Cracked Open

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  “Yes, but this is something… different.” She bites her lip. “I might have one in my lab.”

  I choke on my surprise. “What?”

  “I skim stuff all the time from his shipments.” She shrugs like this is no big deal. I’m in awe she can get away with it. “He runs some of the secret shipping stuff through the estate. It’s totally obvious. I mean, trucks coming through in the middle of the night? Come on.” She rolls her eyes.

  I just shake my head. “So what did you find?”

  “I’m not really sure, and I’m kind of afraid to test it. There’s a built-in power supply that’s impressive.” She grimaces. “It’s the kind of thing I would have had Sammi give to Julian to check out, but…” She gets that pinched look again, and I get it—Julian’s dead, and Sammi’s not answering her scrits.

  “Okay, look,” I say. “Tell Sammi you’ve got this tech that needs checking out. She’s not going to want you messing with it, if it might be dangerous. And I’ll check with Kira—Julian must have had other tech people doing work for him.”

  She nods, and the relief is clear for a moment. Then the autocab turns down the main street of Jackertown, nearly to the Mediation Center, and both of us tense up. We slow to a crawl as the autocab tries to navigate a street filled with people. I do a mental sweep outside the vehicle as we creep forward, just in case anyone gets curious, but they’re all somber and focused, moving forward slowly. It’s a procession from the funeral. People are making their way back from the cemetery where Julian Navarro, the youngest senator in history and the first jacker in Congress, was buried. Their grief is like a blanket slowing their steps and bowing their heads. They part for our autocab, which creeps up to the Mediation Center and stops.

  Juliette and I climb out. I’m doing constant sweeps, but everyone’s keeping their mindfields to themselves. They’re barely even talking, and then only in whispers. A lot of people are dressed in black, so Juliette and I stand out in our normal clothes. Leaving her bright pink backpack in the autolimo was a good choice. The façade of the Mediation Center is plain white stone, but it’s crumbling, like a lot of the structures in Jackertown. We make it inside the door, but we don’t get much further. The place is packed, and there’s no way everyone on the street will fit inside.

  The Center is one large, open room—chairs line up in rows in a cleared-out space in the middle, but no one’s sitting. A cluster of college-aged kids with white armbands huddle near the front. Free Thinkers. I peer at the group then scan the rest of the crowd, looking for a certain brown-haired girl with big brown eyes, but I tell myself it’s crazy to expect Tessa to be here. Really, none of the Free Thinkers should be. Every jacker in the Chicago New Metro area is probably here. It’s no place for a reader… not even ones dedicated to the cause of peace between jackers and readers.

  I haven’t seen Tessa since the night everything went down. I’ve stayed away from Jackertown, watching over my sister, guarding Juliette, and getting my daily torture sessions from Wright. I tell myself I haven’t been avoiding her, not really. It’s not like we were dating before everything went sideways, and now… If I can get my parents free from Wright, my family will have to leave town. If I can’t, I’ll have to take Olivia and leave anyway. She can’t stay hidden forever. There’s no sense in starting something with Tessa that can’t have a future… as if something would ever work between us. I’m a dangerous jacker; she’s a reader. I’m a high school dropout; she’s a college student with a dazzling future ahead.

  I keep looking, but I don’t see her. I can’t help being both relieved and disappointed.

  Up front, a stage rises above the crowd, with a lectern, a battered wooden table, and a couple chairs. Behind them, frozen in time, is a listing of the last cases before the Magistrate—mostly memory wipes—and the Jackertown Code. No kill jacks. No stealing. No mental or physical assaults, forced jackwork, or memory wipes. I don’t know what kind of justice got meted out here before, but in theory, those laws are now on the books for the Chicago Jack Police, and jackers who break them get sent to the Jacker Detention Center.

