Shake

by Chris Mandeville

  “No, I checked the bottle. It would have made you calm, as well as susceptible to suggestion. Like you wouldn’t be able to help following commands.”

  “Like brainwashing?”

  She nods. “I didn’t give it to you because I want you to decide on your own to give up on time travel.”

  “But—”

  “My mom will never let you go. If you don’t convince her you’ve accepted your life in this time, she will give you the drug that wipes your memory.”

  “Why are you doing this? You barely know me.”

  “I think you deserve a fair chance. But Bel doesn’t feel samewise. She’d rather have you out of the way, and…I hate to admit this but, my mom might be inclined to agree with her.”

  I nod, processing this. I’m grateful she’s looking out for me, but there’s more to it. “Bel wants you out of the way, too. You know that, right?”

  “What do you say we help each other?” She’s biting her lower lip, looking at me expectantly. Either she really wants this, or she’s a great actor.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Flyx

  Dietrich’s glaring at me from behind her desk. I stand across, near vibrating with tension. The only other person here is snake-faced Kraft who’s sentried by the door. I clench my core, trying to mask my nerves.

  Finally, Dietrich says something. “Kraft, outside.”

  Rake me. This is sally.

  Kraft nods. “Affirm.” The door clicks shut.

  “Sit,” Dietrich tells me.

  I perch on the edge of a chair. I’m sure she can see the fear in my eyes.

  She raises her chin, staring down at me. “I’ve looked into the matter of your disappearance. As you claimed, Daum’s personal verified his whereabouts. But I don’t for one moment believe you were with him.”

  “But I—”

  She puts up her hand, stopping me. “However, I understand you have information about Allison Bennett. I’m willing to hear what you have to say.”

  I hate that I have to do this. “She trusts me.”

  “Oh?”

  “She’s plotting something.”

  Dietrich shakes her head, like she feels sorry for me that I’m so dim. “Why would I care. She’s nothing.”

  “You might care if she’s plotting to time-travel.”

  I see her jaw tighten. I try not to fidget.

  “Tell me what you know,” she says, her voice low and deadly.

  I swallow. “She asked me to help her.”

  “If that’s all you’ve got—”

  “She trusts me. I can play the inside, then tell you everything.”

  “Or I recycle her and the whole thing goes away.” She stares me down, tapping one fingernail methodically on the wooden desktop.

  It would be gobs easier to recycle Allison. But she’s considering my offer, so there’s something else going on here. I hold my resps, hope-praying she’ll come down on my side.

  Finally she nods. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “You’re my eyes and ears, as long as you prove useful. You begin immediately. Allie is supposed to be sedated. However I’m not convinced Sharrow actually administered the drug. The two of them are together now. Find out what they’re planning.”

  That’s why she agreed—she’s concerned about how deep Sharrow is. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And there’s something else. I need all the GEN program records from the TIC, including genetic profiles. Specifically I’m looking for a Jenny named Maxen to compare with Bel’s DNA. Plus everything you can find on governors. My eyes only. Can you do that?”

  “Not now. I’m limited by auth-shifts, and this is my recover-week. But if you auth at-will access, I can go any time, and no one will question.”

  “See Sharrow first, then go to the TIC. By the time you get there, it will be authorized.”

  I nod, swallowing down my guilt. But what other choice do I have?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Standing in the cold, gray corridor, I stare back at Sharrow, trying to see beneath the surface. Her words about helping each other still echo in the air. She seems genuine. Or she’s a good con.

  “We could both use an ally,” I say.

  “So do we have a deal?”

  She’s eager. Too eager? I don’t know. But agreeing is the best—only?—option I have right now, so I stick out my hand. “Deal.”

  She shrinks back. “Not a good idea to shake on this.”

  “Right. I guess we don’t want it ‘on the record.’”

  “Let’s get to a cube where we can do some planning.”

  A cube. “Flyx said he’d be in a cube. If he was able to get out of trouble.”

