Broken Mirror (52 page)

Softly, as if through tightly packed cotton earplugs, Victor heard noises from the dog pen growing louder and more alarming. They rounded a corner and saw a worker frantically attempting to drag two dogs apart
—why two?—
a boxer and a black lab. Vicious growling and barks pierced Victor’s eardrums. The dogs lunged and strained against their collars, trying to tear each other to pieces.

“Oh, Laws,” Leroy said. He ran inside the building and returned immediately. Yelling at the man beyond the fence to get his attention, Leroy passed a sleep jabber to him. The dogs bared their fangs. They fought, a whirling ball of growls, teeth, and injured yelps. Within seconds, one had gone limp. The other continued to attack. Blood covered its snout.

The man inside the fence hesitated, afraid to get too close. He had already been scratched on his hands and arms.

Victor’s heart raced. The last time he’d seen dogs acting like this was when the terriers attacked Granma Cynthia. She’d said they’d been acting strangely for months
—
the trouble must have started around the time Oak Knoll was shut. Around the same time the compound XSCT made its way to Texas and Jefferson had visited the kennel.

Hector had lied to him. Leroy was lying now. Jefferson had been here with the compound.

Did it have something to do with the dogs?

Victor looked at the dogs again. There were two here in the yard and dozens within the kennel. A good sample size for an experiment.

Perhaps the compound was still here, only it was hidden within the animals, waiting for someone to extract it.

Victor shook. A growl leapt from his throat. He couldn’t take any more lies and secrets. If Jefferson had trusted Victor, he would have told him about this months ago. He wouldn’t have hidden the cure. Victor was a big mess that everyone tried to work around. No one trusted him.

He
fled through the administrative building. The office furniture flowed around him, and then he was standing in the front parking lot, staring at his reflection in the glass wall. Shell-shocked eyes. Sagging skin. Wild hair. He looked haunted.

He stumbled away, crossed the parking lot into a weedy meadow. The blankness invaded. All he had to do was surrender. Like dust and gas hurtling around a protostar on the verge of fusion ignition, soon he would be either trapped in a scorching orbit or swept away to the cold loneliness of space. And there was nothing he could do. Might as well try to break the laws of physics. He was on a path from which he couldn’t escape.

His grandfather’s words returned.
Never surrender
. The Eastmore motto. No matter how bad it got.
Never surrender
. He imagined he could hear his voice, “You have a value and strength, a decent core at the heart of your brokenness.” He remembered Jefferson giving him the data egg. “Listen. Hear my words. Never surrender.” Despite the challenges, knowing his life would be cut short, Jefferson had urged Victor to keep going, no matter how bleak his future appeared.

The blankness converged. Unlike hundreds of times during his life when he was on the brink of a blankout and he had succumbed, this time he faced it and fought back. Nebulous blurs at the edge of his vision expanded; then everything went white, as if thick, puffy clouds had descended. Forms swirled in the mist. He felt a presence, a sense of place.

Victor steeled himself, refusing to be moved, and watched the blankness evolve into something full and dynamic, fractal patterns and kaleidoscopic colors. He couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing, but he couldn’t deny an overwhelming feeling of fullness. Blank space wasn’t blank at all
—
it was a full world calling to him, demanding that he cross over. He moved toward it.

The data egg buzzed in his pocket. At first Victor thought he was imagining the sensation. The data egg buzzed again. He snapped back, heard grass rustling, saw clouds high above, motionless. He stood completely still, and again the data egg buzzed, vibrating against his thigh. With one hand he removed the egg and cupped it in his palm. A red circle ran around its circumference. The egg was hatching.

A hologram appeared and hovered in the air. Jefferson Eastmore
—
only his head, but big as life
—
stared at Victor. He sat down. He reached out, his fingers grazing the face, casting shadows amid the dry grass. The dead man gazed above Victor’s head and began to speak.

“Victor, I made this recording because there are things that must be said and I’m afraid that time is not on our side.”

Victor watched and listened, mouth open, scared to make a sound and interrupt the voice he’d loved hearing, the voice that had always made him feel safe and worthy.

