Scan

by Walter Jury

  “And he’s not human.”

  She glances back at me. “No, he’s not.”

  “And he knows it.”

  She nods.

  “Is he part of the Core?” She’d go to someone powerful, and if he’s not human, he must be part of the H2 elite.

  “He was, at one point. But he isn’t anything like Race. He won’t want to keep this technology from humans. He favors the balance of power and wants to broker mutual trust between The Fifty and the Core.”

  “And you told him about the scanner?”

  Her cheeks darken a shade.

  “Did Dad know?”

  Her mouth forms that tight line that tells me she’s feeling so much more than she’s going to say, and suddenly, I realize—“Mom, is this why you guys broke up?”

  A strangled sort of noise bursts from her throat. “It was right after your father confided in a few of The Fifty about the H2 ship debris his family had been keeping secret. He’d just discovered what it could do, and what the implications might be. I’d met Charles through another colleague, and we’d recognized each other for what we are. Over the years, we’d slowly formed a friendship, and I knew he could help. And more than anything, I wanted to help Fred. Your father was so horrified by what people like Brayton and Rufus wanted to do with it, and he was so isolated. Pulling away from everyone. Angry at everyone. I begged him to meet with Charles, to hear him out, thinking that together, they could find a peaceful way to deal with the technology without destroying something that could be truly important or putting either side at a disadvantage. He refused. In fact, he was enraged with me—he said I’d betrayed him.”

  She quickly swipes a tear away with her sleeve. “Your father had been through so much at that point, with all sides trying to find out what he was up to and how far he’d taken it. Race Lavin seemed to suspect something, because he dragged your father in for questioning on more than one occasion, citing anonymous tips about threats to homeland security. Your father had already taken precautions and Race couldn’t find anything, but it drove Fred further within himself. He didn’t trust anyone. Including me. Especially me at that point. And I realized it was my fault, so I—I left. I wanted to give him some space, and it ended up being permanent. I’m sorry, Tate.”

  The hurt in her voice is so intense that it silences me. I totally get why my dad was mad. I would have been, too. But . . . damn. It caused both of them incredible pain. It broke up our family. Couldn’t he have forgiven her? I stare out the window and watch the world go by, wishing away the ache in my throat.

  Mom draws a long breath through her nose and slowly lets it out. “Charles won’t hand the scanner over to Race, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s no longer part of their organization, but he’ll know how to deal with them, and may even be able to get them to call Race off. And the Core wouldn’t suspect we’d go to one of their own, which is why we’re headed there instead of Chicago. I spoke with George—”

  “I know. I talked to him.” I look down at the sleek, black machine at my feet. “But Mom, should we really be taking the scanner to yet another person Dad didn’t trust? Didn’t we just escape from that kind of situation?”

  “Your father wanted to protect his family. So do I. And now that he’s gone, your safety is my responsibility, and I’m going to do everything I can to protect you and your future. If there was any ideal option, I would take it. But unlike the Bishops, Charles does not deal in hate. He only wants peace,” she says with a fierce edge in her voice.

  Frustration and dread hit me at once, making me shiver and sweat at the same time. My dad pulled away from Brayton, who wants to use the technology to build weapons and gain power, or maybe sell the tech back to the H2 for a profit. My dad stayed away from Rufus, who would use the technology to tell him who to kill and to reveal the H2 for what they are, sparking a possible war. He let go of my mom, who apparently wants to collaborate with the H2. And he was desperate to keep it from Race, who wants the scanner badly enough to kill whoever’s in his way, even though the Core have successfully suppressed all threats in the past without the scanner’s help, even though they probably have plenty of other wreckage and technology from the salvaged H2 ships. So basically, my dad wanted to keep it away from everyone, and didn’t tell anyone what he thought its purpose should be. And if my mom is right, he never revealed all of his secrets, though I think he was trying to in those final moments before he died. But I don’t know how to figure it out, and I have no idea who or what to believe.

  So I hold on to the one thing I do believe in, and her fingers slide under the back of my shirt and rest against my skin.

  “When will we be there?” I ask.

  “An hour or so,” my mom says. She switches on the radio and tunes it to a local news station. We listen through the weather forecast—more sunny weather on the way—and then through twenty minutes of local and national news, none of which mentions three fugitives carrying technology created from the wreckage of an alien spaceship, fortunately. As soon as it’s over, my mother turns it off. “They’re still keeping it quiet,” she says, “which tells you how important it is. Race and his team aren’t trusting anyone with this.”

  “Or maybe they’re all in the hospital?”

  She laughs. “They’d love it if you believed that.”

  If my father were here, he would remind me: Pretend inferiority and encourage your enemy’s arrogance. My mom’s absolutely right. “So we should assume they’re still looking for us.”

  “Yes. We can’t stay here long. Charles and I will decide what to do next. I’d like to have you back home by—” She sighs.

