“I figure I’m more useful here.” I need to talk to Navarro, but doing it in front of Tessa feels… wrong. Probably because I’m going to betray everything they both believe in by feeding intel to Wright.

  My stomach is suddenly a pile of snakes.

  Navarro lifts an eyebrow. “Somehow, I doubt that.” Then he smiles at Tessa. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for the Free Thinkers’ help. Especially at the hospital. They won’t let any of us past security.”

  Anger surges hot on Tessa’s face. “I can’t believe they…” Then she reins it in. “I’m glad we can help, Senator.” When Navarro frowns, she adds, “Julian.”

  He smiles again. “Sometimes the title doesn’t seem worth much when I’m the only jacker in the Senate.” Then he turns to me. “But we each play a part. Which brings me to you, Mr. MacCay. I’m very curious to see what part you’ll play in all this.” He gestures around at the ruined club, but I don’t think he means the cleanup.

  “I’ll let you two talk business,” Tessa says, that smile coming back to her face.

  Navarro gives her a nod, and I want to say something like see you later, but she’s already turned her back, picking her way past the piles of game board toward the front. I hold in my frustration with that and meet Navarro’s expectant stare. Last night, he was way too curious about my abilities as a jacker, so I want to short-circuit that quickly.

  “I think I know a way I can help you out,” I say. “I don’t know if Hinckley told you, but I work for Jeffrey Tiller.”

  He raises an eyebrow, but mostly he just looks amused. “CEO of MINDWARE Enterprises.”

  I nod. “And a dark company called Tru-Tech. They invent anti-jacker technology for the military. He thinks I’m just a reader bodyguarding his daughter. I can get inside, get intel about what they’re working on…” I trail off because Navarro seems like he’s patiently waiting for me to stop.

  “I’m not interested in your intel,” he says flatly.

  My heart has a small spasm. Because I know where this is going. “I’m sure I could find something worth your while.”

  He rubs his chin, examining me. Then he taps his lips with one finger and points it at me. “Do you know why I’m interested in you, Zeph?”

  “I told you, I don’t have any special abilities.” The sweat on the back of my neck is prickling cold.

  He nods, but it’s clear he doesn’t believe me. “A lot of jackers live in fear. Afraid to reveal who they really are. Afraid of what people will think. Not to mention the kind of hate that brings down a place like this.” He nudges the torn up boards at his feet, scuffing his shiny shoes and scowling down at it. He takes a moment to look around the Stomp. The rest of my crew is back at work, tearing up more floorboards. Free Thinkers are ferrying out the charred pieces. Sammi’s group in the back has broken into small teams, each tackling a game station. Navarro’s gaze finds its way back to me. “I’m working to create a world where people have the freedom to be who they are. Where they don’t have to hide what they can do because of fear or hatred or prejudice. Where they can use all their gifts to make the world a better place.”

  “Jacking isn’t exactly a gift.” The words are bitter.

  Navarro seems unfazed. He just nods and looks thoughtful again. “Kira can drill down into the minds of other people at the neuron level and change what she finds there. In the wrong hands, that could wreak horrible destruction. In her hands, it heals people of the damage caused by the inhibitors and other, cruel experimentation. And she’s far from the only jacker whose extreme abilities could be used for both good and evil. Take Sasha for example.” He gestures to the man as he uses a crowbar to pry up some stubborn floorboards. “Do you know what a scribe does?”

  My gut is back to churning like reptiles live in there. “No.”

  Navarro’s expression is the kind a professor has when he’s diving into his favorite subject. “They completely rewrite your personality. Change your disposition from a soft-hearted pacifist who would step over a line of ants on the sidewalk into a stone cold killer.” He raises his eyebrows. “Or the reverse.”

  I have a hard time keeping the tension off my face. “Guess I should stay on Sasha’s good side.”

  Navarro winces as he looks back to Sasha. “He lost his abilities with the inhibitors. Kira could heal him, but he won’t take her up on the offer.” He peers at me to see what I think of this.

  “See?” I say, the bitterness coming back. “Not so much a gift.”

