Fox Forever (2 page)

I look at the three still sitting around the table and then back to Carver. “My
team
? Uh, no, we haven’t met yet.”

“No?” Carver looks at Mr. F.

Mr. F shrugs.

Introductions are made. Livvy, Jake, and Xavier.
Xavier?
I offer the tiniest smirk to Mr. F on hearing his name.

I turn to Carver. “I don’t know what you mean by team. To be honest, I don’t know anything about this Favor. Father Andre only said—”

“Please, sit down. We’ll tell you all the details soon, but first we need to know everything about you. And I mean everything. If you haven’t guessed already, this is no ordinary Favor. A lot’s riding on it, and we don’t have much time. We need to know all about you and everything you can do—
and
everything you can’t. Then we can begin your training for—”

“Hold on just a minute. No one said anything about training. I can’t be here that long. I need to get to Manchester.”

“Please.” Carver leans across the table. “Whatever you need in Manchester we’ll have others take care of it. Jake here, for instance. He’s my behind-the-scenes man. Good at details like that.”

Right. I already witnessed how good he was in a dark corner with a bat.

Carver straightens, rubbing his palms together.
“Please,”
he says again. “You have my word we’ll take care of it. But we need you here now.”

His eyes are as desperate as Mr. F’s were earlier. I sit back down.

“Everything,” Carver repeats. “No detail is too small.”

I look them over. Perfect strangers, and sketchy ones at that. How much detail is really safe in their hands? I glance at Mr. F. Petty criminal or not, he did hide Kara and me in a basement and give us new IDs that allowed us to escape.

I remember what I’m here for. My friends, Dot, Bone, Kara—and me—each of us trying to escape from a world where we have no value or rights. Kara and Dot will never get that chance for Escape now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make it happen for myself, Bone, and others like us. I don’t want to be hiding and running for the rest of my life, and I have a very long life ahead of me. If I live the full six hundred years that Gatsbro predicted, I’m not going to spend it on the fringes like a stray dog. I don’t even want to wait ninety years for change the way Jenna had to wait. I want it now. I’m just not sure these people are the ones to make it happen.

I lean back in my chair. “Okay, you asked for it.” They have no idea how much detail I’ve held on to. I tell them everything, and I start at the beginning because I don’t know where else to start.

I tell them how I grew up just a few blocks from here. I tell them about my parents and their high expectations for me because I was the only good student in the family. I tell them about my brother and sister and the trouble they got into. I tell them about meeting Kara and Jenna and how they changed my life. I tell them how I even memorized poetry to impress them both. Mr. F snorts at this information. Livvy smiles.

“So you knew the Fox from the very beginning?” Carver asks.

“The Fox?”

“Sorry, I thought you would have known. That’s what Jenna and her branch of the Network was called. The Fox connection. That is, back when she was active.”

“Right,” I say, like I did know. I guess now I’m part of that connection. “Yes, we knew each other from the very beginning.”

“Please, continue.”

I tell them how close we all were, the accident that stole away our lives, and the BioPerfect that gave it back.

Carver leans forward. “But you didn’t get your life back right away, did you?”

If he knows this detail, I’m sure he knows a lot more. I have no doubt that Father Andre culled every bit of information from Jenna and Allys that he could.

“No,” I answer. “I didn’t get it back right away. Jenna’s dad built a new body around what was left of her, but my mind and Kara’s were scanned and uploaded into six-inch cubes and then forgotten on a storage shelf for a long time.”

“A long time? Just how long would that be?” His lips are parted, feigned surprise, anticipation, timing, waiting.

Click.
Now I know why he’s probing these details. He wants to see how fragile I am. How sensitive. Am I really up for this task?
This is no ordinary Favor
. How much pushing can I take? Will I blow? A year ago, I might have.

I look directly into his eyes. “Two hundred sixty years,” I say. I don’t raise my voice. I don’t blink, not even when Livvy muffles a groan.

“That’s a very long time,” he says. “That kind of wait could make almost anyone go insane.”

