“Only, it’s not.” Sammi bites her lip and has a little wild fear in her eyes. Which kicks up my heart rate. Because Sammi is cool and collected with just about everything—she was a rock when The Stomp game center blew up—and yet this thing is freaking her out? “Mindware is passive,” she continues. “It’s tuned to sense mindwaves emanating from readers’ heads. Jackers can jack into the patented sensing antennae that’s at the core of all mindware technology. Their jacker mindfields interface with the antennae and direct whatever software there is on the back end. Either way, readers or jackers, it’s your mindfield or mindwaves crossing the physical distance to interact with the antennae. Follow me so far?” The question is directed at me. Juliette’s nodding along, and given she’s the granddaughter of the guy who invented mindware, I’m sure she gets all of it.
I nod. “So how is this mod different?”
Sammi’s eyes go even a little wider. “This one’s active. Regular mindware could be used to sense readers if they were in range, but it would never be able to detect jackers unless they intentionally jacked in. This mod…” She pauses and visibly swallows. “Tiller’s figured out how to generate a field that mimics a mindfield.”
Juliette sucks in a breath. Now she looks as freaked as Sammi.
“What does that mean?” I ask, lost.
Juliette answers. “It means the mindware doesn’t have to wait for you to come to it.”
Sammi nods. “This generates a field that can reach out to you.”
“Wait, what?” Did I hear that right? “Tiller’s made a jacker mindfield?” I stare at the thing in my hand, a prickling sensation running up and down my back.
“Not yet. Not really.” Sammi seems to want to walk this back. “It’s rudimentary. And limited in scope. But, yes—it generates a field that extends out from the device and, well, if you’re in range, and it finds you…”
“Holy crap.” My mind is barely wrapping around this idea, but I’m already right there with Sammi in wanting to drop it to the ground and crush it.
“Yeah.” Sammi gestures at the crystal core in my hand. “This is the controller. The parent device. The smaller devices—the child ones—are jacker-tuned tasers. Standard tech. But they’ve got controllers on them, too. Stripped down ones, less complicated…” She grimaces. “I haven’t activated any of it. I’m just gleaning this by hacking the code. But there’s no question that this rudimentary sensor is meant to reach out and find jackers.”
“Okay.” I swallow. The thing is deactivated, and it still feels clammy in my hand. “So Tiller has a new toy that—what? Can fly around like a drone, launch baby drones, use this new sensor to hunt down jackers and then taser them? Does that cover it?”
Sammi nods. “It’s a jacker-seeking mini-missile. You could launch it from wherever, into a crowd of readers, and it would find the one jacker among them. Assuming, you know, it worked. And didn’t glitch out. Or identify the wrong person.”
I shake my head and hand the device core back to Sammi. “Okay. Hold onto this. I’m going in to talk to Kira about—well, about a lot of things—so I’ll let her know this is in play as well.” I give Juliette a pinched look. “When we get back to your estate tonight, we should try to find out how many of these your dad has.”
“There are a couple dozen crates that came in with this one,” she says quickly.
Great. “Okay.” I tip my head to the Home. “I’ll see you soon.”
They wander back inside, hand-in-hand, while I hail an autocab.
I have nothing but bad news for the newly-declared jacker candidate for the United States Senate.
I don’t have Kira’s number, so I end up talking to Tessa.
Not that talking to Tessa is exactly a burden. And she is organizing a heck of a campaign for Kira, now that she’s decided to run. Tessa has already booked out the rest of the day for the newly-declared candidate, swinging stops and photo ops through Jackertown, downtown Chicago, North Shore, and then out to the sprawling suburbs. On the phone, Tessa seemed breathless and excited and very, very busy.
Yet not averse to taking my call.
She told me to catch up with their itinerary at the water pumping station where the original inhibitors were dumped in the water. It’s just outside of Jackertown, and Kira’s giving a short speech about how the inhibitor tragedy was the beginning of a new age that should bring readers and jackers together, not drive them apart. I can’t imagine what she’ll think when I tell her about Scott and DARPA and the insanity they’re perpetuating with the inhibitors now.
