LOCK

by Hollis Shiloh

  I digested this. "So, you think there are actually lots of us, and most haven't been found? I mean, the high-powered ones, who use their, uh, hacking for evil?"

  "It's certainly possible. We just don't know enough yet to say for certain." She looked like she had a few guesses of her own, though. "It is unusual for you to not have any inkling of your ability, I will say. No record of petty crimes, no involvement with theft, no unexplained sources of income."

  "So, the others all had some involvement with crime, even if it wasn't much?" I guessed.

  She hesitated again. "It seems to have been a temptation difficult to resist," she said finally.

  I guess anytime a kid has an amazing ability, it would be hard not to take advantage of it. "It's weird that I didn't know, and didn't have any brushes with petty crime, isn't it?" I said thoughtfully. "You would think I'd have at least some clue."

  She smiled almost affectionately. "Your background information shows you as very much a good, quiet child who stayed in the background and didn't break the rules or make waves. Would you say that's accurate?"

  "Yes," I mumbled, looking down.

  "Maybe you were just never tempted to try doing something you weren't supposed to do that involved locks or hacking."

  I shrugged, feeling embarrassed. That made me sound both timid and goody-two-shoes, a nervous little mouse of a kid who stayed in his room all the time. I mean, that's not far off, but still. I glanced at Neal to see if he was laughing at me silently, but he just seemed interested in the conversation, following along with his alert gray eyes.

  "I definitely didn't like getting in trouble," I admitted. It had been hard enough growing up the youngest of four siblings, figuring out I was gay at a young age and being too shy to do anything about it. Petty crime hadn't made my top ten interests. I hadn't stolen as much as a stick of gum.

  "It's certainly not a bad thing," said Dr. Arnside gently. "If anything, it will help you in the job market. Previous crime on the record is definitely something others with your ability have had to overcome, rather than a recommending factor."

  Which was a nice way of saying they'd had to earn the trust of their current employers, and had probably been viewed with a lot of suspicions at first. And I wouldn't face that hurdle. It was a kind thing for her to say, and it perked me up a bit.

  "I just have to call and let my boss know I won't be coming in to work anymore, and then I can start training right away." I glanced at Neal. "Unless there's some security reason I shouldn't?"

  He spread his hands. "I can't think of anywhere you would be safer."

  I turned back to her. "Will I stay here while I'm training? Will it be with you?"

  "Yes, and yes. I'm the closest thing we have to an expert on this ability right now, believe it or not. I'm excited about working with you. If all goes well, you could easily be trained and certified in under six weeks. These things usually don't take very long, and you could probably have your pick of jobs that fit your skill set by then."

  #

  That night, Neal knocked on my door. When I answered it, he looked sheepish and apologetic. "Don't let me bug you if you're trying to get to sleep." He glanced past me to the empty room where I'd been relaxing moments ago. Was he...looking for something?

  "You're not," I said hurriedly. I might already be in pajama bottoms and a loose cotton t-shirt, but I was definitely ready to spend time with my bodyguard-slash-crush. My bare toes might have curled a little, just from having his attention on me. "What is it?"

  He smiled and held up a laptop hopefully. "Want to watch a movie?"

  I did. Very much indeed.

  It was really difficult not to look meaningfully to my bed in the hopes that he'd curl up there with me, but I managed not to. Instead, we sat on the nicely appointed room's couch, and at one point I offered to get popcorn, all very civilized.

  "Do you have popcorn?" He was surprised.

  "Well, there's microwave popcorn and a microwave, so yes." I wondered how he'd react if I leaned against him. That would be creepy of me, wouldn't it? Taking advantage of a hot guy who was working with me (and watching TV with me in his spare time) and leaning on him. A hot, hot guy...

  Where was I, again?

  He was watching me, a look of something like amusement on his face, mingled with an intent look that seemed to say he knew exactly what I was thinking — that he was hot — and he didn't mind at all. Great. I flattered him.

  "Go on, then," he said.

  Don't mind if I do...

  "Right. Er. Popcorn." I hopped up, and seemed to be a bit turned around, but I headed in the right direction eventually, and he had the grace not to laugh at me.

