The Veritas Project

by C. F. E. Black

  I guess Julius filled him in on what we were looking for. I step over to Julius. “You saw it all?”

  He nods. Tilts his chin at the car. “Tablet’s in there. M got the feed. Sent it to him as soon as you started walking away. Glad Ty had us come along.”

  I look at Ty. He drops his hands and sticks them in his pocket. “Yeah, figured if you were spying on Axe Johnson you might run into some trouble.”

  “You know him?” Pru asks.

  He nods but does not elaborate. “Come on,” he says. “I want to teach you two a few things. It’ll help me sleep at night.”

  Turning off our t-screens, we head back out into the green, spring grass. The smell of the grass counters the smell of concrete and poverty. Makeshift homes of the city’s poorest cluster around like ant beds. A hunched figure near the pavilion we just left wears a blue armband and grunts at us as we stroll by. Her face—I’m assuming it’s a her—is so wrinkled and dry that it looks like a scab. I shiver in disgust. In the Center, I’d seen photos of old people with wrinkles, but I’d never seen old skin like this in person. In fact, I thought it was a thing of the past.

  “These people have nothing,” I whisper as we make our way to a spot of open grass beneath an eastern redbud in full bloom. Such beauty amid such filth. “Why don’t these people have a place to live?”

  Oscar fixes me with a cold stare. “No education, no job. No job, no money.”

  Ty adds, “And the government can’t help this many of them. They try, but there’s just no way.” He shrugs. “Not sure what they could do at this point.”

  “Get them Center medicine, for starters,” Julius chimes.

  Ty laughs. “Someone’s got to pay for that. The Center isn’t exactly a non-profit handing out freebies.” Oscar adds his guffaw after the stupid joke.

  I shake my head. “No, but isn’t that what we’re working for—were working for? I was raised thinking that my research was benefitting the world out here. Why don’t I see it?”

  Oscar clicks his tongue, looping fingers in his already sagging pants’ pockets. “The Center gets all of its money from the medicine and tech all you gen-eng are producing there free of salaries.” I lift my lip at his use of this slur. I’m used to it now, but I still hate hearing it from him, because he still uses it like we’re somehow less than human. I wonder if he knows about Ty’s modified genes?

  Ty bends down to pick a tiny, white flower out of the grass. He hands it to Pru. “People are buying your stuff—just not these people. Only a select group can afford that kind of thing. M helps these people a lot; that’s why they love him so much around here. He’s like Robin Hood to these people.”

  “Like who?” I ask.

  “Never mind.” Ty shrugs, looking over at Oscar, who shakes his head in a condescending way.

  I bend and pick a small flower of my own and twirl the weed between my two fingers, looking around at the milling people. A small girl runs in meandering circles, her head crowned with a ring of these tiny, white clover flowers. From here I can see a blue band on her arm. “What is the blue band for?”

  Watching the girl, Ty frowns. “Blue City Mafia. It’s a gang around here.”

  Pru looks up. “The boys that night had on blue bands.” She shivers at the memory.

  “But that’s a little girl,” Julius says, confused.

  “In this part of the city, wearing that blue band is protection. Reds—their real name is Rips—occasionally have turf wars with the Blues around this park. The girl wears that blue band so she can play outside in this park at dusk.”

  Oscar sits in the grass with a huff, adding, “Otherwise, it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  Ty squares his shoulders in front of Pru. “Now”—he places a hand on Pru’s elbow “—let me show you how to defend yourself.”

  Only I see Julius’ crumpled smile as he takes a seat in the grass across from Oscar.

  Ty starts by teaching us how to break someone’s grip on our wrist. It’s easy enough. I practice swiveling my forearm around to force his hand open. It invigorates me to watch a move so simple give me power over someone else.

  Pru, it turns out, already knows this stuff. As soon as Ty grabs her wrist, she nearly breaks his arm and has him moaning in pain to let go.

  Oscar laughs. Julius cheers.

  “Pru … how in the world?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “I just knew what to do.”

  I recall the day she taught that fool in the mall a lesson.

