Possession

by Elana Johnson

  After a half hour of listening to Jag’s steady breathing, I took his book with me into the bathroom. With the tub full of steaming water, I settled in to read what Lyle Schoenfeld—whoever he was—had to say.

  I plowed through a mind-numbing chapter analyzing the effectiveness of tech in the daily life of an average person. Boring.

  I flipped to the second section, which detailed how to break tech. Teleporters can be damaged so nothing can be received or sent. Silencers can be reversed, amplifying sounds. Walls can be reprogrammed to keep secrets and reveal incorrect information.

  Tags can be removed.

  As I read and reread that chapter, I decided that Lyle Schoenfeld was not my dad. A book like this was dangerous, and no one in the Goodgrounds would allow it to be published. No, Lyle had to be part of Jag’s Resistance, a Baddie, someone who wanted Goodies to question their Thinkers. Thane could’ve assumed his identity during the separation, but he and Lyle were two very different men.

  I thought about the farmhouse where Jag had stolen the book. How did that farmer get it? Was he a Free Thinker too? Or someone like Zenn—an Insider?

  I wanted to ask Zenn—or my dad. There were so many things I needed to ask them. So many uncertainties swirled inside my mind. Zenn loved me. I knew he did. I’d heard it hiding between his words, seen it in the careful way he’d acted around me.

  My dad loved me too, even if he watched me with more interest now. Even if he was a Director.

  I shook my head to erase the questions that kept piling up. I’d see them both soon enough, and I’d get my answers one way or another. I focused on the book, on how to remove my tag.

  The procedure required a special tool—also a feat of tech—a pair of shock scissors. I wondered if I could get my hands on something like that here. Of course I would need some surgery skin to eat away my flesh, and then some kind of regenerator to grow it back, but—

  “Vi?” Jag’s soft voice called from the other room. I’d been soaking so long, the water in the tub was cold. I stepped out, careful not to get the book wet, and wrapped a towel around myself.

  “In here,” I whispered. He had switched the lamp on and was rubbing his eyes when I came into the bedroom.

  “Hey.”

  I slipped the book back onto the table next to his bed. “I didn’t get it wet.”

  “Not. That.” His eyes raked over my only-towel-covered body with a hungry expression.

  “Knock it off.” I pulled the towel tighter and returned to the bathroom. He followed me, putting his hand on the door before I could close it. I looked anywhere but at him. Lying fully clothed in bed with him was bad enough.

  I couldn’t help it when I drank him in, starting at his feet and slowly creeping up to his neck, past his chin, lips, and nose to his eyes. When I finally reached them, my heart clutched almost painfully. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat, playing with the end of my towel.

  “Vi, babe—”

  “Don’t talk like that,” I said.

  He smiled his Jag-winner. I took a shuddering breath and tried to focus. “Don’t smile like that either. It’s not fair.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s talk about being fair.” He carefully wove his fingers through mine. The way he studied the ground was adorable. He took a few slow steps back into the bedroom, pulling me with him.

  “Jag—”

  He suddenly stopped, his fingers fumbling along mine. He looked up. “You’re still wearing it?” Anguish drowned out the shock in his voice.

  Zenn’s ring glinted in the lamplight.

  24.

  Things have a way of working themselves out. Ty always said so. Nothing has ever worked itself out for me—at least not in the way I wanted. A month ago I would’ve died to get a kiss and a ring from Zenn. Now I probably would die—literally.

  Jag dropped my hand like it was on fire. “Well?”

  “It doesn’t mean anything. I just forgot, that’s all.” I wanted to rip the ring off and throw it down the drain, but I didn’t trust the towel to stay up.

  Jag folded his arms and glared. “Take it off.”

  After adjusting the towel so it was tucked tightly under my arms, I twisted and pulled on the ring. It seemed welded to my skin.

  “Jag, I can’t get it. Help me.”

  He stepped out of my reach. “No way. If it’s a sticker, I don’t want it to touch me.”

  “It already has,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Damn you,” he said, his voice laced with danger.

