Level 2 (Memory Chronicles)

by Lenore Appelhans

  Mira’s presence raises a ton more questions, and her unexpected friendliness gives me the courage to ask one. “I’ve been wondering something.”

  “Yes?” Mira narrows her violet eyes and retracts her arm. Her shift in demeanor is dramatic.

  “How did you and Julian get out of your hives? I tried forever to get out, and I never found a way.”

  Mira and Julian exchange a significant look.

  “We were recruited by the rebellion, the angel underground,” Mira says.

  “Angels?” I gape at her. “Wait . . . so angels are fighting the guardians who are enslaving us here?”

  Mira laughs. It’s like the tinkling of a thousand tiny bells. “Julian, dear . . . how much have you told her?”

  “Not much.” His answer is gruff.

  “I can see that.” Mira gestures at me to come closer. I descend until I am standing on the second stair from the bottom and looking straight into her eyes.

  “Forget everything you have heard about angels. That they are some kind of celestial beings who only want the best for you, who want to protect you. True—some are like that. Like the rebels.” She reaches out and takes my hand, guiding me down the last two steps.

  “But then there’s the Morati.” She says it sadly, like a lament. “Enemies of good, unhappy with the job God gave them as guardians of this realm. And they want you.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “ME? WHAT DO THEY WANT WITH ME?” My body wobbles, and I might fall if not for Mira’s hand on my wrist.

  Mira tosses her head, and her chandelier earrings sparkle wildly. “By ‘you,’ of course I mean ‘us.’ The rebels and their recruits.” She releases me and opens her arms wide, as if she’s about to give me a welcoming hug. “You are one of us now.”

  It’s all too much to take in. Julian and Mira want me to join a rebellion? Against angels? How can she possibly think we have any chance against celestial beings that must be immensely powerful? I drop like a stone, my butt thudding against the stair.

  Mira crosses her arms and frowns at me through her impossibly thick eyelashes. “I thought you said she was strong.”

  “She is strong,” Julian insists. “She fought off the doping gas.”

  “Did she now? That is good news.”

  “Thank you.” My courage swells a bit at the sudden admiration in her voice, though her mercurial moods are starting to give me whiplash.

  “I am not going to lie to you.” Mira’s feet shimmer as her voice hardens, and she shrinks five inches. The stiletto boots have morphed into sleek black running shoes. “The Morati do not tolerate resistance. They seek to silence us while they prepare to wage their war against heaven. We were a mere thorn in their sides, but as our ranks grow, I think we stand a chance to end their tyranny and return balance to Level Two.” She grimaces. “But we have to outsmart them first.”

  “Balance? Level Two?” What in the world is she talking about?

  “Think of this place as a waiting room. Earth, what we call Level One, is about creating and forming memories. And this waiting room, Level Two, is about processing those memories, sifting through them to find the meaning of your time on Earth. To come to terms with it so you can move on.”

  A mix of anxiety and excitement gnaws my insides. Though I’m not sure I want to know the answer, I go ahead and say what’s on the tip of my tongue. “So there is something more than this. A Level Three?”

  “Ah . . . that is the eternal question, is it not? What comes next?” She regards me coolly, as if trying to decide how much to tell me. She gathers the long strips of her skirt around her and sits next to me on the stair.

  “What we know is that humans move on from here, but angels don’t. The Morati have recently gathered enough power to travel back and forth to Earth, but whatever comes next eludes them. It infuriates them to have to help humans reach a higher plane where they themselves are not allowed.”

  Julian starts tapping his foot and lets out an exasperated sigh.

  “Am I boring you, Julian?” Mira asks, saccharine sweet.

  “The scanner drones seem to be multiplying by the minute out there. I’m worried that if we don’t get going soon, there’ll be a higher chance we’ll get caught.”

  Mira’s haughty look in response says it all: At that moment Julian might as well be a spider skittering across the runway while she’s strutting it. But then she feigns a yawn and glances around the hive. “I’m bored of this place anyway.”

