by Joan He
But the same could have been said for so many man-made mistakes. A pipe leak: an accident. A landfill leaching into the groundwater: unintentional. Human, Actinium had pegged as the root of the accident, and Kasey knew he could prove it like a theorem. Earthquake × humans mining the earth to its limits = megaquake; megaquake × human-built fission and chemical plants = public health disaster; public health disaster × human desperation = 1 copterbot hijacking. Extract the common factor.
Human.
“I convinced her it was safer for me to stay undercover,” Actinium continued, and Kasey heard everything he compressed into one word. Undercover: an orphaned ten-year-old deciding to act incognito. “I knew what I wanted to accomplish.” Not eye-for-an-eye revenge, but wide-scale change. Disasters weren’t caused by individuals. “However long it took, I was resolved to walk this path alone.
“Then I came across the P2C report. On you. Your bots. You knew my secret untold,” Actinium said, voice softening, and Kasey’s spine tingled as she was transported back to the pier, standing beside Actinium like she did now, the storm around them inside them, too, her darkest truth shared without a spoken word.
“I wondered: What else in my mind also existed in yours? What could we achieve, if we worked together?” He glanced up to the sky even though there was nothing to see, the stars long-lost to the omnipresent smog. “Seventy-seven stratums between us, yet I felt closer to you than I had when we were but one floor apart. I hoped, if the circumstances allowed, we’d meet again. Now we have, and now you know.” Actinium finally looked to her. His gaze was solemn. “All my secrets, untold and told.”
The night seemed to expand. It swallowed the sound of life and death, shifted the hospel to a universe away. It absorbed Kasey’s body; she was a cluster of synapses, firing her from one emotion to the next. Sympathy to suspicion to empathy to discomfort. For Actinium, gravity didn’t exist on Earth. Gravity existed in her. It was heady. Overwhelming.
It couldn’t stop her from circling back to the pity Actinium hadn’t asked for.
Just as Meridian’s appearance had thrown Kasey out of orbit, so too did learning that she and Actinium weren’t hurting over the same, recently opened wound. In seven years, she could be like him. Still bleeding. An actual ghost, dead as far as the world was concerned.
“Is this what you really want?” she asked.
The distance between them didn’t change, but the magnetic charge did, Actinium’s every emotion so similar to Kasey’s that they could have physically repelled each other.
“You answer,” he said, then transmitted her a file.
A classified P2C document, beyond her permission level. The text was dense but Kasey was used to skimming for key points.
The first one was already bolded in the title.
. . . Deep-sea pipe leak . . .
The rest rushed by . . . Cleanup underway . . . minimal risk posed to populace . . . limited ocean foot traffic . . . mild adverse health outcomes for the majority . . . low chance of severe outcomes . . . avoid alarm . . . responsible party to front the costs . . . words a whirlpool, pulling her gaze to the bottom of the document, where she saw a familiar face among a row of faces.
A familiar name.
Their entire family, residing fifty stratums below the Mizuharas.
Celia’s murderers, found by Actinium.
“They’re not just out here.” His voice was quiet compared to Kasey’s pulse. “They’re among us, too, in our cities, relying on us to protect them from a world they ruined. And in spite of that, in spite of their ranks, they think they deserve more.”
“Who?”
A voice, behind them.
Heartbeat slowing, Kasey turned.
Meridian stood several meters away, silhouetted by light from the hospel.
How much had she heard?
“Who do you think ruined the world?”
That much at least. But the situation wasn’t unsalvageable. All Kasey needed—
“Those with ranks mid-five digits or more,” Actinium said, and Kasey looked at him in horror. Why? But she knew why. It was the same reasoning behind sharing the P2C file with her. Remember: You have a stake in this too. “Or those who pollute,” Actinium went on, airing out the words that he and Kasey had shared, in the dead of night. “Past or present tense irrelevant, since all environmental damage is permanent within our life spans.”
The night seemed to hold its breath.
“Fuck you,” Meridian spat at Actinium, before turning to Kasey. “Well? Say something.”