  “Now, if someone grabs your shoulder, like this …” Ty, turning his attention back to me, pats his shoulder so I can play the attacker. In a quick second, I’m facing the ground, arm jerked uncomfortably behind me, feeling like it might snap. He lets go.

  “Hey! How’d you do that?”

  A few more times and I’ve got the motion down. We try it in real time, and Ty grunts as I hold his arm, poised to snap it.

  “Good. You’re a quick learner. Which I guess is no surprise.”

  “Slower now that we have to do all the learning ourselves,” Pru interjects.

  Oscar snorts, turning his attention to a group of teenage girls walking nearby.

  Ignoring her comment, Ty shakes his arm out. “Let me show you what to do if someone grabs you from behind.”

  His arms loop around me and I cringe. My heart is hammering, and I know he can feel it. Julius cheers at this, too, just to mortify me. He tosses weed flowers at me that fall against my shins.

  “Now you can stomp on my foot or knock me in the head with your skull.”

  Then I feel it. Not right now! A brain flash begins, ironically, in my abdomen. Blood sucking in from my extremities, or so it feels. Unsteady, I rest against Ty’s embrace, close my eyes, and clench my teeth. This one feels more powerful than the last few I’ve had. Powerful and sickening like the ones I had while still in the Center. Ty says something to me, but I’m already lost to the memories.

  The Director’s office. Huge windows full of light. Mr. Crowne. Black suit. Fist. Marcus and his blood and his body on the tile.

  I realize I’m shaking when it’s over. The images of Mr. Crowne and Marcus are still throbbing in my mind. Ty’s hands are holding me upright, his face only inches behind me.

  “V, you all right? What was that?” he asks.

  “Brain flash,” Julius says with a drawl that lets Ty know how inane his question is.

  Blinking, I hear the playful shouts of the little girl nearby and Oscar’s mumbled words about our creepy chain brain weirdness.

  “Those were mine,” I mutter, not aware that I’m speaking out loud or that my words don’t make any sense to Ty. “Marcus.” His name is just a whisper.

  “What were yours?” Ty asks.

  Pru laughs. Then I remember the boy behind me and step quickly out of his grip. “The memories.” He doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “That was just a brain flash. That’s what we called it at the Center. It was nothing.”

  Oscar doesn’t seem to agree. “You’re not really making sense.”

  “Brain flash.” I wave my arms, slightly annoyed. “It’s like a wave of memories. You’ve seen us have them, surely? They just take over for a few seconds, kind of make me dizzy. That’s all. We get them all the time. Less now, though, out here. I think they’re some kind of glitch in our brains from all the streaming. It’s like when you drink too much water at once and you choke.”

  “Not fun, I’m sure,” Ty adds, glancing at Pru with a strange warmth.

  “Freaky weird, actually,” Oscar offers.

  “No, it’s no big deal. Really, I’m fine.” I sigh. “That time the memories were mine. Memories from the Center.” Memories of Marcus that will busy my brain for the next several days without end. The Director wanted me to let Marcus go. Instead, I let the Director go and keep Marcus’ face close behind my eyelids, though I’m not sure what good it does to remember him like this.

  Julius looks up at me from the grou
nd, pity in his otherwise happy eyes. “You saw him, didn’t you?”

  I nod down at him.

  “He remembers you, V. I’m sure he does.”

  Not needing his optimism, I wave away his remark. “It doesn’t matter.” Marcus is lost to me.

  Picking up the lesson, Ty walks over to Pru and loops his arms around her. She quickly breaks his hold with a stomp to his foot as fake as the giant ads that pour down the buildings around us. Julius watches and curls his upper lip.

  As Ty is congratulating Pru on her successful move, Julius mutters so only I can hear, “Yeah, you’re right, it doesn’t matter, does it?” At that, he cups his hands behind his head and leans over for a nap in the grass.

  After Ty is satisfied we’ve learned enough for one day, he yawns, announces Julius has the right idea, and flops down into the grass. Oscar excuses himself to go chat with the girls still lingering over at a park bench several yards away.

