Duplicity Read online

  I think how she manipulated me into this and I almost lose the screens.

  “Good boy,” JENA says, appearing with her weird blue hair in the opposite corner. “The Overseer will be pleased.”

  For now, I think.

  For now.

  11. THE KID IN THE FEDORA

  IT’S RINSE AND REPEAT the next four days. Or at least the next four shifts. I have no way to track time, I only know that once I tire of coding, JENA shuts me down, claiming Obran’s energy levels have gone critical. The routine is maddening. No breaks for food or bathroom since I don’t need them, and being “shut down” means a dreamless, black stretch of time that does nothing to relax me. I almost wish Mom would stomp through the screens with another Principal Myer lecture.

  During one of the shifts I start fantasizing about Emma, which results in immediate blackout when images of her room flicker over my coding windows. But seriously, at this point I’d fantasize about anything—chocolate chip cookies, the rumble of the Z, how it feels to walk or touch things; hell, being hungry or thirsty or sick. Just being.

  I’m ready for a throw-down when JENA wakes me on day five.

  “Shift start,” she says in her creepy little girl’s voice, as the screens flicker to life around my prison. I glare at the ceiling and wonder how the other hackers could ever choose to go without a body when it can convey such useful messages, like both my middle fingers are doing right now.

  “Screw you,” I say.

  “Not an option. You will start your shift.”

  She opens my in-box for me, twelve new tasks to build a higher-security checkout process for some big shot online auction site. I close it and darken the screens.

  “No. I will not.”

  A pause, then JENA appears, a tiny, glowing monster in the small space.

  “Then you understand I have no choice,” she says.

  The movie screen with Obran returns from the viewpoint of my bedroom mirror. Obran rises from my desk, pretty boy hair all gelled, and heads for the door. The ache to dive through the image and cling to my bedframe and yell for Dad is like thirst. Maybe if I’m fast enough, I can get through before JENA stops me. I bolt for the screen. The picture vanishes when I reach the wall.

  “Yes,” I say, clenching my fist against the plastic where my bedpost used to be. “I understand.”

  JENA cocks her head, blue tendrils sizzling with energy. “You do not care?”

  “No, you evil little twit. I don’t care if they tear my hair out of my head and make me eat it. I won’t do this anymore, and nothing you threaten me with will work. I’d rather die.”

  She’s quiet a minute.

  “That can be arranged,” she says. “Your duplicate can continue without you. In fact, he would prefer you did not come back. No one will miss you.”

  “Then get it over with.”

  JENA makes a strange clicking noise without moving her mouth. Her expression doesn’t change when she says, “Most inmates experience a morale boost after a visit to the game room. I have restored your security clearance to default levels. I will take you to the game room now.”

  “Game room? You’re not going to kill me?”

  “I would enjoy that. However, the Overseer has specified I do not, as it would be a waste of two years’ investment tracking you down.”

  I smile and wonder why I didn’t think of that before. Because I’m slow, I guess. “Which means you never intended to trade me out and send me to real jail, so all your threats have been lies.”

  “Do not make the mistake of thinking you are not replaceable.”

  “I must not be that replaceable, or you’d just do it. Do all hackers start below the normal security level?”

  JENA doesn’t answer. Instead the floor smooths to white tile and the walls zoom back a hundred feet on all sides, and it’s so much space after my tiny cell that I feel naked. I wonder what kinds of games are allowed in a prison full of hackers. Suddenly I don’t know if I want to find out, since the last time I didn’t think something could hurt me, it ripped my tattoos off.

  “This doesn’t change anything,” I snap. “I’m still not going to work even if you set me loose on Modern Warfare for three hours. I want a friggin’ Mountain Dew or—”

  A green can appears in my hand. I stare, then pluck the top and crack it open to the satisfying crackle of fizzing soda.

  “The game room is the only server that can replicate sensory experiences,” JENA says overhead. “You have three hours. Enjoy.”

