by Megan Hart
Still, she’d left a few hours ago, and although he’d asked her to ping when she arrived, he hadn’t yet heard from her. He hoped that meant things were going well. To keep himself occupied, he settled onto the couch with his tablet to go over the apprentice proposals that had accumulated over the past week or so.
Not surprisingly, Betts had come up with something interesting, a tag-on to the project that had been keeping her busy for the past half a year or so. It wouldn’t require many new resources. Approved. He approved the next few from the other kids, too, even if with nothing more than a quick glance Ewan could tell that none of them were going to work. They needed encouragement now to keep working in the aftermath of the fire that had destroyed their lab. A few of the apprentices had quit to pursue other career paths, and he wanted to be sure to give the ones who’d stayed a reason to keep working.
By the time he got to the final entry in the portal, he was already half-expecting to simply approve it. What he saw stopped him cold with his finger already hovering over the yes button. This last proposal was from Jordie, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, as he’d been so adamant about continuing to keep up with his work.
The surprise was the content of the proposal.
Ewan had read it quickly, then again when he had to convince himself that what he’d seen was true. Stomach twisting, throat closing, he ran his fingertip over the tablet’s surface to scroll upward. The time stamp on the proposal was from only an hour or so before . . . shortly after Nina had left the house, as a matter of fact.
Jordie, as always, had been completely thorough in his proposal. He’d included the requested resources, along with access permissions. Photographs. Diagrams. Projected expenses. This time, he’d also included a video letter.
The kid grinned, looking calmer than he had the past few times Ewan had seen him. No twitching. Eyes clear. If he was still on the candy, he wasn’t showing signs of it.
“Hey, Mr. Donahue. First of all, my mother always told me to be grateful for my blessings, so I wanted to point out to how grateful I am that you gave me a chance to work as your apprentice. Without you, I’m not sure what I’d be doing. Well, I guess I do know what I’d be doing without you, and that would be working on this new tech. See,” Jordie leaned forward conspiratorially toward the camera, “you and I both know that it could make a world of difference. The problem is, Mr. Donahue, you’re all hung up on what you think is right versus wrong.”
The kid made air quotes, actual air quotes, and a thin, hot rise of anger moved through Ewan’s chest and up to his throat.
“But here’s the thing. You and I both know there is no such thing as right versus wrong anymore. Not in today’s society, not in a place where people . . .” Jordie broke off with a harsh, barking laugh. “You know, people, they pay to change the color of their eyes and implant sparkling lights in their teeth, and that’s just for fashion. Imagine, Mr. Donahue, if you will . . .”
Jordie paused again, his gaze going slightly blank as he spread his fingers apart and moved his hand in front of him as though gesturing across a vast expanse.
“Imagine a world where you could not simply forget your bad memories, but provide yourself with brand new ones. Think of how wonderful it would be to relive your favorite moments over and over again, while you can also block out the bad ones from ever coming up again. Complete control over your reality, and not in the way they do it with virtual programs.”
Jordie’s smile went stiff. He leaned toward the camera again. His head tilted as though he could look through the lens and see Ewan on the other side.
“Right about now, Mr. Donahue, you’re thumbing in my number. Aren’t you?”
Ewan had been swiping his fingertips across the tablet screen, trying to pull up Jordie’s contact information. Every time he tried, he got an error. With a grunt of frustration, he swiped again.
“All it takes is a transfer of funds, Mr. Donahue. A small token of your interest in keeping this conversation going. And I’d suggest you make that transfer,” Jordie said as a number popped up on the bottom of the viddy, a clickable link with an amount attached to it. “You won’t like what’s going to happen if you don’t.”
* * *
Nina woke with a start, realizing at once that she’d dozed but surprised at how deeply she’d been dreaming. The transpo’s voice had woken her, but she had to blink hard for a moment or two to come fully out of sleep. The address Patrice had given Nina turned out not to be the casual restaurant where she’d said they would meet. The transpo had pulled up in front of a small block of identical homes, each surrounded by a metal fence and bare, scrubby yards littered with garbage. This was not Patrice’s house, not unless her sister had fallen on much harder times than she’d led Nina to believe.
That would explain Nina’s feeling that Patrice wanted to ask for money, and maybe even why she’d insisted on Nina coming to see her in person. It might be a way to get sympathy, Nina thought with a frown as she studied the surroundings. Like she’d be more amenable to doling out some cash if her sister was living the low life.
The pieces fit, and yet none of this was making sense.
“Wait,” Nina told the transpo as she got out, trying to find a sign that she was at the right place. “Hold on until I confirm this.”
She thumbed a message on her personal comm, but Patrice didn’t read it immediately. Waiting for the small D for delivered to become an R for read, Nina looked for a house number, a street sign. Anything that would identify her location. There was nothing.
With an irritated sigh, she got back into the transpo and tapped in the address she’d carefully transcribed from the message her sister had sent. The transpo informed her that she had already arrived at her destination.
“Additional charges will accrue,” the transpo said. “Approve additional idle time.”
