Mind Games

by Teri Terry

  ‘It’s important,’ he says, and his voice is so earnest. He must have it bad.

  I sigh and turn back, leaving the PIP connection alone.

  ‘I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, Gecko. Jezzamine died in a car accident a few days ago.’

  ‘What? How? Tell me how it happened.’ His eyes are wide with shock.

  ‘This is what I heard. She was driving on her own. She’d only just got her electric licence, but for some reason she turned off the motorway automatic system, lost control, and crashed into a barrier. Paramedics couldn’t save her; she was too badly injured.’

  He leans against the wall as if his legs can’t support him any longer. ‘It’s even worse than we thought,’ he says, as if to himself.

  ‘What is? Than who thought?’

  ‘I’ve got to go.’ He grips my shoulders, hard, and stares at me. His eyes are weird and fierce. ‘Take care, Luna.’

  He lets go, climbs the ladder in a flash, and then both he and it are gone: the ladder, the hatch, the outline, all vanished. Smooth ceiling restored.

  I look up, wave. ‘I’m fine, thanks for asking. And I found out I passed the RQ today.’ I walk away, and look back before I unplug. ‘And I’m going away to Inaccessible Island. Nice knowing you.’

  I sit up in my dark room, stretch. My hair: it still feels lovely, bouncy, soft. It even smells good. I’m bemused: how can a virtual hairstyle still be with me? Gecko must have done it for me. But good hair isn’t enough to cheer me up now.

  I stand, feel the way to the light switch. Put it on, turn.

  Jump out of my skin.

  ‘Nanna?’

  She’s sitting on my bed. Staring. Eyes wide and scared. She looks at the PIP; back to me. Shakes her head. ‘Danger, Luna. Danger,’ she whispers.

  18

  ‘I’m not going. That’s it.’

  Dad rubs his eyes, still bleary from the emergency unplug Sally has subjected him to.

  ‘You. Talk sense into your daughter!’ Sally says, and leaves the room, slams the door.

  ‘Well. She’s kind of annoyed,’ Dad says.

  ‘Ha! Nothing unusual there.’

  ‘Congratulations on passing the Test.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And I hear you’ve got this amazing offer from PareCo: a Think Tank placement, with all the bells and whistles?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Why don’t you want to go? And tell me the real reason.’

  I stare back at him. I could manufacture a list again like I did for Sally, searching for a reason she’d accept, but no. I sigh, sit down next to him. He puts an arm over my shoulders. ‘What is it, Loony-Tunes?’

  ‘I don’t want to leave Nanna.’

  ‘Ah. I see.’

  ‘Even when I was only away for days for the Test, she was worse.’

  ‘And she took a turn last night, didn’t she?’

  I nod. After I’d unplugged and found her in my room, she just collapsed. I had to wake Sally to help me get her back to her room. It was my fault, Sally had hissed, for not keeping Nanna’s room locked.

  ‘As soon as I’m gone, Sally will have her taken away. I know she will.’

  ‘I won’t let her. I promise.’

  I believe he means it. I also believe Sally would wear him down, baffle him with false sympathy, with how it would be better for Nanna, and somehow get him to go along with what she wants. There is precedent. And who’s to say that with me gone she really wouldn’t be better off somewhere else?

  I shake my head. ‘That’s not the only thing. It says I’ll be gone for an extended time, whatever that means. Thousands of miles away. What if something happens to her or you or Jason, and I’m not here?’

  ‘That’d really suck,’ he says. ‘But you can’t stop stuff happening sometimes, even to people you love. Whether you’re there or not. ’ A shadow of pain crosses his eyes. ‘But you don’t have to go. It’s your choice.’

  ‘It is? Not according to Sally.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Sally; I can handle her,’ he says, but his voice lacks conviction. ‘Anyhow, they can’t take you away to—’ and he unfocuses a moment, comes back again ‘—Inaccessible Island, unless I sign some endless consent form. It just pinged in a while ago.’