And he knows about Kara too.
Nice job, Father Andre. You didn’t overlook a single garish detail.
“Yes. Almost anyone,” I answer. If he thinks that little push will rattle me, he’s wrong. I don’t miss a beat and go on point by point so he can see just how sane and in control I am. I tell them about the environments where our minds were uploaded, and the BioPerfect that Gatsbro developed. “He gave us a second chance and new bodies that were near exact replicas of our originals, but it came with a catch—we were prisoners on his estate. He used us as floor models to show off his illegal technology to potential customers. When we found out what he was keeping us there for, we ran.”

So there you have it, Carver and illustrious Team. Deal with it. I have a body created in a lab. Eighty percent bioengineered human, twenty percent composites, one hundred percent illegal.

“You said ‘near exact.’ Tell us about the changes.”

With a brief scan, I can see the anticipation in all their faces.
I’m a curiosity.
Something they’ve never seen before. “Gatsbro was a stickler for detail. He even managed to engineer our tissue with our saved DNA so we would retain our original identity. That’s how I knew the changes weren’t an accident. I’m four inches taller now. A lot stronger. Green flecks in my eyes. No cowlick. Straighter teeth. Gatsbro made improvements to help sell his product. But there were some things he didn’t plan on. That’s the wonder of experimental technology. The BioPerfect created some changes he didn’t calculate.” I lean forward, resting my arms on the table. “I can read lips—from very long distances. I never could do that before. That’s how I nailed a cheat back in California.”

Livvy and Jake exchange glances, probably making mental notes to guard their lips carefully.

“I’m also learning to read faces.”

“Meaning?” Carver asks.

“When I concentrate, I can dissect a face into multiple planes. Emotions stand out the most, usually the ones we try to hide. Fear, anger, hatred.” And also things like blatant lies and exaggerations. I glance at Xavier. “I don’t always get it, but I know when I see something that isn’t quite right.”

“That might be useful,” Livvy says.

Carver nods. “Are you concentrating now?”

I look at his face.
Hunger. Need. Hope.
I shake my head. “No.”

“Any other changes?”

I think of my lapses. He said to share every detail, but I haven’t had a lapse in several weeks. Maybe I’m over that. What about my sensitivity to pain? Is that really a wise thing to share? Gatsbro used it to control me. Or that I heal quickly? In less than a quarter of the time it might usually take? Would knowing this allow them to take greater chances with me? If I’m going to risk life and limb, I don’t want the odds stacked against me. I decide to stick to something that Xavier has already witnessed.

I sit back in my chair. “I can see in the dark—if I push myself. Not a lot, but dim outlines, enough to find my way. When we were coming down the stairs I could see Jake ready to bust in our brains long before Xavier did.”

Carver raises his brows. This piece of information transforms his face.

“But I don’t like the dark,” I add. “I don’t want to spend a lot of time in dark places.”

“You’re
afraid
of the dark?” Mr. F asks.

I make no apologies to anyone about my fear of the dark. When you’ve spent 260 years in a black hole with no sound, touch, or light, you have a whole new understanding of what darkness can mean. “Yeah,
Xavier
. You got a problem with that?”

“I got all kinds of problems, kid, and that’s the least of them. Cool your heels.” His eyes are locked on mine, neither of us ready to back down.

Carver stands and walks in the shadows like he’s trying to divert our attention. “What about this woman named Miesha?” he asks. “I understand she helped you get away from Gatsbro. What do you know about her?”

“She’s tough—at least that’s the act she puts on. She’s had a hard life. She spent some time in prison. Turns out she’s my niece. Sort of. About eight generations removed. I guess technically, I’m not related to her any more than I am to anyone else, but it’s all I’ve got.”

“Trust her?”

“With my life.”

“She was part of a Resistance movement, wasn’t she?”

Knowing about me is one thing, but I’m surprised he knows so much about Miesha.
“Was,”
I answer cautiously. “Her husband and daughter died because of it and that’s when she quit.”

The others have fallen silent. Carver seems to be in control of where we’re going. I watch him continue to pace in the shadows. “How did they die?” he asks.

“Burned. Their house was torched by Security while she was away at a market.”

“Horrible. Did she identify the bodies?”

