Cracked Open

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  “I want you to flip him into reader mode and then back again to jacker once he’s inside.”

  My eyebrows lift. “You want him to jack someone.”

  “Yes, precisely.” She smiles. “Renell will already be at the party. As a guest, given his status in the higher social circles of the city.”

  I scowl. “But if Renell’s already on the inside… and me and Ethan… wait, why do you need all three of us?” I really don’t want to know the answer—it’s still freaking me out that the President of the United States is involved in this—but I figure she will tell me anyway.

  She sweeps a hand out to the immense luxury pool. “Your job is simple. You merely have to get Ethan in and revert him back to his jacker form. His part is slightly more complicated. He must perform a very subtle instinctual jack on the president.”

  “You’re going to jack the president.” My mouth is running dry. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.

  “No,” Wright says coolly. “Ethan is going to jack the president. You see, the president is not entirely convinced that jackers are the threat we know they are. Don’t we, Mr. MacCay?”

  Again, there’s no answer to that. No good one, anyway. I say nothing.

  She tips her head like I just conceded her point, anyway. “The election is in less than a week, and the president is not currently inclined to endorse Mac Simpson, the candidate in the special election for the US Senate seat recently vacated.”

  Vacated by Julian Navarro. Who I suspect Wright had a hand in killing. And Mac Simpson is the head of the Reader’s First Front, the man Kira is trying to defeat.

  My horror must be plain on my face.

  “However,” she continues, “should the president change his mind and endorse Simpson right before the election, that would heavily influence the readers of Illinois. Ethan will make the president more, shall we say, open-minded on the subject of his endorsement. Then Renell will perform a secondary jack, a more conventional one, that alters the president’s viewpoint on jackers. Ethan will use his instinct jacking to make that a more permanent feature of the president’s mindscape. Renell is a well-known member of an influential family in Chicago. He can flip easily from reader to jacker and back again. No one will suspect he’s done a thing. But he needs Ethan to soften the president’s resistance and make the change integral to the president’s instincts. Otherwise, the effect will be far too obvious at a party filled with hundreds of readers. You, Mr. MacCay, need to remain on hand to provide an exit strategy for Ethan. Once the president makes the endorsement, and his mind is permanently altered, the three of you will no longer be required and can return to your lives with your compensation.”

  Compensation? Not killing my family is compensation? “There’s a different word I would use for that.”

  Her near-smile dims a little. “You will get what you most fervently want, Mr. MacCay. I’m not sure what more you could ask.”

  To be free of her is all I could want. “All of this just to throw an election for the Senate?”

  Scott has turned to face us now, folding his arms and scrutinizing Wright while her attention is on me.

  “A re-orientation of the president’s thinking is long overdue.” The blithe way she says it chills me to the core. As if they’ve been planning this mental coup for some time. Debating it with the SecDef and his creepy minion, perhaps? Given Kira’s chilling description of the almost-attack on Jackertown by the National Guard, encouraged by the Secretary of Defense, and given that the DOD is still putting inhibitors in the water… I’m more than a little freaked out about the consequences of tampering with the president’s mind.

  That’s assuming all of this goes according to plan. “What if we get caught?”

  “I do not recommend that you get caught.”

  I scowl. “In other words, we’re on our own.”

  She stiffens. “I am highly motivated to see you succeed, Mr. MacCay. We’ll be training here for the next three days to make sure you and Ethan and Renell have every movement tightly scripted. I do not plan to see you fail.”

  That’s strangely reassuring. At the same time, it’s clear that once this is done, my family and I will leave Chicago New Metro and never coming back. I can’t think about what that means for Tessa and me right now. I just know that I either make this work, or I have to bust my mom and sister out of a highly guarded secret DARPA facility. Either way, we’re leaving once this is over. My stomach’s in knots as it is, but that adds an extra lead weight to it.

  “Well, let’s get started then,” I say.

  Wright’s smile makes me sick. She turns to stroll back to the others.

  Scott leans in to whisper. “That’s the right call, Zeph.”

  I pray he’s right.

  I’m staring at my phone—it has Renell’s number in it now.

