Twinmaker t-1

by Sean Williams

  “I found that medical data you asked me to look for,” Q said. “I can attach the links to the message.”

  “So the data is genuine?”

  “Yes. And I found more matching the same criteria.”

  “How many?”

  “Seven boys, two more girls.”

  That was chilling. Fifteen victims of Improvement, and perhaps more on the way.

  “Do you want me to send the message now?” asked Q. “I can seed it to multiple places to guarantee exposure.”

  “Might as well. Don’t make me the sender, but link my profile to it and remove my mask when it goes out so people can see me if they want to. Give me two minutes. I’ll post a caption that’ll say everything we need to say.”

  She had mulled that over too, but on the point of no return, she hesitated. As far as everyone was concerned, she had disappeared the night of the explosion in Manteca. Zep and Jesse and disappeared with her. What could she possibly say in a word or two that could sum up everything that had happened to her and everything that needed to happen to make things right?

  If Libby were here, Clair thought, she would know what to do. Libby was the one obsessed with popularity and catchy captions. She saw the trends and cliques before they happened and knew exactly when to jump aboard. Clair wished she could just go along for the ride now and let Libby take all the credit.

  But it was up to her this time. Libby needed her to do it because Libby couldn’t do it herself. There was no other option.

  For a caption, Clair adapted an old VIA infomercial. It showed a woman hopping from place to place around the globe, cheerfully unaffected by the experience. The slogan had been “Everywhere for Everyone,” but Clair cut that part. Instead, she added the text “Destination: VIA!” with a link to her itinerary.

  “How are you doing, Q?”

  “I am making the final adjustments now, Clair,” said Q. “You are yourself again.”

  There was no immediate change in her lenses’ format. Clair wondered what she should be feeling. This was her chance to reconnect with her world—her media, her family, her friends. Her life. But it felt oddly distant, as though it all belonged to a different version of her—Clair 1.0, who had never shot someone, never walked cross-country in the middle of the night, never peered behind the curtain of her perfectly sheltered life.

  Clair 2.0 had done all those things and more. What if the two versions weren’t compatible?

  She uploaded the caption and waited to see what would happen.

  57

  BETWEEN CONSECUTIVE EYE blinks, her infield went from empty to full. There were bumps banked up two days from Ronnie, Tash, and her parents, rated varying degrees of urgent. Among them were queries from teachers, tutors, and study mates. There were messages from crashlanders, Abstainers, and peacekeepers. There was even one from Xandra Nantakarn, asking if she and Libby would be coming to another ball soon. “Great publicity,” she said. “You girls are quite the mystery. Let me know when you come out of hiding.”

  Clair told herself to be glad people were talking about her. That was exactly what the plan needed. Ringing, empty silence would be the death of them all.

  On top of family and friends and friends of friends, the PKs wanted to interview her in order to clarify her involvement in several “atypical events” over the previous days. It was quite a sequence: the video stunt at school, the explosion of Jesse’s home, the hostage situation with her parents, her chase by the dupe across the world, her vanishing from the Air and the disappearance of Zeppelin Barker, plus the crash of the Skylifter. Whether they knew she was involved in all of them or were just guessing she was, she didn’t know and wasn’t in a hurry to find out.

  Clair sent them the standard polite reply she sent to every one of her contacts, stating that she expected to be in New York in a day or two to talk to someone in VIA. She kept the details of the meeting vague, since at that point there weren’t any to share. She mentioned only that she would be traveling by means other than d-mat because d-mat wasn’t safe for her at the moment. In explanation, she linked to the Counter-Improvement document without saying whether she herself or anyone she knew had used Improvement or not. She was careful to make no mention of either the Abstainer movement or WHOLE. Clair Hill had to be nothing other than ordinary for the story to get any kind of traction.

  Clair Hill, the girl crossing North America practically on foot because she’s too frightened to use d-mat. Clair Hill, the girl seeking reassurances from VIA that the world she lives in is in good hands. Clair Hill, wanting to keep her friends and loved ones safe at no small cost to herself.

  She had once read about witches who believed that wishing for something three times made it come true. She was aiming for more like three thousand wishes, but the end result she hoped for would be the same.

  It didn’t take long for Ronnie and Tash to notice her reappearance. Or her parents. As the four-wheeler raced along the old highway, Clair organized a hookup with all of them at once, figuring it was best to get the conversation over with. Mandan was getting closer with every minute, and she wanted to be alert for what might happen there. But she owed her friends and family an explanation. And she needed their help.

  “Look, I know this all sounds crazy—”

  “Crazy?” Her mother was practically bursting out of her lenses. “You run off in the middle of the night—someone points a gun at us, asking where you are—you disappear—”

  “I can explain everything, Mom,” she said, “but not now. You have to trust me. It’s safer for everyone that way. I know what I’m doing.”

  “But what are you doing? Playing trains in the middle of nowhere when you should be in school—”

  “Monday’s a free day.”

  “You know what I mean!”

  “I didn’t know there were trains anymore,” said Tash. “Where did you find it?”

  “That’s a long story.” Clair didn’t want to go into every detail. “I just need you to help me spread the word.”

  “What word?” asked Ronnie.

