When We Wake

by Karen Healey

  “Stockholm syndrome is so popular this year,” Hurfest observed.

  “So you won’t do it?” I said, my stomach plummeting. “You don’t care?”

  “Oh, I care. I’m a cynical bastard, but I’m not a sociopath. I can also see the story of a career when it’s handed to me on a big shiny plate.” He gave me a direct look, and I began to let myself hope again. “Okay, this is the deal. I can bounce the raw data to a couple dozen colleagues as coming from an anonymous source. Between them, they’ll verify what they can and spread the story. Barring a massive natural disaster or one of the big nations declaring war on another one, in half an hour, it’ll be the only thing anyone is talking about.”

  “But?” Abdi asked. “I think there is a but.”

  Hurfest nodded. “But it’s not going to be enough,” he said. “In a week, they’ll all be talking about something else.”

  “But it’s the facts!” I protested. “We can prove it; we have the footage we filmed in the warehouse; we have the Father’s records of the Ark Project and the footage of the starship—it’s all true.”

  “That won’t matter,” he said. “Trust me, Tegan, it won’t. If you want to get through to people, if you want to make them understand why this is important, it needs to be personal. It needs a human face.”

  “Dawson said the same thing. He said I was the face of Operation New Beginning.”

  “You are. Which is why it has to be you. A journalist reveals a military conspiracy and human-rights abuses—big deal, journalists have been doing that for centuries. Only rarely does it make a difference. If the Living Dead Girl discovers that she’s been betrayed and tells the world about it, it might be a different story.”

  It was such a little thing, after everything we’d gone through. But he wanted me to talk to the whole world—not rehearsed, not with Tatia’s guidance and lots of makeup to hide behind. Just me, by myself, telling everyone my many faults and mistakes. Exposed, with everyone watching me.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered.

  Hurfest sat back and spread his hands. “I’ll send the data anyway. But I’m telling you what’ll happen if that’s all we do.”

  Abdi squeezed my hand. “Start from the beginning,” he suggested. “Tell them where you came from. You can do this.”

  I thought of Marie, who’d driven off to lead them away from me. I thought of Bethari, who’d never hesitated and backed me all the way. I thought of Joph, who’d been bleeding and screaming at me to go.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

  Hurfest nodded. “I thought you would.”

  It made me feel better to realize I still didn’t like him or his smug, self-righteous face. But just because I was doing what he wanted didn’t mean I wasn’t doing the right thing.

  It took him no more than a minute to send the data and turn off his EarRing and computer, as a zillion bells and whistles started. “Colleagues wanting to talk to me direct,” he explained. “They want access to my source. Come on, we can get a secure signal from my bedroom. It’ll be easier if we aren’t all watching you talk. Abdi and I will work on finding a place to move to when they trace the signal.” He looked at me. “You know they will trace the signal, don’t you? They’ll find you eventually.”

  I nodded.

  Abdi went with me as far as the bedroom door and kissed me softly on the threshold. “You can do it,” he said again.

  I kissed him back. My throat was too tight to speak, but I squeezed his hands in mine. Then I let go and sat cross-legged at the foot of the narrow bed, while Hurfest hunted out a clean computer and signed me in to a newscasting service, bouncing the signal through half a dozen bases.

  “The storm’s starting in earnest,” he said. “That ought to buy you some time.”

  “When you’re ready,” I said, trying to sound composed, and Hurfest gave me a silent three count with his hands.

  I think I saw a glint of respect in his eyes before he withdrew.

  I’m still not sure where the words came from. I thought back, that’s all, to my first lifetime, to my last day. Where else would I start but at the beginning, with my name?

  I leaned in and spoke, hoping the computer was picking me up properly. “My name is Tegan Oglietti,” I began. “One of my ancestors was a highwayman, and another was a prince.”

  And now you know.

  There was some trouble when they tracked the signal to Hurfest’s house, and we had to flee, stealing bikes and riding through the storm. We let Mr. Harrison go when we went, and Hurfest stayed behind to slow down our pursuers by giving them false information about our direction. I hadn’t expected that of him. I guess you never know about people.

  Even dying down, the storm was pretty rough, but we made it to a safe house Abdi knew of that had belonged to one of the medicine-smuggling teams. They must have all been alerted and cleared out when Abdi went missing, which is how I was able to tell you about him and Joph being involved. We broke in and set up there.

  But we’re not going to get away again. We knew they were coming, too close to evade, and I only needed the time to finish. I can hear them outside now. I don’t know what else I can tell you.

  Maybe I should go back to the beginning again. I’m Tegan Marie Mary Oglietti. I was beloved of Dalmar; befriended by Alex; tolerated by my brother, Owen; and cherished by my mother.