Something. People were rarely literal and Kasey knew Meridian didn’t actually want her to say something, but to refute everything. To deny that Actinium’s thoughts had ever crossed her mind. To lie. It’s what SILVERTONGUE would have recommended, given Kasey’s minimal conflict settings back when she’d installed it. Minimal conflict was what she still wanted. Her mouth opened.
Her throat closed.
Her anger wasn’t all of her, but it was a part of her, and she was tired of hiding parts of herself, however inhuman, from people.
Her silence was telling. Meridian backed away. Something dawned in her gaze, and Kasey both dreaded and embraced the accusation headed toward her. The true reason behind her and Actinium’s mission, seen through. The facade dismantled—
“So that’s why you never offered to help.”
Kasey blinked. “Help?”
“Oh, please!” hissed Meridian. “Your mom helmed the HOME act! Your dad oversees immigration! You could have put in a word for my relatives if you wanted to!”
The thought had never occurred to Kasey. Did that make her a bad person? Or did that make her . . . Kasey? “You never asked.”
“For charity?”
Well, yes. Wasn’t that what it was? Asking didn’t change the nature of the favor. Besides, Meridian wasn’t like Kasey. She was vocal about her opinions and needs.
But when would Kasey ever learn that humans were complex and full of contradictions?
“I always do things for you without being asked!” said Meridian, and Kasey was stunned to hear her resentment. “Meanwhile, you? You ignored all of my messages in the last week.” It wasn’t personal; David could have messaged to say he was moving to the moon and Kasey would have ignored him, too. “Next thing I know, you’re friends with him.” Meridian jabbed a finger in Actinium’s direction. “Where was he when no one wanted to sit with you?” On stratum-22, but that wasn’t the answer Meridian wanted, nor was it the answer Kasey wanted to give: She hadn’t needed anyone.
Meridian breathed hard, then went on. “You know what he is? The privileged-as-hell kind. The kind who takes off his antiskin and hands it to a medic because he’s oh-so-heroic, who probably travels outside for an immersive experience.”
The privileged-as-hell kind.
Takes off their antiskin.
Travels outside for an immersive experience.
“What can you tell him but not me?” Meridian asked, and Kasey thought she might actually be sick, especially when Actinium joined in.
“Go on, Mizuhara.” His tone was impossibly sleek and cool, and when Kasey met his eye, she knew she was exactly where he wanted her: cornered. Choose, he was saying to her. Me or her. Justice or complacency. Yourself, or everyone else. “Tell her the truth. Tell her who killed—”
Crack.
Actinium’s hand rose.
Kasey closed hers.
If she squeezed her fingers tightly enough, she could erase the stinging of her right palm. But she couldn’t erase the mark on his face, already reddening.
It was all she could think to do, to stop him. The public could speculate as much as they wanted about Celia’s death, simplify a girl to her name and picture and color her in with their conjectures. But the truth was Celia’s to tell. And Kasey would protect it—protect Celia—no matter the personal cost. She could alienate the world, if she had to.
She could estrange both sides.
“I don’t know who yo
u are anymore,” said Meridian, staring at Kasey. “You’re like . . . a different person.”
No, Kasey imagined saying. I’m just not who you want me to be. She’d say it to Meridian and Actinium.
She’d walk away from the two of them.
But she wasn’t who she wanted to be, either, and it was Meridian who walked away from her first, then Actinium. They left her alone.
Kasey told herself she preferred it.
LAST NIGHT, I TRIED TO leave the house. The gouges in the door are proof. They’re the first things my eyes focus on once I blink away the sleep, on my feet and standing before the five long streaks of peeled-away varnish, one for each of the throbbing fingers on my right hand. You know what I have fewer than five of ?
Days to find Kay.
If I change my mind.