I jack my autocab to stop in front of an abandoned truck depot just south of the water station. The infamous water pumping station is a disappointingly plain building, given all the drama that happened here. Just white concrete blocks, ordinary glass windows, and a plain metal door. It stretches three stories high, flanked by apartment buildings that are longer than they are tall or wide. The whole station is fenced in with razor wire and a gate manned with guards, complete with tactical gear and imposing automatic weapons. They look ready to hold off an invading army.
I step out of the autocab, but Kira has camera drones buzzing around her, so I wait by the next-door office with the boarded-up windows. She’s standing in front of the gate with a gaggle of reporters, plus a dozen onlookers, all of them peppering her with questions. Her white suit is the same I saw on the tru-cast. Tessa hovers at the edge of the small crowd, attentive eyes sweeping the faces. She’s dressed up, too, in a trim, red suit that’s somehow both very proper and ridiculously cute. Maybe it’s just the way her hair is falling out of the bun she’s twisted up. Or maybe it’s the earnest expression on her face as she takes notes or something on her phone. Nearby, Hinckley and Julian’s sister Anna stand guard, looking less like private security and more like a military detachment assigned to the newly-declared candidate. They’re decked out in military-grade tactical gear, just like the guys securing the water station, only Hinckley and Anna have their weapons holstered at their sides. Neither are wearing helmets, but several reporters are. Their hoarse voices—not enough practice speaking out loud—meld together into a monotonic murmur that carries over the broken sidewalk.
My autocab rolls away, and the street is empty again—just another long stretch of No Man’s Land left behind when readers fled to the suburbs. The apartments surrounding the water station are empty—half the windows are shot out. A long-abandoned auto shop stands across the street, facing the station. The afternoon sun is hazing as it climbs down from the sky, but I still have to shade my eyes from the reflections off glinting windows and shining gun barrels and darting drones.
Things are winding up. I don’t know where the next stop on the tour is, but I need to talk to Kira alone. I hope her press entourage isn’t traveling with her.
Just as I swing my attention back to the group, one of the reporters in an anti-jacker helmet lurches forward. It’s weird, and a jolt of alarm trips through my body just before someone shouts, “Gun!”
A split second later, my heart stops when a crack of gunfire splits the air.
The group breaks into chaos. Several people swarm one person in the center, piling on. My heart restarts, and my legs—which are like lead and almost refuse to move—stagger me forward. My brain can barely make sense of the screaming, stumbling mass of people, but then I see Tessa’s bright red suit next to Kira’s white one. She’s gripping Kira on one side with Anna on the other. Hinckley’s down in the scrum, throwing people off the pile and shouting. I lurch to intercept Tessa, Kira, and Anna, but they’re not slowing down. Anna’s got her gun out, wildly sweeping its muzzle around, but she’s also hauling Kira and Tessa fast toward the abandoned office just behind me. I hesitate, wondering if I should go help Hinckley, but then I catch Tessa’s terrified gaze.
“Zeph!” she gasps.
I don’t even think, I just go to her.
Anna’s sharp gaze is on me in an instant—and for a split second, so is her gun—but then she sweeps it away a
nd focuses behind us. I cover Kira and Tessa with my body, hustling along behind them and blocking the view of anyone who might take a second shot.
“In there!” I say, nodding to the half-broken door of the truck depot office.
Kira nearly goes down when her heel catches in the crumbling pavement, but I’ve got a hand on her arm now, supporting her along with Tessa’s fevered grip. My other hand floats by Tessa’s shoulder—I’m ready to grab hold of her, too, if she stumbles. But the four of us make it to the door before anyone goes down.
It’s locked.
We stall out.
Anna takes a position with her back to us, and her gun targeting the chaos that’s still reigning outside the water station. Hinckley pulls someone up from the ground—it’s the reporter with the anti-jacker helmet. He holds the man’s shirt with one hand and a gun to his throat with the other, shouting in his face. The reporter slowly, with severely shaking hands, removes the helmet. As soon as it’s off, the man slumps, held up only by Hinckley’s grip. He must have jacked the reporter—at least, I hope so. Plus, I didn’t hear the gun go off.
