Cracked Open

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  It made sense to change his mind about jackers.

  It made sense to want an anti-jacker president if you were a Secretary of Defense who wanted a “permanent solution” to the jacker problem. Or if you were an ambitious Director of Jacker Programs eager to show off your assets. Or even if you were a tech billionaire who was bigoted against jackers and wanted to sell lots of anti-jacker weaponry.

  But it made no sense to kill the president.

  Unless… my gaze is drawn to the tall man with the expensive suit first in line after the president for the job. He’s air kissing members of the crowd and smiling. Women in very fancy and no doubt expensive gowns are literally elbowing each other aside to get a chance to be next.

  Holy crap, this guy…

  The music on the vid swells up another notch, trilling trumpets or something. Then the president walks through the entrance flanked in front and behind by two sets of Secret Service agents. The crowd picks up steam, applauding and cheering. He waves to them. I’ve seen this guy before, of course, but now I take an extra hard look. Silver hair. Older—probably in his seventies—but still looks healthy and strong. He has that winning politician smile, and he doesn’t make it far inside the gate before stopping to bow and air-kiss and greet his fans. There’s no one else behind him, and his security seems to have taken over the entire venue.

  This—the arrival of the president—was supposed to be the go-signal for Scott and Anna and the JFA militia to start their assault. While the president makes his way across the lawn, slowed by greeting the crowd, I slip a quick scrit to Jiaying. STATUS?

  “No contact.”

  I grit my teeth. I’ve lost track of time. I tell myself it hasn’t been that long, but the assault was supposed to be a quick in-and-out operation. Either they would be able to jack their way in with minimal casualties and mostly shock and awe and numbers… or they would be stopped cold by whatever military police or troops were on hand to prevent things like armed assaults on military bases. It’s a whole lot of people risking their lives and freedom to get my mom and sister to safety. My chest is tight thinking about what it would mean if they fail.

  And if I don’t follow Wright’s instructions to the letter.

  Technically, I’ve done my part. But none of that will matter if Renell beams a tell-all into the president’s mind while Wright still has my family.

  As I watch the president make his way slowly along the front of the infinity pool… as I hear Tiller’s thoughts about how this is the beginning of everything for him and his technologies… as I look over the incredible opulence of Tiller’s estate and all the beautiful and rich people assembled to celebrate his anti-jacker technology… it doesn’t matter whether Scott succeeds or not.

  Renell has to tell the president everything.

  And I have to make sure that happens.

  Tiller breaks away from Juliette and me, heading over to greet the president. I edge closer to her. We’re still in reading range of several people, but everyone’s focused on the president now.

  I jack into my phone and scrit her. I’M PROCEEDING.

  She fishes out her phone and manipulates the mindware to scrit me back. OPERATION KID RESCUE COMPLETE?

  UNKNOWN, I reply. I’M PROCEEDING. NO MATTER WHAT.

  She frowns but puts her phone away.

  Tiller’s having a nice chat with the president. He urges him to stand at the edge of the pool next to one of the large silver balls scattered around the party. Two Secret Service guys have taken up positions on either side. Tiller turns the president around to face the screen, which replays the clip where Tiller’s new orb technology comes apart into pieces and attacks the test dummies with electric jolts.

  The hairs rise on the back of my neck.

  “Zeph, I’ve lost contact.” Jiaying’s flat voice cuts into my thoughts. And my heart.

  I keep my eyes on Tiller and the president. The signal for Ethan to start his instinct jack is supposed to be after the president makes opening remarks to the crowd. Apparently, that’s a thing he’s supposed to do. But he’s not doing it.

  “Zeph, please answer,” Jiaying’s flat voice implores me. “What should I do?”

  I jack quickly into my phone. WAIT. I don’t know whether I mean wait for the rescue team or wait for me, but waiting is all she can do from Aaliyah’s house at this moment. I, on the other hand, feel like we’re waiting too long. I glance at Ethan in the corner, and my heart seizes when he’s no longer there. I scan the dozens of people in the area and quickly find him. He’s moved to the back of the crowd that formed to greet the president. Everyone’s holding back now that Tiller’s got the president’s ear at the edge of the pool. Ethan locks gazes with me. He looks uncertain like he’s waiting for the go-signal just like I am. I hesitate, unsure if I should give him a nod or not.

