So Sharrow comes into existence, and a dozen people vanish from the histories, but I only noticed the one girl who shows up in my Detention. Eff me.
I copy my findings to the transfer drive, but I can’t take the time to Liferep—I’ve already been here too long. My head’s pounding, stomach roiling. I’ve got to get out before I vomit. Or worse.
I stagger to the door and grasp the handle, but it won’t turn. I try again, but still nothing.
I can’t get it open.
I’m hit with a wave of dizziness and my stomach rebels. I brace my hands on my knees and gravy, barely missing my feet. Propping myself against the wall, I try the handle again, but it’s useless. The damn thing is stuck.
I hit the emergency button. But nothing happens.
What the mother-effing eff?
This makes no sense. The emergency is on a completely different relay from the door—they should never both be null sametime. Unless the ASPs discovered us. But that doesn’t make sense either—the regular lights are still on. What am I missing?
I try the door again, but the room is closing in, my peripheral vision going dark.
No, I can’t pass out. I can’t die in here.
I pound on the door, even though no one will hear me. Then my knees turn to pulp and the floor rushes up at me.
Chapter Nine
I float in my body as Calix and Sharrow work on it. I don’t care what they’re doing to me. It’s a brand-new feeling, this not caring. I like it. Mostly.
The thing is, I should care. I should be worried. I should be terrified.
I grab onto that spark. But it’s no fun. It would be so easy to let go of it…. So I do, letting the empty floaty feeling swallow me.
“Tunes?” I hear Sharrow ask.
“Nat,” Calix says. “Jeronemy?”
“Perf.”
Music eases into my awareness like a soft breeze. Some sort of synth. A voice but no words, at least not that I recognize. It’s like the voice is one of the instruments.
I look up at Calix. How could I have thought his face was gruesome? It’s perfect. It’s beautiful. His eyes…I want to swim in them. No, not swim. I want to dance.
So I do.
I open myself to the music and let it take me where it will.
Calix smiles at me. “Phee, isn’t it?”
Phee. Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman.
I giggle and it tickles in my stomach.
I close my eyes and dissolve into the music.
Music. A deep pounding beat. It makes my head throb. I want to cover my ears, but my arms weigh four thousand pounds.
Why won’t my eyes open? And why does my tongue feel like sandpaper?
“Allie.”
Is that real or in my head?
“Allie, open your eyes.”
I’m voting real. I need to open my eyes. It shouldn’t be hard. I focus all my energy on my eyelids.
There’s a scraping sensation and then there’s light. The music stops, but there’s still a faint pounding in my skull.
A shadow. A hand comes into view.
Cool, soothing liquid slides over my eyeballs. I blink and green hair comes into focus. It’s mint-girl…Sparrow. No, Sharrow.
“Drink,” she says.
I feel a straw part my lips. I suck and water bathes my mouth in glorious wet. I keep drinking until she takes it away.
“Did you have a good trip?” she asks.
I’m confused. Where did I go?
“Let’s get you sitting up.”
There’s a soft whir and I feel the bed move, pivoting my body into a sitting position. I can see the room now and I remember—they gave me drugs, they did stuff to me. What did they do?
I look down, relieved to find a sheet covering my nakedness. I can feel my body now. I’m back in it. I wiggle my toes and I see the sheet move—thank God.
“What—?” My voice comes out a croak.
Sharrow puts the straw back in my mouth.
I swallow and try again. “What did you do to me?”
“Nothing invasive. But you thought we were trying to kill you.” She laughs. It’s a nice sound. “All we did was routine tests.”
“So did I pass?”
She grins. “I don’t know. You seem healthy to me.” Despite her smile, her eyes seem sad. I feel like I should know why.
“Did you do genetic testing? Do I have any relatives in this time?”
“Only Bel. She’s your half sister. Weirdly, she’s also my half sister—same mom.”
Sharrow doesn’t look too happy about that. That’s right. She found out about Bel—that’s why she’s sad.
