Halfskin

by Tony Bertauski

  “Wonderful. I’ll be landing in a couple hours.”

  “Good. I’m sure Janine will be glad you’re home. I read your report.”

  There was a long pause, like he was still thumbing through it. Marcus had submitted a detailed report of the hotel incident that morning. If there were plans to cut him out of the loop, that report would highlight his importance.

  “A little over the top, Marcus. A bit hysterical.”

  “Sir, you’ll need to turn off your phone,” the stewardess said. The woman next to Marcus closed her laptop and laid her head back, eyes closed.

  “Nothing about this is hysterical,” Marcus said. He cupped his mouth over the phone and spoke low. “We’re talking full-scale vulnerability if this gets out. Do you know how long it will take information of this type to go viral? There are garage hobbyists that can code designer biomites if they get the right protocol. They can seed themselves. They’re all looking for a way to get off M0ther’s radar.”

  “This sounds more like an anomaly. It’s happened before, someone gets lucky, finds a new frequency, and M0ther cues in on it. They’ll be back online within weeks, Marcus. I don’t want you releasing anything to the press, nothing that will shake the public’s confidence. This will take care of itself.”

  “No.”

  “I hope you’re not refusing a direct order.”

  “I’m saying no, this will not blow over. Trust me on this, this is big. We cannot sit back and let this solve itself. I want my staff doubled and put on full priority. I’ll need to monitor all Internet chatter, track if she’s leaking out her discovery. And, if we find them, we’ll be able to access their biomites, find out what she did—”

  “Sir? You need to shut your phone off.”

  Marcus held up a finger. The stewardess lost her happy face.

  “I’m not sleeping until this is over.”

  He hung up and turned it off. Held the phone up so the stewardess could go on her way before others started looking and staring. Marcus stared at the wall in front of him the entire flight. The pain kept him awake. But that was good.

  He didn’t want to sleep.

  63

  CALI ATE THE LAST CHUNK of cantaloupe, chewing slowly. Let the juice fill her mouth before swallowing. She sat back and looked off the veranda at the view of the mountains, remembering something someone once said.

  Sour makes sweet.

  She’d had plenty of sour, to the point she didn’t taste the sweet. But now, one chunk at a time, she savored the release of sticky goodness. She’d been sitting at the table since the kitchen opened, one of the first to arrive. The morning was cool. She held a coffee cup with both hands just below her chin, the steam on her cheeks. The sun came up as a hot coal beyond the valley, throwing shadows over the verdant turf as it fought through the low-lying clouds.

  It had been her idea to stop in North Carolina.

  We’re far enough, she’d said, from the backseat. Find the Asheville exit.

  Nix hadn’t argued. Exhaustion had depleted him. But when she told him to find the Grove Park Inn, he threw a fit. Too public, he said. Need to find a dive, somewhere crack dealers sleep.

  Trust me.

  She remained in the backseat while they drove another hour in silence. It was dark by the time they found the inn. Nix wasn’t surprised there was a room waiting for them and didn’t ask how she’d done it. Maybe he was too tired.

  He fell on the bed, asleep. Cali stayed up. She pulled open the curtains and sank into a cushioned chair, watching the stars pop out of the sky. To anyone watching, she looked like someone enjoying the view, but it was quite the opposite. Inside, she was surfing the Internet, playing the information on her mind’s eye. It was effortless, like a second language. She’d never need a computer again. Currently she was using the hotel’s wireless Internet connection, but soon she’d set up a Verizon account under a false name and configure the new breeds to behave like a cell phone. She’d have access at all times.

  She was thinking like a computer, speaking a binary language. She’d placed the reservation at Grove Park Inn long before they reached it. She went back to Hertz Rental Car and deleted all records of the car they were driving. Not only had it not been leased to a customer at the Red Roof Inn, it never existed. No one would ever look for a white Ford Focus.

  And the ATM at the gas station? She simply withdrew from the last customer’s account.

