Elites of Eden

by Joey Graceffa

  “So you can use them to your advantage,” I hear Lachlan say under his breath.

  “So she can help us save the second children!” Flint snaps. “She’s already accomplished more than you ever did, with your long-term plans for slow social change. She infiltrated Oaks, and the Center.”

  “She was placed there, by the government, and we don’t know why,” Lachlan says. “We need to slow down.”

  “Slow.” The tattooed woman scoffs. “If it were up to you, we’d molder down here for another twenty generations.”

  “And why not, if that’s another twenty generations when second children aren’t killed, or tortured, or experimented on!”

  Quietly but sharply, the red-haired surgeon says, “My time is limited, and my life is in danger every time I come here. Can we proceed?” Her voice cuts through the verbal melee like cold steel. “Furthermore, you’re upsetting my patient. Neurological interventions don’t tend to go as well when the patient’s nervous system is in an uproar. Calm the bikk down and leave me to my work.”

  “I’m staying,” Lark says, and Ash echoes her. Lachlan says nothing, but his stolid stance makes it clear he’s not going anywhere.

  Flint gives Flame a little deferential bow of his head and leaves, with his henchwoman following. “Notify me as soon as the procedure is over. Whether she survives or not, either way.”

  “Survives?” I ask with a gulp. “I was thinking success or failure, not life or death.”

  Flame stares into my eyes, and I can’t tell if she’s searching me or admiring her own handiwork. “I am the best cybersurgeon there is,” she says without a trace of bragging, only supreme certainty. “If you die, it won’t be my fault.”

  Then she winks at me, and Ash hugs me. “Yup, your fault, sis,” he says. “That’s what I always told Mom anyway. Everything is your fault.” His teasing is at least better than hearing Flint and Lachlan go at each other about things I don’t understand.

  “I’m Flame, in case you couldn’t figure that out,” she says, waving a hand at her fiery hair. “Not natural, and not dyed. I fiddled with the localized phenotypic expression a few years ago so my hair would match my name. And personality. Yes, I’m that good.”

  When I step into the room, I have a weird suffocating sensation. For just a second my diaphragm seems to lock up, and I can’t breathe. Behind the others, I see Lachlan tense and take a step toward me. But the moment quickly passes and he retreats to the far side of the room, with the others, forming a wall between us. He won’t interact with me . . . but he won’t leave.

  Flame gestures for me to hop up on the exam table. She holds a scanner up to my eyes.

  “Great Earth, but this is beautiful work. I amaze myself sometimes. Are you sure you want to have these beauties removed?”

  “Yes,” I say with slightly more assurance than I feel. I make myself remember that I’m not just doing this for myself. If it was only me, I think I’d be frightened of the risks, and choose my safe old life. But me getting my memories back could help everyone in the Underground. I think of Rainbow’s trusting eyes, and try to be strong. “But . . . you were just kidding about the risk of death, right?”

  She sighs. “Mostly. Whenever someone is put under full anesthesia, there’s always a risk they won’t wake up again. And whenever you mess with someone’s brain, there’s a chance they won’t be quite the person they used to be when they come to.”

  “Yeah, but this time, that’s the whole point of the operation!” I say, and try to laugh, but it doesn’t go so well.

  “I’m the best there is,” Flame says, “but even I can’t guarantee that things will go smoothly. Once the lenses have been implanted for any length of time, they integrate with the neurons and become much harder to remove. And you probably have some . . . extras. I won’t know exactly what they’ve done to you until I get in there. Your lenses might be booby-trapped with microexplosives.”

  “What!”

  “Kidding . . . I hope. I’ll do my best—and as I relentlessly point out, my best is pretty bikking fantastic. But there are no guarantees.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Ash says.

  “Yeah,” Lark adds. “We can tell you all about Rowan, and even if you don’t remember, we can recreate her, and . . .”

