Jumper: Books 1-6: Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

  A computer program, data driven responses based on a set criteria.

  She looks real.

  Sounds real.

  But she’s not a real person.

  And she’s not a replacement for either Willow or Ella, no matter how good it might feel to pretend.

  A clever trick of technology.

  Best to let her go.

  A horrifying squeal rips my attention back to the street.

  A UPS truck is stopped.

  Car horns honking.

  And … Eden is nowhere in sight.

  I hop out of the car.

  I race to the street.

  I see beyond the shrubs, see Eden’s crumpled body lying face down in the street.

  Oh, God.

  Blood pouring from her.

  I run faster.

  The driver is out of his truck.

  Cars are stopped.

  I keep running.

  I’m there first, falling beside her.

  “Eden!” I cry out, turning her over.

  Her face is bloody, smashed beyond recognition.

  I swallow, grief splintering my body, leaving fragments in my soul.

  “I’m so sorry,” I cry, cradling her limp body, my face against her broken face. “I’m so sorry.”

  People are talking to me, but I can’t hear what they say.

  Instead, my attention is drawn to Eden’s hand, her little fingers twitching.

  I take her hand, squeezing it, flashing back on the many times I’d held Willow’s hand just like this.

  And Ella’s.

  Her fingers squeeze tighter.

  What?

  I look down and see an aura, a pink one, surrounding her.

  Until now, Eden’s aura has always had a similar mix of signatures, a blend of the girl that she was and her hardware’s program.

  It wasn’t human. It had a distinct hum and a constant green aura, not like a soul’s, but some nebulous combination of body and tech.

  But this light inside her feels different. Looks different. A bright pink like Willow’s soul, tinged with violet like Ella’s, with specks of green and red swirling inside.

  It is … somehow … a soul.

  How is this possible?

  Her fingers squeeze tighter. A blinding light and pain rip through me.

  I try to close my eyes, but it’s impossible to smother my mind.

  A rush of memories storms my senses. A chaotic churning of sights and sounds and tastes and smells. A rush of emotions threatening to drown me.

  So many. Too fast. A torrent I’m forced to swallow, else I choke.

  But I can’t process a thing.

  Ella’s memories. Willow’s. Eden’s.

  She’s uploading them to me.

  And then, all is silent.

  I watch as the light rises from her chest, hovering in front of me.

  I feel its warmth. Impossible radiance on my face.

  Then it blinks from existence.

  And I’m alone, but no longer alone. I’m with the collected memories of Willow, Ella, and Eden, all in my head, swarming, making me dizzy as I try to control them, to slow them to a quiet roar.

  It’s like a stream of data I must slow to understand it better.

  People approaching. A siren in the distance. Someone, a man, asks if she’s okay. But their voices are dull as if heard by someone else.

  A part of me is seeing and hearing the voices and memories of my wife, her sister, and my daughter.

  Eden’s terrible visions storm my mind, and then I learn the horrible truth of what Fairchild has done to my father and daughter, and what he plans to do to humanity.

  And I’m the only one who can stop him.

  Epilogue

  Ella

  I stare at my father as he lets go of my head.

  The surge of memories fades to a trickle.

  I look up at him. “I’m … I’m not Ella?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “Then who am I?”

  “I think you’re the pink thing that I saw when Eden was dying. Energy? A soul? Or something new. I don’t know.”

  I swallow, trying to comprehend all that I’ve seen, all that I’ve felt, all that he’s uploaded into my head.

  I feel a hundred different things, but not one of them is good.

  All I can think is, I’m not real.

  I’m not real.

  I’m not—

  An explosion tears through the main hall, followed by gunshots and screams.

  “They’ve found us,” Ben whispers, grabbing his gun.

  Homecoming

  Chapter One

  Ella

  The door explodes off its hinges, men and women in black uniforms — AD agents — storm in with guns on us.

