Regenerate

  My throat feels dry. “Yes.”

  “May I call you Averi?”

  “No.” My answer surprises both of us, but he doesn’t argue.

  “I see. Averielle, you may address me as Mr. Zwick.” Really, no first name? “We called you in here today to ask you a few questions.”

  What could they possibly want to ask me? And in person? No one ever gets called to come in; if anything, they come to us. There’s something very wrong about all of this. He places his finger on the Psy-Borg and holds it there. I think he’s uploading notes. His eerily pale blue eyes look hollow.

  He looks up and catches my stare. “Are you ready to begin?”

  I gulp. “Is this a test or something?”

  His expression is completely void of emotional cues. “What would I be testing you about?”

  I shrug and glance around at the smooth, bare walls. “I have no idea. You called me in. Is there a score I should be worrying about?”

  He smiles tolerantly and blinks. “Only if your answers are fabricated.”

  This seat just got a lot less comfortable.

  “Averielle, have you ever been to see our local fishery?”

  That time with Lander pops into my head. My answer is slow and drawn. “Yes. Once.” My palms feel clammy.

  “And to your knowledge, has Mr. Raxtin Ray North ever visited the fishery?” The inflection in his voice sounds like he already believes he knows the true answer and is waiting to see if I’ll guess correctly.

  My neck feels warm and my pulse is gaining speed. “No. He didn’t even know about it until I told him where it . . . was.” Oh, crud. I probably I shouldn’t have said that. Do they think we did something to it? Why would they?

  A twitch of a smile ticks at the left corner of his lip. “Miss Gouch, on the date of October the fifteenth, two thousand eighty-five, you were under mandated medical bed rest. Did you leave your pod at all that afternoon?”

  I was under the stupid advisory for multiple days; how am I supposed to recognize one of them by the date? “I don’t really remember what day you’re talking about. It was all kind of a blur. What did my tracker say?”

  Those pale eyes of his stare at me coolly. “That you were home, in your pod.”

  “Then why are you—”

  The projection flares to life in front of me. It’s a surveillance recording of Rax and me sneaking out my building’s side door and various clips of footage showing us riding in the direction of the lake. Which also happens to pass the road to the fishery. I swallow hard. Oh no.

  Mr. Zwick’s head cocks upward. “Clearly our data is inaccurate. Would you mind explaining why?”

  My breathing is getting heavy in my chest. “My tracker’s been glitchy lately. You can even ask my Mom.” Hopefully she spaced filing a tech-mech order, or they’d have run a diagnostic by now and would know I’m lying.

  “We did ask her,” he says flatly. “Averielle, as you know, trackers are purely for the protection of our precious citizens. If you get lost, hurt, or turn up missing, we can find you. In this case, it would’ve instantly cleared you of any allegations. But since your tracker ‘happened’ to be glitching that afternoon, and remarkably at the same time as your unsanctioned excursion, you do not have said protection.”

  I adjust the neck of my sloppy shirt. Is it really, really hot in here? And why on earth don’t they ventilate these rooms? I can hardly catch a good breath. “Allegations? Do you think I’m a criminal? We just went out for a ride to Fuller’s pond. Check our history, we went there like a million times as kids.”

  “You didn’t file an activities request for your most recent visit.” The fingers of his free hand keep rolling across each other like he’s fighting not to ball them into a fist.

  “Of course not. I was supposed to be at home.” I can’t help glaring at him.

  He smiles and it makes my skin crawl. “At last, a fully truthful answer from you.”

  I swallow but don’t drop my stone-cold glower.

  “Please explain to us why you acted insubordinately and failed to comply with your medical mandate. Are you trying to bring harm to yourself?”

  That is the stupidest question. It’s not like I jumped off a freaking cliff. “No!” I grit my teeth. “I just had to get out for a while. I felt perfectly fine and Mom was driving me crazy. I couldn’t stand hearing her take one more chat ping about how my health was, like she even knew or actually cared. Or hear everyone say stupid things like, ‘Let us know what we can do,’ yet they never even stop by to make sure I didn’t die in my sleep or something; they just want to look good to all their dumb, virtual friends and—”

  He holds up a hand to stop my ramble.

