Stolen Future Read online

  She sighed and shook her head. “Everyone is scared of those guys. They come by every day or two and harass people… Usually, it's not so violent. I mean, they’ve stolen and threatened, but it's never escalated to that level.”

  “Two cops walked by, completely ignoring the situation. Is that normal?”

  “They did?” She frowned. “I didn't hear them, but I suppose they stay clear of Benny, too. Less trouble for them.”

  “Is it like this everywhere on Luna?”

  “I-I don't know. I haven't been to many places outside of this,” she admitted. “Since we arrived, Newt told me to keep a low profile. All I've been doing is hiding out in this apartment, trying to take care of you and avoid interactions with other people if I can help it.”

  My skull ached, and I massaged my temples. “I wish I remembered my life before this.”

  “You still don't remember anything?”

  It hurt to shake my head, but I did anyway, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “The most frustrating thing is that I can function. I mean, it's not like I'm having to learn language all over again, or how to walk and talk. Luna—the street outside—feels somewhat familiar, but it didn’t stir up any concrete memories, just a vague sense of déjà vu.” I paused as a wave of pain in my chest surged, then faded. “Maybe if I could get out and walk the streets… Maybe something would bring my memory back.”

  Terry straightened. “No. You can't leave right now. NeuroDyne must still be looking for you. You saw how close they came the other night.” She paced in a circle around the coffee table. “No, D9 said you should stay here until you’re fully healed.”

  Coughing, I tried to ignore the burning in my lungs as a sharp tingle stabbed at my side. “I think that plan has backfired. The run-in with the neighborhood bullies has set my healing back.”

  “You shouldn't have gone out there.”

  “What, and leave you out there? They would've hurt you, or worse.”

  “Well, they hurt you well enough.” She stomped her foot. “And worse, anyone could've seen you. Those police who passed by might've identified you and could be telling NeuroDyne right now. They could be on their way.”

  “Terry, come on. There's nothing we can do about that at the moment. I'm not even sure I can get myself off the couch.”

  She sunk onto the tattered wing chair and drew her knees up. “Sorry,” she said, biting her lip.

  We sat in silence for half an hour. The flickering neon lights cast shadows across the closed blinds, and outside, the sound of sirens, music, and street bikes thrummed. After a while, she reclined and nodded off.

  The zandal was helping my pain, yet sleep evaded me. I sat up—slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb my tender spots. Checking for the flyer tucked inside my waistband, I clenched my fists. The longer I stayed here—wanted by the police and NeuroDyne—the more Terry was put at risk.

  This was all so messed up.

  I’d barely fallen asleep when the clattering sounds of Terry puttering in the kitchen disturbed me. She prepared Binksley’s breakfast, bringing the dish over to his bed where he’d stayed all night.

  “Is he all right?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure.” She crouched, her back to me, and ran her hands over his small body. “It's okay, Binksley,” she murmured. “You're safe now.”

  My heart caught in my throat at her words, and I remembered the Wanted flyer tucked inside the waist of my pants. Terry and her dog weren’t safe, certainly not with me around. And yet, after the beating I’d suffered last night, I was in no shape to head off on my own. If anyone had recognized me out there—if those cops had been observant—they could arrive at any moment, pounding on Terry's door, ready to raid the apartment. But it had been dark, and the two policemen had moved on quickly. The chances they had identified me were slim.

  Then a new worry struck. What if Benny and his goons saw the Wanted signs and realized it was me? They would return seeking reward money. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, cradling my throbbing head.

  “He's eating!” Terry said, knocking me out of my stupor. “It's a really good sign.” A huge smile spread across her face.

  “Good.” I couldn’t help but feel happy for her. On his bed, Binksley nibbled at the brown chunks that Terry had pushed within his reach. His pointy teeth crunched the hard, dry food. “I’m sure he'll be back to his old self in no time.”

  Terry stepped toward me. “How are you feeling? Ready for some zandal?”

