by Zoe Cannon
* * *
Her mom answered the door right away. Home before dinner on a Monday. How had Becca ever imagined it was by her own choice? She could see all the other signs now, too, all the things she had missed last week. The bags under her mom’s eyes, the stony cast to her mouth. The way she held herself, rigid and tired at the same time, as though she were about to buckle under a weight that she didn’t dare drop.
Becca took a deep breath as she stepped into the apartment. She made sure the door was closed and locked behind her before speaking. “I talked to someone from Investigation today.”
Every change Becca had noticed in her mom was suddenly amplified, like her air of normalcy was only an act she had been putting on for Becca’s benefit. “Then you know.”
Becca tried to imagine her mom in Jameson’s place, curled against the wall of the cell, half-conscious as she recovered from what they had done to her. She shied away from the image as if it had burned her. It was wrong, wrong on some fundamental level that had nothing to do with her loathing for Internal’s methods. Her mom belonged, as much as Becca despised it, on the other side of the interrogation chair. Her mom belonged here, in this apartment, holding Becca when she was hurt. Untouchable. Unbroken.
“This vacation wasn’t your idea, was it?” Becca asked.
There was no warmth in her mom’s half-smile. “It was… a strong suggestion.”
“They’re being ridiculous. They should know better than to suspect you of anything like that.” They should be suspecting me. They should have arrested me.
And they would have, if Milo Miyamoto hadn’t stepped in.
What was his game? Why did he want to protect her?
Was he—
No. If he were resistance, he never would have come after Jameson and the others. Heather had made it clear that that had all been his doing.
So then why had he blocked her arrest? Why didn’t he want the other investigator questioning her? It didn’t make any sense.
But right now it didn’t matter. Whatever his reasons, he had done it. She was safe.
She was safe, and her mother was facing the fate that should have been hers.
“They’ll find out the truth soon enough.” The tension in her mom’s eyes didn’t match her confident words.
I’m sorry, Becca wanted to say. For killing Jameson, for using her mom’s access to do it. For being who she was. A dissident. Dangerous.
But apologies wouldn’t change anything.
“They said there are a lot of things about it that don’t make sense,” she said instead. “That’s why they haven’t arrested you yet. They’re trying to find another explanation.” Although that would be a lot harder now that Milo’s intervention had blocked them from the truth. Guilt twisted her gut into a hard little knot.
Her mom gave her another tight half-smile. “That has less to do with the case itself, I’m sure, and more to do with the fact that we don’t work in a vacuum. Arresting me could have devastating consequences for the country as a whole. Not because of what I do—I’m valuable, yes, but I could be replaced. My reputation, however, is another matter. People know my name. If I were to be arrested, it could cast doubt upon Internal itself; it could severely weaken our position in society. I’m inclined to think Investigation’s reluctance to arrest me is mostly due to outside pressure, probably from Public Relations.”
That explained why her mom hadn’t been arrested. But how did Milo’s protection of Becca fit in? That part didn’t make any more sense now than it had before.
“So right now they’re just leaving you alone?” she asked.
“We have… an agreement. I’ve taken an indefinite leave of absence, and have agreed to increased surveillance. I’ll be allowed to live my life as normal until they reach their decision.” Her voice was as controlled as Becca’s. But Becca could hear the fear, if she listened closely enough.
She made sure to keep her own fear locked tightly inside her as she asked her next question. “Do you have any idea what might have happened? A dissident had to have gotten your keycard, right? And your access codes.”
Her mom sighed. “It’s more complicated than that, I’m afraid. I was under suspicion weeks before that prisoner was killed.”
“What? Why?”
“This is the part that makes me suspect we haven’t eliminated the problem inside Internal.” Her voice was calm, but her body vibrated with tension. “They have a record of me accessing—multiple times, no less—files that I didn’t even know existed. Files pertaining to a highly classified program within Processing.”
The air rushed from Becca’s lungs like someone had punched her in the gut. All the times she had gone into her mom’s files. All the information she had collected about the reeducation program. She hadn’t suspected. Why hadn’t she suspected? Why hadn’t she recognized what she was doing?
“Being at the highest clearance level, I do technically have access to those files. But I had no reason to look for them. Either some technical malfunction came along at exactly the wrong moment, or someone did this intentionally to implicate me as a dissident. And that means more infiltrators—infiltrators who were able to find out those files existed when I didn’t know about them myself.” She rubbed her temples. “And all I can do is trust that Investigation will be competent enough to find them. If I could just be back at 117 working on this…”
If her mom said anything else, Becca didn’t hear it.
My fault.
My mother might die because of me.
Her mom pushed Becca’s hair away from her face, like Becca was five years old again. “I don’t want you to worry about this, Becca. It isn’t your problem.”
She had to get out of here. Before her mom could see the guilt in her eyes, before apologies started spilling from her lips like a confession. Mumbling vague agreement, she headed for the door.
“Becca.” Her mom’s voice stopped her.
Becca turned around.
