Life Within Parole

by RoAnna Sylver

  “Who else? That report you found—were his fingerprints on it?”

  Regan faltered, seeing Jay’s face in his mind. Even imagined, it was hard to meet his dark eyes, so quick, lively, and expressive, how at the hated name they dulled and narrowed at the same time. “It’s hard to say. You could probably tell better once I’m back, run the ID protocol you—”

  “Regan.”

  “It was in his classified files,” he murmured. “Don’t know if that means he wrote the report, or received it. But yes… Turret is involved.”

  For the first time, the laugh in his ear made Regan shiver instead of smile. It was completely devoid of warmth, and it didn’t sound like something that should come from Jay at all. “God, I get tired of being right.”

  “I’m sorry, Jay.” He didn’t get an answer. Nothing issued from the headset but an unaccustomed silence. Regan’s heart sank. “Jay?”

  No typing; even Seven’s purring had ceased.

  “Yeah. You’re right. We’ll talk when I get back.” He took a deep breath and gripped the concrete edge, prepared for the jump.

  “Finally.” The sardonic voice that cut through the silence wasn’t Jay’s. “I thought he’d never shut up.”

  Regan’s blood ran cold. He let go of the cement as if it were red-hot metal and reared back, trying to undo his half-sprung leap. He was too off-center, and he pitched forward, twisting his upper body around and scrambling to recover. But the damage was done, it was too late to recover, and he fell.

  Instinct kicked in and he curled into a ball, keeping his head off the ground as he hit.

  “Wow. That was… a little much. But funny.”

  Regan lay motionless on his back where he’d fallen, frozen in terror. The wind was knocked out of him and he couldn’t get it back.

  “If I’d known I’d get reactions like that, I’d talk to you more often. You have no idea how bored I get.”

  The shock of adrenaline burned through his system as a telltale cold shudder ran down every inch from fingertip to toes. His chameleon-skin still felt chilled like he’d been doused in ice water; if he looked down he’d see himself fading into nothing. But he didn’t. Regan’s eyes stayed wide open and staring, fixed on someone directly above him—who stared right back down.

  “Hi,” said the boy with long white hair, floating a couple feet in the air. His arms were folded across his chest and he looked mildly put out, as if Regan were the one who’d interrupted him. Lazily he leaned forward, tilting himself down until he was hanging almost upside-down in midair, and he and Regan were almost nose to nose. During all this time he never blinked his bright blue eyes, or shifted his sleepy-eyed, slightly condescending stare. Regan didn’t blink or look away either. He couldn’t. “So, I hate to bug you in the middle of a run, but have you thought any more about my offer?”

  Regan could still barely breathe. It took every bit of concentration to make himself hiss out the word between clenched teeth. When it came out at last, the ending was choked, as his throat nearly closed over his rising panic, neck frill beginning to twitch in involuntary tremors. The name became a terrified, half-strangled hiss.

  “Hans.”

  ☾

  “Regan?” Jay’s nervous drumming started up again as he stared at the still figure displayed on his camera feed. He leaned forward, so close his nose almost touched the screen, willing the small image to respond. “Hey. Talk to me. Can you hear me?”

  His long, thin limbs, usually splayed out on any available surface, such as the dozens of computer consoles and boxes piled on all sides of his swiveling chair, were bent and cramped as he hunched over his keyboard. Multiple screens covered the wall displaying maps, camera feeds, and vital signs. the only light source in the small room. The pale glow lit up shapes and shadows in an eerie light, bright rectangles reflected in the lenses of the sunglasses he wore despite the dark.

  “I don’t think he can hear me,” he said, half-turning to look down into a pair of bright green eyes that stared up at him, gleaming in the dim lighting, too sharp and smooth to be organic. “This is bad, Seven.”

  “Mrrrr.” The cat that stared back at him looked like a perfectly normal Himalayan, aside from the green eyes instead of the usual blue, and the exposed metal cogs, gears, and hydraulics. The long, silky, synthetic, but very lifelike fur that covered most of her body was missing only in a few isolated patches; her right flank and left eye were bare, revealing the intricate workings underneath.

