Authors: Sarah Fine
“So we think the Sicarii want to destroy the scanner?” Christina asks. “They could have done that on the road a few hours ago. Problem solved.”
My mother shakes her head. “They could have, but they destroyed our vehicle instead, right as we attacked the vehicle carrying the scanner. And when the Core agents put up a fight, they backed off.”
“Maybe they don’t want to destroy it,” I say. “Maybe they want it.”
“If so, they’ll try again,” says Congers. “It’s only a matter of time. And strategy.”
I swallow hard. “And of who they get to next.” I look at Leo, and then at my mom again, hating to drop this bomb. “George scanned orange when he came to take the scanner from me at the Walmart.”
Some of the blood drains from Congers’s face. “They’ve infiltrated both sides. They must have been watching us already. And when they discovered the existence of the scanner, they moved quickly to intercept it, using what they’d already learned about who was connected to whom. Somehow, they knew of our movements tonight.”
“We don’t know how many of them might be here,” Race says to him. “Or whether there are already more within our ranks.”
“I think I know how many there are,” I say quietly. “My dad scaled up the technology and was scanning the planet using a satellite.” I tell them about the population counter and the anomalies—along with the question mark that indicated Dad didn’t know what they were. “There were fourteen, but when I checked it again yesterday morning, there were only twelve.”
“Because George and Willetts were killed,” Leo says. “They probably got George in Chicago—that’s why there were signs of a struggle in his room.”
I remember being on the phone with George on Tuesday morning. I remember hearing someone bang at his door. My hand is sweating in Christina’s grip. “If they were in Chicago . . . that’s where all The Fifty were meeting.”
My mom pushes herself off the wall. “If there are twelve Sicarii on this planet and we know they’re after the scanner, we need to protect it.”
“We need to do a lot more than that,” Race says. “We need to scan our people.”
“And ours,” Mom adds. “We also need a controlled environment. Defensible but contained, so that we can establish security and maintain it. Black Box Enterprises.”
“You’re not suggesting we invite the Core into our weapons factory,” I say quietly.
“What if I am, Tate? After all you’ve heard tonight, surely you understand we have to work together. Black Box is a self-sufficient fortress. It’s invisible to satellites, unlike official government agencies. And it has highly advanced perimeter defenses. It would allow us to prevent infiltration while we plan how to eliminate the Sicarii scout force, and, if possible, prevent the mass invasion they’re trying to facilitate.” Her brown eyes are intense and commanding. “There is no better place than Black Box.”
Race and Congers don’t disagree, but it’s not like I expect them to suggest we head to the Pentagon or Quantico. This is like killing two birds with one stone for them. They can maybe defend against the Sicarii, but also learn all the secrets of The Fifty.
“We also need immediate access to Frederick Archer’s lab,” Congers says. “We know he must have the wreckage we’ve been looking for. If there ever was a defense system to protect against Sicarii invasion, even if it simply alerts us to their presence and gives us a chance to fight, we need to find a way to make it work. We believe the technology can be weaponized.” He looks down at the scanner as if it’s going to tell him the answer. And part of me wonders if it can, in the right hands.
“We know Dad had at least one scanner satellite in orbit,” I said. “I could take a look at his stuff and—”
“Our team will investigate,” says Congers. “And I hope you’ve heard enough now to cooperate.”
“If you’d told me all of this earlier, instead of having your son beat on me, asshole, maybe I would have cooperated
then.
”
Congers merely stares at me, unapologetic. But he only started playing nice when he knew the Sicarii had gotten to the H2, and his decision to keep me in the dark has cost us valuable time.
Race clears his throat, looking at my mom first, then me. “We’ve all lost people in this fight,” he says. “We’ve all made mistakes, and the toll has been high. I know that will make it hard to trust each other.”
I stare at him.
I will
never
trust you,
I think.
And I will never forgive you.
But as I squeeze Christina’s hand, as I picture some creepy parasite crawling out of Willetts and taking her over, a chill rides across my skin. “What are you proposing? I’m not helping you get into my dad’s lab unless I go in, too, and unless I have a say in what happens to whatever we find.”