  Sasha, one of Julian’s right-hand men, stands pensively to the side of the stage with a rail-thin blonde woman I’ve seen before—I think she’s his girlfriend, Ava. Sasha and I worked together to rebuild The Stomp after the bombing. He’s got his arm around Ava, protectively, and he’s scanning the crowd like he expects a kill jack at any moment. He doesn’t see us as we work further into the room. At the other end of the stage, Anna Navarro is having an argument with Hinckley, the guy who originally introduced me to Julian. I think they’re together, too. They must be mindlinked because their lips aren’t moving. She’s tall and muscular, dressed in black combat gear—not exactly funeral attire—and she’s gesturing angrily at the lectern. Hinckley’s arms are crossed, and he’s stony-faced, and if I know him, he’s trying to talk her down. But Anna was Julian’s sister, so she has every right to be pissed.

  I just hope she never finds out I led the killer right to her brother.

  A rush of movement through the crowd in front of us grabs my attention. I recognize the mass of red hair first, then realize the scowl on Sammi Gray’s face is directed at me. She’s shoving people aside, making a determined push through the crowd to get to us. Juliette stumbles back a little, bumping into me, since I’m right behind her, so I brace her for the oncoming Sammi-storm. Her girlfriend’s killer black dress leaves me gaping for a moment, just as she arrives.

  “What are you thinking?” she demands of me while simultaneously moving in hard to slide her arm around Juliette’s shoulders. She pulls her girlfriend tight against her body, as if the crowd is about to attack.

  “We just wanted to—”

  “How could you bring her here?” Sammi’s voice hikes up, and the whole ruckus is gathering attention around us.

  “Zeph wouldn’t let anything happen,” Juliette says, coming to my defense and struggling against Sammi’s crushing hold.

  Sammi shifts her hold and cradles Juliette’s cheeks in her hands. “This is no place for you, baby doll.”

  “I’m not a baby!” Juliette wrenches her face out of Sammi’s hands and puts space between them.

  The panic on Sammi’s face tugs on something inside me. “Come on, guys. No fighting at a funeral.” I’ve arranged enough secret dates for these two—that should buy me some credit.

  “I just don’t… I don’t want…” Sammi stammers, but she’s not talking to me. Then she sets her jaw. “It’s not safe here. Not for you. You should leave. Now.”

  Juliette looks like she’s going to cry, but then she lifts her chin. “I’m here to pay my respects. I have a right to be here as much as anyone else.”

  Oh, for the love of… “Look, after we’re done here, you two can come back to Aaliyah’s and kiss and make up there, okay? Just cool it for now.”

  Juliette crosses her arms. “There’ll be no kissing.”

  “It’s better that way,” Sammi says through her teeth.

  I don’t know who she’s trying to convince with that. “Great. Because I’ve got my hands full with my little sister, I don’t need to deal with you two—”

  A squawk from the microphone up front cuts me off. Sasha’s fussing with the lectern. It looks like they’re getting ready for a speaker.

  Sammi winces then steps closer to Juliette, who’s obviously trying to stay mad but is mostly melting with the sudden closeness between them. Sammi drops her voice to a whisper. “You stay by my side at all times. We’ll talk more when we go back to Aaliyah’s.” Then she follows it up with a soft touch to one cheek and a quick kiss on the other. Juliette’s nodding furiously, and the tightness in my chest releases.

  Sweet mercy. I have more dating drama with the two of them than I’ve ever had in the sum total of my entire life.

  “Let’s move up front,” Sammi says, holding tight to Juliette’s shoulder and steering her forward. The crowd easily parts for them, and I follow in their wake. I’m ha
bitually running a mindguard sweep around Juliette, but then I sense Sammi doing the same thing, so I pull back. Just as we get to the stage, a door near the back opens, and two women stride quickly through it.

  Kira, the slain senator’s girlfriend and also the face of the jacker freedom movement from the first day she announced the existence of jackers to the world.

  And… Tessa.

  They’re both in black. Kira’s wearing some kind of black revolutionary wear. It’s not full body armor like Anna, but Kira’s slim pants and short-sleeved shirt make it look like the wake is just one stop on her way to the revolution. Her long brown hair is loose and mussed, like she’s been tugging at it, and her face is blotched red.