  “Um, okay, new request.” Jay’s eyebrows came together as he considered; she noted the tension in his forehead.

  “Mah.” Her fluffy tail quirked in a question mark as she waited. Her eyes almost looked worried too, but they were fixed on him, not the screens.

  “Enter health-scan mode.”

  Seven didn’t need to enter this specific mode to tell something was wrong. Jay’s long, black ponytail, neat this morning, was disheveled. Even if the harsh light hadn’t washed most color out in the dark, his skin, ideally a warm copper-brown, would have looked unhealthily pale. The room was cool for Parole, and the wrinkled T-shirt he wore had the sleeves cut off, but his skin was still clammy under a sheen of sweat. She jumped up onto the desk to sit next to his arm, almost on the keyboard.

  “Hi. Okay, display ground unit’s blood pressure, cardiac rhy—wait, you already are, and they’re abnormal,” Jay murmured, taking off the dark lenses and pressing the heels of his hands against his tightly closed eyes. The worn-soft material in the palms of his fingerless gloves was familiar and grounding. “Uh, refine alert parameters. Monitor my vitals. Alert if they get, uh… any more abnormal. Engage.”

  Seven hopped back down to the floor while maintaining a close watch on her primary (and favorite) human. She altered her settings from their current focus—Regan, human adult, 28, custom preset: modify parameters for Chrysedrine enhancements, modify for reptilian adaptational traits, modify for anxiety disorder, runtime session currently active, modify for adrenaline and physical stress—back to basics. Jay, primary/default preset, human adult, 27, Tsalagi Native American, no Chrysedrine enhancements or adaptational modifiers, modify for previously noted Vitamin D deficiency, modify for noted insomnia, runtime session currently active.

  Warning Override: psychological stress already beyond ideal parameters. Warn if heart rate increases.

  Warning: pain expressions and muscle tension upon contact with bare left ankle.

  “Mr-mrah!”

  “Yes, my foot still hurts. Maybe that means you shouldn’t mess with it.” Jay turned back to the screen and now tried not to look at Regan’s image while he shrank that screen and turned his attention to another, a map with several illuminated points with names beside them.

  “Okay, let’s see if we got any friends in the neighborhood,” he murmured.

  “Mreh.”

  “Not talking to you this time. Actually,” he corrected, turning to look at his feline runtime assistant. “Spectrum frequency scan, please. See what’s blocking these signals. We either ran into some serious interference, or someone’s doing the interfering. I really, really hope it’s… oh. Engage.”

  Shaking his head, Jay turned back to the map and began to run down the list. “Regan is… here. And we got…” He bit his lip as he assessed the distance between Regan’s dot and the nearest other. With each name he spoke, their point glowed bright and the distance displayed. “Let’s start with the best. Celeste? Almost four miles out, probably on a run. Evelyn? Even farther—why’s everyone so spread—okay. Rowan? Please, just be in the library, they never leave the library, th—of course they go out tonight, why not, everything else has gone wrong. Too far. Stefanos? …The hell’s he doing on the top floor of… Okay. Think. Rose and Danae are, of course, clear across town. And they’re out of the game anyway, I’m not pulling them… so who else do I even—”

  “Mraahhh.” A soft paw batted at his arm.

  “Right.” Jay made himself take a breath and slowly let it out. “See
? I’m breathing. Okay. No friends in range. So that… who do we have left?” He hesitated. “Show me Garrett Cole.” Nothing happened. No light appeared. “Oh come on. Don’t give me this tonight, now my locator’s—never mind!” Frustrated, he shut the program down.

  “Okay. What now? Think.” His long fingers hovered nervously over the keyboard for a few long, tense seconds—then he turned around entirely and flipped a small switch on a nearby console. At the same time he stretched one foot out into the dark room, hooked a pair of headphones much larger than Regan’s small earpiece, and jammed them on just as a sunny girl’s voice came through.

  “CyborJ!” Radio Angel squealed instantly, clearly one of Parole’s people who did and knew things they shouldn’t, like recognizing callers’ voices before they even spoke. Even more remarkable, every single person in Parole knew her voice too. “You did it, I love you! I knew you could, you’re—”

  “Yeah—listen, Kari? Can you get ahold of someone for me?”

