Halfskin (10 page)

He didn't...

See...

George looked up. He looked through the glass door. He didn't see the kid... it wasn't the kid... sitting there. He wiped his face, rubbed his eyes, moved his mouth like it was filled with paste and looked again.

It wasn't the kid.

It wasn't Nix.

James?

"Hey, Georgie. How's it going, bud?"

My best friend?

The guy he grew up with was sitting on the other side of the door. His buddy, his friend for life, his best man at his wedding...

James was sitting in there. His blood brother.

The man that slept with my wife.

"Georgie, remember this one?" James kicked the chair across the room, got on his knees next to the bed. "Remember the time you came home from work early and saw this? You remember?"

James's hips gyrated, grinding into the mattress. He closed his eyes, head back. James’s fingers caressed the sheets. The frame squeaked with every thrust. It began to sound like a woman moaning. A woman loving it.

Loving every second of it.

"Remember that, Georgie?"

Yeah. He remembered.

He remembered the best man that took his life away... he remembered the best man he'd take a bullet for, the man he'd die for, the man who was doing that with his wife... HIS WIFE... AND THAT MAN WAS RIGHT… IN... THERE!

Click.

George touched the monitor on his belt. The door unbuckled. James backed up. George came in, fists clenched. He'd waited a long time for this day. He waited a long time to tell his best man what he thought, what he felt... all these years.

Chess pieces fell on the floor as he stepped into the cell. The door latched behind him.

His head was vibrating. It was so hot.

Like fire.

16

Nix watched the madness unfold.

He hardly looked at the chess board. Instead, he watched George’s memories like streaming videos. He wasn’t sure how he was doing it, just looked up and there they were. At first, Nix misunderstood, thought he was remembering something in his own past. But he was remembering someone else’s life, someone middle-aged.

Sitting right in front of him.

The new breed biomites had something to do with it. Cali’s message was clear: Nix would know what to do. He had to get out of the Center. He couldn’t just walk out, even if he had George tied with his hands behind his back and a gun to his head, they’d simply shut off Nix’s biomites and it was over. Like that. Cali had another plan, a way that would force them to take Nix far away from the Center, to a place with less security. A place easier to dupe.

But it was going to hurt.

So Nix sat there watching George’s memories, sorting through the painful ones. There were so many to choose from, but there was one that continued to rise to the surface. And that would be it. That would trigger the escape.

Nix made that memory a reality.

George saw what Nix wanted him to see. None of it was real, but George wouldn't know the difference. Maybe it wouldn’t work on someone else, someone smarter, someone who didn’t drink or had more refined biomites with security patches. As it was, George wanted to believe his thoughts, he loved to be entertained. His reality was what his brain biomites told him was reality. And they told him that his best friend, his greatest betrayer, was ten feet away, mocking him.

Nix knew all too well that the mind can make people see what they want to see.

When the door popped open, when George entered his room, Nix thought-commanded his new breed biomites to dull his nervous system. He stood up, numbly, and backed away. George came through the doorway, the door shutting behind him. This needed to be beyond anything they could handle in the Detainment and Observation Center. They would need to get him out after this.

George looked like a grizzly. His chest expanded, his eyes red and wild. Teeth bared. He backed Nix into a corner, hot air streaming out his nostrils. Before the first blow landed, the new breed biomites connected with the surveillance cameras and began downloading the video stream, capturing every last second of the mauling that took place in room 204.

It was a beating that lasted three minutes with guards begging him to stop. A beating of pure hatred, bent vengeance, total destruction.

When it ended, no one would recognize the face that belonged to Nix Richards.

The cameras would never forget.

17

Marcus loosened his tie.

Down on Van Ness Avenue, three stories down, was a line of people. A line of gays and lesbians and hippies. The lesbian with the crew cut was bellowing into a bull horn.

Only in California. Only in San Francisco.

He'd been to almost every state to witness a halfskin shutdown and he'd never seen picketers. There were scathing editorials and dirty looks, but Americans understood this was a problem and the government was looking out for them.

But not in California.

They were saving the world one tree at a time, hiking up their sleeves and making humorous signs that belittled the grave danger biomites presented to humanity. And the liberal media was more than happy to slurp up, regurgitate it to the general population so that teenagers around the world believed the government is a big bad wolf coming to blow their house down.

They were all going to hell.

God did not look kindly on the free-sinning lifestyles of California. He did not approve of their dream worlds. If these people got a job, if they lived in reality, they wouldn't have time to kick off their shoes and parade in front of the Detention and Observation Center. They'd be home, taking care of their family. Taking care of kids.

California.

It was federal law to establish secure centers for detainment and observation. Somehow, converting a five-story building on a downtown street did not conform to what Marcus considered secure.

