DICTATE-RECORD ACTIVE blinks in the display window. Looks like it’s working.
“Flyx,” I say, my voice almost a whisper. “Dietrich’s sending guards. She thinks you told me about Kaitlin. I denied it, but Bel says they’re coming for you. I’m sorry.”
My words appear on the display, then minimize. “SENT” appears, and I exhale. I hope it reaches him in time.
I wash my hands, then head back to the living room wearing my most innocent face.
“I don’t know what happened to Beck,” Bel is saying. “He was supposed to be at the exit point. I did everything I could—I killed the younger version of him to clear the way—but I didn’t see if he came out of hiding, because Allie jumped me into the wormhole, though I don’t understand how because the wormhole wasn’t big enough. Then I got the upper hand and brought her straight here, only to find out my life’s been vanked.”
“What caused you to cease to exist in this timeline?” Dietrich asks her as I retake my seat. “What changed?”
“I’ll tell you what changed,” I say. “She killed our dad before she was conceived. That’s why she doesn’t exist.”
“No, that wouldn’t be it,” Dietrich says. “Jennys can’t have children.”
Chapter Nineteen
Flyx
The gym is crowded, but I find an open ex-bike and set my usual. The radiation sickness is completely gone now. Norm I’d be begging Remo to let me back in the TIC, but with Allison here, monitoring history has lost appeal.
I imagine Allison’s face, her laughing smile, her nat-beauty. Then I flash on Sharrow and her devastation when I didn’t know her. There’s nothing I can do about not remembering her, but I feel grave anyway.
I pedal hard, trying to escape my guilt. Of course that gets me nowhere.
My personal buzzes. There’s a private-message from Allison—Dietrich’s sending guards. I clean-delete the message and drop the personal by the bike as I head for the back door.
As I slip into the hall, I hear voices in the gym calling my name. Hopefully they didn’t see me duck out and they’ll be slowed by my personal registering in the room.
I sprint down the hall, away from the station toward the dead end. There used to be a ladder attached to the wall, leading to the air ducting. It was removed, leaving rough divots in the concrete that work—barely—for holds. I strip off my boots, tie the laces together and sling them over my shoulder, then climb. I tell myself it’s like a climbing wall. But it’s not—these aren’t great holds, and the ground is cement.
At the ceiling, I push the hatch out of the way and haul myself up, then replace the hatch silently.
“Did he go that way?” someone shouts.
Rot—that’s close. If they know about this access hatch, I’m crashed. But if I crawl through the ducts now, they’ll definitely hear me.
“Checking.” A different voice, even closer. I hear heavy boots on cement. I hold my resps. “Dead end. We lost him.” The footsteps recede.
That was way too close. I take a minute, allowing them to put distance between us, then crawl as quietly as I can away from the station. It’s pitch-dark in the duct without my personal, so I compose a mental map and hope-pray it’s accurate.
Finally I reach the hidden access to the roof. I identify by feel the metal sheeting that hides the alcove for the ladder, then carefully slide it to the side. I’ve coated the bottom edge in waxed duct tape to dampen the sound. The gray tape practically disappears against the sheet metal, so it’s unlikely to be noticed if anyone were ever poking around.
I step through, then reposition the metal cover. Almost there now.
I put my boots back on, then feel my way to the ladder. It’s a three-story climb and I take it graddie, trying to sort my way out of this gnarl.
By the time I reach the roof, I’ve got a plan that, if luck, could work.
I pivot aside the hatch and am blinded by sun. I scramble out, replace the hatch, and duck in the lean-to I use during daylight. Drone patrols are rare, but I can’t afford chance-takes.
I flop down and drain a water I stashed here. I keep granola bars and nuts, too, after learning hard-way how to safe them from marauding birds, but I hope to be gone long before my stomach gripes.
I open the strong box and dig out my spare personal. I re-built it from a broken one that had been discarded. It took two months to steal the parts and get it working, but it was worth every minute. It’s the only thing now between me and consequence.
