Cracked Open

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  Our mental banter is limited, but he has a purpose for bringing me here.

  A second set of doors leads to another series of hallways. My internal sense of direction says we have to be near the front corner of the wing. Finally, he brings me to a plain white door with more palmprint security, but he stops here.

  Son, I know you’re worried about your mother.

  Crap. I should have been asking about her, not focusing on Sammi. I can’t help it, sir. Everyone loves their mom, right? Even if they’re a jacker.

  He scowls at this, and I pray I’m not screwing that up. It is difficult when the jacker devil takes over someone we love. I understand that. And the technology to fix it may seem a little harsh. But that’s why I wanted you to see the difference, before and after, so you can know that when we’re successful in bringing your mother back, it will be worth it.

  It’s strange to be glad my mom is in Wright’s hands, not Tiller’s. I glance at the door. Okay. Is this one of your jackers who hasn’t been converted?

  Yes. A small smile tugs at his lips. And a little reward for you for getting Juliette back on track.

  I struggle to keep the alarm off my face. Reward?

  You’ll see. He presses his palm to the panel to click open the door. As it swings in, I hear the grunting before I see the source.

  Sammi.

  She’s on her knees in the middle of a barren white room—nothing but four white walls and a white-tiled floor, with a bucket in the corner. Her hands are locked behind her back with some kind of restraint, and she has one of Tiller’s military-grade anti-jacker helmets on her head. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and she’s grunting and shaking her head, almost like she’s fighting something inside.

  It’s freaking me out.

  Tiller shuts the door behind us, and only then does Sammi seem to realize we’re in the room. She whips up her head, glares at Tiller, then her eyes go wide when she sees me.

  My heart lurches—she’s going to give me away with that look. “What are you looking at?” I throw at her.

  She catches on quick and literally spits at me. “Some kind of jackhole,” she snarls. She’s so convincing, for a moment, I’m uncertain. Does she really think I betrayed her and Juliette? She goes back to glaring at Tiller. “You can’t keep me here forever!”

  Tiller ignores her. Sammi can’t hear the dark mental laugh that’s rolling through his head, but I can. My stomach bunches up. So, you’re going to use the converter on her? I ask. I mean, I get that jackers are a menace, but… I’m kind of worried about Juliette.

  That’s sufficient distraction to pull his thoughts away from the gloating over Sammi’s situation. As far as Juliette knows, this girl is long gone.

  For Sammi’s part, she’s struggling to move away from us by “walking” on her knees. When she tumbles to the tile floor, she hits hard, and I see that her feet are bound too. It makes me wince, but there’s nothing I can do.

  Look, Juliette loves me, I link to Tiller. But she’s got a thing for this girl. If you turn her into a reader…

  A smile blooms on Tiller’s face. Don’t worry, Zeph. Once she’s converted, she’ll be packed off far away.

  Okay, good.

  Sammi has wormed her way to the back of the room, which isn’t far. I realize with a jolt that there’s no bed, no chairs, and no reprieve from the whiteness except for the dark bucket in the corner. The stench tells me it’s a toilet. Tiller’s keeping her like an animal in a cage. I already loathe the man, but this takes it up a level.

  I’m saving our little prize here for a special demonstration.

  My attention whips back to Tiller. Of the converter? Holy crap, that’s no good.

  He nods. I’m hosting a very special party the day after tomorrow. Some high-profile guests will be in attendance, including the Secretary of Defense.

  Wow, I think, trying to look impressed while simultaneously panicking.

  For some time, I’ve advocated for a more, shall we say, comprehensive approach to the jacker problem. The political resistance is substantial, although there are some who understand. But the technology also hasn’t quite been ready. Now that we’ve reached a certain level of functionality with the tech, it’s time to dazzle the political minds with the potential for it.