  I check the screen. The vid displaying Tiller’s tech is reaching the end I remember from before. I scan the crowd for Renell to make sure he’s ready… then I see Sammi.

  My heart spasms.

  She’s being held by Tiller’s private security, wearing the same clothes she had on three days ago. They’re holding her in the shadows at the edge of the northeast wing with two of Tiller’s thugs, one holding each arm. She’s helmeted. And struggling. I can see her head whipping back and forth.

  Come on, I silently urge her. You can do this. Then I link the image of her struggling to Juliette, who gasps and quickly scans the crowd. Over there, I link to her, gesturing with my chin.

  Juliette whips her head in that direction then makes a strangled sound. Oh, God. What’s he going to do? She means her father. I know exactly what he will do, but I never told Juliette. There was nothing she could do about it, and I was determined to bust Sammi out before we got to this point. But now that we’re here, I can’t imagine what Tiller’s thinking. How does he think this will play with the president?

  A movement by the pool catches my attention. A transparent cylinder is rising up out of the grass surrounding Tiller, the president, and his two Secret Service agents. I gape, along with most of the crowd as we watch the protective shield rise until it’s taller than all four men by two feet. The Secret Service agents inside the cylinder are speaking into their cuffs, and the remaining ones who had previously fanned out are all on high alert. Then the tube seems to shimmer and hum with electricity.

  I reach out mentally, but I know exactly what it is—an anti-jacker shield.

  All our plans just got scuttled.

  With the president behind this shield that Tiller just raised, no one can reach the president mentally. I search out Renell’s face in the crowd, but he’s watching wide-eyed like the rest of the crowd. I look for Ethan, and he catches my gaze, but he’s frowning just as hard as I am.

  Then the giant screen above the pool boots up again, showing Tiller’s orb technology… only this time, when the orb breaks into a dozen flying anti-jacker devices, they appear to fly right out of the screen and buzz over the crowd. The drones quickly fall into formation, and it’s clear that they’re autonomous, weaving back and forth, working along the crowd as if scanning them. The guests meanwhile are ducking even though the drones are high above them. Tiller’s face appears on the screen, and his words scroll, reassuring the crowd this is all just a demonstration. The real Tiller is gesturing effusively inside his cylinder shield, no doubt mindtalking with the president. The Secret Service is on high alert, hands on their weapons, but the drones aren’t passing over Tiller and the president—they’re restricted to sweeping the crowd—and even if they were, the president is safe inside the shield.

  I know what’s coming next, but my heart still sinks when it happens.

  Tiller’s thugs march Sammi out into the middle of the crowd. They part for her, leaving a ring of empty grass all around her and the two men. She’s struggling like mad now, not against the men holding her, but against her helmet.

  Come on! The mental anguish in my own head has me lashing out, trying to break her helme
t’s barrier from the outside. But it’s rock solid, and I can’t engage it for long without waves of nausea washing over me. I have no idea how she’s even attempting it.

  Juliette is losing her mind. No, no, no. She’s sobbing, but it’s all inside except for the tears racing each other down her cheeks. I’m ready to hold her back if she runs to Sammi, but Juliette’s just paralyzed, standing there, watching like everyone else.

  The crowd has shrunk back, faces smiling and scared and uncertain—a crazy mix, like they think this is all a show. One of Sammi’s guards grasps both her arms while the other one grabs her gyrating head and wrenches the helmet off.

  Then they quickly back away.

  Sammi’s face is made of stone-cold anger. She yells something and jams her fist in the air, indicating Tiller in his bubble. But the drones immediately swarm toward her, and she whirls to face them, her body rigid, hands flung out in front of her. She stares at them—hard—then staggers back. The drones churn into a cloud that scatters and reforms, diving and rising, searching for something… or perhaps battling something… Sammi’s fighting them. I reach out to help her, but she’s surging them mentally, and the power of her mind-surge is a lot like Olivia’s. Strong. Electrified. Intense. I can’t even get close to it without the feedback surging back to my mindfield.

