“Affirm,” Daum says.
Then she exits.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to Bel.
“Go to hell.”
I go back to my end of the cage. Sister or not, I’d rather be stuck in here with Spires, or a posse of rabid raccoons. Pretty much anyone who’s not Bel.
I lean against the wall and cross my arms, facing away from her. What’s her damage, anyway? You’d think she’d welcome an ally, given that both our lives have vanished, making us…what did she call it? Time orphans.
She’s being such a witch, I don’t want to feel bad for her. But I can’t help it. I don’t doubt Dietrich’s her mom. Sure, they look related, but mostly it’s Bel’s reaction. Bel believes that’s her mom.
Mom or not, it’s clear Dietrich’s not going to be of any help. And neither is Bel. I’m on my own. It’s up to me to get back to 1906.
Okay, time to assess. Neither of the guards is a good mark, but they don’t have beds, so they don’t live here. Eventually, we’ll have to get different guards. Plus they can’t expect to keep us here for long—we don’t have beds either. There’s also no toilet, and no water. That puts a natural limit on the amount of time we’ll be here. They’ll have to take us out of this cell to somewhere else. Out is good.
Unless they move us somewhere worse. Somewhere the guards don’t keep their hands to themselves, or somewhere we won’t need a bed or water ever. Or somewhere far from that cement room where the wormhole appears, which is where I need to be.
No, I can’t risk a move. I’ll have to work with what I’ve got. I cross to the bars and lower myself to the ground, cross-legged. I stare out at Daum—the lesser of two bad choices—and try to formulate my con. He’s at the desk now with his back to me. Spires is asleep in one of the easy chairs.
“Daum?” I say quietly.
I see his back stiffen but he doesn’t turn or reply. I need to ask a question he can’t ignore.
“I’m not feeling well. Can I have some water?”
His shoulders drop. He rises and crosses to the right side of the room. There’s nothing there but a blank wall, painted industrial beige. Then he puts his palm to the wall and a panel—that wasn’t there before—lights up. He presses some buttons, then a section of the wall slides away. Inside looks like something from a spaceship—a cubby lined with sleek white paneling, a white countertop, and several insets.
He taps a white panel and it lifts, revealing dishes. He selects a glass and places it in an inset. Water streams from above, filling the glass. Then he holds his hand to the wall panel again. The wall closes, hiding the kitchenette, and he brings me the water like all that was normal.
“What the heck was that?” I ask.
Daum’s eyebrows raise. “You’ve never seen a hologram?”
“The kitchen-thing’s a hologram?”
“No, the wall hiding it. You’ve really never seen that before?”
There are a ton more questions swirling in my mind, but I can’t risk spooking him now that he’s talking. “Thanks for the water,” is all I say.
I focus on the glass in my hand. Though it looks like glass, it feels like plastic. I bet it’s some special material that won’t break so I can’t use it as a weapon. I take a tentative sip. Tastes like water. Maybe slightly chemical, but not terrible. I take another drink.
“Sorry you’re not feeling well,” Daum says, meeting my gaze for a split second. “They should have taken you direct to Med. It’s a serious deeve from proto.”
I realize what he almost said. “They deviated from protocol?”
“Affirm.”
That’s interesting. “Any idea why?”
He shrugs. “Not really.”
It’s good he’s talking. But there’s talking and there’s talking.
I try a different angle, keeping my voice low so I don’t wake Spires. “How long before Dr. Dietrich comes back?”
“Could be an hour, could be tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow?” It was a little before dawn when we left 1906, but I have no clue what time it is here. There are no windows to the outside, no clocks I can see. “What time is it?”
“Ten-thirty-seven.”
“In the morning?”
“What else?”
“And Dietrich might not come back until tomorrow? But there’s no bathroom in here—that doesn’t seem very humane.”
“You want to take a bath?”
I start to roll my eyes, but I catch myself. I won’t be like Bel. Besides, Daum seems to be legit asking.
“Not a bath. It’s the room where you…use the toilet. You know. To pee.” My cheeks sting and I hope they’re not visibly red.
“We call that the lav. Do you need to use one?”
“Maybe.” I kinda have to pee but not bad enough that I’d go in a bucket in front of him.
“Let me know and I’ll auth-open it.”
“You’ll what?”
“Open. The door to the lav.”
There are no doors in the cell, so that means getting out. Definitely worth pursuing. “Yes, please, I’d like to go—to use the…lav.”
He holds his hand to the wall a few feet from the cell. There’s a faint whooshing sound.
I glance over my shoulder. Inside the cell there’s now an open door in what was a blank wall before. So much for getting out.
I might as well check it out anyway. I set my glass of water on the floor and get to my feet, trying not to groan. My joints are complaining like I’m an old woman. Must be some residual wormhole-lag or something.
I poke my head in the lav. It doesn’t look like any bathroom I’ve ever seen. It’s shallow like a closet. The back wall is spanned by a shelf, waist-high on the left with a sink and faucet, swooping down on the right, becoming a toilet.