  With Dad dead, where is my home? Once again, I’m reminded things will never be the same. Will I even get to return to that apartment in Manhattan, to my friends and to my school? Do I want to? Could I face it? That apartment is empty now, except for a grumpy, hungry cat . . . and a couple hundred deadly weapons and random gadgets, all tucked away in the cave of my dad’s lab. Maybe among those gadgets are a few pieces of an alien spaceship, along with the answers to who or what Josephus is. I bet I could figure out how and why my dad was getting those real-time scans of the world population, too, and possibly even resolve that anomaly that’s causing fourteen to come up as unidentified. And if I have enough time, I could hack my way into those plans that flashed when I touched the population counter’s screen. I need to find out what my dad meant when he said the scanner was the key to our survival, and the answer has to be in his lab.

  So come to think of it, I would like to go back.

  My mom’s phone rings. “Hi, Charles,” she says, her voice filling with the warmth of an old friendship. “We’re just getting into town now.”

  She hangs up and cruises along a few tree-lined streets leading to the campus. We head up a hill, then turn onto a narrow, one-lane street with high garden walls on either side, which then opens up to a parking lot surrounded on three sides by a two-story building. We get out, stretching our legs. Christina looks a lot steadier than she did last night, but I can tell she’s worn out, still feeling the aftereffects of the concussion. She winces as she touches the bandage beneath her hair and gazes at our surroundings.

  “This is the Academical Village,” my mom tells us. “Charles lives and teaches here.”

  We go into the hushed building through the rear entrance from the parking lot and follow a maze of hallways until we reach the lobby. I look out a window to see a huge rectangular lawn surrounded by buildings fronted with wide, columned walkways. At the top of the hill is a domed building.

  “That’s the Rotunda,” Mom explains when she sees me staring at it.

  We walk through the lobby, reading signs that tell us there are lecture halls and classrooms on this level. This place smells of plaster and paint, of well-renovated and preserved history, of treasured tradition. My mom goes up to the elevator and punches a code I
can only assume her friend texted her. It carries us to the second floor, which appears to contain two apartments, and one of them has a placard out front that says “Professor Charles Willetts, PhD, Department of History.”

  I look down at myself, barefoot, torn, smeared with dirt and blood, and straight-up reeking. I can’t believe Christina was actually willing to be close to me all day, and now that I’m fully aware of my sorry state, I take a big step away from her and wonder how soon until it’s socially appropriate for me to sneak away and take a hot shower.

  My mom knocks, and about a second later, the door swings open, like the person inside was waiting with his hand on the knob. “Mitra,” says a voice coming from the level of my waist.

  I look down to see the guy, maybe midsixties, steel-gray hair, and in a motorized wheelchair. His legs are stick thin beneath black dress pants, but his upper body is stout. He reaches up to pull my mother into a hug, and she leans over to accommodate him. “Once again, I’m so sorry for your loss,” he says quietly.

  “Thank you.” She kisses his wrinkled cheek.

  My mom introduces me and Christina, and Charles’s eyebrows rise to his hairline as he regards us. “You’ve obviously been through a great deal,” he says.

  “What have you heard?” I ask.

  His smile fades as his gaze shifts to my mom. “Only to be on the lookout for you. Fortunately, when Race Lavin called yesterday, I was able to convince him I had no idea where you were.”

  “He called?” My mother takes a step toward the door, looking uncertain.

  “It’s all right, Mitra. I suspect he and the Core are calling any of us who are known to have had contact with any of The Fifty. It’s a long list, and I’m sure I’m one of many.”

  I cannot explain it, not really, but I don’t like this guy. Maybe it’s because he’s part of what broke up my parents’ marriage, but there’s something about him . . . I blink and try to shake it off.

  The tension in Mom’s shoulders has loosened. “Thank you for taking us in.”

  Charles is watching her with a worried expression. “Do you have the technology?”

  The tension in my own body rises. “How did I know that would be the first question you’d ask?”

  “Tate,” my mother says in a quiet voice.

  “No, his suspicion understandable and very smart.” Charles ushers us into a sitting room filled with books and a collection of globes, all antique and burnished, lined up along the shelves on either side of the white-manteled fireplace. He motors his chair to a spot next to the leather couch and gestures for us to sit. I look down at its smooth, unspotted surface, hoping this guy has a good cleaning service.

  My filthiness doesn’t seem to be on his mind as he watches me take a seat. “Though I never met your father, I had a great deal of respect for him,” he says. “His discovery will help us learn about our own heritage.”

  “If my dad didn’t trust you, why should I?” I ignore my mom’s dirty look. “I need to hear why you’d be willing to hide us from Race Lavin. Because that guy seems to have a lot of influence.”

  Charles rolls his eyes. “Race Lavin is an enforcer and nothing more. I’ll contact the Core and have them put a leash on him as soon as we’ve moved the scanner to a secure location—” He holds up his hand as I start to interrupt. “Let me finish. We don’t want either side to have the advantage, because we want them both at the table. That means we have to put the device out of their reach before bringing your whereabouts to the attention of The Fifty or the Core.”

  My mother sits across from me and Christina, who’s got her arms wrapped around herself and is staring at the floor, like she hopes no one’s going to notice her. Charles’s eyes settle on her for a moment, possibly weighing her part in all this, and then he turns to my mother. “May I . . . may I see it?”