  “No,” I say, and I’m proud that my voice doesn’t crack. “They did something terrible to me. They took away me.” I strike my chest emphatically with my fist. “I want my self back.” I look over at Lachlan, who starts to look away but then forces himself to meet my eyes. “And if possible, I want to punish the people who did this to me. The ones who say that second children don’t deserve life, and freedom, and . . .”

  I can feel passionate tears welling, and Flame says, “Beautiful speech, but we don’t have all day. I need to prep you. Shoo, everyone.”

  She tries to wave them out the door, but Lachlan says, “Can I just have a minute alone with Rowan?”

  Flame doesn’t so much roll her eyes as roll her entire body. “Have I mentioned we’re in a bit of a time crunch?”

  “Just a minute, I promise,” Lachlan says, and something about his voice makes her relent. She and the others leave, and we’re alone again.

  I anticipate awkward silence, and I try to think of something inconsequential to fill the space. The weather, maybe? But he launches right in. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been behaving. This is just so hard for me.” He gives a sardonic smile, and that flash makes me want to see more, to see him happy and carefree and smiling for all the right reasons. “Listen to me! Hard for me? You’re the one who has had to go through all of this for the last six months.”

  “Yeah,” I say, “but I didn’t know I was going through it until a few days ago. You must have had it worse. Worrying about me. I mean . . . if you . . .” I bite my lip. “Iris said that you . . .” I can’t bring myself to say it. “Lachlan, what exactly are we to each other?”

  “Right now, new acquaintances.”

  “You know what I mean. Before.”

  “That doesn’t count until you remember it. I would never force feelings on you. Until you feel them yourself again, they’re not real.”

  There’s such feeling in him, such suppressed emotion. I want to draw him out, to make him tell me everything he feels, everything he wants from me. I can sense his longing quivering just beneath the surface, and I think, Even if I never remember him, I might very well fall for this boy.

  “I think I dreamed about you,” I tell him. “And, well, I can’t really remember, because I was on synthmesc at the time—against my will!—but I think I’ve seen you before, at this wild party.”

  “I was there that night. Other nights, too. I’ve done my best to keep an eye on you. You take some serious risks, girl. But then, that’s nothing new.”

  I like thinking of myself as someone brave, and I’m glad he thinks Rowan had courage.

  “Stalker,” I tease, to lighten the mood.

  He steps nearer, closing the distance between us. I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. Or maybe it’s my own heat. I couldn’t fall for someone this fast, but if it’s true that we have a serious history . . .

  My feet don’t move, but I lean toward him, like a flower yearning toward the sun.

  There’s a rap at the door, and I instantly sway back and clasp my hands together in a ridiculously schoolgirlish way. I don’t want to think where my hands almost just went on Lachlan’s body.

  Lark comes in.

  “I get a minute, too,” she says, a bit defensively. Lachlan looks like he’s torn between shoving her out the door and quietly retreating himself. There’s such a weird dynamic between the two of them. What’s their story, their connection?

  I have to ask. “Did you two used to date or something?”

  They look at each other with amusement, the first sign of any camaraderi
e.

  “Er, no,” Lachlan says.

  “He’s not my type,” Lark adds with a giggle.

  “Well, what then? I just don’t understand the strange vibes you two are giving off. Are you . . .” I gasp. Iris says Lachlan is in love with me. Lark kissed me. “Did I . . . Was I involved with you both?” I can feel my cheeks go pink. I’m embarrassed and slightly thrilled at the same time.

  “Yes,” Lark says.

  In the same breath Lachlan says, “No.”

  I look from one to the other.

  “You weren’t really ‘involved’ with either of us,” Lark says.

  “There was never time,” Lachlan says. “Other things were more important.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I want to tell them that I don’t want to cause anyone pain, that right now I have tentative feelings for both of them. But I know everything might change the moment my memories come back. What I feel now won’t matter. So I don’t say anything more.

  “See you soon, whoever you wake up as,” Lachlan says, and before I can think whether it is a good idea, he kisses me on the forehead, the softest brush of lips. Then he’s gone.