Nina didn’t care so much about the additional cost, but she didn’t want to be stranded out here. Transpos were built to ride on the magrails and then convert to regular roadways, but they didn’t service every location. The last bit of this ride had been on streets scattered with deep potholes and rough pavement. It was entirely possible that while she’d been able to get dropped off here, there wouldn’t be a transpo available to get her home.
Just before she was about to give up, a message pinged in from Patrice.
I SEE YOU. COME INSIDE
Nina looked again toward the row of shabby houses. She returned with a voice message. “The blue one?”
YES THE BLUE HOUSE COME INSIDE
Nina was dismissing the transpo when the next message pinged in.
YOUR LATE
NOW
Nina shook her head and stepped away so the transpo could pull away. Her sister seemed to have the same old attitude. Nina faced the blue house, her comm in her fist. Another wash of anxiety tickled the pit of her stomach and the back of her neck. She glanced at the sky with its gray clouds and a distant sun. The heat had risen in the few minutes she stood there in the open. She was thirsty.
She smoothed her blouse and skirt, wishing for a moment that she’d worn her accustomed outfit of leggings and a long-sleeved top. Of course she’d chosen not to wear her harness and gear to visit Patrice, because that would’ve been an even worse reminder of what and who she’d become than if she’d shown up in fatigues. She had a small knife tucked into the waistband of her skirt, though. Another in her ankle boot. And she always had herself, her skills, her strength. Her determination.
She’d always prided herself on making sure her clients were kept safe because she was there to keep them that way. Part of that had been awareness of more than obvious dangers. Watching for the unexpected. Most importantly, reacting immediately to any threat.
Her hand went automatically to her waist as the front door of the blue house opened. Nina tensed, ready to fight if she saw anything alarming but letting out a sigh at the sight of Patrice’s familiar face.
“You should come inside,”
Patrice said.
Nina did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
There’d been so many threats of blackmail, violence, and things that Ewan wouldn’t like should he dare not to respond to the demands that right now, all he could do was laugh and shake his head at the way Jordie had so clearly believed he was scary.
Ewan stopped laughing a moment later when a countdown popped up at the bottom of the viddy message. Jordie’s image had frozen for a second or so, but now he started speaking again. The clickable link was still running across the bottom of the message, remaining unobscured by the numbers now ticking rapidly in reverse.
“The thing is, Mr. Donahue, I need money. Credits. Cash. Moola, if you will.” Jordie hunched forward again. A little twitchier now. He shifted in his chair. “Because I’m going to work on this project, whether you like it or not. I’m going to make it happen, because I believe in it, and that’s what you always told us to do, Mr. Donahue. Do what we believe in. Right? So in order to do that, obviously, I need money, and my mother, my . . .”
Here Jordie bit down on his words, hard. He spoke through gritted teeth. “My mother. Does. Not. Understand. You understand, don’t you, Mr. Donahue? You started out once, a kid like me. A kid with an idea. Ready to change the world. I mean, I’m trying to tell you that I’m grateful, I really am, because without the work you did, Mr. Donahue, I wouldn’t have the base to work from. Of course, it’s all because of you that I can’t. Make it. Happen.”
Jordie grimaced. He gestured, fingers pointing to the link along the bottom of the viddy as well as the countdown. He leaned so close to the camera that his eye, bloodshot, filled the entire screen of Ewan’s tablet.
“There are loads of people who want to support me. You know that? I don’t understand why it never occurred to you. That nobody else would want to support this? Sure, I know their reasons maybe aren’t the best, yeah, of course I realize they’re going to want to use this tech for things that maybe aren’t . . . aren’t so great.”
Ewan tapped the link, which took him to another window without closing the viddy message. The amount listed there was enough to curl his fingers, hesitating. It wouldn’t drain him dry, but it was far more than he’d expected. The kid had balls, he’d give him that.
“But I guess I don’t much care about that, Mr. Donahue. I think you understand, maybe better than anyone. How it feels to know you’ve got this idea, how you could make something that nobody else could make. It’s like . . . it’s like it’s being born right out of my head and through my fingers, every time I code. So I want to keep doing that. I know you understand. Have you sent the money yet, Mr. Donahue? Once you do, you’ll be able to access me directly, in live-time. And you’re going to want to do that before the ticker runs out. I promise you.”
“Oh, kid, I promise you, you’re going to be the sorry one,” Ewan said through gritted teeth and thumbed in his account codes to begin the transfer.
* * *
“I thought maybe the kids would be here.” Nina looked around the dirty kitchen while trying to keep a judgmental expression off her face. Everything in here was worn and beyond filthy. Grease and grime and dust coated every surface. It looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned in a decade.
Patrice seemed as out of place here as a flower growing through a crack in the asphalt. Her curly dark hair, so much like Nina’s own, had been cropped close to her skull. The style emphasized her hollowed cheeks and the circles under her eyes. The neckline of her blouse showed off stark collarbones. She had a tattoo that hadn’t been there before, a small crimson star that stood out on her dark skin. The tendons in her neck stood out, taut, when she smiled, and her teeth were stained.
“They’re not here. I wanted it to be just us.”
Nina frowned. “Sure. I understand.”
“Cup of coffee? It’s synth, though, that’s all I have. The real stuff’s impossible to get without selling an organ.”
