A real underground network. A network like this had the range of a few hundred square feet. Doesn’t sound like much—until you tie a bunch of these handmade networks together.
“Is that what you’re running your garden on?” I asked. Each moving statue seemed to interact with the next and could be controlled remotely.
Winter nodded. “In exchange, I showed Roger how to make an FM transmitter.”
And your transmitter broadcasts on the same frequency as the chip and the MemeCast. This was no coincidence. Was Roger the technical wizard behind the MemeCast—and did he have plans for it all along?
“So what’s on the disk?” I asked.
“Hell if I know.” She spun the monitor toward me.
The disk was encrypted.
“Typical Roger paranoia,” Winter muttered.
“Not so paranoid if people are after you.”
The code scrawled across the old monitor. It was very hard to visualize it in 2-D, but it looked a little familiar. I clunked around on the old fashioned keyboard for a while but couldn’t seem to turn the code over in my mind. I pulled out my mobile, disconnected it from the grid, and downloaded the code.
And there it was. A hard, glossy knot of gorgeous code with no visible door to pull on.
This was the encryption Mom had given me to crack on the plane. The new encryption algorithm of Banc Raush. Or was it? Did TFC pressure her company, too? Had they developed the code for memories rather than money? Data was data.
I still had the decryption key on my mobile.
The door unlocked.
If you can read this, you’re no skid—and you have the key to decoding the implanted memory stream on the nGram. It took me a month of brute force attack to crack the other key, the one to encode the data (and this message). Unfortunately I couldn’t work out the decryption key in time.
Forgive me, but I had to protect my family. I hope you get this before the 1st and can figure out what to do with the keys.
A long line of numbers and letters wrapped across the bottom of the screen. The other key.
With both, I could hack the ID chips.
But we just needed one more thing.
TFC communicated with the chip on the same frequency as Winter’s FM transmitter—and the MemeCast.
“We need to call Velvet,” I said finally.
41.0
REVENGE OF THE CLOWN CAKE
VELVET
Big night.
Everything was set. Aiden and Winter’s plan was a nobrainer for me. Becca agreed, too. Now I could really do something. I hope they make it to the concert.
I set up Lina at the door with a walkie, a police scanner, and the panic button Steven’s crew had made. Dune was still a no-show. Lina explained the security system. The battery-run lights would flash if the cops were on their way. I told her to hit it if she saw anything suspicious, too. Oh, and no alcohol through the door. We didn’t want people getting stupid.
The band began their sound check. Now I just had to wait and see if anyone showed.
My biggest fear is throwing a party and no one shows up.
It happened to me in sixth grade. I’d invited a handful of popular girls—like Maia Jackson, who I’d been friends with in elementary school—to my birthday party. No one showed up—or even asked about the party later. It was just me and Mom and my grandmother and a huge clown-shaped ice cream cake she’d picked out.
I haven’t thrown a party since.
A former chapter in the Book of Velvet.
The band finished its sound check. I was having clown-cake flashbacks as I watched the door. Nada.
Aiden probably wasn’t coming, either.
Why did I say no alcohol?
Spike jumped down from the stage, which wasn’t much more than a bunch of wooden pallets nailed together. He slung his arm around my shoulders. “They’ll come. Curfew be damned.”
I had to admit that Spike knew when to say the right thing. I kissed his cheek. He took my face gently in his hand and planted a wet one on my lips. After a second, I returned the kiss gratefully.
“Get a room, you two,” a voice said from the door. Big Steven and his crew strolled in—followed by a stream of kids.
“They got lost.” Steven jerked his thumb toward the crowd beginning to fill up the entry.
I told Spike to go get ready.
“Oh, I’m ready,” he said adjusting his crotch.
I had to admit that Spike also knew how to say the wrong thing at the right time. He grinned and leaned in to give me another quick kiss.
I shook my head and pushed him toward the stage. He was still grinning.
I started shooing the partiers toward the stage and refreshment area (sodas only). While I was doing that, I heard the Steven reunion playing out behind me.
“Little bro, you’ve grown.” Little brother was now taller than big brother. Big Steven wrapped Little Steven in a bear hug. Micah always said their parents had no imagination.
Micah. I scanned the growing sea of faces for him. He should be out of juvie by now, and I hoped he’d seen one of the flyers.
The band was about to take the stage when I spotted his curly mop trying to push its way through the crowd. I waded in but didn’t make much headway.
“Micah!” I called. The crowd let him through.
The guys saw him, too. They jumped off the platform and practically tackled him before I even had a chance to say a word.
Things were working out far better than I’d expected. If only Winter and Aiden would get here, then we’d all be together again.
Micah explained that he’d just gotten out of juvie last week. He’d tried to call everyone, but his mobile was blocked. He’d gotten our flyer from someone at the food bank, where he was doing his community service.
We spelled out everything the best we could—about the Mementos and how he’d been brain-bleached—but he hardly believed what had happened. (Micah was our resident conspiracy theory nut, but I guess you don’t believe it when it’s really happening to you.)
The crowd started chanting “play, play.”
I motioned the guys toward the stage. We’d have plenty of time to catch up later.