Tessa is gripping Kira, whose face is absolutely blank—she’s in shock. Tessa’s trying to say something to her, but she’s getting nothing in response. The door is locked, but it’s also half off its hinges, so I try slamming my shoulder into it. That gets me nothing but a spike of pain. I back up and kick at it—three slams, and the thing finally gives.
“Come on,” I say to Tessa, but she’s already shuffling Kira inside. The windows to the store are broken and gaping with jagged glass, but they face the lot, not the street. Still, it feels exposed. Anna’s follows us in and closes the door, but I still want more protection. I try three doors at the back of the shop before I find one that opens. It squawks its protest and leads to a small office with a gray metal desk, a beaten wooden chair, and some metal shelves lined with dusty motors. Tessa and I guide Kira toward the chair, but we only get as far as the desk before she grabs hold, bracing herself. Then she slowly turns and leans against it.
I shoot a look at Tessa like, Should we make her sit down? but Tessa shakes her head.
“He shot at me,” Kira says to no one.
Anna frowns from the doorway, gun still held at the ready, covering the entrance.
Kira turns to me and says, “He was trying to kill me.”
I hesitate. What do you say to people in shock? “You’re safe here.” That seems like the right thing. At least, Tessa gives me an approving nod.
“I’m going to check and make sure everything’s secure,” Anna says. “Stay here.” She closes the door, leaving the three of us—me, Tessa, and Kira—alone in the room. Kira’s perched on the desk, staring at the floor. I’m standing next to her in case she decides to keel over. Tessa is on Kira’s opposite side, concern etched on her forehead. She’s holding up remarkably well, even if her cheeks are a little more pale than normal.
“You okay?” I ask Tessa.
She nods. A little too much. A little too enthusiastic.
“Zeph.” Kira frowns then looks up from the floor to meet my gaze. “I need to talk to you.”
“Yeah, okay.” I glance at Tessa. She just shrugs.
Kira’s staring at the floor again. “Alone. Just the two of us.”
“Um…” I don’t know what to say. I’m not going to tell Tessa to go back outside when I’m not sure if it’s safe.
Tessa’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. No words come out, but I can see the hurt in her eyes. “I’ll just be… right outside the door.” She clips her words, the false bravado making them sharp. Before I can protest, she brushes past me in her trim, red suit and yanks open the door. I almost expect her to slam it, but then she slows the door, and it softly clicks shut.
I turn back to Kira. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything.” She’s staring at the floor again. “It’s all gone wrong. And I need to…” She looks up. “I don’t think I should run, Zeph.”
“Hey, I get it,” I say, my heart still pounding from the leftover adrenaline. I shift so I’m facing her more directly, and I look her full in the face, so she’ll know I understand. “Something like this is super scary—”
“That’s not it.” She looks away from my direct eye contact. “I’m not the right person for this. I can’t… I can’t do this.” She’s shaking her head, avoiding my pointed stare.
And what do I say? You have to run? Because there’s no one else? That’s a horrible thing to say to someone who’s just been shot at. Who just lost her famous senator boyfriend, who I’m sure she was totally in love with.
I struggle for something. “You don’t have to decide right now.” It sounds lame.
She whips her head to me. “I need to stop this. I need to… explain it to everyone, and then maybe it will stop. If they knew.”
“If who knew what?” I feel like we’re not talking about the election anymore.
“About the inhibitors.” She’s staring at me now. Unblinking.
“What about them?” I ask, leaning back a little. Does she already know DARPA’s been spiking the water? Is she going to tell the world? Because that could go really badly for me if Wright—or even Scott—thinks I spilled their secret. And they still have my mom.
She sucks in a breath. “I did it.” Then she lets it out slow. “I put them in the water.”
I just blink. Then I step back. Then I blink again. “You did what?” My mind is blank—then a tornado of confusion spins up. Does she mean then—back then, the first time—or now?