  I clamp my mouth shut and press my lips together so tightly it forces my welling tears to retreat. My breathing is a pant like I ran a race. Each breath rattles in my chest, making me want to cough.

  His next words come from deep in his chest, like a growl. “Miss Gouch, why did the two of you go to Fuller’s pond, and what were your precise activities?”

  They really must not know. Do they normally know every second of our lives? Part of me feels triumphant right now. I’m glad they don’t know. I don’t want them knowing every little detail about me. I’m beginning to see why Jo lives how she does. “We went because we wanted to. We skipped rocks for about half an hour, then left.”

  His lips turn down at the corners ever so slightly. “Did you go anywhere else with Mr. North?”

  I shake my head.

  “Did Mr. North escort you home?”

  I try to remember; I don’t want to get him in trouble. Wait, they should already have this information. “Didn’t you check the surveillance feed? I don’t need to answer questions you already know.” I’m not sure where my nerve is coming from (maybe my dad), but I like it.

  He grits his teeth and his eyes narrow like icy daggers. “And after that?”

  “Again, as your footage shows you, I was home. What’s this about? Are we going to jail for disobeying my medical orders?” I’ve experienced firsthand what they do when they feel like it, even when someone does follow their stupid orders. I’m done cowering to these jerks.

  The man’s face calms eerily. “Jail is an old-fashioned institution requiring an unsightly amount of resources while still managing to fail at its purpose. Now we have far more sophisticated and seamless methods of maintaining peace and safety for law-abiding citizens.”

  That was not a no. “So, that means . . . what?”

  He straightens his shoulders and his lips form a thin line. “No charges are being pressed at this time. However, you and your friends will be kept under heightened surveillance until this matter is cleared up.”

  Still rather vague. Are they going to suddenly swoop in, take us all away and block our memories? “Cleared up meaning what?”

  He smiles once more and it doesn’t touch his pale eyes. “Meaning we find the real culprit, or prove we already have done so.”

  My stomach is knotted up inside as I push out the front doors of the Operations Building. For all my sudden bravado in there, the after-effect is verging on an anxiety attack. My knees are threatening to buckle as I make my way to the bi-peds.

  I keep running Mr. Zwick’s words through my head about more “seamless and sophisticated” means of keeping the peace. Dad didn’t seem peaceful when they took me away. What did they do to him?

  As my fingers close around the handlebars, I stop to take a deep breath. Fresh air never smelled so good.

  A tall male shadow moves across me and I jump, then whirl at the guy, grappling in my bag for my shears. My fingers stop searching as I realize it’s Raxtin. His posture is drooped and his face is slightly ashen. He’s so lost in thought he doesn’t even acknowledge I’m here as he pulls out his bi-ped.

  I step closer, my eyes scanning him. “Rax? Is everything ok?” I ask.

  He blinks and shakes out of his daze. “Oh, hi, Averi. I—I’m not sure, honestly.”

&
nbsp; I touch his shoulder lightly. “What happened?”

  His eyes flick down at my hand, then he tosses a glance at the imposing office building behind him. “I’ll tell you on the way home.”

  Once we’re a good distance away, our pedaling slows so we can talk.

  “Kachina was right,” says Rax. “Someone poisoned all the fish. There’s nothing left of them. They’re calling it an attack . . . and I’m their prime suspect.”

  I think my jaw just hit the ground. “What! Why?”

  “That day I took you to Fuller’s pond, while we were there”—he taps the place on his bicep where he wears the tracking blocker—“my tracker showed me at the fishery. It was at the same time they estimate the fish were killed.”

  My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “But that’s impossible, you had your—”

  Rax presses a finger up to his lips, hushing me. He nods. “I agree. Averi, I think I’ve been framed. They say I’m facing lifetime exile.”