“It’s funny,” she continues. “I’ve always been an only child, then suddenly I have a sister my age.”
“I grew up an only child, too. Me and my mom. I only found out about Bel…” How long has it been? “About a week ago.” It feels like a lot longer.
“Do you think you’re up to walking? I’m supposed to get you moving as soon as possible.”
“I can try. You promise you’re not going to kill me?”
She laughs again, and this time her face lightens a little. “I promise.”
I look around but don’t see a guard. Maybe they’ve decided they can trust me. Or maybe there’s a guard hidden by hologram, or a surveillance system that shoots tranquilizer darts.
Sharrow pulls back my sheet and I’m totally naked. My instinct is to cover up, but I remember Bel acting like it was no big, so I try to pretend I don’t care.
“Welcome back.” A man’s voice.
I snatch the sheet back over me as the man with the tendon face comes around the bed. The doctor.
I remember him. It makes me warm, and a little embarrassed.
“Feeling better?” He smiles at me with his perfect teeth.
I shrug, and it’s strange, like my shoulders aren’t used to doing what I ask. “I’m okay.”
“You passed your physical,” he says. “Now we need to get you on your feet.”
“We were about to do that,” Sharrow says, holding out her hand. “Ready?”
“Uhhh, no.” They want me to stand buck naked in front of him? I mean, he is a doctor, but I still don’t feel right about it. I clutch the sheet to my chest.
“What’s wrong?” Sharrow asks.
“I changed my mind.” I look from her to Calix and back.
“Are you feeling dizzy? Sick to your stomach?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“Privacy,” Calix says. “She’s not comfortable with her body.”
“Hey!” I say, insulted. “My body’s fine. I’d just rather have a robe or something.”
“We don’t have robes,” Sharrow says. “But you can wrap the sheet around you.”
How am I supposed to wrap the sheet around me without exposing myself first?
“I’ll step out,” Calix says. “Let me know if you start to feel ill, affirm?”
I nod and watch him leave, then stand and wrap myself in the sheet. I’m a little wobbly, but not too bad.
“See if you can walk to the desk,” Sharrow says. “I’ll be right beside you.”
I walk to the desk and back, feeling more like myself with each step.
“Good, you’re doing great,” Sharrow says. “How about we try a bath? That always helps shake off the gloops.”
“The gloops?”
“That’s what I call it when I come out from under the drugs.”
“You’ve had them, too?”
“Of course. As medical practitioners, we have to experience all drugs and procedures before we admin them to others. It’s part of training.”
That makes a lot of sense. I like that.
She walks ahead of me, puts her hand on the blank wall, and a door opens. I follow her into a bathroom. This time it’s an actual bath room with a glass tub. The sink and toilet are in a wall shelf, like in Detention.
“You can use the toilet while I draw the water,”
Sharrow says.
“Uhhh….sure.” I walk to the toilet and sit down, with only my sheet for privacy. It’s not like I haven’t peed in front of other girls, but this is awkward. What changed to make a future where everyone is naked in front of each other?
I head to the tub, thinking it’s pretty cool that it’s clear. Except that means no privacy. Shocker.
I grab the handrail to steady myself as I climb up three steps. At the top there’s a white towel draped over the rail. I drop the sheet and lower myself into the warm water.
The tub is contoured to my back, like it was made for me, and the hot water is amazing. I already feel my body relaxing.
Sharrow hands me a bar of soap. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
I reach up and touch my tangled mass of hair. “Shampoo? Conditioner?”
“The bar works for everything.”
She goes to the side of the room and holds her hand up to the wall. The wall opens and a platform slides out with a vanity, a mirror, and a cushioned bench. She sits on the bench and angles herself to the side so she’s not looking at me directly or via the mirror. I guess she’s giving me as much privacy as she can while making sure I don’t drown.