  “So he just bumped into you?” Scott asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, still mystified by Renell’s furtive phone tag.

  Scott and I are back in the autovan, and he’s delivering me to Aaliyah’s. It’s past noon, and we spent all morning rehearsing Wright’s elaborate plan to jack the president into endorsing an anti-jacker bigot for the Senate race.

  Which just grows more horrifying the more I think about it.

  The guys in suits were stand-ins for the president, and Ethan and Renell took turns jacking them, while I practiced flipping Ethan from jacker to reader and back. Despite loathing the guy, I worked hard to make it painless—mainly by digging through his brain, dosing him hard with endorphins and dopamine, and suppressing the scream reflex. By the end, Ethan was drunk off his own brain chemicals. And he’s an ugly drunk.

  “At the time, I thought Renell was just in a hurry to get out of there.” I look up at Scott. “Can’t really blame him. But why the secret handoff?”

  “Accident?” Scott lifts an eyebrow.

  “Maybe.” Doesn’t feel accidental.

  “Scrit him.” We’re almost to Aaliyah’s house. I only discovered Renell’s number because I finally had a chance to scrit Tessa. I want to meet with her—desperately—but I managed to not be too desperate in my message. Just HEY I’M THINKING ABOUT YOU, WHERE ARE YOU? I have no idea when, where, how or even if I can be with Tessa in the future… but I’ll take any time I can get now. Plus I need to alert Kira to what’s going down. That’s as good an excuse as any to hook up with Tessa.

  Not that I should need one.

  I try not to let it bother me that she hasn’t scrit back yet.

  Instead, I focus on jacking into my phone to scrit Renell. HEY. Simple. Easy to brush off if the whole thing was an accident.

  NEED TO MEET, the reply comes back instantly. From Renell, not Tessa. Unfortunately.

  Scott’s peering at my phone. “Definitely not an accident.”

  “Is there some way this is a trap?” This whole thing makes me uncomfortable. “You and I need to be working on a way to get my mom and Olivia free. Or stop this insanity with the president. Renell’s wasting our time unless he’s on board with that. And he’s a reader. I don’t want him accidentally ratting us out to Wright.” Plus meeting with him puts a crimp on what little time I have left to meet with Tessa before I have to get Juliette and head back to the estate. I might have to return even sooner if Tiller keeps me on a short leash. I’ve already been gone half a day.

  “Renell’s kept his secret from readers for a while.” Scott’s frowning. “Have him meet us at Aaliyah’s.”

  I sigh but tap in the coordinates for the Home. Still no scrit from Tessa. I’m definitely not bothered by this. It’s not even crossing my mind. I’ve got much bigger things to focus on. It’s not like she has a reason to ignore my scrit. Except that I spent the night at Juliette Tiller’s estate and didn’t scrit Tessa until just now.

  I sigh again.

  “Hey,” Scott says like he’s worried about me with all the sighing. “We’re going to figure this out, okay?”

  I give him a pinched look. “You got any ideas o
n that?”

  “I’m still working it.”

  “Well, hurry up.” I’m tired, frustrated, stressed, hungry, and… the girl I love probably thinks I’ve already run out and cheated on her. In other words, I’m grouchy. “I hope Aaliyah has something to eat. I’m starved.” Which doesn’t seem possible, given the feast I had in Juliette’s room this morning, but incessant jacking for hours on end has me utterly drained. That, and I can’t find my way out of committing treason.

  The autovan pulls up behind Juliette’s autolimo, which is thankfully parked in front of Aaliyah’s Home. At least some part of this day is going according to plan. I climb out and slam the door, probably a little harder than necessary. “This whole thing hinges on me,” I say to Scott as we walk up to the front porch. “Wright’s basically blackmailing me into treason. There has to be someone we can go to with this!”

  “That’s a one-way ticket to places you don’t want to be,” Scott says. “We’ve got three days—”

  “Two days and six hours,” I cut him off. Not that I’m counting the minutes or anything. I use my passkey to get through Aaliyah’s front door. I don’t realize until we’re inside that it’s fixed. Tiller got on that fast. Which means his crew was here while Juliette’s autolimo was here… but I wasn’t. I stop cold just inside the door.