  It’s cold. The can is cold. It’s a stupid thing to get excited about, but I do, and when I press the aluminum to my lips it’s like the first time I got high. Wet sugared lime hits my tongue and I down the thing in six swallows, crush the can, and relish the pain of its sharp corners as carbonation burns down my throat. I toss aside the crumpled metal and think of another. It appears and I crack the top—

  “Oh, honey, any sensory experience you wants and you’re downing Mountain Dews?”

  I whirl, but there’s nothing but the distant walls. It wasn’t JENA’s voice. It wasn’t female. The voice laughs.

  “I haven’t seen you before. You must be new. Love your avatar.”

  A kid my age materializes five feet away. Dark brown hair under a black fedora with a white band. Striped shirt, cuffs showing under a dark blazer, first two buttons open to his bare chest. Black striped pants, a perfect reversal of the shirt. Shiny loafers.

  A fashion program?

  “Avatar?” I ask.

  “Oh, you’re the one JENA’s been complaining about.” The boy smiles. “Rumor had it they’d caught someone so hot he had to be quarantined his first day. I suppose you haven’t had a chance to play around much, let alone create an avatar. But that can’t be your real nose, can it?” He reappears inches from my face, and I resist every natural instinct not to deck him. “I mean c’mon, at least admit you shrank it or somethings.”

  The only time I’ve ever thought about my nose was the time someone stuck a bar through the top of it.

  I don’t like how close he is.

  “Back off,” I say.

  The boy’s purple eyes flash, but he flickers a few feet away.

  “Name’s Seb,” he says. “Yours?”

  “If I wanted to tell you, you’d know it.”

  “Oh, feisty. I’ll pick one for you then, Kathy.”

  “Kathy?”

  Seb’s mouth twitches. “Has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  “Whatever.”

  If this is the worst of the inmates, I guess I can deal with it. I chug my second Dew and toss the empty can. It dissolves, pixelating into the air before it hits the tile.

  I think about him saying I’m the only one who’s been quarantined his first day.

  I think JENA’s been lying to me. A lot.

  “So, how long you in here?” Seb asks.

  I ignore him and think of that ZR1 I wanted, waiting lonely in its lot while Obran runs around curing cancer and promoting abstinence or whatever the hell he’s been “reprogrammed” for. The room flickers; flashes of gold and red and emerald glint around us like a picture hidden behind static. Translucent blue lines sketch a winding road and rolling hills choked with maples and beeches, then everything explodes with color—tree trunks burn black against fiery autumn leaves, the ceiling disappears beneath a sapphire-perfect sky, bristles of grass wave in a summer breeze whose warmth tests every ounce of my self-control to not cackle like a maniac.

  Four days of isolation.

  I sprint for the door of a gorgeous Corvette as it materializes on the pavement, gleaming showcase black in the fake sunlight. I run my hand over its smooth nose, and after so long without any sense of touch, it’s turning me on just to pull the door handle. I slide into the driver’s seat and run my hand along the wheel. The smell of leather makes my mouth water. I shut the door, reach for the ignition—

  “ARG!”

  Seb reclines in the passenger seat. His head hits the ceil
ing when I yell.

  “Get out!” I say.

  He adjusts his hat. “I can’t ride with you?”

  “No! How did you…” Of course, because it’s not real. “Look, I’ve just worked thirty-two hours straight. I’m not spending my free time with Johnny Dressup.”

  “Thirty-two hours? Oh gosh.” Seb rubs a finger along his lips. “I got my first break after sixteen.”

  “I’m serious. Get out.”

  “Or what? Going to beat me into submission?” He glances at my arms. “Honey, you need to work out more for thats.”

  I glare at him, at his amused expression and his stupid hat and his weird eyes that have changed from purple to burgundy. If avatars work the same as the environment, I should be able to override him and lock him out of the car, like restricting access for a user on a file. I think about it. I think how much I don’t want him next to me. Seb ripples, like he’s passing through shadow and back again. His eyes widen. He presses against the side of the car and flashes in and out of existence, then vanishes. I smirk and crank the key. Shiver as the engine pumps five hundred kilowatts of energy under my seat.

