What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  “Raf!” I grabbed the joystick and tried to keep us from crashing into the trees lining the street, but it wasn’t responding. Agent Kestrel must have jacked into the car’s mindware as well as Raf’s mind. I reached into the mindware controls and wrestled with Kestrel. Somehow he managed to shut down the engine, and our car crawled to a full stop at the curb.

  Raf slumped against the window, too groggy to move. I reached for Kestrel’s mind, but he was ready for me and he was too strong. I couldn’t even slow him down.

  Tires crunched on the road behind us. Kestrel sprang out of his car and stalked toward ours. I shook Raf, trying to get him to move. Too late, I realized I had to run.

  I wrenched the door handle up and stumbled out into the cool night air. The grass was slick under my hands as I caught myself. I got three steps before Agent Kestrel’s hand clamped around my arm. I wrestled with his mind and body in a flurry of hands and feet and thoughts. His bony hand held me fast against him, like a brick wall with an iron claw.

  A sharp pain jabbed my arm, and a haze washed through me. My mind went numb, followed by my limbs, and the wet grass rushed to meet my face.

  Run, Raf. But my thoughts were a jumble of words scattered on the lawn.

  The darkness fell like a trap slamming shut.

  chapter TWENTY-FOUR

  Metal support bars dug through the thin, cold mattress, prodding my back as I woke up.

  I forced my parched throat to swallow and propped myself up. The room smelled of stale sweat. Grime caked the edges of the walls. Other than the cot and a cracked toilet without a seat tucked in the far corner, the pale gray room was bare.

  My head was numb, like it had disconnected from my body. I rubbed the heels of my hands on my temples, but it didn’t drive away the fuzziness. An orange aftertaste stung the back of my tongue. I gingerly swung my shaky legs over the edge of the bed and pressed my bare feet to the cold concrete floor. Why don’t I have shoes?

  Pictures flashed through my mind: Raf slumped over the wheel, a pinprick in my arm, my face in the cold grass. Raf! I jerked up from the bed and the room spun. Catching myself on the corner of the mattress, I stumbled toward the metallic door.

  There was no handle, only a small window I could barely see through, even standing on my tiptoes. The upper half of a concrete hallway was all I could see. I pounded on the door.

  “Hey! Let me out!” I fought through the orange haze in my mind. Raf might be in another holding room nearby. I strained my eyes to peer down the featureless corridor. A tall man in a gray uniform lurched into view and strode toward me.

  I backed away from the door before the guard pushed it open. He stood with one hand on the knob and the other on a short black stick attached to his belt.

  “Don’t get testy, princess,” he said. “You’ll be leaving soon enough.”

  I reflexively backed away from him. His dark hair was greasy and slicked to the side, contrasting with his neatly pressed uniform. Something in his sharp blue eyes made it seem like he had seen horrible things and liked it. His lips pulled back in the kind of smile a crocodile gives right before it eats you for lunch.

  The backs of my knees hit the bed and I nearly tumbled onto it. I straightened and took a deep breath. It didn’t matter if Reptile Man was big and frightening and kind of smelly, if I jacked him… I reached toward his mind, but my brain was too fuzzed. I could barely form a coherent thought, much less control his brain from across the room.

  He snorted. “Not so tough when you’re on the juice, now are you?” Then he leered at me and a shiver convulsed me so hard I almost fell on the bare mattress again.

  Abruptly, he swung his head to peer down the hallway. When his eyes returned to me, they had lost their gleam. “Time’s up, princess. Come on.” He stepped back, but I wasn’t so interested in leaving my room anymore.

  “Where are we going?” He didn’t answer my question, and his ugly smile returned, like he wanted an excuse to come in the room after me. My legs twitched as I slipped out the door, keeping as much distance as possible between me and Reptile Man.

  The long gray hallway was lined with doors identical to mine, perhaps twenty of them before a double door at the end. The small high windows kept me from seeing in. My feet pricked with cold from the concrete floor, and the bracing air of the prison soaked into my thin shorts and t-shirt. I hugged myself to keep the shivering to a minimum. The guard stopped just before the end double doors to open a side cell.