  Scott’s alarm goes through the roof. He’s got a gun out sweeping the room before I can even explain.

  “What?” he asks, peering down the hall.

  Aaliyah appears, smiling and strolling out from the kitchen in her black leggings and silver slippers. Scott jerks his gun up, so it’s not pointed at her then swiftly tucks it into the holster at his back, under his suit coat. He’s dressed like a G-man all the way.

  Aaliyah coolly notes the whole dance. “Zeph, baby. What trouble are you bringing to my Home now?” The smile has vanished.

  “Sorry, Aaliyah.” I gesture to Scott. “Major John Scott is just a little jumpy. And my day has been unbelievably bad, and it’s not half over. I will pay you every last uno I own if you’ve got some muffins or cookies or something in the kitchen for me.”

  The smile comes back to her face. “Help yourself.”

  “That’s the first good thing that’s happened today,” I breathe and head toward the kitchen.

  Scott trails behind me.

  “Is that how it is?” Aaliyah follows us in.

  I’m already flipping a chair around to sit backward on it and snagging a double chocolate muffin from the stack on the table. “You don’t even want to know,” I say to her. And I mean it. “Did Tiller’s men fix the door?”

  “Yes, they did.” She’s back to scowling. “And what about your little sister? And Sammi?”

  “Tiller’s keeping Sammi locked up,” I say around a bite.

  She scowls harder at that.

  I continue while I chew. “Olivia’s gone back to the people I work for. Which is not good. And basically, I’ve signed up to commit treason in two days and six hours.”

  Scott chokes on his muffin and gives me an incredulous look. Aaliyah couldn’t look more surprised if her eyebrows actually lifted off her face.

  I take another bite of muffin. “It’s been a bad day.”

  There’s a loud banging at the door.

  Aaliyah looks alarmed, so I hurry up out of my chair. “Don’t worry, it’s just one of my co-conspirators. I’m expecting him.” I head toward the door while Scott scrubs his face with his hand, probably wondering why I’m blabbing everything. I’m just tired of all the lies and secrets and horrible people doing horrible things—

  I check the peephole, but it’s just Renell. That was quick. Did he follow us or something?

  I pull open the door. “Dude, what are you even doing?”

  He looks terrible. Even worse than a half hour ago in the simulator, and that was bad enough. His normally deep brown skin has a grayish cast, his eyes are bloodshot, and his lips have this twitchy thing going on.

  He flicks a nervous glance at the invisible jacking shield that separates us. “Can I come in?”

  “What is going on?” I’m not entirely sure about letting him in. Scott’s boots creak the floor behind me.

  “Please.” Renell’s literally begging, hands clenched, eyes pleading. “I need you to…” His nervous gaze flicks over my shoulder.

  I twist back. Both Scott and Aaliyah are standing there. Scott’s got his gun in his hand, but it’s pointed at the floor. I turn back to Renell. “You need me to what?”

  He’s staring at Scott’s gun behind me. Then he slowly drags his gaze up to meet mine. “I need you to kill me.”

  I just stare at him for a moment, mind blank. I blink once. Twice. “How about you just come in?” I step aside, clearing the doorway, and wave off Scott and his gun. I’m really getting tired of all this. I want a way out. I want my family back. I really, really wish Tessa would scrit me because that’s nagging at me like an itch I can’t scratch. And, most of all, I want the world to behave like it makes some kind of damn sense again.

  So I march Renell back to the kitchen with Scott and Aaliyah quietly shuffling behind us. Jiaying is in the kitchen now, probably just come down the stairs. She flicks nervous looks to this whole cavalcade I have going. I sit Renell down at the table.

  “I am not going to kill you,” I say, harshly, because I’ve had it up to here with all the potential death in my life. “But you’re damn sure going to help me fix this mess we’re all in. And we’re not leaving this table until we figure it out.” I grab another muffin and sit heavily, facing him.

  Jiaying’s eyes are wide, but she doesn’t go anywhere.

  I nod to Renell. “You go first.”

  His hands are fidgeting with each other, like every single finger has a hangnail that’s making him crazy. “That practice we did this morning. It was all for show.”

