Impulse

by Steven Gould

  I would’ve just let them go except for Anika.

  I jumped to the boat.

  The policeman tried to twist around when I hooked his belt from behind, but I added thirty feet a second velocity up and we both rose off the deck.

  I jumped back to the control station almost immediately. The policeman, yelling, rose to fifteen feet before he fell back down. The current had moved the boat sideways enough that he splashed into the water, just missing the gunwale.

  I turned my head to the shordani and grinned. She let go of Anika and leaped off the side of the boat, shrieking.

  Anika looked at me with wide eyes, but she stayed where she was. There were lifejackets under a bench locker and I threw four out, two toward the shordani and the policeman, and two toward the mastaans who’d were swimming toward the boat. The controls were straightforward, a throttle and a wheel, and I gunned the engine, pulling well out of range of the mastaans, then turned the boat back into the shore. The crowd shrank back as the bow skidded up onto the grass but Rama came forward, slowly, followed by Megh, Sathia, Rupa, and Kanta.

  Rama was looking stunned. “How did you sneak onto the boat? You were behind me!”

  I like your version, I thought.

  “And how did you throw the cop into the air?”

  I smiled weakly. “Adrenaline?”

  He opened his mouth to say something else but I cut in. “I’m thinking you might use this boat to take the girls over to that village you found, the one with the Imam from the antitrafficking network? I mean, if you’re okay in a boat.”

  He looked offended. “I’m Bangladeshi. I can handle a boat.”

  “Then, after, maybe you could leave the boat someplace different? Someplace away from here?”

  He looked out into the water. The life-jacketed shordani, policeman, and mastaans had drifted past the end of the refugee camp, well into the current.

  “I’ll take it back upstream to Bhangura. That’s where it belongs.” He gestured at the distant orange dots. “But when that policeman gets to a phone, you probably want to be gone from here, you know?”

  I nodded. “How do you say goodbye in Bangla?”

  “Abar dakha hobe.”

  I smiled at the girls, put my hands together, and said “Abar dakha hobe.” I thought about jumping away, right there, but there was always the chance that the people really thought I’d stowed away on the boat.

  A chance.

  Anika looked upset and said something quickly, in Bengali, her eyes shifting back and forth between me and Rama.

  Rama translated, “She hopes you aren’t leaving because of helping them, that you won’t get in trouble with the police.”

  I shrugged. “I have to get back to school. I could only be here a short time, anyway. Good luck in your new lives.”

  Rama translated.

  Almost in unison, the girls said, “Bhalo achi!”

  I nodded gravely. “Kichhu mone koro na.”

  Back at the tent, the man I’d turned into a tent burrito was stirring. I wondered if he had spinal damage, but he suddenly sat up, twisting back and forth, trying to get clear of the tightly wrapped fabric.

  Can’t be too bad.

  An army corpsman from the clinic tent came over and helped the man worm his way out of the tent fabric. I thought about hiding but was pretty sure he’d never seen what—or who—hit him.

  Behind me, I heard the motor of the police boat rev up again. I looked out to see it pull away from shore with Rama at the controls. The girls saw me looking and waved.

  The man shook off the corpsman and staggered toward the boat, but it was well out from the shore by the time he’d managed ten steps.

  I waved back until the girls were too small to see.

  The man walked toward the shore and found his bleeding compatriot sitting on the grass where he’d been felled by the rocks. The corpsman hadn’t discovered him yet. There was no sign of his gun. I hoped he didn’t have it.

  I went back to the tent and checked inside, looking for anything personal that Mom or Dad may have left. But there were only the supplies: rations, tarps, water filters.

  I stepped back into the screened corner and jumped away.

  * * *

  Dad was at the warehouse.

  He took one look at me and dropped the box of rations he was holding onto the concrete floor. “Are you all right?”

  I nodded.

  “Something happened,” he said. It wasn’t a question. I wondered what my face looked like.

