by N. K. Traver
“Yes,” Dad says. “I make sure everyone gets their work done on time and knows what they’re working on next. Developers can get distracted.”
He winks at Obran, who looks up like he’s just come back to Earth. I bet he’s talking to JENA right now. They can’t know about Emma yet. I’d know if he knew.
“Are you working, Emma?” Mom asks. The way she’s looking at me, she hasn’t quite decided if she likes me. “Or just focusing on school for now?”
“I volunteer twice a week for my mom’s kindergarten class,” I say. True fact. I do listen. “There are some special needs kids who always need a little more attention. I’m really interested in psychology so it’s great experience to get to know them and work with them.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mom says. “No wonder you put up with Brandon so well.”
“Hey,” Obran says.
That makes me chuckle until a renewed wave of fear slams into me that I’m going to be stuck in Emma’s body forever. I check Emma’s phone for the fifth time, but there’s no new messages.
C’mon, Jax.
I’m still worrying about that when Mom brags how many companies thrived after she consulted for them, when Dad goes into a few more details about the audit program that actually are boring (but I don’t mind, I don’t), when the food comes and I realize I haven’t truly eaten anything since the first Trade.
My first bite of chicken tastes so good I think I tear up.
“Are you okay, dear?” Mom asks.
“It’s just—” I take another moist, delicious bite. My phone vibrates and I almost drop it checking the message. Found them, it says. I set my fork down. “I’m sorry, I need to go. I really wanted to do dinner but…” But what? “But it’s not my cat that’s sick. It’s my aunt, and they think it’s leukemia, and I can’t concentrate on anything else right now. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, honey,” Mom says, giving me a funny look that I realize, after studying it a minute, might be concern. “We understand. Go be with your family. We’ll reschedule.”
“Thank you,” I say. And it’s weird but I make myself kiss Obran on the cheek before bolting off the bench. “I’ll call you.”
“Sure,” he says.
I’m out the door. I’m ignoring my stomach that wants ten piles of that chicken. I’m punching the unlock button on the Camry’s keys, wondering what news Jax has for me, when someone slams me, hard, into the Camry’s side and spins me around by the arm and—
It’s Obran.
His eyes glint red, like JENA’s.
“Currently at home, are you?” he says, holding up his cell screen to show me a flashing dot on a map.
The dot for the GPS location of Emma’s phone, that says I’m at her house.
* * *
“How could you…?” Obran says.
It’s his sixth attempt to finish a sentence since he shoved me into the Camry’s passenger seat, stole the keys, and tore out of the parking lot like—well, like a lamo. He must not be programmed for reckless driving because he makes a very safe turn out onto the main road. Everything about this has been awkwardly unrushed.
I don’t help him complete any of those sentences.
“Where is she?” he finally asks.
“What do you care?” I say. “You said we should see other people.”
“That doesn’t change that I—” He grits his teeth. “That you care about her. She can’t survive in JENA. Where did you hide her?”
“The hell I’m telling you.”
He makes a slightly faster turn onto our street.
“Watch your speed through here,” I say. “Cops like to sit at that corner.”
His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “We’re fixing this, tonight. JENA’s creating a new duplicate for Emma, and we’re fixing this.” His next turn presses me against the door. “Do you ever think of anyone besides yourself? You realize no one’s ever swapped into a different body before? What if it had killed her?”
“Then she’s no worse off than she would’ve been if JENA got ahold of her. She’d be dead already. I saved her life.”
“Yeah, you’re a real hero.” The tires squeal on the final turn.
“And you’re driving like me.”
He checks the mirror, sees it’s broken and looks over his shoulder instead, and I’m wondering what he’s doing until he slams on the brakes and sends my face into the console.
“Dammit, Obran,” I say, rubbing my nose. Which (of course) feels nothing like my nose and weirds me out all over again. “Don’t hurt Emma.”
But he’s cracking, isn’t he? Vivien will need another paper bag when she finds out how he’s been driving these past few miles.