  ‘But what do I do if I stay?’ Despite wanting – needing – to stay, visions of Goodwin finding me a suitable-in-her-opinion work placement gives me spine spiders: shivers from an army of invisible little feet.

  ‘Let’s see if we can get you swapped to university in London. That you got a Think Tank placement shows you passed their flipping tests with flying colours, right? They’ve got to want you at the university, too.’

  ‘Really: do you think that will work?’

  He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. But I’ll try.’

  His eyes unfocus, then come back again. ‘There. I’ve just sent a refusal to sign the form, and requested a transfer. Let’s see what they make of that.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  ‘Now let’s go and visit your nanna. Don’t forget she’s my mum; I care about her, too.’

  I don’t forget it. I just know you’re almost never here, and the harder it is to be with her, the less you will be. But out loud all I say is, yes.

  Sally corners me later, after Dad is back in fantasyland. ‘How could you be so selfish?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Have you noticed lately that the house is falling down around our ears? That expenses keep going up and income down? It’s getting harder and harder for your dad to find paying clients that need games guides: kids start with Implants so young they’ve got it all figured out before they’ve got a good allowance. And did it occur to you that university here will cost? By the time Jason is that age there’ll be no chance he can go. You could help your family for once, Luna. The signing fee alone would get us out of trouble. Would pay for your nanna’s care – get her in somewhere they can do everything for her, not a state institution where she’ll be headed no matter what we want if her doctor decides to commit her.’

  ‘Signing fee? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Didn’t your dad tell you? When he signs the consent forms, PareCo pays your family a signing fee. And after that, a regular stipend. Think about it, Luna.’

  I stare back at her, the reason she was so freaked I didn’t want to go finally clear. She’d spent hours going on about this great opportunity, my future, the only chance I might ever have to make something of myself. But the whole time she wanted to sell me.

  ‘Someone is here to see you, Luna,’ Sally calls up the next afternoon. The first words she has spoken to me since Dad took my side.

  Downstairs, on the sofa in our front room? Dr Rafferty.

  My mouth hangs open. ‘Uh, hi,’ I manage to say.

  ‘Hi, Luna, nice to see you.’

  Sally hovers by the door. ‘Can I get you anything?’ Curiosity all over her face.

  ‘Tea would be nice,’ he says, and she goes to the kitchen. No doubt she will make it in record time.

  He smiles, gestures at a chair, and I sit in it. ‘So, you’re probably wondering why I’m here.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘I went to considerable trouble to convince PareCo that you should pass the RQ. That it was rational to consider the welfare of others when you took part in disrupting that phase of the testing.’

  ‘Uh…thanks. I guess.’

  He raises an eyebrow. ‘But it looks like it might have been in vain. I understand that your father has refused consent to your PareCo placement, and requested a university transfer. Transfers can only be approved with an assessment by HealthCo, which is why I was notified. So why did your father refuse consent?’

  ‘I asked him to.’


  ‘Oh. I see. I was wondering if a court order to circumvent parental consent might be helpful. But they won’t grant it if you are saying no also.’ He shakes his head. ‘Why, Luna?’

  Sally brings in a tray of tea. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear,’ she says, smiling sweetly. ‘I’m afraid Luna’s…compassion for others is the cause.’ The glance she gives me is exuding warmth and concern, very unlike the way she’s looked at me lately. I’m glaring daggers at her, but she ignores me. ‘Luna doesn’t want to leave her poorly grandmother. She’s not expected to last the winter, poor dear.’

  I stare at Sally. No one has told me this, and despite myself, tears are welling up in my eyes. I blink furiously.

  Dr Rafferty clucks. ‘Oh dear. That is hard. I can understand why you don’t want to go away right now.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Look, I’ll recommend that you get a transfer to London University on compassionate grounds. Given your test results, I’ll recommend a scholarship.’

