by Nirina Stone
“So what happens now?” I ask. The holopersona walks up to me and places a hand on my shoulder. I feel his hand, which is weird—given that he’s a spectre—and fight the urge to shake it off, or to lean into him for a hug. He instructs me to lie back.
“It will be a few minutes of memory so you’ll want to be comfortable. Now the memories come in spurts and won’t be complete.” When I ask why not, he says, “We only have access to the ones that impact the memory holder the most—and several of them are simply incomplete. We weren’t able to save everything.”
Then he tells me to close my eyes. I’d rather not, but know that Blair’s in the room, so I won’t be alone with the holo, anyway. Besides, I’m keen to see something about these Legacies. I’ve only ever heard small things about their story. This will be interesting.
“Okay,” the holo says. “Relax and let the images through. If you try to resist them, you’ll end up with a headache for a few days.”
I take a deep breath, wondering how I’ll be seeing these images if there’s no Virtual Helmet around. Before I can ask, the first images and thoughts flood my brain and my breath hitches.
It’s as though I’m right there, with them, in the memory. And they—we—are hiding.
I hear myself say, “Shhhh,” followed by complete silence. I’m crouching in the dark, surrounded by I don’t know how many other people. I can hear their soft breaths in the dark as we wait. My shoulders shake and I try to stop my teeth from chattering. Someone else shushes us.
“They’re coming,” a voice whispers, and we wait. I hold my breath. Then there’s a flutter of—something—and I realize the memory’s skipping forward. I’m running alongside other people and we’re being chased. We’re getting shot at, this much I know.
People are running to my left and to my right, mostly silent but for the occasional scream or thud of another body riddled with bullets. “Come on! Run faster!” Someone yells. “You’ve got to run faster! We’re nearly there!”
The voice isn’t familiar, but I realize it’s coming from me. As we run, I look up and see a massive metal entity ahead of us. Is that a heliplane? It must be—or a rocket of some sort. It’s bigger than any kind of vehicle I’ve ever seen up close.
“Come on!” I yell. My thighs pump harder as I race up to a door in the side of the flying machine. I stop and help people run through the door. I try to ignore the burning land and buildings behind all the people running. Some of the runners are also burning—they’ll never make it to us.
But I stop watching them and keep my eyes on the ones I know will live. “Thank you,” they yell breathlessly as they dash into the heliplane. “Thank you.”
I push the last person through, then jump in myself and pull the door closed. I counted twenty, maybe thirty, other people still running towards us but we’re running out of time.
I’ll have to deal with forgiveness later. For now, we have to save the over two hundred people on this flight. We can’t save everyone.
The thoughts skip forward again, and I’m looking into a mirror, tears streaking down my face. At least, it’s a face similar to mine. The eyes are narrower and a pale grey, the nose smaller. The face is a tad more plump, on a body that’s about five foot three. She looks more like Mother than like me. I know instinctively I’m looking into the face of my great grandmother, Rosemary Mason.
“I’m sorry,” she—I—say into the mirror. “I’m so sorry.”
Someone hammers on the door behind me and I turn, wiping furiously at the tears sticking to my cheeks. I pull the door open and the memory skips forward again.
I sit in a small room with seven others. I recognize Mornie Blair right away. Her hair is longer, tied back in a ponytail. Her intense blue eyes are an exact match to the commander’s. We study the details on a holomap and I recognize it as the basic geographical structure of Apex.
“How many?” I ask.
“About one thousand,” Mornie answers.
I look over the map, taking a closer look at the underground structures and know they can’t all fit, not with the people already living there. “We must build,” I say, “and fast.” Summer’s here—living on the surface will be unbearable soon. We’ll build most of it from scratch. We don’t have all the equipment we need, but we have to do this.
When the memory skips forward again, my heart thrums in my ears. It’s dark and I’m not alone, but I’m not afraid or being chased either. Someone’s hand is caressing my back and my mouth is being kissed, softly, gently. My eyes shutter closed and I can’t think of anything but the kiss. Another hand moves down from my shoulder and runs across my naked body. My face flushes with heat as I lean back and pull my kisser’s face back with me. I could stay here forever.