Jefferson continued, “The data egg opened now because you’ve gained control over your episodes, as I knew you would. I’m very proud of you. Also, by now, you’ve passed at least one reclassification with a little help from this data egg. It’s a remarkable piece of technology, and I hope it continues to serve you well.”

So that’s what had opened the data egg
—
Victor’s newfound ability to stave off the blankness.

“There’s no delicate way to say this, and I wish I could save you from the shock, but I had best just come out with it: if you’re seeing me, I’ve been murdered. I’ve been exposed to small doses of radioactive polonium over the course of a year, which have collected in my tissues and are killing me. It took me far too long to figure out what was happening, and now it’s too late.”

Victor clenched his jaw. He’d been right all along. Jefferson had known about the poison. Why hadn’t he said anything?

“I know my murderer, and I know why I was poisoned. I can’t tell you who it is yet. I’m sorry. The truth is far more dangerous than ignorance.”

“No, no, Granfa, you have to tell me!” Victor felt sick to his stomach. He reached out to the hologram, and his fingers sliced through it uselessly.

“There are competing views about the future for people with MRS: some believe they can be cured, some believe they are gateways to other planes of existence, and some believe they can be fashioned into weapons. I believed you could be cured. I still believe that, you must believe that, and you must fight against anyone who doesn’t agree with my vision.”

Victor asked, “Who did it? Why tell me all this and not who killed you?”

Jefferson’s recording said, “A cure is possible. But the compound we were working on had unpredictable effects. I couldn’t allow it to be used to turn others into mindless, ruthless soldiers or crazed cultist sycophants. I could not let that happen. I may be dead, but I am not defeated. Through you, I still hope to change how people with MRS are treated.”

Victor’s eyes shone. Granfa Jeff hadn’t gone quietly to the grave. He’d died as he’d lived with big dreams and the capacity to take on the world. “Tell me, Grandfather. What do I need to do?”

“My top priority is to keep you safe. Just as it wouldn’t have been responsible to announce the true cause of my death publicly, it wouldn’t be responsible of me to tell you who killed me before you’re ready, before what I’ve set in motion bears fruit. In some ways my murderer is more deeply disturbed than even Samuel Miller.”

The name sent shock waves through Victor: his skin prickled, and hairs stood up.

“I need to warn you,” Jefferson continued. “People may try to tell you there are spirits and demons in congress with humanity, that you are chosen to be a bridge between worlds, to lead an army. These are all devious dreams and deluded fantasies. The only solution, the solution you must pioneer, is to change the political climate. To gain acceptance and integrate people with MRS into society. This is your responsibility, your future. To be a leader. To change the world.”

Victor felt his gut chill.
No, no, what are you thinking? No one will listen to a Broken Mirror. I’m an untouchable.

“You can’t do it alone. You’ll be contacted by people I trust: Ming Pearl; Ozie, your friend from school; and a close associate of mine named Tosh. When the time comes, they’ll reach out to you. Listen to their advice. Learn how they are making progress happen. But remember, the only person you can truly trust is yourself.”

When the time comes, they’ll reach out to you.
But that’s not what happened. Victor had found them: in Little Asia, beneath Oak Knoll, in the O.W.S. wilderness. He’d gone in search of them
before
they’d come to him, and he might have ruined Granfa Jeff’s plans in the process.

Jefferson said, “I want you to return to Carmichael”
—
Victor cringed at the thought
—
“and work as a member of the staff at the Class Two ranch there. I’ve hired them myself; they’re open-minded and believe in my vision. Spend time with Samuel Miller. The data egg will help him too. You must prove that alternative treatments are effective.”

Victor swallowed thickly. Go back to Carmichael? Hang out with Samuel Miller? That was Granfa Jeff’s plan? Of course, he probably thought that Victor would never leave SeCa, but still. It was lunacy.

Jefferson seemed to hesitate. He looked away, and his next words were tentative and haltingly spoken.

He said, “Victor, don’t tell anyone what I’ve told you. Nobody. Not your parents. Not Circe. Not even Cynthia. No one. You have to do this on your own. The data egg will open again; there’s much more I have to say when you’re ready. I love you. Good-bye.”

The hologram ended abruptly and disappeared. The egg returned to its solid black color, except for a thin slice of red ringing it.

