Unchanged

by Jessica Brody

  He cocks an eyebrow. “We were so close to extracting you. If Dr. Alixter got wind that anything was amiss, we wouldn’t have been able to go through with the plan.”

  “Why?” I ask, doing little to hide my disapproval. “Why would you deceive him like that?”

  Sevan smiles. “You and I are acquainted with two very different versions of Jans Alixter.”

  I scowl. “And what version are you acquainted with?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he points to the man who shoved the shotgun barrel in my face yesterday. He’s sitting at one of the wooden tables in the dining area, chomping ferociously on a chunk of deer meat. When he sees me, he eyes his shotgun leaning against the edge of the table. “That’s Jase Plummer. He’s from New Orleans. Three years ago, his baby daughter died during childbirth. Not even a minute old.”

  I recoil. “That’s horrible. Why didn’t they use an artificial womb?”

  “They did. Diotech-manufactured. Their doctor convinced them it was the safest option. Little did they know, the womb they ordered was part of a faulty batch that shouldn’t have been released into the marketplace. Diotech failed to test it properly. About three thousand babies died that month. Jase’s wife killed herself shortly after. By pumping her veins full of Cv9.”

  Cv9. A heavy sedation drug. Ten times stronger than a Relaxer.

  Also manufactured by Diotech.

  “You can’t be sure that Diotech was responsible for the faulty wombs,” I argue. “A lot of other factors could have contributed.”

  Sevan snickers darkly. “You sound just like the Diotech lawyers. Dr. Alixter was able to pin the blame on one of their distributors, claiming that the wombs were damaged in transit.”

  He points in the opposite direction, toward a man working on the engine of a hovercopter, presumably the same one that was used to transport me here. “That’s Davish Swick. Former owner of Swick Worldwide, the transit company that used to handle the bulk of Diotech’s distribution. The company was obliterated after Diotech claimed they were responsible for the death of three thousand babies. The case went to trial. Diotech won. No surprises there. Some might argue it was because Swick really was responsible for the faulty wombs. Others—like, say, a Memory Coder who was in charge of altering the memories of the technicians who tested the wombs—would probably argue differently.”

  Davish Swick watches me with distrustful eyes as we pass.

  Next, Sevan points to a short raven-haired woman carrying a wicker basket full of clothes. “Leylia Wong. She was a scientist on the verge of a miraculous breakthrough that would have allowed us to use our waste as fuel. It would have solved the energy crisis and the pollution crisis, but her lab was suddenly shut down. Without warning. Her funds were cut. When she tried to move her research to her own garage, she found all of her files had mysteriously vanished from the SkyServer. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that Diotech was about to announce the four-trillion-dollar implementation of the nationwide MagLines, a project that would have been rendered completely irrelevant if Leylia’s research had seen the light of day.” He shrugs. “Or maybe not.”

  He gestures toward a stout, unkempt man exiting the food tent where I stumbled upon the dead animals last night. “And that’s Nem Rouser. His family owned a small cattle ranch in Montana for almost two hundred years. Until Diotech released a new line of synthetic meats and all the cattle ranches were shut down.”

  I shake my head. “Now you’re stretching the truth to try to make a point. Diotech had to create the synthetic meat because the cows were dying from Bovine Liver Disease. I learned about it in an upload you gave me.”

  Sevan shrugs. “Chicken or the egg, I suppose.”

  I frown. “What does that mean?”

  “It means, it’s just a little suspicious that Diotech had the synthetic meats ready to launch into the marketplace right as the BLD crisis hit.”

  “Are you claiming Diotech purposely spread liver disease to the cows?”

  He raises his eyebrows, mocking me. “Wouldn’t that be scandalous?” Then he points toward a bulky, muscular man walking in the direction of Paddok’s tent. Although walking is a nice way to put it. It’s more like a rickety hobble. His shoulders are hunched forward and one of his feet drags heavily and lifelessly behind the other.

  “You probably never met Olin Vas during your time on the compound.”

