“They had you working, didn’t they?” James said.
The hairs on the back of Noa’s neck rose. “How did you know that?”
James looked at her sharply. “I didn’t know, which is why I asked.”
Noa scooted away from him just the same. He didn’t seem to notice. Wiping his face, he said, “I’m just trying to understand what’s going on. If I understand the big picture, maybe I’ll understand why they shot me out of the sky, why I am missing huge chunks of my memory, and why I knew how to find you.”
Noa felt the tension drain out of her shoulders. The words were clipped. He was frustrated, she decided, and confused, just like her. “Like I said, you’re hyper-augmented … ” She waved her hand around the room. “Rich and from Earth. Of course they don’t like you. It’s crazy, but you shouldn’t waste your time trying to understand things that are crazy. Better to focus on how to blow the insanity wide open.”
James shook his head. “How would they know any of that if I never sent them my authorizations?”
Noa drew back. How would they have known? One of her brows shot up. “You rented a shuttle on Time Gate 8, they beamed down your data.”
Looking away, he was quiet for a long moment. “That doesn’t feel right.” His head did that compulsive tick thing.
“The tattoo on your wrist, the forced labor … ” he said quietly. “It sounds like other historical events. May I ask what they had you doing?”
Noa’s body stiffened. “Things that should be done by a ‘bot, even on Luddeccea.”
James stared off into the distance again. She took a long suck on the soup. Soup, heated floors, a mattress, a quilt … Her left thumb went to the stumps of her ring and pinky fingers. She was safe, for now, and so many other people were not.
“The scars on your abdomen are old, but the injury on your hand has barely scabbed over—an accident during labor?” James said out of the blue.
Noa’s whole body went still. She felt her heart rate increase, a prickle on her brow. “I … ” Noa said. Her lips stayed parted. She remembered the guards holding her down, the ax, the pain—but more seeing them take away her rings, the rings Timothy gave her. “Can’t talk about it,” she said.
Without missing a beat, he said, “Who is Timothy?” And Noa felt like the atmosphere had become too thin.
She took a deep breath, smelled wood, floor polish, and James—he smelled impossibly good for a man who’d been on the run, and who now seemed set on mentally torturing her—and she smelled herself. “I reek,” she said, because she couldn’t say anything else.
James said nothing. Hopping to her feet, soup packet in a death grip, she looked around frantically, reminding herself he probably couldn’t help his hyper-augmented brain. James hopped up immediately beside her. She was distantly aware of his fingers, just below her curled arm—as though he was preparing to catch her if she fell. Seeing a door slightly ajar, she said, “Bath?” She couldn’t meet his eyes, but she saw him nod in the periphery of her vision. She set off toward the door without a backward glance.
James stood outside the bathroom, head bowed. For a moment he had a vision of Noa, lying at the bottom of the tub, her eyes wide open, her lips parted, and no air coming from her lungs. Stepping closer, he pressed his ear against the door. He felt static just beneath his skin. What was he doing? Why was he standing here obsessing?
Above the roar of the faucet, he heard the sound of Noa sloshing, and then he heard her sigh. He shook his head, irritated that the sound made him feel as though a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He stepped back from the door and the edges of his vision went hazy. James felt himself waver on his feet. He was still hungry.
Backing away fast, he stumbled down the hall past the familiar pictures that felt unfamiliar and unreal. He stepped into the kitchen. There was something about the place that reminded him of the set of a play he’d once performed in during college. Going to the cupboard, he pulled more emergency rations out—sealed packets of soup, boxes of shelf-stable soy milk, crackers, and several jars of peanut butter. Going straight for the peanut butter, he grabbed a spoon from the correct drawer without a pause, opened the jar, and scooped a heaping helping into his mouth. Every taste bud in his mouth jumped with joy. His eyebrows rose as he took another bite. He didn’t remember loving peanut butter this much. Was it just hunger, or the fact that he’d nearly died … he smacked his lips and licked off all the salt. Or was it just that the peanut butter tasted real? He wanted to slow down and savor every gooey, oily, salty bite, but couldn’t keep from shoveling spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. As his stomach started to fill, his mind returned to something else that felt very real: he and the Commander—Noa—were wanted by the local government.