  Sharrow frowns.

  Damn, I’m an idiot. “Sorry. That was dumb. Insensitive. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “No, it’s okay.” She attempts a smile. “He’s a good guy. Smart. Connected, too. He could help us.”

  “We can trust him?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “Can you ride a bike?” she asks.

  Weird question. “Like a bicycle?”

  “It’s okay if you can’t. We can walk, but the bikes are faster. And more fun.”

  “I could stand a little fun.”

  We emerge from the corridor in another unidentified BART station. It can’t be an accident that none of them have signs. If I knew the names of the stations, I could map out the whole thing easy. I know my way around BART better than anywhere, except maybe the Main Library.

  I guess there’s no reason I can’t outright ask. “Which station is this?”

  “What do you mean?” Sharrow asks.

  “The name of the BART station,” I say, wondering what else it could mean.

  “We call them by their functions—testing center, sleeping rooms, cubes…” She looks confused.

  “But it has a name, like Embarcadero or Montgomery. In my time, there were maps and signs everywhere.”

  She shakes her head. “Sorry, I’ve never seen a map down here.”

  “If you could tell me even one name, I’d know where I am. Right now I’m….lost.”

  Sharrow scrunches her brow and scratches her head like a caricature of someone who is trying to remember something.

  “Please,” I say, wanting so badly for her to be straight with me, to give me one scrap of info I can use.

  “Does Powl sound familiar?” she asks. “I once heard an old-timer say Powl Station, or something like that.”

  “Powell? Powell Street Station?”

  She shrugs. “That could have been it. Do you know it?”

  “I know Powell really well. Are you saying we’re in Powell?” I look around, trying to superimpose my memory of the Powell platforms on the ruins we’re in. Powell is big, but not so big it could include all the ruined platforms I’ve seen. Unless… “Are there any other names you remember? Anything at all?”

  I don’t want to suggest something and create a false memory, so I wait, hoping.

  “Maybe….” She scratches her head again. “There was something that reminded me of the moon. Moony, maybe?”

  Moony… That could be how they pronounce Muni. Which is exactly what I was thinking. I remember the bus and light rail stations being expanded underground around Powell. I’m finally getting somewhere. Now all I need is to know which direction I’m facing.

  “That helps a lot,” I say. “There’s one more thing. Have you heard of Union Square?”

  She shakes her head.

  “What about Moscone Center? Or Civic Center? Embarcadero?” I don’t see any recognition spark in her expression, but I can’t let it go. “Daly City? Coit Tower? Chinatown?”

  “Sorry,” she says. “You could keep saying names, but I’ve never heard them before.”

  I was so close. “Thanks anyway.”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  I don’t feel like I can tell her the truth—that I want to know which w
ay it is to the wormhole. But actually, maybe it’s that simple. “I don’t like feeling turned around. I think I could picture the layout if I knew which way it was back to Detention.”

  “Detention’s that way.” She points.

  I’m so happy I could hug her.

  “You good now?” she asks.

  “So good.” The world feels right-side up again. “Thanks.”

  “You still want to take a ride?”

  I grin. “Let’s do it.”

  Near the mouth of a tunnel, we hop to the bottom of the trough where the tracks used to be. There’s a rack of bikes just inside the tunnel.

  “Grab a helmet,” she says, taking one from a hook on the wall. “They’re all same-same.”

  That doesn’t seem very safe. I put one on and, as soon as I click the buckle, there’s a hissing noise. The helmet is squeezing my head.

  “What’s happening?” I say, fumbling to unbuckle the helmet. I break the connection and the hissing stops. “What was that?”

  “You mean the helmet tightening?”

  “Yeah. What the heck?”

  She laughs gently. “It does that to make it fit properly.”

  “Oh, like the jumper.” I snap the buckle together again. The hissing and squeezing start up, but stop before the helmet gets too tight.

  “This bike looks about right for you.” She wheels one from the rack. “You know how to use the brakes? We’ll get going pretty fast.”