These jerkoffs were right there at the entrance.

He watched his car coast down Van Ness Avenue. It slowed near the entrance but continued without much notice. He'd phoned down for the driver to meet him on Polk Street. He’d take the back exit and walk the block over.

He dug a camera from his soft leather handbag, snapped a picture of the bullhorn lesbian. He'd get her identity. He'd make sure he attended her halfskin shutdown. That he'd enjoy.

He folded his jacket and tie and stuffed them into his bag, snapping it shut. He hoped if any of the hippie protesters saw him, they wouldn't think much.

The door opened. "Sir, the Secretary of State is on the phone."

Tim held the cell phone to his chest. Marcus walked around the shiny conference table, hand out and fingers wiggling.

"Yeah." He spoke into the phone, closing the door on Tim. "Just leaving."

Marcus wandered back to the window.

"It went fine, just a little backlash at the front door."

He listened to the voice on the other end.

"Chicago?" Marcus spouted. "Why'd they move the kid out of the Center?"

The Secretary of State explained the public relations waiting for him at Northwestern Memorial Hospital. The kid had been nearly beaten to death by one of the Center's guards.

"That's not our problem. That's on the Center."

"They suspect a bad biomite seed caused excessive aggression," the Secretary said. “In the guard.”

"Look, I don't know why you're calling me. People snap all the time, that's not on us. I suggest you get him back to the Center, let him heal and then we'll shut him down when he’s halfskin."

There was discussion.

Marcus pulled the phone from his ear, looked at the photo uploading to his screen. He took a deep breath, put the phone against his head.

“That gets out,” the Secretary said, “we got problems.”

The Secretary was right. People like those on the street would send that around the world. By morning, the media would paint the administration as blood lusting animals sending their redline babies to meat factories where they'd get battered and raped before they got shut down.

"Listen, the President wants that kid nursed back to health, he wants us to care for him, to do everything we can do. He's sitting at 49%. We can't shut him down while he looks like that because one of
our
people snapped."

"All right."

"It's not us against them, Marcus. Get over there and clean this up."

Marcus looked out the window. "No one goes near that kid's hospital room besides doctors and nurses. Post security, I'll fly out tonight."

He dropped the phone on the table.

He went out the back way.

Things would be so much easier if people didn't get in the way.

18

Avery was swimming with some kids at the other end of the hotel's pool. Cali watched from a lounger. Big, round sunglasses hid her eyes even though they were indoors.

She was thinking.

There were always problems. She was an engineer, knew to plan for contingency. She thought they’d let her see her brother. She had waited a day to go to the second floor of the hospital so it didn’t appear like she was already in the city, waiting for him to arrive. She saw the guy sitting outside her brother’s room reading a paper. She explained who she was, showed her identification.

He simply shook his head.

No one, absolutely no one, is allowed to see this kid. Not his sister, not his mother, not Jesus Christ.

She stood in front of the guy, clenching and unclenching her fists, until he told her that she needed to move on before he escorted her out.

Cali wandered down the hall, turned the corner and leaned against the wall. She didn't know where to go, what to do. There were a dozen options but none of them had long term viability.

She needed to think.

She needed to do something, fast.

And that's when the small, freakish looking creep walked past her. He reeked of government entitlement. His pants were wrinkled, collar undone. His stride was bold, his shoes clapping the floor like it offended him. He oozed power.

She knew who he was. Every nanobiometrics engineer knew what Marcus Anderson looked like. He put that guard there.

He was just the person she needed.

She went back to the hotel room, but it was stuffy.

She came to the pool to change the scenery, to give Avery something to do besides jump on the beds. There was only one couple, the ones with the kids splashing around. The man's name was Paul. His eight-pack abs rolled like hardened sand dunes. His sunglasses were askew, mouth agog. He was 35% biomite, used them to burn fat and build muscle without exercising. He also allocated a significant percentage to increase strength and eye-hand coordination to dominate his golf league. The remaining biomites boosted memory and analytical ability, aiding his successful legal skills. Paul had about 5 years before he redlined, but he figured something would come out before then.

Shelly—his gorgeous wife—was shopping on her tablet. She was only 10% biomite, something that controlled her metabolism and suppressed her appetite and boosted her memory. She planned on going back to college. She wanted to be a teacher.

Cali's new breed biomites knew these things, downloaded them from Paul and Shelly like data. They were none the wiser. Cali’s new breeds were networking with Paul and Shelly’s biomites like cloud memory. She knew everything about them: bank accounts, passwords, social security numbers, memories.

Paul was two years into an affair.

"Mama! Watch!" Avery splashed into the deep end. "I'm going to touch the bottom, count how long I'm under water."

Cali smiled at her daughter. "Okay."

"You ready?"

"Yep."