The ethernet was still inaccessible, so they could not call in the Republic’s authorities for help. Opening the soy milk container, he washed down the peanut butter. The Holocaust, the Gulags in the old Soviet Union, the Khmer Rouge, the rise of ISIL, and the North Korean slave state were all very interesting historical events—he had data on all of them stored in his banks. Now he was witnessing a similar regime first hand. What luck. He felt a bitter smile want to form, and then his neurons flared white hot. No, Noa had been the witness—they’d tortured her and forced her to work for them. He shouldn’t have asked so many questions—her answers made him want to go back to the camp she escaped from and set it on fire. He felt heat flare beneath his skin; it was a worthless impulse. He had to keep them both out of the camps.
He plundered his databases. Cutting off communications to the outside was what fascist regimes did. But in successful, long running campaigns of population control, civilians were held in check by propaganda.
Soy milk and peanut butter still in hand, he strode to the living room. It was decorated in rustic chic. There were the wood-paneled walls, recessed lighting in the ceiling, a rug under a chest that passed for a coffee table, and a blue couch. Everything was as he remembered it, and yet it was still dream-like—something was missing.
Shaking off his unease, he went to the trunk and popped it open. He pulled out an ancient-looking device—a chunky flat box the width of both his hands and about three centimeters thick. It was an all-frequency receiver, tuned to the antenna on the roof. His parents kept it around for emergencies. He flipped open the device like a book. On one side was a screen, on the other was a series of buttons with worn letters and numbers on them. He pressed a button that had a barely discernible symbol, and the device—a “laptop,” his father had called it—sprang to life. Or at least it lit up. It took a frustrating few seconds for a menu to appear. James touched the screen and a communications app opened. After a few more touches, the screen displayed a man with too-symmetrical Euro-Afro-Asian features in a neat Luddeccean Green high-necked suit. “Greetings, Luddecceans, this is Bob Wang in the Briefing Room. I have good news and bad news tonight. The good news is that the war with the aliens is going well. We have shut down the entire ethernet network above Luddeccea that was being used by the devil-invaders to spread misleading propaganda.”
James’s eyebrows rose. Aliens? Devil-invaders? That seemed about as far-fetched as archangels.
Dipping his chin, Bob looked directly into the camera. “The bad news is that a dangerous alien sympathizer has escaped from the secure detention center.”
The word “sympathizer” rang in his mind. An image of Noa in her Fleet uniform burned through James’s visual cortex. The image in his mind looked nothing like the holo of Noa that sprang up beside Bob. In it, she appeared skeletal, with dark circles under her eyes, and had mangy, almost non-existent hair.
On the screen, Bob continued. “This is Noa Sato. She escaped detention with alien assistance.”
James turned up the volume with a few keystrokes. Were they calling him an alien, or referring to some other assistance she’d received before he’d run into her?
“The authorities have secured the escape route, and it won’t be used again;
but the escapee is now at large in the Northwest Province.”
“Noa Sato is armed and considered extremely dangerous,” Bob Wang said. “If you see her, report her to authorities at once via the new landline network.”
Bob waved a hand. “And now we’ll take questions from civilians in our studio.” The camera shifted to a man standing next to some bright studio lights. He was of average build and appearance, dressed in rough attire. “I’m Jorge Mendoza,” the new man said. “I’m a farmer in the Southwest Province. How do we know an alien if we see one?”
Bob turned back to the main camera and Mr. Mendoza was no longer on the screen. “Well, Mr. Mendoza, that is the truly duplicitous nature of the alien scourge we are up against. It cannot be seen. The alien menaces that infiltrated our time gate and satellites are beings of pure energy, much like the djinn in the Final Book. They almost went undetected. They are capable of seizing and controlling augmented humans.”