But of course, I don’t. The memory skips to something new, something painful, and I’m writhing and screaming. My entire body is tense, and the lower half feels like it’s on fire. I lie on a skinny bed, my feet propped in such a way, my knees stick up in the air.
The pain is unbearable. I look down, over a swollen belly, at the face of a doctor telling me to push, “Just one more time.” When I do, the pain goes away instantly, the same moment a baby’s wails drown out everything else.
The memories skip forward faster and faster, and I have a difficult time keeping up.
I’m on a rooftop, a long rifle hitched on my shoulder. I look through a small hole to my target in the glass building across from me and pull the trigger. I hear the bullet shatter the glass and blow a hole in my target’s brain.
Then I’m running again, through streets in Prospo City. Then, I’m in some sort of metal container—it could be a train, and I stand quietly with other people. I look around me, and they watch me carefully, some with tears in their eyes. We all hold hands and stand in a somewhat rough circle.
“This is it,” I hear myself say. “It’s been an honour fighting alongside you all.”
Then bullets riddle the walls around us and lodge themselves in our bodies. I feel pain but it’s muted, like it’s in a dream or like I’m underwater. I hear the others falling as I lose consciousness. I don’t feel myself fall, but know that I’ve died.
When I open my eyes, my brain fills in the gaps. I was in the mind, living through the memories of Rosemary Mason and the other Legacies. “They fought till the end,” I say to Blair and the holopersona. “They died together.”
It occurs to me that I nearly forgot again—I am actually pregnant. My hand reaches to my belly, remembering the birth in the visions. Is that what I have to look forward to?
“Yes,” Blair says, his eyes on me. Has he been watching me this entire time? “They were quite the team, weren’t they? They were closer than most families.”
I remember the kissing in the dark and flush again.
But how do I know these memories are real? Not one part of it felt false to me, but how do I know just how good their tech is here? Doubts float around in my mind, over every single detail the holo showed me, and I look at him suspiciously. Still, it was like I was physically witnessing the experiences myself. I can’t shake the feeling that it was all real.
I know to keep my guard, because who knows what their motivation is, to feed me falsities? But still, I’m learning to trust my instincts more these days, and my instincts tell me that was all real.
“So,” I say, “who killed them?”
“Assassinated them you mean,” Blair says. “The Prospo, of course. Getting rid of the Legacies was their first act in taking control of Apex.”
This isn’t news to me. I know the Prospo are evil. Which is why it wasn’t that big a deal for me to help bring them and their lifestyle down.
“Rosemary’s memories,” I say, “How did you get them?”
“DNA,” the holopersona says. “Your DNA. The Legacies’ dead bodies were to be destroyed in one of the Prospo factories. Their brains were stolen by Soren insiders, preserved, then sent to us years later to extract their memories. Your DNA helped us unlock t
he memories, to an extent.”
Their—brains. I’m stunned for a moment, then realize it makes sense. That’s where memories would be stored, wouldn’t it? They’d have no need for anything else, really.
Then I look over at the holopersona. “Is that how you were made? They have Father’s brain?”
He nods at me. I wonder how, but the details aren’t all that important right now. I know that the Sorens were planted in various facilities throughout Apex, keeping a close eye on the Prospos and planning their attack meticulously.
I rewind my thoughts, remembering some of Rosemary’s earlier shared memories and am about to ask more about her. But before I open my mouth, the lights blink out and the entire room shudders.
Blair says, “Oh shit,” before his body lands on me and something heavy falls on top of him when a second blast hits the surface, somewhere far above us.
12
Flattened
Blair’s breathing is steady, and I try to fight the panic rising in my chest as I struggle to get up, and can’t. Are we buried in here? What’s pinning him down on me? I bring my hands up to push him off but he’s too heavy. He leans slightly off me though, keeping his weight off my stomach.