  If he had any other thoughts about my crush on him, he kept them to himself. There were no long looks, kisses, cuddles, or anything remotely like that. I still had a difficult time concentrating on the movie.

  When we were done, he thanked me for the popcorn and wished me a good night's sleep. I bet it would help if you'd wear me out a little, I helpfully didn't say.

  "I hope it works out for you, the training." Was it my imagination, or did he hesitate? "When you're no longer in danger, I hope you'll contact me and let me know how it's going for you. I'm interested now."

  So am I. But he hadn't meant like that. "Sure. Of course. That'd be great. Make sure I have your information, okay?" I had the feeling we were going to shake hands and wish one another good day; I really hoped that didn't happen.

  "Of course." He looked at me for a moment, then turned away. "Good night."

  "Good night," I said wistfully, and lingered for a moment, watching till he was gone, then shut the door quietly. I leaned my back against it, closed my eyes, and sighed. It wasn't a happy sigh. I'm such an idiot.

  The next day dawned bright and early and involved working with Dr. Julia. (She told me I could call her Julia, but it didn't seem right without the title; she'd earned that fair and square.)

  She said she'd prefer it if Neal could wait elsewhere, not wanting me to be distracted or self-conscious with another person present. I didn't think I would be self-conscious with Neal there, but I knew damned well she was right about me being distracted, so I didn't protest.

  We started on some easy stuff: locks. Regular, everyday, key-operated padlocks. To assuage my unease about them, she made sure I helped lock each of them before unlocking them with (apparently) my power. The goal today was to start to recognize when I was doing it, even if we couldn't get a handle on how.

  I concentrated hard, but even after half a dozen tries with half a dozen different locks, all very similar in design, I just wasn't sensing anything. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought none of them had been locked. I'd have felt tricked again. Instead, I felt vaguely uneasy, like I was faking something, even though nobody thought that.

  Dr. Julia was nice about it, though. She didn't get frustrated with my attempts, and she stayed encouraging. She was interested in how it worked, probably even more than I was, but there was no pressure from her.

  We took a break at lunchtime and went to the cafeteria, talking of other matters. I saw Neal shadowing us and waved him over. He joined without hesitation and sat next to me. He'd filled his plate with pirogues.

  "I couldn't get away with that," I told him, pointing to his full plate. He must burn a lot of calories in his job, to stay as fit as he was and eat that heartily.

  He pointed his fork at me. "I've seen how you usually eat. You'd better fill your plate, and not with French fries."

  I was surprised he didn't call me "young man" while he was at it. I wrinkled my nose at him. "Hey, I don't eat like that all the time! It's rare."

  "Don't argue. Get some veg."

  "Whatever, Mr. Healthy Eater," I retorted. "Anyway, I was going to." That was the truth: I just went for the steak and potatoes first time round, because, honestly, how often do you get that in a cafeteria? They were good, too.

  Dr. Julia seemed faintly amused by our interaction, so I hoped that
meant it wasn't too unprofessional. I'd hate for Neal to get in trouble for being nice to me. Or teasing me. Or anything, really. I'd especially hate it if he got in trouble for —

  Well. He wasn't even interested in doing that. Apparently.

  I suspect my crush was a bit obvious, but Dr. Julia didn't mention it. We went right back to work after we'd finished eating. She cautioned me not to get frustrated even if I couldn't sense anything at all. "If it was easy, you'd already know it." Which was actually pretty sensible.

  I was trying to think of it like that as I opened and closed lock after lock, trying to relax but stay focused as well as follow all the other advice she offered, when someone knocked at the door and a man in a suit entered. He wasn't familiar to me, but his air of authority made him seem like someone in charge — and his worried expression unnerved me.

  "If I might have a word?" he asked Dr. Julia.

  "Director Miles." She sat up a little straighter. "What is it? What's wrong?"

