by H. A. Swain
Ana draws something out of a pocket in her dress. “Behold,” she says lifting it for everyone to see. It’s a metal tin that fits in her palm. It doesn’t appear to have a screen. She unscrews a lid. People in the audience stand to get a better look as she opens it. A subtle aroma fills the room. It is not a bad odor or a good one, but it’s strangely compelling. Everyone sits up straighter and strains to take in more of the scent. As I draw in my breath, my stomach growls quietly.
“How’d she do that?” I ask Basil. “Is it another kind of scent device?”
This time, he seems as surprised as I am. “I don’t know,” he admits.
Then Ana does the strangest thing I’ve ever witnessed. She reaches into the tin with her fingers, brings out a small flat piece of something light brown, holds it up for us to see, then pops it in her mouth! She closes her eyes and works her jaw. A smile spreads over her face as she swallows. “Ahhh,” she says and opens her eyes again. “Food.”
* * *
While Ana stands before us, relishing the morsel she put onto her tongue, a hush falls over the room. Everyone seems to be asking themselves the same questions: Where, how, what…?
The old man, Spinach, stands up. “Ana Louisa Gignot,” he announces loudly and clearly. “You are under arrest on suspicion of breaching your contract with One World Nutrition, harboring illegal foodstuffs, and promoting fornography.” As he speaks, five other people from the crowd stand up and advance on Ana, who stays perfectly still, smiling nearly beatifically at the front of the room, as if she expected this all along.
The woman in the flowery dress gets to her feet and shouts, “Infiltrators!” Then everyone is up, shouting, jostling, knocking over chairs, trying to get to Ana.
I clutch Basil’s arm. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” he says, but I see panic in his eyes. “They must be security agents.”
Several people, including the man and woman who had been stationed at the door, form a protective circle around Ana, but the agents easily push them aside to handcuff her. Spinach pulls out a Gizmo and addresses the mob through an amplifier. “You must remain here for further questioning,” he instructs. “Agents will begin processing you shortly. Please remain calm.”
Basil wriggles out of my grip. “They’ll arrest me,” he hisses. “I’m already on their watch list. I have to get out of here!” He pushes into the jeering crowd, advancing on the agents who are leading Ana away.
“Basil!” I shout and run after him, weaving in and out of angry bodies. I fumble in the pouch slung around my body and pull out my cloaked Gizmo. Cupping it in my hand, I hold it next to my mouth. “Astrid, bring the Smaurto!” I command quietly. Then I grab the back of Basil’s shirt. He turns, ready to shove me away, but I shout, “My car!” I pull him out from the scrum. In the chaos no one seems to notice us as we skirt around the edge of the room. I point to a stern-faced woman stationed by the door where we’re heading. Basil and I both stop short, bumping together like electrons.
He grabs my hand. “This way!” We scurry into a dimly lit corridor off the side of the main room. “There’s an exit to the alley.”
“Astrid, locate!” I command as we run.
When we burst through the side door, my Smaurto is there, waiting patiently like only a machine can. “Open!” I command the doors, then shout, “Home! Home! Home!” as I push Basil inside ahead of me.
The door shuts and locks, the car buckles us in, and Astrid begins her usual routine, “What would you like to do?”
“Shut up!” I cry. “Nothing. Just go home.”
“Home located,” she announces. The car starts down the pockmarked street between dark buildings. “Please sit back and relax and enjoy the ride.”
Basil looks around to make sure no one is following us.
“Do you see anyone?” I ask. My heart is in my throat, and my stomach squeezes like my insides want to crawl out of my mouth.
“No,” he says. “No one.”
We pull up to the tollgate, and I yell, “Go through! Go! Go!”
The toll is processed, a green light appears, and we slip through the gate and onto the highway.
“Oh my god!” I shout. I lie back against my seat, panting with relief. “What the hell was that? What was going on in there?”
Basil shakes his head, clearly confused. “I don’t know. Nothing like that ever happened before.”
As we put some distance between ourselves and the chaos in the Outer Loop, I feel almost giddy and have to fight an urge to laugh or cry. “That’s the craziest thing that ever happened to me.”
“Me, too!” says Basil. “That old guy, Spinach? He’s been in Ana’s most trusted inner circle since I started going to meetings a few years ago.”
I point and yell, “Infiltrator!” just like the woman in the flowery dress, which sends us both into a fit of nervous giggles.
Then Basil stops, suddenly serious. “You’re not one of them, are you?”
This cracks me up. “How could I be? I don’t even know who they are or what they want. Or who you are for that matter.” I toss up my hands and laugh harder. Then I get serious. “No really,” I say. “Who are you?”
Basil doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks over his shoulder again at the clear highway behind us. “They must have been planning this for a long time. Just waiting for her to slip up so they could swoop in and arrest her.”
“For what?” I ask. “All she did was stare at us and make a crazy speech then nibble on something she claimed was food. How illegal can that be? And why didn’t more people leave? It’s not illegal to go to a meeting. Were they just going to stay there and let those One World goons question them?”
“They’re afraid!” Basil says.
“Of what?” I ask with a snort.
“You have no idea how strict the no-food laws are, do you?”
