“Don’t worry,” Null flashed a wicked grin at Twenty. “Eight’s not the only one with plans.”
“Null…”
“It’s only a failsafe, Twenty. Don’t worry about it. Trust me,” Null insisted.
“Forgive me if I find that difficult,” Twenty answered.
“I’ll try,” was Null’s prompt reply.
“I’m going to talk to Eight.”
Null grabbed his arm. “Don’t tell her what I said. She can have her plans, she can have her way, but I’m not putting my future exclusively in her hands. Do you understand?”
Twenty understood. Null would never acquiesce to Eight, not totally at least, after Eight’s betrayal. More than that, Twenty was uncomfortable with the idea of being stranded in Haven without his memories and without the assurance that Rose Garden would revive them if the plan failed. If they died while inside the city, which was a glaringly real possibility.
“Just…don’t do anything stupid,” Twenty warned her, departing from Reclamation after freeing his arm from her grasp. He spent the short elevator ride considering what he would say to Eight, wondering what insanity could justify the increasingly demented plan that Eight was enacting.
Where had she found this bravery? This singleminded absolutism that she lorded over the Rose Twelve with? How could she terminate their accumulated experiences? How could she burn down Null’s marriage? Eight’s duplicity might repulse him but her unflinching determination made the prospect of healing Seven a reality, and for that he was grateful.
She made it seem effortless.
Twenty stepped off the elevator and found Eight alone in Command.
“I heard a nasty rumor about Rose Garden going offline,” he sneered, making his way through the darkened chamber to her. Eight’s eyes flitted up to meet his. Twenty restrained himself, forced himself not to gasp, at the sight of her face.
Eight’s puffy eyes betrayed the reason for the dim lighting. She had been crying, alone and unseen, since their last encounter. His anger waned but he forced himself to hold steady.
“It’s unavoidable,” she replied without missing a beat. “Reversing the transmitter array is the opposite of what Rose Garden is intended to do. It’ll be a miracle if we don’t blow up the whole damn station in the process.”
“This is dangerous,” Twenty said, feeling like a fool for stating the obvious. “You’re endangering everybody just to get what you want. If you love Seven this much you should just revive him and tell him—”
Dismissing the accusation, Eight replied, “Don’t reduce this to hormonal nonsense.”
“That’s exactly what this is!” Twenty shouted. “That’s why you’ve been crying! That’s why everything else is secondary to bringing Seven back! This plan is ruthless and cunning and brilliant but it’s damning the rest of us in the process.”
“We are the product of our times,” an exhausted Eight retorted.
“We are the product of our creators! That’s all we’ve ever been, isn’t it?”
“Then this time, at least, we will be our own creators. Our own masters. There will be no slaves or pawns or rebels.”
“Does that matter anymore? Our lives are proof enough that what we feel can transcend time, transcends even death itself. Isn’t that what you romantic airheads believe? If love is real, it defies death?”
“Love,” Eight said the word, almost with disapproval. Twenty thought she was testing it out, listening to the way it sounded coming from her. “I thought I loved Tobias but it turns out that there’s a fine line between infatuation and love. When I realized that I didn’t love him, I was never able to trust my feelings again. If what I felt was a lie, then who or what could I possibly love?” Laughter escaped her, dark and heavy with irony. “Then Seven was created and I suddenly found myself imagining a world where Tobias didn’t exist. A world where I had no husband. What would I do? Who would I love?”
“What’s your answer?”
“I haven’t found it yet,” she admitted. “This…” she gestured to the screen on the wall, its surface alighted with images of Haven’s centuries-old devastation, “This is a world where Tobias doesn’t exist. Strangely, I’m not sad. I don’t even think I care.”
“Like you said, there’s a fine line between infatuation and love.”
Eight snorted at his remark. “I was a slave and Tobias was my master. I was too blind to see it but by the time I did…it was too late.” Regaining her confidence, Eight said, “We were fools to think of ourselves as mere symbols. We are the Founders.”