I’m at the bare edge of signal here, but I power up and it catches. I tag Daum on our private channel.
FLYX: using back-up device. in deep. need assist
Seconds feel like hours while I wait for a response. Finally one pops.
DAUM: here. what’s prob?
FLYX: guards after me. dropped personal at ex-bike and fled to roof. need cover
DAUM: call it
FLYX: you go on our usual obs-course run, but don’t get eyed. story is I was with you whole time—that I lost personal at warmup and didn’t realize. your tracker will corroborate so long as no viewers can say otherwise
DAUM: understood. heading now
FLYX: meet you at the Y-junction in fifteen. tag if there’s prob. use this device, private channel only—guards have my primary
DAUM: affirm
I fall back against my bag-sleeper to wait. If luck, this patches the immediate problem. But I still have to deal with why guards were after me to begin with.
I do have a solution. It’s the only option I can cog. But I wish it weren’t.
There’s a few minutes left before I need to leave to meet Daum, so I tag Allison on the private channel.
FLYX: it’s me. thanks for the warning. I’m safe. can you talk?
I wait for her response, picturing her, drop-dead in that old-school way I crave. No mods, no colors. A nat-beauty that makes my heart flip. I want to run my fingers through her long auburn hair. I want to touch her unmarked face, to stare into her clear eyes.
Why hasn’t she answered?
I have to go. I can’t wait any longer.
FLYX: don’t tag back. I have a plan. if it works, I’ll be in a cube waiting for you. if it fails…I’m glad I met you, and I just wish
I hesitate. Oh, what the eff—I’m going to say it.
FLYX: I just wish I would have had the chance to kiss you
Chapter Twenty
I remember my mom saying she was surprised she was pregnant because Maxen/Beck wasn’t supposed to be able to have kids.
“If Jennys can’t have kids, how do you explain me?” Bel’s leaning forward, practically shouting at Dietrich. “I am not a gen-fab.”
“Bel,” Dietrich says, sounding apologetic. “People are not born with the ability to time-travel. Genetic fabrication’s the only way to be a Jenny.”
“You’re wrong,” Bel insists. “My dad passed it down to me.”
“And me,” I pipe in. “That’s what my mom told me.”
“That’s simply not possible,” Dietrich says. “Jennys are physiologically unable to have children. They’re genetically engineered that way—it’s one of the core mandates.”
“Then somebody effed up!” Bel says.
“Language,” Dietrich scolds.
There’s a tiny buzz against my wrist from the personal. It’s got to be a message from Flyx, but I can’t exactly read it here. I need a cover.
“Oh my God,” I say dramatically, rising from the couch. “You’re saying I won’t be able to have kids? Ever?” I choke back a manufactured sob and run to the breakfast nook.
“I’m so sorry, Allie,” Sharrow says. Tentative footsteps come toward me.
I deposit myself at the kitchen table and slump over, facing away from the living room.
“Give her a minute,” Dietrich says.
I hear Sharrow return to the others. There’s another buzz at my wrist. I hunch over more and sneak a glance, but the personal is camouflaged. I tap on the face once, hoping it �
��wakes up” without making any sound.
Yes!
FLYX: it’s me. thanks for the warning. I’m safe. can you talk?
FLYX: don’t tag back. I have a plan. if it works, I’ll be in a cube waiting for you. if it fails…I’m glad I met you, and I just wish I would have had the chance to kiss you
I imagine Flyx’s lips on mine, and my heart flip-flops. Immediately I feel lower than dirt. Sharrow still likes him, even though he doesn’t remember she was his girlfriend. Plus I like Jake, even though he doesn’t remember I exist.
Why does everything have to be so complicated?
Whatever. It doesn’t matter.
I’m not going to meet up with Flyx. I mean, I hope his plan works out and he’s not in trouble, but I’ve got other things to worry about.
I stay at the table, eavesdropping on their conversation.
“Bel,” Dietrich says. “What year were you born?”
“2134. February.”