“No-food laws?”
“Ever heard of the Universal Nutrition Protection Act?”
“That law about forno?”
“That’s only part of it,” Basil tells me. “But it’s not why security was there. They know Ana is an agent of change. She’s waking people up, and One World will use any excuse to stop her. Even if it means starving her followers.” His voice turns bitter and cold.
“Wait, whoa, hold up.” I wrench around in my seat to face him. “What do you mean? Agent of change? Waking people up? Starving her followers? Aren’t you being a bit dramatic?”
“She unlocks something inside people.” He jabs his chest. “She connects people and fills them with hope.”
“Do you feel that way?”
He stares at me. “Didn’t you feel something while you were there?”
“No,” I tell him, although that’s not exactly true.
“Nothing at all? Not even a little twinge of something?” He squints at me through a half-inch space between his thumb and forefinger.
“Well,” I say slowly. “It was interesting being with all those people. I felt…” I pause, searching for the word.
“Connected,” he says.
“So what? People feel connected at a PlugIn or an EA. That’s why they go.”
“But the connection Ana provides makes people believe in a better life.”
“Except she’s wrong.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, indignant at my skepticism.
“Look, the dancing and the singing and the staring were all very nice, but her whole notion that animals were smarter than we are is complete crap. They’re all dead, remember? And we can’t all just stop drinking Synthamil and refuse our innocs. The population would get out of control, we’d have more wars, and everyone would starve! You must realize that.”
He looks around as if he’s making sure no one else is listening. His hair has fallen over his left eye. I want to reach out and brush it away, but I keep my hand in my lap, hoping that he’s not about to tell me something weird, like he buys into Ana’s kooky brand of optimism.
> He lowers his voice and leans closer. “But what if she’s right?”
“Basil.” I lay my hand on his shoulder. “She’s not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Look outside.”
He shakes his head. “There’s more to the world than you see.” As I’m pulling away, Basil sits up and says, “But let’s say she’s wrong, for argument’s sake. And that her whole gazing thing is a little hokey.”
“Just a little?”
“Okay, super-hokey. But that’s not the point. People need hope. Ana gives them that. And if they have hope, then maybe we can create change in the world.”
“What would you change?” I ask, but Basil has become distracted by what’s outside the window as my Smaurto exits the highway.
“Is this where you live?” he asks, eyebrows knitted together.
“Yeah. What Loop do you live in?”
“Nowhere near here. You can let me off anywhere.”
The thought of parting with him makes my chest tight. “Really? But … I want to know more. Could we go somewhere and talk?”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.” I’m afraid I might not see him again, so I say, “Why don’t you come to my house? We’ll see if we can find out what’s happing with Ana, and you can tell me more about the Analogs. Then I’ll have my Smaurto take you anywhere you want.”
He shakes the hair out of his eyes, and for a moment he looks like a shy little kid searching for a buddy at toddler time. “You sure your family wouldn’t mind if I came unannounced?”
“Why would they?” I say, but I know the answer. If my mom finds out I’ve been in the Outer Loops, she’ll be mad at me, but she can’t blame him. It was my choice. Besides, it’ll be better if I introduce Basil to my family now. That way I won’t feel like I’m sneaking around the next time I want to see him. Because I hope there will be a next time.
A small smile tugs at the corners of Basil’s mouth. “Okay,” he says quietly. “If you’re sure it’s alright.”
“Positive,” I tell him.
* * *
When we walk into the house, my mom and Grandma Apple are so engrossed in a news stream on our main screen that they don’t notice us. A reporter stands in front of a brick building with the number 1601 above its door. “This evening in a dilapidated area of the Outer Loops,” she says, “One World security agents arrested Ana Gignon, leader of a resistance group who call themselves Analogs.”
“Oh my god, we were just there,” I blurt out. So much for keeping that part of my night under my hat. Clearly I’m better at being sneaky online.
Grandma looks up. “You’re back,” she says with a smile. “And you brought a friend.”
Mom whips around. Confusion washes over her when she sees Basil. “Who’s this?” she asks, but before I can answer she adds, “And what do you mean, you were just there?”
On the screen we see footage of Ana putting the food into her mouth and chewing. Basil and I both gasp.
“Someone was filming,” he says.
I decide I better put the best possible spin on the situation so I say, “That woman, Ana, was giving a very interesting and educational speech.…” I point to the stream of Spinach leading Ana, hands cuffed behind her back, through giant portable floodlights that have been erected outside the building. The camera zooms in close as Spinach gently pushes her head down so she can climb inside a One World security van. Before she gets in, she looks into the camera and smiles, which sends a little ripple through my stomach. It’s as if she’s looking directly at Basil and me, letting us know that she’s alright. Then, as she turns away, before her hair slips across her shoulder, I catch a glimpse of a small green tattoo with the word Remember on her neck just below her ear. “Svalbard,” I whisper.
Basil grabs my wrist. “Uh, Apple,” he says urgently.
Mom rises off the couch. “Why were you there? And how do you know him?” Her eyes narrow into the Nguyen stare.
“We met the other night when I went out with Yaz,” I say, stumbling over my words a little.