  “Of course! Having trouble with your comms?” The setup routine might as well have had a flashing neon sign.

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t bite, anxiety instead of a mock-indignant punchline. “Something’s wrong.”

  “What is it?” Her joking tone dropped in an instant. “I’m here.”

  “Regan’s not responding, I can’t raise him on any audio frequency.”

  “Visual?”

  “Yes. Creepy, bad—he slipped, fell, something, he’s on his back.”

  “Oh gosh! Location?

  “Southeast of the Crater, Ex-Arbor Street.”

  “Jeez, that’s like volcano central, what’s he-”

  “Runtime.”

  “Mrah.”

  “What was—”

  “Uh, vitals monitor.”

  “Cute alarm. Immediate danger?”

  “He dropped on a low-level complex roof, address is-”

  “That’s not a thing to me anymore, Jay, what’s it look like? Fire?”

  “Uhhh, it’s like the only brick building still standing. He won’t burn up, but he’s not doing great either… He’s trying to sit up, I think he’s talking but I can’t read lips?”

  “Well, I probably could, but I can’t see him, so that doesn’t help. Okay, anyone nearby?”

  “Locator says negatory. But I think it’s on the fritz.”

  “Oh wow, comms and maps messed up?”

  “Yes, I guess so.” Jay barely kept the panic out of his voice; it could too easily turn to anger. He rested his elbows on his knees and eyed Seven, as if daring her to interject. “It’s telling me Garrett isn’t even in Parole, and we know that’s not right. We are here, we are all right here, it’s just that all our friends are too far away to help—so I need you.”

  “You need me to find if anyone else is running dark tonight.”

  “Right. Please find someone. I… I can’t.”

  “Gotcha again. I’d ping Celeste, but she’s—occupied.”

  “I saw. Everyone’s occupied.”

  “Hang on, hon, I’m asking, I’m listening...” She paused—but in the background, her voice continued. Many different versions of her voice, layered over one another, speaking different sentences, asking questions at different volumes and distances, as if there were six or seven of the same girl in one room all speaking at once. “We got Zilch.”

  “Ahhh!” Jay’s shoulders sagged as he half-collapsed, but it wasn’t from disappointment. He smiled, weak with relief. “Can they make it?”

  “Honey, they are already on their way. Wanna say hi?”

  “Please!” Jay tried to catch his breath; it felt as if he’d just sprinted much too far, and his head spun.

  “CyborJ.” A new voice spoke, low, so regular it bordered on the monotone, dry and somewhat croaking with a pronounced vocal fry. “I know where I’m going, and I know Regan’s in deep or you wouldn’t be calling me. But that’s all I know. Fill in some gaps?”

  “Well, he’s malfunctioning something fierce.” Jay frowned, staring at Regan on the screen. Slowly, the small image of his runtime partner sat up. “He’s conscious, and he’s sitting up now, but something is seriously un-right, I’m thinking concussion, some latent internal injury... not to mention cutting our signal.”

  “Something cut your commline? You still can’t get through?”

  “He won’t answer. First time, ten years. I’m talking, he’s not hearing me.”

  “That is... worrying.” Zilch’s voice was never that expressive, and this, combined with their deadpan humor, made it hard to tell when they were joking, serious, or scared out of their mind. Jay hoped it really wasn’t the last one.

  “Z, I would be hiding under the bed if all my crap wasn’t set up on this wall.”

  “Well, not to add to the concern, but if your security’s been compromised, I suggest radio silence.” Zilch’s cool voice almost made the words more terrifying.

  “Right, right, oh God, signal search and destroy. They might be trying to get a lock.” Jay ran both hands through his hair, then did it again, harder. “Yeah, good call.”

  “He’s on the next block. I’ll be right there,” Zilch promised, and even though their voice was flat as ever, the words just felt warmer. “Going dark now—catch me onscreen in five. Whatever’s got him, I’ll get them first, CyborJ. Just sit tight.”

  “Yeah. I’ll be right here.”