  I pull back.

  I feel like I’m going to be sick right there on the grass. How can I stop this? Then I realize the drones could just as easily find me. Or Ethan. Not Renell because he has to still be in reader mode. Ethan’s backing away, moving closer to the perimeter. Juliette and I are still close to the house, on the raised part of the deck with a better view, but if the drones come for me…

  Suddenly, the swarm loses focus, and the drones start crashing into one another. No, they’re attacking one another. She’s reprogrammed them, I’m sure of it. I almost laugh, but it’s strangled by the horror of watching Sammi battle this automated weapon meant to destroy her, or at least incapacitate, while everyone stands by and watches. The drones might only be tasers… or they could be the jacker-conversion weapon that Tiller’s been bragging about. Sammi wavers then suddenly sinks to one knee on the grass. She’s still focused upward, but something’s wrong… and while several drones have fallen from the sky, the ones that remain suddenly fall into formation and dive toward her. Four at once slam into her body and knock her to the ground. She convulses as they pump her full of whatever electric horror Tiller has invented.

  My heart jerks like its being electrocuted as well.

  Juliette sobs and then turns away, her face buried in her hands. I can’t tear my gaze from Sammi’s convulsing body. Then she stops moving, and her body lays limp on the grass. Juliette cries out and runs back into the house, and I just let her go. Because what can I do?

  I catch Tiller’s cold stare as he watches his daughter run off in grief.

  I decide there’s literally nothing that man won’t do.

  And there’s nothing I won’t do to stop him.

  Now that the drones have finished their search-and-destroy mission, they regroup and fly out over the pool, disappearing behind the screen. The crowd is hushed. A smattering of applause rises up then dies. A couple of the women look like they’re crying, but mostly, the faces of the rich and well-connected are impressed by this raw display of savagery. I find Renell’s face in the crowd, and I hold his horrified gaze with my fury. Without words, we have an understanding.

  This has to be stopped. Nothing else matters.

  Two of Tiller’s thugs scoop up Sammi’s body from the grass and carry her away, back into the main house. I reach out and search for her mindfield and find nothing but static.

  The kind of static field my sister had induced in Jackertown.

  Hope surges in my chest, and my shoulders literally bow with the force of it, like it’s a punch to the gut. I can save her. I have to act fast, but I can keep Sammi alive and even bring her back. I might even have a good enough memory of her mindfield to bring her all the way back.

  I look back at Tiller and the president. Their shield is lowering. Which means our plan is back in play. Ethan’s already moving into position. Renell’s edging through the crowd, getting closer to the president. My chest squeezes, but I can’t do anything for Sammi, not until this is done.

  I reach out to mindguard the president, and I can already sense Ethan’s presence there, seeping into the president’s mind like a black ooze. Fear. Irrational, instinctual fear. He just saw a woman brutally brought down by Tiller’s weapons… and he fears the woman. It’s the opposite of anything that makes sense, but Ethan’s jack preys on the fears buried in the president’s mind—of every mind—of the unknown. The uncontrollable. The thing that’s different, that we don’t understand, and therefore we blame for all imagined ills. Tiller’s propaganda film primed the pump. His demonstration broke down the barriers of civilization to organized violence. Sammi was destroyed for the pleasure of the mob, a pleasure Tiller delivered with theatrics and cunning. And they accepted her destruction with applause. And nods of appreciation. Several are already back to sipping their drinks and smiling. The instinct jack on the president barely has to do any work at all—the dark urges of his mind are already aroused by the brutality.

  Ethan’s shoulders hunch as he waits for Renell. Renell’s still working forward, but Tiller is walking the president away, so Renell has to catch up. I’m sure Ethan has instructions to kill the president if Renell fails to. I want to spin Ethan’s mindmap now—stop him before he gets impatient and kill jacks the president—but Renell needs time to deliver the message, and as soon as I take Ethan out, Wright will move in whatever resources she’s got as backup. Because I know she has a Plan B, and probably Plans C and D. To have any chance with this, I have to give Renell every possible second.