  “Okay, okay.” I stop him, not wanting to listen to another devastating story. “I get it. You all have a reason to hate Diotech. It still doesn’t mean—”

  But the breath is knocked out of me when Olin, having heard his name, turns to look at us. I have to stifle the scream that bubbles up in my throat at the sight of his face. It’s the most ghastly thing I’ve ever seen. The left side is completely deformed. Like someone stretched out the skin and rearranged his features. His eye droops past the tip of his nose. His left ear is completely gone, and his hair on that side only grows in small tufts, leaving behind giant bald spots that are patched in ugly red sores.

  Not unexpectedly, he gives me a scowl and pushes his way into Paddok’s tent. I’m grateful for his disappearance. I’m not sure how much longer I’d be able to look at him.

  “That is how Diotech treats its ex-employees,” Sevan says. If I didn’t know any better I would think he was actually enjoying my reaction to all this.

  “He worked for Diotech?” I ask in disbelief.

  “Agent Vas used to be on Director Raze’s security force. Until he was framed for one of the director’s mistakes.”

  Director Raze makes mistakes?

  Well, underestimating Jenza Paddok was certainly one of them.

  “What was it? The mistake?” I ask.

  “You,” he says casually.

  “Me?”

  “The first time you and Lyzender attempted to escape.”

  A hint of acid stings the back of my throat.

  I know about this. It was one of the erased memories that was restored after my return to the compound last year.

  Lyzender convinced me to run away with him. He showed me captures of snow-capped mountains and exciting foreign cities. He made me absurd promises about being together forever. And like the fool that I was, I believed him. I went blindly.

  That was before Lyzender discovered the existence of the transession gene. We attempted to escape by boarding a delivery van exiting the northwest gate. We were tracked down a few miles outside of the compound after they did a satellite scan on my implant.

  I always wondered how we were able to slip out under Raze’s careful watch.

  Was it because he was being careless?

  Did he really blame his mistake on that poor man?

  “His punishment was genetic mutilation,” Sevan explains. “Not one of the products Diotech advertises to the public.”

  I think about the genetic disguises Kaelen and I were given when we left for the tour. But that was different. A few small tweaks, a few temporary imperfections. That man’s face is ruined forever.

  My voice is shaking. “You mean, they…”

  “Sent a scrambling signal to his DNA? Yes. The same way they were able to program your DNA with the genetic implant that held your tracking code. His DNA has been programmed to make him look like that. It’s quite a painful process. Having your face rearranged while you’re still awake.”

  I reach down and touch the smooth, flawless skin of my wrist, where the black line used to be. “You changed mine. Why can’t you fix him?”

  “It’s too extreme,” says a voice behind me. I spin to see Paddok standing there. She’s still dressed in her green pants and gray sleeveless shirt, but her skin appears to have been recently cleaned, which makes me wonder if there’s a water source nearby. “Trust me, we’ve tried. We don’t have the technology, and it would simply be too painful.”

  I remember the unbearable agony that twisted my bones and clawed at the inside of my arm when they removed my implant. And that was only a little black line.

/>   “Diotech doesn’t just discharge you,” Sevan tells me. “They mutilate you. They destroy you. So you never forget.”

  “What is she doing out here?” Paddok asks.

  “I thought it would be good for her to see the camp. Learn why we’re here.”

  “You’re wasting your time,” she tells Sevan, her distrustful eyes lingering on me when she says it. “She’s gone. Alixter’s brainwashing is far too deep.”

  I want to argue but I’m suddenly at a loss for words. Besides, what can I say in response to that?

  That I’m not brainwashed?

  That Dr. A is not the monster she thinks he is?

  That all of these people are making it up? Fabricating stories about loss and heartache and pain just to have a valid reason to take down Diotech?

  Paddok flashes me a tight-lipped smile before disappearing into her tent.

  I think back to the capture I saw of Paddok emerging from the courthouse. The one where Lyzender was hiding in the crowd. The digital docket announced that her case had been dismissed.

  What was the case?

