Future Shock (2 page)

Her question catches me off guard, but I’m glad for the change in topic. “No one else will.”

“I see.” She looks down at the paper in front of her. “Your record shows you’ve been in quite a few fights during your time in foster care, including a bad one two years ago. Want to tell me what happened?”

My stomach clenches at the memory. It’s still fresh in my mind, as vivid as when it happened. Those girls deserved it, but I hate thinking about that day. It’s one of those moments that make me wish I didn’t have a perfect memory. “No.”

She gives me a smile, which I can tell is fake. I’ve seen that kind of smile before on social workers, teachers, and foster parents. The smile they put on when they’re trying to be patient with a kid who doesn’t want to cooperate. “Do you like to fight?”

“No,” I say again. “But I will if I have to.”

“Good, good.” She seems pleased with my answer, which sets off little warning bells in my head. But before I can question that, she continues. “We’d like to make you an offer to join our program.”

I sit up straighter and hope floods my veins like a drug, but I try not to show anything on my face. I don’t want her to know how desperate I am. “What do I have to do?”

“We’re recruiting a small group of extraordinary teens to participate in a short research project, which will take place tomorrow at one of our facilities near here. We’ll pick you up in the morning and bring you home in the evening, so you’ll only miss one day of school. The project is confidential, so I’m afraid I can’t disclose any other details at this time.” Her smile widens, her teeth perfect and white. “What I
can
tell you is that this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you will be greatly rewarded for participating.”

Her offer is tempting, so very tempting. But I don’t like going into anything blind. I study Lynne’s expensive clothes and her fancy nails, trying to imagine what kind of “research project” Aether Corp could be doing with foster kids. From her questions, I’m guessing it’s some sort of focus group. Watching movies, answering surveys, that sort of thing. Or maybe they’re doing a study about “gifted” teens and want to ask us questions, have us solve puzzles, stuff like that. But then, why was she so pleased to hear I could fight? And why are the details confidential?

“We’ve already obtained permission from your legal guardians.” She slides forward a stack of papers, the top one signed by my foster mom and some government authorities. Below it, there’s a blank line with my name under it. Waiting for my signature. “Please read over the contract and let me know if you have any questions.”

I’m tempted to just sign the thing, but I’m not that stupid. I scan the first page—and freeze when I see the amount of money they’re offering. My God. No freaking way. That has to be a typo or something. There are way too many zeroes there. “Is this number correct?”

“It is.”

I stare at the number and my head spins with all the possibilities. It’s more money than I’ve ever dreamed of in my entire life. That much money means freedom. Safety. Independence. And a real home for the first time in years.

That much money means a future.

I quickly read through the rest of the document. There’s a confidentiality agreement, and a paragraph about medical exams and tests both before and after the research project,
including, but not limited to, a physical exam, blood tests, and an MRI scan
. The last page of the contract has a waiver for any injuries we might sustain. Definitely not videos and surveys then.

My head snaps up. “What’s this about medical exams? And injuries?”

“We’ll be conducting a routine medical exam to make sure it’s safe for you to participate in the project. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“But it says there are some risks involved.”

“Oh, the legal department always adds lines like that to our contract. It’s standard language for every project we do. The risks are minimal, I assure you.”

She hands me a pen and her smile never wavers. I roll it between my fingers, staring at the words
not liable for any injuries, trauma, or permanent damage sustained during the duration of the research project
. I want to sign,
need
to sign, but there’s so much she isn’t telling me.

“Elena, you’re going to be eighteen in two months. You’ll be on your own with no money, no home, and no job. You have the grades to go to college but no way to pay for it.” She taps the edge of the paper with a shiny fingernail. “We can find you a job. We can get you into college. And we’re offering enough money for you to do whatever you want with your life. All you have to do is help us with this project. A few hours of your time, that’s all we ask.”

My pen hovers over the blank line. Everything she said is true. I
am
desperate, and they’re offering a lot of money for one day of work. More money than I could ever expect to make on my own in a lifetime. Especially since no one is willing to hire a freak like me. If I turn this down, I’ll regret it forever.

There might be risks involved—but what other options do I have? No one else is going to help me. I’m on my own. And my time is running out.