  I’m linked deep into the president’s mind, so I should feel it if Ethan makes a move against him. I can stop him then. When Renell finally arrives, I feel it.

  So does the president.

  He jerks to a stop as he hears it—the message Renell and I developed for him to deliver. Mr. President, my name is Renell Walker, and your life is in danger. He’s the son of a prominent Chicago family. The president has to listen. But instead, Renell’s message is amping up the president’s instinct-jacked fear. His eyes are wide. Renell explains about the Secretary of Defense and Wright and the secret jacker project being used against him. Tiller’s just now catching on that something is wrong. Renell should keep the echoes from beaming out, but the president’s frenetic thoughts aren’t making sense anymore. The Secret Service close ranks on him, asking the president if he’s okay.

  It’s not working.

  It’s not working.

  Ethan shoves Renell out of the president’s mind, and Renell fights to dive back in. I reach out to help Renell, linking into his mind at the same time. But instead of engaging in the jack fight with Renell and me, Ethan slams into Renell’s head with an instinct jack that drives him into a rage. Suddenly, Renell’s shoving through the crowd of mindreaders to physically get closer to the president. He’s yelling incoherently about the president threatening his family. No, no, no! I shove against the instinct jack in Renell’s mind, but it’s like pushing against a dark cloud. My mind is locked tight against Ethan’s instinct jacking, but Renell has no such defense—and Ethan’s spooling him up like a weapon and pointing him straight at the president.

  The Secret Service agents are already drawing their weapons.

  I spin Renell’s mindmap. He screams out and falls to the ground, writhing in pain—but the president’s bodyguards hold their fire. Ethan’s face is alive with fury. I can see it across the yard. I slam his jack reach back into his head then envelope his mindmap so I can spin that as well. But before I do, his eyes go wide with surprise… and he drops to the ground.

  One of the private security guards stands over him, face blank, gun hanging quietly at his side, the large silencer barrel smoking slightly.

&n
bsp; What the—

  Then he looks straight at me and raises his gun—

  My heart seizes, and I lunge to the ground. My face plows into the grass, and my body is cramped up from the shock… but I’m still breathing. The only reason I can figure I’m not shot is that one of the party guests blocked the shooter’s view for a split second. The guy knows who I am. There’s no question. None. I scramble along the lawn, hands and knees, staying low and heading for the main house, all while I reach back mentally, searching for him.

  Who is this guy?

  He’s wearing a helmet—I saw that before I dropped—but I can’t feel it. As if it’s just for show or not activated or something. The party is in chaos. Everyone’s finally figured out something is wrong. My panicked ducking and scrambling on all fours for the main house fits right in with the general pandemonium. But this guy—this man with a helmet that doesn’t work and a gun that definitely does—is hunting me specifically. I’ve found his mindmap amongst all the movement. He’s the one advancing steadily through the crowd toward me.

  I almost reach the building, but I’m running out of cover. People are cringing on the lawn, holding their heads, as if they could keep out jackers that way. The northeast and southeast wings don’t meet, so they form a tunnel that leads to the main house. It’s the pathway the staff uses to ferry out appetizers and drinks, but it’s deserted now as the panic grows.

  I take refuge behind a thick wooden lawn couch. If I could just get a handle on my stalker’s mindmap… it’s strangely smooth in spots. Almost slippery. As if parts have been wiped out, smoothed out. Destroyed. It resists change, no matter how hard I try to mentally grab hold. He’s seeking me with his slippery mind, casting out through his non-working helmet and searching. A helmet that must have been turned on before, or I would have noticed. A helmet that’s a more effective disguise than any other at the party. This guy shouldn’t even be able to sense my mind. I’m still broadcasting with my reader simulation, but he ignores that and plows right through to the jacker mind hidden in its mindwave wake. But he doesn’t even try to jack in. He just bashes against my mindbarrier, again and again, like a mindless sonar pinging against my jacker brain.