  “Don’t go back to Bangladesh before I talk to you, okay? Want to catch Mom at home.”

  His eyes widened and he jumped before I did. I arrived in my room and stepped across the hall to their bedroom doorway. Dad was standing by the bed looking down at Mom, who was asleep, her mouth open. I stood still, frozen by the naked tenderness on his face.

  He exhaled, then glanced over at me. “She’s fine,” he said.

  I looked down at my watch. Unbelievably, I still had another half hour before I had to be at school.

  Mom stirred, opened her eyes blearily, looking first at Dad, then at me. She mumbled. “—ing okay?”

  Dad nodded. “Shhh. Everything’s fine. But don’t go back to Bangladesh without talking to me, all right?”

  She sat bolt upright.

  “What happened!”

  Well, at least I didn’t have to tell the story to each of them separately. It still took a few moments for Mom to become fully awake. We ended up downstairs at the kitchen table with tea all around.

  “You should’ve come for one of us!” Mom said sharply when I’d barely started.

  I blinked. It was Dad I’d expected to freak out. “By the time I knew I needed you it was too late. The boat was out in the river with Anika.”

  Dad held up his hand to Mom. “Let her finish.”

  I said, “Yeah. I’m going to be late for school otherwise.”

  I finished the story.

  Dad was staring at me, open mouthed.

  “What?” I said. “He was moving when I left, honest.”

  “You can add velocity horizontally?”

  “Any direction, really.”

  He shook his head. “That’s fascinating. I always wondered wh—”

  “It means she could break her neck!” Mom said.

  It took a lot of effort not to reach up and rub my aching shoulder. “Well, I think you should be more upset about my jumping in public and messing up the relief work.”

  Mom bit her lip and Dad smiled slightly.

  “We were done,” Mom said. “We were only hanging around to make sure the chukri girls were taken care of.”

  Dad nodded. “We don’t like to linger in any one country. There’s too much chance that someone will snap a picture that gets to the wrong people. I didn’t used to worry, but the facial recognition software is getting better every year, combing every social network and photo-display site on the planet.”

  Mom tried to look stern, but she couldn’t hold it. “Nobody died and the girls got away. The rations and water filters won’t go to waste.” She smiled tiredly. “I can live with that.”

  Dad shook his head. “But maybe we need to rethink this involving you in the relief projects.”

  My mouth dropped open. “What? I kept those girls safe!”

  “Not you, though,” Dad said.

  Mom said, “That’s not fair, Davy. Especially given your history.”

  “We’re not talking about me,” Dad said.

  I took a deep breath. “You’re right,” I said.

  Dad said, “Besides you—what?”

  “You’re right. It’s dangerous for me to be involved in your projects.”

  Mom and Dad looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

  “So, I’ll just go do my own projects, instead.”

  I jumped.

  * * *

  I walked to school from the edge of the woods. I was hoping that Caffeine’s posse was hanging around. I wanted to show the
m some tricks with momentum.

  They weren’t.

  I was calmer by the time I crunched through the last bit of old snow next to the school building, but still angry.

  I’d been helping Mom and Dad with relief efforts all over the world before I could jump. And now that I could jump it was less safe? I slammed my locker shut a little harder than necessary. Kids flinched and stared at me.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. My face went hot and I barely kept myself from jumping away. I walked to Mr. Hill’s class with my head hunched between my shoulders and my bag clutched across my chest.

  The bell rang as I went through the door. Tara and I exchanged glances before I sat, and I saw her sit up straight, frowning.

  That won’t do. I took deep breaths and worked on dropping my shoulders. By the time Mr. Hill started talking I think I at least looked normal and by the end of class I even felt normal.

  Tara touched base with me in the hall as we left. “You all right? You looked kinda mad when you came in.”

  I surprised myself by laughing. “A fight with my dad. Stupid fight, actually. One of those he can’t win, but that doesn’t mean we won’t still have the fight.”

  “Boys?” asked Tara.

