Twist (19 page)

“No,” he said. “It's just … never mind.”

“Don't be nervous,” I said. “You're going to be a—”

“Natural. Yeah.”

“It's going to be great. I'll be right there waiting for you the whole time.” My eyelid twitched again.

“If you're gonna lie to me, Bree”—Wyck let out a chuckle—“you need to do a better job of hiding your tell.”

Heat rushed to my face. “How do you know my tell?”

Finn was the only one who had ever noticed or called me on it before.

“I…” Wyck blinked and bent away. “It just is. The twitch. It's your tell.”

This was the second time in less than twelve hours that Wyck knew information only Finn should know. Something told me this was not a coincidence. But something also told me I didn't want Wyck dwelling on it.

I carefully kept both eyes pried open. “Well, today, it was just a bug that flew near my eye. I'll be right there when you get back.”

“Thanks.” Wyck gave the top of my arm a little squeeze.

And then a little harder squeeze. Rougher.

“Wyck.” I tried to tug it away, but his fingernails dug in. “You're hurting me.”

He immediately released it, staring at his arm like it had turned to a hot poker.

“I'm … sorry. I didn't realize I was holding it that tight.”

I rubbed my palm against the trail of half-moon indentations left by his nails, but didn't say anything. It had been a flash, that was all. The last thing I needed was Evil Wyck poking his head out right now, though.

We entered the building. Lafferty, wearing what was apparently her signature white outfit with red heels, bustled past me, pulling Wyck through the front doors. I trailed behind, trying to stay as unobtrusive as possible.

“My apologies again for the short notice,” she said. “As I explained earlier, our scholarship students have to be flexible, scheduling-wise. But tick-tock. Wouldn't want you to miss your window.”

What was the hurry? At the Institute, Shifters stumbled in for launches sleep-slogged and ten minutes late all the time. It wasn't like the seventeenth century was going anywhere.

Lafferty led us to a cheery yellow transport tube. She gestured that she'd follow us. Wyck waited for me to step inside, and again the sensation of soaring swept over me.

When I whished into the landing chamber, it was almost identical to the one from the other day. Except this one only had a single porthole leading out of it rather than multiple options. Without waiting for Lafferty, Wyck and I pushed ourselves through the hole and emerged in ICE's Launch Room.

I had expected it to be like the Student Launch Room at the Institute—cold and sleek and shiny and modern. I couldn't have been more off base. This room very closely resembled a comfy viewing gallery at an art museum. There were paintings lining the walls of the oblong room dating back from recent pop art to centuries old.

“Are we in the right spot?” I asked Wyck.

“Yep.” He pointed at what I now recognized to be Launch Pads that stood in front of the paintings in the place where viewing benches would normally be. “I think they're trying to make people feel like they're hopping back into history as if they were stepping into a painting.”

“That's ridiculous,” I said.

“What's ridiculous?” Lafferty pushed herself primly through the hole behind us.

“Nothing,” I mumbled. And that was when I noticed there was an observation balcony situated above us. A herd of onlookers peered over the edge. Most were older, the youngest of them were at least in their forties. It was a diverse group, but they had one thing in common. Not a single person wore an outfit that cost less than a new Pod.

They were all focused on a spot on the far side of the room where a person wearing knee-breeches and a powdered wig stepped onto the metal disk of the Launch Pad. His transporter pressed the IcePick to the back of his neck then adjusted the transport controls. When the man disappeared, the crowd above broke into applause like they'd witnessed a mildly impressive magic trick.

I swiveled back to face Lafferty, unable to wipe the scowl from my face. ICE had turned my existence into a spectator sport for the rich and bored.

Because that was the other thing all those observers had in common. They all looked bored. All I saw when I looked from discontented face to discontented face was a prospective change to the timeline. I counted the number of people up in the balcony but lost track at fifty. My mind spun. I didn't know who all ICE was allowing to go back within their lifetime to make changes, what criteria they had to meet. After my experience with Dr. Canavan and the capuchin fever, though, I was pretty sure that some people were sneaking through the cracks. But if even a fraction of these people attempted to make changes, I would be very busy with that reverter. And this was only one day. One viewing.