  I take a seat too, running my hands over the prickling, green blades. Pru lies down a few feet away, close to Ty, which I find so odd for some reason. Maybe it’s jealousy. I never would have guessed that out of the three of us, Pru would find someone out here she cares about. I’d thought her heart was made of stone, chiseled by the Center’s Codex into nothing but a rigid, obedient bot. But right now, I don’t want to be angry or jealous or afraid or ambivalent. I want to just be.

  The sun warms my skin and the laughter of the children playing nearby takes me back to a place I haven’t been in a very long time. At the Center, we stop being children by the time we’re eight. Half my lifetime. That’s how long it’s been since I laughed with the utter carelessness of childhood.

  Lying back against the grass, I close my eyes, dreaming of the day I can laugh with no one listening in, with no one in my head but myself.

  Twenty-Three

  The next day—a day M has no work for us—I sit on the couch in my apartment staring at the black TV screen I never use.

  No one is supposed to bother us today. Not M. Not Ty. We have the day off, whatever that means. We never had days off from life at the Center.

  I glance at my apartment door. The locks keep strangers out, but nothing but my own volition keeps me in. Why don’t I just leave? Find a doctor and get these things out of my head? I’ve helped M, and it doesn’t seem like he’s in any hurry to help me in return.

  So what about the gangs, the creepy men, the drugs, the violence? I survived the Center. I will survive out there long enough to escape this prison still caging my brain.

  Before I even finish putting on my shoes, there’s a soft knock. I check through the tiny peep hole in the door—something Ty told me to do—before unlocking and opening it for Julius.

  “Miss me?” he asks. His apartment is sandwiched between mine and Pru’s in the same complex as Ty’s. All three apartments available—vacated for us—upon M’s request.

  He stomps in, circles around my living room, then starts fishing around in my kitchen.

  “You know I don’t have food. Go raid Pru’s cabinets. But she probably doesn’t have any either.” I want him to leave. I want to sneak away without anyone noticing for a few hours.

  He looks at me with a dropped chin. “You know I can’t go in there … alone.”

  “You’re such a freak,” I laugh. “She’s not poisonous.”

  “Easy for you to say. She doesn’t make your skin all goosebumpy.” Julius finds a mostly empty jar of peanut butter and a spoon. He takes my food to my couch and sits.

  “What if I was planning on eating that?” I come over and sit next to him, but with enough space that I’m sure we won’t touch accidentally.

  He holds the spoon out to me, on it a half-eaten glob of peanut butter. I make a face at him.

  “Are you ever going to tell her?”

  “Heck no!” he mumbles over some sticky peanut butter. “She and Ty are all cozy now anyway. What’s the use?”

  True.

  He sees me tapping my foot. “Waiting for something?”

  I stop tapping. “No.”

  He narrows his eyes at my shoes and sits up straight. “Going somewhere?”

  Looking down at my feet, my face gives me away. “No.”

  He jumps up. “V, don’t!” He sets the jar down. “Remember that creep, Axe? There’s a city full of people like him out there.”

  I roll my eyes. “You sound like M. And Ty.”

  He frowns. “Where will you go? The Director will find you. M’s keeping him off our trail.”

  “You could do that too. We don’t need M.”

  “We?” He lifts his orange brows. “I’m not leaving. I like my new job. I’m finally starting to get the hang of things out here.”

  Indignant, I cross my arms. “You’ve already gotten your sensors out.” I cringe to think of ripping them out with my fingers. It’s a wonder he’s not a vegetable. “Which means you’re already free. Free to stay or go or work for M forever. But I want to leave.”

  “And Pru?” he asks, as if I’ve got some plan to take her with me.

  “And Pru, what?” Pru stands at my apartment door, eyebrows raised. I’d forgotten to lock the door back. Pru marches in, plants herself on the edge of the armchair by my couch, and demands an answer with her dark eyes.

  “I’m leaving. Oh, but he’s going to stay.”

  Julius waves a hand through the air. “Shut up, V. She’s not lea—”

  “Yes, I am. I’m getting these things out.”

  Pru stands. “Well, I’m not leaving. Not now.”

