My smile curdled. A wink. Yuck. Jackson lifted a hand to his face to cover a smile.
Mom set out some wine and glasses on the cherry-wood coffee table, then went back to the kitchen to stick a lamb chop Fast Feast in the rehydrator oven. Politeness dictated that I stay, at least until they decided to really talk shop and banish me to my room.
Sometimes, I really hated Mementi politeness.
Everyone settled onto the square lounge chairs ringing the coffee table. I hesitated. Our giant circle of a house, with bedrooms like slices of pie and the living area an open half-circle, left no corners. Nowhere to retreat. Wall-to-wall windows let in warm evening light. Wherever I sat, I would be exposed.
With no other options, I sat at the opposite end of the room from Jackson and tried to squish myself into the crook of the chair. It was futile. The beige furniture was meant more for looks than for lounging, with stiff cushions designed to force decent posture.
“So, Gunner, things must be tense for the department right now.” Dad poured four glasses of wine and set them out on the table. As the server, he took the first glass, then sat back. “I’ve heard rumors of curfew and police watches being put into effect.”
Jackson, to Dad’s left, took his wine now that there was no danger of touching my father. “We’re on higher alert than ever. The most recent theft really shook people up. Everybody had started thinking that it was over.”
“We had over a hundred calls to my department today asking for updates on memory backups.” Matthews took his wine glass now, handling it daintily. “It’s inching forward, but it’s not there yet. But people are getting more desperate with each Link theft.”
“And angry,” Dad added.
Mom rejoined the party, nodding to each person, who nodded back. She sat next to Dad. “The real question is,” she said, “where are they going to direct that anger?”
Jackson nodded slowly. “Right now, it’s at the Populace. You’ve probably already heard about the protest planned on their side of town tomorrow.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Mom said, frowning. “I know the Link thief is just one person, but it’s more than that. They outnumber us now—in our own town. We built this place for us and they marched in with their lesser capabilities . . . no wonder people are scared.”
“Yes, it’s exactly like living next to dangerous Neanderthals,” Ren said sarcastically.
“I’m not saying they’re not human, Ren.” Mom pinched the embroidery on her dress, the only sign she was agitated. “But they don’t have the ability to grow the way we do. They complain about being left out of things, forgetting this is our city, made for Mementi minds. Not for people who still have to send their kids to school eight hours every day just to grasp the basics. Add that to all these Link thefts . . .” She waved her hand vaguely, like she was encompassing the upside-downing of our whole little world.
Last year, all 15,000 Mementi in Havendale had watched the online population records like obsessed sports fans. The number ticked higher and higher, eventually showing a Populace majority. Now they could elect a different mayor. Change laws that were meant to protect us. Set up a branch of police that didn’t use Mementi tech so they could finally have a presence on the force. They were taking our town away from us. It shouldn’t scare me, but it did.
Dad spoke again. “It’s up to us to give people a little more hope. The people trust the police, and Ascalon has never let them down. If they know we’re working together with new methods to track the thief, maybe it will calm things down. Though probably not in time for tomorrow’s demonstration.”
Matthews crossed his legs, sipping his red wine. “I don’t think the protest at Happenings—”
“Happenings?” Ren asked, sitting up straighter.
“Serenity.” Dad had the Warning Tone.
“It’s fine.” Matthews smiled sweetly. “I understand you work there.”
Ren narrowed her eyes. “Why are they protesting Happenings?”
“Well, people are blaming the Populace, and Happenings brought in a lot more of them. Not to mention a . . . different class of Populace.”
Ren snorted. “Because Populace belong in their proper place as peons, not getting good jobs at Happenings. We wouldn’t want to do anything—say, let them buy stock from Ascalon—to jeopardize their status.”
Dad stiffened again at Ren’s blunt tone. “That’s got nothing to do with it. There are rumors that Happenings is behind the Link thefts.”
Ren rolled her eyes. “Like that’s a surprise.”