“I let them drop because I was trying to stop a war.” Her eyes are glazing over. Even though she’s staring at me, it’s like she’s not seeing me. “Only I didn’t stop a war. I started one. A civil war.” Her breath hitches on the last word.
My brain is still a vortex of thoughts all smashing into one another. “Wait, are you saying you put the inhibitors in the water. Not that crazy FBI guy—”
“Kestrel.” She says the word like it’s a curse that will dog her to eternity. “His name was Kestrel.”
“Okay, Kestrel.” I shake my head, trying to wrap it around this. Kira Moore poisoned the water. DARPA’s doing it now, but Kira Moore did it first. “Why?” I ask, horrified.
That jolts her. Hard. As if the word were a smack in the face. But she’s suddenly back in the room with me, mentally. “Kestrel told me everything,” she says, voice clear again. “Vellus too, before they died. About the inhibitors. About the government. All of it.”
“The government.” All my attention comes to the fore. “But Kestrel was supposed to be some kind of rogue.” It’s not like I don’t believe her. I’m just suddenly wondering if all this might tie into DARPA and Wright and who knows what else.
“He was crazy.” She nods. “But he wasn’t acting alone.”
“Tell me,” I say. “Because I think I know more about this than you think.”
Her eyes narrow, and she straightens, regarding me anew. “These people you work for in the government. The ones somehow tied to Julian’s assassination. Who are they exactly?”
I grimace. “You first.” But I’ve got to tell her. She needs to know about all of it. And she needs to run for the Senate. I’m more convinced of that now, even if she originally put the inhibitors in the water. Because I know all about being compromised and doing things you wish you didn’t have to. But that doesn’t mean you can’t fight back. Make things right again.
Sometimes, that’s the only thing you can do.
She nods like this is a given—that she should confess first. “Kestrel’s plan was to put the inhibitors in the water of Jackertown. To weaken jackers, so they’d be easier to control. Easier to round up. But it was just a trial run. If it worked, they were going to use it everywhere.”
“But it didn’t work,” I say. “Unless he planned to turn all the demens into jackers. And create super jackers.”
“No, he didn’t want that. Which is why, in the end, I had to do it for hi
m.”
“You knew?” I’m still wrapping my head around the idea she did this intentionally. Knowing the outcome.
“Not really.” She grimaces. “Not all of it. But I knew the alternative was worse.” She sucks in a breath and lets it out. “We had Senator Vellus under our control. He told us everything. How he and Kestrel were working together to develop the inhibitors. How there were high level, top secret meetings in the Senate about a “permanent solution” regarding jackers.”
“What? Like… kill us. Just flat-out kill everyone?” Even knowing Wright, it’s hard to believe they’d sign up for wholesale slaughter.
“Yeah.” Kira shook her head. “In his twisted way, Kestrel was trying to keep the body count down by making jackers less of a threat. Vellus said the Secretary of Defense had been pressuring the president to bring in the military.”
My mouth drops open. “The Secretary of Defense.”
“The president didn’t like the idea, but his cabinet, I guess, kept pressuring him. The stronger the JFA got, the more the pressure. The inhibitors were supposed to forestall them moving in on Jackertown. They had us surrounded, Zeph. The National Guard was there for a reason.”
“Holy crap.” Even watching all that go down on a tru-cast, I had no idea that military attack was a serious option on the table. “But you did drop the inhibitors.”
“And then everything changed.” Her eyes welled up. “I thought that had saved us. Even if people paid for it with lost abilities. Damaged minds. I thought it had…” She covers her face with her hands. I can hear her sob through it. When she pulls her hands away, she’s already wiped the tears. “I thought it would stop a war of extinction. But people keep changing. The inhibitors are stronger than I thought! And the Fronters are right—there are new jackers every day, and everything’s coming unraveled because of it.”
“That’s not your fault,” I start.
She glares at me. “Of course, it is!”
“No. Kira.” I step forward and take her by the shoulders. Her blue eyes stare up at me, angry and already disbelieving whatever will come out of my mouth. “You’re not to blame because you’re not putting the inhibitors in the water anymore. But the government is.”
Cracked Open Page 11