  My resentment bubbles up, and before I can think not to, I say, “Found something worth staying for?”

  Julius drops his chin. I cringe and start biting my cheeks to punish myself for that hurtful comment. In this whole mess, Pru is the one who didn’t want to leave the Center, and she’s the one who’s benefitted the most. I lost Marcus, and she gained Ty. Even though watching her with Ty doesn’t make much sense to me, he’s brought out a softness in her I never knew was there. It burns my insides like acid when I see it.

  “Is that so bad?” she snaps, turning back to the door. “And V, if you trust me at all, trust me when I say don’t leave. It’s not worth it.” She marches out, leaving Julius and I staring at the closed apartment door.

  I arch an eyebrow at Julius and then follow Pru.

  The rooftop of the apartment complex is littered with piles of tiny, half-burned rolls of paper. The ones people puff on that make their eyes glassy and their mind fuzzy. Ty’s description of what these things do reminds me too much of the way the box made my mind feel: like butter in a microwave that explodes as it melts from the inside out. I can’t fathom why anyone would desire that feeling. A collection of these little rolls lies scattered near a trio of metal folding chairs set up close to the edge. Rust stains spill from the joints of the chairs and decorate the seats.

  Pru’s long gait takes her to the edge of the building just as I’m stepping past the small circle of chairs.

  I drag two chairs right to the edge, take a seat, and prop my feet up on the lip. Pru glances at the rusty chair I brought for her, debating whether it is clean enough to sit on.

  “It won’t kill you, Pru.”

  With a huff, she sits.

  A breeze drifts around the back of my neck and carries with it the smell of rain. The view from here isn’t as pretty as the one from the Center’s rooftop, but the feel is similar. I like being up high, able to see what lies ahead. Something about being up high—higher than everyone else—feels like a small injection of power.

  And since I’m only halfway to the freedom I want, the freedom to be just me, I take any feelings of power I can get. After all, I left Marcus for this. Abandoned him to Mr. Crowne’s fists so I could unchain my brain.

  It will be worth it. It will be.

  I peer at the street below—only three floors down—and watch the people. In this city, people are always out. More in the evenings, certainly, but plenty during the day. Peop
le without jobs, people who don’t want jobs, people who make their living on the street. And always lots of children. School only lasts half a day now, and so the groups swap up. Those who go in the morning have the bad end of the deal, as they’re the ones left roaming when the light thins and people’s capacity for trouble takes a staggering leap. The late afternoon sun bakes the left side of my body, but in the distance bulbous grey clouds creep this way. Shouts and obscenities from a pack of boys, not a one old enough to shave, drift up in the warm air.

  Annoyed about why she thinks she knows any more about this world than I do, I focus on the tall grey clouds instead of her. “The inside of that white block we called home was all we knew for sixteen years, and now a few weeks in the city and you’re an expert? Tell me why I can’t leave.” I demand.

  “I’m a transfer,” she says.

  Blindsided by this calm remark, I blink at her, open-mouthed, for several seconds.

  She nods, not looking at me. “I know what life out here is like. You want to know how I learned self-defense? It wasn’t Ty’s instruction, I can tell you that.” She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, lost in an old nightmare. Opening her eyes, she stands and stuffs her hands into her jeans’ pockets. “Getting transferred into that Center was the best thing that ever happened to me.” Her exhale seems to carry with it hate and shame and fear. All of it lands on me. “When they brought me in, they started the memory reconstruction, adding in memories of growing up in the Center. You are familiar with this routine, I think.” She looks at me over her shoulder, and I think of Marcus. “They don’t actually erase memories, despite what they claim. I wish they could.” In her words is an anger so deep it chills my skin. “Instead, they just add so many contradictory ones that the brain, on its own, begins to eliminate the memories that don’t fit. You know this from the streams.

  “We get sixteen versions of waking up in the morning, brushing our teeth, but our brains eventually skip over the memories that don’t make sense: all the ones with someone else’s face in the mirror, for instance. That’s what makes the box so vicious. It makes it harder to sort out.”