  The room was the same size as mine. A battered metal table stood in the center with spindly chairs on either side, facing each other in a silent duel. The guard closed the door with a click that sounded like I would be staying put. My throat was still painfully dry, and a plastic cup of water called to me from the table. I picked it up and sniffed. They had already drugged me with whatever they wanted, so I gulped down the entire cup. The vinyl-cushioned chair clung to my legs when I sat down.

  I sank my face into my hands. What had happened to Raf?

  They must have taken him into custody as well. My brain was so fuzzed that I had to fight to remember what happened. The FBI had found the warehouse with the unconscious Clan members and captured Raf and me. Were we under arrest? It seemed so.

  But we didn’t do anything wrong.

  A bubble of anger boiled through the fog in my mind. Why was I being held prisoner, when Simon and his band of jackers were the real criminals?

  I jerked when the door of the room swung open. Only my legs sticking to the red plastic cushion kept me from falling off the chair. I steadied myself by clutching the table. The agent who captured us—Kestrel—closed the door behind him. He sat carefully in the seat across from me.

  He had seemed like a wall of iron grip and mental force when he wrestled me into custody on the streets of Glenview, but now he was only a man. His piercing blue eyes returned my stare. He appeared about twenty-five, or maybe a little older. His dark hair was cut short, and his cheeks were so hollowed they almost looked scarred. I desperately wished the orange haze would clear from my mind so I could jack into Kestrel’s. For now, I would have to get my answers the old-fashioned way.

  “What have you done with Raf?” I asked.

  Agent Kestrel drew his thin lips into a line and leaned back in his chair. “Your friend is fine. He’s back home, thinking he shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.”

  What is Kestrel talking about? “Did you drug him too?”

  “No. We wiped his true memories, and replaced them with a sim of him drowning his sorrows. When he wakes, the last true thing Mr. Lobos Santos will remember is watching you and Mr. Zagan in the parking lot.”

  I gaped. He had wiped Raf’s memory? I supposed it was possible—I had swept clean the conscious thoughts of the minds in the warehouse. If I had reached farther into their minds, I probably could have brushed away their true memories as well. And if Kestrel had erased Raf’s memory of last night, everything—my explanation, Raf’s forgiveness—was gone. All Raf would remember was Simon and me making out in the parking lot. My hands clenched my knees.

  Kestrel’s face had gone icy cold. “It makes it easier to explain why you and Mr. Zagan both disappeared on the same night.”

  “What do you mean, disappeared?”

  Kestrel narrowed his eyes. “Surely you don’t think you’re going home now, Kira.”

  “You can’t… you can’t just…” I swallowed. “You can’t just hold me here forever.”

  “Here?” His eyebrows arched. “No, not here.” His eyes drifted to the empty cup sitting on the table between us. “Are you thirsty? The juice can quickly dehydrate you. Can I get you some more water?”

  I blinked at his conversational tone, as though we were two friends having a nice cup of tea. “Uh, okay,” I said slowly. His smile thinned his lips until they almost disappeared. He snatched the cup, and the door opened for him. A guard exchanged the old cup for a new one filled with water. Kestrel returned to the table and carefully set down the cu
p.

  “How did you find us last night?” I asked. “The Clan, I mean. Was it because we called the police?”

  “No. We’ve been monitoring the Clan for some time, but they seldom gather all together. They usually launder money for the New Metro mob. This time they had some new corporate espionage scheme in the works. Our agent inside told us they had brought in someone from an international spy ring, to see if their newest recruit was the asset they needed.” He paused. “It was our chance to catch everyone together.”

  I knew the Clan was up to no good, but espionage? I shook my head, trying to clear the fuzz. “Wait. You had an agent in the Clan?”

  “Yes.” His cold eyes measured me for a moment. “Mrs. Gomez. She’s the—”

  “Librarian.” It jarred my orange-misted brain: the librarian wasn’t simply a jacker. She was an undercover FBI jacker, infiltrating the local jacker mafia. She always seemed so nice, when I needed help at the reference desk.

  Kestrel waited for me to piece it together. “So I was supposed to be the new recruit?” I asked. “The asset?”