I wonder if the door will close when I step inside. I hope so for privacy, though I don’t love the idea of being locked in a closet. Tentatively I step across the threshold. As I do, it gets brighter inside—must be some sort of sensor. The door is still open so I turn to close it and it whooshes shut past my face. It’s good I don’t have big boobs—they’d have gotten lopped off.
I lift the lid on the toilet and do my business, grateful I don’t have to pee in a bucket. I wash my hands, availing myself of the automatic soap dispenser, all the while scoping the walls, floor, and ceiling for anything useful. I don’t see any doors or seams, but I run my hands along the surfaces anyway. I’m not expecting to find anything—I’m in a jail cell—and I don’t.
I go to the door and reach for the knob, but there isn’t one. For half a second, I panic. I’m not usually claustrophobic, but this weird, ultra-modern cubbyhole feels like it’s closing in. I put my hands on the door and it slides open. Crisis averted.
I step back into the cell. “Bel? Do you need to use the bath—toilet?”
She doesn’t move. Maybe she’s asleep, but I think it’s more likely she’s just being Bel. I regret my momentary lapse into caring.
“Pillow?” Daum asks, holding one through the bars. “I could get in trouble for giving it to you. Don’t use it to suffocate your cellmate.”
A short “ha” escapes my mouth as I take the pillow. No matter how I feel about Bel, my killing days are over. I’m hit by a wave of nausea as I remember what I did to Beck. I hope I never, ever have to do something like that again.
I glance at the bench, but that’s clearly Bel’s territory, so I set the pillow on the ground near the bars and sit on it, facing out. I’ve got to keep the conversation going with Daum.
“Thanks for being so cool. For a guard.”
He shrugs.
“Have you had a lot of prisoners here?”
“No.”
“The ones you had, were they all travelers from other times?”
He shrugs again.
“When were they from?” I persist.
Daum glances at Spires, who’s still asleep. “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
Still, it s
eems like he wants to. “I don’t want to get you in trouble—I need to take my mind off being locked in here. Can we play chess? We don’t have to talk. Except for you to teach me.”
He looks like he’s considering it, then shakes his head. “I better not. You should try to sleep. While you can.”
While I can?
Just when I was starting to think maybe they weren’t going to kill us.
Chapter Three
Flyx
I found her. My odd-clothed girl. She’s here. She’s here now.
I lean back in my chair, my hands falling free of the CTAR’s keys. How can it be that this girl, this magined love, is in this time—my time? I rub my eyes to make sure I’m not dozing. I look back at the screen and see the words again, words that say she’s here, now, in Detention.
I need to cog if it’s her, actual. I reach to tag Daum, but my fingers touch bare wrist. It’s such habit, I forget I don’t have my personal in here
The clock-read shows more than an hour on shift before I can find out what Daum cogs. That’s eternity. I’ve never felt so desp about being info-segregated before.
This girl, my odd-clothed past-beauty—somehow she’s my destiny, my future. Ever since the first mention of her in the news-reps, I can’t think else. I rationed it my own runwild maginations. But now that she’s here…this goes beyond maginings and coince.
I need to doc this in my Liferep. I’m supposed to be immune to mem-change, but the high-ups create hist-reports as a caution, and I decided long ago it would be dim not to do samewise. My fingers find the keyboard again.
Flyx Hansson
Liferep 17.02.18.1349 (PRIVLOCK)
The odd-clothed nat-beauty from 1906, in all probability one Allison Bennett of 2018, is in 2153. Broke all rules and scanned, found her in Detention. Can’t expl why put self in jeopardy for this girl, nomatter how swelt a looker. Can only desc as destiny, like we are meant together.
My plan: erase search hist best-can. Get out of TIC and locate Daum immed. Thank gods he’s on shift now. He’ll know if she’s here intrue, and, if so, can take me to her.
I’d been careless in order to learn what became of my odd-clothed girl. But now that she’s here, I have to eye her. I can’t risk consequence that would prevent that. I hope-pray I can erase my path entire so the high-ups don’t cog what I’ve done.
I push back my chair and slide to the floor. Using my fingernail, I unscrew the panel under the desk and expose the electronics. I slide out the coding keyboard with mini-monitor that I eyed months past but was too chary to try.
The first part is hardest. If it blanks an access code, I’m vanked. There’s no faking that.
I key in a request for access. The cursor blinks, processing.
The microseconds pass like hours. My mouth is dry, hands sweating. I’m holding my resps, expecting an alarm or shut-off. Or worse, the whole TIC could power down and someone storm in, gun pointed.
But the cursor turns solid. I’m in.
Chapter Four
“What do you mean, I should sleep while I can?” I ask Daum, unable to keep the alarm from my voice.
He shrugs. “There will be lots of testing and stuff. Unless…there’s not.” He looks away and now I know there’s something really bad he’s not telling me.
“What are you talking about?” I demand, my voice low.
“I’m not supposed to say.”
“Please, I need to know what to expect, what I’m up against. Please.”
I see him swallow. He glances at Spires—still sleeping—then looks back at me and squats near the bars so his face is opposite mine. “Dietrich will decide if you can be salvaged. If you’re lucky, you’ll just be recycled.”
That doesn’t sound good. “And if I’m not lucky?”
He cocks his head, then runs his finger across his throat.
