Elites of Eden

by Joey Graceffa

  It erupts all at once. “You liar!” I hiss at her. “You bikking liar!” My voice rises to a shriek. “You’re just jealous of me. Of me and Pearl and all the people who really belong in Oaks, in the inner circles. You’re just a piece of outer circle trash!”

  “Rowan, I . . .”

  “Don’t call me that!” I cry. “I’m not . . . I’m not . . .”

  But the very fact of my fury proves that I believe her. I should be laughing at her. Instead I quake inside, in the depths of my soul. Rowan. Who is Rowan?

  Me.

  I can feel her, that other girl inside me. Separate, but closer than ever before. The synthmesc I took last night made everything more confused, but maybe it also opened a door that some other force has so far kept resolutely shut.

  Tears fall down my cheeks. Lark reaches a hand to brush them away, but I spring to my feet. “Don’t.”

  “Rowan, I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. Do you remember? Do you remember any of it?”

  My head is pounding now, each pulse an agony in my temples. “I don’t know,” I say miserably. I’m succumbing to her words, her tricks. “I don’t remember anything. Not really. But I feel . . .” It is a struggle to get out the words, as if some huge and powerful force is desperately trying to hold them inside me. “I feel like I’ve forgotten something. But I can’t even remember what it is I’ve forgotten.”

  I can’t be this other girl named Rowan. I can’t be a second child. Second children are hunted, killed, imprisoned . . . or worse.

  Oh, great Earth! It hits me like a sledgehammer: a memory­—no, it’s just a fragment of last night’s dream—of being tied down to a table, of needles piercing my eyes. Of screams. My own screams, and worse, the unseen screaming of other people in other rooms. I’m being pushed down by mechanical arms into a tub of viscous gel. I try to hold my breath, but the machine punches me in the gut and I exhale and gasp, feeling the slimy gel fill my lungs . . .

  “I can prove it to you,” Lark says. “I can take you to the crystal cavern.”

  I want to say no. I want to order her to leave, tuck myself into bed, sleep long dreamless hours, and wake up to being a normal girl again.

  But what feels like another part of me says, “Let’s go.”

  THE STARS ABOVE us wink dimly through the particulates scattered in the atmosphere that are supposed to block some of the sun’s radiation. I know—­because I’ve read—that the stars looked brighter when people lived outside of Eden. But I’ve never seen them as anything other than faint flickering specks. How could I, when I’ve never been outside of Eden? No one could survive in that scorching, poisoned, dead nightmare of a world. The world that humans destroyed and a machine—the EcoPan—is trying to revive.

  The ground lights up at our feet, illuminating with every step and growing dark again once we pass. There aren’t many pedestrians in this part of town, far from the entertainment circle. Our steps make bright flashes against the pale ambient lighting coming from houses. Eden knows me. Oh, not me personally. The automated, computer-guided city wouldn’t recognize me as Yarrow unless a securitybot happened to scan my eyes. But it recognizes me as part of the city, lights up for my convenience, goes dark when I’m gone. I am part of this unnatural ecosystem.

  “We are un-animals,” I say to Lark, and for a second she looks at me like I’m still high on synthmesc. But she soon understands what I mean, and picks it up as though it were a thread of an ongoing conversation. For all I know, it is.

  “We used to be part of something huge,” she says. And I know that “we” isn’t her and me, or anyone alive in Eden today, but our very species. “We were creatures, animals like you said. Part of the forests and the fields.”

  “Were we, though?” I ask. “Or were we meant to always be fighting nature, subjugating it to our will?”

  “Like the Dominion believes?” Lark asks cautiously.

  “Well, they’re heretics, aren’t they? A forbidden sect that thinks man should have dominion over the beasts and the land. That’s what got us here in the first place. But . . .” I frown as we walk. I’ve never thought about these thorny issues before. “We learned in Eco-history that every species competes, every creature fights every other. For space, and food. They fight in their own species for dominance, for mates. If we’re animals, why should we be any different?”