“How nice.” Grandma stands up. “I’m Thalia’s grandmother, Rebecca.”
“Thalia?” Basil asks, caught off guard. “Thalia Apple?” I nod and Basil cringes.
Grandma walks toward us with her hand extended. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Awkwardly, Basil shakes her hand, mumbling, “Very nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“So polite,” Grandma coos.
“But I really should be going.” He backs away.
“No,” says Mom sternly. “You should stay right there.” Basil stops moving. Mom stands with her arms crossed and her science face on, as if she’s working through a set of calculations. “Now let me get this straight. You and this boy, who you met, what, three or four nights ago, went to a meeting in the Outer Loop?”
“God, Mom,” I snap at her. “Don’t be such an Inner Loop snob. It was just a meeting.”
“Of the Analogs,” she says.
“Yes,” I tell her, matching her pissy tone. “And it was amazing. People danced, we sang, there was poetry and not a screen in sight. People actually had conversations.” I conveniently leave out the kookier parts. “Ana talked about things that are important. It was like family night to the power of ten. You would love it, Grandma!”
Mom snorts a mean little laugh. “Thalia, you were at a resistance meeting!”
I roll my eyes at her. “Resistance to what? Everything lame and annoying?”
“This isn’t a joke!” Mom says. “Those people are corporate resisters.” She points at the screen, where everyone at the meeting, including Radish, Kumquat, Strawberry, and the little girl with the painting, sit in quiet orderly rows.
“Security agents are still questioning the nearly one hundred people in attendance,” the reporter says.
“You’re wanted for questioning, young man,” Mom says to Basil.
He shifts from foot to foot.
“Mom! You know that’s ridiculous. It’s not illegal to attend a meeting. All of those people could walk out of there this minute if they understood their rights.”
“She’s got a point,” says Grandma. “People are allowed to freely gather.”
Mom whips around to my grandmother. “Whose side are you on?”
“I’m not taking sides,” Grandma tells her. “I’m trying to understand what’s happening.”
“I’ll tell you what’s happening,” Mom says. “This kid, whoever he is, is part of the resistance against everything Max and I have worked so hard for, and he’s dragging in my daughter, who has no idea what’s she’s gotten into!”
“Max?” Basil blurts. “Max Apple? Is that your father?”
“Yes,” I tell him. He shuts his eyes tight as if he suddenly has a terrible headache.
Mom steps toward Basil and me. “How did you find her? Are you targeting the children of One World execs? What were you hoping to do? Brainwash her? Kidnap her for ransom?”
“No, that’s not…” Basil is flustered and scared and can’t get his words to come out straight.
“I finally bring a friend home.…” I say to my mom.
“This is not the kind of friend you want,” Mom snaps. “I’m calling security.”
“Mom, no!” I look to Grandma. “Where’s Dad?”
“He went back to work,” she tells me, her eyes wide.
Mom slips her Gizmo out of her pocket.
“Stop it!” I scream. “What are you going to do? Have them arrest me? I was at that meeting, too.” Mom scoffs so I grab Basil’s hand and pull him close to me. “If he goes, I go!”
Mom’s mouth drops open. She stands perfectly still for a moment then mumbles to herself as if she’s puzzling through a set of data. “It’s like you’ve got Arousatrol in your system … the spikes in your dopamine, your mood swings, this sudden passionate response to a boy.…” Her eyes open wide like something’s just hit her. She looks at me carefully. “Liste
n, Thalia. These things you might be feeling—the hunger and these new emotions for this boy—they’re not real.”
“How do you know?” I bark at her. She has no idea what I felt when I saw him looking in my car window tonight. Or what happens every time his fingers brush against my skin.
Mom takes a step toward us. “Do you remember that mutation on chromosome 16, the one on your FTO gene that you found? I did some research that I’m going to share with Dr. Demeter and…”
Basil tenses at my side. He squeezes my hand and we lock eyes.
“I think that mutation might be inhibiting your inocs and your Synthamil formula from working correctly,” Mom goes on. “Your hunger response isn’t being suppressed the way it should, and your neurotransmitters and hormones seem out of whack, so you’re having urges and emotions that shouldn’t be there. These things you think you’re feeling are just chemicals in your brain. Dopamine and serotonin flooding your circuits and shutting down your prefrontal cortex so a more primitive part of your mind that has the biological urge to eat and, uh, well, procreate is all fired up. And this makes you act impulsively.”
For a split second I think she might be right, but then I think back to what Ana said. How the emotions we used to feel before all the inocs and Synthamil cocktails were what made us human and distinguished us from machines. “What could be more real than that?” I yell. I grip Basil’s hand tighter. “You might be able to stop hunger and keep the world’s population under your thumb, but you can’t control my emotions. Those are mine. They’re a part of me no matter what you say!”
“And you think he feels the same way?” Mom asks, the cynicism clear in her tone. “He doesn’t. He’s using you, Thalia. You’re a pawn in his movement.”
I look at Basil. “Is that true?”
He drops my hand and searches for words.
“You’re going straight to Dr. Demeter,” Mom says, stepping toward us with her Gizmo poised. “And him? He’s going to jail.”