Congers’s eyes light with frustration. “Have you even graduated from high school?” he shouts. “You have no idea what we’re facing, and we don’t have time to waste like this!”
“Exactly,” I yell, releasing Christina, my hand clenched around the grip of my gun. “Which is why you need
me.
And I’m not just going to hand over my dad’s inventions and technology to the same people who killed him!”
Race steps between us, his hands up. “He has to be included, Bill. He’s proven himself more capable than the average teenager, and he knows more about the lab than we do.” He sighs. “And he has a habit of causing enormous destruction when not properly informed or contained.”
Mom lifts her chin as she speaks to Congers. “The Core is not the only group that prepares its youth to carry the torch. You should not underestimate my son. Or any of us, for that matter.”
Her words lower my blood pressure, especially when she looks my way. Only a few days ago, she was the one trying to protect me, trying to make plans without me. But now she’s realized just how well Dad prepared me. As I think about what lies ahead of us, though, what’s coming for us—an enemy that wears our skin and disables us from the inside out . . . I can only hope he prepared me well enough.
EIGHT
AS THE DRIVER PARKS ON THE STREET OUTSIDE THE
Upper West Side building where I’ve lived my entire life, Mom turns to me. “Are you ready for this?” she asks me in a low voice.
“No,” I say honestly. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t do it.”
She gives me a pained smile and gets out of the vehicle. The others disembark, too. Race and Congers stand stiffly near the front stoop while the other agents remain near the two SUVs and one truck, scanning the sidewalk warily. It’s Saturday, four in the morning, but our neighbors are mostly middle-aged professionals. Not a lot of night owls, so the street is pretty quiet.
The last few hours have been a flurry of phone calls and planning.
I’m still not happy about taking Core agents into Dad’s lab. But I know what I saw on that road in Jersey. I know the avarice I saw on the faces of Willetts and George as they worked in concert to steal the scanner. I know how I feel when I think of a parasitic alien trying to take over the body of the girl standing next to me, or anybody, for that matter. And I believe the Sicarii are already in the early stages of an invasion that could come as soon as they disable the threats to their plan. Including us.
For all those reasons, I want to find out what my dad was doing, and why he called the scanner the key to our survival. The Sicarii wanted it, and that makes me wonder more than ever what the device can do, what might happen if they turned it against us, and what we could do to them if we could figure it out.
Leo touches my arm as everyone else gathers on the sidewalk. “Can I go in with you?” he asks, his voice just above a whisper. He gives Graham a nervous glance as the guy glowers at us.
I return Graham’s glare. I’m hoping he’s decided we’re even, but I know the last few hours have been rough for him. “Absolutely, Leo. I need you.”
Leo’s eyebrows rise, and I see the question there. “You knew my dad, Leo. And you notice things others don’t.”
His eyes brighten. “I do?”
“Yeah. So keep an eye out, and speak up. I need people I trust in there.” I reach for Christina’s hand as she joins us near the steps.
“Thanks,” Leo says, scuffing the toe of his oversized soccer cleat against the sidewalk.
We all file into the building. My body aches as we climb the stairs to the apartment, but I grit my teeth and resist the urge to lean against the banister and catch my breath. Standing behind me are Race, Congers, Graham, and another young agent named Daniel Sung, an Asian guy with black hair buzzed high and tight—the only Core member thus far who has politely introduced himself. My mom, Christina, and Leo follow them cautiously. All are tight-lipped and tense as I stride to the keypad and type in the entry code. The door swings open. “You guys really made yourselves at home last time you were here,” I growl at Congers, striding into my living room and taking in the disarray. “Where’s my cat?”
“Agents delivered the cat to a kennel under your name,” Congers responds.
I squint at him. “They did?”
He shrugs. “It was going to starve if it was left here.”
I should say “thanks,” but instead I say, “I hope you didn’t destroy the one thing that’s gonna get us into his lab.”
“You keep talking to me like you expect an apology,” says Congers, following me back to my room with the others trailing behind. “Stopping an invasion of this planet far outweighs the invasion of your home.”