Dad pinched his lips. “I wouldn’t put it past Liza Woods to steal Links and pry them apart so she can make money selling our gifts to people on the street.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Ren snapped.
My eyes widened. What had her so on edge? She’d defended herself when she took the job at Happenings, but she was picking a fight here.
She continued, calmer. “Links are just beads unless they’re connected to a Mementi brain. Liza’s smart enough to know stealing Links would be scientifically useless.”
“I doubt that,” Matthews said, glaring at his wine like it had poisoned him.
“If she thought it had a benefit at all, she’d do it,” Dad said. “No one expects Happenings to be ethical, merely innovative without restraint.”
Ren’s face darkened. “Maybe we need some innovation. If Happenings did break that stupid no-direct-research law, we’d have memory backups already.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
“Serenity!” Dad half-rose from his chair, nearly slopping wine onto the pale carpet.
Ascalon’s restrictions on no direct human research was one of the founding principles of the entire city. No testing of Links. No prying into Mementi brains. Observational study only. The law was hammered into the books as a condition of Ascalon’s founding, only a few years after Havendale was formed. How could we trust them if they were doing the exact kind of dangerous research that had created the Mementi in the first place?
Fuming, Ren continued. “Some direct research could actually help without harming us. If people would just accept that, we wouldn’t have to—”
“Stop it.” To my surprise, Matthews stood up. He leaned toward Ren. “You, young lady, are one who would benefit learning the value of silence.”
Dad glowered, and I had a sneaking suspicion his face was red as much from mortification as anger. I, on the other hand, had a strange sudden urge to tell Matthews to back off my sister. I squeezed my legs together, afraid of where things were going.
Ren opened her mouth, but Matthews cut her off again. “We don’t always know what will be helpful and what will be harmful. Perhaps you remember the story of my mother? Aria Matthews?”
Aria. The biggest horror story in our history. I swallowed. Ren’s impassive expression looked forced.
“I was three when she tried to merge memories with others. Trying to help herself heal. I heard the gunshot that killed her.” Matthews fixed Ren with a piercing stare. “Her death sparked the no-human-research law. I’m well aware of its limitations. And its necessity.”
“I’m not saying it’s entirely a bad thing,” Ren grumbled. Matthews sat again.
Ren smoldered, and I knew she’d be tossing out more words any minute. Time to try to appease both sides. Timidly, I said, “And Happenings . . . I mean, if they want to stay in business, they can’t really do anything dangerous. So, nothing to worry about.”
Dad snapped. He slammed his wine glass onto the coffee table, and a crack splintered across the stem. I jumped, sudden panic surging inside me. A tremor crept up my legs, and I shrunk back in my chair. As if Dad would ever do anything violent. My own fear of him felt shameful.
“Whether Happenings is breaking the law or not, their research is not focused on the good of the people.” With each word, Dad stabbed a finger into the air. “Ascalon was founded on principles of protection and progression for the Mementi. That’s why Ascalon is community-owned
. It’s why we work so closely with all the Mementi in making decisions of what to research—and how. We can’t protect anyone if we’re doing the same kind of research that created the Mementi in the first place.”
Ren leaned forward, her cheeks heating. “The Memor-X trials were done on people—too many people—whose brains were already broken by Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” she said. “For all we know, that was a factor in the neurological changes. If Ascalon can’t research exactly how the gene therapy screwed up, we’ll never even figure out how our brains connected to the peripheral nervous system. Isn’t that worth studying?”
“No,” Dad said flatly. “Nobody’s willing to risk another Memor-X. You’re too young to realize the damage it did to your own grandparents.”
Ren pinched her mouth shut—there wasn’t much she could say to that. Matthews gave my father a strange kind of smile.
But Dad’s words weren’t totally true. In all the times I’d snuck to Grandma Piper’s house, I’d seen an awful lot of damage. Once, she’d collapsed in tears when I accidentally broke a china plate, though she couldn’t remember why it had been important to her.