  My eyes narrow, and I stop chewing. “What do you mean?”

  He pats the air in my direction with a shaky hand. “Your part—that’s the same. Ethan’s too. But me… I’m not supposed to jack the president.” He visibly swallows, and it takes a long time—like he’s parched after a hundred mile trek in the desert. “I’m supposed to kill him.”

  Suddenly, my head feels like it’s floating above my neck. “You can’t kill the president.” I say this, slow and thick, like the words are covered in molasses rolling around in my mouth.

  “I know!” Renell cries out, knuckles cracking with how hard he’s squeezing his fists.

  This is insane. But we have already signed up to jack the president. Permanently, as Wright said. How much worse is simply killing him?

  I blink, but I can’t even go there with my mind. It’s worse. It’s a lot worse.

  The rest of the room is holding its collective breath. Scott’s eyes are squeezed shut, like maybe he can wish himself back to that hellhole overseas. Jiaying’s covering her mouth with both hands.

  Aaliyah is the only one with an even halfway normal expression. It’s pure, righteous anger, but there’s nothing else that would make any sense. “Well, you need a better plan than that, Zephyr MacCay.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” And somehow that lets everyone breathe again.

  Renell’s got one hand balled up and pressing rhythmically into the table. “There’s no way out of this for me.” His voice is legit shaking. “Wright won’t just tell my parents I’m a jacker. She’s going to kill them.” I don’t doubt it for a second, and neither does Renell, it seems. “I tried to… I figured if I was already dead, then there’d be no point—”

  “Okay, stop with that,” I say, letting some of my anger out.

  Renell leans forward, giving me a fierce look. “I know you can do it. Just make it fast.”

  “Shut up, Renell.” I’m rubbing my forehead, trying to slow the runaway train that is my brain right now. Why didn’t Wright just say Renell was supposed to kill the president? The answer to that smacks me in the face—because I might refuse to play along. It’s the kind of th
ing you keep need to know as much as possible. And for my part, I didn’t need to know. But now that I do… “We need to figure a way out of this.”

  “You’re Nia and Jaydell’s grandson, aren’t you?” Aaliyah asks Renell.

  He looks surprised, but in a good way. “Yes, ma’am.” His voice is a little less shaky, but it still makes my shoulder blades itch.

  “Your grandparents were friends of mine from a while back,” she says, nodding. “I was terribly sad when they passed.”

  “They always talked about what great work you’d done for the demens.” Renell’s voice has shifted. Calmed. Like he’s back on solid footing again. Aaliyah’s always been good with the strays I bring to her Home. She’s talked more than one jacker down from being a twitchy wreck. And it doesn’t surprise me that she and Renell’s family might run in the same social circles. Aaliyah comes from an old-money Chicago family, just like him.

  “They knew my husband, Leo, before he passed,” she says. “And my folks before that. Now, I can hear your thoughts just fine, Renell, so if you’re a jacker, you’re no kind I’ve ever met.”

  He flicks a look to me then studies the table where his fist is pressed. “I can change back and forth.”

  “Well, that is unusual.” She’s appraising him. “But you said your family doesn’t know?”

  “I’d be an embarrassment to them.”

  Their conversation has taken over the room. Even I’ve stopped my fidgeting.

  “Well, I can’t account for your parents,” she says with a nod. “But your grandmother helped build this house. And she knew exactly the kind of people I built it for.”

  Renell frowns. “The demens?”

  Aaliyah nods. “And others.” I don’t know how long Aaliyah’s been helping jackers, but I know it was before the demens started turning into them.

  “I’m old,” she continues, “but my parents had me late in life. Back when the Change first swept the country, everyone turning into mindreaders, my parents were about your age. They were locked away like animals. Ten long years they were in that prison, watching their friends die from disease and neglect and horrible violence. All while the world went mad outside the gates. When they were finally released, it took another ten before they dared bring a child into the world. I grew up hearing the stories. My mama kept the tattoo marking her face, a reminder of the fear in men’s hearts. When I was a child, she wouldn’t let me stray too far, afraid someone would snatch me away. Your grandmother lived next door. She was one of my few and dear friends.”