  She snaps her fingers, and a motorcycle helmet appears on her head, already fastened on her chin. She strides across the hive, pulling on elbow-length leather gloves in two smooth motions. “Fix your shirt, Julian. You look like you’re posing for the cover of a romance novel about pirates.” She snaps her fingers again, and a Ducati appears by her side.

  Julian doesn’t bat an eye, as if he’s immune to her barbs, but I have to stifle a laugh. Julian doesn’t like to look foolish, and despite everything I’ve been through so far, I’m still able to find it funny that Mira can put him in his place.

  He shimmers, and his shredded shirt is as good as new. “A motorcycle?” he scoffs. “The idea is not to draw attention to ourselves. You rev up that thing, and you’ll attract whole swarms of scanner drones.”

  “Oh, please! They’re not programmed to pick up anything but voices. And they can only do that at the quadrant range.”

  “That’s true as far as we know, but do we really want to risk it with all the system changes we’ve seen recently?” Julian presses his lips into a thin line and stares her down.

  “Fine.” She pouts. “But I am not running.” She hovers her gloved hands over the Ducati, and it transforms into a skateboard. “Time to go.” She expertly mounts and propels herself toward the door. She taps out the code that opens the door, pops the tail of the board to attain air, and sails through the opening.

  “Show-off,” Julian mutters. But his bemused half grin tells me he at least partially enjoys her antics.

  Though Mira’s level of materialization ability is impressive, I’m not sure I want to go with her back to the rebels’ hideout. I don’t care about being recruited, and I certainly don’t want to fight a war. I just want to find Neil. “Uh, we’re not really going with her, are we?”

  Julian puckers his mouth as if he didn’t expect me to make trouble, and the door slides closed, separating us from Mira. “Look, you have two main objectives right now. Avoid the Morati and build your strength. Even if you don’t want to join our fight, we can protect you while you detox.”

  “But what about Neil—”

  The side of his face twitches. “Do you honestly think you’ll be any help to Neil in your current condition?”

  Julian has a point. To have a realistic chance of getting Neil out of his hive—and I assume he’s in a hive somewhere—I need to be at my strongest. It makes sense to stick with the rebels for now, even if I don’t especially want to.

  The door slides back open, and Mira peers in. “Hello? Can we go?”

  I bite inside of my cheek and sigh. “Yeah, okay.”

  We fall into place behind Mira. As usual, our journey is silent except for the dull thuds of our feet hitting the ground and now the low hum of Mira’s wheels. I’m left again to my own whirring thoughts, a barrage of questions that fight for dominance.

  I never considered that angels could be the enemy here, though it does now seem like a logical deduction. I guess I had always heard some were cast out of heaven and became demons, followers of Satan that ruled hell and roamed the Earth, tempting mankind. Or maybe this is hell?

  But that can’t be right. Mira called it a waiting room, a second level after Earth, not hell. I try to recall any angel lore having to do with evil angels in purgatory or afterlife realms other than heaven or hell, but I can’t. I’ve never missed the Internet more. Without it I’m dependent on Julian and Mira and their capricious whims, like a starving person begging for crumbs. And of course it’s also possible they’re feeding m
e lies. I’d be a fool to trust Julian completely again. But until I know more, until I get stronger, I’m at their mercy. Because, who am I kidding? What choice do I have? I’d be lost out here in this unchanging landscape of bulbous hives.

  We run on and on. I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, even though I’d almost rather hide out in some random hive, plug in, and let my mind sink into a blissful oblivion of memories. It’s tempting. But the thought of seeing Neil again for real tempts me more. Even though I have no idea how we’d fare if I did find him. Could we avoid the Morati by ourselves? Or would we still need to use Julian as a guide?

  Maybe I really could be of some use to the rebel mission to overthrow the Morati and restore peace. Give all those children who are strapped into chambers a chance to laugh and play. Give everyone a chance to move on.

  And maybe, should we somehow succeed, I might be granted a second chance. Not at an earthly life. As far as I know, no human comes back from the grave. But maybe I could see Autumn again. And my dad. Mend things with them. Tell them how sorry I am for the way things turned out. That I was such a rotten friend and daughter.