I glanced toward my bedroom, thinking of the Happenings logo there. An itch rose inside me, a desperation to get to the Memo and learn what I’d lost. If Grandma had had something like that, would things have been different for her? Maybe Happenings tech had some value of its own.
Jackson, I noticed, had settled back in his chair, watching the room calmly. Almost like he found the entire thing amusing. He would.
Matthews’ face hardened as Ren leaned forward, hands out like she was begging. “It’s dangerous for us right now. We don’t really understand what we can do, or what can be done to us. The Link thefts prove it.”
“Ren,” Mom said loudly. “Enough.”
“I’m not the only one who feels this way.” Ren turned to me. “Even Gena agrees with me, right?”
Dad spun on me, rage in every clenched muscle of his body.
“I—” My eyes darted between my angry parents and my proud sister. Mom and Dad expected a proper and conservative denial. Ren dared me to join her, to agree with her logic.
Ren was right, we barely knew how our own memories worked. We couldn’t protect ourselves. We were vulnerable to something as simple as a brush of skin. How would we change if we could be secure in our memories?
Still, Dad had a point. This wasn’t testing some new computer chip. Even the rumors of Happenings stealing Links proved how scary that kind of research could get. Finding our limits meant playing with our brains. That hadn’t turned out so well last time.
I pressed against the dense cushions, but they forced me forward. “I don’t know,” I said in a small voice.
Ren let out a disgusted sound. “You’re never going to grow a backbone, are you?”
She jerked to her feet and stomped to the front door, slamming it behind her.
“I’m so sorry,” Dad said to Matthews and Jackson, trembling as he sat. “She’s at that age, thinks she knows everything . . .”
Matthews’ smile seemed forced. He waved his hand in dismissal. “Of course. She’s stubborn. But this one’s as pleasant and polite as anyone could wish for.” He winked at me again.
I bowed my head, thinking very non-pleasant and impolite things about men who smiled too much and winked at teenage girls.
The adults returned to a more civilized conversation, discussing strategies for using my memory as a key to searching the SLS database for more Link thief clues. You’d think they could at least wait until I was out of the room. My nerves were officially shot, skinned, and stir-fried.
I stood and went to my room, locking the door and resting against it.
A perfect image of Ren’s disgusted face floated in my memory until I wanted to punch it. She saw me as a coward. All Mom and Dad had ever seen was their perfect, proper reflection. Because that’s all I’d ever dared to be.
My fingertips pressed into my skull. I hated my family for what they thought of me, and I hated myself because I might be what they thought of me. A copy and a coward.
A knock on the door made me jump.
“Gena? Food’s ready,” Mom called.
“Okay, be there in a sec.” I gave the Memo on my bed a longing glance. The delay was a frustrating sort of relief. Then the relief poofed into smoke.
I had to eat dinner sitting across the table from Gunner Jackson.
6
To bear thro’ heaven a tale of woe . . .
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam XII
I didn’t dare watch the Memo until Dad went to bed. Mom left for her night shift at the Observatory around nine. Dad holed up in his study. It was the only room on the second floor, accessible by the winding staircase in the center of our circular house. Nobody was allowed to disturb him there. As if I wanted to.
Hades coiled around my arm, his warmth comforting. The clock ticked ten, then eleven, the minutes rolling past. I wanted to cling to each one I was sure I could remember.
The staircase creaked. I flashed my palm at the wallscreen, pausing the hologram manipulation I’d been playing with. Ria Watanabe, my favorite dancer, froze on a bridge in Tokyo’s Shinjuku Gyoen Gardens—number three on my list. The sky above her glowed with the cloud of the Rosette nebula. Dad’s bedroom door closed with a soft click.
I unwound Hades from my arm and tore open the forbidden Memo box. Out fell a smart-plastic square I could hide by closing my fist. I slipped a fingernail between the edges and unfolded it into a large screen.