  My throat tightens, but my mind feels numb at his words. Exile. They can do that? But he’s a GAP. “Rax, who would frame you, and why? It’s just a bunch of fish.”

  His jaw quivers and he keeps his eyes straight ahead, not appearing to really see what’s around him. “I don’t know. But they are taking it very seriously.” His eyes slide to me now, and his bushy brow furrows in the middle. “I’m sorry I got you in this mess, Averi.”

  “No, Rax, it’s good I was with you. I’m glad I can vouch for your whereabouts.”

  His expression softens and he offers a sad smile. “For that, I am glad too. Thanks for sticking up for me.”

  “Of course.”

  Who else have they questioned?

  A horrible thought settles over me and hangs on my shoulders like a heavy, wet blanket. There’s only one other person I know of who for sure knows where the fishery is: Lander.

  My limbs feel suddenly heavy. But there’s no way he would do something like this. I blink and shake my head. There has to be someone else, or at least another explanation for why he of all people knows about that place. After all, he just moved here. Heck, he doesn’t even eat fish!

  But that final argument seems to add more weight to the blanket of suspicion I’m now shouldering.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  As I walk into my astronomy unit first thing on Monday, my chest twists painfully. Rax, Lander, and I share it, but Lander is not where he normally sits. He’s at the back, flirting it up with technicolored Tish.

  Is he still mad about me calling him out the other day? And did they reassign seats, or is he choosing to sit elsewhere? I didn’t know you could choose to sit anywhere but where they assigned you. And how did an extra chair materialize in here? This was a full unit period. Did they bring it in just so he could move?

  I slide into the seat next to Raxtin, and his smile is far too large for his usual demeanor in this unit. Clearly he’s pleased about Lander not being on the other side of me. He wouldn’t be grinning so much if he realized all my units today are with Lander.

  “There you are this morning,” Rax says. He eyes me over. “I see you opted to forgo the golden tights today.”

  I frown at him but can think of nothing good as a rebuttal. The empty seat next to me feels as if a cold draft is radiating from it.

  Rax laughs. “Hey, don’t worry.” He slips his arm around my shoulders. “I still thought you looked cute.”

  His tone doesn’t cheer me. I still feel stupid. Besides, Lander said I looked sexy.

  The virtually-transmitted teacher’s image appears, letting us know the unit is about to start. She instructs us to turn to the chapters on solar flares for a review. The live feed flickers twice. How have they not fixed the weird glitches yet? I pull out my e-paper and stylus. Loud, giddy laughter from Tish at the back makes me press the buttons on my paper with unnecessary force. Thank goodness that floosy isn’t in all my units with Lander.

  Each of my units for the rest of A day play out the same: Lander sitting somewhere else and flirting with the most avid flirt in every given unit. I wonder if he’s even noticed I’m alive today. Awesome. One day I’m letting him kiss me, and two days later I don’t exist anymore. Apparently, my make-out skills need serious help.

  Even during lunch he’s sitting with a new group. It’s not so much a group, though—more like his own personal harem, because it’s just him with at least ten girls hanging on his every word. Gag! Despite myself, it dawns on me I’ve taken the time to count each and every one, and there are actually twelve. Jerk. Zeph is over there too.

  I stare down at my plate as my friends chat and laugh around me like nothing’s wrong.

  “If the transfer-bot and air chair were down, how did they even get your dad out so they could fix it?” Kachina asks Raxtin. “Did they have a bunch of tubers lift him or something?”

  The scraping of Rax’s fork against the polymer of his tray makes my nerves cringe. “They brought in some sort of specialized slide and basically rolled him out of his chair and straight into bed.”

  “Are you serious?” says Jett, clapping a hand on the table. Even without looking up I can hear the amusement in his voice.

  Rax swallows and clears his throat. “Yeah, I had to leave the room so I wouldn’t laugh. It just looked really funny, if I’m being honest.”