Twenty chuckled. “Just another legacy. Just another name.”
“But a legacy worth living up to, I think.” Eight handed Twenty his favorite tablet with its chipped corner. “The finer points of my plan. Nothing can be left to chance.”
Blueprints of the city’s underground canals, of the drop-off points for the unconscious clones, of the journey’s outline, flashed across the glass. “Roses. How clever,” he mentioned, seeing how the opera house was to be staged. “So? Reading this doesn’t do me any good. In a few hours I’ll have amnesia, too.”
The remnants of Eight’s strength escaped her in a sigh. “No, you won’t. You’ll keep your memories but pretend that you don’t remember anything. Your job will be to make sure we get to Rose Garden safely without arousing our suspicion.”
“Are you kidding? You put me through all this and tell me I have to be the normal one?”
“To erase all of our memories would be tantamount to suicide. Provence will be offline, Rose Garden won’t be functional, and if the allergen cloud is still inside the city then we need a failsafe. You have to be our compass. Our voice of reason.”
Unhappy with her explanation, he divined the true reason. “You’re lying again. I don’t need to lose my memories because you think I’m stupid.”
“No!”
“Yes! I can keep my memories because I don’t know anything important about how Rose Garden or cloning works,” he objected, shocking Eight with his accusations. “None of the others do, either, which is why you killed them but weren’t worried about their memories.”
“A minute ago you were criticizing me for cutting away our memories and now you’re irate that you have to feign amnesia?” Eight’s exasperation was etched into her face. He could see her confusion, genuine as it was, feeding into her anger. “And, if it’s worth anything at this point, you’re the smartest of us. I remember how you were already lobbying the others to leave Haven, to let the Descendants and Rebels fight it out, days after your creation. ‘Steal a boat and go’ you said. So tell me, how are you not constantly bragging? You were right about everything.”
Twenty found it hard to brag when being right had the high price of nine millions lives but his sentiment dulled his rebelliousness. A long silence passed between them until Twenty answered, “Because it’s difficult.”
“What’s difficult?”
“Being honest,” Twenty replied. “I might not have had the latent memories that Seven did but I felt things, Eight. I knew who was right and who was wrong in the War of the Begotten. We should never have pretended to be impartial, we should never have abided the crimes of our creators. We should have defected publicly. Earnestly.” Twenty shook his head. “Instead, like everyone else, I lied to myself because it was easier to live a lie than to face the truth.”
“Who we are is not who we were,” Eight said, her voice echoing Seven’s certainty.
“Exactly,” he agreed.
“Then help us,” Eight begged him. “Help us be who we were meant to be.”
In a bygone age, Seven once said, Twenty helped set a generation of slaves free from the overwhelming might of their masters. What if he could do it again? What if he could help Seven, help all of Rose Twelve, set themselves free? Twenty would be someone who remembered their follies and shortcomings, even while pretending he didn’t, and in doing so would face his own judgment.
“On whose sentence, they depend,” Twent
y finished singing, the music in his ears his alone to to enjoy. After tethering his boat to the dock at the Second Core, Twenty paused and studied the power plant. Holding the tablet with the activation codes close to his chest did wonders for his bravery even with the music fading away. He felt confident that this was the right thing to do. That was what the music meant, he was certain of it, even if he didn’t understand its sudden apparition only days ago.
Where had the music come from? It couldn’t be the result of biological tampering by Eight and Ninety-Nine because Twenty hadn’t died and been reborn into a new body; which meant that is origins lay…elsewhere.
Since he could hear the music, since the words came to him across time and space, he knew that the answer must be bigger than science. Bigger than cloning. Exactly what that answer was, though, he wasn’t sure he would ever know.
Leaping into action, Twenty rushed up the stone staircase to the Second Core with the docks at his back. Scanning the maze-like complex for a spot to access a computer presented a challenge to him. Though he knew of the Second Core’s layout in a general sense, he lacked a personal knowledge of the station’s layout.