  “That’s nice, Jag. It’s not like I knew this thing was a sticker.”

  “Well, it will follow us wherever we go. It records things, Vi. Records them. You can’t just throw a sticker away.”

  Like I needed him to school me about stickers. My dad invented them. They’re put on undercover agents as well as criminals. They record conversations, feelings, temperatures, everything. The data is beamed back to headquarters, or wherever, for analysis. I did not need a lesson on stickers.

  “We can break it,” I said, desperate to make things right. “I can break it.”

  “They’ll know everything anyway. I said I loved you. You practically said it back. We—They’ll know everything!” He started pacing, throwing me a murderous look on every turn.

  “This isn’t my fault,” I shot back. “You’re being a jerk—again.” I turned to get my clothes from the bathroom. I would not cry in front of him.

  “Yeah, you should go, Vi. Go get that damn thing off. Don’t come back until you do.” For a moment I didn’t even consider disobeying him. Until I remembered his promise.

  “You said you wouldn’t control me.” I spun to face him, my fists clenched. He wouldn’t look so perfect with his nose broken.

  “I lied. If you can do it, why can’t I?”

  The heat rose to my face. He stood there, glaring, daring me to hit him. Which meant I totally wouldn’t. Calmly, I strode into the bathroom and closed the door. Somehow I got dressed through the flood of tears pouring down my face. The ring still wouldn’t come off, even in hot water, even when I wished it would.

  When I went back into Jag’s room, he was gone. I grabbed the book from his side table as I left. I locked my bedroom door and made the lights as bright as the sun at noon.

  The book didn’t outline how to remove stickers. I knew they were advanced, specifically made for use in the Special Forces. Agents wore them on their covert missions—there had to be a way to get them off.

  I closed my eyes. My thoughts wandered to Zenn. My eyes flew open.

  Zenn was a Special Forces agent.

  He’d given me the sticker. He’d also given me the way to get it off.

  Zenn knew how to do just enough without crossing the line. He’d saved me countless times. He’d done something this time too, I knew it.

  He had kissed me. I strained to find the word I’d heard during that forbidden activity.

  Remember.

  Oh, I remembered, all right. I remembered the pressure of his mouth, the warmth that had spread through my body with his touch.

  And that had been more than just a birthday kiss from Zenn. It was his act of betrayal. One the Association wouldn’t suspect.

  I glanced at the walls. I’d just read they could be programmed to lie, which meant they were as good as alive, listening and watching my every move. Concentrating on the smooth plaster, I could almost see through it to the electronics underneath. The heat in the room increased, the buzz in my head grew louder, so loud I couldn’t believe I hadn’t heard it before. The tag in my wrist throbbed in response to the now unhidden techtricity.

  I nodded, and the wall shut down. I stumbled to my knees from the release of the tech, still reeling with the knowledge that it existed so close and I couldn’t feel it.

  Coated in protectant. Zenn’s words rang in my ears. The Association had a way to bypass my sensitivity now. By the time I had all the walls in my room disabled, my throat ached and my stomach felt heavy. Breaking tech wa
s hard work.

  In the bathroom, I adjusted the mirror until it pointed at my mouth.

  I stuck out my tongue. Nothing.

  An array of labeled bottles lined the shelf under the sink. I selected a mouthwash melter. I puckered at the bitterness as it dissolved on my tongue.

  I opened my mouth again and peered inside. Still nothing.

  I grabbed a blue teeth-cleaning tablet and chewed it.

  Smiling widely, I examined my tongue. Through the blue foam, a message swam. I willed it to stay still so I could read it.

  Stickers only stick when there is danger.

  To remove the adhesive, use a ranger.

  I copied it onto the first page of Jag’s book and rinsed my mouth out. “Use a ranger . . . what does that mean?”

  Of course, no one answered since I’d just turned off all surveillance in my room.

  A ranger . . . a ranger . . . I didn’t know who that meant. Ty had been a ranger, but she died a long time ago.

