Amanda narrowed her eyes defiantly. “Born and raised in the USA.”
A storm of mad cackles brewed in Melissa’s throat. Seemingly every page of the ghost drill transcripts featured one of the fugitives remarking on how much they missed their world, how different things were on this one. Chronokinesis by itself was difficult enough to process. No one in the Bureau was ready to embrace the idea of chronokinetic aliens.
Heavy chains rattled as Amanda scratched her neck. “You’re lucky I’m so stupid, Melissa.”
“How are you stupid?”
“I was warned there’d be civic cameras at the health fair. I didn’t listen.”
Melissa shook her head. “Whoever told you that was misinformed. We have no cameras there.”
“You don’t?”
“No. Installing a civic camera is a monstrous bureaucratic procedure. Worse than traffic lights. No one would go through all that paperwork just to monitor a five-day event.”
“So how did you find us then?”
Melissa clicked her pen against her chin in busy thought.
“We can discuss that later. I imagine you’re curious about some of the devices in this room.”
Amanda touched her new metal collar, then examined the four humming consoles around her. “I assume it’s some kind of shock fence thing. Like they use for dogs.”
“No. The collar’s a separate fail-safe. Should you get belligerent, my associate watching through the camera will press a button and the embedded capsules will release more pacifying gas.”
“So what’s the purpose of these big machines?”
Melissa eyed her suspiciously. “You haven’t tried your tempis yet?”
“No.”
“Go ahead.”
“No.”
“It’s not a trap, Amanda. I’m genuinely curious.”
“I don’t care.”
“Fine. I’ll show you myself.”
Melissa procured the tempic screwdriver from her pocket and jutted it toward Amanda. The moment it crossed into the quadrant of blue light towers, the tempic point rippled wildly and then vanished.
Amanda cast a baffled stare at the towers. “What are these things?”
“They’re solic generators. Have you heard of them?”
“No.”
“If temporis were a family, solis would be the mother. It’s the power source behind every tempic device, every lumicand, every shifter, every juve. It’s also the catalyst that turns a little bit of sunlight into a lot of electricity. Nearly everything in the civilized world runs on solic generators. These four only look different because I removed the protective casings.”
Amanda recalled seeing a tall metal cylinder in the basement of the lake house. She’d figured it was a water heater.
“Will I get sick from all this exposure?”
“Solis isn’t harmful to living creatures. The casings are only used to protect the equipment.”
“Why is it harmful to tempis?” Amanda asked. “You said it’s a power source.”
“Yes, in the same way that helium powers a child’s balloon. Add too much and it pops.”
“Meaning I’ll pop if I try.”
“I doubt that.”
“I’m not a screwdriver. You have no idea how this will work on me.”
“I have no idea if it’ll work on you. We’re both taking a risk. But what choice is there? You have a history of violence, especially when threatened.”
The room fell into tense new silence, broken only by the hum of the generators. Melissa noticed a rectangular discoloration on the wall behind Amanda—twenty feet wide, five feet tall, and two shades lighter than the faded beige around it. She didn’t know why it bothered her.
By the time she focused on her captive again, she saw glistening tears. Melissa pushed a pack of tissues into the solic field.
“Guess it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore.”
Amanda took a tissue. “No.”
“Would you like some time alone?”
“Just ask your stupid questions. I know you have a million of them.”
“I do, in fact. Does that mean you’ll cooperate?”
“Not at all. I just want to get this part over with.”
“I understand why you don’t want to talk about your friends—”
“I’m not saying a word about them.”
“—but are you willing to discuss your enemies?”
Melissa pulled a printout from her stack, a grainy ghost image of Amanda in the hallway of the Piranda Five Towers. In the photo, she conversed with a slight-statured man dressed like a hotel manager.
Amanda scowled in bristling contempt. “Evan Rander. He’s a psychopath. I’d give him to you on a platter if I could.”
“He shot a manager to death, five doors down from your suite. The same pistol was used to kill a young couple in another tower. We presume he did it to get a view of your twelfth-floor hideout.”
Amanda stayed silent. She’d learned about their deaths on the news. It tortured her to think they’d all be alive now if she’d picked a different hotel.