  Why was she fighting them?

  I’m about to ask Sevan this very question when something catches the corner of my eye. Or rather someone.

  He’s tall and slender, standing with his back to me, talking to the man Sevan identified as Davish Swick. It’s not his body that catches my attention, however, it’s his hair. Blond and unruly, a mess of tangled curls. He turns his head ever so slightly to the side and I’m able to see the profile of his narrow face. His achingly familiar face.

  I feel a squeeze in my chest. My mind is playing tricks on me. That’s the only logical explanation.

  Because it’s the year 2117. If he were still alive, he would be one hundred and seventeen years old. But this boy—this young man—can’t be older than twenty-five. And yet it’s him. I know it’s him. His nose, his cheekbones, his hair are identical to the boy I once knew. The boy who used to blush when I looked at him.

  As I call out his name, my thin, frail voice nearly vanishes into the air. “Cody?”

  He turns. And that’s when my legs finally give out from under me.

  42

  HERITAGE

  The impact of my sudden fall knocks Sevan off balance and, with his wrist still handcuffed to my own, he nearly tumbles down next to me. He manages to catch himself just before hitting the ground and bends to help me up.

  I’m rambling now, barely making any sense. Words are spilling chaotically from my mouth. “How is he here? He can’t be here! Did he give himself the gene? Why would he do that? Is he looking for me? Did he come with Lyzender?”

  But that’s impossible.

  The Cody who reverse engineered the transession gene for Lyzender was thirty-two. This man is way younger than that.

  Did Lyzender transesse back in time to give a younger Cody the gene?

  As these thoughts tumble around in my head, the man stares at me completely dumbfounded. As if he doesn’t even recognize me.

  “Why is he looking at me like that? Doesn’t he remember me?” I stab an accusing finger into Sevan’s chest. “Did you recode his memories?”

  “Sera,” Sevan says sternly, placing his palms on my cheeks and forcing me to look at him. “It’s not him. It’s not Cody.”

  “Yes it is!” I scream. “It’s him! It’s Cody Carlson. My foster brother. He’s just older. Or younger. Or I don’t know but it’s him!” I try to turn my head to look at the man again, but Sevan holds me in place.

  “Listen to what I’m telling you, Sera. It’s not him.”

  I rip his hands from my face and stomp over to the man, dragging Sevan with me. My emotions are all tangled up. I can’t tell if I’m angry or happy or fearful or some noxious mix of the three.

  “Cody!” I bellow. “What are you doing here?”

  The man backs away, seemingly afraid of me.

  Why would Cody be afraid of me? Did Paddok get to him, too? Has he been manipulated into distrusting me like everyone else in this place?

  “Sera!” Sevan calls behind me, still attached to my wrist. I try to block him out. “That’s Niko. He works for Paddok.”

  Niko?

  I stare at the man with the curly blond hair, trying to meet his eyes, but he drops his gaze to the ground. It’s then I start to see the small differences. A squarer chin. Higher cheekbones. A more pronounced brow.

  “Who are you?” I ask, my tone transitioning from forceful to inquisitive.

  “I’m Niko.” He repeats the unfamiliar name. “Niko Carlson.”

  A shiver runs down my arms.

  Carlson.

  When I speak again, my voice is shaky. “Why do you look like him?”

  The man finally finds the courage to meet my gaze and I stare into his blue eyes.

  The exact same blue eyes.

  “Because he’s my great-grandfather.”

  43

  TAINTED

  I sip the water slowly, just as Sevan instructed. The lukewarm liquid feels slimy as it navigates down my throat. It doesn’t taste like the water we drink on the compound. It’s thicker, meaning it’s organic, not synthesized to improve taste and purity.

  It has a metallic flavor that makes me think about the billions of little microbes swimming around in every drop, waiting to infect my weakened system.

  We’re seated at one of the wooden picnic tables in the dining area of the camp. People are fluttering around us doing whatever it is they do here. Sevan sits next to me, his cuffed wrist lying on the table beside mine. He says nothing. I say nothing in return.