  “Wow, that’s like sex,” Seb says from the speakers. I curse and punch the radio, which does nothing but leave my knuckles throbbing. “You might be good at what you know, sugar,” he says, “but you’re still a newbie. You don’t know how to block what you can’t see, do you? You’re too visual. Typical guy problem.”

  “Laugh it up while you can,” I snarl. “I’ll figure out how to block you eventually.”

  “But would you really want to?” Seb chuckles. “You see, I’ve been naughty. Prisoners aren’t allowed to interact. Not at work, not in the game room. I’ve found a way to hide myself from JENA and visit other users during the gaming sessions. As long as I’m back where I’m supposed to be at the end of my session, she never knows.”

  “And she just overlooks the fact that I’m talking to myself right now?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got you covered. Like replacing a security tape with empty footage during a robbery.”

  I stop thinking about blocking him. If Seb knows his way around, he could be useful. He could save me hours of research. Maybe I can get out of here before Obran completely goody-goodys my life.

  “Do you know how to use the mirrors?” I ask.

  Seb snickers. “See, I try to be a gentleman and get to know you first, but you jump right into business. I dunno, I think I’ll leave, like you asked.”

  “What? Don’t be ridiculous. We can help each other.”

  “Ridiculous? This from the guy wearing combat boots over his jeans?” Seb materializes again in the passenger seat, eyes trailing me from knees to forehead in a way that makes my lip curl. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty, or I wouldn’t have stayed this long. I can help you. I don’t know if you can help me. That’s what I’m here to find out.”

  I have some choice words to share with him regarding the word “pretty,” but I say, “So you don’t know how to use the mirrors.”

  Seb draws a finger along the ceiling. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

  “You don’t, or you wouldn’t need someone else’s help.”

  “Clever bunny.” Seb smiles. “Okay, yes. I need someone to figure out that part. I can cover you security-wise, keep JENA off your back. Only one of the servers gives us access to the mirrors. I can get you there, but that means you have to work during your game hours.” His eyes trail down my shirt. “Of course, ten minutes here or theres won’t hurt our progress too much…”

  “Never,” I snap. “If you were the last person on Earth, I wouldn’t let you touch me.”

  “Just wait another week or two, you’ll feel different. Plus—” Seb grins, and his avatar shifts like a waterfall: shining blonde spirals replace his fedora, his once-square jaw rounds below slender cheeks, his suit contours into a vivid red dress that’s barely holding in—No. Gross. I don’t want to think about it.

  “I can be whoever you want me to be,” the new avatar purrs.

  “That is so wrong,” I say.

  Seb chuckles, voice low again when he—um, she—says, “Bet I can change your mind.”

  I’m not staying in this car another second. I jerk open the door and the ’vette explodes into hundreds of confetti squares, as do the road and the trees and the flickering sky, until it’s four blank walls and tile again. And Seb, back to his male avatar, shaking with laughter.

  “Oh, we’re going to have lots of fun together!” He grins and plucks his hat off the floor, adjusting it at an angle on his brow. His smile fades. “But seriously. Last person on Earth?”

  “Correction,” I say. “I’d hang myself.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Look, if you really can bluff JENA’s security, I’m in. That’s all I’m in for.”

  “Sure, love. But keep in mind you’ve got competition. I’m the only one who’s hacked the security, and I’ve made the same offer to everyone else. First come, first served. That’s how this works. Soon as someone else figures out the mirrors, I’m riding them home and that’s tough cookies for you.”

  “Unless I figure out how to crack the security, too.”

  Seb’s smile goes crooked.