I suck in a breath, but it feels like there’s no oxygen.
“So try to rest, okay?” Daum gives a tense smile, then stands and walks away.
Did he seriously say they might kill me, then tell me to rest? As if.
“Psst, hey,” I whisper, but he doesn’t turn around. I grab the bars and lean forward. “Daum.”
Spires snorts and sits up in the easy chair. “What? What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Daum says. “Everything’s norm.”
“You talking to her?” Spires asks. “You gave her a pillow? What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m not talking to her,” Daum says, showing Spires a pair of headphones and then clamping them over his ears. “Go back to sleep.” He sits at the desk, his back to me.
“You,” Spires says, pointing at me. “Shut your hole and make use of that pillow. Or I will. You cog?”
I gulp and scoot down until my head is on the pillow. I stare at the ceiling, my heart throbbing in my ears, tears spilling from the corners of my eyes.
Someone shakes me awake.
Bel.
She puts her finger to her lips, then motions for me to follow.
I can’t believe I fell asleep. I guess the last few days finally caught up with me.
Bel motions again furiously.
Nothing’s changed, so I don’t know where she expects to go, but I get up and join her in “her” corner of the cell, sitting beside her on the bench. Spires is asleep again in the easy chair, and Daum is slumped over the desk, clearly sleeping, too.
It’s too much to hope that Bel has a plan. Whatever she’s up to, it’s not about helping me. More likely she wants something.
She leans close. “Have you figured a way out of here yet?” she says in her ridiculously loud whisper.
Sometimes I hate being right. “No, have you?”
“I thought you were supposed to be some sort of expert escape artist.”’
“I thought you were from this time and knew what to do.”
We both go quiet, glaring at each other.
Then I realize—I finally have a sister and this is how we act. That makes me feel bad enough to try for a truce.
“Look,” I say. “We both want the same thing. Let’s work together, okay?”
She blinks slowly, but does not roll her eyes. I consider that progress.
“Fine,” she says. “Can you get the cell open?”
Now is not the time to confess I’ve never actually picked a lock, only studied it on the Internet. “I’ll check out the lock. If I can open it—big if—do you know what to do next?”
“Maybe. I mean, I know how things used to be.”
“Let’s say I can get us out of here and into that cement room where the wormhole appears—we still need a quake. When’s the next one going to hit?”
“I have no idea. We’re in the present—that means no record of what’s going to happen.”
“Crap.”
“Don’t be so drama. We don’t need a quake. There’s a machine that triggers the wormhole.”
Finally some good news. “Where’s the machine? There was nothing in that room.”
“Duh,” she says with a hint of an eyeroll. “You saw how the walls are holograms. I assume the controls are still there but hidden.”
“I hope you’re right. I’ll get to work on the cell door.”
“Hold on. Even if the controls are in that room, we won’t be able to do anything because I don’t exist in this time. I won’t have authorization.”
Great. No solution, only more problems. “Then what do you suggest?”
“They’re supposed to take us to Med. At least that was the protocol in my time.”
“It still is—Daum told me.”
“Good. In Med, I should be able to get to a computer. I know a backdoor into the system. Assuming it still works, I’ll confirm the location of the wormhole machine and grant myself access.”
“Daum didn’t say why they hadn’t taken us to Med yet. What if they don’t?” I start pacing like a lion in a cage. “What if they skip Med and go straight to recycling us?”
“S
hhh.” Bel glances at the guards. “That’s exactly what will happen if you don’t ease out.”
I return to Bel and lower my voice. “How do you recycle people? What does that even mean?”
“A large dose of the memory loss drug.”
But the drug doesn’t cause memory loss. It kills.
I open my mouth, then snap it shut. If I tell her, it will destroy the small amount of progress we’ve made.
“We can’t get recycled,” I say, leaving out the rest. “We need to be ready for any opportunity, so I’m going to scope out the lock on the cell door. I won’t try to pick it yet.”
I tiptoe to the front of the cell and press my face to the bars, trying to see the locking mechanism. My head doesn’t fit between the bars, and I can’t get a good angle on it, so I slip my hand through to scope it by feel. As soon as my hand touches the lock, an alarm blares.
I jump back, covering my ears, heart pounding out of my chest.
Daum and Spires leap to their feet. I stand there, guilty, plugging my ears. I glance over at Bel and she rolls her eyes. Great, we’re back to that.
Spires comes to the bars. And I thought he looked scary before. I step back, out of reach.
“Sorry,” I say, though I’m sure he can’t hear me over the alarm.
He puts his hand to the lock and the alarm stops. He glares at me.
“Sorry,” I say again. I don’t even try to explain. It’s not like they’re going to believe I wasn’t trying to get out. And it’s not like the truth makes me look any better.
“Go sit on the bench,” Spires says.
I sit by Bel and try to look contrite.
Spires turns on Daum. “What the hell? Were you sleeping?”
“I only turned my back for a minute to check something on the computer,” Daum lies.
“Uh, excuse me?” I say.
Daum looks at me, eyes wide. I cock my head, letting it sink in that I could rat him out. Daum stares, silently pleading.
Spires narrows his eyes at me. “You got something to say?”
Shake Page 2