  "I'm sorry to interrupt, but we've just received word that Mr. Palmer's risk number has been updated to a five. That's definitely not as bad as it could be — we're aware, you're in a safe place, Mr. Palmer, and we're investigating — but that it's risen so high in just a few days is cause for alarm. Please don't contact anyone else or leave without informing us. We'll be assigning some extra security, and investigative priority has been bumped up as well."

  "Mr. Webb will still be guarding me, though?" I said, because apparently I was an idiot and that was the first thought that made its way to my mouth.

  He nodded, looking a bit harried. "Naturally. We run a very secure facility. I assure you we'll be doing all within our power to keep it that way."

  I imagined a sign with "It has been 300 days since our last fatal workplace accident" on it, and a frowning Director Miles flipping the numbers all the way back to zero, but fortunately I didn't say that. I nodded.

  "Has something changed recently, aside from your talent's discovery?" he asked me.

  I shook my head, bewildered. "I've stayed here? I called my parents, but I wasn't specific about what I could do, of course. I'm definitely considering a career change — and we've started this training, I guess." I shrugged. Those all seemed related to the talent to me, not like extra risk factors. Evidently, he thought the same thing, because although he looked a bit concerned, he didn't have anything to add.

  Then he apologized for interrupting the lesson; he'd thought I'd want to know. I said no problem, and he left as quickly as he'd arrived, still looking worried. I checked Dr. Julia's face to see how she was taking it.

  She looked a bit worried, certainly, but not like she was going to let it ruin her day. "I'm sure they'll get to the bottom of it," she said. "And in the meantime, you still have your bodyguard out there keeping faithful watch."

  Yes. Yes, indeed, I did.

  And once they'd solved it, he'd be gone, on to charm and protect his next assignee. Ah, well, nothing lasts forever. On the bright side, he'll only go when no one wants me dead.

  "I suspect dwelling on it won't help. If there's anything you need to know or can help with, they'll be in touch. So, let's get back to practice, shall we?"

  We got back to practice. It still didn't feel like I was doing anything at all when I opened the locks. I suspected it was going to take more than a few weeks to fully train and categorize me. If that was even possible.

  "When can we try some digital things? I'd like to see if I do have that hacking ability as well."

  She hesitated. "It's understandable you want to know your limits," she said cautiously. "I'd like to know them as well. But I do wonder at the wisdom of pushing you here at the beginning." She gestured to the locks laid out in front of us. "Even this part is becoming frustrating for you."

  "Yeah, but a break to try something else might help," I argued. "It might make a difference. If I have some ability with electronic locks, wouldn't it be nice to know?"

  It didn't take long for her to agree. She must not have younger siblings. She couldn't hold out against the pleading puppy expression.

  Dr. Julia set me a couple of simple tests, the first one using just her laptop with the password waiting to be put in for access. After that, she tried a phone. Then an online account in her name. It was all very informal, using things she had at hand. (The online account was to a clothing boutique.)

  All fairly simple tests for a hacker, I supposed.

  I failed every one of them.

  "Looks like it's locksmith for me," I said, trying not to show that I was a bit disappointed. (Or relieved? Maybe I was relieved? It was very confusing right now. After all, I didn't actually want to be some kind of super-powered hacker — but having a valued and amazing skill wouldn't have been something I'd mind, either.)

  "Don't be discouraged," Dr. Julia said, looking concerned. "This is why I thought it might have been better to wait. Perhaps when the building blocks are in place — when you realize whether you're using your ability or not, and are more tuned in to it — you might be able to stretch your skills to include something you can't do now."

  "Maybe," I agreed. "I really wanted to know, though." I shrugged. I didn't know what to do with my hands. I hoped I wasn't going to get emotional. "It's not the end of the world even if I can't ever do anything electronic, though."

  "Just try to keep an open mind," she encouraged me. "Now, if you think you're able to keep going, let's try a few more padlocks. Try to relax, but focus on the locks. Can you feel something happening when you open them?"

  We practiced for a few more hours till I needed a break. I was getting restless, tired, and discouraged all at the same time.

  Neal met me outside the practice room and agreed it would be fine to take a walk around the grounds as long as he accompanied me.