The crowd stopped chanting as Spike strapped on his guitar and walked to the mike. He tapped it a few times and cleared his throat.
“Before we get started,” he said, “let’s give a shout out to my girl, Velvet, for organizing this whole thing.”
The crowd chanted “Velvet” until Spike pulled me up on stage.
I was floating.
42.0
A LITTLE DINNER MUSIC
WINTER
The front door announced that we had visitors.
They came. What a relief. Part one of our plan was coming together.
I answered the door, just in case they were still pissed at Grandfather.
“Honey, we were so worried about you.” Mom went all motherly on me, hugging me and checking out my new-old attire with a shake of her head. I had dyed the tips of my hair purple. Mom was trying to make the best of it.
Dad hugged me and told me to never, ever run away again.
Uncle Ichiro brought up the rear. He nodded at me and told his new Green Zone bodyguard to wait outside.
“It’s a family dinner,” Uncle Ichiro said impatiently when the goon hesitated. The guard planted himself outside the front door.
I brought everyone out to the dining table we’d set up in the garden. Mom glared at her own father as he offered her a drink. Dad whispered something to her.
Aiden hugged his father like they hadn’t seen each other in three years.
Time for some music. I pressed a button on the remote, and the solar chimes started to play a soft acoustic guitar instrumental thing. I figured that was neutral enough for dinner dining—and deprogramming.
“Mom, I want you and Grandfather to bury the hatchet. And not in each other’s foreheads,” I told her as I showed her to her seat.
That made
Dad laugh uneasily.
When I’d called them earlier, I had let them believe this whole thing was about reconciliation. It was. Sort of.
Aiden and I helped Grandfather serve dinner. (He’d actually ordered it from this Cuban place a few blocks away. We aren’t good cooks.)
We all made uncomfortable chitchat over roast pork and black beans. I nibbled on some tostones while I watched Mom and Dad for a sign, any sign. Aiden, I noticed, wouldn’t look at Uncle Ichiro and vice versa. They both pushed the pork and onions around their plates in little circles.
Time for the reconciliation part of the evening. We were about to find out if my parents’ fake memories had successfully been wiped.
“Mom and Dad, I’m sorry I left without telling you. But please stop punishing Grandfather for whatever you think he did.” I winked at Grandfather as I said this. He busied himself with another piece of pork.
“He let you—” Mom stopped.
“What? Go crazy? No. He took really great care of me while you were gone. He let me be myself. And if you don’t like who I am, then that’s your problem.”
“But you were saying some craz—mixed-up things,” my dad said.
“What? That I didn’t think you were in Japan? Search your memory, both of you. Right now. Do you really remember being there? Humor me. Oh, and by the way, Aunt Gretchen? Not dead.”
Aiden was staring at his father. Uncle Ichiro kept his eyes on his plate.
My father thought about it for a second or two and turned to Mom. “Honey?”
“Oh, come on. Where else would we have been?” She looked at Ichiro for support. He studied his empanada.
“Dad, we figured it out. The chip. The encryption. Everything,” Aiden said.
Here’s where I expected Uncle Ichiro to fly into a rage. He simply looked up at Aiden and smiled. “I knew you would,” he said.
My parents just stared.
“Really?” Aiden asked.
“Really,” Uncle Ichiro said.
I wanted to cry, and I hate crying.
“Did they do anything to you? Besides the chip?” Aiden asked quietly.
My uncle shook his head. “They said it was better I remember exactly what I have to lose.”
A tear slid down Aiden’s cheek, and his father wrapped his arm around Aiden.
So we’d gotten our families back, even though mine was still befuddled by the whole thing.
“Would someone please explain what’s going on?” my mother asked.
“Later, Mom. I promise,” I said. My teary, huggy urges had passed. “We have a concert to get to,” I told Aiden.
He nodded and wiped his face on his sleeve.
43.0
BONFIRE OF THE WANNABES
VELVET
The Wannabes started playing “Anything Girl,” one of my songs. I couldn’t help thinking I’d finally accomplished something, even if it was just an abandoned warehouse with a bunch of friends playing my half-assed song. But all these people were here. And so was the MemeCast. Becca was broadcasting it to her van, and from there to all the other mobiles and radios and whatevers out there in Hamilton.
Micah made a drinking motion and mouthed that he’d be right back. I pointed in the direction of the table along the back wall. I hoped he was okay with soda.
The crowd clapped, hooted even, for the first song and the next one. I was still floating. I looked around, hoping to see Aiden and Winter. Big Steven gave me the thumbs up.
I caught sight of Micah, and he seemed to be doing his own floating. The crowd in front of him had parted, revealing none other than—you guessed it—Nora James.
Why did I invite her? Well, she did sort of start all this.
She was backing away slowly. Finally she stopped, and they stood there gawking at each other, still standing fairly far apart. It wasn’t like one of those movie rush-into-each-other’s-arms kind of things. It was more of an excuse-me-do-I-know-you-and-are-you-stalking-me thing on her part. But the crowd knew the story and seemed to be pushing them together. And Micah and Nora were beginning to feel their strange attraction. They inched forward as they shouted over the band.
