He lowers his shirt and faces me. “Well, some of it. And you had to, Joy. I get that. Don’t feel guilty about it, they’ll heal.” After some thoughtful silence, he takes my hand. “Now come on, let’s go see our friends.”
Zee leads us down a dismal corridor, where overhead lights flicker in their silver coverings, casting shadows that dance across the gray concrete walls. “It’s not pretty, but the surgeons here are the best around. They performed extensive mods for Lord Daumier and Arianna Superior, and for members of the Clergy at Xavier M. Modifications.”
“They escaped?”
“No. Seraphim took them and brought them here. He and Raffai once worked together. Raffai taught him the awakening process.”
“Seraphim . . .”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“I’ve never met him, but Smudge mentioned him. He was friends with my father. Yours, too, Mateo. They once worked together, as well.”
“Wait—what?” Mateo asks.
Zee stops to study me. “How did you discover this?”
“I remembered something from the MemTap in Alzanei. Must’ve been a subconscious memory. Is he human?”
“He is an original model OAI. Though not entirely human, he’s the closest to human of all AOAIs and OAIs. And the only one of his kind to escape The Pit.”
We continue on to a door with a small, foggy window, where Zee pushes a button. “Here we are.” A gust of air blasts down, and I shiver in the chill. “To sanitize us before going in.”
When the air clicks off, Zee opens the door. She takes three white smocks from a hook, then hands one to me and one to Mateo. Once we’re all covered, we round the corner to find Johnny slumped in a chair beside another door.
“She’s resting.” He drops his head to his hands, tugs at fistfuls of hair. “They just finished surgery. They asked that I wait to visit her until they’re sure she’s stable.”
From our right approaches a young woman dressed all in white, a tan scarf attempting to cover the tattoo on her neck. She gasps when she sees Mateo’s battered face. “Oh, dear . . . you poor thing.”
“He also has deep wounds on his back,” Zee says, “not to mention the superficial ones to other possible areas. He needs to be thoroughly examined.”
“Please, come with me, sweetheart.” The nurse motions to Mateo.
“Yay.” He sighs. “I’ll see you soon?” he asks me.
“Yeah, we’ll check on you in a little bit.”
Mateo follows the nurse down the hall, and I give Johnny a once-over, taking in the nauseating layer of filth he’s covered in. “You wanna go shower? We’ll stay here for a while.”
At first he shakes his head, but after noticing the reddish-brown halfway up both pant legs, he gives in. “All right.” He stands with a peek at the still-closed door behind him. “How do I get there?”
“I’ll take you,” Zee says. “Will you be all right until I return, Joy?”
“Yes, go ahead. I’ll be right here.”
Before they leave, I take Johnny by the arm. “Hey . . . she’ll be okay.” I pull him into me, and we squeeze each other tight.
“They said her mind might have been wiped.” He backs away. “That she might end up a walking, brain-dead computer. She might not be Smudge anymore.” He retreats to punch a nearby wall, but with no force, as if he were tamping his own feelings down with the gesture. “Worst case scenario.”
I stare at the ground, numbed by this grim possibility.
“Worrying won’t help,” Zee says. “We can only wait to find out what happens, then go from there.”
I nod in agreement, but Johnny shakes his head in painful sorrow again. To him, she’s already gone.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Zee waves and guides Johnny around the corner, and the door clicks closed after them.
I approach the door, behind which lies Smudge . . . Sadie . . . our friend who might never return. I give it a swift knock, and a boy of about fourteen or fifteen pokes his head out, the familiar string of letters and numbers along his neck.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Thatcher. And you are . . . ?”
“I’m Joy, her friend. How is she?”
He steps out but holds the door open a few inches behind him. “Stable. The surgery was a success, but she’s not awake yet. We’re almost positive we’ve salvaged the wiped data, or at least most of it. We won’t be sure until she wakes up, though. Fortunately, they did not sever her spinal cord. The rod Raffai inserted saved her life, and we were able to repair the damage. Her body should be back to normal within days, but her mind . . .” Dr. Thatcher bows his head, then looks back up at me. “We’ll have to hope for the best.”
“You did the repair?”
“My team and I, yes.”
“But you’re so . . . young.”
“My donor was a world-renowned surgeon.”
“Ah.”
“Do you want to see her?”
“Oh—can I?”
“Yes, she’s stable.” He opens the door wider to reveal two more child doctors whispering beside a bed, while on the other side stand Star and Diego in their own quiet conversation. In the bed, with tubes in her arms and wires affixed to her head, lies my friend. When I rush over to her, the others stop talking to watch me crouch beside her. Joyful, I take her hand and cry, kissing each of her fingers, warm with life.
“Joy?” Dr. Thatcher motions to another doctor. “This is Dr. Dallas.”
The dark-eyed boy waves.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“And this is Dr. Caelan.” He gestures to the boy beside him, who has streaks of blue in his light brown hair. “He performed the physical surgery and Dr. Dallas assisted him. I focused on retrieving the lost mind data.”
“Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for her.” I shake each of their hands. “When will she wake up?”
“Should be soon.” Dr. Caelan taps something into a panel on the wall. “The anesthesia is wearing off.”