“And the DNA tests prove I’m her mother?” Dietrich asks Sharrow. “Conclusively?”
“One hundred,” Sharrow says.
The DNA tests. “Hang on,” I say, turning in my chair to face them. “Shouldn’t it be easy to prove Maxen is Bel’s dad with DNA testing?”
“Maxen?” Dietrich says. “That’s not the name you said before.”
“I knew him as Beck Raskin,” Bel says. “But he used to be called Maxen—is that the name you know him by?”
“There was a Jenny named Maxen,” Dietrich says. “But I didn’t know him well.”
“You said was, past tense. What happened to him?” Bel asks. “Is he dead?”
“I don’t know for certain,” Dietrich says. “I know he’s not here, in this time. When I took over, I recalled as many Jennys as I could, but some remain unaccounted for. They’re presumed dead or lost in history.”
“But you’d still have records, right?” I say. “So we can prove he’s our father.”
“I ran full DNA batteries on you both,” Sharrow says. “There were no paternal matches for either of you.”
“Even if it were possible for a Jenny to be their father, you wouldn’t have found his records in the system,” Dietrich says. “I put all the GEN records in the time-vault when I shut down the travel program.”
“Don’t you think we should—oh, I don’t know—get them out of the vault and check?” I say, borderline rude.
“Fine, but it won’t make any difference,” Dietrich says. “Jennys can’t have kids.”
“Why are we even talking about this?” Bel says, throwing her hands up dramatically. “None of it matters.”
“It does matter,” I insist. “I assumed our lives were erased when Maxen and my mom were killed. What if that’s not true? We have to know exactly what caused us to be erased so we can fix it when we go back to 1906.”
“It doesn’t matter because we’re not going back,” Bel shouts.
“The hell we’re not!”
“Enough.” Dietrich slams her hand on the coffee table. “No one’s going anywhere.”
“You can’t do that,” I yell, coming out of my chair.
“Let well enough alone,” she says. “You’re alive now. All of you. If you try to change things, you might not be.”
“Not everyone is alive who should be,” I shout, pacing, fists clenched. “My parents and the crew are dead. We have to go back and save them.”
Dietrich folds her arms. “No. No time travel.”
“Give it up,” Bel says.
“It’ll be okay,” Sharrow tells me. “You’ll get used to it here.”
“I won’t! Not in a million years.” How is Bel just accepting this? I have to get out of here. Now.
I run to the yellow wall, but I can’t remember where the door is. I hold my personal up, scanning it back and forth trying to activate the sensor pad.
“That won’t work,” Bel says.
I run to the other door—the one to Dietrich’s office.
“Try to calm down.” Sharrow steps between me and the door.
“I don’t want to calm down. I can’t stay here.” I glare at Bel. “It’s our fault everyone died. You know we have to fix it. What’s wrong with you?”
“Sharrow,” Dietrich says. “I’m getting Allie a sedative.” She leaves the room.
“I don’t need a sedative. I need to get out of here.” I go back to the yellow wall and try to make it open.
“We can’t go back,” Bel says. “The sooner you accept that, the better.”
“Please. Calm down,” Sharrow says, coming as close as she can without touching me. “I don’t want to sedate you.”
I look at her. There’s something she’s not saying. The sedation drug—is it really sedation? Or something else?
Cold fear washes through me. Instantly, I’m calm. I turn to Sharrow. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”
Dietrich comes back in the room with a syringe.
“I’m okay now,” I tell her. “It was the shock of the news. I’m okay now, really.”
“Still, I think it would be best.” She hands the syringe to Sharrow.
“No, I swear I’m fine.” If they sedate me, I won’t be able to get out of here. “Please, Dr. Dietrich, I understand it’s too risky to time-travel. I really do. It was a shock, but I can accept it. I promise I’m okay now.”
“I’m afraid I must insist,” she says. “It won’t knock you out. It will simply calm you down. Now please stand still and let Sharrow do her job.”