“What—” I say, as I push again. He doesn’t budge. Whatever has him pinned on me is too heavy for my measly arms. “Blair,” I say, “get off me.” I take a deep breath and smell his scent—a mix of mint, musk, sweat and ocean spray, even though we haven’t been near the ocean for weeks.
His arms brush my sides as he pushes into the ground. “I can’t,” he replies. “It’s too heavy.” His breath is hot on my face and I turn away. The air around us smells clear—no dust or dirt, which is what I’d expect if the world collapsed on us. Also, I’d expect to be crushed, but we’re merely pinned down.
“What is it?” I say. “What fell on you?” I look up, past his head, but it’s still so dark, I see nothing. Ugh. If we run out of air—I roll my neck and try to think of something else. Of not dying in this tight space, seeing nothing and not being able to move.
“Just the ceiling,” he says. “It’ll retract. Just wait.”
What? Retract? I shift again and he tells me to stop moving. “You’re not making any sense, Blair,” I say. “If the ceiling fell—” well we should be pulped, really. We should be dead. We wouldn’t be talking about it. Right?
He makes a muffled laughing sound and I frown. He’s certainly not taking this as seriously as he should, I think. Then, finally, after what feels like hours, he rolls himself off me and lies down beside me—I hear his breathing settle. “Not a big one,” he mutters, “this time.”
I turn my head to his voice. “What was not a big one?” When he doesn’t answer, I sigh and put my arms down to my sides and push myself up. My head hits something and I flinch as I ease my body back down on the ground. “What in Odin—” I say at the same moment that Blair guffaws.
“Just wait a moment, will you?” he mutters. “Before you break your head. You are the most impatient—”
I narrow my eyes in his direction though I know he can’t see me. Then I lift one hand gingerly, to touch whatever’s hovering over me. It slowly moves up and away from my hand. I crouch to my knees, still keeping my hand on it. It continues to rise steadily until I’m back on my feet again, and can no longer reach it.
Then the lights come back on—I still can’t see their source—and I stand in front of a grinning Blair. He watches whatever expression I have on my face. He’s pulled himself back onto his glidingbot, though I didn’t hear a single sound of movement from him.
“Okay,” I finally say, understanding, “that was pretty cool. This entire place does that? Retract when attacked?” I’d only ever heard about such technology from my many walks with Isaac Oh Two, way back when. This was but a dream to him and yet—here it is. I’m surrounded by it. “But it’s much smarter,” I mutter, looking around at the walls as they rearrange themselves in place. “It doesn’t crush whatever’s in it. How—” When I ramble off, Blair’s grin widens. If it does that, why did he throw himself over me? When I ask him, he shrugs.
Instead of responding to my question, he says, “Aren’t you glad they’re on our side?”
That brings up even more questions. “But why? Why are they on our side?” I ask. Then I realize I don’t even know which side we’re on. “Do you mean the Sorens?” I ask. Can’t be, if we ran away from them. “Wait. Who attacked us?”
At that, Blair’s smile disappears. “Good question,” he says. “You stay here. I’ll go find out.” Then he turns to glide out the door, and I’m on his heels, or his wheels more accurately.
Coz, yeah right. As if I’ll sit and wait here.
“Romy,” he says, spinning around to face me. “It’s still dangerous. They might not be done with the attacks.”
“Then,” I say, “I’d rather find that out there, than in this room.” By myself. With only the holopersona as company.
He eyes me for a moment and I wonder if he’s about to break one of my limbs again to make me do as he wants. Instead he turns around with a huff and doesn’t say another word as we hurry out the door.
When we enter another room, I see three of the Metrills standing around a holo image of whatever it is that is going on the surface. I’m not sure what I’m looking at, other than swirling storms of dust and broken things. They don’t acknowledge me and Blair but continue watching the swirls in silence.