  “Tell everyone what I’m doing. Start discussions. Post updates. Make a lot of noise, any way you can. I need this to be big, or . . .” She didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t alarm her mother even more. “. . . or something really bad will happen. I swear. And not just to me.”

  “I think we should call the peacekeepers,” said Oz, her stepfather’s long, sun-warmed face uncharacteristically grim. “They’ve been looking for you. They’re as worried as we are.”

  “Yeah, but about the wrong thing. Remember that guy with the gun to your head?” Clair said with calculated harshness. “How much use the PKs were then is exactly how much use they are now. This is between me and VIA. We have to make them fix it.”

  “But what is it?” Allison asked. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it? Why won’t you tell me now?”

  “We did talk about it, kind of. Someone’s using d-mat to hurt people. They hurt Libby, and they want to hurt me.”

  “And Zep?” asked Tash. “Is he with you?”

  Clair couldn’t answer immediately. That wasn’t a question she had anticipated. The surge of emotion it provoked was difficult to control.

  “Clair?” asked Ronnie.

  “He . . . I’ll tell you later.” From their point of view, he was still alive, just missing. She didn’t know to break it to them. “For now, just do as I ask. Please. I’ll send you a message in a second—Counter-Improvement, Jesse calls it. Pass it to everyone you know. Generate a buzz.”

  “Jesse Linwood’s with you?” asked Tash. “The Lurker?”

  Clair bristled at the old nickname but didn’t have time to defend him.

  “You can follow me via the link in the message. It’s important you do, but don’t freak out if I disappear every now and then. I’m with people who literally move in mysterious ways.”

  “If that’s what I have to do to make sure you come back in one piece,” Allison said, “then I’ll do it. But b
e careful, please.”

  “I will,” Clair promised. “I’ll do my best, and I know you all will too.”

  She signed off, feeling a sharp tug in her heart. Her hands were shaking again, and it was a moment before she could look up.

  58

  AS THEY CAME into Mandan, the gleaming lines of a train track became visible on her right, along with the train itself, a long string of wheeled containers trailing behind an engine that issued neither smoke nor steam. Clair was faintly disappointed. She had imagined something more antique than an electric locomotive but at the same time much faster. The farmers easily overtook the train as it trundled into town.

  Mandan was large enough to have eye-in-the-sky drones surveying the empty streets. Clair waved at them, half expecting dupes to burst out of doorways and windows at any moment. There could be booths coming into life all around them, building another death squad.

  But there weren’t, or if there were, the dupes stayed hidden. The drones watched them without overt curiosity, and the small expedition reached the train station unmolested. Under the eaves of an ancient wooden building, they unloaded and stretched their legs. Clair could hear the train approaching from the west. The light of the morning sun caught it, making it shine. It pulled up to the platform in a cacophony of metal, grease, and glass.

  Turner went to the front of the train to talk to the engineers or drivers or whatever they were called. Clair paced back and forth, wishing they could get moving. The station was surrounded by trees on two sides. There was plenty of cover for anyone wanting to sneak up on them.

  Gemma joined her at one end of the platform, fidgeting restlessly with her cross. She had exchanged her sling for a bandage, allowing her injured arm greater movement. They stood together, staring out into the vegetation and seeing nothing.

  “This is your plan,” said Gemma, “so why do you look nervous?”

  “I never expected everyone to agree to it,” she said.

  “Is that true?”

  Clair shrugged. It was, if she was honest with herself. “We’ve never agreed on anything before.”

  “Fair point.”

  One of the drones swooped lower, as though trying to overhear their conversation.

  “You think we’re out of our minds,” Gemma said to her.

  “It goes both ways. Dylan Linwood called me a zombie.”

  “That sounds like him.” She hung her head. “It’s not easy being in the minority. I mean, what are the odds that everyone else in the world is wrong, and you’re right? The moment you start to doubt, everything turns upside down and the world comes crashing down around you. . . .”

  Clair understood that feeling well.

  “Don’t tell me you’re starting to change your mind about d-mat.”

  “Never. It gets in your brain and softens it. Stop using, and you get better fast. You can see that now, surely.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look at yourself, Clair Hill. You were like everyone else before—weak, soft, compliant. Now you’ve changed. You’re strong. Look how you stood up to the dupes back there. Could you have done that a week ago? I don’t think so. D-mat was holding you back. Now you’re free.”

  “Free to do what? Ruin my life?”

  “If that’s what it takes to be yourself.”

  Even when Gemma was staring straight at her, she seemed to be tilting her head, putting a question mark at the end of every sentence she said.

  Turner called them from the other end of the platform, but before Clair could go, Gemma grabbed her tightly by the arm and pulled her close.

  “Dylan made me promise to look after Jesse if anything ever happened to him,” she whispered. “You’ll have to do it for me.”

  “Why?” Clair forces out. “Where are you going?”

  “The world is turning upside down, Clair,” Gemma said. “Not everything—or everyone—is going to survive.”

  “Don’t be crazy. Of course we’re going to survive. That’s what the plan is for, right?”

  Gemma shook her head. Clair pulled free. There wasn’t time to deal with Gemma’s doubts on top of her own.

