Alice waited months to see if she’d get into West End High.
Landsdowne Middle School usually didn’t feed into high schools on the other side of Victoria, but West End’s soccer program was a BC-champion-caliber program, and Alice had spent her whole middle school career positioning herself as worth it in the eyes of coaches, the school system, and most importantly, Dad. Perfect grades, perfect athletics, perfect extracurriculars. She wanted it. Bad.
When she got in, Dad relented and decided she could go if she "figured out how to get her ass to and from school.” She threw the biggest celebration. She even invited my…I wouldn’t say friends…elementary school classmates.
I got in without a fuss. The school system lets younger siblings follow their older ones.
That’s how Sora got in, too.
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Building Three-Five, Victoria, British Columbia - June 2, 2043, 5:59 AM
- - - - -
“It’s too early for this shit, Claire,” Dad glares at me through narrowed, bloodshot eyes. “Go back to bed.”
I can’t. The trucks should be here in fifteen minutes or so, so there’s no point. Alice is in the bedroom getting herself ready, and there’s nothing to do except raid the fridge. So I’m in the combination kitchen/living room, ‘accidentally’ waking up Dad. He can’t be asleep when they show up.
It’s gonna be a pain in the ass getting him out the door as it is, but I’m pretending that’s SHOCKS’s problem, not mine.
It’s not, though. This whole operation is my problem. And that’s the real reason I’m not in bed. If this all falls apart, there’s no good battle plan other than ‘rely on James to break everything.’ And, yeah, that’s a solid plan, but it doesn’t take into account the Xs and Ys. Not all of them. James and the System can break SHOCKS like a twig, but that doesn’t mean it’s a plan. Especially not once we’re in there.
And I’m still not sure about being there to begin with. It’s the best move. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good one.
[It’s too late for second thoughts,] James says. [I’m estimating a maximum of twelve hours to take over most SHOCKS systems without being detected or fifteen to twenty seconds to smash through my own security measures.]
“Do the second one,” I whisper as I pour store-brand choco-puff cereal into a bowl and search the fridge for milk that doesn’t exist. When I don’t find it, I take the plastic bowl to the table and scoop the sugar-packed cereal into my mouth dry with my fingers. “Go fast. Does it matter if you break things?”
[To me, personally? No. But that’s a long time for SHOCKS to react, and partial control could put your family and friends in danger. I don’t want to risk that. The longer I don’t have to actively run the SHOCKS database and system, the more I’ll be able to subtly influence SHOCKS before I have to make myself known. I can make them make decisions that help us, make sure they’re following through on your agreement, and leech information from their connection to the internet and facilities off Vancouver Island.]
“You’re not getting information from other people like me?”
[Some, but it’s an incomplete picture. More is always helpful,] James says. He pauses. [I’m not asking you to go in with no plan. I’m asking you to trust me that ‘Let James work’ is a plan and that all you have to do is play along for it to work. I can break SHOCKS any time I want to. You know it, and I know it. Let’s try a different way first.]
It’s a trust issue. It’s always a trust issue. There’s a way through it, though. “Okay, James. Keep me updated.”
It’s 6:05. 6:07. Time feels like it’s slipping by and crawling at the same time. The choco-puffs are finished, and Alice is in the bathroom now, so things are moving along. But even so, I can’t help worrying. There’s no plan. No equation. Things are going to work out not because the math says they will but because it’s the only option. I just have to go with it.
6:13. Someone knocks on the door.
They’re early.
As Dad mumbles a line of swear words at the TV, I stand up, leaving my cereal bowl on the table and my chair pulled out. I open the door a crack, leaving the chain lock in place.
I’m greeted by a helmeted, masked soldier and a submachine gun that’s not quite pointed at me.
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Right away, I can tell this is going to go wrong.
Lieutenant Rodriguez has her full riot gear on, right down to the breathing mask that makes her look like a sci-fi astronaut. Behind her, the rest of Lambda-Four’s stacked up like they’re ready to storm the apartment. Strauss is missing, though. My hand’s on my Revolver, ready to whip it out and put a gravity round into the door.