  I’m still trying to process what happened.

  Cody’s great-grandson is here. Working to take down Diotech. The very company that created me. That also created a gene that sent me into the past. To the year 2013, where I first met a gangly, awkward thirteen-year-old boy named Cody Carlson.

  It’s too much to be a coincidence.

  There’s a bigger story here. Unfortunately, Niko walked away before I could say anything else. Then Sevan led me here and handed me a cup of disgusting, bacteria-laden organic water.

  I take another sip.

  I haven’t thought much about Cody since I returned to the compound. I haven’t had any reason to. He belongs in that other part of my life. The part that brings me nothing but shame.

  But lately it’s become more and more difficult to forget it.

  This camp is crawling with reminders.

  “Better?” Sevan asks, gesturing to my cup.

  I nod.

  “Maybe I should take you back to your tent. I think you’ve seen enough for one day.”

  He starts to stand but I don’t move. “What about you?”

  “Sorry?”

  “You never told me why you hate Diotech.”

  Sevan slowly lowers back down. “I’m not sure you’re ready for that story yet.”

  I pin him with a glare. “Just because you’ve seen my memories doesn’t make you an expert on my mind.”

  He chuckles. “Very well.”

  He doesn’t speak right away, though. He stares into the distance, as though something out there has momentarily snagged his attention.

  “When I first started working at Diotech, I was a shy, lonely programmer. An outcast with no friends and no family to speak of. All I wanted was to fit in somewhere. I worked hard. I got promoted quickly. When I was finally assigned to the memory labs as a Coder, I thought, this is it. I’ve made it. It was a prestigious position within the company. The memory labs have an elite status on the compound. After Dr. Solara, Xaria’s mother, was terminated and they placed me in charge, I thought I was living the dream, you know?”

  I don’t know. Is there a common dream that all people share?

  Why have I never dreamed this dream?

  But I nod anyway and he continues. “Then I learned about you and Kaelen. I knew higher clearance levels would mean access to some disturbing information. I knew there would be times I would have to shut
off my conscience and pretend things didn’t bother me. I just didn’t expect…” His voice cracks slightly and he trails off, looking uncomfortable. “For glitch’s sake. Human beings? Manufactured? Brainwashed?”

  “I’m not brainwashed.” I wish everyone would stop using that word to describe me.

  “That’s exactly what someone who’s been brainwashed would say.”

  “But—”

  “Who do you think received the order to administer the alterations on you? Who do you think went into your brain and twisted every single memory by hand?”

  Twisted?

  “What are you talking about?” I demand, feeling irritated by my own confusion. “Dr. A let me keep my memories. He even restored the ones they’d taken before.”

  “Yes,” Sevan admits. “He let you keep them, but they still had to be versions he approved of.”

  “Versions?”

  He sighs and rubs his eyebrow. “Dr. Alixter quickly figured out that simply erasing things from your mind wasn’t working. It wasn’t keeping you from him.”

  He doesn’t have to say who him is. We both know.

  “So he decided to try something else. It was a new procedure. It hadn’t been fully tested yet, but Dr. Alixter insisted we implement it on you. It’s called Memory Reassociation.”

  His words set off alarm bells in my brain.

  “The girl just took a little bit longer than expected to adjust to the Memory Reassociation procedure.”

  I overheard Dr. A saying this to someone on the other end of a transmission the morning of the Unveiling.

  “What does it do?” I ask, my mouth suddenly bone dry.

  “The idea behind it is that your brain can be programmed to associate a certain memory with any emotion we choose. It twists your recollection of events. It warps your past into anything they want it to be. Do you want someone to feel nostalgic about an abusive parent? Done. Do you want someone to feel betrayed when they remember a happy childhood? Done. We associate the desired emotion, your brain distorts the memory to make it fit. It’s that simple. Do you want someone to feel guilty about a love that changed her life forever?” His voice gets very quiet. Like he’s run out of fuel. He locks onto my eyes. “Done.”