  Mira and Julian stop suddenly, and I crash into them, catching my foot on the axle of her skateboard and causing it to pitch forward. Mira dismounts effortlessly, but the force throws me sideways, and I stumble but right myself before falling.

  Mira twitches her nose, and the offending board vanishes, along with her helmet and gloves. She approaches the nearest hive, smoothes down strands of her hair with her long fingers, and raps on the wall. The door slides open, and she enters without a backward glance.

  Julian offers his arm to me, as if he’s my escort to a fancy ball, but I reject it. He shrugs and goes in too. I step over the threshold behind him and am amazed by the scene that greets me.

  Furniture and rugs are scattered throughout the common area, giving the hive a surprisingly cozy vibe. A plush sofa, the color of ripe eggplant. Two overstuffed armchairs. A high-backed chaise longue. I’ll be able to detox in comfort, that’s for sure.

  On the left-hand curve of the hive, there is the typical stacked set of memory chambers and one stairway going up. On the right-hand curve the wall is smooth, as if the memory chambers have been sandblasted away. Straight ahead hangs a golden swath of velvet material, gathered in a way that reminds me of a curtain in a theater. In front of that there is a bank of computer equipment. Cables snake out in all directions, some hooked into the memory chambers, others lifeless and frayed. A dark-haired boy hunches over the computers, totally immersed in his work.

  “Any updates, Eli?” Mira asks as she kicks off her shoes. She arranges the throw pillows on the chaise longue and curls up on it, the ragged silver strips of her silk voile gown fluttering around her.

  Eli swivels in his stool and regards me with a mix of curiosity and detachment, as if I’m a scientific specimen to be pressed onto a slide and studied. Like Julian and Mira, he’s unusually attractive, with high cheekbones and a perfectly symmetrical face. Even his severe military buzz cut and thick-framed eyeglasses can’t diminish his looks.

  He turns back to his computers. “I ran more phase two ops. Subjects overloaded and are bound to be picked up.”

  “Overloaded? What does that mean?” I ask. My hands start to tremble, a first sign I’ll have to return to a chamber soon.

  Eli clacks at his keyboards, ignoring me.

  “I’d try again in quadrant ninety-nine,” Mira says. “Perhaps the more active subjects are better equipped to deal with your ops.”

  A tremor runs through me, and I stagger over to a chair.

  “I think it is time to show Felicia to her chamber. She must be simply exhausted after our long journey.” Mira’s exaggerated politeness doesn’t ring true. I’m sure she just wants to be rid of me so she can discuss whatever phase two is in peace. But I don’t argue. I’m far too shaky for that.

  Julian unhooks some cables from the chamber nearest the floor and gestures for me to get in. I do, eagerly, sighing with relief when the fizzy champagne feeling rushes through me. I know what memory I need to visit. I mess around with the settings of the chamber until my folders load, and I dive in.

  Ward, Felicia. Memory #31300

  Tags: Germany, Autumn, Julian, Hacking

  Number of Views: 3

  Owner Rating: Not rated

  User Rating: Not shared

  “Why do you organize all your books by color?” asks Julian. He’s lounging on my bed, clearly bored of watching me type for the past half hour.

  “If you can’t stop distracting me, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” I scold. “Just because you’re done with school doesn’t mean I can blow everything off.” Without taking my eyes from the screen, I reach for my cup of coffee and try to take a sip, but discover it’s empty. I let it clatter back onto my desk with a sigh.

  He grumbles and bounces on the bed, making the springs groan. My Our Town essay is going to suck. And not only because I’m hyperaware of Julian’s presence, but also because my brain is too jumbled to write coherent arguments.

  He jumps up and throws open my closet. “Ha! Exactly what I suspected! All your clothes are organized by color too.” Before I can stop him, he’s at my dresser, opening the top drawer, revealing my rainbow of accessories.

  “And you even sort your socks.” From the middle he pulls out a green pair, rolled neatly into a ball, and tosses it at my head playfully.