  Outside our room, chaos: gunshots and screams, as Fairchild’s men attack the underground headquarters, shooting indiscriminately.

  This is a war, and the enemy body count means nothing.

  The First Front has lost, and now they’ve come for the general’s surrender.

  Ben looks at me, tears and blame in his eyes like I purposely led them here. Like I betrayed him.

  But then, as he drops his gun with a sigh, I see that the true emotion is fear. I can’t help but wonder if this is one of the dark visions he’d seen in Eden’s memories, now coming true. And I wonder how much I’m to blame.

  “Down on your knees, hands on your head!” yells one of the agents, his rifle going back and forth between Ben and me.

  We do as we’re told, me taking a bit more time in this old man’s body. A second agent, a short woman with a severe crew cut, instructs us to put our hands behind our backs then proceeds to cuff us. She then steps in front of us, looks down, speaking into a com on her shoulder, “Big fish and little fish are secure.”

  I look at Ben, wondering why he’s not fighting back. He can send a shock to their minds, incapacitate them and allow us time to escape.

  But he’s not doing anything.

  That’s when I notice him gritting his teeth like he’s in pain.

  Moments later, Fairchild steps into the tiny dark room wearing his perfectly pressed, spotless suit, with the same red tie and rose like always, looking like a dapper version of an armchair general coming to collect his spoils now that the real fighting is done.

  And then I see why Ben isn’t fighting back.

  Irina is behind Fairchild, dressed in the AD agent-issued black uniform, her long black hair accentuated with a crimson strand, either an extension or coloring. She’s focused on him, obviously exerting her psychic grip, preventing him from using his power.

  She looks at Ben. “Where’s Nikolai?”

  Ben looks at her, shaking his head. “He’s not here, Irina. He’s in a safe place where he can’t get to him.”

  Ben says he while barely nodding toward Fairchild, as if he can’t even look directly at the man.

  Irina steps forward, draws her gun, aims it at Ben, then practically growls, “Where is he?”

  “You kill me, and you’ll never see him again. I don’t know what story he sold you, but I’m protecting Niko. Did Fairchild tell you what he plans to do with your brother? Did he?”

  “Shut up with your lies!” she yells, gun trembling in her hand.

  Fairchild, perhaps sensing that the girl is about to snap and maybe kill Ben, steps toward her. He gently sets his hand on her gun and lowers it. “It’s okay, Irina. We’ll find your brother. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Fairchild looks at me.

  My mind is still reeling from everything that’s happened, particularly the revelation that I’m not who I thought I was. Nor what I thought I was. Something — like the man I thought was my father said — new.

  I think of the colorful energy that Ben saw leave Eden’s body following the car crash. Was that me? And if so, which me? Willow? Ella? Eden? And where have I been the past five years? A half-decade of blank memories following my time in Irina’s body.


  But now that Ben has uploaded all of these old memories into me, belonging to him, Willow, Eden, and to Ella — the person I thought I was — I can’t just shut them off. I can’t just be whoever or whatever it is that I’m supposed to be.

  I only know who I feel like — Ella.

  And because I have Ella’s history, every fiber of whatever I am hates Fairchild. I hate him for what he did to Ben’s father. I hate him for what he did to me — or, rather, Ella. I hate him for what he’s about to do to the world if he finds Niko.

  We can’t let that happen.

  I have to figure a way out of this, but how can I do anything when I’m trapped in the body of Clifton Emmanuel, a 65-year-old man known as The Fixer, a glorified handyman working for The First Front? Even if I could tap into any of the fighting or weapons skills I’ve collected on my journey, my body is old. They’ll kill me before I can get off my knees.

  Maybe that’s the secret? Maybe if I can get myself killed, whatever is controlling me will guide me into another, better body?

  I don’t know who or what is controlling me these past several years, but I don’t think it was Ben or The First Front. They have a couple of Jumpers, but Ben was as surprised to see me here as Fairchild was when I wound up in one of his agents.