James rocked back in his seat … He hadn’t run into Noa. He’d found her. Deliberately. Almost as though compelled … as though he’d had no choice.
Bob took a step closer to the camera. Hands raised to chest level, fingertips together, Bob said, “That is why it is important that you shut off your neural interfaces, lest the djinn hijack your free will, or make you a carrier and responsible for alien assimilation.” Tilting his head, tone conversational, he added, “But not to worry. With your neural interfaces inactive, you are immune to alien influence. All the information you need can be obtained at your local authority and this station. Landlines will be available to all households soon.”
Noa’s voice cracked behind James. “What?” Twisting around on the couch, James saw her in the door frame wearing a pair of flannel pajamas. He blinked. They were his father’s flannel pajamas—his father had let them hang on the back of the bathroom door. There was a new packet of soup in her hand. Waving the soup, the Commander exclaimed, “That was a load of lizzar excrement!”
James stared at her. Not looking at him, she glared at the screen. In a voice several decibels too loud she said, “I’m on more alien subcommittees than I can count on two hands and I can tell you all the top-secret information we have on sentient galaxy traveling ‘energy beings.’” Noa huffed, her nostrils flaring.
James blinked. “You can?”
Noa waved her hands. “Yes! Because there are no aliens! None! Just a whole lot on non-sentient, stupid, heat guzzling, sunlight swilling, and H2O-choking blue-green algae-like organisms.”
Her tirade was oddly comforting. Of course the Luddecceans were being crazy. There were no alien djinn-like creatures hell-bent on controlling humans through their neural interfaces … He knew this like he knew Noa’s name … and when he thought about it, he realized it was so unlikely it was absurd. Humans themselves couldn’t control other humans through their neural interfaces, or even lower life forms. He had a grainy memory of trying to control a cockroach through an interface in a seventh-grade science experiment. It had worked for a little while, but the cockroach had eventually regained control of its tiny brain and started resisting James’s and his partner’s input. Human brains were much more complex than cockroach neural networks. There were neural interface viruses that occasionally snuck by ethernet scrubbers—but none had caused massive epidemics of remote control—just massive epidemics of headaches.
The screen flashed, catching his attention. James turned back to find an advertisement for non-ethernet dependent washing machines. A tiny row of text at the bottom of the screen advertised that a romantic comedy was playing next. He flipped the device back to the menu.
Noa walked over and sat down on the couch. “What were we just watching? Some sort of two-dimensional holo?”
“The frequency was in between the 54 and 216 MHZ range.”
“Which is?” Noa said, bending her head to suck some soup from the packet.
“Television … TV,” James said, referring to the devices that in the past had used those frequencies.
One of Noa’s eyebrows shot up and her lips pursed. “Speak in Basic, buddy.”
James tried to formulate a succinct explanation, and settled on, “A two-dimensional holo.” He adjusted the laptop on his knees. “How much did you hear?”
Noa sagged down at the opposite end of the sofa. “Enough to know that my guardian angel is apparently an alien, and I am an alien sympathizer.”
James suddenly sensed that the laptop was about to fall off his thighs and moved his hands to stabilize it. He felt his nanos jump as he ran his hands over the cool plastic. The device was not unbalanced. “All the talk of demons, djinn, and devils ...”
Noa made a sound like, “Pfft.” His eyes slid to her and she said, “Political and public types here are always putting their speeches into ‘god’ speak. They don’t really believe it.” She winced. “Well, maybe some of the political and public types do, and a large portion of the populace.” Noa shrugged. “This isn’t like Earth. It’s a very religious place … in some ways it’s a good thing.”
Leaning back, Noa put a hand over her eyes. “Solar cores … since before the Luddecceans founded the original colony on this planet, they have been railing against neural networks, and augmentation, and the search for non-human sentience.” This time her voice was softer. Tired. Parting the fingers of her hand, she peered at him and gave a tight smile. “Now they’ve managed to combine everything they hate in order to scare the populace and gain control.” For a long moment she was quiet. “And you’re caught in the middle … I’m sorry.”
