The skylights in the ceiling had been specially designed to take advantage of the vast amounts of natural sunlight pouring in. Even on cloudy days, the building would be well lit from hidden artificial light lamps up in the rafters. Apparently, officials believed no gloomy vibes belonged in a place like this. Being relocated was supposed to be the thing of dreams. But there was no evidence of joy in this raggle taggle group. There were six of us going to P8 today. Another teenager about my age stood to my right. She could’ve been a model, towering over me, her sleek blonde hair falling smoothly around her beautiful face. I squirmed uncomfortably, feeling like a garden gnome next to this lovely creature. I longed to have her looks, and wondered if her Mom had sold her for a better life, too. But for what reason, I couldn’t fathom. Poverty made people do strange things.
She smiled at me, but I lacked the zeal to muster up any effort to smile back. I turned away to consider the others. They didn’t bother to make eye contact. Probably caught in their own worries. It surprised me to find adults in our gathering. I’d never seen any evidence that they traded them as they did children. But the terminal oozed with them, my group included. Either way, they had to bring something valuable to the government or they wouldn’t be here. Or was that another lie? If trade ins were so rare why was there so many people in this terminal? It simply didn’t add up.
Three nondescript, middle-aged men stood to my right, and an attractive young woman in her twenties, all dolled up in a striking gold gown, remained to my left, along with a little girl of about five who reminded me of my sister Trinity. Her eyes, wide as saucers stared up at me, the same shade of brown as Trinny’s. Her bottom lip wobbled and I patted her shoulder gently in sympathy. They had dressed her to the nines in a baby blue dress and white tights. Ruby red slippers donned her feet. The government had suited us all up. Exchanged our rags for the finest designer clothes money could buy, promising that our lives would be different once we passed through the glowing golden arch before us.
I smoothed down my own dress. Not because my appearance concerned me but because I didn’t want anyone to see my trembling hands. They had decked me out in an exquisite red satin number that fell to my ankles in liquid pools. My toes pinched in the too-small sequined silver sandals. I longed for the threadbare shoes my feet were accustomed to. I touched one hand to my head, remembering the woman who had styled my hair into this complicated braid. Her fingers had worked diligently, shaping flowers to weave into my tresses, talking nonstop all the while. Her final words to me as I left were; All your dreams are about to come true.
How wrong she was.
I wanted to scream against the noise in my ears as the overhead PA barked out orders and announcements. Every gate had a large television filled with President Roy Ball Red’s face. He was a shrewd-looking man with pale waxen skin and silky titan red hair that fell to his shoulders—he wasn’t someone I preferred to meet. His macabre green eyes darted back and forth, as if calculating his next move. I didn’t trust the guy at all. There was way too much “selling” of this P8 place. The screen flashed from him to clips of people that had made the transfer successfully and left all their worries behind. Above the monitors a gold banner read; Be fearless or be conquered. One of Roy Ball Red’s favorite mottos. Well, it seemed a bit late for that, as I was being taken somewhere against my will.
The little girl clutched at my hand startling me from my reverie. “Miss? Do you know where we’re going?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m scared.”
I knelt down and straightened her dress. “You’re going on a new adventure, someplace beautiful and fun.” I couldn’t believe I was spouting Roy Ball Red’s propaganda to her. But I daren’t tell her the truth. How would you explain to a young child that in a few minutes she wouldn’t even remember who she was before this moment? Who was I to promise her such riches when I had no idea what lay on the other side?
“What’s your name?” I asked the brown-haired girl.
“I’m Ever.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” I replied. “Just like you.”
Ever smiled at that. “What’s yours?”
“Luna,” I said squeezing her hand.
“Luna. Promise you won’t leave me.”
I didn’t have time to answer as one of the officers came along, ordering us into a straight line. I heard Ever whimpering as the officer separated our hands and pushed her behind me. I felt the tug of her small fingers on my dress as she latched on to me.
I didn’t dare turn around; not wanting the agents to separate us, especially with Ever scared out of her mind.
The first transfer was about to begin.