  “I’m still hoping Sasha will change his mind.” Navarro’s eyes narrow. “The more powerful the gift, the more you can do with it, if you’re willing to explore. To find the limits of what you can do. Sammi Gray is a good example of that.”

  I can’t help the surprise. “You know her?” She’s here helping, but I had assumed that was just because she was a victim of the attack.

  Navarro smirks, and I can’t help feeling it’s directed at me somehow. “I make it my business to know the jackers who come to Jackertown seeking a place to call their own.” That is directed at me, but I wonder how it applies to Sammi.

  “What’s her ability?” I’m taking his bait, but I can’t help wanting to know.

  His smirk is taken over by that professor-ish excitement. “The mind is essentially an electrical field, yes? Readers and jackers both, although they operate on different frequencies if you will. I think of them as shifted along a spectrum. In any event, Sammi is one of the rare jackers whose mind wasn’t damaged by the inhibitors, but rather shifted into something more powerful—like many of the readers and demens have been. Before the inhibitors, she was an ordinary jacker, although a strong one with a talent for overwhelming the electrical fields of other minds. Once the inhibitors took effect, it was as if her mind gained both power and an ability for fine-tuned control. She can surge against and wipe out the mindfield of almost any jacker. But she also has an ability to dig into the electrical fields of “artificial minds” like software, altering their programming even without a mindware interface. It’s an intriguing skill.” He glances back at the jackers working on the broken games, and I have a new appreciation for what she must be doing there.

  And also a concern for where this is going. “What do you mean by wiping out mindfields?”

  Navarro looks back to me. “Sort of a human thought grenade.”

  I grimace and remind myself not to piss off Sammi. “Sounds great.”

  He frowns. “She felt the same when she first came here. I convinced her to not fear her own power but to explore it instead. If she hadn’t, she would never have found the hidden skill within her new abilities.”

  It’s becoming obvious what Navarro wants from me. Although I honestly don’t understand why. He acts like he’s just curious, but in my experience, every powerful jacker has used other jackers for precisely one purpose—to gain more power. And I have zero interest in letting someone like Navarro—already the most powerful jacker in the state—use my abilities to get even more. At the same time, he seems like a true believer in this new world of freedom for jackers. And there’s the fact that someone like Sammi Gray is on his side. She has a finely-tuned bullshit meter, and if she’s on board with Navarro’s revolution, then maybe there’s something to it.

  But none of that matters. What matters is getting what I need—intel valuable to Wright. “So all these special new abilities came about because of the inhibitors?”

  “For Sammi, yes.” He looks thoughtful again. “Many unexpected things have come out of that decision. Things I don’t think anyone could have seen coming.” Then he focuses on me again. “There’s nothing you can tell me about anti-jacker technology that’s anywhere near as important as you exploring what you can do with your abilities. I’m not interested in your secret intelligence, Zeph. I’m interested in you.”

  Part of me reflexively flinches at the urgency in his voice. But I need to get him to talk more about the inhibitors, and this is definitely the pathway to that. Maybe I can let Navarro think I’m one of his special jacker-development projects without accidentally giving away too much. Or letting him control me. I’ll need an exit strategy if it gets away from me.

  He’s waiting for an answer.

  I wipe some of the char and sweat from my face. “Okay, but I’m beat. Let me get some rest and think about this, all right?”

  He smiles wide. “I understand. Take your time.” He steps back then wags his finger at me. “But not too long, Zeph. We need all the help we can get.”

  I nod my acquiescence. He turns away and strides over to Sasha at the far end of the game board, clapping him on the back and exchanging smiles. I look around the club again, and I have to admit it’s something of a marvel. Mostly jackers, but Free Thinkers too, all working together to rebuild something that represents jackers and readers living in harmony together. I turn back to prying up floorboards and try to ignore that I’m not here to help. I’m not really part of the good things these people are doing.

  I’m here to save my sister.

  Navarro may be leading a revolution, but the way he gathers people and power around him is no different than any other Clan leader, as far as I can tell. He’s just succeeded on a much bigger scale. Which means he’s even more dangerous.

  I’ll get what I need and get out before I’m sucked in too deep.

  I’ve lost my memory stamp.