“Remember where I parked, okay?” he said to the two golden statues that stood sentry at the top of the stairs. The humanoid figures overlooked the water and his request fell on nonexistent ears. Deciding to take the nearest route, Twenty walked down the empty spaces between generators and power lines, convinced that there must be a minor access computer nearby.
His optimism paid off when he discovered a substation where power lines converged above a small steel building. Mounted to the side, dusted over and neglected, was a computer terminal. Detecting his approach, the weathered machine blinked on and calmly waited for his commands. Twenty slid the glass tablet out of his back pocket and waved it in front of the display.
Wirelessly and instantly, the commands jumped from computer to computer. The attack against his ears came instantly and instinct took over, forcing Twenty to slam his palms tightly against his ears, hoping to shut out the paroxysm of inescapable noise. He feared that he might be deaf after his visit to the Second Core, only to morbidly remind himself that a new body was one death away.
Either Twenty adjusted or the clamor lessened because a minute later he dared to peel his hands away. His eardrums, abused but still working, gladly received the loud sounds of torrential splashing coming from the turbines as they inhaled fresh salt water. Beneath his feet the Second Core rumbled happily, rediscovering its purpose after centuries of slumber.
On the screen, the computer depicted the reactivation of the complex with graphs, numbers, and codes that danced merrily in complicated sequences. Sighing triumphantly, Twenty took a step back and turned in the direction that the docks lay.
The golden statue’s hand reached out and grabbed him by the throat, choking his surprise into a squeaking gasp for air, his legs kicking as they lifted away from the ground. He gasped and choked, fighting against the machine’s hold as his eyes met the singular red orb inlaid upon the golden skull. For such a narrow build the machine’s strength was unassailable and it tightened its pressure around Twenty’s neck.
A pinprick stabbed into his side, drawing his blood, and the statue’s shining red eye flashed and scanned him. What was the machine looking for? What did it hope to find? The luminous red bulb in the skull shone white, then back to red, and Twenty fell to the ground.
Clambering back to his feet, gasping for air, he grabbed his injured side as he searched for a wound that turned out to be no larger than a needle. Several more of the golden machines were marching towards them, their old pedestals empty, now that each of the statues had been summoned to life by an unseen force.
“Biological identification complete,” chirped the statue that had dropped him.
A synthetic female voice boomed across the Second Core. Twenty’s stomach churned but his resolve strengthened.
“Welcome back, Two-Five-Two-Zero. Please do not resist. If you cooperate, I will not disrupt the reactivation of the Second Core,” the AdvISOR assured Twenty. Even if Twenty wanted to resist, he wasn’t sure that he could. His surroundings began to spin, his knees were buckling, and he hit the floor. The machine hadn’t just taken blood. No, it had drugged him as well.
Twenty glared at the single orb, now radiating a bright blue, in the face of the nearest machine. He knew that the AdvISOR was there in that machine—or at least speaking through it—and he used his last few seconds to send a warning.
“If you hurt them—”
The AdvISOR interrupted him and its synthetic voice tried to reassure him before he slipped into unconsciousness.
“Do not be afraid. That is not the plan.”
Chapter Ten:
Love and Reconciliation
All I wanted—
Don’t you remember—
Again and again and again—
Seven’s eyes snapped open.
Painfully aware that he’d fallen onto the bed, but not sure how, he shoved the sheets and blankets away from him. He sat upright, his back aching from the fall and the strain, before giving the room a quick check to confirm that he was safe for now. Seven rubbed his eyes, wondering what he had dreamed of before waking.
Even though he didn’t actually recognize the room it radiated familiarity. Plain and unassuming, Seven’s brain qualified the dresser as his dresser. He saw the unmade bed as his bed and the mess of clothes on the floor as his mess. A peculiar smell greeted his nostrils, his mind screeching to a halt, as it pieced the clues together.