I won’t. I can’t. Not only would it be the end of me, but of Hero, too, I’m guessing, probably also programmed to terminate to satisfy human ethics. And I can’t end Hero, who’s passed out on the couch just one room over. I was too, before I sleepwalked to the door and tried to tear it down. We’re both exhausted—him from fussing over me yesterday, and me from keeping up my devastated I-couldn’t-find-my-sister act. It wasn’t hard. My heart pumped out a steady flow of guilt. But then the dreams came at night, my unconscious mind trying to get me to do Kay’s bidding like it’s designed, and now a bitter taste fills my mouth. I won’t be manipulated like this.
Even if I remember all of our trips to the sea.
Even if I remember how I hurt Kay after Mom’s death.
Even if I remember the day I almost lost her completely.
I rub at my eyes. The nail marks don’t go away.
U-me rolls over to me. Together, we consider the door.
“I tried to break it.”
“Agree.”
How many things have I done that I’m unaware of ? Better yet, how many things has Hero done that he’s unaware of ? He doesn’t remember trying to kill me. But what if there’s more?
A suspicion worms under my skin. I glance down at U-me. “Hero untied the rope that day on the ridge.”
“Neutral.”
If she was with me, she probably didn’t see.
But she wasn’t with me on the morning I woke up in the ocean. She was right here, on this island with Hero while I was busy drowning, time unaccounted for, between me passing out and me waking up to find Leona gone.
I bite my lip. “Hero got rid of Leona.”
“Agree.”
“You let him.”
“Agree.”
Betrayed by my own bot. “But why?” I’m not angry. How could I be? My whole mission to build a boat and leave this island was fabricated. It’s good that Hero dumped Leona into the sea, even if he didn’t do it intentionally. It’s just . . . I remember my panic. The gritty bite of despair, like sand in places I cannot reach. The pain of losing Leona after losing Hubert . . . all for nothing.
“Why?” I ask again.
U-me whirs.
I turn my direct question into a statement. “You wanted me to stay.”
“Strongly agree.”
My chest tightens. “I’m staying,” I say, first to U-me, earning myself a “strongly agree.” Then I say it to this house. “I’m staying,” I say for a third time, to myself.
I’m not going anywhere.
A tug in my gut.
This is my home.
The tug turns into sharp, stabbing pain.
My family.
I double over, teeth gritted, one hand pressed against my stomach as if to hold in my innards, the other scrabbling at the doorknob.
The next thing I know, I’ve gotten it open. I’m sprinting over the sand. I’m jerking to a stop short of the surf, my muscles twitching against what I want and what my body’s been tricked into wanting. I fall to my hands and knees, gridlocked. The day’s a windy one. Dry sand peppers the bottoms of my bare feet. When the tide rushes in, the foam nearly meets my fingertips.
Find me.
I scramble back and claw my broken fingernails into the sand. This can’t be the rest of my life. It just can’t. I try to remember what Kay explained to me, how my happiness levels determine whether the “Find me” command is released. I think back to all the suffering I’ve endured on this island.
The pain in my gut fades.
I think of Hero. Of U-me. Of simple joys, like watching a sunset or eating a taro biscuit. I think of the moments and memories I’ve made that can truly be called my own, and the pain reignites. The false memories bleed into the real ones.
How sick—that my happiness should be the meterstick. But I can adapt. I switch between recalling suffering and joy until my body adjusts to the seesawing physical reactions. I can’t stop the pain, but I can stop myself from bending to its will.
I’m sweaty and hollowed out by the time I feel ready to return to the house. I crawl back onto the couch, where Hero’s still sleeping, and curl beside him, letting the rhythm of his breathing be a metronome to my own.
Please, I think as I shut my heavy eyelids and tuck my aching hands into my elbows. Let me sleep without dreaming.
And thankfully, I do.
When I wake, I’m still on the couch. The space beside me is empty. The blanket is tucked up to my chin, slipping off as I pull myself up. A broken fingernail catches on a carpet fiber and I wince—then sniff the air.
Something’s cooking.
I pad into the kitchen and am greeted by the sight of pots and pans bubbling on the stove, an array of taros on the chopping board, and Hero wearing a slate-blue V-neck sweater and a rooster-print apron, hopping around U-me with a pot in one hand.