  Lark sits on the exam table beside me. “Well, that was intense.” She chuckles and tucks her lilac hair behind her ears.

  I take her hands in mine, and she leans in with her eyes full of hope. “Lark, I need to tell you something.” I hear her draw in an excited breath. Oh no, she thinks I’m going to say something else. That I love her. But I can’t. I don’t. I don’t love either of them. Not yet.

  I talk in a rush. “I need to thank you, Lark, for everything you’ve done for me. I was so terrible to you at Oaks, from the very first moment.”

  “That wasn’t you!” Lark insists.

  “It was me. It was the only me I knew then. I was not a good person, but you persisted, you brought out the better parts of me. You risked your life for me! Now, and in my past as Rowan. I am so grateful for you.”

  It’s not my gratitude she wants, though. But I can’t give her more. I need to wait until I’m whole again. Then I’m sure I’ll know my own mind.

  “Oh Rowan, I’d do it all over again!”

  Then she’s kissing me. And it’s not a chaste kiss on the forehead. My lips part, and I feel the flicker of her tongue on mine.

  The next instant she pulls away and is halfway across the room when she says, smiling through tears, “See you in a while. I’m excited for you to meet Rowan!”

  “LIE DOWN. AND try to relax. Yeah, I know, easy for me to say. No one is going to be carving up my eyes. If it’s any consolation, you won’t feel a thing.” She clears her throat and looks away before saying in a lower voice, “During the procedure, anyway.”

  “Afterward?” I ask.

  “Look, we’re dealing with a lot of unknowns here. Literally, just about anything could happen.”

  “Including microexplosions?” I ask, joking.

  “This is the Center we’re talking about. I wouldn’t put anything past them. In theory, it should be a straightforward surgery. And it would be, probably, if I’d gotten to you a couple of months sooner. But by now your lenses have had a chance to almost fully integrate with your system. Effecting a full severance is going to be problematic.”

  “But you think you can do it?”

  She nods. “Wouldn’t be here otherwise. Now just lie back, and I’ll see you in a while.”

  She picks a syringe from the table, but when she comes near me I instinctively curl into a ball. “No! I can’t!”

  I’m having memories, visions, of real life, of a dream, I don’t know. The woman I called Mother, and other people in green scrubs, holding me down, injecting things into my veins that burn like fire . . .

  Flame sets down the syringe. “I’m not going to do this if you’re not willing. You know the risks. I need your consent.” I stay curled up, focusing on my breathing. She glances over her shoulder and then whispers, “Are they making you do this against your will? If that bastard Flint . . .”

  “No, I want to do it. I need to. For myself, and for all the second children.” I force myself to uncurl. “I’m sorry. Go ahead. I’ll try to be braver.”

  It’s easy after the injection. For a few moments I feel a light-headed calmness. Then I seem to be floating up toward the ceiling. Then . . . nothing.

  * * *

  I’m small, and sitting on a woman’s lap. I look up at the most beautiful, serene face I can imagine. She strokes the hair from my eyes and says, “Hush, and I’ll tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a girl with kaleidoscope eyes, imprisoned in a castle.”

  “By an evil stepmother?” I ask.

  “No, the evil stepmother will come later. This girl was imprisoned by her loving mother, who wanted to keep her safe.”

  I settle back into her lap and listen as she tells me a tale alternately joyous and sorrowful. A tale of long waiting, and rash impulsive action. A tale of adventure and love and heartache.

  The girl, locked behind high stone walls, knew all about the outside world from her brother. She was safe in her prison, but lonely and bored. Her loving mother found a way for her to be free—but it meant leaving her family behind. Angry and afraid, the girl climbed the wall, and met a princess with lilac hair. She felt as if she’d known her all her life. In a way she had, because the princess was her brother’s best friend, and she had heard everything about her.