  I stared at her blankly.

  “Dating? Girls?”

  I shook my head. “No. Not that. Though now that I think about it, maybe I should bring up the possibility.” I grinned. “Does your Mom ever tell you you’re too young to do things that you are quite capable of?”

  Tara laughed. “When does she not? The only thing she thinks I’m old enough to do is homework and housework. Everything else? Not so much.”

  We went our separate ways.

  The abstract focus of math was a welcome distraction and, since I was caught up with assignments in humanities, I was able to read ahead.

  But sometime after I sat down for lunch Tony staggered into the cafeteria, his nose a bloody ruin.

  Coach Teichert was on duty and he stuck his head out into the hallway before scooping up a handful of paper napkins from the lunch line. He pressed them up against the red flow. “Who did it?”

  Tony yelled at the pressure. I think his nose was broken.

  “Who hit you?” Coach asked again.

  Tony mumbled something.

  “What?”

  “I fe’ down,” Tony said louder.

  Right. He fell down.

  I don’t think anybody believed that.

  I looked over at Caffeine. She’d been in the cafeteria the whole time, sitting with Donna at her usual table. She was smiling slightly and she certainly didn’t look surprised.

  Coach Teichert escorted Tony out, destined for the school nurse.

  A few minutes later, Hector Guzman came in the cafeteria and sat at the other end of Caffeine’s table.

  Jade said, “Hector was wearing a hoodie right before lunch.”

  I looked over. He was wearing a black T-shirt.

  “It’s not like it’s warm in here,” Tara said, eyebrows knitted together. It wasn’t. The school district was pinching pennies on the heat.

  “Maybe he’s all warm from punching out Tony,” I said.

  Jade nodded. “And maybe he has Tony’s blood splashed across his hoodie.”

  I thought about the chukri girls and the mastaans. “Where is Hector’s locker?”

  Jade shrugged but Tara said, “Down by the physics lab.”

  “That’s not close at all. He couldn’t have put his hoodie there.”

  “Yeah, but he could’ve given it to someone else.”

  “Maybe, but he could’ve put it in a trash can, too. Watch my bag, okay?”

  The hoodie was in the third can I looked in. Not one of the two big cans by the cafeteria doors, but the one near the girl’s restroom across the hall.

  Coach Teichert was standing outside the nurse’s office, talking to Dr. Prady, the principal, when I walked up and showed them the bloody front of the hoodie, part of it still wet.

  Dr. Prady’s eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”

  I told him.

  He took it by the edges and looked at the collar. Hector’s last name was written below the size tag in faded marker.

  Coach Teichert nodded when he saw the name.

  Dr. Prady asked, “Did you see anything?”

  I shook my head. “I was in the cafeteria when Tony came in with the bloody nose.”

  Coach Teichert exchanged glances with Dr. Prady and said, “Let’s see what Tony says now.” He looked at me. “Thanks, Cent. Uh, keep this to yourself, all right?”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  I got back to the cafeteria before the bell rang.

  We did high jumps in PE. I was sorely tempted to add velocity on my vaults. My shoulder still ached and I didn’t do as well as many of the other girls.

  I kept my eye on Caffeine, but she left me alone, even walking wide around me on more than one occasion.

  I didn’t know whether to be glad or disappointed.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Davy: Old Data, New Application

  Two weeks after his last trip into the Rhiarti Tower, Davy tried again during the early morning rush hour. The alarm had gone off last time when he’d been in the second office. He jumped into the first office he’d entered on his last visit wearing his most business-formal suit, an aquiline false nose, and horn-rimmed glasses.

  The office was empty.

  Davy glanced out into the hallway and saw a woman carrying a stack of files, walking away from him. He stepped into the hallway and walked in the opposite direction.

  His goal was to find the fanciest office in the company and read the name on the doorplate.

  The alarm went off, again.

  Dammit!