I sign my name on the line.

Thursday

A fancy black car picks me up early in the morning. I ride in the backseat in silence, like all the times I was chauffeured from one house to the next by one of my social workers. He always had me sit in the back too, like I was a criminal in a police car. And I always felt the same mix of uncertainty and fear swirling in my gut, along with the slightest trace of hope. Just like I do now.

We travel over an hour east of Los Angeles, to where civilization begins to give way to the desert. When there’s nothing around us but rocks and dirt, the car approaches a five-story building surrounded by a high fence with a security checkpoint. It’s the only thing in sight for miles and looks like a generic office: light gray exterior, shiny tinted windows, and perfectly trimmed trees breaking up the concrete sidewalk.

The driver drops me off in front of the glass doors, where Lynne is already waiting. She wears another smooth, black pantsuit, and her highlighted hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail. “Welcome to Aether Corporation, Elena. Please follow me.”

The lobby is bright, with floor-to-ceiling windows and light-colored hardwood floors, probably bamboo or something expensive. A frizzy-haired receptionist sits at a modern desk made of the same wood as the floor. The wall behind her displays the Aether Corporation logo in silver letters.

Both Lynne and the receptionist stare at me with wide smiles while I sign in at the front desk. We’re the only three people in the room, but I feel like I’m standing alone on a stage with an entire audience watching, waiting for me to screw up.

The receptionist hands me a badge with my name on it, which I attach to my shirt. Lynne leads me into an elevator with walls so shiny I can see our reflections in them. “We’re excited for you to get started,” she says. “But first we have to do some quick, routine medical tests.”

I say nothing as we ride up to the third floor. My palms are sweaty and I wipe them on my jeans. I still have no idea what I’ve signed up for. As I tried to fall asleep last night, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was making a big mistake. But every time I thought about backing out, I remembered the money. No matter what the research project involves, it only lasts a few hours. I can survive
anything
for a few hours. It will all be over by the end of the night—and I’ll be a whole lot richer. No more worrying about where I’ll live or if I can get a job or whether or not I can afford to college. I’ll be set for life.

We get off the elevator, and I follow Lynne into an exam room, complete with a hospital bed and a tray full of medical equipment. “Please wait here,” she says. “A doctor will be with you shortly.”

She shuts the door behind her and I stare at the bed. It has one of those pink hospital gowns on it, the kind where your ass hangs out the back. No way am I putting that on.

Someone knocks on the door, but it opens before I can answer. A dark-skinned man in a lab coat enters the room and closes the door behind him. His hair is black with little tufts of gray above his ears. “Ms. Martinez? My name is Dr. Kapur. Please, sit down.”

I sit on the edge of the bed, the paper cover crinkling under me, and fight the panic building inside my chest. The door is right behind me. I can run if I need to. And just because he’s an older man and we’re alone doesn’t mean he’ll do anything to me. This is just a routine medical exam, nothing more.

He looks down at his clipboard. “I’m going to ask you a few questions before we start the tests. First, are you on any medication?” I shake my head. “Have you ever taken any drugs?”

“No.”

“What about alcohol?”

I stare at the linoleum floor and push back the memories that threaten to flood my mind. “No.”

“No, I suppose not, with your history.”

I glance up sharply. He
knows
. He probably has my entire life story there, written on his clipboard. I’ve never felt so naked before.

He eyes me like I’m a specimen he’s about to dissect. “Have you ever had any migraine headaches or blackouts?”

“No.”

“Have you ever had any suicidal thoughts or tendencies?”

“What? No!” What kind of questions are these? Do they really need to know this kind of stuff?

“I’m going to check your blood pressure now.” He opens the cuff with a loud Velcro rip and places it on my arm. I try not to flinch at his touch. He smells like the overpowering fake lemon of cleaning products, and every instinct tells me to get away from him. Logically, I know he isn’t going to hurt me. He’s a doctor and Aether Corp wants me for their “project.” I agreed to this exam. But that still doesn’t stop the familiar terror from rising up.

He removes the cuff and pauses, studying my face. “Do you need me to get a nurse?”