I study Smudge’s face. She looks like the Smudge I know. Please, please let her wake up as the Smudge I know.
I kneel beside her, lean in close. “I’m here. We’re all here—well . . . most of us. We’re safe. And Johnny will be back in a few minutes.”
Star stands, clasps her hands behind her, and gazes lovingly at her sister’s face. “We didn’t think we’d ever see her again. She took the awakening harder than most. We think partly because of the . . . maltreatment by the humans in Alzanei. They mistreated her more than the others.”
“Why?”
“She was Lord Daumier’s favorite. We don’t know why, exactly, but he always wanted her around. For that reason, the Impures terrorized her more than most. They needed someone to take out their anger on. It didn’t bother her, until she was awakened.”
Diego leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We especially never thought she’d become friends with . . . humans.”
The door clicks opens, and Zee comes in. “So, how’d it go?”
Dr. Thatcher gives her the latest update, and she glances around the room.
“Let me get a couple of extra chairs.” Dr. Caelan disappears through a doorway in the corner. After some clanking, he returns with two metal chairs, hands one to me, and Zee takes the other. We set them up next to Diego and Star and sit, and I can’t help but stare, they’re nearly identical to Smudge. There are a few slight differences, but if you didn’t know them, you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.
“So what were your donors like?” I ask them. “Is that where your names came from?”
“Mine, yes,” says Diego. “Diego Luiz Santiago, Jr., a vagabond. A lonely man from a long line of bean and corn farmers from the Far South. He traveled to Bygonne when he learned of the . . . opportunity . . . to ‘live forever.’” He chuckles, shaki
ng his head. “Guess he kind of got his wish.”
“How is it in the Far South?”
“Not as bad as Central Bygonne, though most of the humans had resorted to living underground because of the heat and the bad air. The damage to the sky has worsened tenfold over the past five years.”
“I last heard the hole was a thousand miles wide. How wide is it now?”
“Over four thousand now, with the worst area over Central Bygonne. The area surrounding the two Tree Factories is the melting pot.”
“One Tree Factory.”
“Right, one, now. That was you kids who blew it up?”
“Yes. With . . . your sister’s help.”
He drops his head to his hands. “Oh, Dios mío . . . miracles abound. The time alone in the jungle must’ve changed her.”
“She said it did, yes.”
Star rests back in her chair, pleased with this information. “I told you she’d come around.” She nudges her brother in the ribs.
“You did.” He gives her a poke to her own ribs. “A smart one, you are.”
“So . . . who will run the second Tree Factory?” I ask. “Now that Arianna Superior’s dead?”
Star shifts in her seat. “There are . . . others . . .”
“As vile and as hideous as her?”
“I’m afraid so.” She stares at the floor. “Those poor children . . .”
“The other Tree Factory is run by children, too?”
“Yes, though it is . . . nearing the end of its allotted time frame for the Harvesting.”
“What’s that?”
“Lord Daumier intends to get as much as he can from Bygonne within the next two years,” says Diego. “After that, the climate will be unlivable—the air will be so bad and smoldering, the air filtration systems will not be able to filter enough of the poison out, and the titanzium will no longer withstand the immense heat.”
“What will happen to the children in the factory?”
“Survivors will be taken to Alzanei. If there . . . are any survivors.”
For a moment, we sit in silence, except for the rhythmic beep of the machine attached to Smudge. My thoughts spin. How big is the other Tree Factory, and where is it located? How many children are working in it? I wonder if any trolleys run there, to sublevel bunkers, as they do in Greenleigh . . . ? Would rescuing those children be a possibility?
“You . . . asked me about my donor,” Star says.
“Oh, yes.” I blink out of my thoughts. “What was she like?”
“Her name was Margaret, and she made pottery. She always wished she could step outside at night and look at the stars.”
“Oh . . . I get it now. Star.” And we share a grin.
The door flies open to Johnny, clean and washed up, but breathing heavy. “How is she?”
“Stable,” I say.
He kneels by her side, takes her hand. “What did those bastards do to her?”
Dr. Thatcher steps forward. “They wiped her mind. Most likely, downloaded onto a liqui-drive. But the donor’s mind—like the OAI mind—can sometimes leave an imprint, a . . . fingerprint on the brain. So even if the mind is wiped, it can often be restored to near-full capacity. There may be a piece or two missing, but we have a high success rate. Most of our patients report no memory loss at all. That is . . . if the imprint was, in fact, made.”
“What are the chances of that?” Johnny asks.
“That depends.” Dr. Thatcher scratches his head. He’s not hopeful.
“On what?”
“On a lot of things. Length of time since the memory wipe occurred, age of the AOAI body, emotional attachment between donor mind and AOAI mind, etcetera.”
“Give me a rough estimate.”
“Fifty percent.”
“Damn.” Johnny’s sadness crashes to the floor. He shakes his head, kisses Smudge’s fingertips. She twitches, then gasps and mumbles something, which we all crowd around to hear. Her eyes flutter open, and she squints into the light.
“Hey,” Johnny whispers. “I’m right here. You’re safe.”