  Kestrel leaned forward and laced his fingers. “Yes. We moved in when we lost contact with our agent. When you linked into my head,” he grimaced, “I thought you were just one of the Clan. It wasn’t until after I got inside the warehouse that I realized what you were—and what had happened.”

  What I was. I gulped. What was I? A mutant jacker, with an extraordinarily hard head. That much I knew. But I didn’t know if Agent Kestrel knew.

  “What am I?”

  “Well, that is the question, isn’t it?” He looked me over. “I’ve never seen a jacker lay low an entire Clan at once. Whatever you are, Kira, you are unique.”

  My pulse started to beat on my temples. Being unique probably didn’t come with a blue-ribbon prize. “What about the Clan?” I asked, stalling while I figured this out. “Did you arrest them?”

  “They’re all in custody now.” His voice was flat, and I imagined Simon juiced up in a smelly holding cell somewhere. I found it hard to muster much sympathy for him. He knew what he was getting into, but he had no right to suck me into it and get Raf caught in the crossfire. The Justice Department could deal with Simon and his law-breaking friends.

  Except I stumbled over the idea of Simon standing trial. “Wait, how can you try them?” I asked. “It seems unlikely you could get a jury to convict.”

  Kestrel’s face hardened. “There won’t be any trials. We have a special camp for jackers, Kira. You don’t want to go there.”

  My jaw dropped. Camp? Images of barbed wire and my Great Grandpa Reilly in the early reader camps flashed through my mind. I shuddered.

  Kestrel’s eyes bored into mine. “Kira, the only reason you’re not under sedation now and on your way to jacker camp is because of what you can do and who your father is.”

  “My father?” My voice squeaked. “My father works for the Navy…” I stopped because it was getting hard to breathe. My father worked for Naval Intelligence. The Clan had jackers, the FBI had jackers—surely the Navy had jackers too. My father is a jacker.

  Kestrel watched calmly as my mouth flopped open. My father was a jacker, and he had never said a word. All this time, he knew. He knew. Why didn’t he warn me?

  “Officer Patrick Moore is a very important asset for the government.” Kestrel lowered his voice. “One we would rather not lose to the camp.”

  “What are you saying?” Panic crept into my chest. Would Kestrel send my dad to that camp for jackers if I didn’t do what he wanted? And what about me?

  “I’m saying that you and your father can both help the government, Kira. It’s a big job, protecting normal citizens.” He arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure you understand how dangerous a jacker can be. We can’t have them running loose in society.”

  The sharp edge of his voice scraped against my already panicked nerves. My legs twitched in agitation. I jumped to my feet, startling Kestrel. He jerked back from the table and then deliberately folded his hands in his lap.

  I paced the room, my twitchy legs carrying me from the door to the opposite wall, only a half dozen paces. Blood pounded through my head, and it seemed to flush out some of the haze. If only I could think clearly for a minute.

  “Kira, sit down.” Kestrel’s voice was harsh, like he could command me to sit. I kept pacing. He wanted something from me. He said I was unique. He had never seen someone take out an entire Clan before…

  “Kira. Sit down.” This time his tone was softer. I stopped, frozen halfway across the room at the gentle sound of his voice. Just like Simon, he wanted to talk me into something—something he couldn’t force me to do, because he couldn’t jack me. The Clan wanted me for my hard head, to do some kind of special spy mission. What did the FBI want me for?

  The same thing as Kestrel. Catch other jackers.

  I tried not to let my eyes go wide. Kestrel gestured encouragingly to the rickety chair. “It’s going to be all right, Kira. Let’s just talk about it. Sit down.”

  I slowly sank into the seat.

  “Do you want some more water?” he asked. The cup was still full. I shook my head. “It’s not as bad as you think. The FBI is giving you a chance to avoid the camp and work for us.”

  The FBI should only send dangerous criminals to that jacker camp, like Molloy and his Clan. I wasn’t a criminal, and neither was my dad. But Kestrel seemed all too happy to send me there—and possibly my dad as well—if I didn’t work for him, catching other jackers and sending them to the camp. I gripped my knees to keep my hands from shaking.