He’s cracking.
Even with a mechanically altered double, I’m still a hazard to the world.
“Room. Now,” is all he says when we stop in the driveway of my house.
I wish he hadn’t smashed Emma’s phone. I don’t know if Jax is ready or not, but I can’t risk a fistfight in Emma’s body and won’t be sprinting anywhere in these boots, so I sigh and push open the door.
“You know, I’m really not that kind of girl,” I say.
“Shut up! Just go!”
I don’t know why I’m smiling because once we get to my—his—room, it could be the last view of the real world I have … forever. If the Exorcist didn’t make it to my drawer or doesn’t work, he’ll send me back and there won’t be anyone waiting to pipe me into a safe room. Vivien will send me to the place they sent Seb. And Emma soon after.
My smile fades.
Obran herds me through the kitchen and up the stairs, his fingers a vise on my arm, like I have anyplace else to go. I shake him off when we’re close to my room. I don’t bother with the light, just cross into the darkness and plop on my bed. There’s a new mirror over the closet. Emma’s face looks sick in the yellow glow of the lava lamp.
Obran closes the door.
He doesn’t bother with the light, either.
“Before you’re irreversibly obliterated, you’re going to tell me why,” Obran says.
I raise a brow. “Why what?”
“You’re clever. You’re careful, most of the time, and deliberate about everything you do. But you came to dinner. You sat right next to me when you knew we’d eventually figure it out. Why? Why didn’t you run?”
I blink at him.
“You don’t care if you die?” he asks.
I still don’t answer. Every ounce of me is trying not to look at the nightstand.
“Then why bother breaking out at all?”
My lip twitches, and maybe I smile, and I gesture down Emma’s body because I’d think it would be obvious.
“It’s your own fault she’s involved,” he snarls. “Because you couldn’t let go. You really think she’d stay with a freak like you? She knows you’re broken, but she doesn’t know how broken—”
“Can we get this over with, please?” I say.
He gapes at me and looks out the window, uncomfortable. My almost-smile widens.
“You can’t yet,” I say, quietly. “JENA has to remake Emma’s duplicate and it’s not ready, is it?”
He’s at the bed so fast I can’t even roll out of the way. He grabs my shirt and yanks me to my feet. “You’re not going to win this! You think you run the place. You think you understand.” He pulls me closer and let me tell you, the weird-out factor is at an all-time high. “You’re still the same selfish, rotten coward you were when we swapped you. Hiding behind your tricks. Using other people to get your way. I knew this. I knew this but I never thought you’d use her.”
He shoves me back on the bed and turns away. Runs his hands through his stupid blond hair. In the mirror, his face is in as much pain as that Sunday I told Emma off.
“I’m not the one using her,” I whisper.
He whirls on me. I dare him to come at me again.
“JENA’s used her to control me since the first swap,” I say, “and then you used her, for the sam
e purpose, and you can claim up and down that you’re the better version of me, that you do more chores and you pull better grades and you look the part, but I would never kill anyone.” I think about Seb and the monster in my chest roars a little louder. “I would never sit by, when I had the power to stop it, and let them take her.”
Obran’s fists are so tight he’s shaking.
“So who’s the coward now?” I ask.
I can’t help it. I glance at the nightstand.
He dives for it but I’m closer. I check him out of the way and jerk open the drawer, and for a panicked moment I don’t see the Exorcist, and then I do and—Obran snatches it. I slam my fist into his side. He lets go. I shove him off and raise the phone, prongs out, jewels glittering, aware I look about as threatening as a kitten. It’s the electric hum that saves me. I don’t remember it humming inside the Project, but it does now, sweet game-over-for-you-Obran music in my ears.
Obran’s hands are up and he’s backing away.
“That’s cute,” he says. “What does it buy you, another hour?”