“I hesitate to even bring this up. I know we’ve put the past behind us.” She looked away, almost like she was embarrassed. “But… I have to ask.”
Becca spoke through numb lips. “What is it?”
“Surveillance has been monitoring my file access since the first time I supposedly looked at those files. According to their records, the day my leave of absence began, I called up the file of the daughter of the dissident they suspect me of killing. I haven’t touched anything work-related since they explained the situation to me and outlined the terms of the arrangement.” She paused. “But you were there that day.”
I have to get out of here. But she couldn’t move.
“I’m only going to ask you this once.” Her mom placed her hands on Becca’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Did you access those files?”
Lying was pointless. Defiance was pointless. It always ended the same way.
And if she confessed…
She would die in 117, like she had always known she would.
She would die… but her mom would be safe.
Her mom didn’t deserve to die for what Becca had done.
The confession was on her lips—but something stopped her.
Kara.
If she died, if she cleared her mother’s name, there would be no one left to save Jameson’s daughter.
Her mom’s willful ignorance had gotten her this far. Maybe it could get her just a little further. She could see it in her mom’s eyes even now, hear it in the way her voice had tightened when she had asked the question. She knew what her mom wanted to hear.
It was the only answer she could give.
“No.”
Her mom pulled her closer. Becca flinched, almost pulled away, but this wasn’t an interrogation, and her mom’s suddenly frail-seeming arms were only wrapping around her in a hug.
“I’m sorry,” she said against Becca’s hair. “I had to ask.”
“I understand.” Her mom’s willful ignorance had held. Becca was still safe.
She was safe… and any day now, Enforcement could come for her mom.
Because of me.
She tightened her arms around her mom. Her mom felt smaller than she remembered, as if she had already begun to disappear.
I’m sorry.
* * *
After work the next day, Becca stepped onto the sidewalk outside Investigation 212, directly into Heather’s path. “I need to talk to you.”
She expected to see confusion on Heather’s face. Or maybe anger. Heather had spent weeks chasing after Becca with no success, and when they had finally talked, Becca had met her tears with hostility and ordered her to leave. And now here she was doing her own chasing, waiting outside Investigation 212 like some kind of stalker. Demanding to talk to Heather, after everything she had said and everything she hadn’t done.
Instead she saw raw hope in Heather’s eyes, so intense she had to look away.
“It won’t take long.” Just long enough to get the information she needed. She wouldn’t risk spending any more time with Heather than she had to. “Just drive with me for a few minutes, okay?”
Heather nodded too quickly. “Okay.” She moved like a mouse, all hesitance and sudden jerks, as she opened the car door and got in. Becca slid into the driver’s side and pulled out of the parking lot before either of them could change their minds.
For the first couple of minutes, Becca didn’t say anything. She ignored Heather’s quick darting glances her way, tried to keep her eyes on the road as she drove toward nothing. When she had gotten the idea of coming to Heather, all she had thought was Maybe there’s still a way to help my mom, but now the doubts came flooding in. There was still a good chance that someone had told Heather to spy on her. She could be dooming herself just by saying what she was about to say after the Investigator had ordered her to keep it quiet. All for a chance at… what, exactly? She didn’t even know.
But it was her only chance to fix this. The only thing she could do besides wait to see whether the Enforcers showed up at her mom’s door.
“You know Milo Miyamoto, right?” she asked, trying to sound casual. “I think you said he’s the one you helped bring down that resistance group.”
Heather’s face fell. “That’s what you wanted to talk about? Milo?”
“Please,” said Becca. “It’s important.”
After a moment, Heather nodded. “Milo’s been great since I joined Investigation. If not for him, I probably would have quit by now. People like me—people with parents like mine, I mean—aren’t exactly welcome in Investigation these days.” She eyed Becca quizzically. “Why?”
She took a breath. Steadied her hands on the steering wheel as they drove toward downtown. “Do you know what he’s been working on lately? With my…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
The car was silent for a long moment.
“I’m sorry,” Heather finally said. “I should have told you.”
“No. It’s okay. You were supposed to keep it quiet, right? You did the right thing.” Maybe Becca should have felt betrayed. But she and Heather hadn’t been friends for a long time. There were no obligations between them anymore. All she felt was relief. If Heather knew, maybe that meant she could help.
“You’re not mad?” Heather studied Becca’s face like she was trying to read the truth there. “So then why did you want to talk?” Another gleam of hungry hope flashed in her eyes.
“My mother is innocent. You know she is.” After all, if her mom were a dissident, she would have tried to help Heather’s parents instead of personally carrying out their executions. But she didn’t say that.
“I know.” Heather’s voice was quiet. Maybe she was thinking the same thing.
“Milo is in charge of the investigation. What does he think?”
A pause, thick with reluctance. “He wants to prove she’s a dissident,” Heather finally answered. “And he thinks he can do it.”
Guilt sat heavily on her chest. “How? What’s he planning?”