Avery pinched her nose and somersaulted beneath the surface, her feet splashing her deeper. Cali loved watching her swim. She remembered when she couldn't touch the bottom and clung to her arm like a barnacle.

Avery emerged in a hurry, breathing heavily.

"How many?" she asked.

"One-hundred seconds." Cali smiled.

"
Moooom
. You didn't count."

"Let me finish up and then I'll come swim with you, how about that?"

"Yay!" Avery pinched her nose for another dive.

Shelly put on sunglasses, acted like she wasn't staring.

Cali set up her laptop and found some basic information on Marcus Anderson. He was involved with the boot of M0ther and a leader of the halfskin laws. He was witness to all shutdowns to date.

If he only knew what I invented.

It wasn't hard to find his office phone number and email. That information was available to the public. Cali wasn't interested in those. Anyone who sent a message or called would get an assistant, guaranteed to never reach him.

She needed a more direct line.

Cali analyzed thousands of Marcus Anderson accounts. In seconds, she cracked into his home computers—accessing documents, bank accounts, vacation photos and personal email and cell phone.

She didn't bother calling. He wouldn't answer.

She texted, instead. Uploaded a video.

[Send.]

She sat back. Her coffee was cold.

Paul was still asleep and Shelly was filing her nails, still pretending not to sneak peeks at Cali. Avery climbed onto the ledge in front of her, pushing her wet hair back and spitting water.

"You said you were going to swim."

"I am, sweety. Almost done."

Avery whacked the side of her head, knocking water out of her ears. She complained when she couldn't get them clear. Cali pulled a bottle of alcohol from her bag and waved her daughter over. Avery lay on the lounger while her mother squirted alcohol into her ears, making a funny face because she hated the way it felt.

Shelly was watching, again.

Avery dried her hair, looked at the laptop.

"When are we going to visit Uncle Nix?" She touched the picture of her uncle that was frozen on the screen.

"Soon."

"I can't wait to see him."

A cell phone chimed. "Me, too. Why don't you jump in and I'll be right there after I take this call."

Avery cannonballed into the deep end. Cali flashed five fingers twice and Avery was pleased with scoring a perfect 10. The caller ID reported a restricted number. Cali touched the screen and held it to her ear.

"How'd you get this number?" a man said.

"There are more important matters to discuss."

Silence hung on the other end of the phone. His voice muffled through his fingers as he said something. The receiver scuffed and he pulled his hand away.

"I'll have you arrested."

"The video is genuine. You may take your time authenticating it, if you like, but I only have so much patience. You don't want that released to the public."

Another long pause.

"What do you want?"

"I just want to see my brother. I will arrive at the hospital at noon today."

Cali turned off the phone.

He'd have his people analyze the video, have them figure out how she got it. The new breeds seeded in Nix’s brain pirated the video and uploaded it to an anonymous FTP site that Cali immediately shut down. She forced herself to watch it. Dry-heaved when it was over.

She really didn’t expect to use the video, it was only going to be a last resort bargaining chip if things got bad. But getting locked out of the room sunk every other plan she had. They would keep him isolated until he healed enough to return to the Center.

Or turned halfskin.

That’s what really freaked her out, seeing that man in the hall, knowing he was there to see this to a tidy end. She knew she couldn’t play nice. She was all in. If the gamble didn’t work, she would start blowing up careers and take as many people down with her.

Starting with Marcus Anderson.

"You coming?" Avery called.

Cali stretched her arms and back. She was ready for a swim. She needed to cool off. She made a suggestion that the new breeds passed along to Shelly just before diving into the pool. When she emerged halfway across—throwing her wet, blond hair off her face—she heard Shelly. And Paul trying to explain all the emails he’d received from someone calling him lover.

19

Antiseptic.

Beeps.

Pinpricks on his arm.

Something pumped, in and out. Inflating him like a balloon then allowing him to leak before filling him up again.

Nix knew the sounds and smells of a hospital. His earliest memories started at five years old, when he woke in one of the tilting beds with the side rails and a nurse tending a needle in his arm. He watched her through the slits of his eyelids, fascinated there was a needle in his arm and he couldn't feel it. In fact, he couldn't feel much.

That was the day he realized he was cursed.

His father, a brilliant nanobiometric engineer.
Dead
.

His mother, an outstanding computer programmer.
Dead
.

His sister, a nanobiometric engineer like her father, the only family he had left. She was beside his bed.

She was cursed, too. Just didn’t realize it yet.

He couldn't open his eyes. It might have been hours, or days. Weeks. He floated in the lonely darkness with his memories. Occasionally, he heard muffled voices or the dull prick of a needle sliding into his arm. He was still wearing the suppression ring, his biomites offering very little help healing his broken body. If not for the new breeds, he would be in agony.