“Dude, shut up,” I grumble, eyeing the mess they made of my space. I mean, it was always messy, but now it’s total chaos. I don’t know what they thought they were looking for, since the lab is in the basement, but they tossed my shit all over the place. Congers and Race stand in the hall. My mother peeks in and makes a noise that tells me she can probably smell my dirty socks. I go over to a pile of laundry and kick it aside, then pull up the loose corner of carpet. My dad—and the Core agents, apparently—never thought to look under it because of the pile of stinky workout clothes that was always there. Beneath the loose carpet is the little compartment I dug into the floorboards, and out of it, I pull the small plastic case containing my dad’s fingerprint. “Let’s go downstairs,” I say.
A few minutes later, I’m doing what I’ve done so many times before: slipping the film containing the fingerprint onto my finger and pressing it to the tab while typing in my dad’s password. It makes my chest ache. The last time I did this, he was alive.
The door opens, and it feels like we’re unsealing a tomb. Congers tells Sung and Graham to stay in the hallway, and both look unhappy but obey without arguing. The rest of them file in behind me, looking around as I flick on the lights. “Don’t touch anything,” I tell them. “Trust me. Some of this stuff looks harmless, but none of it is.” Race appears at my shoulder, and even though his face doesn’t give much away, I can tell he’s impressed by the eager sweep of his eyes across the weapons racks. “Look at this,” I say, walking over to the black screen that shows the population count. “This is what I was telling you guys about.”
The numbers on the screen read:
2,943,287,964
4,122,239,895
12 (?)
“So you think the bottom number denotes the Sicarii scouts,” Race says.
“I do. Like I told you, it was fourteen before George and Willetts were killed,” I reply as Congers and my mother join us while Christina hovers near the door.
Race peers at the screen. “I’d say that’s a preponderance of the evidence.”
“It’s a good hypothesis,” my mother replies, always the scientist.
I touch the screen, and it flashes with a bunch of blueprints and plans before going red and asking for the password, just as it did before. I take a deep breath.
Please let this be right.
I’ve tried it in other places, and I’m scared to hope that it’s going to work now, especially because I’m not alone in that hope—everyone else is tense and silent with anticipation. My fingers shake as I type.
When the time comes, it’s Josephus
. . . As soon as I type that name, the red dissolves, and I let out a shaky, relieved laugh as the plans are revealed. For what, I have no idea, but since that password was the last thing my dad ever said, I know I’m looking at something important. And relentlessly complicated. The agents and my mother narrow their eyes as they try to read the tiny words and equations. “Do you guys have any idea what it is?”
“I might,” says Race. “And if I’m right, your father was much further along than we anticipated—we thought he’d just made a single device, but he seems to have built his own system. Bill, look at this.”
Congers leans in, and he might have a good poker face, but he can’t hide his surprise. His eyes get wider as he zooms in on the lower left quadrant of the plans. “This . . . could be it.” He tears his gaze from the screen to look at me. “You mentioned that your father had scaled up the technology. Did he utilize its full potential?”
“You’re gonna have to rewind and tell me what you’re thinking.”
“The scanner technology differentiates the species. Human. H2. Sicarii. And if those numbers you showed us are indeed from a population counter, he’s scaled up the technology using a satellite, as you said. But these plans are for a
network
of satellites.”
Race points to a list of names, all pharaohs—Amenhotep, Thutmose, Hatshepsut, and so on. “These designate each one.”
“You might be right.” I walk over to the shelf and grab the mobile satellite controller, the size of a small cell phone, the one I found the same day I stole the scanner from this lab. I enter the password—Mom’s middle name—and show them the display. “This one is for Ramses.” We look back at the screen’s listing of pharaoh names designating each satellite. Ramses is the only name listed in red. The others are white. “Maybe Ramses is the only one in the air?”
“Or the only one scanning,” suggests my mom. “If all of these are activated and working in concert, they’ll form a field. Anything passing through the field will be scanned.”
“Like incoming Sicarii,” I say. “So it’s like an early warning system? How much good will that do us?”