I dunk under the water to wet my head, then suds up the bar and rub it in my hair. I dunk again to rinse, then lean back against the tub as my worries and responsibilities bubble up in my mind.
Top on the list is finding Bel. It’s not that I’m worried about her. It’s that I don’t trust her. At some point, Dietrich will let her time-travel, and I need to make sure she doesn’t leave me behind.
As good as the bath feels, I have to get to work.
I climb out and dry off, then wrap the towel around me.
Sharrow motions me over to the vanity. “I have a jumper for you.”
Ugh. Can’t I wear jeans? After 1906, I’m sick of dresses. Even a ski racer bodysuit like Sharrow’s would be better than a jumper.
“I guessed on size, but it’s stretchy.” She hands me a gray wad of slippery fabric.
I unroll it. Apparently a “jumper” is a bodysuit. I should be more careful what I wish for.
Sharrow takes my towel. I angle my body away from her, step into the suit and slide it on. It’s tight, but not uncomfortable.
“No bra?” I won’t miss the corset, but I can’t imagine not wearing a bra, especially with this tight leotard thing.
“Don’t need it. Pull the zipper all the way up. You’ll see.”
I zip the suit up to my neck and it squeezes my torso—like it’s actively constricting. “What the…” The squeezing stops, and the suit feels supportive, but still comfortable. I guess they got some things right in the future. I wonder what the shoes are going to be like.
“Would you like some help with your hair? It looks pretty tangled.”
“Sure, okay.” I’m anxious to get to Bel, but walking around with a tangled mop of wet hair is probably not necessary.
I sit at the vanity. Sharrow accesses a keypad on the vanity surface, then there’s a buzzing above me. I look up and see a square panel descending toward my head.
“What’s that?” I ask, trying not to sound alarmed.
“The dryer.”
It stops a foot above me and blows warm air down.
Sharrow pulls a comb from a drawer and starts working on the knots. It feels like a million years ago that Vee and Haze were doing my hair at the Palace Hotel. It’s impossible that it’s barely been one day. My heart clenches at the memory, but I channel that into resolve. I’m going to fix this. I’m going to get them all back.
“Thanks, this is good,” I say, pulling away from Sharrow. “I need to talk to Bel.”
She holds the comb mid-air. “Your hair’s still wet.”
“It’s fine. Besides, it hurts behind my left ear.” I rub the spot and feel a lump. I don’t remember bumping my head.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Sharrow says. “That’s your implant. The swelling should go down by tomorrow.”
“You put an implant in me?”
“It transmits your location and vitals. It’s not integrated or anything.” She says this like it’s normal.
“Back up. What did you do to me? And why?” I probe the spot with my fingers, but don’t feel any stitches.
“The implant is harmless. We all have them. Please don’t be upset.”
“Too late. You shouldn’t have done that without my permission. And what did you say about it being integrated?” I don’t like the sound of that.
“I said it’s not integrated. Some implants are tied into brainwaves that enable them to communicate non-verbally with tech, like your personal. But not everyone has that. You don’t. I don’t.”
“Brainwaves communicate with what?”
“Tech. Like the personal communication device.” She holds out her arm, showing me her wrist.
“What am I looking at?” I don’t see anything but her skin and the sleeve of her mint-green suit.
She touches her wrist with her other hand and a watch becomes visible as she’s removing it. “When it’s clasped, it camouflages to whatever it’s touching. You get one of your own.”
“Seriously?”
She returns hers to her wrist, and it vanishes. “Come on, let’s get yours.”
I follow her out of the bathroom and perch on the edge of a bed while she grabs something from a cabinet.
She brings over a silvery iridescent watch-like device with a blank face about three inches square. The band shimmers as it bends, like a translucent eel writhing in her hand.
“It goes on your right arm,” she says.
I hold out my wrist and she encircles it with the band. I feel a snap, then it tightens and morphs to the color of my skin.