  “No problem,” I say, taking it by the handlebars and squeezing the handbrakes.

  She mounts her bike and rides into the tunnel, cruising fast. I pedal hard to catch up, but she’s still pulling away. I decide to let her—I’m a little scared to go any faster. But I have to admit it’s fun. I feel like I’m flying. It reminds me of being in the wormhole. I could get used to—whoa!

  Sharrow is stopped, waving her arms. I put on the brakes as hard as I can. The bike starts to skid, then I’m flipping—still on the bike—the back wheel over my head. I hear Sharrow yelling, along with my own high-pitched shriek.

  The ground is coming, but I don’t know what to do about it. I’m trying to decide if there’s anything I can do when I hit, hard. I’m flat on my back, a tangle of bike on top of me, and I can’t get any air. The tunnel overhead’s a spinning blackness. I think I might pass out.

  “Breathe,” Sharrow says, coming into focus above me. “Breathe.”

  I want to scream I would if I could but I can’t scream without any air.

  My chest is on fire, trying draw a breath. When I can’t take it another second, something releases inside me and air rushes into my lungs. My heart’s beating so fast it’s vibrating. I take deep gulps of air, and finally the ceiling stops spinning.

  “There you go,” Sharrow says. “Where does it hurt? Is anything broken?”

  “I, I don’t know.”

  “Let me take a look. Consent?”

  “Y-yes.” I hear a beep, then she unbuckles my helmet and tosses it aside.

  She puts her fingers through my hair, checking my head, then runs her hands down my arms and legs. “Does it hurt anywhere? I don’t feel any cuts or bumps.”

  “I think I’m okay. Help me sit up?”

  She slips her hand behind my shoulder and eases me upright. “Good?”

  “You mean considering I just endoed at a hundred miles an hour?”

  “What happened? Didn’t you see the warnings?”

  “What warnings?”

  “The rings starting with yellow, then orange, then red.” She points and there they are, plain as can be, lining the tunnel.

  “I didn’t realize.” That’s probably what made me think of the wormhole.

  “That was a pretty bad crash. Maybe we should go to Med.”

  “No, I promise, I’m fine.”

  She stands and pulls me to my feet. My head pounds and I stifle a groan. I don’t want to go back to Med.

  Sharrow tosses my helmet in a recycling bin and puts my bike in the rack, then gestures for me to go first out of the track area. She probably wants to make sure I don’t tumble backward, given my prior gracelessness.

  If my internal map is correct, we’re in one of the Muni stations. We walk to the far side where Sharrow banks her personal to a wall of graffiti. A door opens and we cross into a familiar-looking white hallway with blue-gray indoor-outdoor carpet. Does everything here look the same, or are we back where we were last night?

  “Is this near the club?” I ask.

  “Affirm. The shortest way to the cubes is through the club.”

  Finally, I’m starting to get my bearings.

  Down a couple of halls, Sharrow accesses the door to the club and loud music spills out.

  “Stay close,” she says, shouting to be heard.

  It’s already pretty crowded. Sharrow heads onto the dance floor and is swallowed by the mass of bodies. I tiptoe, but can’t see her. She’s gone. Which means no one’s watching me. With my new mental map, I’m pretty sure I can make it back to Detention and the wormhole room. There’s nothing stopping me.

  I’m back at the door when I catch myself. If I get into the wormhole room—a big if—what then? What exactly can I expect to accomplish on my own?

  My instinct was to bolt. But being rational, my best bet is to work with Sharrow, and even Bel.

  I turn and Sharrow’s standing there, hands on her hips. “What are you doing?”

  “Old habits are apparently hard to break.”

  Her scowl softens. “I get it. So are you going to run, or come with me?”

  “Come with you.”

  She turns back to the dance floor. This time I stay close and follow her through to the other side. She accesses the door we came in last night and we enter the hallway with the lights above the doors. Almost all the lights are red now.