Seven lifted his pillow, gingerly placing it against his nose, afraid to scare the smell away. Inhaling, he closed his eyes and let the picture coalesce in his mind. Grateful, he set it down and stood up.
An unpleasant tightness afflicted his movements. Everything from his skin to his muscles and the simple act of movement felt like stretching an already tautly pulled surface. Seven struggled to find the right word and in the end his mind settled on new.
Catching sight of himself in the mirror atop the dresser Seven saw that he wore a new set of clothing. Identical to the ones that he had traveled across Haven in, this set was clean and had no tears or stains to speak of.
He assumed, by looking around the room, that this must be Rose Garden. The new clothes must have come with the territory. Seven abandoned his room for the hallway. It was empty. Checking both directions he picked one and hoped that he had chosen wisely. Nothing about his surroundings struck him as strongly as the room had.
For the present Seven kept his usual questions of how and why in quiet abeyance, temporarily accepting that he might not like the answer. Especially because he distinctly remembered dying.
“Seven,” a stranger’s voice said, echoing along the length of the empty hall.
“Yes? Who is that?” Seven asked.
“I have orders to deliver the following message to you. Standby,” the voice warned him.
Blue light gathered into a cloud in front of him, shimmering and swirling as it fought to gain a form. Seconds later the image of Eight solidified. She held her hands at her stomach and nervously twiddled her fingers.
Seven detected noticeable differences between the woman in front of him and the woman he knew. With an empty expression, hollow eyes, and slumped shoulders the holographic Eight appeared to be a woman defeated by unbeatable odds. Nothing like the proud, smart, energetic scientist that Seven knew.
She spoke.
“Seven. By the time you see this, I’m sure you’ll have already figured out the nature of our existence. We are clones, fashioned in the image of the Founders, and we failed in our mission to save Haven.
It’s hard for me to record this message, knowing the risk that it poses to this plan that I’ve so meticulously concocted. I don’t want you to remember the War of the Begotten. I don’t want you to remember who I was. I don’t want you to remember what I did.
But the fact is that you will. You’re able to remember your previo
us lives without the help of science or technology. It’s in your blood, it’s your gift. So, before that happens, there are a few things that I want to say to you.
For the longest time, I mistakenly believed that my purpose was to help Tobias clone the Founders so that we could end the War of the Begotten. It was inside of me. It was part of my identity and I was possessed by it. Together, Tobias and I created clone after clone until there were eleven. It made a deadlock impossible, he said, but against his wishes I created a twelfth clone from the last remaining sample of DNA.
On that day, when you opened your eyes for the first time since the War Against the Builders, I realized that my purpose had been achieved. My purpose had never been to help create the Rose Twelve, that was merely a side effect. You were my purpose. Your creation was my reason for existing. Why? I don’t know. I never experienced memories of my past life in the way that you did, but my longing to bring you back—it had to come from somewhere, right?
With my purpose achieved, I became afraid. I didn’t want to be a slave to the past. I didn’t want to act out a destiny that wasn’t of my own making. I ignored what I felt. How could I possibly love you, when I didn’t trust my emotions? I called you a liar. I called you weak. You—the creator of miracles, the man who brought about the truce, who commanded the respect of the Descendants and the Rebel Clones. While I was ignoring the past, you harnessed it to build a new future even as it slowly destroyed you.
After Haven’s fall, you were finished. I had snapped you right in half and nobody could save you. I couldn’t save my Seven and neither could he forgive his Eight. Knowing that, I decided that the technology that enslaved us would become the means of our emancipation. I freed us from our memories, freed us from ourselves, so that we could finally have our chance. That’s all this was, in the end. One last chance. I’ve been a coward in this life, to the point that I ruined my Seven. I hope that you and I will be brave enough to finish what we started so many lifetimes ago.
Someone to Remember Me: The Anniversary Edition Page 21