  For a while, life was beautiful. And then the monsters in green shirts came. The girl and her mother fled, and her mother was slain. Before she died, she told her daughter two terrible truths. Her own father had tried to kill her in her mother’s womb. And she was firstborn—it should have been her brother behind the walls all along.

  The girl ran through a mechanical city without plants, without animals, without so much as the smallest insect, until a prince disguised as a beggar found her and fell in love. He took her to a magical city where trees grow beneath the Earth, and gave her an entire family to replace the one she lost. Then, just when she thought she might be happy, the girl found out her brother was stolen by the evil ogre. The prince made a bargain: if she would give up her kaleidoscope eyes, he would help her save her brother.

  “And they did,” my mother coos to me as she rocks me in her lap. “The girl with kaleidoscope eyes, the lilac princess, and the beggar prince all saved her brother. But the girl gave up her freedom to save him. For just a moment, she escaped the mechanical lifeless city, and glimpsed paradise. But she was captured, and the monsters tortured her, changed her. Throughout it all, she never revealed her secret knowledge of paradise beyond the lifeless city.”

  “Mother,” I ask, “what happened to the girl?” It’s a very important question, but I ask it so calmly, because my mother’s eyes make me feel absolutely safe.

  “The girl? Why, she wakes up.”

  * * *

  FROM VERY FAR away I hear another voice. “She should be awake by now. Hold on, I’m going to give her something.”

  I feel a flutter on the inside of my arm, and suddenly I’m being pulled away from my mom’s loving arms. I try to hold on, but she vanishes.

  * * *

  I’m in a meadow. The sun is warm on my back, and a gentle breeze lifts the tendrils of my hair. There is tiny life all around me, the hums and clicks and buzzes and trills of a thousand small creatures crawling and flying in the flower-filled field. Just before me is a forest of just-turning fall foliage, still mostly green, but kissed with scarlet and brilliant gold.

  A deer prances lightly from the woods, sniffing the air. I freeze, unwilling to scare it, but it sees me and steps on its delicate hooves across the meadow. Songbirds startle before it. The deer stops right before me and sniffs the air, reaching out its long, graceful neck until it is almost touching me with its nose. I reach out a hand and the deer speaks.

  “I see you, Rowan
.”

  * * *

  THAT OTHER VOICE now: “She’s still not responding. I’m going to increase the dose.”

  Then with blinding pain, blinding light, I’m viciously ripped from that beautiful, peaceful place and thrown into a world of nothing but agony. Daggers are stabbing into my skull, someone’s thumbs are pressing on my eyeballs. I scream, and the terrible piercing sound only makes my eyes hurt worse.

  But the physical pain is the least of it. Because I remember.

  I remember everything.

  And I’m not just remembering. I’m crashing into every single thing that ever happened in my life, all at the same time. Every event of my life is happening to me now. I’m crushed by it, layer upon layer collapsing on me. I see my mother being shot. I turn away from my first sight of Lark . . . and turn back again. I’m being swallowed by nanosand. I see the beggar’s golden starburst eyes in the handsome young man who saves me. Another memory pushes that one away. I see the wild, fertile world beyond Eden . . .

  But I can’t even think about that because there are other memories, worse things, from the time between Rowan and Yarrow. From the time when I’m just a slab of meat and neurons, strapped down on a steel table for the Center officials to play with. I can see the Chief of Intelligence looming over me, and, horrifyingly, she is both my mother and a stranger. I see her through both Rowan’s and Yarrow’s eyes. And, oh great Earth! I remember who else was always in the room, performing the surgery alongside of her. My father! Not some implanted false memory of a father, but my real father, the one who betrayed our family.

  I can feel them scraping away at my brain. I can hear them discussing me impersonally, as if I weren’t a being with consciousness and will.

  By the time they were done with me, I wasn’t.

  I can feel each piece of Rowan being stripped away bit by bit, pounded down by their relentless treatments until the last traces of the person I was are gone. No, not gone, but hiding so deeply in the darkest recesses of my brain, quivering in terror, that they might have been lost forever.