  That’s, uh, that sounds like a great plan. There’s a low-level scream happening in my head. Tiller’s going to trot out Sammi at the party and shock the jacker out of her? This is so very, very bad. My mind is spinning. Should I try to bust her out now? I could take Tiller. He’s unhelmeted. I’m inside the north wing. I could just walk Sammi out then jack the rest of the way. But I can’t… I’ve got to maintain cover until the party. The cursing inside my head is reaching epic levels.

  Tiller is nodding at his own genius. It’s really the perfect way to advance things on several levels. With this technology, solving the jacker problem is within our reach. We just need the political will to enforce it.

  My mouth is going dry. But Tiller is reminding me this affects more than just Sammi. Or me. Or even the others like Scott and Renell and the JFA. Tiller’s plans are much bigger than that… and stopping DARPA might be the same thing as stopping him.

  I look back to Sammi. She’s cowering in the corner, back to grunting and shaking her head. I just pray that she doesn’t get caught in the middle and ground up in the gears of our attempts to stop all of it. Plus she has no idea what’s coming.

  I know you’ve got a personal connection to this jacker, Zeph.

  I jolt with that thought in Tiller’s head, but he means something different than what immediately jumps into my head. She did mess with my girlfriend.

  He nods. And I can see how you might want a little revenge. Go ahead. He lifts his chin in Sammi’s direction. She can’t harm you like this. Do what you like. I just need her still able to walk on Saturday. He gives me an appraising look.

  I’m working full-time on keeping the horror off my face. Yes, sir.

  I’ll be back in five minutes. Then he steps over to the door, mentally commands it open, and slips outside.

  I cannot believe the man thinks I’m as much a monster as he is. Then again, why wouldn’t he? I shut my gaping mouth and run over to Sammi.

  “Holy crap, are you okay?” I drop to a knee next to her.

  She jerks back from me, slamming her helmeted head into the wall. Her eyes are wild, casting around the room like she’s just now figuring out we’re alone. “Where’d he go?”

  “He just stepped out,” I say quickly. “He’ll be back in a minute. He expects me to beat you up or something.”

  She squints at me. “Get my helmet off. I’ll jack the hell out of that guy—”

  “Sammi, I can’t.” God, I hate this.

  “Why not?” She looks at me with suspicion. “Are you here to rescue me, or not?”

  I want to ask if she’s hurt. I want to break open her restraints. I want to do exactly what she’s saying and bust her out, but I can do none of that. “I’ve got like zero time to explain. Do you trust me?”

  “Yeah.” She’s still squinting at me, though.

  “Juliette’s worried sick about you.” I figure this way is faster. “You know that girl’s in love with you, right? Like completely, totally, messed up forever without you kind of love.”

  It works. Sammi’s hard look of suspicion is melting away. “Get me out of here, Zeph.”

  “I am,” I promise. “But not yet.”

  Now she just looks confused. “This is a really crappy rescue.”

  “Look, Tiller’s got this huge party in two days. Some seriously bad things are going down at the party, and I’ve got to stop it. Or at least try.” I grimace. “And he’s planning to test out some kind of technology on you in front of everyone. I promise you—I promise—we’ll get you out before all that goes down. Might be right before, but it’ll be before. I’m still working out the details.” As in, I have zero plan, but I’ll come up with one. “We’ve got to stay cool until then.
I need to keep my cover to pull this off.”

  She’s got a more calculating look now. “This demonstration thing. Will I have a helmet?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe not? He’s going to use that jacker conversion tech he’s working on.”

  She’s nodding now. “In front of everyone.”

  “I think so. Probably.”

  “Okay, look. They’ve got to bring me out of this cage to do this, right?”

  “Maybe?”

  “Make it happen, Zeph. Get me out of these four walls, and helmet or no, I can take it from there.”

  I squint at her. “You think you can bust through the helmet?”

  She smirks. “I’ve been working on it.”

  I nod, impressed. “All right then.”

  A soft click at the door is all the warning I get. I leap to my feet, and in a panic that Tiller might have seen me talking to her, I punch Sammi in the face. I try to pull the punch as much as possible, and I aim for the cage on her head, but it still whips her head to the side and slams it into the wall hard enough to leave a smudge on the pristine white. She grunts, loudly, but she recovers quickly and leans back to kick at my knee.

