by Wendy Mass
My brain has a hard time assigning words to the images I’m seeing in the pictures. A house, I think. An ocean. An egg? Or is that what they called an umbrella? Beasts with four legs, two legs, eight legs, wings! The images begin to slow, and then stop at a photo of a bird with shockingly bright blue, yellow, and red feathers. The letters below it spell out MACAW. This must be where my feather came from! Not this specific bird, of course, but one of that type. I could look at this macaw creature all day, but Robo-teach’s screen has one last image to pull up, and this one is even odder.
A man with light brown hair, a square jaw, and bright green eyes is leaning against what looks like a real tree. Trees haven’t existed for ages on the planet below us, or on any planets in the known star systems. The man — wearing a pointy brown hat — is holding a red feather with one hand and a piece of stiff fabric with his other.
“Long before digi-pens were invented, people used to dip the ends of feathers — called the quill — into ink to write with,” Robo-teach explains. No one is paying attention. He continues anyway. “They originally made the ink from eggs, ash, and honey.” When we continue to stare mutely at the screen, he adds, “Honey is a sticky material that is secreted from bees. Bees were flying, stinging creatures that —”
“Okay, okay, we get it,” Toby interrupts. “Can the history lesson wait?”
We’re not interested in the feather, the ink, the honey, the bees, or the fabric that Robo-teach will no doubt get to. We’re looking at the man and the tree, and at the glowing yellow ball visible behind him, the one that’s spilling light across the image. But we’re mostly looking at the man.
Little Lisbeth gasps and throws her arms around my neck. “Robin! How did you get in that holo-picture?”
My mouth has gone dry. The man really does look like me. Or I look like him. Or what I’ll look like in twenty years, anyway. I didn’t time-travel into the past, age twenty years, and then pose for that picture, right? Or could I be related to this man somehow? I know nothing about my parents, or if I even have parents at all. Uncle Kent never speaks of how I came to live with him and Will, and I never question him. He and Will are all the family I need.
Lisbeth begins to cry, so I pull her on my lap and assure her, “It’s not me, Lissy. Don’t worry. I’m much more handsome than that dude, right?”
She sniffles, then smiles and nods. Will rolls his eyes, but I can tell by the straight line his lips have become that he’s a little worried, too.
“Hmm,” Robo-teach says. “A sample of your own DNA must have gotten on the feather and was picked up by my sensors.”
This has our attention.
“DNA is a unique code in your body’s cells,” he explains. “This is how our nurse knows exactly how to cure you when you’re hurt. If your DNA pulled up this image, this man is either you — which is impossible — or a long-ago relative along your father’s line.”
Now all the kids start talking at once, holding up their fingers or a strand of hair, asking him to take a sample of their DNA, too.
“Our lesson is done for the day,” Robo-teach says, shutting down the program and handing me back my feather. “Time for lunch.”
I stash the feather in my pocket and grab my hoverboard from where it had been leaning against the wall. Time travel isn’t real, so I know that wasn’t me in that picture. There’s got to be another explanation for our uncanny resemblance. I just don’t know what it is.
Another way I know that wasn’t me?
I’ve never seen the sun.
Earth, AD 2336
I have never seen the stars.
If I was ever going to spot them, it would be now, in the dark of night, when my toes are frantically gripping onto this slippery marble ledge, eighty-two stories above the grandest (and only) city left on Earth.
But no. Even up here the blinding lights shining from the one hundred skyscrapers that make up The City wash out any sign of the heavens. Add in the glowing lights of the airships’ launchpads and the headlights of the hovercars, and I can almost fool myself into believing the stars are below me, instead of above.
I’ve never been this high up before. Not outside, anyway. With all the tunnels connecting the buildings every few floors, there’s not much need to step outside at all. In fact, all the balconies on these upper floors are restricted, even to my family.
