The Knowing

by Sharon Cameron

  “So which ones did you choose?”

  “Swinging on Adam’s rope. Talking to Nita … ”

  I’m amazed that she can say this without the memory of Nita trying to pull her away.

  “Jumping off the fern roots,” she goes on. “In my bedchamber. On the rug.”

  “Really?” And then a new thought jumps into my head. “Wait a second. How many times did you go to that memory?”

  She’s got the blanket between two fingers. Feeling what it’s made of. Giving it a shy, slightly sly grin. “Possibly … ninety-four.”

  “You’re telling me that you’ve kissed me, like that, ninety-four more times than I’ve kissed you? That is completely unfair.” She raises her amber eyes.

  “Do you need another memory?”

  I decide that I do. All the way until Mom and Dad come back from meeting with the new captain.

  “Day after tomorrow a team is going out to the old city,” Dad says when I come into the common area. “To find what they find and see what they see. It won’t be good, probably.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Son, are you sure you’re not”—he glances at the door to my room, speaks more quietly—“in over your head? Do you need Kataria?”

  “Not at all.”

  I don’t know what he sees in my face, probably guilt, because he just shakes his head and says, “Oh, boy. Right. You know your mother is not going to like that.”

  Mom has not been a fan of Samara in my room. Even with the door open.

  “What are the preferred burial practices?” Dad asks.

  “Burning. But let me check with … ”

  Then Dad sits up, because Samara is in the doorway. In my shorts and T-shirt. It’s the first time she’s emerged.

  “Hi,” she says.

  Dad jumps up. I’m not sure he was ready for how pretty Sam is. When she’s not screaming. “Sam,” he says. “Or Samara? Which do you prefer?”

  “Sam.”

  “Good. Call me Sean. We’re—”

  “Joanna Cho-Rodriguez,” says Mom, coming in from food prep. “We are happy to have you.”

  This is a little stiff. But Sam just smiles and says, “Xièxiè nǐ yāoqǐng wǒ zhu nǐ jiā.”

  I watch Mom’s eyebrows disappear into her fringe of dark hair. “She speaks Chinese? Come,” she says, taking Sam’s hand and pulling her out of the room. “You have to eat with us. When did you last eat?” And I know by Mom’s reaction that Sam must have said something like three or four days. And then I’m hearing Mom offer basically every scrap of food we have in there. In Chinese.

  Dad looks me over. “Son, I call that playing dirty.”

  “I call it playing smart. What would you have done?”

  He shrugs.

  “Anyway, it only took about five seconds. She’ll be having conversations with her before we finish dinner.”

  “About that,” says Dad. “This brain power, it’s artificially created?”

  “Yes. Sam wants to let it go, now that she knows how. The suicide rate Underneath is … well, it’s unbelievable. And for good reason.”

  “Have you considered—”

  “What Earth would do with them? Dad, she did her medical training in three months. She’s a clock, a thermometer, any instrument of measurement you can think of. She remembers being born, and I watched her put a whole library in her head in an hour.”

  Dad puts his hands in his pockets. “And Jill knows?”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure she saw the potential.”

  “Okay. Then let’s just keep as quiet as we can about it. Until we figure out what’s next. Oh, and Dr. Lanik wants to see her. Tomorrow if he could. Before she gets the run of the ship. She’ll like the medical center, I think … ”

  He was right. Sam is in there so long, explaining to Lanik about healing, food, and sleep, getting him to tell her about procedures and equipment, that I slip out, thinking to head to the communications bridge, to hear what the team found in the old city. In case I need to break anything to Sam.

  And then I see Jill, coming back from the exercise cube with a towel over her shoulder. I didn’t know she was allowed out. We’re the only ones in the corridor, and the sight of her standing there, staring at me, makes me think of her silence while I was tied to that post. The terrified people in the streets and the top blown off a mountain. I turn to go back in the med center, and she says, “Beckett, wait.”

  I stop, but I don’t turn. The hall is as quiet as the Underneath.

  “I thought you’d want to know that Faye is back. She doesn’t have any memories from before sunrise, and she was … she was the only one left.”

  That figures. And we left her cuffed, too.

  “It’s like she’s a different person.”

  You’re a different person, Jillian.

  I’ve almost started to walk away again when she says, “Beckett, Earth needs clean DNA. We have to have it, or there’s not going to be any of us left to … There won’t be anyone to … That’s why we needed each other. You and me. And we had to bring them back. To save the Earth. Don’t you see … ”

  “Not that way, Jill,” I cut in. “Don’t pretend there’s any noble reason for doing what Faye did, and I was never going back to Earth. And you know it was all about the money.”

  She steps back like I smacked her. Sam comes out of the medical center then, wearing one of my jumpsuits, and in her tiny pause I can see that Jill is giving her a barrage of memories. That she’s fighting for control. I take her hand, and she relaxes.

  “I heard you’re taking the bikes to New Canaan in the morning,” Jill says quickly. “Do you think … Will you see Nathan?”

  She just stands there, biting her lip, and I don’t say anything. I squeeze Sam’s hand and turn away, bring her with me down the hall. Sam is here, safe, with her hand in mine. And I think it really might be okay if I never see Jillian again.

  The first time I went Outside and felt the sky, I realized that no matter how high and vast the caverns of my city, there was still a ceiling. And when I stayed Outside, I realized that no matter how immense and infinite the sky, that the mountains still made walls.

  If I could do everything I ever wished, I would breach my walls. And I would not do it alone.

  FROM THE HIDDEN BOOK OF SAMARA ARCHIVA

  IN THE CITY OF NEW CANAAN

  I attended the burning of my father, and did not go to the burning of my mother. Beckett came with me, and Sean and Joanna, Nita’s family, and Dr. Lanik. My father, according to Dr. Lanik’s examination, died quickly of a massive exposure to the Forgetting spore. But my mother’s body suffered violence before she died. From many different hands. I’ll never Know what happened, and I’m glad. And Father was in a wooden box at his burning. Not like the way my mother made me watch Adam.