  "Did you hear about them upgrading my danger level?" I asked him as we walked. I couldn't help glancing around, wondering if I was being watched for some reason. Nefarious villains who hated locksmiths, perhaps?

  He nodded, looking a bit grim. We were walking very close together. I didn't mind that. Was he aware, though? He seemed kind of distracted. Maybe this was just him being professional again. Ready to protect me at any moment's notice, that sort of thing.

  "Yes, and it's a concern. It's not that a rating of five is so horrible — it might be perfectly acceptable under some circumstances, with expected danger. But the way it's risen so fast, and the fact that we still don't know why you're in danger — that bugs me."

  "It bugs me, too," I admitted.

  He glanced at me quickly. "You'll be perfectly safe. I promise. But I would feel easier if we had some answers at this point."

  "Can I ask you a question?" He nodded his assent. "Why did I, um, show up on their radar as someone in danger, but not as someone who might have an extrasensory thingy?"

  He pursed his beautiful lips. "That's really hard for me to say. For one thing, who knows how clairvoyants work? I know it's not always scientific and straightforward. You showed up on someone's list as being in danger and not as a possible overlooked ability, maybe because there's a priority on danger rather than finding every last person who might deserve a rating and got overlooked? Who knows? I'd like to, I admit, but even if we asked all the right questions of people who knew and would tell us, there might be no answer."

  "I can ask Dr. Julia," I suggested as we rounded a corner to circle the big warehouse-like building.

  He glanced at me. "I doubt she'd know, to be honest. Isn't she an expert in your field?" I nodded, and he went on, "Nobody can be an expert on everything. It's too big for that. I'm just a bodyguard, but I have a pretty good idea of how the organization works, and even so, there are some pretty big gaps in my knowledge about specific things, especially how some of these abilities work."

  "Maybe nobody really understands how they work," I suggested. I really enjoyed talking to him, even when it was just speculation and guesswork.

  Our arms brushed accidentally, and h
e didn't jerk back from me. I certainly didn't jerk back from him. I glanced at him to see if he'd even noticed. He met my gaze once and...something... I could almost have sworn there was an awareness there, a hint that this wasn't all on me, a one-sided attraction, that he was just as aware in his own way, but trying to be professional...

  And then all hell broke loose.

  I could have sworn we were alone on the path around the building, surrounded by flat, boring landscape. One minute, we were walking together and talking; the next, three men in some sort of camouflage disguise with lots of fake weeds hanging from them jumped up from the nearest field and ran over to us. One of them grabbed me, arms behind my back, and I screamed. I'm definitely not at my toughest in such moments. One of them pressed a tazer against Neal's side, and he went down accompanied by a horrible sound like buzzing death. I screamed again. Then something was slapped over my mouth, and I was hustled away between two of them, practically carried. Nobody tazered me, but there was definitely no way I was escaping their terrifying grip.

  A van pulled up, driven by a masked man, and I was hauled bodily inside with the three goons. Behind me, I could hear shouts: the extra security was arriving. But too late. Far too late.

  I crouched in on myself in the corner, hiding my face in my hands, shaking. I'd like to say I was fierce and angry and tried to fight them all off single-handedly, but I wasn't, and I didn't; I was terrified.

  What do you want to bet my risk assessment numbers had just skyrocketed?

  I pictured Neal, going down so suddenly and helplessly. He'd have stopped this if he could have. I pictured Dr. Julia, and my parents when they got the news, and Director Miles saying, "I don't understand! We've never lost anyone from our facility!" And I wished I'd stayed a bookstore clerk. Even if I never got ahead of my student loans, at least I'd be alive.

  I wasn't good for much after that, even if I'd been the sort of action-story hero who could have memorized all the bumps and turns and figured out which way we were going by some arcane compass-like method. Nor was I the brave and bold type who would try fighting my way past four paramilitary men in disguise. Don't get me wrong; it did occur to me that I could get the door open, even if it was locked — assuming I could get past them all (and that was assuming a lot) — but then what? Fling myself from a speedily moving vehicle in the middle of nowhere? I was sure that would end well. The whole point was, I didn't want to die, and I wasn't desperate enough to do something stupid.