  “It could be worse, but, yeah, I could use some pills.” The pain in my ribs was dull and achy, not so tender as I’d expected. Lifting up my T-shirt, I studied my skin. The bruising was a light greenish-gray color, faded from how they looked just after the fight, actually. How could that be? The men had pummeled me with their thick boots. A beating like that should've put me in the hospital for a week. And yet, here I was, able to sit up, talk, feed myself. Hell, maybe I’d get really bold and walk myself to the toilet.

  Terry busied herself in the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. “Hey, Terry,” I asked. “Did your brother ever say anything about how I would heal? Like, if it's faster for me to heal than regular people?”

  She came to my side with water and zandal tablets. “No,” she answered, her gaze downcast.

  “What did he tell you? Anything that might help me?”

  “Newt was quiet on the shuttle ride from Earth. I knew he was anxious and extremely worried that we’d be discovered. As soon as we arrived, we met up with D9 who had arranged this apartment. My brother was here only one week, nearly always in the room with you and D9. One night he came back, seemed stressed and took off in a hurry. I haven't seen him since.” She sighed and sat on the couch next to me. “D9 stayed, and a few days later, you woke up. D9 stayed in the room with you; it kept me out. Didn't talk to me. I feel like I’m as much in the dark as you are. Maybe they didn't tell me things on purpose. I don't know.”

  I downed my pills and washed them down with the room-temperature water.

  “I couldn't hear everything going on outside last night,” she continued. “But I know those men were hurting you. I was so worried, and I felt so helpless. How did you manage to fight them off?”

  “I… I'm not really sure. That intense feeling came over me again, and the enhanced vision kicked in. My pain was dulled, and things slowed down—I could see the tiniest details. I could anticipate their moves.”

  “That's… amazing,” she whispered.

  The Wanted poster weighed on my mind. “Terry, I need you to do something for me. I have to change my hair.”

  An hour later, she returned from a neighborhood vendor. With Drive Nine’s money card, she’d purchased hair dye and scissors. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I sheared off my dark brown locks so they still tucked behind my ears but didn’t quite reach my chin. Then I applied the dye and used the hose to wash it out. It didn’t take completely the first time, but luckily I’d remembered to have her buy two packages. By the second application and rinse, my hair was dark with green and purple highlights throughout, and once my hair dried, I looked very different. Terry had reminded me that Luna had its own distinct brand of fashion with funky blue, green, purple, and pink hair dye. I would blend in with the wide-eyed tourists on their first trip to the Moon.

  Holding up the Wanted sign next to my reflection, I hoped it would be enough to fool people. A person would have to really study my facial features to recognize me. I wouldn’t fool the cops with their eye-scanner recognition—Terry had warned me about that—but I’d get past most people who wouldn’t give most posters a second glance.

  I still hadn't told Terry about the poster, and I had no idea how many were out there. I didn’t want her to worry.

  The rest of the day, I lounged on the couch and eventually took a nap. The more I slept, the more the bruises faded and my strength returned, but I still popped zandals like candy.

  Truthfully, I was driving myself nuts, pacing the small apartment, feeli
ng claustrophobic. Terry ventured out for more sofu noodles to nourish us, and I snooped through the kitchen cabinets and drawers in the apartment. I needed clues—anything to tell me more about who I was. Maybe Newt or Drive Nine had left something that Terry just couldn’t see.

  Eight

  My snooping turned up nothing. Most of the kitchen cabinets and drawers were empty, backing up Terry’s story that she hadn't been here long. The table next to my bed was empty as well, and the chest of drawers in the bedroom contained only spare clothes.

  The cotton sweats I wore had been on for days. I found a pair of dark jeans shoved into the back of a drawer and tried them on. They were snug, but they fit. Folding up my old pants, I placed them inside the dresser, hoping Terry wouldn’t notice the switch. A soft gray T-shirt looked like a good choice, so I switched out my worn blue top. Terry probably wouldn’t even notice that I’d changed.