Next only to being stranded outside the city gates in the Dead Zone, standing here now is literally the very last place I ever thought I’d be. But I only have one chance to get what I came for before my chip shows up on the Citizens Monitoring Grid … and I’m not going to miss it.
Unless I slip and plunge to a very messy death. But I’m trying not to think about that.
I grasp for the ledge to steady myself against a sudden gust of wind. As I crouch, shivering in my totally-inappropriate-for-the-situation dress, another gust whips through my hair, untangling it from the elaborate braid Grandmother spent so long on just this morning. That seems like a lifetime ago now.
My day began like every other in my fourteen years. The lights clicked on at exactly eight o’clock. My list of activities scrolled across the holo-screen that floats in the middle of my room, and my hands began to shake. Sometimes they go numb, or I feel like the walls are closing in and have to splash water on my face to relax. Every day my itinerary is a little different, depending on what my mother and teacher set up for me the night before. There is always school, always shopping, always etiquette class, and never, ever any free time.
Whenever I’m not scheduled for an activity, my duty is to follow closely at my mother’s heels while she attends luncheons, charity balls, and political meetings, or is visited by all the top clothing designers, who flatter and charm her so she will select one of their outfits. As the wife of one of the highest officials in Prince John’s royal cabinet, she must set a good example at all times. She must demonstrate loyalty to the government and possess a sharp intellect, but should never question the laws of the land. She is always the best-dressed woman in the room.
As my father’s daughter, the same high standards are expected of me.
Ugh.
In the days before King Richard left on his mission to broker trade agreements in a nearby star system, things were different. Better. More fun. Without the grid, we were free to roam The City without being tracked all the time. Now people mostly stay within the few buildings where they live and work or go to school. Richard was kind. He told corny jokes, and he used to play peekaboo with me when he and my father took breaks from the important work of running our city. He was the first one to tell me that my voice has a soothing, melodic tone to it that people seem to like. Personally, I can’t hear it.
Richard’s younger brother, Prince John, is totally different. He’s been in charge these last five years, and everyone is afraid to make one wrong move. To cross him is to lose your job or your home, or worst of all, be tossed into the Dead Zone, the area outside The City where there’s only scorched earth and the memories of a time many centuries ago when something called nature thrived. Even though it would be treason to say it aloud, I secretly pray for the return of the king.
But back to this morning. I got out of bed and waited for my maid, Ivy, to come dress me and do my hair. I know at my age I am perfectly capable of doing these tasks myself, but I’d be late for my first activity every day if I had to make my own choices. Just the idea of picking out the right clothes sends me into a panic of indecision. Perhaps if I were given a chance to make even one of my own decisions, I’d be better at it. This is another thing I don’t say.
Instead of Ivy showing up today, though, my grandmother came instead. This made me happy — Ivy is efficient and sweet, but caring for me is her job. Grandmother chooses to care, and that is a very different thing. Grandmother is the only person who wraps her arms around me and holds me tight. She is the only one who can see that sometimes I’m just going through the motions of my life without actually living it.
At least, I think she can see that. Grandmother has lost her power of speech, so she can’t tell me. She is not yet seventy, but her mind is muddled and she wanders off a few times a day. The only time I’m thankful for the grid is when we need it to find her. She never goes far, thankfully, and her movements are slow, except when she braids my hair. She comes alive then. She likes listening to me speak, so sometimes I’ll recite a poem, or make up a story about what life must be like on planets other than ours. She is treated with the utmost respect due to my father’s position, and no one cares if she wears the latest style.
This morning Grandmother outdid herself. She wove my long strands in and out, twisting them around with ribbons until they were a work of art. She topped it off with a silver headpiece — a half crown — that held a large green jewel in the middle. I imagine even grass and leaves weren’t that bright, but of course I don’t know for certain. I stared at my reflection in the mirror over my dressing table. Most likely the entire headpiece had been synthesized in one of the labs before they began focusing on making our food supply. But that made it no less beautiful, and only slightly less valuable than if it had come from the earth itself.