  It was stealing, she was aware. And guilty. But she wouldn’t continue. Just until they were settled and could create new identities. New lives. Make their own money. It shouldn’t be hard.

  They spent two days in the room, mostly sleeping. It took a while to get back to normal.

  Or as close to normal as Cali could get.

  It was the third morning that she went to the veranda and ordered cantaloupe. Nix woke up about 10:00. Cali sensed it. She followed his movements to the bathroom as he looked for her. She sent a thought.

  [Come for breakfast. You’ll love the view.]

  He wasn’t thrilled she was hanging out in public, but the tone of the thought gave him hope. She had teetered on the edge of an emotional abyss for days. There was still sadness in her voice, desperation in her thoughts. She could work through her realization.

  Surviving was the first step.

  Nix sat down across from her, a plate of eggs and bacon waiting. He was hungry but stopped and looked to gauge her condition. When she nodded, he filled his mouth. He was halfway through the food before saying anything.

  “Why are we out here?” he asked.

  “No one knows us. And no one is looking for us. The incident never really became a story. The feds are keeping this one quiet.”

  “Someone’s looking.” Another bite of eggs. “He’s looking.”

  Cali blew across her coffee. Marcus Anderson would always be looking. She would be proactive on that front. She needed something to convince him they weren’t worth the effort. They weren’t hurting anyone.

  They just wanted to be left alone.

  “He’ll stop,” she said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  She didn’t mean to say it like that, it was just… she didn’t have a whole lot of space for emotions; she was quick to snap. There was still a lot to sort out.

  She sipped. He ate.

  Truth was, she didn’t know a lot of things. There were no easy avenues. There was much grief to process; she couldn’t just turn off the thoughts and hope it would go away. She needed to feel the depth of her loss and grieve for the loss of a beautiful daughter and wonderful husband. The loss of so much. And the guilt for, once again, surviving when so many didn’t.

  So much work to do.

  But, for now, there was waking up. There was her brother pushing the plate away and downing a glass of orange juice. His eyebrows had returned along with an inch or so of hair on his head. There was even the hint of whiskers. Just an eighteen-year-old boy. A hungry one. A healthy one.

  That’s all she wanted.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He slid the empty glass onto the table and wiped his mouth. “For what?”

  She nearly smiled. “I asked a lot from you when I built the illusion of… Avery.”

  Her name was a lot harder to say than she expected. She pinched herself for showing emotion like that in public. Like that in front of Nix. Not now. Not yet.

  “You still supported me, even though you knew it was wrong.”

  Nix folded his hands on his lap. He looked out across the mountains. There were no tears, no glassy eyes, but his voice was weak. “I miss her, too.”

  She almost lost it and hid her quivering bottom lip in the coffee cup. She sniffed, holding it together. Didn’t want to make a scene, not that anyone would recognize them. If she opened that gate, it would be difficult to close.

  Cali didn’t have to pretend Avery was there; she didn’t have to remember that she had died while she spoke to the illusion.
r />   Nix did.

  “It hurts, brother,” she whispered.

  “I know, but I like you better this way.”

  They studied the view. Drank more coffee. Nix ate another breakfast. When they were ready to go, Cali put the bill on the room that would be erased before they left. But they would stay a bit longer.

  64

  The office doors were wide open.

  It wasn’t that Marcus didn’t close them, he just didn’t lock them. The kids hit them like pile drivers, launching the doorknobs into the bookshelves as the hinges groaned. Three of the boys, William, Andrew, and Clifford, chugged into the office single file, like a juvenile train on a mission to see their daddy.

  “Ho!” Marcus threw up his hands like stop signs. “Slow down there, boys!”

  They lined up at the corner of the grand desk, snickering. Marcus pulled at the edge of the laptop, turning the screen away from them. Not that they knew what any of it meant. It was just habit.

  “Now, one at a time,” he said. “What do you want?”