Memories were organic to me, though I stored them in inorganic things. They were fluid, living moments of my past. This memory was a movie screen. No sense of emotion. No thoughts. No aura of reality that seeped through my own Links. How could I trust that kind of memory?
I synced my Link buds with the Share port and put them in my ears. With a shaking finger, I grazed the play button on the touchscreen.
In faded colors and muffled sound, I watched a dark street through Kalan’s eyes. The recording was distorted—most of the background was fuzzy. The buildings were unrecognizable. It could have been any street in any town in the world. Faulty, normal human memories. Kalan would only remember certain details, and those might be wrong. A sign on the corner was lit. Rowley Street.
There was a distant, hollow shout, and the view whipped to the left. He started to run. I pulled the Memo closer, willing him to move faster, to turn that corner and race down an empty road.
He rounded the corner.
With a grunt, he collided with a black-haired girl. The force pushed him back the way he’d come.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Let me go!” The girl’s eyes went wide. She backed against the wall of a building.
It was me.
The Memo shook in my hands. The distortion from his flawed memory was obvious. I wore the outfit from when we met on the tram, not what I’d worn to the Low-G. I was also a lot prettier than I looked in a mirror. Which was sort of flattering.
Kalan cocked his head in concern. “What’s wrong? Are you in trouble?”
The girl’s breath—my breath—came in quick gasps. “It’s the Link thief, it’s her. Where’s Cora? Do you see anybody?”
I nearly dropped the Memo. Her? The Link thief was a girl?
On the screen, Kalan peered around the corner. “There’s no one there. Are you hurt? Did she take anything from you?”
“No, but there’s nowhere I can hide it.” Memo-me brushed tangled hair from my face. My scarf and gloves were gone.
Kalan focused on me, his hand reaching for my shoulder. I flinched—both in the Memo, and in real life—and the hand withdrew.
“Look, I’m with a group that’s trying to stop the thief,” he said. “Who did you see?”
Distant footsteps slapped against pavement.
Memo-me jerked away from the wall, studying the boy. “Meet me tomorrow afternoon at Havendale Canyon.”
He hesitated. “If you saw her, maybe we can catch her.”
“No!” My hand reached out. It clenched for a moment before I gripped his arm. He was Populace. Touch could be used to persuade him, and I’d been brave enough to use it. Go me.
“Please,” I said to him. “Meet me there tomorrow.”
He took in my wide eyes and pale face. “All right.”
My face cleared of tension. I dropped my hand and turned away.
“Wait,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Gena. Gena Lee.”
“I’m Kalan.”
I ran, fading into the darkness.
The Memo flashed to the play button.
I brushed my hair back and leaned into the curve of the outer wall of the house. The memory, now embedded in my Links, zipped through my mind again. I hadn’t just run into him, I had touched him. My fingers tingled, and I raised a hand to my face. This hand had touched a boy. I knew he was Populace and couldn’t see my memories, but still.
I’d never experienced a memory that way. I hadn’t been me, I’d watched me from someone else’s perspective. Without my own memory of the moments on screen. If I couldn’t remember it, how could that girl be me? She wasn’t, because that moment had never happened for me.
Populace memories faded every day, every minute. Did that make them different people each day? Did it really make me someone else, because I’d forgotten a few minutes?
Maybe it depended on what you forgot.
I leaped up, startling Hades, who slithered toward the end of my bed. My clenched fists ached to hit something. Someone had taken the girl I had been twenty-four hours ago. Maybe the loss of some memories didn’t matter, but losing those few moments changed decisions I had made. Gave me new decisions to make now.
How would Cora change, with two whole years gone? She could make herself into someone completely different in the next two years than she had in the past two. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. And the victims who had lost everything, what could they make of their lives with nothing behind them? The Link thief killed our futures by stealing our pasts.
I had to stop her.
The Unhappening of Genesis Lee Page 6