“I’m fine.” I realize my fists are clenched at my sides and force my hands to relax. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The physical exam is quick, but then I’m taken to other rooms for more testing. Blood work. X-rays. Brain scans. I’m not even sure what half of the tests are for. My suspicions grow with every minute that passes, but no one will tell me anything.

When the tests are finally over, a nurse dumps me in a freezing-cold conference room with chairs arranged in two rows and a long table covered with food and drinks. I lean against a wall and study the four people already inside, all about my age. Three of them bear the scars of a life in the system: a don’t-mess-with-me attitude combined with guarded eyes and clothes that have worn through or don’t quite fit.

But one guy stands out. Black hipster glasses, crisp blue jeans, and a plaid button-down shirt that fits perfectly—this is no foster kid. His dark hair is slightly tousled and he’s tall and lean, not exactly muscular yet not scrawny either. He gives the others a smile, his face friendly and without suspicion. I can tell he’s never gone hungry before, never flinched from an adult, never gotten in a car with no idea where he’d sleep next. The badge on his shirt reads
Adam O’Neill
.

He picks at the cheese and crackers and turns to the two guys standing there, who eye him like a piece of meat. “So, what are you guys in for?”

The biggest guy in the room gets right up in his face. “Is that some kind of joke?”

Adam adjusts his glasses, clearly surprised. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“You think you’re funny?”

The third guy moves closer, like a shark drawn to the scent of blood. “Yeah, you think you’re better than us?”

“No, I don’t think that.” Adam holds up his hands and attempts another smile. He’s outnumbered, and the first guy has to be double his size, but he doesn’t back down. I respect him for that, even if he has no idea what he’s gotten himself into. “Just trying to make conversation.”

“Yeah, I know your type,” the big guy says. He’s black, with a shaved head and large, muscular arms with a couple of tats. “I saw the way you were looking at us. You think you’re so fucking smart.”

He shoves Adam in the chest. Not hard but enough to make him stumble back a step. The look on Adam’s face is priceless, like he’s shocked anyone would ever pick a fight with him. He’s obviously unprepared to handle what’s coming next.

“You know what we do with smart guys like you?” the big guy asks, cracking his knuckles.

This is going to end badly. I do
not
want to get involved. It’s not my problem, and I haven’t been in a fight in months.

But damn, I hate bullies.

“Leave him alone.”

Four heads swivel to look at me. One belongs to an Asian girl with short blue hair who huddles in a chair up front. She plays with the ties of her hoodie while watching us.

The big guy sneers. His badge says
Chris Duncan
. “You gonna make me, mamacita?”

He spits the last word at me, but I’ve heard plenty worse. I push myself off the wall and stand next to Adam, whose eyes linger on the tattoos crawling up my arms. I’m not sure why I’m standing up for this guy, but it’s too late to back down now. “If I have to.”

Chris’s nostrils flare and the veins in his neck stick out. I clench my fists and ready myself for a fight. He’s much bigger than me. I’ll have to be faster.

“No, dude. This chick’s crazy,” the third guy says.
Trent Walsh
. He smells like cigarettes and has long blond hair that falls in his eyes. “You were at Bright Haven, right?” he asks me.

I nod, never taking my eyes off the big guy in front of me. He could snap at any second, but I’m ready for him. You don’t survive in the worst parts of LA—and in more than a dozen foster homes—without learning how to defend yourself.

“Dude,” Trent says to Chris. “I heard she fought three girls at once, seriously messed them up.” His eyes dart around, looking everywhere. “Besides, they’ll be back any second.”

But Chris isn’t the type of guy who backs down. I know all about men like him. They like to hurt smaller people to make themselves feel stronger. A part of me itches to fight him.
Do it
, I think, my fists tightening.
Just try to hit me.

“Oh good, you’ve all met,” says Lynne at the door. Two men in lab coats stand beside her, and the three of them walk to the front of the room. “Please sit down and we’ll explain the research project to you.”

Chris and I glare at each other, like two dogs straining against the end of a leash, teeth snapping. Every muscle in my body wants to jump forward, but I hold myself back. Barely. I’m here for a reason, and I won’t screw this up by getting in a fight.