  Mom opens her bag. My heart begins to pound. She pulls the scanner out and hands it to Charles, who takes it with a puzzled expression. “I thought it would be . . . bigger.”

  “Turn it on,” my mother says.

  He holds it away from himself and flips the switch. He watches its light pass over my mom’s hands, which are folded in her lap and turn blue as the beam caresses them. Then he slants it toward Christina, and its light makes her already pink cheeks crimson.

  “I wish people would stop pointing that thing at me,” she snaps.

  “My apologies,” he mumbles as he slides the light over my arms before turning the scanner off. He didn’t scan himself, but I already know full well what he is. “This is amazing. To think, this technology is actually hundreds of years old. Think of where it’s been, and how it survived an intergalactic exodus . . . Think of what we could do with it.” An odd expression flits across his face. It’s almost like he’s gone into a trance.

  My mother leans forward, frowning. “Charles? Are you feeling all right?”

  He blinks. “What? Oh, yes.”

  “So what exactly do you want to do with it?” I ask, not even trying to blunt the sharpness of my tone.

  “Well, this technology could have been part of the H2 strategy when . . . we decided to come here. Simply put, it helps us find each other. This has implications that go far beyond this planet, young man. What if there were other survivors? What if they’re out there somewhere?” He grins, his eyes alight with eagerness.

  Christina sits up, her eyes a little wider. “Survivors?”

  “Surely it’s clear to you that the H2 who came here were refugees. Such an advanced society, with enough technology to travel through space? They could have taken over this planet. But instead they let themselves blend in. And forget.” He lets out a high-pitched chuckle. “Very few even know what they are.”

  “Wait a minute,” I say. “Are you talking about trying to find H2 out in space? And bring them here?”

  My mother frowns, and I can tell this is something they’ve never discussed before, even though he’s known about the technology for years.

  Charles sits back, and the light in his eyes fades as his gaze travels from me to Christina to my mother. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t do anything without collaborating with The Fifty. This is a chance to forge a permanent agreement. Maybe even reveal the truth of the two intelligent species on this planet, but in a planned way that won’t result in societal unrest. That is the priority.”

  “Really? Because you looked pretty excited about finding a way to call up any H2 out there who feel like paying us a visit, as if we need more of you guys here,” I snap. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Christina rock back like she’s been slapped, but I’m too freaked to think about why. “Mom, I—”

  “It’s okay, Tate,” she says. “We wouldn’t do anything without consulting with The Fifty first. That’s why George is on his way here. He said he’d fly out of Chicago on one of Black Box’s private planes as soon as the board meeting was over. I’m waiting to receive his exact ETA, but he said he’d be here tomorrow afternoon.”

  Charles hands the scanner back to my mother. “I think Tate would feel better if you held on to this, Mitra,” he says.

  Before I can reply, Charles rolls a bit closer and looks up at me, his eyes searching mine. “Trust your mother, son. She’s known me for years, and I have tremendous respect for not only her, but for The Fifty. I might have my own interests, but this situation touches the highest levels of power, and nothing will be done without consensus from all adults who have a stake in it. And we know you’ve been through so much. From what Mitra’s told me, you’ve been resourceful and brave. But this is something you should never have been involved in.”

  I shoot to my feet, unable to look away from his stare. Something you never should have been involved in . . . As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. And the only reason I am involved? The only reason my girlfriend has been shot, and terrorized, and threatened? The reason I lost my dad?

  Becau
se I stole the scanner.

  I’m not an innocent victim in this fight. I fucking created this fight. It’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.

  Charles gives me a sympathetic smile and motors away from me. “Well, Mitra, we’d better get to work if we want to fully understand this device before The Fifty and the Core know we have it. Do you know which parts are the actual H2 technology?” He points to the side of the scanner, to the row of oddly shaped USB ports. “Do you know what those are meant for?”

  Mom tilts her head. “I’m not sure. We could try to remotely access some of my old files, from when Fred and I were working on the technology together. He took it much further after I left him, but we could start there.”

  She stands up and walks over to his desk, an ornate, heavily carved antique with a very sleek-looking desktop computer on it. “Do you mind?” she asks him.

  He rolls over to her and they begin to speak in low tones. It’s like Christina and I aren’t even here. I glance over at Christina. She looks like she might crumble with one word, one touch, and like everything else, I’m pretty sure it’s my fault.

  “I need a shower,” I blurt. What I really need is to get out of this room.

  Charles turns to us, the white-gray glare of the computer screen reflecting off his glasses. “The guest room is down the hall on the right. And I think my son might have left a few things behind the last time he visited.” His gaze flicks toward my feet. “Maybe even a pair of loafers. Help yourself.”

  Christina hasn’t moved. She’s giving off major don’t-touch-me vibes. I want to help, but I have no idea how to fix anything at this point. Also, given that I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, I have no energy to try. My arms and legs are dead weight, just meat hanging from the shell of my body. I have no more fight in me right now. I think of something General Patton once said, about how the body is never tired if the mind is not tired . . . and that’s it. My mind is tired. All of me is tired.

  So I walk down the hall in search of several hundred gallons of hot water to drown myself in, and hope that when I emerge, maybe the world will have righted itself.