“You think this is a toy?” I say, feeling my smile go crooked as I follow. “This is a nanite magnet. It fries nanites. That means my brain goes back to normal, with me in it, and you go back to the Project. Permanently.” The Exorcist hums sweetly, so sweetly. “I’m going to use it on you, then I’m going to use it on Emma, and you and JENA can go to hell together.”
“Doesn’t it only have one charge?”
My finger stops over the trigger.
I never checked. One charge of what? What does it run off? I want to turn it to look for a charging port, but I don’t want to take my eyes off him.
“How would you know how many charges it has?” I say.
“I can read the energy signals coming off it. I can read how much energy it needs to fire. You only have one charge.”
I want to believe he’s lying. That’s something I would do, anyway, to save my own skin. I watch him over the screen as another icon flashes. The fourth one, the one I forgot to push before I transferred the Exorcist to the real world. PUSH ME NOW!! says the text on the screen.
I get a bad, bad feeling as I push it.
“One last thing, Bran Bran,” says Seb through the Exorcist’s speakers. “You only have one charge so be careful, ’kay? Good luck!”
Obran snickers. He lowers his arms. He knows as well as I that if I use it on him, Emma’s still screwed.
No, I think, no, that’s not for sure. I’ll find another way to save her. It’s just one button, then I’ll have my body back, and JENA can’t touch me again. I still have time. Emma’s safe a while longer, at least, and Jax—
“You’re really considering it, aren’t you?” Obran says, with a sad laugh. “Your freedom over hers. That’s why you don’t deserve this life, Fifty. A person can make any situation heaven or hell, and you choose hell, like you enjoy the misery. Then you inflict that pain onto everyone around you. You inflict that pain on people you don’t even know. What do you think happens to the information you sell? Did you know you’re responsible for the financial ruin of at least sixty-eight families? And the sick thing is, you don’t even need the money. You do it because you’re bored.” He eyes the Exorcist, which sparks. “Sometimes the death of one person is necessary to save countless others.”
“You talk like I’m killing people,” I say. “I can change. I have changed. You’ll only ever be what Vivien Meng wants you to be.”
“You’re scum,” Obran spits. “You’ll relapse as soon as you know you’re safe. And as soon as you get what you want from Emma, you’ll hurt her again, because you’re in love with the idea of her, with the idea that someone could care about you that much, not Emma herself. You’ll never be anything but a parasite. Broken, useless, damaging—”
“You’re wrong—”
“You’ll always do what’s best for you, because that’s the only person you really care about—”
“Shut up!”
My hand’s shaking. Obran’s smile is sad, like he feels sorry for me. He takes a step forward. I don’t move.
“I love her,” I say, and it’s physically painful to admit, but there—I said it, I said something I said I’d never say, and I guess those are the kinds of things you’re supposed to confess before you die. Because the other things he said are true, too. Even if everything works out perfect, I’ll hurt her again. Soon as I think I’m safe, I’ll run. That’s how it’s always been.
That’s why it has to stop.
“So take care of her,” I say.
I put the Exorcist to Emma’s neck and pull the trigger.
23. VIVIEN MENG NEEDS HELP
I WAKE UP to the apocalypse.
“I don’t care about the breach. Delete Fifty now!”
Vivien Meng’s angry face is twice the size it should be on the screen across from me. I’m in the gray cell without a door, and red light flashes around the room like I’m in the middle of some spaceship emergency. In the background echoes JENA’s voice: “INTRUDER ALERT. MAINFRAME SERVER COMPROMISED. INTRUDER ALERT.”
I make a mental note to send something very nice to Jax if I get out of here.
“My resources are at full capacity countering the current attack,” JENA says over her own warnings, standing a few feet away from me with her blue hair floating wild. “If I spare any for a deletion request, the intruders will make it farther into the system.”
“I don’t care,” Vivien says. “I want him deleted, then I want a full reboot of Duplicity.”
“I told you she’s the greatest threat,” I murmur.
“No more out of you, Fifty,” Vivien snarls, and to JENA, “Mute him. And delete him, now!”