Maia Jackson was tugging Nora’s elbow, trying to pull her toward the door. I moved to Micah’s side, nodding at Maia as I took up position.
“We have got to get out of here,” Maia yelled at Nora.
Nora was transfixed. “Micah?” She looked like someone who thinks they know you but can’t quite place your face.
Then Tom Slayton burst through the door. Lina looked at me to see if she should hit the panic button. I held up my hand. Wait.
It was just some jealous boyfriend action. Tom Slayton—lacrosse team captain, yearbook editor—him I could picture Nora with. They’d probably live happily ever after at Los Palamos.
Except that she came here.
Tom grabbed Nora’s wrist hard and pulled her toward the door. Micah tried to get in the way, but Nora stopped him. She said she didn’t need rescuing, she could handle her boyfriend. Maia followed Tom and Nora out to a waiting car.
I signaled to Spike to keep playing and tried to maneuver Micah toward the stage.
“I feel like I know her,” Micah said to me. We hadn’t gotten to the part about Nora when we explained things earlier.
“Me, too,” a voice said behind us. It was Nora. Alone. “I just want to know the truth.”
There was no chance to enlighten her, though, because the lights started flashing. Lina held up her walkie and waved it frantically toward the open door of the warehouse.
Several black vans screeched to halt outside the door as I fumbled for my mobile.
Aiden didn’t answer. It went straight to voice mail.
A girl can’t wait for Prince Charming to rescue her ass or save the universe. Book of Velvet. Last Verse. Last Chapter.
44.0
LATE TO THE PARTY
AIDEN
“A concert, young lady?” Aunt Spring was livid. “Now?”
“Spring, please—” Dad warned her off. He turned to me. “The one being MemeCast?”
“Yes, our little package is being delivered over the Casts tonight. This dinner was just a beta test. Wait, how did you—” I dug my mobile out of my pocket. I had a very bad feeling about this.
“Green Zone knows.” Dad nodded his head toward the front door. “TFC wants to stop the MemeCast because it interferes with the TFC application.”
And whatever they want to stream into our heads.
“Did you tell them?” I hated to ask Dad this, but TFC could have gotten it out of him.
He shook his head. “I didn’t even know about it until I overheard the Green Zone guys talking.”
“It was Roger.” Forgive me, he’d said. Roger had given up the MemeCast to save his hide.
“He was probably trying to protect his family. His parents aren’t in Saigon—just like they,” Dad said, nodding toward his brother, “weren’t in Japan.”
Uncle Brian and Aunt Spring exchanged a baffled glance.
“You were in Detention,” Winter told them.
“Roger also has his little brother to look out for,” Dad continued.
“Dune,” I said. And Dune knew exactly where the concert was going to be.
“Velvet!” Winter cried. She grabbed my mobile and punched in the numbers. The call went straight to Velvet’s voice mail.
45.0
TOO LATE FOR EVEN A NINJA WARRIOR
AIDEN
“We have to go get her,” Winter pleaded.
I agreed. We were in the foyer when both Dad and Mr. Yamada stopped us.
“We’re going,” Winter and I said in unison.
“Green Zone,” Dad whispered, motioning toward the front door.
I’d forgotten about Dad’s watchdog.
“Out the back way,” Mr. Yamada said. “I’ll go with you.”
Dad gave him the eyebrow, but Koji Yamada stifled any nonverbal objections with the wave of a hand. “You’ll need a scout in c
ase security is there.”
This time Dad nodded. “Take Jao with you. I’ll keep an eye on this guy.”
Mr. Yamada ducked into the kitchen and reemerged seconds later with a pair of old-style walkie-talkies, one of which he tossed to Jao. Then Winter’s grandfather pulled on his no-fingered climbing gloves as he headed toward the door. “Are you coming?” he called to us.
He led us through his obstacle course and under the bleachers in the back. He pressed a panel in the chain-link fence and it slid aside effortlessly. Mr. Yamada had his own secure escape route.
Jao had parked on a street nearby so we wouldn’t get blocked in. Miraculously the Bradley was still there. Winter and I piled into the back of the SUV. Mr. Yamada climbed into the front and whispered something to Jao. He nodded curtly just as if Dad had given him orders.
Even though I told him to step on it, Jao slowed the Bradley as we came up on the corner of Eighth and Salem. Winter said the Twinkie Factory was five or six blocks down. Mr. Yamada jumped out, peeked around the corner, and then motioned Jao down the block.
“This is going to take forever.” I groaned.
Winter shushed me. The next thing I knew Mr. Yamada had springboarded off the hood of the black SUV onto the fire escape of a boarded-up brick building next to us. He pulled himself up the fire escape and onto the roof in one long fluid motion. Most twelve-year-old Olympic gymnasts couldn’t have done it.
My jaw was scraping the pavement.
“That’s my Sasuke-san.” Winter beamed.
I’d never understood her pet name for her grandfather. Until now. I’d seen it once online; Sasuke was an old Japanese game show in which guys raced around an obstacle course. The show was named after a ninja-Samurai dude from comic books or folklore or something.
The Forgetting Curve (Memento Nora) Page 12