  Kestrel leaned forward, his face severe again. “Not everyone gets a choice, Kira.”

  There had to be some way out of this. I didn’t want to go to jacker camp, but I didn’t want any part of sending other jackers there either. Maybe I could pretend to go along with what he wanted. At least until I figured a way out. I nodded to keep him talking.

  His shoulders relaxed. “Good. You’re making the right choice, Kira.”

  He started explaining about the FBI’s jacker recruitment program, but I wasn’t listening any more. I pretended to weigh his words. The pacing had cleared my head a little, but my thoughts were still fuzzed. Maybe this was what obscura felt like, for readers that wanted to dull their thoughts and everyone else’s. Everything in my mind was less distinct, as if parts of my brain had gone numb. As I fought through the haze, I found my brain felt soft…

  “Once you go through the training, everything will return to normal,” Kestrel was saying. “You’ll have a regular life, like your father…”

  The Jell-O inside my head was exactly like the squishy material of other people’s minds!

  I carefully kept my face flat and nodded some more as Kestrel rambled on. The orange mist was infused into the thinking parts of my brain in the front. I could feel it, taste it. Orange and spice, like tea, but it felt like anesthetic.

  I told my body to increase the blood flow to that part of my brain. My heart started to race, pumping blood furiously to my head. My face radiated heat as blood coursed through it. I focused momentarily on Kestrel to see if he noticed.

  He prattled on. “No one will know you’re a jacker. And you’ll be helping to put dangerous jackers where they belong, where they won’t be able to hurt anyone else…”

  The orange mist was clearing, carried away in my bloodstream to some place in my body where it wouldn’t affect my ability to jack. My mental strength was coming back. If I could fight off the juice, maybe I could escape. Catch Kestrel off-guard and jack him hard. I would only have one chance. If he saw it coming, he would be too strong for me. I picked up the glass of water and drained it.

  “Do you…” He faltered as I smiled at him. “Do you have any questions?”

  “Can I get another glass of water?” I kept my face blank, although the heat from it seemed to scorch the air. Kestrel didn’t notice.

  “Sure.”

  Whisking the cup off the table, he paused at the door, clearly
linking a thought to someone outside. In a moment, it opened for another cup exchange. He returned to the table. “So, what do you think?” He gave me another invisible-lipped smile.

  I took a deep breath and jacked into his head with everything I had. The jack felt weak, even as I strained forward and plunged deep into Kestrel’s mind. Stop, I thought, but it had the strength of a suggestion, not a command.

  Kestrel’s eyes went wide and he tumbled backward, knocking the chair over and tripping as he scrambled to put distance between us. Stop! Stop! I jumped to my feet and crawled over the table. If I got closer to him the intensity would increase. I leaped off the table, trying to grab him, but he batted my hands away. I managed to latch onto his arm and pull him close. It didn’t matter. I was too weak to knock him out.

  The door burst open. A large guard quickly pinned me to the floor, and another followed right behind him. There were too many of them, all trapping me within my own skull again. The second guard already had a needle in my arm.

  Kestrel’s stark face loomed over me. “You shouldn’t have done that, Kira.” His voice faded as the orange mist pumped into my brain and clouded my vision.

  His cold blue eyes were the last things I saw before oblivion.

  chapter TWENTY-FIVE

  I swam up out of unconsciousness to the feel of someone’s hands roughly patting me down.

  My mind was fuzzed from the orange-mist drug Kestrel’s thugs had injected into me, and my eyelids were a heavy curtain I couldn’t command open. The warm, rough floor shook underneath me, and sounds of crunching tires and creaking metal bounced along with it.

  I wondered where on earth I was, but top priority was stopping the praver who was pawing me as if he expected to find weapons hidden in my thin t-shirt and shorts. I beat at his probing hands, but the juice had made my arms quivery and useless. I jacked into his mind, but he immediately threw me out.

  Taking a deep breath, I reached inside my own mind to speed up my heart and clear away the mist. I tolerated about ten more seconds of the groping. As soon as the fuzz cleared enough, I jacked deep into his mind and ordered him to stop. His hands left me, and I heard him hit the metal floor.