Nina nodded, wondering if that was a not-so-subtle jab at her. “Sure. That would be great.”
“Would it?” Her sister laughed harshly and proved Nina’s suspicions right with her next words. “Something tells me you’re used to the good stuff.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy your hospitality.” Nina bit back a harder retort, not wanting to start off the visit the way they’d ended their last one, all angry words and accusations. She could barely trust herself to keep her temper without provocation; she couldn’t trust herself not to completely lose it if her sister taunted her. “I’m here to visit you, Patrice. It doesn’t matter what we drink.”
“How about a couple of shots of whiskey, then? Ah, too bad. I don’t have any of that. I have synthcoffee and some dry crumb cake.” She opened the oven and peered inside, glancing over her shoulder at Nina with a strained expression. “It’s done, if you want some. Have a seat.”
“Sure. I can always eat crumb cake.” Nina pulled out one of the chairs from the table and sat, gingerly, rocking. One of the legs was shorter than the other, and she tucked one ankle behind the other to help steady herself.
Patrice straightened with the pan in her hands. She put it on top of the oven. She hadn’t used oven mitts.
That wasn’t right.
“It was always your favorite,” Patrice said quietly. “Mama made it for us on Saturday mornings. That was our treat if we’d been good for the week.”
Nina watched her sister’s back straighten, then her shoulders hunch. Patrice put both hands on the edge of the oven for a moment before moving to a drawer and opening it. She closed it. Opened the next. Slammed that one.
“Can’t find a knife,” Patrice said in a thick, choked voice. “Just a second.”
Nina stood to take her sister by the shoulders and turn her. “Hey. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” Patrice said. “I’m sorry, Nina. But it does matter. Let me find the knife so I can serve you this cake, okay? I’m just . . . it’s been so long since I’ve seen you, that’s all. All of this is really emotional. I’m having a hard time.”
Nina hadn’t braced herself for her sister’s hug, but she accepted it gratefully as Patrice gripped her fiercely. She expected her sister would break the embrace quickly, but instead, Patrice clung to her. Nina put a hand between Patrice’s shoulder blades, patting gently. Soothing.
“I’m not particularly great at this,” Nina said with a small laugh, trying for a semblance of humor. “Ask me to stand between you and someone coming at you with a fist; that I can do. But this . . .”
“You were never good at this sort of thing. Remember that time I lost the part in the school play and you tried to cheer me up by reminding me how terribly afraid I was of public speaking, how I wet myself the last time I’d had to do it?” Sniffling, eyes red, Patrice stepped back. She smiled, though, and it seemed genuine. She swiped at her eyes. “You were always more practical than any of us.”
“I’m sorry,” Nina said impulsively, uncertain what, exactly, she was apologizing for. The past, perhaps, and not being great with hugs and sisterly support. For the present, when it turned out that she was no better.
“Let me make the coffee. Sit. I’ll find that onedamned knife. We’ll eat the crumb cake. It will all be shiny fine. It will.”
Nina gave her sister a curious look, but sat at the table. “So . . . where are the kids? And Shawn?”
“Shawn and I split up four years ago.” Patrice had opened the right drawer, finally. She glanced around, maybe anticipating Nina’s next question. “The little one isn’t his. I have a new boyfriend now, his name is Avinash.”
“I didn’t know,” Nina said.
Patrice sighed. “Of course you didn’t know. How could you?”
“I’m sorry,” Nina said again, softer this time. Her sister looked at her then, really looked for the first time since Nina had arrived. “For everything. All these years we didn’t talk, because I let you convince me that was the right thing to do, to leave you alone. I should
’ve tried harder, after you weren’t angry anymore.”
“I’m still angry,” Patrice said with a shaking voice.
Nina frowned. “After all this time? Why, Patrice? Why on earth can’t you just let whatever happened go?”
“Because it’s still here, right between us! What you did and what you are is right here.” Patrice flapped a hand out at the kitchen. She looked sick to her stomach.
“I don’t understand.” Nina shook her head. “Why? What’s going on? Why did you invite me here, if you weren’t interested in trying to renew a relationship with me?”
Patrice cleared her throat. “Just sit down, all right? This doesn’t have to be so hard. Sit down and drink the coffee. Please, Nina. Just do it.”
“I should go.”
“No!” Patrice turned, face stricken. “No. Please. Just . . . sit. I’m emotional, that’s all. C’mon, you know me. Up and down, all over the place. I’m . . . such a bitch.”
Her sister’s rough, awkward laugh didn’t do much to soothe Nina’s own temper, but she sat anyway. The mug Patrice slid in front of her was plain white, no pattern, and of thick, heavy crockery that didn’t seem anything like Patrice’s usual style. The coffee inside was hot and that was about the best thing that could be said about it. Nina sipped.
Patrice took the seat across from her and pushed a plate of cake across the table. “Here.”
Nina was almost always hungry, in one way or another, but the few sips of coffee had unsettled her stomach. “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”
“You should eat the cake,” Patrice insisted. “I made it special. For you. Eat it. Please, Nina, for once, just . . . do something someone asks you to do without arguing.”