  ‘You can do that?’ I can feel my smile returning. If I can get a scholarship, even Sally should be happy. Ish.

  ‘Oh yes. PareCo can’t overrule any decisions we make based on student welfare.’ He unfocuses, comes back a few moments later. Smiles. ‘I’ve said your continued good health requires a placement you can reach from home, and recommended that you be considered for a scholarship to London University. They will likely make it contingent on you taking the original placement if circumstances change. All agreed?’

  ‘Of course! Thank you.’

  ‘One sec.’ He’s gone again. ‘I’ve filled your dad in, and sent him the revised consents to sign. And…he’s signed them. All done. All sorted.’

  After he’s gone, Sally gives me a weird look. ‘You’re looking pleased with yourself. You think you’ve got what you wanted?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘I really hope so,’ she says. ‘I really hope it works out for you, Luna.’

  Her words feel sincere, and a worried frown lurks between her eyes. I’m filled with disquiet.

  19

  Late that night, I take a few ANDs, plug in and knock on Melrose’s door. This time I wait for her to call out come in before stepping into her virtual space, to make sure I’m not going to interrupt anything.

  But she’s alone. ‘Heh,’ she says.

  ‘Heh. Guess what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not going away; I’m getting a transfer to London University!’

  ‘Totally BB,’ she says, but her reaction is muted.

  ‘What is it? Is something wrong?’

  She sighs, crosses her arms. ‘Hex told me placements can’t be changed, that he has no choice but to go where they’ve told him to go.’

  ‘I don’t think you usually can. It’s like a health exemption, because I don’t want to go because of Nanna being ill.’ I explain to her what happened with Rafferty, but I’m not sure she believes me – or more, believes Hex.

  ‘I’ve gotta go,’ I say finally.

  ‘Why?’ She’s surprised. ‘Stay. Hex should be here any minute; we’re going to Jezzamine’s wake. Come with us! It’ll probably go all night.’

  I can’t. My body is yawning in the PIP – I need some sleep. I make apologies, back out into my Realtime hallway. I’m about to unplug when a door pops up on the wall in front of me. An invitation on it to Astra Remembered. Again? There is a rush at the thought of seeing Gecko, and pain at the memory of last time, when after everything all he wanted was Jezzamine. I sigh.

  Choices: accept it, and go through the door. See if Gecko is in there. Run the risk of other Astra stalker weirdos clocking me. Or reject it. See if Gecko drops out of the ceiling like the last time. Or the final choice, last of all: ignore it, and walk away.

  I’m pretty sure I should just walk away, but my hand seems to raise of its own accord, hesitates, then hits reject.

  Silver lines form a hatch above me almost at once; it solidifies, opens. A ladder drops down.

  Seconds pass: no Gecko.

  I peer upwards; the space through the hatch is dark.

  ‘Gecko?’ I call out. No answer.

  Going up there on my own might not be the smartest thing to do, but my feet start up the ladder.

  I peer through the hatch at the top, still on the ladder. As before, it is dark, and winds whistle past strangely, in bursts and starts. As my eyes adapt I see faint lights streaking around me, crackling, almost like static.

  ‘Gecko?’ I say, tentatively, but my voice seems ripped away by the wind so I hardly hear it myself.

  There is a faint trace of silver leading from the hatch that suddenly moves, changes into words: This way, Luna, and then forms an arrow.

  I climb the rest of the way through the hatch and step off the ladder with one foot, tentative as the floor looks more like nothingness than a solid thing. But it feels firm enough, and I step forward with the other foot, off the ladder.

  I sense rather than see movement, and turn back just in time to see the hatch and ladder vanish.

  There is fear clutching at my insides, saying I could get lost and be trapped up here forever. But it is pushed down by excitement.