I ran my fingers gently over the large, multifaceted stone. If it was real, it would be the most precious and expensive item I own. And, due to all the shopping and gifts people give me in the hopes of getting close to my parents, I own a lot of things.
“Where did you get this, Grandmother?” I asked. “Was it yours?”
I didn’t expect an answer and I didn’t get one. She only smiled in that vague way she has and patted me on the shoulder. She pulled closed the cinch sack that held her ribbons and bows, and left.
I lifted the headpiece off and watched as the sunlight shone through the stone and sent light dancing on my wall. Up close I could see tiny holes that ran all the way through the jewel, making the streams of light even more mesmerizing. I could admire the design all day. Instead, I laid the gift carefully inside one of my top drawers. I didn’t want to share it with the world. I have to share too much as it is.
Ivy arrived then to dress me in a fancy gown we’d picked up yesterday that made me long to return to my comfortable pajamas. She slid on my heels as she chattered about the latest gossip involving who was dating who, who had spent all their salary on the newest hovercar just to crash it a day later, and wasn’t Prince John just the handsomest?
Yuck. As she is always up on all the goings-on in The City, my parents no doubt consider Ivy to be a good companion for me. But our conversations never get any deeper than this, and some days I fear I may starve from lack of stimulation. I put on my usual smile and let Ivy keep chattering while I ate breakfast.
Later, in etiquette class, I practiced perfect posture by walking with a couch cushion balanced on my head. Apparently I slouch more than someone of my high social standing is supposed to. The instructor told us that people used to put books on their heads instead of cushions. I saw a holo-pic of a book once in school, but I have a hard time picturing what it would feel like to hold one, let alone imagine one on my head. After the forests had been destroyed and no more paper could be produced, the Great Fire took what was left of the libraries and turned them to ash.
My schoolteacher almost never talks about history, because the government insists no one wants to hear about the wars that wiped out 90 percent of the planet’s inhabitants, or all the mining that depleted Earth’s resources and poisoned the oceans. No one but me, that is. It’s as if they want us to believe that The City has always been exactly the way it is now, under Prince John’s rule. Yes, we are free of crime (the grid assures us of that by keeping track of every citizen’s whereabouts); free of starvation (the jelloid vita-squares the laboratories churn out daily keep us healthy and our bellies sated); and the Beautification Laws mean that our always sparkly clean skyscrapers are surrounded by flowers and trees and grass. But it is all a lie. If you touch the trees or flowers or grass, you’ll find they are all made of foam.
Class today was history-free, as usual. We began by practicing handwriting on our tablets with our digi-pens for an hour. Over and over I wrote, in perfect cursive, feed me feed me feed me.
“Marian?” My teacher stood over my desk, catching me unaware as her eyes flitted across my screen. She clicked her tongue at me. “Did you skip breakfast today?”
I didn’t know how to answer. How could I tell her that I meant my brain was hungry, not my stomach? So I only nodded. Eyebrows lifted across the room as kids began to murmur. No one ever misses a meal.
The teacher clicked her tongue at me again and tapped her finger on the timer embedded in the corner of my tablet. “There,” she said. “I’ve given you a twenty-minute pass. Go to the dining hall and get a vita-square to eat. This oversight will not happen again, I trust?”
I shook my head and slipped my tablet into my bag. Shaking, I hurried out of the room before she could change her mind. Or before I could. I stood outside the door. Should I go home? Our apartment was only three buildings away; I could make it through the tunnels and back in time. But how would I explain my presence to our household staff?
I could go down to the airship base and watch the ships take off. As a child I’d always loved the roar of the engines and admired the gentle grace of the ships as they flew off into space. I’ve never wanted to ride on one, though — that would be way too frightening. Starting in one’s fourteenth year, a few students are selected to visit our sister planet, Earth Beta, to learn from their choices. (Apparently their choices weren’t much different from ours, from what I’ve heard from returning students. They just ruined their planet in different ways.) As my high-ranking father’s daughter, though, my place is with my feet firmly planted on this planet — one rule I’m actually grateful for.