JENA turns her red eyes on me. I think of the video of Seb, of her pixelating out into nothing, and I wonder if it will hurt.
I look at her and I wait.
Emma is safe and I wait.
“I cannot complete your request,” JENA says.
“Why not?” Vivien demands.
“His mental profile matches that of his duplicate. I am unsure if this is Target Fifty or the duplicate.”
Vivien laughs. Someone hands her a glass of water. She dabs her forehead with a washcloth and looks at me with more hatred than should be possible in one person, especially one person who’s planning on taking over the world.
“This is not Fifty?” she says.
“I do not know,” JENA says.
“Marcus,” Vivien says, glaring off-screen, “surely you have other methods of determining which copy of Fifty we have in custody?”
“Once he’s registered in the system and a swap is made, JENA can only go off mental profiles,” says Marcus, somewhere to the right. “If they match, then release the poor kid. Haven’t you achieved your goal? You’ve made him a better person, Viv.”
I gag at that.
“And let him blab our story to the entire world?” Vivien takes a deep breath and presses at a vein pulsing on her forehead. “It’s not possible that they match. JENA, scan again. They can’t possibly match.”
“Duplicates adapt as they become accustomed to the real world,” JENA says. “There is not enough difference between the two copies to determine which is the original.”
“Let him go, Viv,” Marcus says. “Have JENA run the blocking program so he can’t tell anyone about the Project, then deactivate him and let him go.”
“I will not give in to this!” Vivien shrieks. “This is my project. It’s not enough that he’s changed. If I can’t monitor him, who knows what he’ll do out there? He’s probably the one who triggered the mainframe breach in the first place.”
“INTRUDER ALERT,” blazes JENA in the background.
“I cannot spare resources for this interview any longer,” JENA says to the screen. “I must concentrate all power on stopping the breach.”
“Delete him! Both copies! Now!”
“Vivien!” Marcus shouts. “Let it go, we have bigger problems—”
“Very well,” JENA says.
She turns.
She smiles at me.
I think of Emma, safe in the real world. Safe from the Project. Safe from me.
And I smile back.
25. THERE IS NO CHAPTER 24
“HE’S WAKING,” someone says, from a million miles away.
I open my eyes to the room the agents imprisoned Emma in before I swapped her. I know that’s where I am because the wallpaper’s faded where the mirrors used to hang, the ones the agent broke with his bat—one, two, three. I’m on the bed, across from the closet where I threw Emma’s boots. But there are no agents. No Obran. Just Mom in the doorway with her phone, getting a nudge from Dad that I’m awake. I don’t really want to see them so I look at the person holding my arm, into Emma’s copper eyes.
“Brandon?” she says.
She looks real enough. I touch her face, and it’s smooth, then I pull her into my arms to make sure she’s there. She is, every bit of her, sighing in relief and holding onto me like I’ll slip away. I don’t want to let go but I’m thinking I’m supposed to be dead.
I pull back. “Where…?” I say, but I don’t know how to finish that sentence. Where are we? Where’s Obran? Where are the men in the suits?
“You’re at the hospital,” Emma says. “You were very sick. Very confused. They have you on some medicine to help. Do you feel okay?”
Hospital? Mom puts her hand on my ankle, but I push off the bed, away from her, away from both of them. The room’s white and full of sun but way too small. I want out. Dad gives me a weak smile but doesn’t move from the door. I whirl back to Emma, who watches me with anxious eyes.
There are no IV stands in this room. No rollers on the bed. No doctor waiting for me to come around. It’s plain and secluded and the closet’s built into the wall so you can’t cut yourself on the edges.
The kind of room they put you in when it isn’t your body that’s sick.
I start shaking.
“It’s okay,” Emma says, reaching for me. I let her. Let her touch my cheek and rest her hand over the scorpions on my arm. “You’ll be out soon, but you might have to stay on the medicine for a while. No one at school knows. They just think you have the flu.”