by Zales, Dima
I do half of the gesture that would send me to my man cave.
Seeing my middle finger, Jeremiah does a strange gesture of his own. With his outstretched hand, he makes a tight fist, as if he’s trying to squash something.
His face looks menacing, and I flinch, expecting something bad to happen.
“He just tried to hurt you.” Phoe sounds horrified. “Had it worked, it would’ve been terrible. It was supposed to stimulate the pain center of your brain.”
I examine myself.
I feel absolutely nothing.
“That’s because of the shielding I created for you,” Phoe says. “The shielding he’s about to learn about, given your lack of a reaction.”
“I’ll make him think it worked,” I think at her and let out an animalistic roar.
In case the sound didn’t convince Jeremiah, I also thrash side to side, figuring if I’m going to pretend to be in pain, I might as well test my bonds some more. The bonds are, sadly, unyielding.
Jeremiah watches all this with a darkening expression. His eyes are locked on the Screen above me.
“How is it that you’re not in pain?” The twitch in his upper lip becomes more pronounced as his voice grows louder. “How did you just resist the Punish gesture? Did you know what I did? How did you know to pretend like you’re in pain?”
I mentally curse my neural scan, stop my thrashing, and give him an uncaring shrug.
“I’m so sorry.” Phoe’s voice gets smaller. “I should’ve tried faking your neural scans. I was a coward. I was just afraid that—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say out loud, figuring the reply suits both conversations.
Jeremiah reaches out as though he’s about to repeat the gesture, but then stops, no doubt realizing it would be futile.
Getting up, he looks at the Guard to my left, then to the one to my right. As if in answer to his look, the Guard to my left says, “He also resisted the Pacify command, back at the Quietude Building.”
He must be the same Guard who chased me down that corridor.
“How did he do that?” Jeremiah’s tone is hard. “How could he do that?”
The Guard who spoke up shrugs.
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Jeremiah’s voice rises. “This is important information.”
“I’m sorry.” The Guard takes a step backward, but his back hits the white wall. “I wasn’t sure what happened. I didn’t think it was possible to resist—”
“It’s not.” Jeremiah jerks his head from one Guard to the other. “I swear by the Forebears, it’s supposed to be impossible.”
The Guard on my left flinches, as though he’s expecting Jeremiah to use the Punish gesture on him next. In contrast, the other Guard meets the old man’s gaze calmly—or so I assume, since it’s hard to tell with the reflective visor.
“Do you see why I have to find this out?” Jeremiah says to the Guards. “We must know.”
The Guard on my left shrugs.
The Guard on my right speaks up for the first time. “Perhaps someone on the Council will know?”
Planting his feet farther apart, Jeremiah gives the Guard an evaluating stare. “You’re Albert, right?”
“Yes.” The Guard reaches for his shiny helmet and takes it off.
He’s a man, something I could’ve guessed by his voice. What’s interesting about him is his age. He isn’t as old as Jeremiah. He looks closer in age to the Adults at the Institute.
“Except for the gray hair and wrinkles,” Phoe says, “if you look closely.”
She’s right. Albert’s temples are gray—something that happened to ancients with age. And he does indeed have slight crinkles in the corners of his gleaming eyes.
“That is my name,” Albert says, meeting Jeremiah’s gaze. “Yes.”
“Well, you’re fairly new here, Albert, so I understand your confusion.” There’s menace under Jeremiah’s even tone. “I’m the oldest on the Council. The oldest in Oasis, for that matter. As such, I’m the Keeper of Information. Do you know what that means?”
Albert looks at him noncommittally.
“It means I tell the Council these types of things. It means I’m the only member of the Council who carries these burdens. I don’t get to have the ‘bliss of ignorance,’ as this child called it.” Jeremiah takes in a breath. “I do not get the peace of mind that comes with not knowing the terrible secrets of statecraft.” His voice is quieter when he adds, “I do not even get the luxury of Forgetting. Can you imagine what that’s like? Remembering your friends who have passed on?”