I thought the tall, middle-aged man in the front of the line would be the initial target. But instead a stern, thin uniformed woman stepped into the gated area. Tight lines framed her mouth, and the leaden color blue skirt and jacket did nothing to hide the sharp contours of her body. She headed straight for Ever and grabbed her arm.
“Ever Hopkins. I will escort you to P8. My name is Agent One. Do not be afraid. You will have lots of friends in your new home.”
Her voice sounded digital; I took another look at her face. Then I realized—she wasn’t human, but an android. The sharp lines of her silhouette I’d noticed before were actually bonded metal.
Outrage boiled in me. “You can’t let her go with a robot. She needs somebody real,” I yelled to anyone that would listen. I tried to pull Ever toward me. “I’ll take her with me.”
The robot’s cold hand came out and firmly plucked Ever from my grasp. “You are interfering with government protocol fifty-nine. Please step aside so we may proceed.”
Another human officer seized me while Agent One carried Ever to the lighted arch. Her screams echoed down the terminal but the robot didn’t stop.
I kicked and yelled at the officer, but his grip held me firmly in place. “If you’re in such a hurry, Luna Redwood, you can go next,” he sneered.
So much for the tranquil environment. I watched as Agent One placed Ever before the arch. The T.V screen overhead flashed again to Roy Ball Red. “Safe travels on your journey to P8 Ever Hopkins, please enjoy the movie of your best memories to keep you happy and entertained during your transfer.”
Ever, still screaming, held out her little arms, reaching for me, as she stepped through the arch with Agent One. A flash of brilliant gold light blinded me, and I blinked.
When the light snuffed out, I looked again. Both Agent One and Ever were gone.
Before I could even process what happened, another agent gripped me around the shoulders and dragged me to the front of the line. “Try anything and your transfer will be made very unpleasant,” he spat in my ear before releasing me.
He pointed to the white boundary under the arch and I obediently stood behind it. There was nowhere to run now. I had to accept the fate my mother had dealt me. A buzzer sounded, and the agent motioned a deft finger to where Ever had just disappeared.
I swallowed hard. My turn. I took small steps up the incline until I was in what almost looked like a clear glass photo booth, only the two front and back panels were devoid of glass. Above me, the slight glow of the arch cast a golden prism of light all around me, creating rainbows against the side walls. I jumped as the pane behind me locked into place. Tears pricked my eyes, thinking of my family and Dara. I would never know them again. I angrily swiped them away and took a shaking breath. No way I would give those stupid agents the satisfaction of seeing my pain.
I started at the sound of a demanding computerized voice. Ready for transfer. Luna Redwood. Step forward beyond the green line. We had gone through this in training. I was supposed to walk right through and not dawdle, but I appeared stuck to this spot, unable to move my toes past that inevitable barrier.
They must have accounted for this, as a sudden inexplicable force propelled me through. I yelped in surprise.
As I stepped beyond the line to the other side, the arch’s blinding bright light seemed to exp
lode in what seemed like a thousand watts around me, but something was wrong. This wasn’t as we practiced. I heard Roy Ball Red’s welcome somewhere in the back of my mind, but the happy memories he promised never came.
The light of the arch flickered and sputtered, and I wondered if anyone else noticed. Had I imagined it? I tried to hold on to my last memories, desperate to retain at least a shred of who I was.
As I descended into darkness, I screamed into the infinite void that surrounded me before glimpsing the looming light of P8 somewhere in the distance.
Chapter 7
When I awoke, the memories came.
I hovered somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, the air cold on my skin. The recollections hit fast, and sharp. Flashes of people, places, and sounds invaded my mind—until one dream in particular lingered, triggered by a glorious fragrance that filled my senses. I inhaled deeply, the smoky sweetness of maple syrup and bacon tickling my nose.
I didn’t open my eyes as I tried to grasp onto the rushing images and focus on what I was being shown. My heart pounded with a sudden horrible realization, and a cold chill raised goosebumps on my arms.
These weren’t my memories. So whose were they?
