by Beth Revis
“I met you a few days ago,” I shoot back. “You accosted me in Central Gardens.”
“I was trying to warn you,” he growls. Then his face softens. “You don’t remember before?”
“There was no before,” I snap. “And it’s my turn. Are you the leader of this terrorist organization?”
“We’re not terrorists.”
I don’t bother answering; he can argue semantics all he wants. I half believe him, but I can’t risk being wrong based on a gut feeling. Finally Jack sighs and says, “Yes. I suppose that now, after… after everything, I am the closest thing we have to a leader. How much do you know about your father’s research?”
The question catches me completely off guard. I was not at all expecting Dad to be brought into this conversation. “His last experiments were focused on making an artificial brain,” I answer. Judging from Representative Belles’s documents, this isn’t a secret or anything Jack doesn’t already know. “Which is impossible,” I add. Scientists can make something that’s exactly the same as a human brain, right down to every wrinkle and crease, but they can’t make it think. “Androids are nothing but complicated computers dressed up to look human. They can’t think for themselves.”
Jack nods. “But did you know that he started having problems with the methods the UC wanted him to use? He disagreed with them on some things—I was never really sure what—and anyway, he started having trouble with the high-ups.”
I stare at him blankly. “No,” I say. I never heard Dad complain about his work. But in my last memories of Dad, I remember him being worried. He lost a lot of weight. For a while, I’d been worried that he was sick, too, like Mom. “What makes you think that?”
Jack looks startled. “Because I was working with your Dad on that research,” he says. I remember the photo now, the one of him and Dad in the lab, my father’s hand resting gently on Jack’s shoulder.
“I was recruited right out of secondary school, for my service year,” Jack continues. “I was only supposed to be a lab assistant, but Dr. Philip took me under his wing.”
“Dad always liked lost causes,” I say.
This earns me a wry grin.
“The month before Dr. Philip died, he fired me. Not for anything I did,” Jack hurries to say. “But he didn’t want me to get embroiled with the politics, and he worried that he was going to get in trouble for some of his research and didn’t want to hurt my name. None of his problems ever came to light though.”
Because he died. Because he was killed. I can’t let myself forget or lose focus on that.
“So after you were fired,” I say, “you decided to start up a little terrorist group—”
“A protest group,” Jack says, his voice rising. “There’s a difference.”
“Not from where I stand.”
“Maybe you’re standing on the wrong side.”
I roll my eyes.
“There have always been protesters against the UC, since before the Secessionary War. Do you think Malta wanted its capital city named after a city in Italy? Do you think people wanted to be displaced and moved into the Foqra District? The protests started here, in Malta, and as much as she’s tried, PA Young can’t eliminate everyone.” He glances at the door, where Julie and Xavier, the only two remaining members of the group, left.
“We used to be bigger,” he continues. “We used to be a network of people throughout not just Malta, but the entire UC. We were organized, and we were strong, and we were going to change the world.”
“The Zunzana,” I say, tasting the word on my tongue. Could it really be what Jack says it is? Not a terrorist group, but this force of good?
“‘Zunzana,’” Jack says in a contemplative voice, “is the old Maltese word for ‘bumblebee,’ like you said. Bees used to be symbolic of cleverness, and life. And the name of our country, ‘Malta’—it means ‘honey.’ Like bees protect their honey, we protect our country.”
“Protect it from what?” I ask.
“From the UC.”
“The UC is as good as any government,” I say. “And we don’t need another war.” The Secessionary War was well before my time, but there’s a giant, sea-filled crater where the original capital of Malta once stood that never lets us forget about the price of war.
Jack makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “How can I make you see?” he says. “The UC is willing to control us by any means possible. Just look at your cuff—look at the way the government monitors everything. You think they do that for your safety? They’re lying. This is what the Zunzana are fighting—it’s what your dad fought for, before he died. He didn’t want us to turn into toy soldiers and puppets.”
“Leave my dad out of this,” I snap.
“How can I?” Jack roars, leaping up. He rushes at me, stopping just before my face. “You father died fighting the government—just like my parents—and you’re dismissing his sacrifice like it was nothing. It may have been easy for you to forget the past, but I never could.”
“I’ve not forgotten anything!” I shout back. “I’m just not believing your lies!”
Jack’s face grows still. “Really?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous. “Is this a lie?” Before I can do anything more than gasp in shock, Jack jerks me against the solid wall of his body, wraps his arms around me, tilts my head up, and kisses the surprise from my lips.
thirty-two
My hands are crushed flat against his chest, the hard outline of his muscles just beneath my fingertips. For a long moment, all I can think about is his body against mine, his lips against mine.
And then my hands curl into fists and I push him away. I wipe my mouth off and glare at him. “How dare you!” I scream.
“Ella, I just thought—” He looks wounded. The son of a bitch looks offended that I would push him off me.
I cross the small space between us, raise my hands, and shove him so hard that he falls back against the wall. “Don’t touch me again, you creep!”
I turn on my heel and race to the door. I don’t think about the way my body feels as if it’s on fire, the way I cannot get the taste of him out of my mouth. He had no right.