  A knock sounded on the door. I shoved the book under my pillow before answering it.

  Baldie waited with an army of Mechs. “So. You found Jag.” He pushed past me into the room. The Mechs crowded in also, their silver canister bodies clinking together.

  “Yeah,” I said. “So what?”

  He faced me, his arms folded. “And you turned off your walls.”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t mean for it to come out as a challenge.

  He waved off my attitude. “I told you Director Myers didn’t want you two together. Now he has a record that you spent time in his bed.”

  “We didn’t—”

  “I don’t care what you did or didn’t do, Miss Schoenfeld. What I care about is the fact that he now thinks I am incapable of doing my job.” Baldie’s voice was crisp and low. “I’m here to help you. I’ve worked for years to be in this position, Violet. I don’t need you and that hormonal boy to screw it up. Stay away from him.”

  I scrutinized his angry eyes. He wasn’t lying. Thinking quickly, I asked a Mech for a cup of hot chocolate. The mug materialized on a silver tray, and I plunged my stickered hand into it, hoping to interfere with the reception. I bit back a cry of pain so I could speak. “I need to find a ranger.”

  The anger in Baldie’s face evaporated. “What did you say?”

  “This ring is a sticker and to get it off, I need to find a ranger. Please, you’ve got to help me.”

  Baldie stepped closer to me and held my hand under the near-boiling liquid. “Around here, rangers only live in the Goodgrounds.”

  “Tell me how to find them,” I demanded.

  Baldie’s eyes glazed over and then quickly cleared. He pulled out a tech device and deactivated his army of Mechs. “You don’t have to compel me to help you.” He locked the door, and somehow that didn’t make breathing any easier for me. I wasn’t even sure how I’d “compelled” him.

  Then my comm beeped with an incoming message. From Cameron Blaus.

  “You sent me an e-comm?” I asked.

  Baldie’s impatience rolled across the space between us. “Be careful. The walls here have eyes and ears, but I’ll make sure they’re set on reliable. Go alone. The rangers arrive at seven.” He checked his phone. “It’s five thirty.” Then he clapped, reactivating the Mechs, and fled with them in his wake.

  I pulled my throbbing hand out of the hot chocolate, wondering if I could trust him.

  25.

  Cameron Blaus’s e-comm contained directions to get to, well, wherever the rangers were. For some reason, I decided to trust him. Maybe because he’d given me what I needed without being compelled.

  I couldn’t go gallivanting off to the Goodgrounds in my pajamas, so I checked the dresser in the corner. I found jeans and a T-shirt and changed before sneaking down the hall and into the sterile room with the silver desk. Crouching, I recited Baldie’s instructions to myself: Hallway one. Hallway four. Descender three. Teleporter seven—which requires a code. Never mind that I despised descenders and had no idea what the password for the teleporter could be.

  Baldie hadn’t been that thorough. Or maybe he didn’t know.

  I crept toward the main entrance. My soft shoes made no noise and I felt like I was back in the Goodgrounds, doing what I did best. Breaking rules.

  Once in the lobby, the hallway behind me closed and a new one opened on the opposite wall.

  “Is that hallway one?” I whispered.

  “Yes.” The mechanical voice boomed in the stillness. Bright tech-lights reflected off the silver front door. I commanded the walls to power down, and the tech-buzz decreased. I wished the lights weren’t so bright, and they immediately dimmed.

  I ignored the fact that I was controlling everything with my mind. Just a fleeting thought, and I got what I wanted. My empty stomach clenched, and I pushed the thoughts of control away.

  Come on, Vi, I coached myself. Find the rangers.

  Sprinting toward the open hallway, something banged behind me. I didn’t stop to look and willed the walls to close as I passed. They did, forcing me to run faster to avoid getting squished.

  I ended up in another room with a silver desk. Techtricity burned hot and fast in my bloodstream. Several doorways led into unknown corridors with hidden problems.

  “Hallway four?” I whispered. The middle door flashed yellow. Baldie said he’d set the walls on reliable, and I slipped through the door before powering everything down. My trust only extended so far.