“Freaky.” I hold my arm out and squint. Since I know the device is there, I can sorta see the ghost of an outline, or maybe that’s my imagination. I run my fingers over it.
“Don’t take it off, even in the shower,” she says. “You’ll need it everywhere you go.”
Why would I need a watch I can’t see… “Oh! This how you open doors and stuff, isn’t it? I thought the sensors were reading your handprints.”
She smiles. “Your personal is how you gain access to everything, plus you can use it to communicate and to get info. Like, say I want to know where my boyfriend is.” She taps the inside of her wrist. “Where is Flyx?”
She holds her wrist out so I can read the message: STARS.
“He’s in the stars?” I ask.
She lets out a tinkle of a laugh. “No, that stands for Sequestered Time-log and Review Station. Where he works. But he’s not supposed to be on duty right now.” She frowns for a microsecond. “But I’m sure it’s nothing sally. Here, I’ll show you another use—I can message him.”
She taps on the device twice and then opens her hand. A keyboard, glowing blue, is projected on her palm. The fingers of her left hand fly across the keys, and letters appear in the display. “stil mtg fr dnr? thers smone I wnt u 2 mt”
I blink and the jumble of letters transforms: Still meeting for dinner? There’s someone I want you to meet.
The message vanishes and “sent” appears on the display.
“You can also dictate-record.” She taps her wrist once. “Tag Flyx.” There’s a faint beep. “My new friend is Allie. We’ll be at the Donut Shoppe, then at the club.” After a moment, it shows “sent” like the last one. “Phee, right? Now you try. Ask it a question.”
For a girl who’s never had a smart phone, this is some serious bling. “Okay…what do I do?”
“Tap it once on the face—the inside of your wrist. Then say your question out loud.”
I’m about ask where Bel is, but realize I’d have no idea how to get there. Instead I tap and say, “What year is it?”
“2153” is displayed on the inside of my wrist.
Oh my God, is it really 2153?
Chapter Ten
It’s 2153. 2153.
A
shiver ripples through me. I knew I was in the future, but somehow the exact year makes it more real.
“2153…” I say, not really a question.
Sharrow smiles. “Affirm.”
“What’s it like? Are there flying cars?”
“I wish. It’s not that exciting. But I’ll show you around. We can head to the Donut Shoppe right now.”
“Hells to the yes!” There’s no reason I can’t eat something before finding Bel, especially if that something is a maple bar.
“I guess that means you want to go?” She grins. “Come on, I’ll show you how to bank the personal, though yours isn’t going to work for much yet. Until they reset your parameters, you’ll need me to get around. My mom made me your auditor.”
“What’s that, like a babysitter?”
She frowns and a little crease forms between her eyes. “Sure, I guess. Bel, too.”
“You have to babysit her, too?”
“No, she’s been assigned to you. We’re both supposed to help you get adjusted. Come on, we’ll meet her at the Donut Shoppe.”
Yes.
“Here’s how you open doors.” Sharrow puts her hand to the wall about shoulder height near the door, and the door opens to the green waiting room.
I start to walk, then realize— “Don’t I need shoes?”
“Sorry, I forgot. Wait here.” She jogs across the treatment room and disappears into the bathroom.
The door to the waiting room is still open. I could walk out of here.… I peer across to the outer door. Will my personal open it? If it does…
I step into the waiting room, and the door closes behind me. Crap! Sharrow’s going to know I tried to leave. Although I didn’t. Not really. It was more like instinct. Logically, I know Bel is my ticket back home, but apparently no one told my legs.
I hold my personal device up beside the door to the treatment room, but of course it doesn’t work. Crap, crap, crap!
I look around, and the waiting room chairs are the only things there. I run over and sit in one as the treatment room door slides open. I cross my legs and try to look casual.
Sharrow doesn’t look pleased. “I asked you to wait.”
“Sorry. I figured I’d need to sit to put on the shoes. I didn’t even think about the door closing. Then I couldn’t open it again.”
Shake Page 5