  I’ve checked every pair of pants I’ve borrowed from Aaliyah’s closet, crawled on hands and knees to search the carpet in my room, and retraced my steps from the last time I remember having it—just after leaving Wright’s secret DARPA facility—and I can’t find it anywhere.

  That night was such blur. I didn’t even think about it the next morning—I was crazy short on sleep. The vid of my mom, the pictures of my dad… they might be all I have left. At least, I know my sister is still alive. But the images of that long ago time when we were a family and had a home together?

  They’re just… gone.

  I slog through the next couple days in a haze, but there’s nothing to do but press on. Mornings at the Tiller estate. Rebuilding the Stomp during the day. Slipping off with Juliette for secret dates with Sammi afterschool.

  Technically, I don’t have to work for Tiller anymore—Wright says she has my family, and Navarro doesn’t want his intel. Tiller’s paying me now, so there’s that, but there’s also a connection between him and Wright. Tiller’s dark military-projects company that went IPO, Tru-Tech, has to be connected to DARPA—Wright mentioned it, and only Tiller’s friends have his special prototype helmets. So I know they’re in bed together in some way, an image that’s disturbing on many levels. Plus Tiller is still promising to help find my family, especially now that he thinks I’m dating his daughter. Maybe he already knows where Wright has my parents locked up? Maybe he could pressure her to release them? He could be just the ally I need. Unless my mom’s a jacker like Wright says—then I don’t want her anywhere near Tiller.

  Like my entire life, it’s complicated.

  Which is why depleting Aaliyah’s closet with Jiaying’s help, taking Juliette to school, and working construction at the Stomp are steadying doses of normalcy. That, and finding new ways for Sammi and Juliette to hook up.

  Giving Richards’ men the slip after school isn’t hard. One day, I took Juliette to the Chicago Museum of Art. The next, we took in a sim-cast at one of the big virtual theaters. As long as we leave the autolimo parked outside, Richards and his thugs are happy to chill a few blocks away. I arrange for Sammi to be there before us and leave after we do—and then make myself scarce while they have their date. Evenings are back at the estate, where I hang out with Juliette in her room to keep up appearances.

  The only thing missing is Navarro—I thought he’d be at the Stomp, but the word is that he had to fly to DC for something in the world of politics. He’s supposed to be back today, so I’ll be hunting him down if I don’t see him at the club.

  It’s been three days since we talked, and that extra time has given me a chance to work out a strategy—I’ll do my locking-and-unlocking trick for him then engage his professor-brain in some tech talk about how the mindmapping works. It’s not like I really understand it myself, and I’m genuinely curious to see if Navarro has any insights. Tiller’s side project of turning jackers into readers has been nagging at me, along with the fact that Wright’s henchman Major John Scott is some kind of hybrid. I know I can do more with this ability to change mindmaps than just lock and unlock, but I don’t want to get trapped into finding out what exactly, not until I’m free from people like Navarro and Wright and Tiller.

  So, I’ll keep it simple—no implying to Navarro I can do more than turn jackers into keepers. And definitely nothing about unlocking him. I’ve got to keep that in my back pocket, plus I need him to trust me. Then I’ll press him for information on the inhibitors. I’ve got a convincing story in my head—that I can’t be part of his crew in Jackertown if they’re messing around with that. Like it offends me. Which it does, but that’s beside the point. Hopefully, he’ll offer up something I can take to Wright.

  I pull on the steel-toed workboots I found at the back of Aaliyah’s bountiful closet, swipe the lunch she made for me off the kitchen table, and head out the door. At some point, I need to repay her for all her generosity. In the meantime, I’m just grateful I’ve got a place to pass out each night, exhausted from the long days and the construction work.

  Right now, I’m standing at the curb next to Tiller’s autolimo waiting for the autocab I hailed—I’ve already changed into work clothes and ditched my gun, ready for the manual labor part of my day. Instead, a white van comes trundling down the street. Aaliyah’s Home for the Temporarily Dizzy is in the middle of a deserted part of Des Plaines, and it’s not on the way to anywhere. Whoever is in the van, they’re definitely coming here.

