Twinmaker

27

ONE HOUR LATER, after a lonely walk under stars as crisp and cool as a cosmic chandelier, Clair strode up to the safe house door and waited. She didn’t need to knock. She knew Ray or someone else would be watching.

The door opened after thirty seconds. Gemma stepped out. The door closed behind her and clicked shut.

“We didn’t expect to see you again,” Gemma said. Her face was unreadable in the darkness. There was no porch light.

“I didn’t expect to see you, either.” Clair held the pistol at her side, not hidden but not aimed at anyone either. A bluff like Gemma’s had been. This time, Gemma appeared to be unarmed.

“You should have told me,” Clair said.

“About what?”

“About Dylan Linwood.”

Gemma looked surprised but unrepentant. “You’ve seen him, then?”

“He tried to kill me.”

Gemma nodded and said, “We couldn’t tell you about that. You wouldn’t have believed us.”

“How long have you known he was a traitor? And how on earth did he survive that explosion?”

That earned her a long, measuring stare.

“You’d better come inside. Your boyfriend is making my life a living hell.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said again.

Gemma knocked on the door, a quick rat-a-tat, and it opened. Clair’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Ray looked pissed off. Clair didn’t care.

“I’ll be out of touch for a bit,” Clair told “q.” She squeezed the pistol grip tightly, feeling as though she were leaping off a high dive. Gemma followed her into the house, too close for comfort, but no one tried to search or disarm her. No one said anything. All the menus in her night-darkened lenses were dead.

She found Zep in the living room, sitting on the couch, with wrists and ankles secured by plastic ties. Jesse sat next to him, not tied but not exactly one with his captors, either. Big-Ears stood over them both with his arms folded. Arabelle, in her wheelchair, blocked the door to the back of the house, long-fingered hands resting loosely in her lap.

“Clair!” Zep tried to get up, but his bindings prevented him. Seeping blood had stained the bandage around his thigh bright red. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t have come back.”

“I didn’t have to,” she said. “I’m here of my own free will, and I’m not making any demands, either. That counts for something, doesn’t it?” She said that to the woman in the wheelchair.

“Perhaps it does,” said Arabelle.

“Why are you here?” asked Jesse, looking up at her with eyes wide through his thick hair.

“I haven’t worked everything out, but I know one thing,” she said, figuring there was nothing to be gained by prevaricating. “Neither VIA nor the peacekeepers blew up your house. It was these guys. That’s why Gemma appeared so soon after the explosion. That’s why she was surprised to see you. Your father was the target, and we were almost collateral damage.”

Jesse looked at Gemma and Arabelle in turn, then back at Clair. His expression was furious.

“It’s not true,” he said to her. “Why are you lying to me? Haven’t you done enough damage?”

“What Clair says is true, Jesse,” Arabelle said. “I’m sorry.”

“When your father didn’t call in on schedule,” Gemma said, “we knew he’d been compromised, and we acted immediately to neutralize the threat.”

“Compromised?” Jesse’s head swung back and forth. Clair wanted to grab him and make him be still. “You blew up our house!”

“The charges were laid years ago,” said Ray. “I helped Dylan put them in place myself, but we never thought we’d need them.”

“He would never have done anything to hurt you,” said Jesse, face turning pink. “You murdered him.”

“If we were murderers,” said Arabelle, “you would already be dead.”

Zep was nodding grimly. “Yeah, right. We’re witnesses. So why are you sitting around talking to us?”

“They don’t know what to do with us,” said Clair.

“That’s true,” said Arabelle. “We can’t let you go without exposing you to grave danger.”

“She’s already run into him,” Gemma said.

The members of WHOLE shifted uneasily.

“Run into who?” asked Jesse.

“Let’s talk about that later,” said Arabelle firmly. She was probably thinking the same thing as Clair. Was it better for Jesse to know that his father wasn’t the man he believed in or to remember a lie?

“For now, why don’t you tell us what you want, Clair?” Arabelle said.

This was it. Everything she had pondered in the long walk to the safe house came down to this moment. They were seven people lumped together in a way none of them would have chosen. But that was the way it was, and she had to work with it.

“We need to leave,” Clair told them. “It’s not safe here.”