A full five minutes passed before I dutifully turned toward the elevator. How could I even think of going somewhere other than where my teacher instructed?
The dining hall is ten floors up, and when the elevator doors opened, they revealed one long table, full of men having what I assumed at first was an early lunch. But then I realized who was holding court at the head of the table and quickly shrank back against the back of the elevator. Prince John and his inner cabinet, including my father, were celebrating something important because their plates were piled high WITH REAL FOOD! They couldn’t all have birthdays today, could they? I know for a fact that my father’s birthday was two months ago. They all shoveled beans and corn and rice in their mouths while the prince stood at the head of the table, holding up a glass of a liquid that wasn’t see-through.
Luckily the elevator doors whooshed closed before anyone could notice my arrival. I stood there, heart pounding. I could still hear the prince’s deep, rumbling voice through the doors.
“A toast!” he declared. “It is finally done. The people of our great city still believe their do-gooder of a king is off spreading peace in the galaxy and trying to broker trade agreements to bring us food and other natural resources. A noble cause, indeed!”
Some of the men laughed at that. I couldn’t tell if my father was one of them.
The prince continued, “In nine more months, six years will have passed since my brother ‘abandoned’ his people, and I’ll officially be declared king. All of you can expect large bonuses for your loyalty to me during this time.”
Cheers rang out at this news.
My elevator still hadn’t moved. I took a step closer to the doors. Through the crack I saw the prince hold up what looked like a small notebook. But could it really be one? A real notebook? With real paper? “I did not dare store this information on any of the interwebs,” he said in a solemn voice, “so I’ve gone the old-fashioned way and written it down.”
Everyone leaned forward. Prince John turned to face my father and held the tiny book out to him. I did not dare breathe.
“Patrick, we all know how Richard disrespected you by not appointing you second-in-command while he was king. I will not make that
mistake. You shall continue to benefit from his absence. I know you will keep this information safe.”
Ding!
Startled, I jumped before realizing it was only the elevator. Someone had called it from another floor. I only got one more glimpse of the group before I started to move back down. But that was enough. My father took the notebook and slid it into his briefcase. “I will indeed” were the last words I heard.
I pressed myself up against the back of the elevator as people got on and off, acknowledging them with a forced smile. What had I just heard? Our good and kind King Richard had been tricked somehow? Or are we the ones being deceived? Had he never even left the planet?
Perhaps we all should have been suspicious sooner. Five years really is a long time for a leader of a planet to be gone. My thoughts were bouncing around so fast my head hurt. I didn’t know my father felt mistreated by Richard. I thought they’d been friends.
I passed through the afternoon in a daze. Shopping with Ivy was a blur of cars, shops, and dressing rooms. I think I came home with ten new pairs of shoes, but maybe they were hats. At dinner I watched my dad happily eat his allotment of four vita-squares and two glasses of water, wondering how he could possibly be hungry. (I also wondered if my mother knew about his other meal.) He didn’t seem at all upset about Prince John’s news. This made my heart sink. I barely tasted my already tasteless food, as I couldn’t tear my eyes from his briefcase on the floor beside his chair. I couldn’t help thinking that actual paper was in there! Had it made his briefcase heavy? What did it feel like to touch it?
After dinner I returned to my room and stared at myself in the mirror. I don’t like admitting this, but I do that a lot. I am not vain (well, maybe a little), but if too much time goes by without seeing myself I feel disconnected and strange. Seeing my face now gave me comfort when everything was turning upside down.
Ding! I jumped again. My nerves were clearly frayed. This time the alert came from my tablet, still buried in my bag from school. The message was probably from a classmate with my homework assignment. I ignored it. The tablet dinged twice more before I gave in and grabbed it.