  He made the first left, a hallway into the interior of the tower, away from the coveted outside offices. He passed the bathrooms, a coffee station with an espresso machine, and smaller offices, mostly empty. Then a far door opened abruptly and two men in identical blue blazers came out.

  This time they did not think he belonged there.

  They already had weapons in their hands but they weren’t guns. They were bright yellow plastic pistol shapes, blocky and wide. Doubled laser spots danced across the carpet, then raced toward him as they lifted their hands.

  Tasers!

  Davy jumped past them and, before they could turn, stepped quietly into their office.

  From the hallway, someone said emphatically “Fuck! It’s him!”

  The door was unmarked but it clearly was the security office. Two desks before a bank of flat video monitors that showed the hallways and the elevators.

  Davy slid between the door and the wall, holding his breath.

  He heard the guards move in the hall, one set of footsteps receding, the other coming closer. Through the gap between the door and the frame, he saw a slice of blue blazer frozen in the doorway.

  Then the man in the doorway turned away and called down the hall. “He’s not on any of the cameras! Check the south and west offices. I’ll check the restrooms, and then north and east.”

  “He could jump in behind us.”

  “Right. I’ll reset the alarm first. So we’ll know.”

  Davy sucked back into the corner as the guard stepped into the room, but the guard didn’t go toward the monitors, where he might have seen Davy. Davy heard keyboarding from the far side of the room, and the alarm in the background stopped. Then the man left, swinging the door shut behind him and rattling it, to make sure it was fully closed and locked.

  What kind of alarm will discriminate between all the people coming into the office and me?

  For a horrible moment he wondered if every one on the premises had an implant, and that anyone who didn’t set off an alarm. It wouldn’t have to be an implant. It could just be a key card every one carried.

  No. They said “jump.”

  He looked over at the end of the room where he’d “reset” the alarm.

  There was a rack o
f equipment, around waist high, with a monitor and keyboard pulled out of the top rack position. There were various modules below, the most prominent of which was labeled, Power Module and Micro g LaCoste. He folded the monitor over the keyboard and slid the unit back into the rack. This revealed a manual on the top of the machine: TAGS Air III Gravity Meter, Turnkey Airborne Gravity System with Aerograv Data Processing Software.

  Ah.

  He remembered a test done when he was held captive so long ago. They’d used a gravitational survey aircraft to monitor some controlled jumps. What had their pet physicist said? Oh, yeah: The gravitational signature actually overlapped for two hundred milliseconds. He’d also said, seventeen years ago, that the device was sensitive enough to measure the gravity of a three-year-old child at one meter. How much more sensitive was this device, almost two decades later? Apparently sensitive enough to measure that doubled gravitational signal on this floor at least. Probably the adjoining floors, too.

  They’d set this up just for jumpers.

  This must definitely be the place.

  Part of him really wanted more information. Part of him wanted to leave and never return.

  He wondered what would happen if he just turned it off. He did so, listening for the distant alarm, but nothing happened.

  They probably jury-rigged it into their existing system, so it didn’t fail-safe to an alarmed state.

  Good.

  He left the keyboard/monitor and it slid into the unit.

  He looked up. The ceiling was concrete with a small ventilation duct distributing A/C, and square and round conduits running across it and down the walls to the equipment. The lines for the computers, monitors, and phones all ran into the next room through a square opening high on the wall.

  There was a connecting door in the same wall, and he opened it. Cold air and white noise pushed out, at least fifteen degrees cooler than the security room. The ceiling light was off but hundreds of LEDs blinked at him. He hit the light switch. It was the firm’s wiring and server closet, with Ethernet switches, patch boards, phone equipment, and wiring patch boards, as well as a head-high stack of rack-mounted servers. It also had a suspended ceiling, though a third of the panels had been removed so wires could run up into that space. A small stepladder leaned against the wall, and he climbed it to peer into one of openings. There was two feet of clearance, but the framework was light aluminum supported by wire, and the lightweight panels were clearly fragile, as the broken pieces of one were leaning against a wall.