  She turned to head toward where Turner, Ray, and Jesse stood, waiting.

  “Promise me, Clair,” Gemma hissed after her. “Look after Jesse. Promise me!”

  Clair kept walking, rubbing her arm where Gemma’s strong fingers had gripped her.

  59

  “IT’S STARTED,” SAID Turner. “See?”

  Two people had appeared at the other end of the platform, a mother and young daughter, both dressed in patched clothes. They stood hand in hand and watched as the expedition prepared to move out.

  “Abstainers,” Turner explained. “There’s a handful in every town, invisible, excluded, but very loyal. Put the word out, and they will come.”

  “What are they doing here?” she asked him.

  “They came to see you,” he said. “The girl who’s taking on VIA single-handed.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing,” she said. “It’s not.”

  “I know. But it sounds better that way, doesn’t it?”

  The girl, no more than five, waved shyly at Clair. Clair hesitated, then waved back. That was what Libby would’ve done, she told herself.

  The freight car was open and ready for them. Jesse drove their four-wheeler inside. Clair was about to follow when the whine of tiny electric fans rose up behind her. She turned and saw a drone dropping down to head height. It flashed its lights in a complex sequence, spun once around its axis, and waited for her to react.

  “Is that you, Q?”

  “How did you know, Clair?” came the delighted response via the drone’s PA speakers.

  She smiled. “A lucky guess.”

  “It took me much longer than I expected to install my own command agents. The democratic algorithms are triple secure, with—”

  “No need for the details, Q. Good thinking, though. I’m glad you’ll be here to keep an eye on us.”

  Clair crossed into the car, and the drone went to follow.

  “We’ll be Faraday shielded when the door is shut,” Turner said.

  “Can the drone keep up with the train outside?” Clair asked Q.

  “Not for long, but I can magnetically affix it to the car to stop the batteries from running low.”

  “Great. Do that. And keep your eyes open. We don’t want anyone taking us by surprise.”

  The floor shifted beneath them. Everyone put out a hand to steady themselves as the train began to move. Clair leaned on Jesse, who braced himself against the nearest wall.

  “Out you go, Q. It’s time to shut the door.”

  “Bon voyage,” said the drone as it zipped through the car door.

  Turner pressed a button, and the door slid shut behind them with a metallic boom.

  Lights came on inside, and presumably some kind of air circulation system too. Clair felt a puff of wind against her cheek.

  The train accelerated, turning steadily to the right. Clair found it hard to stand, even with Jesse as a crutch.

  “I suggest we all get some sleep,” said Turner, flipping open his backpack and pulling out his bedroll. No one had rested since the dupes had woken them all up in the middle of the night. “We’ve got hours to kill until we get there.”

  There was a pair of chemical toilets at the far end of the car. Clair used one, then found an empty spot on the back of the four-wheeler and tried to rest. The rocking of the car beneath her was less soothing than she had imagined it would be. Jesse lay down next to her, bundled up tightly in a sleeping bag so little more than his nose was visible. She wanted to ask how he was doing but didn’t want to disturb him. Maybe she was the only one finding it hard to settle.

  Libby’s body was just yards away, wrapped tightly in plastic. Or was it Mallory’s body, since that was the name of the last person to inhabit it? A rose by any name, she thought. A mind in any body . . .

  She did drop off eventually and woke with h
er breath stopped in her throat as though someone were choking her. The interior of the car was lit only by power LEDs and static displays, a meaningless constellation of yellows, reds, greens, and blues. Jesse had moved closer in his sleep, but his face was as hidden as ever. Clair sat up and pushed herself away from him. Her head was pounding. She felt trapped. She wanted to leap out of the car and onto solid earth. She wasn’t used to things moving, shifting, turning the way they did in the world Jesse and the others inhabited.

  Now you’re free, Gemma had said. Free to be herself, but she didn’t feel free. She wanted everything to be still, just for a moment, so the person she had been could catch up to her, if it wasn’t already too late for that.

  “God, I hope it’s not,” she breathed.

  “Deceitful as it is,” said a soft voice out of the dark, “hope at least leads us to the end of our lives by an agreeable route.”

  She looked around. Two dark eyes were staring at her out of the gloom. They belonged to Turner.

  “Is that a quote?”

  “More or less. Someone French, I think.”

  He unfurled himself from his sleeping bag and came to sit nearer her.

  “You can’t sleep either,” he said.

  “It’s not that. I mean, I was asleep, but . . .” She hesitated, not entirely sure which particular anxiety was dominating her thoughts at that moment. “I’m afraid I might’ve talked you all into something really stupid.”

  “This plan of yours?” He smiled. “If I worried about every stupid thing I’ve done, I’d never sleep again.”

  His unlined, youthful face gave him away. “You’re not the worrying kind,” she said. “I can tell that just by looking at you.”

  “Appearances . . .” He stopped as Ray snuffled and rolled over, then continued in a softer tone, “. . . are deceitful, like hope.”

  “Apparently. Everyone tells me you’re eighty years old.”

  “That’s not true,” he said.

  “Obviously.”

  “I’m eighty-three next month.”

  She stared at him with aching migraine eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”