Dry grass crunched behind Victor. He turned to find Hector approaching. In the distance, Corps standing in front of the kennel watched them across a field of waving, brittle grass.

“What are you doing, Victor?”

His mind was reeling. Granfa Jeff had said a lot yet left so much unsaid. “I got a message from my grandfather.”

Hector frowned and narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure? I know about your delusions.”

“A real message. I—” How much should he say? “Trust only yourself,” Granfa Jeff had told him. But Hector knew something. “I know he came here. What aren’t you telling me?”

“You must be imagining—”

“Stop. I’ve had enough. I can tell when someone is lying. Is it the dogs?” Victor asked.

Hector wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “You’re supposed to tell me what to do. But Jefferson said you’d be here a year from now.” He tugged on his ear. “You don’t know, do you? Not the whole story.”

Victor’s face heated up. “What are you hiding?”

Hector glanced back at the Corps. “Those guys let you wander around today, but they’ve got no loyalty. They weren’t part of the deal. They’re
new
. I’ve got to work with them watching me everyday. I have to look out for my family, for their safety. Don’t come back until you can guarantee that.” Hector stalked away, leaving Victor alone with the waving grass.

Victor stared at the data egg in his hand. The truth was never a revelation. It was a sliver lodged in his skin, evading his efforts to pluck it out.

No matter, he’d keep searching.

Victor’s Handy 1000 blinked with a vidfeed request from Auntie Circe. He opened it as a sonofeed.

“What’s going on? Victor, are you all right?” Circe asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. You got my message about Karine?”

“Yes, I spoke with her. Thank the Laws she found you.”

His auntie seemed to actually believe the story he and Karine had made up: he’d gone hundreds of kilometers on a joyride with Elena, got caught up in gang warfare, and Karine had swooped in to save the day. It was astonishing how much his auntie trusted Karine.

Circe said, “You realize your parents, all of us, are still worried sick about you.”

“Yeah, I do. Sick enough to have me watched by Elena and two thugs.”

“Why do you call them thugs? Karine assures me—”

“I’m not going to get into it with you. I’m just trying to find somewhere I can breathe. There’s no such thing as a Broken Mirror here.”

Auntie Circe clucked. “I hate that term. It’s a horrible misnomer. You’re not broken, Victor. You hold up a mirror to the people around you. If we see you as broken, it’s because we don’t like what we see in ourselves. Still, I think you’ll be better cared for by us. The Class Two ranch in Carmichael is a model community. Not like the others.”

“I’m not coming back.”

“Victor, don’t you—”

“Do you believe people with MRS are dangerous?”

It was a moment before Auntie Circe spoke. “Maybe not all of them. Maybe they weren’t before, but the situation now is clear. Some may be dangerous, but all of them are in danger. Without the Classification System to reassure the public, there would have been riots and lynchings. You see that, surely. For their own protection, they must be separated.”

“You really believe that?”

“Of course! I may just be Auntie Circe to you, Victor, but I’m the chief of BioScan. I’ve seen the world beyond SeCa, beyond Europe
—
there are thousands of different cultures. I’ve learned from them. And one lesson is clear above all.”

Her voice was growing strangely harmonic, as if every word she spoke carried multiple meanings.

“Every culture yearns for the good old days. They want to go back to their roots, to find the good in them that has somehow dissipated with the passage of time. But they cannot go back. As much as my views differed from Father’s, we agreed on that point. The wheel of progress, he said, pushes us all forward. Now, he was thinking too mechanically when he needed to think biologically, but the principle is correct. Cultures evolve. Organisms evolve. Our minds evolve. We develop new traits, new abilities, new norms, and one thing is certain: we cannot go back.”

Victor gulped down a hint of sour bile, and he wondered at his strange reaction to her words. “G said something like that to me at Oak Knoll the day it closed.”

“You’ve been tested,” she said. “That’s how I see it. You know . . .”

“What?”

“Well, if you don’t want to return to SeCa, and if we really want to jump-start the research again, New Venice would be the perfect location. The Louisiana Territories are booming. The authorities are desperate to attract business. We could expand the clinic and create a full-fledged research center. Would you like that?”