James’s brows rose.
“This is my home world.” Noa sighed. “I sort of feel responsible for their craziness.”
“Hmmm ...” was all he could manage. He suddenly knew what was missing from his memories of this cottage. He didn’t remember the smells—the pungent scent of the wood floor and paneling, the natural fiber of the rug that was thrown in front of the couch, the cold ticklish fragrance of stone and ash in the fireplace. And the reason he knew that was missing was because with Noa so close he found himself inhaling the scent of soap, wet hair, and her. She was familiar, and good. It made him feel … hope, anticipation … and the urge to pull her onto his lap. The last realization made him draw back. She was visibly unwell. Her skin was stretched tight across her cheeks and had an unhealthy tinge to it; her body was skeletal, her hair unkempt. Aside from that, she wasn’t his normal type: tastefully augmented, civilized, quiet, erudite …
Noa’s hand slipped from her face and dropped over the edge of the couch. Her eyelids slipped closed. From the rate of her breathing, James realized she was asleep. There was a raspy quality to it but it was steady and sure. He watched her for a few minutes, and then retrieved a blanket from the trunk. He draped it over her and her body relaxed. As she relaxed, he found he did, too. He turned the “television” back on and “surfed” the channels, the steady gentle rasp of Noa’s breathing giving him the same peace he’d had when she’d been asleep in his arms.
And then the peace abruptly shattered.
4
Noa’s back was pressed against a wall. Timothy was leaning into her, his lips meeting hers. A bright light shone behind his head, and somewhere Kenji was screaming. In the twisted logic of dreams, Noa could see her brother, head bent, at the same interrogation table she’d been at, but this time they were using the pliers. She knew it was a dream—a nightmare—but she screamed, “Kenji!”
Her own voice woke her. Her ribs ached with the force of her breathing, and she felt soft cushions behind her back. She found herself staring at Tim. She screamed again, her legs bunching beneath her and pushing her backward. Tim reached toward her, lips parted, his eyes soft and worried. The expression was familiar, but his skin gave him away. It was nearly the same shade as Timothy’s … except that it didn’t change. Timothy was so expressive that even his skin betrayed his feelings. He’d flush when he was worried or happy, turn completely scarlet when laughing, or when he was angry, or in the heat o
f passion. The not-Timothy had a boxy contraption on his legs. “I think you were dreaming … about someone named Kenji?” he said quietly, carefully, in his highbrow Earther accent.
And it struck her—he, the not-Timothy, wasn’t a dream. She sagged into the cushion, recent events coming back to her. “My brother,” she said. “They’ve got him, too.” She bit her lip. She had to save him. And then she remembered Ashley and everyone else at the camp. She had to save them all.
From the “television” came the tinny sound of, “Update from the Briefing Room. The rebels in the Northwest Province have almost been neutralized.”
Noa huffed softly. “Well, that’s a load of lizzar droppings.”
James’s eyes slipped back to the screen. He put a hand beneath his chin and then self-consciously touched the edges of his lips. He’d said they were numb earlier … maybe they still were.
“It’s difficult to say.” He shifted in his seat. “It might be true, or may just be propaganda to dissuade others from going to the Northwest.”
“It’s propaganda,” Noa said confidently. “The Northwest has been home to a lawless element since the third-wave settlers arrived. The mountains there are filled with caves. Even dropping a nuclear bomb on the region wouldn’t take out the rebels.” She frowned. “Although, I wouldn’t call them rebels, so much as bandits.”
Eyes on the screen, she said, “We might go to the Northwest … there have to be some dissidents making their way there.” Among them she might find someone skilled at hacking into data. She might be able to find where Kenji was held and alert the population about the camps via the landlines Bob Wang had mentioned.
“Do you think a landline could sync up with the population files somehow?” As she asked the question aloud, she tried to access the ethernet for information—and failed. She immediately sent a query to her own data files, but drew a blank.
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