  I stuffed the flyer into my back pocket, then thought better of it and stuffed it underneath the discarded pants in the drawer. Better not to have it on me, in case I was searched.

  Terry would return any moment. Binksley poked his head into the bedroom and made a raspy grunting noise that nearly sounded like a question.

  “None of your business,” I muttered and slammed the drawer shut. Next, I headed into the kitchen and removed a full zandal bottle that was behind the open one. In a small hallway closet, I discovered a light green military-style jacket with pockets that zipped closed. I shoved the pills inside and tried it on, checking myself out in the bathroom mirror. Not bad. I could pass for any one of the pedestrians I’d glimpsed on the streets. But what about my face? Running my hands through my hair, I grabbed onto fistfuls and twisted them into knots. Terry had purchased hair gel at my request, and I squeezed it onto my palms and spread it through my locks. Crazy bed hair. That was the look I was going for—the messiness distracted from my features.

  Binksley observed from the hall, his eyes darting back and forth under a raised brow.

  “Sorry, Binks,” I said, glancing down. Why I was talking to the mutt was beyond me. “I have to get out into the city and try to find some answers. She won't understand.”

  As if comprehending, Binksley straightened, raised his chin, and yapped.

  “No, I won't change my mind.”

  The key sounded in the front door and Terry returned. Waving the bathroom light sensor off, I shuffled into the main living area, slowly, as if it hurt more than it did.

  “It took you a while,” I said. “Was there a line?”

  “Yeah, busy out there this evening.” She was slightly out of breath as she placed the noodle containers on the low coffee table. The aroma of sesame oil and spices hit me, and my stomach rumbled, loud enough that Terry giggled.

  “Hungry?” she asked.

  “Healing makes me hungry, I guess.” I slid onto the couch, moving past her.

  She sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

  I assumed she was referring to the noodles but then realized the hair gel was giving off a strong floral odor.

  “Oh, just the gel you got me. I smoothed my hair back.”

  “Why? Is your hair getting in your eyes? I thought you cut it short.”

  “Yeah, it was, but I took care of it.”

  “I could braid your hair. I used to practice on Newt’s hair when we were little,” she said with a wistful smile. “It wouldn't take long at all.” Her voice rose as if she was excited.

  “No, it's fine. Really. It's not like anyone here can see me.”

  She chewed on a mouthful of sofu and snorted.

  I dug into my dinner box and noisily slurped on a bite of noodles. I was growing used to the taste of sofu—the flaky, yet moist texture. I rolled a piece around in my mouth. Even the bitter aftertaste wasn’t so bad anymore. The protein would help my strength, too.

  “Why don't you take the bedroom tonight?” I said. “I mean, I figure it's yours anyway.”

  “That's not necessary. I quite like the couch, and you need to heal.”

  “I can sleep out here and heal just fine. You should have your bed back.”

  “Well,” she said quietly after chewing, “it was never mine to begin with. As soon as we arrived, we put you in the bedroom.”

  “Right. Well, now that I'm up and about, you should have it. This is your home.”

  Terry leaned against the back of the sofa and curled her legs under her as Binksley jumped onto her lap. She dropped a noodle into his waiting mouth. “I don't know about that,” she said after a while.

  “Hmm?”

  “Home…” she said. “Iceland was my home. This place… I don't know. I guess I’ll just wait here and hope Newt comes back to get me soon.”

  “I agree you should lay low. That's what I would do.” But in the back of my mind, I wondered if she was at risk from NeuroDyne as well. If they knew their employee was hiding here, they’d certainly take her in for questioning and punish her in some way.

  She turned to me. “Maybe you should stay here, too. Lay low.”

  “But Drive Nine said I had to leave once I heal, remember?”

  “Maybe the robot was wrong. So far, you've been safe here. NeuroDyne and the police haven't figured out where you are. What if this is the safest place for you?” She ruffled the fur between Binksley's ears. “Plus, Binksley likes the company.” She smiled. “So do I.”