She turns her head toward him, and the confusion on her face rips at my heart. She lifts a shaky hand, touches her neck, then reaches for him. “J-Johnny?”
The moment she says his name, we all breathe a sigh of relief. Both Johnny and I cry and laugh at the same time. “Yep, it’s me.” And he moves aside to let me in closer. “Joy’s here, too.” He releases her hand, which I cup in both of mine.
“Joy.” Her voice is scratchy, painful-sounding.
Tears slip into the smile creases around my mouth.
“How?”
I point to Zee. “She helped us escape, and we found you in The Pit. Johnny jumped right in and waded through to get to you.”
“He . . . did?”
Johnny inches closer again. “Smudge, I—” He looks to me for support, and I urge him on, giving him her hand. He takes it, caresses it. “I . . . thought I might never get the chance to tell you . . . how much I love you.” And he leans forward to kiss her softly on the lips.
“I love you . . . too . . . Johnny.” But only half of the words come out.
Dr. Caelan clears his throat. “We repaired extensive damage to your vocal cords. You’ll be hoarse for a few days. If it can be avoided, you should try to speak as little as possible, at least for the next twenty-four hours.”
Smudge focuses back on Johnny, who has the biggest, wet-eyed grin I’ve ever seen. She rubs his hand, and he flinches when her fingertips meet the burn she put there herself. She regards the wound, her own tears brimming as she lies back against the pillow. “I . . . did that to you. Right before I . . . killed . . .” She squeezes her eyelids closed and begins to weep.
“Hey.” Johnny leans forward and places his hand beneath her chin, making her look up at him. “That wasn’t you. We know that. You can’t beat yourself up over this stuff; it wasn’t your fault.”
“Johnny’s right,” I say. “We’re just happy you’re alive.”
“Damn straight,” says Johnny.
After a silent moment, she accepts our pardon with a nod. “Thank you for . . . saving me.”
“It was a joint effort.” Johnny wipes his face with a sleeve. “Joy and Zee were right there, too. Then your brother and sister let us in, and these guys fixed you up.” He points to the three doctors. “You had a lot of people pulling for you.”
“Are . . . they here?” she asks. “My brother . . . and sister?”
Johnny and I part to allow Diego and Star space beside her.
“Sister.” Star crouches by her bedside. “We weren’t sure if we’d ever see you again.”
Diego brushes her cheek with a thumb. “We’re so glad you’re okay.”
“Thank you.” Smudge smiles, but it’s weighted with turmoil.
“Who did this to you?” Star asks. “Was it Lord Daumier?”
Smudge shakes her head, lowering her gaze.
“His Clergymen?” asks Diego. “The people?”
“No.”
“Then who?” I ask.
“I did.”
“You—?”
Johnny squeezes in beside her again. “What—why would you do that? You have so many people who love you!”
“After Arianna Superior . . . relinquished . . . control of my Nirvonic System—”
“I thought Raffai removed the connection,” I say. “How did she do that?”
“Someone must’ve . . . implanted a device . . . without my realizing it.”
After a moment’s consideration, a face pops into my mind. “I know who it was. Did Doctor Sullivan ever do one of those special OAI blood tests you talked about?”
“Yes . . . a few days . . . after we arrived.”
“Then it was her. I saw her in Alzanei. She thought I di
dn’t have my memory, but I’d regained it by then. It must’ve been her.”
“He was going to . . . turn me back . . . take complete control. And he had plans to make me . . . hurt you. I couldn’t . . . let that happen. Not to mention . . . I have too many precious memories . . . too many secrets . . . I programmed the memory wipe . . . for one minute after I . . . ended my life.”
“Well”—Dr. Thatcher claps his hands once—“it’s a good thing Raffai implanted that rod in your neck when he reprogrammed your Nirvonic System. It saved your life.”
Smudge peers up at him, confused.
“He does it to all of us. He kept a lot of his doings to himself. I guess he didn’t want every secret known.”
When the secrets are revealed, you will see the way the magic works. My mother’s words cycle through my head, mixing with the truth. Maybe Raffai thought they’d have a better chance at life if they kept a few secrets.
Yes. Zee’s voice enters my mind. When the secrets are revealed . . .
Johnny rubs Smudge’s hand, and in seconds, her breathing has slowed to the rhythmic hush of sleep.
“She’ll need a lot of rest for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours,” says Dr. Dallas. “Her body is regenerating. She sustained a substantial amount of blood loss. Star gave some of her own blood, but it will still take time to fully replenish.”
“You got an extra cot, Doc?” Johnny removes Old Jonesy’s hat and places it on the bedside table. “I’ll crash in here, if that’s all right. It ain’t night yet, but I’m exhausted. Those bastards didn’t let us sleep.”
“Serna told me about that,” I say.
Dr. Dallas opens a storage closet in the side room, takes out a thin, folded metal cot with a flimsy mattress, and unfolds it beside us. “It’s not the most comfortable thing, but we can give you some herbs to help you sleep, if you want.”
“I’ll be fine as long as I’m with my girl.” Johnny slides the cot up next to Smudge’s bed and plops down onto it, stirring up a cloud of dust.
The Soultakers (The Treemakers Trilogy Book 2) Page 28