  But as I consider lunging at Irina, who is closest to me, I can’t help but hesitate. I’m not sure if it’ll even work. So far, every time I’ve fallen asleep, passed out, or gotten killed, I manage to wake up in a different body, but there’s no guarantee. And I can’t just throw Clifton’s life away. As long as I’ve been Jumping, I’ve lived by the motto, Do Not Interfere and Always Leave Someone’s Life a Bit Better Than You Found It.

  I can’t just get him killed.

  Fairchild steps toward us, lording over the moment, over his immense power, holding our lives in his hands.

  I wonder if he knows that I know what I am. If that would matter. I figure it is best that he keeps thinking whatever he already thinks, at least long enough to give me some advantage I can’t yet see.

  He looks at Ben, “Why? Why have you been so hard at work screwing up our Karma missions?”

  Ben says nothing. Just looks down at the ground.

  Fairchild shakes his head. “Willow would be so disappointed in you, turning on your own like this.”

  Ben doesn’t rise to the bait.

  “Well, here’s the good news, Benjamin. I haven’t given up on you yet.”

  He turns and leaves. As he does, he tells his agents, “Put them in the van and bring them home.”

  Home?

  Chapter Two

  Ben

  I’m in the back of the van, hands cuffed behind me, as we drive “home,” which I’m assuming is Advanced Dynamics.

  Willow’s beside me, holding my hand, squeezing it, saying, “It’s going to be okay.”

  I smile and say, “I know,” even though I’m not sure I believe it.

  Clifton, inhabited by the thing that thinks of itself as my daughter, is looking at me. “Who are you talking to?”

  I shake my head. “Nobody.”

  I don’t explain for two reasons. One, how to explain to someone that some part of Willow lives on inside of me, one last gift from Eden before she returned to AD? Then we’d have to get into the whole discussion of whether or not she’s real or just some projection in my head. And hell, I don’t even know what’s real anymore. All I know is that she’s there for me, and right now I need her — whatever part of her is left in this world.

  The second reason is that I don’t want anyone else to know that part of Willow lives on inside of me. Her father, Fairchild, would not be happy, and would likely do everything in his power to take her away. Take what’s left and put her into another of his cyborg monstrosities.

  So I keep her my secret.

  Ella, in Clifton’s body, goes back to staring at the van floor, probably lost in some existential crisis of learning that she isn’t who she thought. Or maybe she’s trying to find a way out of this, like me.

  Willow looks at Clifton, then back at me. “You know she didn’t lead them to you. At least not on purpose.”

  I know, I think, rather than speak.

  The stabbing pain in my head is back.

  I cry out.

  Willow flickers, then she’s gone.

  It’s Irina. Squelching my powers from behind the metal partition separating the front and back of the van, trying to keep from escaping. Now and then she finds a weakness in my psychic walls and tries to batter it down, so she can worm inside my head, and find her brother.

  I focus on the metal partition, sealing the hole, and the pain fades to a low roar.

  I’m not sure how long I can keep her out. If I could just get to her, either with a physical or psychic attack of my own, I could disable whatever signal she uses to keep me weak.

  Then I could access the van’s electrical system and crash it.

  Or incapacitate the agents, and escape.

  My only hope is to wait until Irina tires.

  But if that doesn’t happen by the time we reach AD, I’m screwed. They’ll put me in The Cage — a deep underground cell where escape is impossible.

  Once there, I’m stuck until they either kill me or let me go.

  As if there are two options.

  Fairchild will never let me go. Once he has what he wants, he’ll kill me — just like he did my father. I’m an enemy now, and enemies can reveal secrets to the world, get AD shut down, or at the very least, de-funded. The government hates when someone shines a light on their secret programs.

  I wonder how many of my people they’ve killed or captured in the raid. Did anyone else escape?

  Am I all that’s left?

