The Silver Dream (InterWorld 2)

Index cards, pens, staples, several pocket references on every subject imaginable, a calculator that looked like it could decipher string theory and give it to you in simple terms, two portable intercoms, a gun that probably shot something nastier than bullets—no clearance cards. I was already inventing all the different ways he could kill me if he found me in here. Maybe they were further in the back.

I pulled the drawer out more, finding a few more reference books, personal notebooks, and something that stopped me dead the moment I saw it.

It was a photo, old, scratched, and worn; it looked like it might have survived a fire at one point and possibly a flood. Despite the poor quality, the people were unmistakable. After all, you always recognize yourself in photos, even if that self is a few decades older.

The Old Man wasn’t so old in it, and he still had both eyes. He was wearing blue jeans and a loose white tank top that looked like it had seen better days, an army jacket of some kind tucked under his arm. Tucked under his other arm was a girl who was older than I was used to seeing, her wicked grin as unmistakable as the green circuitry nail that was visible as she gave the photographer a thumbs-up.

Acacia Jones, plus about ten years. With the Old Man.

CHAPTER NINE

I DON’T KNOW HOW long I would have stood there, dumbfounded, if the loudspeaker hadn’t pinged. I just about jumped out of my skin at the Old Man’s voice, but logic kicked in a second later to assure me that if he was over the loudspeaker, it meant he was stationary—not on his way back to the office, where he would catch and inevitably kill me.

“All junior Walkers, report to the assembly hall. As some of you know, classes are suspended today in lieu of a little exercise. Team assignments are already posted.” Since he was still on the loudspeaker, I had a few more precious seconds while he spoke.

Trying to calm my racing heart, I looked back down at the photograph. It was definitely the Old Man and definitely Acacia. I turned it over in my hand—and almost jumped out of my skin again, dropping it back into the drawer. The back of the photograph didn’t have a date, or any kind of label, just scrawled words: Put it back.

“Excuse me.” Josetta’s sharp, firm voice came right on the tail end of the Old Man’s announcement. I was profoundly grateful at my own jumpiness; I’d slammed the drawer shut the second I heard the door, so it’s not like I’d just been caught red-handed or anything. I wasn’t even standing behind the Old Man’s desk, I was standing next to it. I might be able to play this off.

“Sorry,” I apologized, trying to call up the same tone I’d mastered when Mom would catch me hovering near the cookie jar. “I figured if he was by a telecom, I could just ping him real fast and ask my question.”

Josetta looked at me calculatingly, but she could see my empty hands were nowhere near the desk and my clothing wasn’t baggy enough to conceal anything. She relaxed a hair as I adopted a chagrined expression, as though I’d only just realized how incriminating this looked. “Sorry,” I said again.

“You’d better get down there,” she said with a smile, and then, in the exact same tone, “and don’t take this personally.” She stepped forward and searched me. I was momentarily glad I hadn’t found the clearance cards.

“Nothing personal,” she repeated, after failing to find anything incriminating on me. I nodded, still adopting what I hoped was an embarrassed smile. “Go on, now.”

I left, my nerves rattling around in my stomach. That had been stupid; if she’d caught me stealing a clearance card, I would have been in serious trouble. I’d already been kicked out once; I was willing to bet that if I made trouble again, it would be bye-bye, Joey, no questions asked.

And it wasn’t like I’d come away empty-handed, figuratively speaking, at least. The Old Man knew Acacia. Or an older version of her. But with four trillion para-incarnations of her in the Altiverse, that likely didn’t mean much. So he knew an older version of her, or would, in the future. Was TimeWatch like InterWorld—an organization made up of Acacias instead of Joeys? That seemed the most likely explanation, but why were there so many more of her than there were of me? And why weren’t we already working with them?

Despite the fact that I now knew the Old Man had some kind of connection with Acacia, I wasn’t sure how much that would help me. Could I actually ask him about it? There was no way I could admit to snooping around in his desk. I could lie and say I’d found some relevant information in the census files, but he likely knew exactly what kind of clearance could get you what information.

I was still musing when I entered the assembly hall a few minutes later, and the sudden onslaught of noise disoriented me for a moment. I’d spent the last few hours sitting in the library wing with only the computer for company, and now I was abruptly in a room with a few hundred other Walkers, all still talking about the punch this morning and the mysterious new Walker Joeb’s team had brought back. I also heard the name “Joaquim” at least a dozen times as I went through the room. I was headed specifically for Jo’s white wings, which were easily visible among my mostly redheaded para-incarnations.

“Hey,” I said as I got closer, also discovering Jai and J/O. “You feeling better?”

“All systems operational,” said J/O.

“Well, that’s good. But how are you feeling?”

He just looked at me, for long enough that the silence got a little awkward. What was that all about? J/O wasn’t all computer—he’d answered questions like that before with no issue. “Fine,” he said, and then I was distracted by another voice to my side.

“J/O’s recovery was much swifter than initially anticipated,” Jai said, giving his signature peaceful smile. “And the doctors pronounced him fit enough to participate in our assignment.”

“Glad to see you awake,” I told him. Honestly, the sudden reunion with my team made me feel a little guilty. I’d been so caught up with Acacia and the archives and my attempted theft that I hadn’t really thought about the fact that I’d last seen two of them unconscious in the infirmary.

Jai smiled again, and looked like he was about to say something regarding our mutual idiocy in leaving the link open while expending a large amount of power (except he would have used more syllables), but a hush fell over the room just then, and we knew what that meant.

The Old Man walked out into the front of the room, commanding silence just by his presence, as usual. The noise dulled to a low murmur before he’d even stopped walking, and by the time he’d turned to face us, you could have heard a pin drop on the next planet over.

“This evening’s mission is, much like the others you’ve experienced, a search-and-retrieve scenario.” I tried to quench the feeling of dread in my gut. Sure, I’d been on other missions since the disastrous HEX incident where my entire team had been captured and I’d been kicked out of Inte

rWorld without so much as a memory, but I could never quite control the fear the words “search and retrieve” stirred in me.

“You’re not going far. This exercise will be taking place just beneath us, on our home planet. Your officers have all been equipped with what I like to call hot-cold devices; they will direct you to your goal.” That made me feel slightly better. “This mission is a capture-the-flag run, and you will be competing against other teams to retrieve your objective. You may attempt to sabotage one another, and friendly rivalry is encouraged—but do remember we are all ultimately on the same side and any actual injuries will be investigated thoroughly.” He paused a moment to let that sink in, his bionic eye roaming over each and every one of us. “The matchups will follow on the screen, in the order of departure; we’ll be sending you down to your designated areas one team at a time. Once you see your name, proceed to the port room. You have an hour from the time you land to return with your flag. Good luck.”

He turned to leave, and I realized I hadn’t really been listening. Running over the conversation in my mind, I found I’d retained the information—but I’d been trying to see through his stern demeanor to the expression he’d worn in the picture with Acacia. I’d been trying to find that man beneath the brusque, soldier-like attitude of Captain Harker. It hadn’t been easy, but I thought there’d been a hint of it when he’d said “good luck,” in the way his eyebrows had relaxed a moment and the corners of his mouth had almost turned up. It was something.