  I’m unable to help the comical image from popping into my head, and if I were in a better mood it would make me burst out laughing. Right now it just makes me more angry. By their own apathy, our parents don’t even have enough muscle tone or bone density to move from a chair to a bed. I force my jaw to move and mechanically chew my salad.

  Lander’s charismatic laughter rings out across the room and into my ears. I wish I could plug them without having to explain to everyone why. I stir my bland food into a swirl of lumpy mush. How fitting. It kind of looks like my stomach feels right now. The worst part is my inner loser really wants to go sit at his table. I doubt he’d even let me. My swallow sticks and I hunch forward.

  I should be glad for this change. After all, there’s a good chance he poisoned or at least knows something about who killed all the fish. But I sure don’t feel glad. I feel dumped.

  My feet drag like a pair of boulders with shoes on as I walk to my final unit of the day. I didn’t notice how much I’d started to like social studies until realizing how much I’m dreading it now. As I slink through the door, I lift my eyes to my seat. There it is at the back, and the one next to it is vacant. My stomach twists, and I fight the stinging in my nose and throat.

  I do a quick sweep of the room. Lander is sitting on Pollina’s desk and talking to her with wide, exaggerated hand gestures. Pollina and her friend Ronilynn are flipping their hair and posing their postures. I bet anything they hiked down their necklines when he wasn’t looking, ’cause seriously that’s ridiculous. I hate feeling so pouty about this.

  I hurry past them, my eyes trained on the floor ahead of me, and collapse into my seat.

  The virtually-transmitted teacher, Mrs. Krete, pops up and the prerecorded voice warns for all students to take their seats. Lander slides off Pollina’s desk and touches her arm in parting, then heads towards his seat next to me. I clear my throat and straighten, trying to look busy with my e-paper.

  Lander doesn’t say anything.

  The seconds feel heavy as they drag on in horrid silence.

  The unit starts.

  “Today we are going to discuss what defines one as a helpful contributor to society. We will examine how certain social castes such as the Lost, the Artificials, the Grands, and the GAPs have both succeeded and failed in this crucial, obligatory function required of any member in a given society. Let’s start with the Artificials, shall we?” she says.

  Immediately the comment pings flow into the class file, projected next to the teacher’s head. Each one is read and discussed. Such as how the Artificials boosted and now sustain the work force. So while they are a drain on the system in many ways due to their mini
mal brain function, in others they have become beneficial.

  Something about this topic unsettles me, but I’m not sure why.

  Lander is fidgeting, twisting and tapping his stylus on the desk. Apparently, he’s not ok with this either.

  When we discuss the GAPs, of course we get a glowing review, even though I can think of at least a dozen ways even we put a strain on the system.

  Finally, the contributions of the Lost come up, and the comment file goes dead still.

  The teacher’s lips twitch in a slight smirk, and her gaze looks haughtily around the room. “Can anyone think of a contribution from the Lost?”

  Nothing.

  Emotion tightens my throat. I grit my teeth and hit the Live Comment button.

  “Yes, Miss Gouch?” she says. She sounds surprised.

  I clear my throat. As firm and determined as I can, I say, “They gave us life.”

  Several heads in the room hang down, like they feel ashamed they hadn’t remembered that fact.

  The teacher, however, holds my gaze. “A valuable point. But they are mostly too old for that now. Can you think of any current contributions they make?”

  My head snaps back and my hands curl. “Should that matter?” I say. “They’re still people, no matter how broken or ‘Lost’ they are.”

  The teacher breaks eye contact with me and looks around at the students. “Miss Gouch brings up the very point I wish to make today. Well done. Students, should the amount one taxes a society be permitted to be greater than what they contribute?”

  Pings fly like crazy, and almost all of them say no.

  I can’t believe I’m hearing this. What are they suggesting be done to change that? No one is mentioning that part. My climbing blood pressure squeezes the back of my neck.

  “Well said, Averi,” says Lander without looking over.

  I scowl at his random praise. “Thanks.”

  His eyes stay focused down on his e-paper, the muscles of his jaw tight. “My question is, do you actually believe it?” His voice is low and hard.