  They didn’t want anything, really. Half-dressed on a Saturday, the boys wondered what their daddy was doing. And to see if they could use his wheelchair. That was the deal. When he was sprawled out on the bed, they could take turns running each other up and down the hallway if—and only if—the housekeeper was there to supervise. Marcus was supposed to be walking on his reconstructed knee, not pampering it with the wheelchair.

  The physical therapist could kiss his ass.

  William started off with, “Sir, uh…”

  Marcus’s leg was still braced and stuck straight out, supported by the wheelchair’s bracket. William nervously pinched at his dad’s big toe. It tickled, but the young man’s cold fingers felt good.

  “Sir,” he started again, “can we use the wheelchair, please?”

  “Does it look like I’m using it?”

  They nodded, straight-faced. They were old enough to interpret their dad’s expression correctly. It was not time to play.

  “Have you done your chores?”

  “Yes, sir,” the three of them said.

  “Good. Brushed your teeth?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, do it again. Teeth can’t be too clean.”

  They didn’t really need to brush their teeth, he just ran out of things to say. Their faces slumped. Even William’s.

  “Tell you what, I’ll let you take the chair for a ride after lunch.”

  He patted Clifford on top of the head, stiffly.

  They cheered. Ariel, the housekeeper, corralled them before they stormed out. They weren’t going to brush their teeth. No big deal. Ariel closed the doors behind her, without having to be asked. Too bad she didn’t lock them.

  He turned the sound up on the TV, waiting to hear a story on Cali and Nix. So far, there was none. They’d done a good job keeping it away from the press. He needed to give his staff a bonus; they’d made his life easier, giving him time to make sure this never happened again.

  Once he had some documents prepared and had his team ready, he could make a convincing argument for new halfskin thresholds. Clearly, they were waiting too long to detain and observe. He would propose detainment start at 30%, perhaps a weekend check-in arrangement. Extreme, yes. Some would argue it was the beginning of a new-age holocaust, but cancer has to be cut out to be cured.

  Marcus knew how to bargain. Start high. His proposals would strike fear in the biomite industry and force them to slow down, force them to conform to the government’s regulations. There had to be a precedent that anyone tinkering with biomite transparency would be dealt with swiftly and firmly. There would be no compromise.

  Marcus would not rest until Cali and Nix were apprehended, until he had their biomites analyzed. Until those outlaws were shut down.

  That’s a promise.

  Part of his proposal would include an increase in his operating budget to expand his staff. More agents trained for this sort of confrontation. Also, research to develop biomite resistance to outside influence. Ideally, they needed more purists like Marcus, but he was a realist. They wouldn’t have many candidates to choose from if that was the requirement. Besides, if he was honest, the enhancement of biomite-seeded agents was nice. His men were stronger, faster and smarter. Hypocritical, sure. He chose to fight fire with fire, as long as he wasn’t the one getting burned.

  And when Cali and Nix were located and detained—not if, but when—he would know the exact coding that knocked them off of M0ther’s map. They would have that, and that, he knew, would sway his superiors more than anything. Invisibility was something that should be reserved for the government.

  He’d already arranged for global scanning of facial recognition and personal asset activity. So far, Cali and Nix had completely abandoned their house, bank accounts, automobile… everything. He didn’t expect them to come back. But Cali’s hallucinatory re-creation of her daughter proved a lapse in judgment. He hoped, on the outside chance, they’d make that one swipe of a credit card, that one withdrawal that would give them a lead.

  The doorknob turned. Marcus was about to shout at the kids. He’d make them go outside and play if they came asking again, but his wife stepped inside. He preferred that she knock before marching inside, but it was her house, too. Janine dropped a stack of papers on the desk.

  “I need you to sign these.”

  “What is it?”

  “Refinancing on the house. Remember? We talked about this a few months ago.”

  He flipped the top page. “I’ll read them later.”

  “Just sign, Marcus. I’ve already been through them.”