  Lark taps the side of her head.

  “Well, yes, we have big brains,” I say. “But what did they get us?”

  “They let us survive our own mistakes,” Lark says, gesturing around to the artificial, sterile, clean world we live in. “They let us realize that if we ever return to nature, we have to do things differently.”

  “But will we?” I ask. “Or, in a few thousand years when it’s safe to leave Eden, will we do the same thing all over again?”

  “If we do,” Lark says firmly, “we don’t deserve a second chance.”

  We walk on into the night, and though I don’t actually remember anything from my other life—if that’s even true, which I can only barely believe—I have a strange sense of something like nostalgia. A sentimental longing for a past I can’t recall. Walking with someone I like through the cool of the night. Happy couples here and there, murmuring secret soft words to each other. Where do I fit in all of that?

  I look sidelong at Lark, now walking determinedly, her eyes fixed forward, hurrying to our destination. Where do we fit in all of this? How strange it is to know that she is my dear friend, but to only feel the feelings of a couple of days.

  Friend? Or more? She hasn’t mentioned the rooftop kiss again, and neither have I. But every time we look at each other it seems to hang there between us, that tender touch of lips.

  Did I love her?

  We walk a long time. I suggest the autoloop, but Lark seems wary of being scanned. She doesn’t want any record of our travels. My sandal-clad feet are tired from slapping the hard pavement, but she suddenly grabs me under the arm and makes me walk faster until we round a corner.

  “Look! Did you see that?” She peeks around the corner, and I stand on tiptoe to do the same, over her head.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “I saw a pavement light flash. Just for a second, then it was gone.”

  “Is someone following us?” I ask.

  She peers into the night. “It was far away, and I don’t see anything now. Maybe someone just stepped out of their front door and then changed their mind and went back in.”

  It sounds plausible, and the street looks deserted, so we press on. But there’s a new sense of urgency to Lark’s steps. She hustles me along down unfamiliar routes. Eventually she steps into a darkened doorway and takes something out of her small pack.

  “I hate to ask, but . . . Well, no, I’m not asking. I’m insisting.” I realize she’s holding up a hood. I shiver with a deep fear. Is that a suppressed memory? Or is it just natural that people are afraid to have their head stuffed in a bag?

  “You don’t trust me?” I ask, backing up a pace. “But I’m trusting you!”

  “It’s not that I—we—don’t trust you. We don’t trust your programming. What if you, the real you underneath it all, wants to keep our secret, but you’ve been programmed to reveal our location if you find it? What if you want to keep it in, but can’t?”

  “I’m not a robot, you know. I can think for myself.”

  She looks at me sadly. “Oh, Rowan. None of us know exactly what they’ve done to you. What they’ve taken away. I just hope we can get it all back. Get you back.”

  She might not trust me. But I feel like I trust Lark. I still don’t know why, other than it’s a feeling. But it’s a stronger feeling than any I’ve ever known. Besides, I need the truth, and this is the only way, so I let her slip the bag over my head. In the close darkness I am utterly disoriented. Which is exactly the point. I know we’re on deserted
back streets—I don’t hear anyone, and otherwise it would be too weird to escort a girl with a bag on her head—but within a minute I can’t keep track of what direction we’re going in. When she finally stops me and tugs the bag off, smoothing my hair down tenderly, I can only see that we’re in a generic, featureless alley. There are no doors, no windows, no distinguishing feature to tell me so much as what circle we’re in.

  Lark kneels down and threads her fingers through a drainage grate in the ground. With a grunt of effort she jerks it loose and sets it aside. I peer down, and see only sheer walls and darkness. It’s only a little wider than my shoulders.

  “Here?” I ask, incredulous.

  She winks at me. “You’ve done it before. Just tell yourself that and . . . jump!”

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  She takes my hand. “I know it’s scary. I’d go first, but there’s a trick to getting the grate closed again as you swing in. It angles like a slide. You won’t hit the ground hard. And I’ll be right behind you.”