  “You’ll have to get past me,” he says. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know. I’ve got a few extra layers of protection up to make sure you mean boys don’t stab me in the back. Turns out JENA deletes hackers who get past her security. As in, fries your chip and your double gets to party it up for the rest of your body’s life. My last partner figured that one out.” He pushes the rim of his fedora. “Sometimes I miss him.”

  Something’s very wrong with the way he says that.

  “You killed your last partner?” I ask.

  Seb shrugs. “I don’t deal well with breakups.” The gold watch on his wrist beeps. He clicks a button on its side. “Time for me to go, beautiful. See you soons.”

  He winks and disappears. I’m not sure if I can trust he’s gone yet, so I call up a couple more Dews and pace the floor until the caffeine makes it impossible to focus on anything for more than three seconds. The walls shift with my imagination: the jagged peaks of the Rocky Mountains, the Massachusetts forest my friends and I hid in to shoot paintballs at cars, the New England road with my shiny ZR1 growling and the door propped open.

  I wonder if I can figure out the mirrors before one of the others.

  I wonder if I can download what Seb knows about the security from his chip. We’re all programs. I just have to find where we’re stored.

  I’m thinking about that when I slide onto the ’vette’s leather and pass my hands down the steering wheel. I think how Seb said I can’t block what I can’t see, and I glare at the roof until it shimmers, until it goes transparent as ice. The leather seat’s cool against my palms, though it looks like I’m levitating. The ’vette’s horses rumble under me but all I see below is the road. I knock my hand against the invisible steering wheel. Grope for the shifter. My feet find the pedals and the engine roars in victory, and I’m in a freaking invisible car.

  “Too visual,” I grumble.

  I shove the gearshift into first.

  12. JEKYLL AND HYDE

  THE NEXT TIME JENA shuts me down, I dream.

  * * *

  “Brandon? Are you awake?”

  Emma snaps her fingers in my face, and I blink at her, blink at the bright lights of Spanish class, and look down at my iPad. Pop quiz for something I don’t remember reading. I’ve typed in the answer to number five as “tres gatos ciegos.” Three blind cats. I think.

  What the hell?

  “Is that the answer?” Emma asks, like she’s asked me a hundred times.

  “Sure,” I say. I scroll to question six.

  “Have you been to see a doctor?”

  I look up and forget what she asked me. She looks good. Hair all curled and her eyes like liquid gold. We’re desk to desk, and I reach over and take her hand. It’s soft under
my thumb. I can’t usually feel things in dreams, but when I wake I know I’ll remember that.

  “I miss you, Emma,” I say.

  She gives me a weird look. “You need to schedule an appointment.”

  “For what?”

  “You’re not yourself. Seriously.”

  “So I’ve stopped flipping off teachers and decided to dress like a kid who wants a job.” These words come out of my mouth but I didn’t tell them to. “Do you normally see a doctor for that?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “I’m fine. I’m just tired. I thought you said you don’t care about that stuff.”

  I want to apologize as soon as it’s out. I want to hit myself but I can’t move. Who knows why you say what you do in dreams? My hands go back to my iPad and start typing the answer to number six.

  My hands connected to arms without tattoos.

  “Of course I don’t,” Emma says quietly. “I’m just concerned. You said you’ve been going to bed at eight all week, how can you be tired?”

  I don’t say anything even though I want to tell her I haven’t been to bed that early since I was that old. My hands answer number six. Move on to number seven.

  Emma says something about Jason, something else about tattooing his name across her forehead, but suddenly I’m tired, tired enough to fall asleep, and she asks me if I want to go with her somewhere after school.

  I yawn. Again, my mouth speaks words I don’t want it to.

  “Can’t,” I say. “I have to—”

  “Work tonight, I know.” Emma sighs and goes back to her tablet.

  And I realize what she just said about Jason.

  “Wait, what?” I say. “You slept with Jason?”

  The kids around us turn and it goes dead quiet. Jason’s next to me, looking very interested. Emma shrinks in her chair.

  “Brandon, no, I was just proving a point—”