“Where have you decided to go, Wyck?” Lafferty asked. Her question threw me off again. Shifters didn't choose where to go. They were told. Either by their instructor at the Institute or by their bosses at work. Even free Shifters didn't have a choice. My tendrils didn't ask me where I wanted to go. They simply took me where I was supposed to be.

“We have several wonderful options, depending on your interests.” She handed him a brochure. The images on it swirled through groundbreaking moments in history. The works of art on the wall changed accordingly. “I know in your application you mentioned an interest in the California Gold Rush. We have era-appropriate clothing ready and waiting.”

“Yeah.” He gave the brochure half a glance. “Now that I've had a chance to think it over, I think maybe something a little closer to home.”

Uh oh. No cold feet now.

“You okay?” I asked Wyck.

“Yeah. Y'know, first time out and all. I'll just go back to something pretty recent and poke around.”

“What? No. You should go see something more exotic,” I said.

“Nah, let's keep things simple.”

He smiled, and I forced one in return, trying to keep myself calm. On this timeline, he didn't know he could change his past. On this timeline, he'd just been introduced to NeoShifting.

Wyck lowered his voice as he solidified his plans with his transporter. I meandered around the room, searching for anything suspicious or out of place. Nothing. Well, nothing if you ignored the fact that people who were never meant to leave their time period were zipping around the continuum as if they had any business doing so. But there was no evidence that suggested that ICE was anything other than what they claimed—a temporal travel agency. I walked past the porthole entrance right as a woman in red scrubs emerged.

“Careful,” she said, her voice as stiff as her posture.

I'd almost knocked over the tray she was holding. On it lay what I immediately recognized as an IcePick. A bluish substance sloshed in the bulb stuck on the end of it.

“Excellent.” Lafferty pushed past me and took the tray from the red-scrubbed woman. In a loud voice that seemed more for the benefit of those in the balcony than for Wyck, she said, “Are you ready? The procedure is completely painless.”

As the techs gave Wyck last-minute instructions, Lafferty positioned him on the Launch Pad. She took final readings of his vitals.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him. “Anxious? Tense?”

“I'm all right,” said Wyck, but he didn't look it. He glanced my way, and I tried to reassure him with a simpering Fake Bree smile.

“You're sure you wouldn't like to go further back?” Lafferty was the one who seemed tense as she looked at the woman who had brought the IcePick in.

“You'll be fine,” said Wyck's transporter, though it seemed like it was Lafferty he was trying to put at ease. “You remember your training, don't you, Wyck? Observe only. Avoid contact with anyone you know in the past.”

“What would happen if he interacted with himself in the past?” I asked, testing them.

“Nothing,” said Lafferty quickly. “It's just standard policy. Like Wyck said, it's best to keep things simple.”

As Lafferty finished up with Wyck, I stared at her turned back. Liar or lax, she was one or the other, and dangerous either way.

“How long will he be gone?” I tried to make the question sound casual.

“One hour,” said Wyck's transporter.

One hour. I had one hour to sneak out, get into that Cryostorage Lab, poke around to figure out what's going on, and get back here without anyone missing me.

I watched Wyck's launch carefully, hoping to spot anything different or unusual. Again, nothing. The only difference between a Neo's and a chipped Shifter's Shift was that right before they began the countdown, Lafferty held the Pick to the nape of Wyck's neck and clicked the end. The blue stuff from the bulb oozed under his flesh. She then handed him the Pick to hold.

“Guard this closely,” she said. “You'll need to hold it against your bare skin once again, right where I did, and click the end to return.”

The countdown proceeded, and when Wyck disappeared from the Launch Pad, the people in the observation deck broke into applause again. I set the timer on my Com to one hour.

I waited a minute then wandered over to Lafferty, who was deep in conversation with Wyck's transporter and the woman who had delivered the Pick.

“… and was that a wise move?” asked the woman.

