27.
A man stepped out of the fifth terminal, followed by another from the second. The first kept his eyes closed as the other twitched violently.
“Odd,” Mr. Twitchy said. He wore a short-sleeved shirt with black pants and shiny shoes. The second man wore a brown sweater, tan slacks, and a pair of leather sandals. Such strange clothing.
They had their silver hair pulled back into ponytails. Their gray eyes darted around the lab.
“The walls are off,” Brown Sweater said.
“Maybe they turned off over the weekend?”
“Never before.”
Their voices rolled and floated through the air. Their skin glowed golden in the increased tech light. I thought for sure they were rangers.
Purple lights flashed on another terminal. My chest felt like it would burst into flames at any moment. The two rangers moved out of the way, their briefcases swinging. I swallowed hard, wondering which one of them could help me.
The Hawk stepped out of terminal ten. She retched into a bag—the worst side effect of teleportation—before straightening.
The sight of them erased the line between good and bad completely. I understood now. They allowed the sun to touch their skin, they wore whatever clothes they wanted, they traveled between the Goodgrounds and the Badlands, because they were free. They didn’t break rules. They made them.
My dad was free. Again, I wondered if he could be on my side. I mean, I didn’t want to be good or bad—just free. Surely the label didn’t matter.
Of course it matters.
And those infuriating voice words were right. I clenched my fists and ordered Dad to Get out of my head!
“Morning, Brine,” the Hawk said, nodding to Mr. Twitchy. “Hans.”
“The walls are off,” Hans said.
Nobody spoke, but the tech increased in the room. I muffled a moan as blinding pain consumed my stomach. I willed the tech to decrease so my internal organs wouldn’t spontaneously combust. My control must have superseded theirs, because it worked, and I drew a cool breath.
“Hello?” the Hawk asked, looking around. She started nodding to the walls, but I wouldn’t let them turn on. Controlling tech with my mind was easy, almost natural. And very sickening.
“Who’s here?” the Hawk asked the wall.
It didn’t answer.
She spun back to the other rangers. “Show me everything.”
Hans, with gray eyes as cold as steel, clicked a button, and projections sprang to life on the walls. One screen showed a home with a small boy, maybe five years old, playing on the floor. His skin was stained by the sun. With bright eyes, he looked directly into the surveillance tech. He waved, and his mother smiled.
“What are you looking at, Surge?” She turned toward the camera. She obviously couldn’t see it.
In another projection, a woman worked on something in the corner of the kitchen. A man, decked out in a crisp business suit, sat down at the table. The woman—complete with her Goodie hat and long-sleeved shirt—turned and put a plate of food in front of him. He didn’t wear a hat, didn’t have a receiver behind his ear, didn’t have tanned skin. So was he good or not? He stared straight at the camera as he ate. He knew he was being watched—what was the point of that? Of course he wouldn’t break the rules if he knew he was being monitored.
Then it hit me. Both the boy and the man were uncontrollable. Like me.
How many times had I “forgotten” to wear my hat indoors? Lots. How many times had I gazed out the window, wondering what it would feel like to have the sun coat my skin? Too many. How many times had I noticed the increase of tech in the corner of my kitchen, the flicker of a white light in my bedroom, or the hint of a red flash on my porch?
Every freaking day.
I’d already stopped breathing by the time I saw the projection of Jag lying in bed. He had a different notebook open and was writing in it.
“Strange,” Hans said. “We’ve lost the connection to Violet’s room.” He pointed to several blank screens on the far side of the wall.
The Hawk swore. “Can you rewind?”
Brine stood there, half-turned away from the screens, a definite curve sitting on his lips. I felt like I should know him, but he wasn’t in my memory. Of the three people in the room, I was drawn to him the most, but I wasn’t sure if I could trust him to help me.
Hans punched some keys, and my room filled the screens. He stopped the image, and I watched myself close my eyes and concentrate. After the slightest nod, two screens went blank and I fell to my knees. A moment later, all the screens were blank.
“She shut down her walls,” the Hawk said, more awed than angry. “Rewind Jag’s record.” The image of Jag’s room wavered as the time ticked backward. “Go back twelve hours,” she said. “I want to see everything.”
Oh, she’d see everything all right, including our conversation and me wearing Zenn’s ring. Closing my eyes, I focused on the tech in Hans’s e-board. I felt my way through the reader port and saw the electronic circuits and tiny pins. Willing it to freeze, I watched as the wheels and gadgets slowed and stopped. The electro-current faded away.
I opened my eyes and fell back, exhausted. A fire burned behind my eyes. But the screens where Jag had been writing had turned white. My mind raced with what I’d just done.
Hans started typing furiously, as the Hawk barked, “Status report.”
“Completely down,” Hans said. “The whole facility. The Special Forces. The wanted. Everything.”
The Hawk’s eyes sparked with an energy not entirely human. I reached in my pocket, gripping the phone as I decided that Hans and the Hawk had to go. I’d take my chances with Brine over the two of them.
I have no other choice, I rationalized as I activated the weapon.
Yes, you do. There’s always a choice.
Shut up, Dad. I don’t need parental advice right now.