  I nearly choked on a bite of sofu. I couldn’t tell her that I planned to leave tonight while she slept. Hiding in this apartment was making me nuts, and the longer I stayed, the more she was in danger.

  Terry and I finished eating and sat in silence afterward, listening to sirens in the distance, the noise of pedestrians under the window talking, laughing, and shouting out bids for street food, household goods, and protein packs.

  “Does it ever quiet down around here?” I asked.

  Terry laughed. “Not so far.”

  Finally, after more persuasion on my part, she got ready for bed and agreed to sleep in the bedroom. I laid in the dark on the couch for an hour, trying to summon my augmented vision. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them. Nothing. I blinked rapidly, seeming to recall that triggered something. No luck. Restless, I rose and attempted a jumping-jack, but that hurt my ribs, and I worried I’d wake Terry or provoke Binksley.

  I would leave as soon as I knew Terry was deep asleep. But there was one problem: I had no shoes. Terry had tossed her boots by the kitchen counter. I tried them on, only to find them way too small.

  “Hawking hell,” I muttered. I couldn’t go out on the streets barefoot. Not only would I look insane, but I'd also end up cutting my feet on glass or who knew what.

  I grabbed one of the boots and held it in my hand, thinking. They were black and rose just above the ankle. The material was soft and ridged. Pressing my fingers down onto the tips of the toe, the leather was pliable. I tiptoed into the kitchen, found the bread knife, and start sawing off the tip of the shoe. After I was done, I jammed my foot inside; it worked—the boot covered my foot, allowing my toes to peek out. I trimmed the other boot as well. Sorry, Terry. I wished I didn't have to mangle her shoes and leave her with none. Maybe she had slippers or other shoes that I hadn't noticed.

  Smoothing the jacket pockets, I made sure the bottle of zandal was there along with the money card and the strange memory device from Drive Nine. I spun slowly in place, scanning the compact apartment. Then I tiptoed softly down the hallway and looked in on Terry. She slept on her back with the lamp on, Binksley nestled in one elbow and a hand draped over his side. She breathed deeply and her lips were curled in a half-smile—pleasant dreams, I hoped.

  Slowly, I backed out and pulled the bedroom door shut carefully, so as not to make a sound. I paused outside, listening for any motion to see if I’d disturbed her.

  After a few seconds, I walked down the hallway and left through the front door, locking the doorknob behind me.

  And that was it.

  No going back now.
r />   Nine

  It was nearing midnight when I stepped out of the apartment building, treading down the front steps past the row of garbage cans and the scene of my recent fight. I strode quickly across the black pavement, glancing down at my toes peeking out from the boots—should’ve looked for socks, but never mind now. The ground’s sheen reflected the neon lights as I walked. I headed for the tallest buildings in the distance, a mile away.

  The number of people grew denser the farther I got from Terry's apartment. A woman rode by on an electric bike and cursed at me for being too far out in the middle of the street. I moved to the right, trying to blend in with those walking and trying hard not to look like a wide-eyed, slack-jawed tourist as I surveyed the strangely beautiful landscape. On building façades that housed shops, offices, and apartments were signs that glowed overhead. A dozen holographs floated—suspended in air—composed of luminescent purples, blues, and oranges. The city thrummed with energy, and I soaked it in, feeling the anticipation. This was home. It must be. I spied a tall palm tree. Its long, sweeping branches hung over the street as I wound my way around slower-moving people.

  I passed a long row of food vendors with lines five and six people deep. Luckily, I’d eaten earlier—though these vendors carried more than just the regular sofu that Terry and I often ate. There were chunks of meat on skewers, deep-fried vegetables, and something called flek advertised on signs.

  As I took in the scenery, I avoided eye contact. Across the street was a group of three police officers. They huddled together in a circle, chatting. I quickened my steps and caught up to a tall man in the crowd, matching his pace and making sure my hair obscured my face. Glancing back, the officers hadn’t moved. I was like anyone in the shuffle, a stranger on my way out for a good time or on the way to a night-shift job.