  I can’t turn back now. Despite my doubts and fears, part of me knows Lark is telling the truth. The things I’ve seen at the Center, the things I’ve dreamed, all propel me forward. There is something huge here, bigger than me alone. I have to press forward, see this through.

  “Do you promise?” I ask.

  “I promise,” she says, and I study her face. There’s nothing but honesty there, and . . . what else is that? Caring? Concern? Worry?

  Love?

  “Go!” Lark whispers urgently. “While it’s still clear. We can’t take the risk that anyone might see. Hurry!”

  I let my legs dangle over the edge, but I can’t convince myself to leap into the void.

  Behind me, Lark sighs. “Lachlan bet me ten credits I’d have to do this.” Suddenly she puts her hands on my lower back and shoves me over the edge.

  I’m in free fall! Straight like an arrow down the tunnel I fly, grabbing for the walls. But they’re smooth and slick, with nothing to grab to slow me down. The passage begins to narrow, and I start to panic. Am I coming to a bottleneck? Will I get stuck?

  All at once the chute begins to angle, cupping my body so instead of falling, I’m sliding. The angle slows me down, and then—what feels like a long time later—I slither into a chamber and land on the ground with the softest bump.

  Awestruck, I look around. There is a gentle glow from recessed artificial lighting, allowing me to see the fantastic cave formations. Stalactites hang from the roof, each with a single drop of water forming with tantalizing slowness at its point, looking like fangs dripping venom. When Lark slides down behind me a moment later, she finds me touching the cool rock walls.

  “Real stone!” I gush.

  “It’s beautiful down here, isn’t it?” Lark asks.

  I nod. “How far down are we?”

  “I have no idea. It feels like we fall forever. All I know is that it’s deep enough that none of it interferes with Eden’s infrastructure, the building foundations or the sewage system.”

  I can see passages radiating from this central chamber. “It’s a natural cave system?” I ask.

  “Yes, though carved out and modified a bit, leading to . . . well, you’ll see soon. If I can find my way, that is.”

  I think she’s joking, but it proves to be a complex process. I don’t know if she’s faking confusion so she can lead me back and forth through the same passages to confuse me, or if she’s really lost for a while. Eventually, though, she says, “We’re almost there. Just down that corridor. Are you ready?”

  “No,” I say honestly, with a little giggle that borders on the hysterical. “But what choice do I have?”

  She looks at me earnestly. “Apparently, you have plenty of choice, thank the Earth. Whatever they did to you at the Center, at least they didn’t take your free will away. Maybe they couldn’t.”

  I take a deep breath. “I’m nervous,” I admit. Afraid is more like it, but I don’t want to confess that.

  “It’s okay,” Lark assures me. “You’re among friends. Every single person down here will be overjoyed to see you.”

  I don’t really believe that. Still, this is a necessary step, and I can see the eager anticipation in Lark’s eyes. “I’m ready.”

  She presses a hidden panel in the wall, and the rock face of what looked like a dead end suddenly fractures down the middle. With a creak, two halves part, opening a cleverly hidden door. We walk along a corridor, which I can see opens up ahead. There are lights, faintly sparkling, and an enticing smell.

  I hear a noise ahead of us, and shrink back. But it’s the sound of children. Children, down here? Second children? The happy voices come closer, and suddenly I’m surrounded by a mass of children. They’re carrying pencils and pads like they just came from school. Late lessons, maybe? They’re being herded by an older woman, and have the sleepy-eyed, happily bedraggled look of children who have had a long day and are up past their bedtime. Though they are evidently headed somewhere, probably to sleep, one of them spots me and breaks from the group.

  “Rowan!” a little girl shrieks, and hurls herself at me like a tiny cannonball. She wraps every single limb around one of my legs and looks up at me with huge eyes as I stagger into Lark, trying to keep my balance. “I knew you’d come back! Me and Lach, we both knew it!”

  I peer down at her uncertainly. With her twin pigtails sticking unevenly from either side of her head, she’s absolutely adorable.

  Then I notice her eyes.