Albert’s confident mask slips slightly. “I didn’t mean any disrespect,” he says. “I was only giving you a suggestion.”
“Jeremiah openly admitted Forgetting,” Phoe whispers. “And the Guards seem to know about it too, though it sounds like they, as well as the rest of the Elderly, Forget with everyone else—”
Jeremiah sits down in his chair and turns his attention back to me. “Theo, please. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll take you to see Mason. He’s been asking about you.”
His lie and chummy use of my shortened name infuriate me, but lashing out would only give away my knowledge of Mason’s fate. I take a deep breath and exhale before asking, “Are you now talking about the stonemasons?”
Jeremiah jackknifes from the chair. “I’m sick of this charade.” A little bit of Jeremiah’s spittle lands on my cheek and the restraints prevent me from wiping it away. It’s disgusting.
Jeremiah begins pacing back and forth in front of me. He looks deeply troubled. Stopping next to Albert, he extends his hand and says, “Give me your Stun Stick.”
Albert reaches for a metal object on his belt, then stops. He looks at his colleague with desperation but sees what we all see: his own reflection in his partner’s visor. He then gives Jeremiah an uncertain look and takes a few steps back.
“You.” Jeremiah points to the other Guard. “Give me yours.”
The Guard reaches for his belt without hesitation and takes off a metal object that looks like the baton of an ancient police officer. With no trace of hesitation, he hands the baton to Jeremiah.
“Do you know what this is?” The old man holds the baton in front of me threateningly.
“Something you should shove up your ass?” My voice comes out strained. I do recognize this thing. This is what knocked me out during the very last moments of the disk chase.
“It’s something we don’t really need in our society,” Jeremiah says in a silky voice. “A weapon. A relic of different times.” He gently taps the stick against his left palm, as though weighing it. “It’s not lethal, of course, and if used under its regular settings, it will cause its target to lose consciousness.” He turns a knob on the stick. “With a lowered current like this, though, I suspect it will not knock you out.” He presses a button on the device, and its tip glows with a tiny spark, accompanied by the zapping sound of electricity. “No, I think that if I use it like this, the experience will be rather… unpleasant.”
I stare at him. I think he’s talking about torture, a grisly historical practice I could never comprehend. It’s always been just a word, like genocide. You kind of know what it means, but not really.
Jeremiah steps closer to me.
My insides fill up with Antarctic snow.
Jeremiah presses the tip of the baton to my neck and pushes the button.
19
I hear that same zapping sound and smell ozone in the air. An all-consuming, buzzing pain follows. The electric current spreads through the muscles of my body, leaving them shaking violently in its wake.
Overwhelmed, I scream, and in the haze of my torment, I hear Albert say something. I can’t make out what it is, as I’m convulsing uncontrollably.
The horrid sensation stops.
“What did you say?” Jeremiah says to Albert. “I thought we had an understanding.”
“I’m sorry, Keeper, but I’m authorized to contact any Council member at my
discretion.” Albert’s words are clipped. “That’s the prerogative of the Guards.”
Jeremiah points the baton at Albert. Then, perhaps realizing he might look threatening, he lowers it. “Who did you squeal to?” His rheumy eyes are slits of derision.
“The esteemed Councilor Fiona requested you wait for her to join us,” Albert says. “She’s on her way.”
Jeremiah closes his eyes for a second, then opens them and says, “I order you to leave this room.”
Albert starts to move forward, looks at me, then at Jeremiah, and stops.
“Since you brought up prerogatives,” Jeremiah says in a more commanding tone, “mine is to order you, and yours is to obey. Isn’t that right?” He gives Albert a challenging look. “So in case it’s not clear, this is a direct order.”
Albert awkwardly glances at the door.