  I catch it. “Fine. I’ll take a break.” I try to get past him so I can put my socks back, but he stops me by brushing his lips against mine. As the kiss deepens, I let the socks drop to the floor.

  My cell phone rings. I pull away from Julian reluctantly and answer it. It’s my mother, telling me she’ll be late again tonight. I assure her it’s fine.

  “By the way, I bought my plane ticket today,” says Julian when I hang up. “I am going to Angkor Wat. Like you recommended.”

  My heart sinks. But it soars, too. I always knew this—whatever this is—would be short-term. Even shorter term than most of my relationships. As much as I’ve become addicted to his lips and hands all over my body, it will be a relief to stop lying to Autumn.

  “Oh?” I say. “I hope you’re waiting until after November fifteenth. Nicole throws a killer birthday party. Or so I hear.” I don’t know why I’m even telling Julian this, since I’m hardly a fan of Nicole or big parties in general.

  “I forgot about that, but I can change my ticket.” He sits down at my laptop. “May I?”

  “Of course.” I watch him as he types a long series of numbers into my browser and pulls up the website for TransAsiatic Airlines, though it doesn’t look like a normal consumer site but more like a client interface. “Don’t you have to pay a penalty to change? Maybe it’s not worth it.”

  “Pay? No. It costs the airlines nothing to make changes.” He inserts a USB drive into a free slot and copies a program onto my desktop.

  “So, what do you do instead?” I ask, wary. Is he about to do something illegal on my computer than can be traced back to me? “Or do I not want to know?”

  “See this?” he asks, indicating the window on the screen. “This is a spoof I made of TransAsiatic’s remote access VPN. Fortunately for us, their security is crap. The program I loaded onto your laptop uses brute force to crack the passwords so the tunnel endpoints authenticate.” He brings up his password program, and I watch in fascination as it runs through alphanumeric sequences. “There we go.” Once he’s in, he zooms through a myriad of booking screens and pop-ups, inputting information when prompted. I get the feeling he’s done this before, and it freaks me out. “I am now leaving on November eighteenth. I upgraded myself to first class while I was at it.”

  “But that’s against the law!”

  “No need to be so uptight.”

  “I’m serious, Julian. What if I get in trouble for this? I mean, you put a hacker program on my computer. My mother could lose her security clearance and get kick
ed out of the Foreign Service!” And then she would kill me. If that could prove her loyalty to her job and convince them to take her back.

  “No one will notice. Trust me. First class on that flight is practically empty. All those seats won’t sell in the next month. I am already on the plane—might as well fly in style. It makes no difference to them.”

  I’m glad he gets to stay a couple of days more, but doubts prickle my skin. “You’re absolutely sure they can’t trace any of this to me?”

  Thunder claps across Julian’s features, and I flinch. But as quickly as the storm clouds gathered, they part, and Julian beams at me in a way that makes me crave his approval.

  I say, “It’s pretty cool you can get into their system like that.”

  “Let me teach you a few tricks.” He says it casually, as if hacking is no big deal. “Untraceable, of course.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  The door buzzes.

  I look at my clock. “Shit! It’s six already. That’s Autumn.”

  “Should I slip out your window?” He asks it blandly, as if it wouldn’t bother him to have Autumn catch him here.

  “Better not. Someone might see you. It will look even more suspicious that way.”

  I walk to the door like I’m going to my own execution. I make up and reject excuses as I go. This is bad. Julian hangs behind in the living room.

  I buzz Autumn in and open the door.

  “Hey!” She bounds up the stairs, her cheeks red from the cold, her hands full of paper. “Are you finished with your essay yet? I brought you a few more chapters of our book to go over.”

  “Uh, no. Not yet.”

  Autumn hands me the pages, hole-punched and tied with purple satin ribbon. She walks in. I take a deep breath. I might as well get it over with. “Julian came over to use my computer . . .”

  “Hey!” Julian greets her warmly with a hug. “We still on for the movies tonight?” Somehow it doesn’t seem fair that I’m the one who has to sneak around while Autumn gets to go out on the town with him.