And, of course, Dad’s glaring at the TV.
“Hello, L4-3,” Rodriguez says. Her gun’s barrel shifts down a little, and she relaxes. “We’re here to extract you. The other trucks are outside, like we talked about. Are you going to need help with your father or sister?”
“No,” Alice says from the hall before I can speak up. I turn; she’s wearing a black turtleneck and jeans, and she’s got a backpack slung across each shoulder. The one on the right’s zipped tight, but the left one’s half-open and stuffed with her beauty supplies. And she’s wearing sunglasses. “I’m ready to go, and Dad should be pretty agreeable.”
I push the door shut. “How do you know he’ll listen?”
“Just trust me,” Alice says.
There’s a lot of trusting going on and not much verifying or equation solving. I don’t like it much, but if there’s anyone here who’s motivated to make sure this goes smoothly, it’s Alice. When I talked to her about it last night, she was shockingly all-in on the idea—probably because I implied that SHOCKS’s researchers were experts on Li Mei. That’s not exactly the truth, but it’s close enough.
Either way, I don’t have a plan for Dad, so if Alice can handle him, fine. He’s always liked me better, but she’s got a way of making him do what she wants. I don’t quite get that.
A minute later, and the door’s unlocked. Two boogeymen are still outside, while Rodriguez and L4-5—whose name I still don’t know—have cleared the apartment. Compared to them, my Urban Combat skill doesn’t mean anything. I shiver a little, then take a deep breath. It’s time to balance my worlds.
“L4-5, you stay here with the subjects,” Lieutenant Rodriguez says. “I’m going to take L4-3 and make sure she’s satisfied with the trucks. If you can get Number One ready for transport, great. Number Two shouldn’t need anything special, according to L4-3.”
The orders make sense, and I step out into the hall. “Elevator’s that way. Did you find Smith?”
“Yes,” Rodriguez says. I can’t catch whether she’s upset or not through the breather she’s wearing; it makes everything a little fuzzy. “We’ll transport him with the second car. We need to talk about an adjustment to the plan.”
“I told you what I needed. There’s no room for changes.” My hand ducks into my hoodie pocket. If she’s changing the deal here, I’m ready to fight her. And I’m ready to have James tear down the whole headquarters building if he can.
“It’s about Keith Wilkinson. We sent an agent to track him down and confirm that his family was still home. The house was empty, with clear signs of packing and no vehicles outside. The agent broke in and determined that they’d headed for the Vancouver-Victoria ferry shortly after our lockdown order went into effect. We believe they made it across before the ferries stopped. Keith’s not on Vancouver Island anymore, so we can’t bring him or his family to SHOCKS Headquarters.”
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“Oh.” That makes sense. I don’t like it, but if they can’t get him, they can’t get him. “That works, too.”
“So, we’re clear to change that part of the plan?” Rodriguez asks.
And it’s at that moment that I realize I have all the power.
It’s a weird feeling, power—like what I imagine Dad feels like when he’s been drinking. My head won’t stop spinning, and I sit down on a bullet-riddled bench for a second. “Yeah. That shouldn’t change any of my plans.”
Truthfully, I didn’t have any plans for Keith and his family, other than getting them to safety. If they’re off the island, that’s better than anything SHOCKS can offer, so I can write him off as okay. More importantly, SHOCKS must need me even more than I’d thought. [We should have asked for a lot more,] James agrees. [They’ve given you your rank back; that means you have your clearance back, too. And if they’re not strong-arming you, they need you to cooperate.]
I nod slowly, but even though Strauss knows James is in my head—which means Rodriguez almost certainly does, too—I don’t respond to him. They may be acting friendly, but I’m not ready to give SHOCKS the benefit of the doubt any more than I have to. “Let’s go see the trucks.”
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The three trucks are identical, except for the body bag in the back of one. They’re heavy, armored machines, each with a driver and a guy in a full gas mask and helmet manning a double-barreled turret. That’s intimidating, but the gunners seem relaxed and bored, so I don’t take it as a bad sign. Other than that, there’s enough space for the Recovery and Stabilization Team troopers and the Itos in one, and plenty for us in the other.