  Jay curled his long legs up, pulling his knees close to his chest and resting his chin on them. He wrapped his arms around them and curled into as tight of a ball as he could, staring at the wall of screens displaying security feeds and vital signs that had never seemed so threatening. Seven sat just as still and unwavering as the Egyptian Sphinx, staring at the disturbing displays right along with him. The room was much too silent.

  “Compromised. I’ve been compromised. This happens to other people, not—this isn’t supposed to—no. No, no no...Seven?” He raised his voice; it stayed just as tight. “Run program... uh... uh, run...” He stopped, swallowing hard.

  The cat’s synthetic but warm, soft-furred head gently butted against his knuckles until he opened his hand, and soft purrs filled the room. Slowly, Jay lowered his head down onto his desk, and breathed.

  ☾

  Regan did not breathe. He didn’t move a muscle. He stared up at the apparition in black skinny jeans floating in front of his face and fought the urge to run, scream, or fade away into nothing. Instead, he focused on remaining upright without passing out, neck frill flaring out and dropping down with every deep breath.

  “Well?” Hans prodded, looking mildly put out. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  He didn’t. Slowly he reached up to adjust his headset, and the young man’s sharp features twisted into a mocking smile. Just because he looked like a teenager didn’t make any of this less terrifying.

  “He can’t hear you,” Hans explained patiently. “I cut the signal. Guess you might call me, uh… a ghost in the machine?” He waited, as if expecting his captive audience to laugh.

  “Why?” Regan managed to whisper, though his throat still felt painfully tight.

  “Why what?” Hans looked disappointed that Regan hadn’t appreciated his little joke. “Why’d I want a little privacy, talk to you one-on-one?”

  Regan nodded, not trusting his voice.

  “Because I want to hear your answer,” Hans said slowly, as if this should all be very simple. “About the offer I made a week ago. The one you couldn’t refuse? Getting out of here?”

  Silence. Hans waited. When he finally got an answer, it wasn’t the one he expected.

  “CyborJ.”

  “What about him?” Hans stared blankly, giving his head a little shake.

  “Not leaving… without…”

  “Oh, God, that guy? We just got some peace and quiet.”

  Regan stared. He thought he was recovered enough to talk in a regular tone now, but stayed silent anyway.

  The young man floating above hi
m gave a dramatic sigh and flopped back, flinging his arms out like falling backwards onto a bed. Instead he folded his arms and floated on his back, staring up at the sky and barrier. “He got a name, or…?”

  “Jay.”

  “Like, besides his screen name or whatever? I don’t call you Lizard or… Stealth Infiltrator Whatever, even though that’s what you are.”

  “His name is Jay.”

  Hans thought for a second. “Yeah, because that definitely makes sense for a genius hacker, just put your name right in your…” He shook his head and rolled over so he was lying down in midair level with Regan’s face, resting his chin in his hands. “Actually, I don’t care. Do we have a deal or not?”

  Regan took a deep breath. Shut his eyes. Thought about living. “Get us out of here.”

  “Sure, you bet. Long as you kill Garrett Cole.”

  “What?” His eyes flew open. When he forced them back into focus, past the shock and clinging fog and the wild conviction that he’d misheard, he saw Hans’ blue eyes staring back at him: sleepily amused, and much too calm.

  “You heard me.”

  “You didn’t say anything about—you want me to kill someone? We never—”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, my mistake.” Hans was suddenly much closer, and his eyes much narrower. “What is it you do, again? Sneak into places you shouldn’t be, see and hear things you shouldn’t see and hear, find every secret, grab every shiny thing… and sometimes you make people disappear. Right? Oh, but only the bad ones. Then you disappear, right before our eyes, Mister Magical Chameleon, it’s go time, it’s runtime. No job too big, dangerous or bloody. Right?”

  “No.” Regan glared right back—and then he slowly got to his feet, refusing to lean on the wall for support. “This is not right. This is not what we agreed on. And I’m not turning on my employer—”

  “Right, the guy who decides who disappears and who gets to stay not-disappeared.”

  “And my runtime partner—”

  “Right, ‘cause he’d totally never decide that you’re too dangerous not to disappear someday. You’re totally not having second thoughts right now. You’re absolutely not on the verge of… I don’t know, something.”