Jeremiah turns his head to the second Guard, as though to ask for assistance, but he doesn’t get a chance to say anything. As if realizing his protests won’t amount to much, Albert exits the room, his thumping footsteps echoing down the hallway.
Jeremiah looks at the remaining Guard. “You should also go,” he says. “Though you and Albert will not recall these events after his”—he nods toward me—“Forgetting, I think it might be best for everyone concerned. Plus, if the Council starts asking you anything prior to the Forgetting…”
The Guard nods and obediently walks out.
Jeremiah turns to face me. “Sorry about all these distractions.” He crosses his arms, careful to keep the tip of the baton away from himself. “Are you ready to talk?”
I shake my head. I don’t trust myself to give him a defiant reply because my mouth is dry with panic. Worse, I fear I might plead with him if I try to say anything.
“You should plead with him,” Phoe says, her voice frightened. “That Guard was the only ally you had in this room, and now he’s gone.” She takes a shaky breath. “Please plead with him, Theo. And if that doesn’t work, tell him everything.”
“That was the lowest setting.” The irritation is gone from Jeremiah’s voice, and he looks almost caring and sad as he says this. “Please, Theodore, just talk to me. That’s all I ask. Your brain is not broken beyond repair like Mason’s. If you talk, there’s a chance I can make you Forget—”
I extend my left middle finger and angle it as far as my bonds will allow.
Jeremiah releases a heavy sigh and twiddles with the controls on the Stun Stick.
I freeze.
He reaches for me again.
I try to squirm away, but the bindings hold me in place.
Knowing how the Stun Stick feels makes this part more frightening.
He presses the baton’s button.
The spark shows up and stays on the tip of the horrid device.
He touches the Stun Stick to my neck.
This time around, the agony that zaps through my body is a hundred times worse. I shake and twist, battering myself against the straps. The scream is wrenched violently out of my sore throat. I feel as if I’m about to throw up, or maybe I already have.
“Theo, if he keeps this up, your heart could stop.” I hear Phoe’s voice as though from a distance. “Stop your heroics and talk.”
I can’t respond to her, not even mentally. She’s probably right. The heartbeat in my ears reminds me of automatic gunfire from ancient movies, both in terms of how rapid and how loud it is.
“Ready to talk?” Jeremiah’s voice manages to penetrate through the fog of agony. “Just nod if you’re ready.”
My universe gets laser-focused on one expression of my will: not nodding. Even as the pain intensifies, all I can do is focus on not nodding.
It becomes a macabre meditation mantra. I ride the wave of pain, thinking only of not nodding.
Though my vision is blurred, I think I see movement from the direction of the door.
My body is behaving like a marionette in a hurricane, thrashing every which way, but as long as I don’t give in, I don’t care. Even if I scream, as long as I don’t nod, it’s okay—although if this goes on another moment, I might lose control of my bladder or worse. But even that wouldn’t matter, as long as I don’t nod.
“I said,” a female voice enunciates loudly, “stop this at once.”
The pain stops, and I sag against my restraints. I’m confused. I thought it might’ve been Phoe who spoke up, but that would mean Jeremiah could hear her, making him the second person who ever has.
“Fiona,” Jeremiah says, his mouth turned down. “You shouldn’t interrupt me when—”
“The Council only authorized you to perform euthanasia”—the older woman crinkles her small nose at the word—“which was supposed to be followed by an Oasis-wide Forgetting.” She gives Jeremiah a piercing look, daring him to counter. “This—” She points her slender finger at me, disgust written across her face. “This is something else entirely.”
Her voice is melodious. Were she Fiona’s age, Phoe would sound like her, which might be why I got confused earlier.
“Fi,” Jeremiah says in a placating tone. He holds up the baton. “I don’t want to do this, but I have reason to believe this child has figured out a way to tamper with Forebear technology.”
The old woman’s already-pale face goes impossibly whiter.
She looks at Jeremiah, then at me.
