “Who’s Sharrow?”

  “Sharrow? Your girlfriend?”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Real funny,” Daum says. “I gotta get back to Detention.”

  “Is that where Allison is?”

  “Why do you care?”

  I knew it. “I’m coming with you.”

  “You cracked? Spires would unseat my head and suck my spinal cord out my neck. What he’d do to you would be worse. Take a resp and line up your progs. I’ll tag when I can.” He takes off at a jog.

  My head’s swimming. What the soot happened to history? I can’t ask Bel, not with someone named Sharrow there who thinks I’m her boyfriend. There’s only one other way to cog what’s going on.

  I race back to STARS, trying to cipher a story that will convince Remo to let me back in the TIC. I arrive winded without a single good idea.

  Stalling, I go to grab a drink, but don’t have my bottle. I bank my personal to the potable and grab a one-time instead. After filling and draining it twice, I bin it and settle on telling the truth. I face the entrance mask and bank the door to STARS.

  Remo looks up from his desk. “What the eff are you doing back here?”

  I cross the office and sit on the arm of the chair opposite his desk. “I think I effed up.”

  His pierced brow bunches in a way that looks painful. “Whatdja do?”

  “Must’ve missed something on my last shift, because now there are hist-changes—sally ones—that aren’t logged because I didn’t see them.”

  He leans on his elbows, his tattooed fingers splayed on the desk. “Like what?”

  “Like apparently some girl I’ve never heard of named Sharrow is my girlfriend.”

  “Eff me.” Remo leans back in his chair. “Sharrow’s gonna be torqued.”

  “So she is my girlfriend? Daum told me she was, but…”

  “She’s your girlfriend all right. Some months, now.” He hands me an empty transfer drive. “Get your hind in the TIC and figure what the eff is up.”

  “Affirm.” I drop my personal on his desk and head for the back hall. That went way better than I imagined.

  “Make it fast,” Remo calls.

  I raise my hand, acknowledging. I had radiation sickness before. That’s something no one wants to go through twice.

  Chapter Six

  Spires leaps to his feet as the door opens and Dr. Dietrich strides in. She glances my way, then zeroes in on Spires.

  “Where is she?” Dietrich demands.

  “I…I,” Spires stammers. It’s odd to see him rattled.

  “My orders were crystal,” Dietrich says. “So where is the other one? Where’s my daughter?”

  She believes Bel’s her daughter? What happened to change her mind? I take advantage of Spires’s slack-jawed silence and pipe in. “They took her to Med.”

  Dietrich wheels around to face me. “What?”

  “Bel—your daughter—is my sister. They took her to Med.”

  “They took her to Med?” It’s like she’s having a hard time keeping up. Like she’s the stressed-out twin of the woman from before.

  “Yes, a while ago,” I answer.

  “And you’re her sister.” She’s catching up.

  “Half sister. My only family in the world.” I make my voice crack with emotion—I hope that’s not laying it on too thick.

  Dietrich turns back to Spires and holds out her hand. “Your weapon.”

  Spires looks like he’s about to pee himself. He steps forward, extending the butt of his handgun.

  Dietrich grabs it. “Open the cell.”

  “Ma’am?” Spires’s voice cracks. I almost feel sorry for him.<
br />
  “Do it.” Dietrich gestures with the gun toward the cell door.

  Spires narrows his eyes at me, like this whole thing is my fault, which throws cold water on my almost-sympathy. He crosses to the cell door and opens it.

  “Zip her hands,” Dietrich says.

  Spires comes toward me, jaw bulging from clenched teeth, and pulls a zip tie from his pocket. I hold my hands in front of me and he loops the plastic strip around my wrists, pulling so tight it pinches. But I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

  “Come with me, Allie,” Dietrich says. “But watch yourself. I won’t hesitate to use this gun.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She seems confident with the gun. I’m not going to underestimate her.

  “Spires, stay there,” Dietrich says.

  “What?” His voice is tinged with panic.

  “You disobeyed me.”

  “But Novalie gave the order.”

  Dietrich closes the cell door, locking Spires in.

  It’s stupid satisfying to see him on the other side of the bars, but I’m careful not to let it show. I don’t need to make him more of an enemy.

  Dietrich motions me across the room and through the outer door onto a small landing with a staircase going down. The walls are plain gray, and there’s nothing here but the stairs and rails. Or at least nothing I can see. Who knows what’s hologrammed.

  Dietrich gestures with the gun to go down the stairs ahead of her. I take them slowly—it’s a long way down. She doesn’t touch me, but she’s so close behind I hear her breathing. I know the muzzle of the gun is inches from my back, and I don’t doubt she has the nerve to shoot me. But my read is she’ll only shoot if she has to, and I’m not going to give her any reason.

  At the bottom of the stairs is yet another room with gray walls and a cement floor. These people have no imagination.

  “Keep moving,” Dietrich says.

  I walk toward the only exit. A closed, gray door—what else would it be?

  I stop at the door but I can’t open it—there’s no handle, no doorknob. No buttons or control panel. No window or security camera to someone on the other side.

  Dietrich steps forward. I note the gun’s now in her left hand—it was in her right before. If I’m going to make a break for the wormhole room, now’s the time. I glance back toward the stairs and calculate the odds of making it without getting shot: pretty much zero.