  Tessa, on the other hand, has a dress that would fit in at one of Renell’s upper-class society functions. Tight, yet somehow sophisticated. Short enough to make her legs look a mile long but still appropriate. I’ve never seen her in a dress, much less this kind of dress, and I’m glad she hasn’t spotted me because I’m openly gawking. I almost miss that she and Kira are having a major disagreement as they stalk across the stage—Kira in the lead with Tessa striding after. I can’t hear their hushed whispers over the crowd, whose murmur of recognition has swallowed up all the sound, but Kira stops before she reaches the lectern and turns back to Tessa to deliver a quick scolding. I can’t hear the words, but I see it in Tessa’s face. Pain. Embarrassment. And a wide-eyed emotion that looks way too much like fear.

  I scan the stage, looking for steps leading up. They’re too far away. Maybe I can just climb up… it takes everything I have to hold back.

  Kira turns away and marches to the lectern. Tessa stares at the floor then slowly retreats to stand near Anna and Hinckley. Whatever that was about, all eyes are now on Kira as she does a tap check on the microphone.

  I’m holding my breath like everyone else.

  “Friends,” she says, then stops, her face scrunching up. She blinks a couple times, then continues, “Thank you for coming. Julian would have been…” She stops again, looking over the crowd like she’s searching for the words she wants to say. Her gaze roams and somehow finds me—which makes my heart jolt. She locks gazes with me and says, “Julian would have been glad to see us all coming together like this.” She stares at me like she wants to say something more directly to me, which is making my heart spasm like it’s being shocked by one of Tiller’s jacker-conversion technologies. Abruptly, she wrenches her gaze away from me and looks out over the crowd. “You may have heard a special election has been called for Julian’s seat. I want you to know that I am not declaring a candidacy for the Senate. Thank you for coming.” Then she lurches away from the lectern, and the room erupts. Gasps of surprise and a flurry of conversations fill up the air. I expect Kira to go back the way she came or join Anna or Hinckley or Sasha at the edge of the stage, but instead, she marches to the stair steps at the far end. Tessa scurries after her. I have no idea what’s happening, but it’s quickly clear that Kira is headed my way.

  The crowd parts before her, and I watch with wide eyes as she and Tessa both make a beeline toward me. My heart is banging around like crazy, and one thought is pounding through my head. She knows. She knows I’m responsible for Julian’s death, and she’ll pull out a gun or something and try to kill me. I scan her black revolutionary gear, but she has no weapons strapped to her side, not visible ones anyway. There’s no question I could take her if she tries something with her mind, but with a hundred jackers packing the room? There’s no way I could scramble all their minds at once. Maybe enough to create panic, though… enough to escape…

  Holy crap, I am so trapped.

  These crazy thoughts are jamming through my head as Kira descends on me. But when she reaches me, her tear-streaked face isn’t angry. It’s just etched with an immeasurable pain.

  “Can I talk to you?” she asks, quietly, although everyone has to hear. The whole room is staring at us now.

  “Um… yeah?” My pounding heart rate is still convinced she’s a threat. Like she’s luring me out somewhere she can kill me. Except that just evens the odds in my favor, so… I have no idea what’s happening.

  Tessa’s face is a torment of emotions—she’s standing just behind Kira, but Kira’s ignoring her.

  “Follow me,” Kira says, turning back the way she came, sidestepping around Tessa, who’s frozen in place.

  I dash a look to Sammi, but she nods quickly. She’ll watch Juliette while I go talk in private with the ostensible leader of the Jacker Freedom Alliance, even though that supposedly doesn’t exist anymore.

  Tessa’s imploring me with her eyes, but for what, I don’t know. I stride fast to catch up with Kira, who’s already back up on the stage. When I glance back, Tessa’s right behind me. I give her a look like, What in the world is this all about? But she just shakes her head, like we can’t talk openly in front of the masses. Which only convinces me more… Kira knows. She knows I’m involved in this, and this is some kind of reckoning. Only I don’t know why Tessa’s involved. I don’t want Tessa involved. Even if I’m outed to Kira and the JFA and all of Jackertown, I don’t want Tessa to know I was working with the forces that got Julian assassinated. I didn’t pull the trigger… but I definitely planted the tracker on Julian’s body and informed DARPA of his movements.

  The uproar of the crowd just grows as Tessa and I follow Kira to the back of the stage and through the door.

  Kira waits until the door to the stage is closed behind me.