Silently, I mouth the word, “Please,” figuring it’s not beneath my dignity to appeal to this woman, since she seems to be an ally.
She stands up straighter and looks at Jeremiah. “The Council members are already waiting to discuss this,” she says, her tone full of resolve. “You can explain everything once we reach the Hall.”
“Fine.” Jeremiah’s nostrils flare, and I catch a glimpse of the overly bushy hair in his nose. “Let’s get this over with.” He drops the Stun Stick on the floor. “While I deal with this minor inconvenience,” he says to me, “I hope you take this time to think about your situation.” He softens his tone. “I really want what’s best for you.” He gives Fiona a meaningful look and then adds, “For everyone.”
“I’m ready to tell you something,” I say through dry lips.
“Don’t, Theo,” Phoe says. “Don’t antagonize him.”
She must’ve read my intent.
That doesn’t matter, though, because the old man didn’t. He gets closer to me and eagerly says, “Tell me.”
“Fuck you,” I say as loudly as I can. “Fuck. You.”
The old woman looks pained upon hearing my words but says nothing. She takes Jeremiah’s elbow and leads him out the room.
I blink at the empty room.
Phoe’s ghostly shape appears in front of me. “Now, Theo,” she says, her voice trembling. “Do the gesture.” She extends her middle fingers. “Get to your cave before someone comes back.”
I mimic the gesture, wishing Jeremiah could see it.
The white light that carries me seems imbued with electricity this time—no doubt a result of me getting tortured by that particular force of nature.
In the next second, the white room is gone, and I’m standing in the virtual reality place Phoe calls my man cave.
My bonds are gone, as are any remnants of pain.
This time, the dangerous objects inhabiting this place look friendly and welcoming, and Phoe once again looks like a real girl—a girl whose pixie face has circles under her eyes.
“Get back into IRES,” she says quickly. “Beating the game is our only chance.”
“But—”
“Remember all those times I said there’s no time to discuss things?” She’s speaking so fast some of the words are jumbled.
I nod.
“This time I don’t think I need to convince you, do I?”
“It’s just that…” I have trouble talking with everything that’s happened. “It was so frightening, the last time.” As the words leave my mouth, I understand the silliness of what I’m saying. I’m about to get tortured again, then killed, and I’
m worried about getting scared inside a game.
Phoe’s gaze is pained. “If I could protect you without having to do this, I would in a heartbeat, but I can’t, and it’s killing me.” Stepping toward me, she lays a hand on my shoulder. “Just don’t let the game convince you it’s real this time,” she says softly, “and you should be okay.”
Not real, I repeat to myself a couple of times. It isn’t real.
“That’s right,” she says. “It really won’t be.”
Cognizant of my limited time, I start to raise my hands, ready to connect my middle fingers.
“Last thing,” Phoe says, her face contorted in a kaleidoscope of emotions. “Since you could see the Screen I sent you before, I should be able to work off the fix I utilized that time and develop an even better way to stay in touch. I won’t waste time describing it since you’ll see it soon.” She squeezes my shoulder. “If it works, that is.”
“Okay,” I say and extend my middle fingers.
“Wait,” she says.
I stop the gesture and look at her questioningly.
Her face gets close to mine as if she’s about to whisper something, but she purses her lips instead.
I stare at her delicate features, trying to understand what this is about.
Her lips touch mine.
I finally get it.
She’s kissing me.
This is very different from that peck on the cheek she gave me before.
Her soft lips are moving over mine. They taste like flowers.
Instinctively, I return the kiss.
Before I understand what’s happening, I feel her tongue flick into my mouth.
My eyes open wide in response, and I note that hers are closed demurely.
In the next instant, she pulls away and says, “That’s for luck.”
I stand there, frozen in place.
“Now go,” she says. “Hurry, Theo.”
I try to connect my middle fingers, but I miss on the first try, like a drunkard from the old movies.
She grabs my wrists and steadies my arms so that I can bring my middle fingers together.