I turn my back on Chris and sit on the edge of my chair in the front row, trying to suppress the adrenaline rippling under my skin. Adam starts to take the seat next to me, but I narrow my eyes at him. I don’t want him to get the idea that we’re friends or something. He sits two chairs down instead.

Chris finds a seat in the second row with his buddy, Trent. I’ll have to keep an eye on him over the next day in case he tries to start something. A sick part of me hopes he does. I should be relieved that Lynne stopped the fight before anything happened, but instead I’m disappointed. And I hate myself for feeling that way.

Once we’re seated, Lynne’s gaze sweeps over the five of us. “Thank you all for coming and for your patience. As you know, I’m Lynne Marshall, the project leader. I believe you’ve all met Dr. Rajesh Kapur, our lead medical doctor, and I’d like to introduce Dr. Bob Walters, our lead physicist. Welcome to Project Chronos.”

She says the last words like they carry a certain weight, but they mean nothing to me. After a moment, she continues. “At Aether Corporation we pride ourselves on being at the forefront of technology. Our company has been behind some of the biggest innovations in history and our products are used by millions of people all around the world, yet we’re always looking for ways to expand our reach. You’ve each been selected for your special skills and talents to help us further this goal.”

“Get to the point already,” Chris mutters behind me.

She continues as if she didn’t hear him, with a wide smile on her lips. “Dr. Walters will explain the project to you, but please keep in mind that everything we go over today is highly confidential.”

“Thank you, Lynne.” One of the men in lab coats steps forward. He’s probably in his fifties, with a full head of gray hair and wrinkles around his eyes. “We’ve developed an accelerator that creates a rift in the space-time continuum, allowing us to open a temporal aperture that will send you forward.”

I don’t have the slightest clue what he is talking about. I focus on the words that make sense. “What do you mean, forward?”

“The aperture can send five people to the future for a short period. Due to the time dilation, only twelve minutes will pass in the present, but twenty-four hours will pass for those in the future.”

“Like…a simulation?” Adam asks.

Dr. Walters looks to Lynne, then clears his throat. “No, not exactly.”

“Wait, are you saying…” My voice trails off. The words are too big, too impossible to speak out loud. “That we…The future…”

“Yes,” Lynne says. “You will all be traveling to the future.”

I sit back in my chair with a
thump
as a hush falls over the room. No, I don’t believe it. This has to be a test, to see how we react to something so completely unreal. Or maybe they mean it all as a metaphor. Envisioning ourselves in the future, something like that. Any second now, they’ll explain and it will all make sense—’cause they can’t seriously mean what I think they mean.

Adam raises his hand. “How does this accelerator work?”

Dr. Walters smiles, clearly pleased to have a star student. “The accelerator increases the atoms inside it to nearly the speed of light, causing time around them to slow down and—”

“The details are not important,” Lynne interrupts. “And before we go to questions, I want to make it clear that each of you can back out now, but this will be your last chance. Please remember that all of the information you have seen today is confidential, and that if you leave, you will be in breach of your contract.”

In other words, if we back out now we won’t get the money and assistance that Aether Corp is offering us. No one speaks, but no one gets up to leave either. Chairs creak as the others trade uneasy looks. Adam’s dark brows are pulled together behind his glasses. The blue-haired girl bites her black fingernails. Chris rubs his chin, his eyes narrowed, while Trent leans forward, mouth open. I don’t know what any of them are thinking, but no matter how impossible this sounds or how risky this may be, it’s the only chance I have for a future. There’s no way I’m walking out that door.

Lynn’s smile grows wider. “Very good. I’m pleased you’ve all decided to stay.”

Adam raises his hand again. I have to give it to the guy. He is definitely persistent.

Lynne purses her lips. “Mr. O’Neill, you have a question?”

“How far into the future are we going?”

“We believe you will arrive ten years from now,” Dr. Walters says.

“Ten years?” I blurt out. They’re serious about this. They’re actually sending us into the future. I think I might throw up. I just…I can’t even…

“That’s correct,” Lynne says. “Once there, we want you to take notes on the technology you find and bring back whatever you can. We also want your general impressions of the future, including news about the world, in particular related to—”