  He never signed anything without reading, even those contracts that came with software where you just click the box and hit OK. He read those, too. Even if his wife said she read the papers and said it was all right, he read them.

  “How’s the knee?” she asked.

  “Better.”

  “Have you done your exercises?”

  “This morning.”

  She waited, hands on hips. No makeup, just frumpy sweatpants and a loose T-shirt that jiggled without a bra. She looked heavier. Each inhalation pressed her nipples against the fabric. Marcus looked back at the papers.

  The laptop sounded off with an email. He itched to look.

  “I’ve got a conference call in ten minutes with a congressman that’s interested in hearing what I’d like to propose. I promise, right after that, I’ll go through these and sign them.”

  Janine deflated, dropping her chin on her chest. Her gut pushed out. She was preparing to launch a verbal attack. He’d seen that posture before, she was just lining up the words like bullets. She gazed out the bay window.

  Here it comes.

  “What’re you doing?” was all she said.

  He waited for the rest. Instead, she looked at him. Her brow was not stiff, lips not thin. There was nothing there, no expression at all. Like she’d given up, maybe.

  A cold quiver stabbed him.

  “What do you want?” He threw his hands up. “You want me to stop working, is that what you want? This isn’t a forty-hour-a-week job, Janine. I don’t punch a clock; I can’t just take off when I feel like it. You don’t even know what the hell happened, but I can promise you I can’t leave it on the desk for tomorrow so I can watch William hit a home run or Alexander ride his bicycle with no hands. The world depends on me, Janine. On me.”

  He thumbed his chest, a reminder of whose career ranked higher.

  “Everything depends on me right now, Janine. You have no idea. So have Ariel watch the kids. That’s why we pay her.”

  Janine didn’t move. Still expressionless, she listened. Even looked like she was holding her breath. A series of nods were the first sign that she’d even heard him. She turned around, hands still planted on her hips, and paced away. Marcus, silently, thanked his good fortune. He glanced at the email icon in the corner. He reached for the mouse.

  Janine didn’t leave the office. Sh
e faced the bookshelves near the exercise bicycle, looking up. Thinking. This was unusual for her. Too passive. Was she giving up?

  He opened the email. It was short. He read it twice, not understanding.

  I can find anything. Leave us alone.

  He didn’t recognize the username, CNN, no one in his address book that he could remember. He didn’t subscribe to that liberal news outlet and it was certainly no one he corresponded with. He had a very good spam filter, but occasionally one would slip through. This one had an attachment, something he certainly wouldn’t open. The pointer hovered over the trash icon. He looked at the username again.

  CNN.

  C and N.

  The attachment was an .AVI file.

  He downloaded it through virus protection. It came up clean.

  Janine was still there, still thinking. Still quiet. Still looking up.

  Marcus opened the video file.

  At first, he was confused. He looked at Janine, then over her head at the books on the top shelf, then back to the video.

  Finally connecting the dots.

  Marcus turned the sort of gray that a dead man wears beneath the mortician’s makeup.

  Fear stabbed him once again, freezing everything inside.

  He closed the laptop.

  It was a long time before he spoke again.

  65

  THE HORSESHOE CRAB LAY STILL, half beneath the receding wave. The tide was going out, leaving behind ocean detritus to bake in the South Carolina sun. The spiny ridge glistened along the domed shell as saltwater ran off.

  A flower—yellow petals with a burgundy center—fell and stuck to the shell. The next wave knocked it off.

  Cali clenched the flowers in both hands. Her toes sank in the sand as the water washed it from under her feet. When she was little, long before Nix was born, they lived on an island not too far from there. She remembered seeing—every morning when she looked for sand dollars with her mother—the beached horseshoe crabs, dead and dying. They’d flip them over and, sometimes, see a dead carcass stinking beneath.

  A living fossil, her father would say about the horseshoe crab. One of the only things still alive that has fossils dating back 500 million years.