  Then she whirls around. “You,” she says emphatically. Up close, it’s obvious the tears are still fresh on her cheeks.

  “Yeah?” I legit do not understand what she wants, but I’m prepared for anything. And hoping like crazy I don’t have to spin her mindmap to get out of this. Not in front of Tessa.

  “Everyone knows you caught Julian’s killer.” She says it all in one breath like she has to eject the words out of her chest. “Everyone saw you stop your sister—your own sister. You stopped her, then you healed the people she hurt. It should be you, Zeph.”

  “What are you even talking about?” I look to Tessa for help, but she just shakes her head. She’s lurking behind Kira, hands clenched at her side, soft brown eyes on fire for this discussion. But I don’t get it. We’re in a narrow, backstage, humid prep area with bare wooden struts along the walls and a feeling of too-much-closeness pressing in on me.

  Kira stalks up to me. “You should run, Zeph. You’re a hero, and the people need a hero right now.”

  “What?” I step back. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not in the least.” Her blue eyes are still damp, but they’re clear. And completely serious. “You’re what? Eighteen? Julian was only nineteen when he was elected. They changed the laws for him. I won’t be nineteen until next month. If I can run, you can run.”

  “No.” I shake my head as I reflexively back up. I frown at Tessa, but she’s got this ridiculously hopeful look on her face. “No,” I repeat to her. “I can’t even… there are a million reasons for no to that.” I gesture to Tessa. “Why don’t you run? This is totally your thing!”

  She doesn’t even blink. “It has to be a jacker.”

  “Well, it can’t be me,” I shoot back, but when I glance at Kira to see if she’s regained any sanity about this, she’s not even looking at me anymore. She’s just staring at the floor, chest heaving like she’s struggling for air, and fresh tears brim in her eyes. Then it hits me like a punch to the chest. She’s in mourning. This is a girl who just lost the guy she loved—a real hero, not the kind I am—and everyone expects her to take up the mantle after him. That’s too much to ask of anyone… even Kira Moore, a hero of the revolution.

  I soften my voice and try to act like a decent human being. Especially given I had a part in Julian’s death, which thankfully, no one in this cramped back room seems to know. “Kira, I’m sorry. This has to be terrible for you, and if I could do something about this, I would.” Which is probably a total lie, but it�
�s a safe one. “But I’ve got a sister who’s supposed to be dead. I can’t do something like run for Congress. That’s just… not something I can do.” I glance at Tessa. She gives me a not-so-subtle nod to keep going. I frown because what am I supposed to do with this? Kira misses the whole exchange in her intense interest in staring at the floor. I duck my head, peering at her and trying to get her attention. “I’m the last to tell you what to do about anything. And I totally understand that you’d want nothing to do with this. But it’s like you said—the people are looking for a hero. And if there’s anyone who’s the right person for that…” I gently lay a hand on her shoulder. She looks up. “It’s you.”

  She searches my face for a moment.

  I drop my hand, not sure I could feel any more awkward. Who am I to talk Kira Moore into anything?

  Then she turns to Tessa and says, “Can I have a minute alone with Zeph?”

  Tessa jolts, and it takes me by surprise, too. “Yeah. Sure. Of course,” she stammers, then her heels beat a staccato retreat on the dusty wooden floor, heading back to the stage. Just before she disappears through the door, she frowns back at us. I don’t like that look on her face.

  Once she’s gone, I turn back to Kira. “Please don’t try to talk me into this.”

  “Julian wouldn’t want that.” Tears are shining in her eyes again. “You know what he would want?”

  I shake my head, my heart sinking a little.

  She gives a small, pained smile. “He’d want you to keep exploring your abilities.”

  My eyebrows hike up—not what I expected, but accurate. At least, as far as I knew the guy, which wasn’t far. “That was a thing with him.”

  “Yeah. It was.” Her smile looks like it’s holding back a tsunami of grief. It’s kind of killing me to see it. “And he didn’t even see what you did in the clinic. I told him you belonged there, with me. He insisted on having you under his wing.” She gives a strangled laugh. “Of course, he won. He could be so stubborn.” Fresh tears course down her cheeks, let loose by the laugh. She doesn’t even try to brush them away.