Still, I wait until James has given each truck the green light, then nod. “We can go.”
True to her word, Alice has a wobbly-looking Dad out the door in less than fifteen minutes. The mask on his face isn’t really secure, but Rodriguez says, “It’ll be fine. Let’s move,” and two minutes later, all three of us are in the back of the armored truck with RST Lambda-Four.
My throat’s dry, but when I cough, one of the armored and masked troopers hands me a water bottle. I accept it, wishing I’d decided to remember their names. It’s cool, but not cold—very drinkable. As I hand it back, the truck turns.
“Alright, L4-3,” Rodriguez starts.
I clear my throat, interrupting. “Claire.”
“Sure. Claire. We’re an hour out from SHOCKS Headquarters. The techies have set up a line of Universal Reality Anchors halfway across Victoria Proper and all along the harbor west of James Bay, from the gorge waters down to the lighthouse. That gives us a small protected bubble where things aren’t as bad. Not good. But not as bad. Mr. Pendleton, you can remove that mask when I give you the okay. Until then, keep it on.”
Dad snores a little in response, and I realize that Alice must have drugged him somehow. I add that to my calculations about my perfect sister; she’s got a dark side if she can get sleeping pills, and she’s not afraid to use them. Or maybe just a prescription she’s kept hidden—she always did shut down fast at night if she wasn’t staying up past lights out. Either way, it’s helpful right now, and it’s valuable information for later.
“Until we cross that line, though, we’re in unknown waters. Keep ready. If shit goes south, you’re L4-3 until we’re safe,” Rodriguez finishes.
“What, you want a greenie with you?” I snark back, as much to test the waters as anything. The insult’s what the other troopers called me last time I rode in one of these things.
Rodriguez stares at me so icily I can feel it through her face shield. “The performance you gave last time we worked together? I’d rather you sit still and do nothing. But Strauss says you’ve gotten a lot better. I’m willing to test that theory if it keeps my people alive.”
I don’t have a response to that, so instead, I lean back on the bench seat and stare back at her as the truck rumbles down Hillside Avenue. According to James, we’re near Aberdeen Hospital. Then we’re past it, getting closer to the safety line of URAs. I brace myself as we get closer to where he says he’d have put them.
But nothing happens. There’s no wall to push through like there should be. Instead, the truck keeps moving, and I relax into the hard seat. Not much, but a little. This is going to work. At the very least, it will get Alice and Dad to safety.
The other two trucks are moving together since, according to Lieutenant Rodriguez, they have more risk and exposure. But even the extra hour or two, they should be—
The machine gun on the roof fires in a series of short bursts, and the radio squawks.
I barely hear what it’s saying. The Revolver’s already out; I’ve got it leveled at the back door. A second later, the machine gun opens up again. This time, it doesn’t stop for almost four seconds.
“Lambda-Five, be advised we have a Xuduo-Danger anomaly on the primary return route,” Rodriguez says. Stress drips from her voice. Her head’s half-out of a port in the roof, next to the machine gunner. The truck rocks back and forth from an impact. “Main gun fire is ineffective. Take the alternate route back. We’re already committed.”
I stand up, grab a panic bar with my free hand, and try to push her out of the way. She pulls back into the truck and glares at me. “You don’t want any of this. We’re stalling until we get to the line, but that’s all we can do.”
“I can stop it,” I say simply, pulling myself into the roof-hole.
My ears ring almost immediately as the machine gun fires feet away from my head. The green-tinted tracers slam into a gray-skinned figure. It’s moving fast; the truck’s gotta be doing seventy down Hillside—putting Carl Dwyer’s black hot rod to shame—but the thing pursuing us is gaining. It’s person-shaped but running on all fours, and smoke pours out of its too-large mouth as it gallops down the street.
Another burst of machine-gun fire hits it, and it seems to recoil for a moment as tiny fires flare up across its skin but barely break its stride. Its eyes lock on to me, and I stare back. “What the hell?”