Fear and panic clawed at me, bringing me out of my hazy stupor. I sat bolt upright, instantly awake.
I remembered everything. I recalled what happened to me. Where I’d come from. My entire life on Nova. But how was that possible?
I looked down and found myself no longer clad in my red satin skirt, rather in a set of pajama shorts decorated with little clouds and a matching blue t-shirt. Where was my dress? I had hidden my emergency kit under its folds. My hand flew to my hair, my fingers frantically searching through it. The braids the woman had painstakingly styled for me had vanished—along with the pin.
I took some calming breaths to get a hold of myself. I had to think. I regarded my surroundings and gaped in awe at this opulent bedroom. I sat on a canopy bed with a silky azure duvet. Mirrored dressing tables flanked each side and a French style desk and chair rested in the corner on a plush green rug.
I’d never been anywhere so grand. Yet, I found myself frozen, unable to move—torn between wanting to run and stay inside this small bubble of paradise. I had to be imagining all this. It couldn’t be P8. It must be something I conjured up in my imagination. Surely.
I startled out of my reverie when a strange woman I didn’t recognize came barreling into the room. I pulled the covers up closer to me, trying to create a sheaf of protection for myself. I felt exposed in these ridiculous pajamas.
“Luna! What are you still doing in bed? You’ll be late for school! Get up at once. I have breakfast on the table, ready to go.” The woman had a tall, slim frame and blond bouncy curls that swished every time she bent to clear the clothes I apparently left on the floor. Only I’d never seen the dress that now dangled from her fingers.
“Earth to Luna?”
Something in the woman’s voice rang true. And another foreign memory sliced through me with such force it overtook me.
The sunlight beams through the large French doors and casts a glow on the feast before us. Mom and I have been baking all day. My mouth waters at the thought of eating the golden turkey in the center of the table. I smell the butter from the mashed potatoes and I rub my hands together in anticipation. I look at Mom and Dad who are smiling at me so proud. “Merry Christmas sweetheart,” Mom says squeezing my hand. “Merry Christmas Mom,” I say. In that moment, I’m perfectly content. I couldn’t have asked for a better holiday.
Someone shook me. “Luna?” Are you all right?”
As the world came back into focus, I noticed the woman sitting on the edge of the bed, concern etched in her blue eyes. Then a sudden realization hit me. This was supposed to be my mother.
My mind scrambled. I had to play the part. If anyone became suspicious and figured out I had my memories, would they send me back? Arrest me? I licked my dry lips and looked at this stranger head on. “I’m fine, Mom. Sorry, still half asleep I guess.” I gave her my best sheepish grin.
She seemed satisfied with that and stood up. “Well, let’s get a move on. If you don’t hurry, you’ll be late.”
After she disappeared down the stairs, I slipped out of bed, my bare feet hitting the luxurious carpet. I wiggled my toes in it for a minute, reveling in its splendor. My feet looked the same as they always did, except now they appeared perfectly manicured in delicate petal pink. Not exactly my style but I’d roll with it. Curious, I held up my hands. The scar I’d acquired at the age of five, a circular moon shape located between my thumb and forefinger was gone. And my fingernails, usually packed with dirt were spotlessly clean and painted the same petal pink. I marveled at my soft palms, no longer callused and rough.
A terrifying thought occurred to me and I raced to the mirror. I put my hands to my face and breathed a sigh of relief when my familiar countenance stared back. The same old freckles peppered my cheeks and my unmistakable green eyes peered out from my pale skin. I touched my full lips, ensuring it was truly my reflection. It seemed only my hair looked a little different—shorter—just brushing the tops of my shoulders, but the same midnight black. Gone were the dull tones and split ends; it now shone in glorious waves.
My mind flashed to the debriefing training we’d had right before transfer. They’d said we would undergo a complete transformation and be wiped clean. We would be free from our “blemishes” and start life fresh and unspoiled. At the time, I believed it to be a way to sugarcoat the memory loss, but perhaps they really had meant they would renovate every aspect of us. How else might I explain my soft skin and missing scars? I pushed the thoughts of W1 Nova aside. I had a role to play, and I needed to concentrate.