“Morning,” he says when he sees me by the doorway. “Or should I say, ‘Evening.’”
I stick out my tongue, then wave a hand at all the dishes on the table. “What gives?”
“It’s—no, U-me!”
U-me knocks into a pot handle, and soup pours like lava from the stove to the ground.
“I got it,” says Hero, righting the overturned pot and placing it into the sink while throwing a towel over the mess. “Sit. It’s your welcome-back meal.”
Welcome-back meal. Hero pulls out a chair for me. I sink in. Smile, despite the tinny, mocking voice in the back of my mind. Welcome back to the island! Your life is a lie! And now you’re deceiving the only other person who deserves to know! Hooray! “You didn’t have to, love.”
“I wanted to.” Hero passes over a bowl of mashed taro, and again, a memory of eating fancy mashed potatoes with Kay resurfaces—except now I remember we did it in holo. The food was as fake as these recollections. And this food before me might as well be fake too. I don’t need to eat it to survive. In fact, I bet if I stopped eating and “starved,” then my wired need to find Kay would abate. Conditions no longer habitable: Cancel command.
But what sort of life is that? I don’t want to concede pieces of my humanity just to preserve it. And I don’t want to live forever in Kay’s shadow, either. This island is the problem: I’m only a two-day swim from Kay, plus a billion bodies in the sea. That image kills the rest of my appetite.
“I was thinking . . .” I clear the mucus from my throat. “I was thinking we could leave the island.”
Silence.
“You said there was nothing out there,” Hero says slowly. Gently.
Still.
Shit.
“If we sail long enough, we might be able to find something,” I say, trying to cover my slip. If the bulk of Celia’s memories can be trusted, then there should be other lands out there with shelters ready for the humans when they reemerge. “And I thought . . .” I moisten my lips. “Well, I thought we could try finding my sister together.”
I hate this. Hate this hate this hate this.
I have to do this. Saying I don’t care anymore is too suspicious.
Hero frowns. “But what about food?”
And back we circle, to the original reason why I couldn’t take him with me. �
��We can stockpile.”
Hero glances to the spread on the table. It’s practically all the possible taro recipes under the sky and, more importantly, all the taro. “Sorry. I wouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine. It’s no rush.”
No rush.
My guilt congeals, clotting my heart. Four more days. I can do it. Four. Short. Days. I’ll lock the door every night and make U-me stand guard if I have to. In four days, this indecision will pass, because there will be nothing to decide. I just have to hold out until then . . . after the pod fails . . . after she, Kay—no, not-Kay—
“Cee?”
My name draws me out of my thoughts, into the present moment, where my fingers are bleached white around the fork handle and Hero’s half risen out of his seat.
I shovel a forkful of taro into my mouth before he can come over. “Mmm. Delicious.”
Slowly, Hero sits back down. I scrunch my face dramatically. “But it’s missing something . . .”
“What?” he asks, warily, not 100% buying my act.
I’m committed to it. “Butter, I think.”
Hero takes a careful mouthful. Chews, and decides to humor me. “I think garlic.”
“Yuck.”
“Yuck?” He sounds as offended as I was, when he rejected my names. “What’s wrong with garlic?”
“Garlic breath, that’s what.”
“Who cares about that?”
“I would, if you had it,” I say, raising my brows meaningfully.
It’s endearing, how he can still flush. “That’s why you’d have to eat it too.”
“Nope.”
“You wouldn’t even know, if I snuck it in.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I claim. The look on Hero’s face says otherwise. “That’s it. You’re banned from the kitchen. I’m taking over as chef.”
“No, please. Garlic-free it is,” says Hero, much too quickly, to my genuine offense. I rise from my seat and he holds up his fork as if to defend himself, his eyes alight with laughter. Then his face stiffens. His body spasms.
The fork falls out of his hand.
DING. A MESSAGE FROM EKATERINA.
Ding. The clip of Actinium fighting the Territory 4 man had leaked and was trending.