Sharrow holds the syringe up to the light. There’s something printed on it, but I can’t read it. “It’ll be okay, Allie. Push up your sleeve and hold out your arm.” She turns her back to the others. Trust me, she mouths.
My heart’s pounding like a jackhammer, but I push up my sleeve, hoping I can trust her.
Sharrow holds her personal next to mine. “Medical procedure, extended contact. Consent?”
“I consent,” I say, hoping I really can trust her.
“You seem a little woozy. Are you afraid of needles?” She looks at me expectantly.
“Yes, I am,” I say, playing along.
“Cold water helps. We’ll do this in the kitchen. Mom, can you get some gauze, please?”
Dietrich disappears down the hall. Sharrow ushers me to the kitchen sink and turns on the faucet, positioning herself so Bel can’t see what she’s doing. “Hold your wrist under the cold water and look away, okay?”
“Okay.” I do as she says, and the next thing I feel is a prick in the crook of my elbow. “Hey!” I jerk back but she holds tight.
Trust me, she mouths again.
Trust her? I thought she wasn’t going to give me the shot.
Dietrich comes back with the gauze. I look down and there’s a tiny blood spot on the inside of my arm. Dietrich hands me a square of gauze.
“Put pressure on it,” Sharrow tells me.
I glare at her while I press the gauze to my arm.
“Come back to the living room,” Dietrich says.
“Whatever she says, agree,” Sharrow says in my ear as she guides me to the living area, holding my elbow as if she’s supporting me. “Act sedated,” she whispers.
Act sedated? She stuck me with the needle—I saw the blood.
Dietrich and Bel are standing shoulder to shoulder, watching me and Sharrow approach. I want to rail against them, to give them the full force of my fury, but that will get me nowhere. Instead, I shuffle along, letting my eyes go unfocused.
“Listen to me, Allison,” Dietrich says. “You must give up all hope of time travel. You must not speak of it or think of it again.”
“Mmm.” I say, hoping my acting is on target.
“Look at me,” Dietrich barks. “Focus.”
I bring my eyes to focus on her, rocking in place as if I’m losing my balance. Sharrow tightens her grip on my arm, steadying me.
“You will be compliant with my instructions,” Dietrich says. “You will forget about time
travel. Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” I say, wavering as I look at her. “I…sure, okay.”
“Done?” Sharrow asks. “I should get her to bed.”
“Isn’t there something you want to say to her?” Bel asks Sharrow. “Like ‘stay away from my boyfriend’?”
“Sluff it, Bel,” Sharrow says, steering me to the yellow wall. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I’m staying here,” Bel says.
“Is that wise, given…” Dietrich says.
“Mom,” Bel says. “She’s compliant, so I don’t see why I should have to sleep in that awful room with all those people snoring and farting.”
“Bel,” Dietrich scolds.
“Well it’s true,” Bel retorts. “It’s disgusting.”
“We’ll be fine,” Sharrow says. “Allie won’t give me any trouble, right, Allie?”
“Huh?” I say in a groggy voice. “I’m…fine.”
“I’m sorry you can’t stay, Sharrow,” Dietrich says.
“No, it’s okay. I understand.” Sharrow’s chipper reply doesn’t match the sadness in her eyes. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“I’ll message you the details,” Dietrich says. “Take her to Middies. She should sleep through the night, but I expect you to keep your eye on her anyway.”
“Affirm.” Sharrow puts her hand to the yellow wall and the outline of a door appears. She opens it, walks me through, then closes it behind us.
“What the hell was that?” I whisper.
“Not here.”
As we hurry through the corridor to the stairs, my mind’s reeling, but I stay silent.
When we’re well into the bowels of the vacant gray tunnels, Sharrow finally stops. “Okay, we’re good here.”
“I thought you weren’t going to drug me!” I don’t feel sedated, but she did stab me with the needle.
“I put it down the drain, but I had to make it look like I administered it.”
Phew. “Good thinking.” My mind flashes to Kaitlin. “If you had given it to me, would it have wiped my memory?”
Shake Page 11