Gemma shook her head. “The Faraday cage—”

“Is part of the problem. When enough people disappear into a blank spot, you know something secret’s going on in there. Remember the phone call before? That was from someone who worked it out. Someone I know. If she can do it, so can the bad guys.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Ray. “You’re trying to flush us into the open.”

“Really?” she said. “Well, feel free to sit here and see what happens. I’m leaving now, and I’m taking Zep with me. Come along if you want. It’s your decision.”

“You want them to come with us now?” asked Zep in disbelief. His wounded leg was jiggling as though his muscular tension simply couldn’t be contained.

“Yes,” she said. “Improvement has to be more than just sucking in people like Libby, or else why would someone kill to keep it a secret? I want to know everything. These guys can help. No one else can.”

“Peacekeepers—”

“I tried calling them before.” She outlined what had happened to her in Maine, carefully avoiding naming Dylan Linwood to spare them getting mired down in Jesse’s protests again. “If it was just one crazy guy with a gun, maybe they could help, but we don’t really know what happened back there. He definitely talked to someone else. Maybe my call was intercepted; maybe the PKs set me up. Until we know exactly what we’re dealing with, we can’t risk talking to anyone.”

Clair tried to radiate self-assurance, but the pistol was heavy in her hand, and she was afraid everyone could tell it was only for show. Who was she to tell a bunch of adults what to do?

“She’s right,” said Arabelle, easing her wheelchair through the doorway. “You need us, and we need you. If you can bring your friend Libby around, Clair . . . if we can prove that she’s been altered illegally, particularly in the wake of that video stream . . . then that’s a big step forward.”

“But we don’t have forever to get her on board,” said Gemma. “The clock is ticking.”

“What do you mean?” asked Zep.

“People affected by Improvement rarely live longer than a week.”

Clair stared at her, struck to the pit of her stomach with a new fear.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Improvement doesn’t affect everyone, otherwise there’d be dead kids everywhere. Those who do show the symptoms last seven days, maybe eight. Never nine.”

“What are the symptoms?”

“Headache, erratic behavior . . . I’m guessing you already know, otherwise why would you be so worried about your friend?”

“Shit,” said Zep, looking as aghast as Clair felt.

Libby had used Improvement two days ago. How many days did that leave her? Five or six?

“Cut the boy’s feet free,” said Arabelle. “Raymond, call and give the code to move out. Clair and the others will come with us.”

Ray vanished into the hallway while Big-Ears sliced Zep’s ties with a pocket blade and helped him to his feet.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” said Jesse, red-faced and teary eyed. He was obviously struggling to take it all in. “You killed my father.”

“Do you really want to stay here and take your chances with the PKs?” asked Gemma. “You’ll be guilty by association.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“That doesn’t matter. You’re one of us now.”

“I’m not going anywhere unless you tell us where,” Clair said.

“Escalon. We have a cache there. Once we’re away from here, we’ll have more options.”

“Like what?” asked Clair.

“I’ll tell you,” Gemma said, “if you tell me who your hacker friend is.”

“Uh, that’s harder than you think.”

“Well, the same goes for us.”

Clair looked at Zep, who shrugged.

“All right,” she said. “That far. Then we talk again.”

“Agreed,” said Arabelle.

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” said Jesse.

“You’re not staying behind.” There was steel in the crippled woman’s voice. “I won’t let you.”

“Why not?” he asked her, fists balling in frustration. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

The phone’s shrill ring cut the argument short. Ray called Clair’s name from the hallway in puzzlement.

“It’s that friend of yours again. Says it’s urgent.”

Clair squeezed past Arabelle and took the phone from him while everyone watched her. “Hello?”

“Surveillance has changed in your vicinity,” said the voice of “q,” sounding faintly tinny.

“What kind of change?”

“All EITS drones within camera range have been detoured along alternate routes. Not only that, but crowd-sourcing allocations for the surrounding area have been reduced to zero, so the drones are flying on internal reckoning only.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the Manteca Municipal Authority is effectively unmonitored for two blocks around you, and the blind spot is widening.”

Clair bit her lip. “Someone’s up to something, and they don’t want to be seen doing it. Any sign of him?”

“None, but I too am blinded by the lack of data. I can’t tell you anything until I can hack into a satellite or something.”

“Okay. Thanks for letting us know. We’re heading out now.”

“Be careful, Clair.”

“I will.”