I crossed to the closet and opened it. I’d never seen so many new clothes in my life—none appeared ripped, torn, or threadbare. I let my fingers slide over the garments, all hung up neatly on their hangers, organized by color and category. A delicious thrill of satisfaction swept through me just gazing at them. Finally, something familiar.
“Luna! Are you dressed yet? Breakfast is getting cold!” The woman called.
I started at the sound of my name. If I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself I’d better hurry. I made a mental note to snoop around later. I grabbed some khaki pants and one of the many white t-shirts from the closet and threw them on as quickly as possible. Though I did pause for a moment, checking my appearance in the mirror, to make sure my shirt was wrinkle free and perfectly tidy. It was the first impression, after all.
I ran to the door before realizing I hadn’t brushed my hair. I looked back and saw a brush on the small French vanity. I quickly sprinted over and picked it up, sweeping it through my already smooth locks. I spotted a tie and hurriedly pulled it into a ponytail. I smoothed down any loose strands and ran my fingers up each side of my head, making sure my work was perfectly centered, all the while trying to still my shaking hands. There. Well, at least this style helped me feel a little more like me.
Turning, I raced down the hall, somehow having the intel of knowing exactly where I was headed. I reached the bottom of the stairs and found my new parents, if you could call them that, sitting at the kitchen table. My dad sat reading a newspaper while Mom glared at me, exasperated.
“Well, come on then. Don’t just stand there. Eat your breakfast,” Mom said, pointing to an empty chair.
A plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes rested on the table; my stomach growled loudly. I’d never seen such an abundance of food in my life.
I quickly slid into the offered seat and raised my fork, tidying up the corners making sure the different foods didn’t touch. Much better, I thought to myself. No matter how hard my belly complained, I refused to start eating if the plate appeared messy. Without looking up, I started in on the food. I packed it in, practically inhaling it. The sweetness of the syrup rolled over my tongue as I devoured the pancakes. I almost moaned as my tastebuds savored all the new, over
whelming flavors. I was in heaven.
It wasn’t until I’d nearly finished, that I realized my parents were staring at me.
“What? I was hungry,” I said mumbling as I swallowed my last bite of food.
Dad raised his eyebrows and grinned. “It appears so.”
I regarded him carefully for the first time. He had kind, soft silver-blue eyes, and short salt and pepper colored hair. It looked like he worked out, based on his toned muscles. I noticed he had the whitest teeth. I ran my tongue over mine, wondering what they would think of them. Dentists weren’t exactly for the riffraff of W1 Nova.
Maybe they had changed, too. I made a mental note to check.
Mom took my empty plate and scooted me out of the kitchen. “Hurry up now, Luna. Go get your things.”
I climbed the stairs, grabbed my backpack and jacket, and said goodbye to my fill in parents.
As I headed out, I realized I had an unexplained knowing about so many details. I knew this girl’s route to school, the location of her belongings in the bedroom, and other small specifics—but not an entire lifetime of memories, only pieces. Yet—my own personal recollections appeared intact. As I walked the familiar, albeit strange road to school, I checked on my memories. Yes. My brothers and sisters, Nova, my life there—none of it had disappeared.
I gazed around the quiet neighborhood. A lot of the homes were identical to each other, with white picket fences and manicured lawns that looked like carpet. Perky marigolds and pansies peeked out from wooden window boxes. I breathed in the warm air gratefully; tired of the bone-chilling cold.
There was a sameness here though, that left me a little on edge. Even the trees were identical—too perfect with their same height and width. I counted them as I walked, trying to ease my mind with the soothing monotony, but it weirded me out, so I switched to counting the concrete slabs of the sidewalk.
I couldn’t believe I was going to high school. In W1 Nova, if your retina scan put you in the bottom of the pile, your education was finished for you by the age of ten. The ability to read and write was considered more than adequate—because nothing would come of you, anyway. I’d been sent to Rheya as no more than a piece of trash.
Cage of Glass (Cage of Glass Trilogy Book 1) Page 4