  They’re bright golden brown, shot through with a radiating sunburst. They look more utterly alive than any eyes I’ve seen. I realize with a shock that this little girl doesn’t have eye implants. Everyone in Eden has lenses implanted in their eyes that filter out harmful radiation, prevent blindness, and have an ID link. They flatten out the eyes’ natural color, so that every person I see has dull, slightly hazy, monotone eyes in flat brown or black or silvery blue.

  This little girl’s eyes sparkle! That, as much as her ebullient personality, makes me grin back at her. The other children all press around me, and though I feel a little strange and self-conscious, it is hard to be too afraid of children. “What’s your name, precious?” I ask.

  She lets go so abruptly that she slides down my leg, landing on her bottom with a thunk that makes her scowl. “You don’t remember?” She scrambles backward like I’ve suddenly become a dangerous beast, and melds with the dozen or so other children, who range in age from four to early teens. They all look at me a little uncertainly now.

  A plump, matronly woman steps up, her arms spread as if to gather the children to her like a mother hen. “Give her a moment, wee ones,” she says with a low chuckle. “She’s only just arrived, after what must have been at least one or two interesting adventures.” She snips the little pigtailed girl’s nose with teasing affection. “You must forgive her if a naughty little girl’s name isn’t the first thing in her mind.”

  The woman smiles at me, and holds out her hand. “I’m Iris, and yes, we like each other quite a bit, if you’re wondering. They told me you might have some . . . memory problems. But what a lovely surprise to see you! We knew—or at any rate hoped—you’d be joining us again soon.”

  “Hello,” I say tentatively. I like her right away, but it’s a new feeling, with no trace of a memory of old affection. I look into her eyes. They are a pretty green with flecks of light brown. I peer into each childish face. Sparkling hazel, deep vivid blue, agate, green, and speckled gray. Eyes full of color and vitality.

  Dangerous eyes.

  Second child eyes.

  The pigtailed girl seems to consider me, then holds out her chubby little hand. “I’m Rainbow. But you can call me Bow. Or Rain. Rainbow is a really big word. I can only spell the R so far.”

  I take her hand. “Do we like each other, too?” I ask.

  She nods solemnly.
“But not as much as I like Lachlan. Or as much as you like Lachlan. He’s both of our favorite people.”

  I feel the heat creep up my cheeks, and I’m sure I’m a fiery red. People keep talking about this Lachlan as if we have something special, and I don’t know a thing about him. Is he here? I look all around, but only see an anonymous crowd of people clustering around me. Word of my arrival has spread fast. The children were bearable, but now adults are pressing close, taking my hands, hugging me. Everyone looks happy, relieved. I am welcomed home.

  By people I don’t know, to a home I can’t remember.

  My breath is coming hard, and I feel unsteady on my feet. There are so many people! I can’t bear the recognition in their eyes when I have none to give back.

  Lark sees my agitation, exchanges a meaningful glance with Iris, and the older woman claps her hands sharply. “That’s enough! Give the poor girl some space. She’ll be here for a while, and we’ll celebrate her homecoming tonight. For now, let her go to her room and gather her thoughts.”

  I have a room here?

  The crowd disperses, with nods and waves and promises to catch up later. Iris takes the children away. I’m alone with Lark, to my immeasurable relief.

  “Rowan?” One more person is coming. I turn to meet them . . . and think I’m looking in a mirror. I’m back at that party, high as a kite, looking in the funhouse mirrors that change things in unimaginable ways.

  I’m staring at a male version of me.

  “Ash?” I breathe.

  LARK TOLD ME I have a twin brother, but she never told me his name. I conjure it up from somewhere deep inside of me. They couldn’t erase everything, right? I remember how to read, and walk, and what objects are. I can envision a map of Eden’s streets. The core of my knowledge remains. Ash is evidently in my core. I look at this boy, my mirror, and I know, in my gut, what to call him. I don’t remember him—nothing about his personality, or our past together—but without conscious thought I know his name is Ash.