  I’m not super concerned until it rolls to a stop in front of me, and the door slides open. By the time I figure out I should be running—or jacking—three guys in helmets spill out with guns. My hands fly up.

  The passenger seat window rolls down. It’s Major John Scott, Wright’s military bulldog, dressed in the same urban fatigues as before. “Climb on in, kid. Let’s go for a ride.” His tone is friendly, but the guns are still pointed at my chest, so I don’t argue.

  The inside of the van is just bare metal benches, and the front is blocked by a wall of metal, no windows.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, trying not to let my voice shake. We’re already speeding away from Aaliyah’s.

  None of the three goons speak, but they’re watching me with dead-eye stares. They’ve got helmets and guns, so I’m not sure why they’re acting like I’m a bomb that’s about to go off. The ride is relatively short, less than ten minutes, then we’re screeching to a stop that nearly sends me sliding off my bench. Wherever we are, it’s not the Great Lakes Naval Air Station where Wright brought me the first time—that’s at least a thirty-minute drive. I was passed out on the way in from their tranq darts, but I was awake for the ride home.

  The van door screeches open, and Scott beckons me out. We’re inside a narrow loading dock with the roll-up doors down, so I can’t tell where we are. Scott’s hustling me up a short set of concrete stairs and swiping us through a heavy metal door with his security badge. The trio with the guns stays by the door as Scott marches me through. He’s armed, but just that larger-nosed weapon tucked into a holster at his side, the one he told me was a tranq gun.

  It’s tough to keep up with his fast stride down the narrow corridor. Gunmetal gray walls, concrete floors, bare plasma lights overhead—I expect this from a military base.

  “Do I get to know what we’re doing?” I ask.

  He keeps staring straight ahead. “Wright will answer your questions.” Then he smirks at me. “Or not.”

  Very helpful.

  We turn right then stop at an elevator. It’s more gray metal with ancient buttons that look literally a hundred years old. We ride up one level and step out into a different world. It’s like the lobby of a cheap hotel, with a couple weathered couches, fake potted plants, and a check-in counter that’s unmanned. A couple guys in fatigues cruise in the front door and take a turn down a hall stretching away from us. They pass through propped-open doors into a sparsely-occupied cafeteria.

  “This way,” Scott says sharply, cutting off my gawking. He’s hovering next to me and gesturing to a pair of elevator doors. These are more modern, trimmed in steel that’s not battered and ancient. He scans his ID again. We ride to the top—the sixth floor—and emerge into an open lounge area with halls and doorways stretching to the right and left. It smells of cleaning solution and musty drapes, and dead in the center stands Dr. Beatrix Wright.

  I figured she was summoning me, I just don’t know why.

  “Mr. MacCay,” she says sharply with that slightly-British accent. “Good of you to join us.”

  I give her look like she’s crazy and glance at Scott. His face is blank.

  “Like I had a choice,” I say.

  Wright ignores my snipe. “I’ve only got a moment, then you can be on to your appointed round.” She nods to Scott, who returns it. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “What do you have to report about Navarro and the inhibitors?”

  “Nothing yet.” I scowl. “I’ve hardly had any time. And he’s been in DC—”

  “Yes, I’m aware,” she cuts me off. “His official movements are well documented. It’s his unofficial whereabouts, especially in Jackertown, of which I’m concerned. I understand you’ve made contact.”

  I frown. How does she know all this? “Yeah.”

  “Anytime you have contact, I want a scrit from you tracking his movements.” She adjusts the cuffs of her trimly-tailored gray suit. “Major John Scott will give you a tracker. I want you to place it on Navarro’s person and let us know when it’s installed.”

  “How am I going to do that?” I protest.

  She nails me with her steel-gray eyes. “Be resourceful. We have other sources of intel, but we need to piece together his movements. There are times when he’s off grid. We believe there’s a secret facility somewhere in Jackertown where he’s accessing the water supply. If possible, determine its whereabouts. In lieu of that, I expect you to scrit us regular reports on his whereabouts and plans. Do not let more than twelve hours pass between check-ins. I expect progress, Mr. MacCay, and I expect it soon. Do I make myself clear?”

 

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