  I had twenty-five people in The First Front, making me directly responsible for twenty-five lives, nineteen of them Deviants. Twenty-five people who trusted me and bought into my war against AD, who believed in fighting tyranny.

  And now, unless some of them escaped, they’re all either captured or dead. If they’re captured, Fairchild will interrogate them, trying to get any information he can on Niko.

  But I’m the only one who knows where Niko is, which means these interrogations will be brutal. And once Fairchild realizes they’re not going to, or can’t, give him what he wants, they’re all as good as dead.

  Even if he doesn’t kill them, they’ll never have their lives back. Maybe he’ll try to reprogram them. Or imprison them in Aspen Falls.

  The only thing I know for certain is that things can’t get much worse for any of us. But at least Fairchild won’t get to Niko.

  He’ll hurt me. My interrogation will be the worst. But I’m not giving him Niko’s location. I’ve prepared for this eventuality ever since I went underground.

  I’ve also created deadly defenses around the information in case he tries to send a Jumper into me.

  I don’t think Fairchild has any idea about the fight he’s in for, or how far I’ve come in my psychic defenses since we last saw one another.

  An idea comes to me.

  If I could choke Clifton out, Ella might be able to Jump, and maybe into the body of someone who can help us.

  But my hands are cuffed around a metal loop in the floor, keeping me where I am. Ella’s hands are similarly bound.

  I look at Willow, now back and shaking her head. She looks at Clifton and says, “He could die.”

  He’d be willing to die to save the world.

  She looks at him again, then back at me. “There’s got to be another way.”

  Have you got any ideas? Because I’m just about out, and we’re going to be at AD any moment now.

  She looks at Clifton, then me, and shakes her head. “No.”

  “Ella,” I say softly, hoping the people up front won’t hear me. I’m not sure if Irina can hear us or not. If she can, then we need to act quickly before she puts a stop to this.

  Clifton looks up. “Yes?”

  “Can you control your Jumps?”

>   “No.”

  “But you said you keep Jumping into people involved with what’s going on, right?”

  “Yes. I think so. But I don’t know how. I don’t know who my co-pilot is, or if I even have one.”

  “We’ve gotta go with what we’ve got. I need you to knock yourself out.”

  “How?”

  “Hit your head against the wall over and over until you pass out.”

  “What? I might kill Clifton!”

  “If you don’t do it, they might kill Clifton. And they will definitely kill you.”

  Clifton/Ella swallows.

  And then, surprisingly without any more argument, leans forward, then violently thrusts backward, bashing his head into the van with a sickening thud.

  My stomach lurches at the sound, at the grimace on Clifton’s face as blood spills from his scalp.

  He’s still conscious.

  “Again,” I say.

  He looks at me, eyes watering.

  SMASH!

  The van lurches to a stop.

  “Shit, they’re coming. Keep going!”

  Ella smashes her head once, twice more. There’s a sickening crunch that reverberates through my body and twists my insides.

  The doors launch open, bright light blinding me.

  Irina and two agents stand there, staring in shock.

  Ella throws her head backward again, but before she can smash Clifton’s skull into the wall, she stops mid-movement, frozen.

  Irina’s hand is sticking straight out, fingers twitching, as if she physically caught Clifton’s head in mid-arc. Then she splays her fingers as if pulling his head forward to a stop.

  Clifton sits back up, eyes dazed and blinking. Blood is splattered on the wall behind him, and trickling down his forehead. Surely, he’ll pass out, and then Ella can Jump.

  “Get the healer here,” Irina says into her com.

  Moments later, another agent appears — a young blonde named Brianna who went to the school a few years ago.

  Brianna looks at me, a sad look in her eyes as if she knows she’s betraying me.

  “Fix him up, now!” Irina barks.

  Brianna lays her hands on the back of Clifton’s skull. I’ve seen her work minor miracles on broken legs and third-degree burns. Surely, a cracked skull won’t be difficult to mend.