  I dance out of range. “She’s all mine now,” I growl out at her. It seems utterly unconvincing, but my link into Tiller’s head says he’s enjoying my little show.

  The man is just evil.

  Time to go, he thinks. I have to look away from his smirk because it’s turning my stomach.

  I give Sammi one more glare then dutifully follow Tiller out of the room.

  I feel like I’m commanding a military operation.

  “Scott is in position, awaiting your signal,” Jiaying’s voice whispers in my ear. I’ve repurposed one of Richards’ wireless earbuds—the ones we used for normal security operations early on when I was bodyguarding Juliette, not posing as her boyfriend—such that it speaks scrits aloud in my ear in the voice of the person sending it. Jiaying is back at Aaliyah’s Home, the home base for the whole operation, and her scrits narrate her coordination efforts on my phone, which is in my pocket.

  I’m standing in front of a mirror in Juliette’s room, trying to make my black bowtie look like it’s not strangling me. I’m utterly failing.

  I jack into the mindware on my phone to send a response to Jiaying. STANDBY. Then I link into Juliette’s mind. I give up. I need help.

  She’s in the bathroom, changing into her party dress. Hang on, I’m still trying to get this adhesive to work.

  Adhesive? I glance at the bathroom door. I thought you were putting on your dress?

  I am. A second later, the door to her bathroom slides open, and she hurries out.

  I can’t help but gape at her and that liquid silver dress she has on. Is the whole thing held on with adhesive? It’s strapless and seems to both hug Juliette’s curves and levitate over them with shimmering waves that flow up and down her body.

  Yeah, basically. She’s beautiful to begin with, but the dress makes her look like a Greek goddess—if the gods wore silver gowns that stayed on with magic. She stops in front of me and expertly transforms the limp black material around my neck into a bowtie. Formalwear is required for the party, in addition to our attendance. She steps back. There. Too bad Tessa’s not here. She’d be all over you.

  I’m not glad for many things but Tessa not being here is one. Are you ready for your part? I ask.

  She pulls in a breath. Yeah.

  “Scott wants an updated time estimate,” Jiaying’s voice says.

  Without looking down, I jack my phone to scrit, AT LEAST TWENTY MINUTES. I can’t have Scott and the JFA volunteers start the assault on the base until everything’s in motion on our end. Otherwise, Wright might stop us from contacting the president… and then my family might get away, but Wright would be free to carry on as before, just with new jackers she can threaten.

  What’s the status? Juliette asks.

  I frown. Was it that obvious I was checking? I need to make this seamless, but carrying on multiple conversations while still broadcasting and not having any of it show up on my face? It’s a lot of balls to juggle.

  Juliette shrugs. Only because I was watching you.

  I pull out my phone to check the time then slip it back in my pocket. I need to meet Ethan. He should have slipped in with the serving staff by now. You know where to go, right?

  Find my father and distract him or at least keep him in visual. Scrit you if he’s moving toward the north wing.

  You got it. I’ll meet Ethan first, then I’ll try for Sammi. I peer at her. Tell me again the meeting spot.

  Northwest corner of the north wing, straight out to the forest. Go until I hit the street.

  Disabled your tracker?

  She nods. Got that done before the morning crew came in.

  Good. I nod once. Sasha will have a car and weapons waiting for you. Just go without me. I’ll catch up.

  Got it.

  We’ve rehearsed this a dozen times, but only in our heads. And if I can’t get Sammi free first round, don’t panic on me, okay? That’s when we go to Plan B.

  No panicking. Got it. She nods with a very serious face.

  I want to say this will all work, but I’m afraid it will just ring hollow. Okay, you go first.