  Sharrow looks at her personal. “Last one on the left.”

  The door she stops at has a red light. She banks her personal, and the door opens to a square room with two couches in the center facing each other. There’s a person on each couch—Flyx and Daum, the guard from Detention with the blue hair. Why’s he here?

  Sharrow crosses the room and plops down beside Daum. “Hey,” she says as she settles back and crosses her arms across her chest, pointedly not looking at Flyx. I get the impression she’s trying to seem casual, like Flyx doesn’t matter to her, but everything from the quaver in her voice to her body language says otherwise.

  The only place left to sit is beside Flyx. I want to sit by him, but I don’t want to want that. My heart’s racing as I sit on the far edge of the small sofa, hyper-aware of how close we are, despite me trying to put distance between us.

  Sharrow steels a glance at us, and it hits me like ice water. I bury my feelings and inch even farther away from Flyx. I can’t have her thinking I’m trying to steal her guy—I need her as an ally. No way will I let my stupid crush get in the way of saving my parents and the crew.

  “So,” Flyx says, slouching back.

  We’re all silent, sizing each other up.

  “What’s going on here?” Daum says. “What am I missing?”

  I’m not sure what to say. Sharrow and I were planning to talk about how to deal with Bel. She seemed to think Flyx could help. I have no idea why Daum’s here.

  “Okay, I’ll go first,” Flyx says. “We’re talking about treason.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Treason?” Sharrow says, shrinking back.

  “What the eff,” Daum says at the same time.

  “Allie needs to go back in time,” Flyx says. “Dietrich won’t let her. I’m going to help her.”

  A huge weight lifts from my shoulders, but he should have kept it between us. “I appreciate that, but Sharrow says it’s impossible.”

  “Yeah, are you off the tracks?” Sharrow says.

  “But…” Flyx stares at Sharrow. “Then why are you here?”

  “To figure out how to deal with Bel,” Sharrow says. “Not…t
his.”

  “Treason? Really?” Daum says.

  “No one’s talking treason,” I say. “Sharrow says I have to forget about time-traveling, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “Allie, you don’t mean that,” Flyx says.

  “What choice do I have?” I stare at Flyx, pleading with my eyes for him to catch my drift. Now’s not the time.

  “Whatever this is or isn’t, I’m out.” Daum stands.

  “Hold up,” Flyx says. “I’m asking as your best.”

  “Why does this have you so twisted?” Daum shakes his head at Flyx. “The girl says she has to forget it. So do.”

  “Yeah, Flyx. Let it go,” I say.

  “Allie,” he says, looking into my eyes. “If you want any chance of going back, we need them. Both of them.”

  It clicks. I get it now—he’s trying to tell me we can’t plan on our own. We can’t do it without them. I nod, making the shift in my brain, trying to figure out how to get them on board. But I don’t know them. I don’t know what angle to take.

  “Give it ten minutes,” Flyx tells Daum. “Hear Allie’s story. Then, if we aren’t of one mind, we all drop it. For good.”

  Daum settles back on the couch and folds his arms. “Ten minutes.”

  “Sharrow, you game?” Flyx asks.

  She avoids him, looking at me instead. “I’ll listen. But I’m not promising anything.”

  “Time’s counting,” Daum says.

  No pressure. “Okay, well…” I try to figure where to start, how best to convince them in only ten minutes. “Here’s the really short version. I had no idea time travel was real until Bel and some other kids from the future showed up in 2018—my time—and took me to 1906 to pull a heist. Then, during the big quake, Bel shot my dad and a building fell, killing my mom and my friends.”

  “Oh, gods,” Daum says.

  “After that,” I continue, “I got in the wormhole with Bel so we could travel back before the quake and fix everything. But instead, Bel hijacked me and brought me here. And now Dietrich won’t let me leave.”

  “That’s terrible,” Sharrow says.

  I look at her, allowing my true emotions to show on my face. “All I want is to go back to 1906 and save my parents and my friends.”