  But that was in my first lifetime, and I don’t think I’m done with my second.

  The Beatles sang that all you need is love. It would be nice if that were true. But, like everyone, they wanted a lot more than love alone; they wanted wealth and glory and freedom and peace. They wanted to travel; they wanted to investigate their spirituality; they wanted their children to be happy and safe. Love is a good start, but we need more than that to get through.

  My mother’s last words to me were, “Now you can go and save the world.” I died before I could. Some legacy I left you, huh?

  But I give you this legacy, too: You can make a difference. You can help.

  Not by yourself, not just one person. But I’ve been talking for a long time, and Abdi tells me there are nearly a billion people watching right now, one-tenth of the entire world. There are people boosting this signal in Samoa and Nigeria and Euskadi. There are people commenting and ’casting back. There are over two dozen nodes set up to verify the Father’s evidence and half a dozen more already planning expeditions to Mount Ossa to force the people there to open the doors. The reporters who used to bug me at school are ignoring the media lockout lists and are heading to refugee camps and those hidden warehouses all over the country. Government representatives are getting hard questions from their constituents. They’re all denying any knowledge, which is a pretty good sign they can be pushed into doing something about it. Someone’s started a fund to defend us, and it’s already raised a lot of money. Someone else has started the Free Tegan campaign before I’ve even been arrested. Others are trying to find Bethari and Joph, hacking away at government databases.

  It’s really bright outside, and they’re shouting stuff at us.

  Oh, the bastards. They brought Marie. She’s out there now, telling me to give myself up.

  I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. The secret’s out, and there’s no reason to kill us, but on top of everything else, I broke the supervised-only media clause in my contract pretty thoroughly, and I still belong to them. I’m going to need a really good lawyer, or I don’t think they’ll ever let me go again. I hope Joph and Bethari are all right. I hope Zaneisha can forgive me when she knows why I ran. I hope Mr. Harrison and Carl Hurfest didn’t get in trouble. And if they hurt Abdi, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  But I’m giving myself up now. Without Marie, I’d never have met Abdi or Bethari or Joph, and they wouldn’t have made it possible for me to discover the secrets of the Ark Project. Without Marie, I would never have escaped from Dawson.

  Without Marie, I could never have told you this story.


  It’s my turn to help her, if I can, and so I have to go.

  Thank you for listening.

  Good luck.

  Good-bye.

  Acknowledgments

  My first thanks go to the beautiful city of Melbourne and the lovely country of Australia, my home for four and a half years. You’re not perfect, but when you’re great, you’re amazing. I wish you a much better future than the one imagined here.

  I’d like to thank my incredible editors, Susannah Chambers, Alvina Ling, Eva Mills, and Bethany Strout, for all their assistance, especially when the deadline loomed and I had the absolutely genius idea to replace forty percent of the plot with “something else, I promise it’ll be really cool.” Thanks also to the Little, Brown crew for many things, including beignets and karaoke, and the Allen and Unwin crew for many things, including gossip and Friday-night drinks.

  I started listing the names of the awesome people who made me welcome in Australia, and then I went on for two paragraphs, so I’ll just say: You know who you are, and thank you all. For material assistance, hand-holding and cluebat-wielding beyond the call of friendship, I want to thank Robyn, Carla, Melanie, Willow, Avery, Deb, Tessa, Tracey, Keith, Gina, and the Shame-In ladies. My particular thanks to Sefakor Dokli, Willow, Guria King, and Chally Kacelnik for their comments on this multicultural cast of characters—all remaining errors are mine alone. Barry Goldblatt is an excellent man, and a good host, and a great agent.

  Finally, I would like to thank the Beatles, and especially Ringo Starr, who has always been my favorite and is the source of that thing I have for drummers.

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  Contents

  Welcome

  Dedication

  Chapter One: Yesterday

  Chapter Two: A Hard Day’s Night

  Chapter Three: I Am the Walrus

  Chapter Four: Things We Said Today

  Chapter Five: Hello, Goodbye

  Chapter Six: Revolver

  Chapter Seven: Here Comes the Sun

  Chapter Eight: Revolution

  Chapter Nine: We Can Work It Out

  Chapter Ten: Eight Days a Week

  Chapter Eleven: And Your Bird Can Sing

  Chapter Twelve: With a Little Help from My Friends

  Chapter Thirteen: You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away

  Chapter Fourteen: The Ballad of John and Yoko

  Chapter Fifteen: Across the Universe

  Chapter Sixteen: Come Together

  Acknowledgments

  Newsletters

  Copyright

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Karen Healey

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  First e-book edition: March 2013

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  ISBN 978-0-316-21500-8