  The arrow at my feet pulses a little brighter and I start towards it. It keeps pace with me, just in front all the while, and focusing on it helps me not freak out in the huge dimensionlessness of this place. The static lights snap around me still; the wind is at times gentle and almost seems to caress my skin; other times it is fierce, like a slap, whipping my hair around. I wish I’d tied it up and then, all at once, it is: pulled back in a ponytail. Then the arrow stops, and a faint silver line appears in the blackness before me, stretches out to form a large rectangle. Solidifies into a door.

  I reach to open it. Inside there is dim light from silver-etched walls; after the darkness outside, it seems overly bright. I blink and step through.

  ‘You came!’ Gecko grips tight to my hand, warm and solid. And the weirdness of the walls fades away; the room seems to solidify more with him in it, with his dark eyes staring at mine.

  ‘Hard to resist an invitation like that: what girl doesn’t like to climb a ladder into all that weirdness?’

  ‘Sorry about that; the void can be unsettling if you’re not used to it. I would have come myself, but there are tracers looking for me everywhere. It’s a bit needle-haystack, but just in case they pin my location, I didn’t want to lead them to you.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Come.’ He pulls me to a bench against the wall, and we sit down. ‘This may be a shock, but I had to warn you.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Jezzamine’s death wasn’t an accident.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She didn’t turn off the automatic system; it was tampered with.’

  I stare at him, shocked. ‘Who’d want to kill Jezzamine? She wasn’t the warmest person in the world, but… No, wait. That can’t be true. I haven’t heard anything. Everybody would know if it was being investigated.’

  ‘It’s not being investigated.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Officially, it was an accident. The original report was suppressed and altered.’

  ‘How would you know this?’

  ‘I have…ways. Of tracing records.’

  ‘But why’d you say you had to warn me?’

  ‘Think about it. Jezzamine, the one who could see the Implant images weren’t real, dies in an accident. You knew they weren’t real, too.’

  ‘But what about Danny?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The boy next to me when you thought I was shot. He could tell the images weren’t real, too. Like Jezzamine.’

  ‘Do you know what school he went to?’

&nb
sp; ‘I’m not sure.’ I frown, concentrating. ‘He was in white at the party – I think he was. But this is crazy. Why would they be targeted? Who by? I don’t get it.’

  ‘I haven’t figured it out yet, but I’m going to. Be careful, Luna.’

  ‘Why? It’s different for me. I haven’t got an Implant, so I couldn’t see the images at all.’

  ‘But you know. Knowledge can be dangerous.’ He takes my hand. ‘I also wanted to say goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye? What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m in hiding. Not just here,’ he says, and gestures at the virtual space. ‘But my body as well: I’m going away, far away. Nobody is going to hold me against my will, ever again.’ His words and eyes are fierce, and I remember what he said on the dark balcony at the test centre: that the one thing he wants, more than anything, is freedom.

  ‘You don’t just mean when we were trapped at the test centre, do you?’

  He doesn’t answer at first, then shakes his head. ‘I’m a bit messed up. Sure you want to know?’

  ‘Only if you want to tell me. We all have our secrets.’

  ‘Mine is ancient history.’ He shrugs, as if that means it shouldn’t be important. ‘My parents were both S’hackers, as was my grandfather. But he refused it; he was convinced it was evil, and that if he stole me from them and kept me under lock and key, he could knock the evil out of me. He tried, I’ll give him that.’

  I look at him in horror – the boy he was still lurks in the pain in his eyes, then hides away.

  ‘My parents had disappeared by the time I escaped years later. I was thirteen.’

  ‘They disappeared?’

  ‘Another long story,’ he says, and shutters are closing in his eyes. One he doesn’t want to tell.

  ‘So you were locked up all those years: that’s why you said freedom was your one thing.’

  ‘Exactly. And that’s why I have to say goodbye. There’s no way I’m going to PareCo’s Think Tank. I’m going away where they’ll never find me.’

  ‘You got that placement, too?’

  He holds still. ‘Tell me you’re not assigned to the Think Tank.’

  ‘I was, but I got a transfer.’ And I explain all that happened.