He catches up to me and grabs my wrist, pulling me toward him. I use the momentum of my body moving in his direction to aim my fist at his face, but he catches my arm mid-throw. “Ella. Ella! I’m sorry, all right? I just thought maybe I could make you remember me.”
“Remember you? Remember you? If that’s the sort of thing you want me to remember, I’m glad I forgot!” I jerk free of his grip, but he lets my wrist slide through his fingers easily. He looks gutted.
“We dated for a year,” he says hollowly.
I stare at him.
“You told me you loved me,” he said. “We—”
I turn around. “Quit lying. I never met you before this week.”
The look he gives me fills me with fear and dread. “I worked with your father. I’ve eaten dinner at your house with your family—that’s how I met you. We were together for an entire year. I was with you when you were assigned to be an intern at Reverie for your service year, when Akilah was assigned military duty. We were… together.” The way he says that word, together, makes me know he means something special by it.
“No.”
Jack shakes his head. His hand moves to his own wrist—where his cuffLINK would be if he had one. But whatever evidence he wanted to show me, it’s long gone now. His hand drops away. “How can you have forgotten me? Us?”
“Because I never met you before this week.” He sounds so lost, looks so confused. My voice softens. Maybe this isn’t some sort of elaborate trick. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not the girl you knew a year ago. We’ve never met before.”
“You are Ella Shepherd, and I am Jack Tyler.” He says the words loudly, as if he’s affirming their truth through his speech. “We were together for a year. You broke up with me, and I joined the military. I know you as well as I know myself. Your father wa
s Philip Shepherd, and he was a neuro-scientist specializing in nanorobotics and android intelligence. Your mother is Rose Shepherd. She has Hebb’s Disease, but before that, she developed the technology used in Reverie, the world’s leading mental spa. You’re in your service year, and in a few weeks, you’re supposed to decide whether you’re going to go to university or enter employment, but you decided the day your father died you wouldn’t go to uni. Your best friend is Akilah Xuereb, and you cried for a week when she was assigned to the military rather than as an intern like you. You wear a fortune-cookie locket your dad gave you when you moved away from Akilah when you were eight years old, and inside it is a digi file of the two of you playing in Central Gardens, catching fireflies after the Summer Festa.”
The world spins around me. “How do you know all that?” I whisper.
“You have a mole behind your left knee shaped like a chocolate chip,” he continues, louder, as he steps uncomfortably close to me. “You used to have a teddy bear with a green bow-tie, but the dog you had when you lived in Rabat ate it. When you moved, you had to give the dog to your neighbor, and you didn’t talk to your father for a week after.”
“How—?”
“You used to want to be a cellist even though you don’t know how to play, but you never told your parents that, because your mom would talk about how you’d follow in her footsteps as a scientist, and after she got sick, you didn’t want to tell her that the last thing you ever want to study is science or medicine.”
I don’t even have the breath to speak any more. I collapse into a puddle on the floor. Jack squats in front of me and leans toward me. “I know you, Ella Shepherd. The question is, why don’t you know me?”
thirty-three
“This is impossible,” I say softly. I’m gasping at air as if I’m drowning, but it’s not enough.
“You really don’t remember me at all?”
I shoot him an exasperated look. “I think I’d remember someone as annoying as you.”
“But you don’t. Despite my devastatingly handsome—and unforgettable—smile.” He grins toothily at me.
I push his chest with both hands so that he stumbles back, giving me some space from him. “This isn’t some kind of joke,” I say angrily. Something is seriously wrong. He knows way too much about me—stuff no one, not even Akilah, knew. Maybe my memory really has been wiped… but no. You can’t just selectively wipe a memory. I’ve not forgotten my past. My stomach twists. Maybe he can do what I can do. Maybe he’s somehow found a way into my mind with reveries, and rooted around in them… but I don’t remember having done a reverie with anyone other than myself… but…
“This is similar to what happened to Akilah,” Jack says. “The same thing that happened to many of the people I met in the military.” He searches my eyes. “That’s why I left. Why I joined with Julie and Xavier. The government has some sort of plan—it makes people forget things…”
My mind is chaos. Everything Jack’s saying is impossible. But… it feels right. I clench my teeth. I wish he would quit talking. I need to figure this out—is he lying to me about all this, or has my memory been altered? And if it’s been altered… by who?
“What happened to Akilah?” I say. “I saw the digi file you gave me, but I don’t understand. She was killed and then… what? Who did I see in the next video?”
Jack runs his fingers through his hair. “I wish I knew. I’ve been researching it as best I can, but it defies the laws of science.” I remember then that Jack worked with my dad—he must be far more intelligent than he seems. “The… the thing Akilah became. She can’t be a clone—clones grow at a normal rate, and even with growth accelerators, they couldn’t have made a clone of her so quickly. And, regardless of that, it seemed as if she retained most memories. You can’t just flip a switch and bam! A perfect copy of a person.
“The new Akilah, though, while she was still Akilah, was… harder. More focused on fighting—and better at fighting, stronger, faster. But also… cruel.” He says that last word softly, as if he wishes it could disappear like dissipating smoke.