“He probably just got the last-minute jitters. It's not like he even knows he can change anything,” said his transporter.

“True, but—” Lafferty stopped when she saw me sidle up behind her. “Yes?”

“Umm.” Dang it. “Do you mind if I use the restroom?”

“It's in the lobby.” She waved me off like I was an irksome insect.

“Thanks.” I scurried off like a tru-ant and practically leaped back through the porthole. Once in the lobby, I pulled a baseball cap out of my pocket and tugged it down as a disguise. I waited for some red scrubs to clear out then strode across the room to the black tube like I knew what I was doing.

I pulled Wyck's hair from my pinky, praying it would unlock whatever was before me. But the black tube activated on its own when I stepped inside. I actually found myself a little disappointed. Maybe the area wasn't as restricted as I'd thought. Maybe there was a justifiable explanation behind the people frozen in that Lab.

The weightless chamber I shot into at the end of the seemingly endless black tube was smaller than the others, the size of my closet at the Institute, only large enough for one person at a time. There was one porthole in and out of it. The only lights in the chamber were the ones lining the hole. I pushed myself toward it, expecting to float forward as I had in the other landing areas but didn't budge. I tried again, but still didn't move. A heavy sensation dragged at my limbs, at my every pore. Any movement I tried to make was counterproductive. In the other tanks, I'd felt thin and weightless. It had been like slipping through silken sheets. But not here. This felt as if someone had dumped a wet velvet blanket over me. I strained to move, but it would have been easier to swim through gelatin.

The fabric of my clothes floated freely around me, so the sluggish effect seemed to be restricted to my skin. There weren't any alarms or locks, and I realized they didn't need any. Only a few select people must be authorized to enter this area. The gel must be programmed to not affect them.

Which was interesting and all, but it didn't change the end result. I was caught in the dead center of a spiderweb.

“All right,” I said, but nothing came out. The invisible gel must have absorbed sound as well. No one to hear my cries for help.

The entrance port behind me glowed yellow. Blark. Someone was coming. I had to get out of this chamber. I wriggled my hand down to my waist and grasped my grappling hook. The gel dispersed around it, so I was able to maneuver my hand through its invisible wake. I'd only have one shot for the target to find a mark through that porthole. When I released it, I heard the faint ping that it had found something solid even though I couldn't see what that something was. I activated the handle, locking my hand into place, and with a
chuh-chuh-chuh-chuh,
it dragged me toward the hole. My body fought each tug like a cat battling a bathtub. When my hand reached the hole, I was able to slide it through and quicken the pace by pushing against the sides.

Shlup
. I slid through. As soon as I was free, I didn't pause, didn't look behind me. I yanked the target off the wall, reinserting it into its firing chamber as I raced down a brightly lit hallway. It was narrow, only a few feet across, but the ceiling above soared thirty feet high. It gave the feeling of being squished between two metal slices of bread. There was a lone door, closed, at the very end of the hallway. I tried it, but it was locked. Tried Wyck's hair. Nothing.

Nowhere to hide.

Nowhere to hide.

Nowhere … but up.

I had one chance at this. My forearm shook as I aimed the grappling hook at the ceiling directly above the entrance to the tube, back at the other end of the hallway. The ceiling was so high, it should be out of their line of sight. I reached out my other hand to steady it.
Ping
.

Perfect hit.

The trajectory was near horizontal, like flying. My thigh slammed into the wall when I reached the target, and I winced but kept silent. Right as the person's torso emerged from the porthole, I flicked on my anti-grav belt and floated upward. My arms and legs were pressed as flat to the ceiling as I could get them.

It was Lafferty. She didn't look up, down, or sideways as she hopped into the hall, and she walked at a decent clip toward the door. I followed, noiselessly, above her.

The trickiest part would come when she reached the door. I'd have to dip down right behind her as she went inside and squeeze through before the door shut again. And if this was indeed the Cryostorage Room, the walls would be domed on the other side. But I'd made it this far. I wasn't about to give up now.