“What is that?” I whisper to Blair. He doesn’t respond, but steps up closer to the image and peers in. I still have no idea what they’re looking at. It doesn’t look like anyone’s about to answer me either, so I look around me, wondering what exactly happened.
When the holoimage finally disappears, they each turn to look at me. I’ve felt pretty invisible my entire stay here, so all eyes on me is grating. I freeze, and stare back, wondering what it all means.
Blair says, “I should have known,” then pulls me by the arm and doesn’t let go even when we’re out of the room.
“What—” I say, but he keeps pulling me and doesn’t say a word. By the time I realize what’s happening, he’s already dragged me into my old glass cell—the one that I’d dreamt about over and over again, months ago. Or at least, one that’s identical to it.
He tells me to stay put and watches as the large glass enclosure slides from the ground into the ceiling, then he’s out the door. I turn around, remembering the old cell and wondering what in Odin I did to deserve being thrown back in here.
The whole day is bizarre, disjointed. I’m lost. And I’m a prisoner once again. Then I wonder if this has all been one big bad dream and if I’ll wake up in my old bed in Haven if I lie down to sleep here.
My brain is muddled. Confused. I can’t think straight. I don’t know what’s going on out there. Why can’t someone tell me what’s going on?
When he comes back, he lets the glass slide back into the ground, then glides to my side by the bed.
“They know you’re here,” he says. I already know the answer before I ask him. The Sorens. Mother.
“They’ve tracked you here.”
“How Blair?” I say. “You removed my wrist Alto. We didn’t use anything the entire way here so that no one could track us.”
His eyes dart down to my stomach then back to my eyes. The action is so fast, I question if it actually happened. “They’ve implanted something in you,” he says. “I should have expected it but my tech didn’t register it. I should have known. I mean the general—your mother—”
“What about Mother?” I say. Is he finally going to tell me everything? Will I finally learn what’s going on with Mother, with Blair, with whatever in Odin’s going on in Haven?
“She’s a spy, Rome,” he says.
I know that. She spied on the Prospo for years on behalf of the Sorens. She pretended to be an innocent Citizen the entire time.
“What I mean is she’s a double spy.”
What the—a double spy? “What
is that?” I ask. I can’t wrap my head around what he’s telling me.
“Who is she spying for then?”
He guffaws and runs a hand through his hair. “That’s the question isn’t it? No one except your mother knows where her true loyalties lay any more. I’m convinced she’s working for the Prospo. Somehow.”
It makes little sense. “She tried to kill them all,” I say. “She’s a Soren through and through, Blair.”
“Is she?” he asks, real concern in his eyes. “How do you know what or who she really is, Romy? How do you know?”
I don’t. There’s really nothing I know. I realize that now. But she was sent to spy on Father’s family. She was sent to Mars to infiltrate them. She was supposed to destroy Mars and its inhabitants, and that’s when they stopped her. I relay as much to Blair, hearing the doubt in my own voice as I speak.
This is all information that Mother has shared with me and I realize it could all be false. I can’t trust anything she’s ever said to me. But then who can I trust?
“I’m living in a world of liars,” I say to Blair. “I can’t trust anything anyone’s ever said to me.”
He looks up at me, his big blue eyes shining. “It’s about time you learnt that,” he chuckles.
I don’t get why it’s funny, but I feel like the bottom’s fallen out from under me and I’m more lost than I’ve ever been.
“What you need to decide,” Blair says, “is how to find a truth you can accept. And work with that. Live with that.”
But—how?
“Can I get out of here?” I ask. He says sure, but instructs me to follow him. “There’s no point in keeping you locked up since they know you’re here,” he says. “But if we’re to leave here, we need to make sure any trackers are out of you first.”
Then he takes me to the same room where the holoimage of my father is. “He’ll have a thorough nanite search through your body,” Blair says, “then we’ll decide what to do next.”
Father’s holoimage has me lie back down on the cot and injects a vial of nanites into my arm. “They will hunt down any trackers in your body,” he says, “and they will destroy them all.”