“No. She was arrested the minute she returned to the house. That’s when she went to prison. She was in for eleven years.”

There’s a long silence. I wait for someone to speak, but they all seem to be weighing this information.

“Is that what this is about?” I finally ask. “Are you part of the Resistance?”

Carver keeps his face in the shadows, like he doesn’t want to betray his expressions, but I note the hesitation in his step. “There’s no Resistance movement anymore,” he says.

“There’s always resistance, whether you say it with a capital
R
or not. You may call yourselves the Network, but I don’t see the difference. The Network exists to help the same people who are part of the Resistance.”

“You’re wrong,” Carver says. “The Network is only a humble humanitarian effort, while the Resistance was proactive and political. Let’s move along to—”

I push my chair back. “Can we just cut the semantics crap? You already know all about Miesha, Jenna, Kara’s death, and probably the color of my underwear. Enough with the questions.
Why
am I here?”

“To help a Non-pact. We already told you,” Mr. F grumbles.

“Who?”
I’m not trying to hide my impatience anymore. I understand they aren’t sure if they can trust me yet, are maybe even afraid of who or what I am, but I’m just as wary of them. Meeting shady figures in shady basements doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. I’ve already sized up the room, figured out my fastest exit and the convenient obstacles to throw in their paths. I hope they can hear in my voice that I’m seconds from walking out the door. They either meet me halfway or they don’t.

Carver returns to the table and sits. The four exchange glances. He opens his mouth to speak but Livvy cuts him off. “We aren’t sure, Locke. There’s been a rumor for the last year that the Secretary of Security is holding someone in a special detainment area somewhere in the city. Usually arrested Non-pacts are sent to Reformation and Reassignment Centers in the desert, but not this one.”

“What did he do? Violate public space?”

Livvy shakes her head. “No, for that he would have been whisked to the desert years ago. We think he might be someone who stole some money sixteen years ago. A lot of money.”

I let out a quick puff of dismissive air. “Why would you want to help someone like that? Stealing’s a crime, in case you haven’t heard.”

“If it’s who we think it is, he didn’t do it for himself,” Carver explains. “He did it for the Resistance.”

Bingo. We’re back to that after all. I raise my brows in victory, but they don’t seem to notice, more entranced with this long lost thief.

“It was pure genius,” Xavier continues. “He hit every government contractor who built security systems to keep Non-pacts from public spaces. Nine contractors, eighty billion duros all funneled instantly into a secret account. They went down like dominoes.”

They have my attention.
“Eighty billion?”

Mr. F smiles like he’s reliving it all over again. “Besides the financial hit, the humiliation factor for the so-called security contractors was so high, the theft was never revealed to the public. He had done maneuvers like this before on a smaller scale, but this time he outdid himself. The day he did it he sent us a ‘complete’ message in the afternoon along with the account numbers, but by evening he was—”

Carver jumps in. “Gone. And access to the account for eighty billion was gone with him. We thought he had sent us all the numbers, but apparently for safety reasons he only delivered half via cyber-transmittal. We later learned that the other half was to be hand-delivered.” He opens a note window, writes something on it, and flicks it toward me, a virtual memo floating across the air to me. I grab it and it becomes tangible material at my touch, almost like paper. “That was all we got,” he explains, “twelve numbers that are virtually worthless without the rest. He said he’d make sure we got the missing numbers but he never had the chance. He disappeared without a trace. He was either missing or dead.”

“Or he took off with the money. Isn’t that what thieves do?”

“Not him.”
Xavier’s ears redden and he looks like he’s going to tear off my face.

I blink slowly so he knows I’m unaffected.
A lesson for you, Xavier: Never show the enemy your weakness.
“Okay. So missing or dead. But you don’t know which?”

“His house was raided by Security Forces,” Carver says. “Burned out. His body was never produced. His widow—”

It hits me.

I finally hear what they’re trying to tell me. “Hold on. Are you saying that—?” My chair squeals back behind me and I walk away to the other side of the room then right back again. I lean on the table and shake my head. “No! No way! He’s dead. Miesha’s husband is dead. She told me so. I saw the scars on her arms where she—”