  This corridor stretched with no end in sight. I started out running but slowed to a walk after only a few minutes. “Give me a break,” I said, my breathing ragged and my pulse throbbing behind my eyes. “Where do I go?” The walls didn’t answer because I’d nodded them off. Just when I needed the tech, it was gone. I considered turning them back on but didn’t want to draw attention to myself by switching them on and off too much.

  I couldn’t see the room I’d come from. A small wave of panic surged at the thought of being stuck in this endless white tunnel. I leaned against the wall, gulping lungfuls of air.

  I slid down the wall and leaned against it, my head in my hands. There had to be a way out of here. Descenders . . . descenders . . .

  Descenders go down, just like ascenders go up. Sure, Thinkers can control people, but They suck at coming up with creative names for tech.

  I examined the smooth concrete. It had been painted gray to prevent cracking. Further down the hallway, a purple eight shimmered. I wanted the lights to be darker, and the tech responded.

  The eight grew brighter. Beyond that, a nine sparkled in blue lights. I spun around—a seven lay maybe twenty yards behind me. Striding quickly, I crossed back to the green three.

  I stood in the middle of it and waited. Nothing happened. “Um, down?” I guessed. The floor vanished, as it always does in the case of a descender. I screamed, forgetting that I was on a secret mission and stealth counted.

  Hot pain shot through my foot when I landed. Hobbling, I hid behind another desk. I rubbed my ankle and counted six open doorways in front of me. I needed to find teleporter seven. Staying low, I peered over the counter into the room behind me.

  Ten teleporter terminals stood against the far wall. I couldn’t believe they were here. I wondered where they went—I hadn’t seen any terminals in the Badlands.

  I moved across the room and stood in front of terminal seven. Now for the sticky part. The password. Laboratory. Ranger. Zenn. Ty. Schoenfeld. Thane. What would it take to get into the lab?

  I’d only get one chance. Tech doesn’t accept mistakes. “What’s the password for laboratory four?”

  No answer. They were personalized. Just great.

  Several minutes passed, my heart thumping more wildly with each one. I made a decision, took a deep breath, and stepped into the terminal.

  “Violet,” I announced, closing my eyes. I expected to be spit out on my butt amidst a shrieking alarm.

  Instead, my particles shook and separated in a blitz of light and heat.
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  26.

  Teleporting is the best—and worst—way to travel. The best part is the speed. You simply say where you want to go and your molecules evaporate, fly across space, and reassemble there. In a few seconds, any distance can be covered.

  The bad thing is the reorganization of your particles. It isn’t exactly painful, but it takes several seconds for your body to start functioning again.

  Sometimes my lungs scream for air, and sometimes I can’t see. Sometimes both. Everyone experiences different symptoms, so you should experiment with a partner until you know what yours are.

  “Time,” I said as soon as I could draw breath.

  “Six forty-two,” the walls said. I sucked at the air and kept my eyes closed until the bright lights in the room infused my eyelids.

  My skin crawled with the intensity of the tech. I nodded off the walls and the buzz faded to a tolerable level. I had no idea where I was, because the same white walls and gray-painted cement surrounded me. Several doors led off into dark hallways. Two closed doors had nameplates pasted on the walls next to them.

  The first one read: DR. ELLIANNA KREMPT, GREENIE LEVEL 9. The Hawk. I wondered what kind of doctor she was. I tried opening the door, but it didn’t budge. Hey, I’m not above breaking and entering, but I didn’t have time.

  The second nameplate said CAMERON BLAUS, GREENIE LEVEL 10. Baldie. The trust that had blossomed for him withered, even if he had said he’d worked for years to be in his position.

  The Hawk, a doctor, and a Greenie. Baldie, a level ten Greenie. That sure didn’t seem to benefit me.

  I surveyed the rest of the lab. Besides a wall of p-screens, counters glinted with silver tech instruments. It certainly felt like the Goodgrounds, and the middle Greenie’s words came back to me. You’re not to come back. Ever.