Dad stirs down below, and I regret my choice of words for a second. Alice is panicking. I can hear her freaking out. But the thing’s gaining on us. Fifty yards. Forty-five.
I duck my head back inside. “I’m going to try stopping it. Hold this, and give it to me when my hand comes down.” I hand Rodriguez the fire bullet cylinder and stick my head back out.
Thirty. Twenty-five.
I pull the trigger. A singularity pops up in the middle of the road. Shredded gravel and tar chunks fill the air, melting as the monster sprints past it. Another shot. Not close enough. It’s got too much time to dodge.
Fifteen.
Ten.
The Revolver fires again. This time, it knocks the runner off-balance but doesn’t get a good grip. It’s bought me a second—maybe two. That’s it. I take a deep breath; only one shot left.
Five.
I hold my shot as the machine gun’s barrel vomits shots in an endless burst that does nothing but melt the barrel. The heat and gunpowder smell fills the air.
Then, suddenly, it’s on the truck, grabbing onto the steel. Its claws heat up, and it tears into the truck’s back door. Tiny fires break out, and Rodriguez yells something that I ignore.
Instead, I fire the Revolver’s last shot and reach for the spare cylinder.
I don’t need it. The shot hits. It rips the gray-skinned man off the armored truck, along with a good chunk of armor. It all joins a pile of molten asphalt orbiting around the singularity. But unlike the devoured or other stuff, the gravity shot doesn’t tear this monster apart. “James, why isn’t it working?” I ask.
[That thing matches the profile of Object - 032-VVI-9/URM. It’s an impossible metal, with a hard-to-detect combustion reaction to almost every other metal on Earth. It’s tough, too—tough enough to withstand your shots. I don’t know why it’s man-shaped, though,] James replies.
“Get back down here!” Rodriguez shouts.
I listen, clearing the hatch so she can look at the temporarily trapped monster. I hear her mutter something about how “that thing shouldn’t be on this side of the harbor,” and she pulls the hatch shut.
Who knows why she’s bothering with that? The whole back of the truck’s missing; I can see the road and my singularity through the twisted metal and sparking wires.
“How long will that buy us?” she asks.
“A minute or two. It’s a new part of my anomaly. Gravity shots.”
“They’re not in your dossier,” she replies.
“No. They’re new. And they’re not going to go in my file until I know I can trust you.” Which, based on SHOCKS’s performance so far, is never.
A minute later, I feel the invisible wall and push myself through it. Across the truck from me, Alice does the same thing, breathing hard. Her chest pumps for almost thirty seconds after, and I feel bad for her—a little. “Sorry.”
“You should be. It’s your fault,” she whispers back. Rodriguez and the rest of Lambda-Four ignore us. They’re busy watching the road fade away in the background as we weave through the Downtown streets and toward the same garage entrance I used to escape from SHOCKS.
It’s a weird feeling, driving back down the sloped tunnel and past the still-flickering lights. Few of them are on, and the truck moves so fast that they almost strobe behind us. This time, there’s no Li Mei in the shadows to worry about. There’s only the boogeymen, and whether whatever I offer’s worth more than them putting me in containment again. James thinks it is, but as the heavy garage doors shut and what’s left of the truck’s door opens, I can’t help but wonder.
A familiar face is waiting when Alice, Dad, and I follow Lambda-Four out. Doctor Twitchy’s sweaty face peers from behind his glasses, and he puts on the same brave-ish, nervous face he tried out the first time we met. “Welcome back, Claire. If you’ll follow me, we’ve cleared out the supplementary Geren-Danger wing for you. Three cells for your family, four for your friends.”
I don’t want to. My first instinct is to fight what’s happening, because it’s going back into the boxes, and because Sora’s still out there. But the truck’s not going anywhere, the machine gun’s barrel’s so hot I can feel it from here, and Alice is in over her head even with me here. Dad will be fine as long as there’s a bottle. For now. But that won’t last forever—I made sure of that.
So instead, I follow Doctor Twitchy into the belly of the beast.