Jack looks up at me. “Akilah wasn’t the only one. I can’t tell you the number of people I saw who… changed. I can’t explain it. But the longer you’re in the war, the less like yourself you become.”
“So you left.” I stare at Jack’s blank wrist. A deserter. A traitor. …Or maybe not. Can you betray a government that’s already betrayed you?
“I left.”
Something inside of me is pulled taut. My heart feels like it’s being crushed under an invisible weight. And I realize: I’m starting to believe Jack. The doubts I’ve been having line up perfectly with what Jack’s been telling me.
I grit my teeth. I have to pull myself together. I can’t let myself be swayed by this guy. I might not be able to trust the government, but I can’t trust him, either.
“So?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips.
“So what?”
“So how do we save Akilah? If that’s why you left the military, why you decided to join this ‘protest group,’ this ‘Zunzana,’ what have you learned? How do we save her?”
Jack’s face pales. “I don’t know. Xavier was a medical student; he has some theories, but…”
“You don’t know. You tell me Akilah’s messed up, but you don’t know how and don’t know how to fix her. You tell me I am messed up, but you don’t know how. You tell me that you had nothing to do with the android explosion that almost killed my mother, but you. Don’t. Know. Who. And you tell me I should trust you, but you know what? I don’t know how.”
“I need you, Ella.” Jack’s voice cracks over my name. It’s enough to make me pause.
He steps closer to me, but I instinctually move back. He may not have caused the android attack this morning, but he’s still tied up in the whole mess, he’s still got some blood on his hands. I’m just not sure whose.
“The Zunzana needs you.”
My fingers curl into fists. If all this is just some way to convince me to join his group, then—
“You don’t trust me.” He says the words hollowly.
“Of course not,” I say immediately. “I don’t know you.”
“What do you want me to do?” Jack throws up his hands. “If I could crack open my skull and let you read my brain like a book, I would!”
My breath catches in my throat. Because I… I could read his brain like a book. And I could find all the secrets of the Zunzana—I could learn everything he’s not telling me, the truth of the entire situation. That would be the final piece of evidence I would need to hand to Ms. White and Prime Administrator Young and whatever little war Jack thinks he’s fighting—whatever web Akilah is caught up in—could be over.
He’s just handed me access to the most important information we could have ever gotten. Forget Representative Belles and the other little government officials dabbling in rebellion. Jack’s on the inside.
“I have a way,” I say.
Jack looks at me curiously.
“I mean, I can find out if you’re telling me the truth or not.”
“I’m too scared of needles to let you inject me with truth serum,” he says sarcastically. “And my face is too pretty for you to beat the truth out of me.”
I force a laugh. “No more of that. It’s… it’s something at Reverie.”
A mask falls over Jack’s face. “Not sure I trust anything at the mental spa.”
“It’s a… simple procedure. You get a reverie, and we have monitors that tell whether you’re telling the truth. It’s really simple.” I shake my head. “I said that already. Anyway. It’s true. Simple. And then I’ll know if you’re…”
“Telling the truth or not?” Jack says when my voice trails off.
“If you’re psycho or not.”
“Same difference.” That stupid smile is plastered on his face again.
“Can you get to Reverie on your own?” I ask. “Tonight?”
Jack nods. He’s s
ensed the urgency in my voice. “I’ll meet you at our old place.”
I stare blankly at him.
Something dark flashes in Jack’s eyes. “Right. You don’t know our old place.”
I shake my head.
“On the roof.”
“Part of it is gone,” I say. “It blew up.”
Jack’s eyes widen slightly—I don’t think he quite realized just how close to home the attack had been.
“But the garden’s safe,” I say. At least, I think it is. The roof is terraced, so it should be fine.
Jack stares into my eyes for several long moments. “I don’t trust the mental spa. But I do trust you, Ella.”
“Even if I don’t trust you?” I can’t help but say.
“Even then.”
thirty-four
Jack shows me a hidden lift inside one of the pillars used to hold up the bridge of the upper city of New Venice. It’s clearly designed for workers who have to maintain the electrical and sewage needs of the city, but I don’t care; I’m just grateful I don’t have to walk back up the stairs to return home.
The lift deposits me near Triumph Towers, and as I walk past the plaza, I’m overwhelmed by the odd mixture of flowers and burning. There are deep black scars in the marble and limestone of the plaza, and yellow tape blocking it all off. Crowds of people gather at the small space between the partitioned area and the gate to Central Gardens, leaving flowers and notes, candles and prayers.
I try to avoid the crowd—I only have to cross Central Gardens to get back home—but then I see a face I recognize.
“She was your daughter, wasn’t she?” I ask in a low voice.
The man in the rumpled, dirty suit looks up at me. Representative Belles’s eyes are dry, but I can see that’s only because he has no more tears to cry. He’s been staring at a white teddy bear with pink bows, exactly the color of his daughter’s dress.
“How did you know?” he asks, his voice raspy. I wonder how long he’s been here, standing vigil for his daughter.