“Look, Becca, I…” Heather turned her head away. “I want to help. I do. But I really shouldn’t be talking about this with you. No one is supposed to know about your mom yet, and a lot of people still think you were involved, even if Milo won’t let them do anything about it. If anyone knew we were having this conversation… you know how it would look.” She fingered the door handle, and for a second Becca thought she might leap out of the car.
Becca’s fingers were white against the steering wheel. Cars passed them in a blur. She wasn’t even sure where she was going anymore. “I know you can’t afford to look like you’re taking after your parents. And I know my mom is probably the last person you want to help. But she doesn’t deserve this.” She tightened her hands around the wheel until her fingers started to ache. “If there’s anything I can do… I have to know.”
“It won’t make a difference.” Heather stared out the window. “The truth is, he’s not planning anything. Not like you mean. He doesn’t have some kind of trick in mind. He’s just… doing his job. Investigating. Finding evidence.”
“That’s good, though,” said Becca, loosening her fingers the tiniest bit. The weight on her chest eased a little. “There can’t be that much for him to find. I mean, she’s… you know who she is.”
Heather shook her head. “He already has more than enough. The file access, the dissident who died… Right now Public Relations is blocking him, but he’ll be able to get everyone believing what he wants them to believe eventually. I’ve seen him do it, and that was before he found that dissident group. He has even more influence now.”
In other words, it didn’t matter how clean her mom’s record was. Becca had handed Milo all the evidence he needed. “Why, though? Why does he think she’s guilty? Why does he…” She hesitated. “It sounded like everyone else in Investigation wanted me arrested. He protected me. Why?”
“It’s what he does.” Heather paused. “He asked me about you, you know. About whether I thought you could be involved.”
Milo had asked Heather about her. Heather, the only living person who knew enough of the truth to be dangerous. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him you were completely loyal.”
Becca snuck a glance at Heather. Heather stared straight ahead.
Anything Becca said, anything she asked, would give too much away.
But maybe she was missing the most important part of what Heather had said. Not that Heather had defended her—lied about her—but that Milo had listened.
A flare of hope, bright and hot and unexpected. Maybe Heather could help her after all.
“What if you talked to him about my mom? Tried to convince him she’s innocent? If he listened to you about me, he might listen to you about her.” As if she had any right to ask Heather for anything. But she asked anyway, because she had no choice. “You don’t have to do anything else. Just tell him the truth.”
Right. Just put in a good word for the person who killed your parents, because the friend who kicked you out of her apartment when you came to her for help wants you to. That’s all.
Heather didn’t respond.
The silence stretched out as long as the road in front of them. The road, she realized, that would lead them straight to the destroyed bookstore if she kept going straight. She hastily turned left onto a street she didn’t recognize.
Heather still didn’t answer.
Maybe her request had been too much. Maybe Heather really had been fishing all this time, and Becca had just handed her enough to damn her. Asking her to interfere in an investigation—dissident activity.
Becca saw a street she knew, and turned. Beside her, Heather opened her mouth, then closed it again. She tensed in her seat. Her lips moved without sound, like she was arguing with herself.
Becca didn’t say anything else. The decision was Heather’s now.
It wasn’t until they turned onto the road that would lead them back to Investigation 212 that Heather said something Becca
could hear. “I’ll talk to him for you.”
Becca’s hands loosened their death grip on the steering wheel all at once. She nearly swerved off the road as she collapsed bonelessly in relief. “Thank you.”
Heather’s face was white; she stared fixedly in front of her as she clenched her hands together tightly enough to cut off the blood flow. “I’ll talk to him for you—if you do something for me.”
“Anything.” Whatever it took to protect her mother from what she had done.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day. About how you grew up and realized Internal was right after all. But we were friends for most of our lives. I know you wouldn’t give up on something you believed in that strongly, at least not without some reason. I don’t know what you’re doing in 117, or if you’re working with some dissident group, but I think you’re still a dissident. You have to be.” She sounded the way Becca sounded when her mask was slipping. Like she was seconds away from saying the thing that would send her past the point of no return.
“I’m not a dissident.” For a moment she was sixteen again, repeating the same denial to Heather, to herself, over and over again. I’m not a dissident. As if saying it could make it true.
“I’ll do everything I can to convince Milo that your mother is innocent if you just talk to me. Tell me you’re still a dissident. Tell me if you’re working with the resistance. Tell me how… how you do it. I swear I won’t turn you in. If I were going to do that, I would have done it by now.”
Except that maybe she was waiting for more than Becca had already given her. Maybe she wanted something more incriminating; maybe she thought Becca would lead her to any dissidents who might have escaped the explosion. It made sense—she was working with Milo, and Milo had been the one to destroy the resistance. Or maybe Processing had sent her fishing for information, or the Monitors, or… there were dozens of possibilities.
All of which made more sense than the other explanation.
She recognized Heather’s desperation now. She had seen it in herself.
Heather’s denials at Becca’s apartment last week. I’m not a dissident. I’m not. She had heard it all before, from her own lips.