  She turns on her heel and flows in that dress all the way to her bedroom door then slips out. I take one last look in the mirror to make sure I’m presentable. My bowtie is straight. My black suit fits like it was made for me. Despite looking good, the thing feels awkward, like a fake skin lying on top of my real one. But I’ve pretended to be someone else most of my life… ridiculously expensive clothes are the least strange disguise I’ve worn.

  I wait until Juliette has a good head start, then I cruise out of her bedroom and head for the kitchen. I’ve gotten to know the layout of the estate well, not just hanging out with Juliette, but with the full simulations during the last two days, training for this late-afternoon party and its collection of super-powerful people. They’ve been filling up the extravagant oasis at the back of the estate for the last hour, escorted through a canopy of flowers and twinkling lights along the south wing by the extensive private security Tiller has hired for the event.

  Security checks are everywhere—the front door, the staff entrance, the guest entrance to the back—and a temporary shield has been raised along with a clear glass dome above the backyard pool and party area. Everyone is checked with a full body scanner for weapons, explosives, and jacker brain waves. Which is why I got in and stayed in before the final phase of scanners went up. And why I left Ethan in reader mode after our final rehearsals this morning, long before the event.

  I wind my way into the kitchen and broadcast innocuous thoughts about sampling some of the appetizers being circulated out to the guests. The staff ignore me. Ethan is standing in line with the other serving staff, waiting for his tray to deliver. I catch his eye, so I know he’s seen me, then I grab a delicate cucumber toast and exit out a side door as if that’s all I came for. I stride through the main house toward the northeast wing. I quickly chow down my finger food and find the seldom-used gym at the east end of the wing. If there were windows, I would no doubt see the assemblage of guests ferrying in through their tunnel of light, but Wright chose the gym as the meeting spot precisely because there were no windows and no one would use it during the Tiller estate’s biggest event of the year. I prop it open with a small wedge of cloth in the latch.

  “Sasha’s reporting in position with the exit vehicle,” Jiaying’s soft voice whispers in my ear.

  GOOD, I scrit back.

  “Aaliyah reports the extraction of Renell’s parents was without incident,” she replies. “They’re headed to the safehouse.”

  UNDERSTOOD. At least, Renell’s in the clear with his family. Extracting mine will be a lot messier… which is why it has to wait until everything’s in play.

  The door to the gym swings open. Ethan’s servant attire wouldn’t be mistaken for formalwear, but
it’s the same black tie and crisp white shirt. His face is expressionless as he pulls the wedge of cloth from the latch and closes the door. He strides between the equipment, which is sprawling and black and glistening. Per our training, I link into his head to hear his thoughts, so we don’t blow cover for either one of us.

  Let’s get this over with. He tugs at the collar of his shirt. Being a reader is even worse than this monkey suit.

  I tunnel deeper into his mind, just like we practiced dozens of times, and pump up his dopamine and endorphin levels. The agitation eases from his face as he gets his natural, mindjacked high. I’m wondering if I’ve already addicted him to his own brain chemicals, but the part that comes next isn’t anyone’s idea of a good time. He takes a seat on the floor, then lays out flat, just like we practiced. At the last second, before I spin his mindmap, I find the part of the brain that controls the muscles involved in screaming and effectively paralyze him. When I spin his mindfield, his body goes rigid and convulses slightly, but his eyes are glazed open, unseeing through the cloud of painkillers. Flipping Ethan into reader mode was the hard part—returning him to his original jacker mental map is easy. I let the spinning field settle into its normal mode, and Ethan stops twitching on the floor. While he’s still fuzzed out, I can jack in easily and release the paralytic hold. He coughs and curls up, wheezing as he tries to suck in a breath, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. I clear out some of the brain doping because he will need to be sharp.

  I’d like to knock Ethan out and leave him here in the gym, but he’s our point of contact with Wright. As long as he thinks everything’s going according to plan, that’s all Wright knows.

  Ethan shakes his head to clear it and climbs to his feet. From now on, he’ll have to fake being a reader, just like I am—or some version of that. Probably linking into everyone’s mind within reading distance. But he can’t do that with me, so we’re left with speaking.