  After flying across the plain, being on the Centauri, the city feels so small.

  The day we arrived in New Canaan we found a new Council being formed between Annis and Huan Councilman, Thorne’s nephew. Three days of Knowing and Outsiders being locked in together with a common enemy on the other side of the gate seems to have done some good. A short-term agreement had already been reached, about medicine, housing, rationing. Longer-term agreements about educating the Outside, having the Knowing provide an actual service for their upkeep, the use of technology and communication were left to be hashed out when everyone was fed.

  Commander Davis of the Centauri III spoke to the new Council, a smooth and apologetic speech, explaining the actions of Earth and the removal of Faye, a positive commitment to staying long enough to help New Canaan rebuild what had been damaged. The Council had him say it again in the Forum, packed with Outsiders and Knowing together, and it was then that Earth was, if not exactly accepted, at least allowed in. There were crops to get in the ground. But after a conversation with Annis, it was agreed that Earth would no longer be allowed Underneath. The less Earth understood about Knowing, the better. The Centauri moved to an easy distance on the barren p
lain, though still out of sight, and soon the transports began, shuttling help back and forth to the Outside. For rebuilding.

  Commander Davis granted permission for me to administer the cure for Forgetting to three of the Earth patrol left Outside while the Underneath was sealed, but he denied this privilege to Juniper Faye. I still haven’t decided whether this was a punishment or a kindness. But walking out of the gates into the bustle and sun, a syringe in my bag for Grandpapa, I Know that for him it’s going to be neither. It’s simply his choice.

  I lay the syringe on the table in front of Grandpapa. Nathan is here, but Annis isn’t. I gave her and the children the use of the Archiva flat now that she’s Council, everything but my bedchamber. The NWSE artifacts on my mother’s wall I gave to Sean Rodriguez, everything but the knife. Now I give Grandpapa his choice, and it’s entirely his. But it’s not an easy one.

  Grandpapa stares at the needle. We all do. Then Beckett goes back to making tea for Sean and Joanna, who are observing from the chairs by the unlit furnace. Sunbeams blow straight in the window with the breeze, and Beck looks like he belongs here. He’s in the cloth of the Outside, now dyed an Earth-sky blue.

  “You don’t have to, Grandpapa,” I say. “The memories could be good. Or bad. And you’re happy as you are, aren’t you?” I see Beckett shake his head at me just a little, smiling. I’m overly afraid of bad memories. But he knows I’m making a similar choice, and he wishes I wasn’t.

  “Well,” says Grandpapa. “I’m guessing my memories will be a little bit of both.” And he rolls up his sleeve.

  So I wipe his arm clean, squeeze his skin together, and dart the needle inside, quick. He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes. We wait. I glance at Nathan, who’s lost in thought, mind somewhere else. He’s unhappy. Deeply so. It makes me sad to see it. Then I watch a curious story begin on Grandpapa’s face. A looking backward.

  “I had a brother,” he says. “A baby brother who died. I never knew … And I see my mother’s face, when she was young. And my grandmother. Her name was Liliya.”

  “What else do you see, Cyrus?” Sean asks, leaning forward.

  “Dad,” Beckett warns under his breath.

  Grandpapa opens his eyes. “Things I’m not going to tell you, young man,” he says to Sean. Teasing. Because he knows that not being told drives Sean Rodriguez crazy. Joanna laughs. But I can see that Grandpapa wants to be alone.

  “Go lie down,” I tell him. “We’ll finish our tea and clear up and go.”

  He pats my head, rubs Nathan’s shoulder, and there are tears in his eyes when he shuts the door. Joanna drains her tea. “Ready, Beckett?” she says. Significantly.

  Nathan raises a brow, and I see Sean sigh as he finishes his notes.

  “No,” Beckett says. “I’ll come later. I want to work on some glass. Or if it’s too late to catch a transport I’ll sleep here.”

  Joanna frowns. “Beck, you are always—”

  “I’m going,” I say abruptly. Even though I have no patients to see and no rooms to go to that do not haunt me. “See you all after waking?”

  But I don’t wait for an answer. I take off with my pack, down the streets, up the steps, and through the terraced fields. Up and up until I’m in a blacknut orchard, where I drop my pack, pull out a blanket, spread out on the soft grass beneath the shade, and wait.

  Memory is tugging. Genivee, Nadia, and Liliya. Those are three names together on my family tree. The Genivee of the Archives, Nadia who drew the maps, and now Liliya.

  I follow the memory to the map inscription. Nadia and Gray, a glassblower’s son. Like Cyrus. I wonder if they’ve always known we had the same ancestors, and just never said anything.

  And then Beckett is coming up the slope beneath the trees. He walks straight to the blanket, throws himself on top of me, and puts his face in my hair.

  “Why?” he says. “Why so many people?”

  I laugh and shove him off, but he takes me with him, and now he has me cradled. “And why aren’t you with me every second?” he asks.

  “Because you would get tired of me.” Only I’m not really laughing now. He is such a beautiful alien.

  “I’m going to test that theory,” he says, kissing the corner of my mouth.

  We test it until the next bell rings. He’s missed the last transport, but he doesn’t seem that sorry about it. He holds me tight, and I listen to the beat in his chest.

  “Hey,” he says, “I want you to look at something.” He pulls a new pair of glasses out from beneath his shirt—glasses with no security measures—flicks them open, and puts them on. He finds what he wants, then slides the lenses onto my face. “I’ve been doing some research,” he says. “This first visual is a little hard to watch … ”

  My eyes adjust, and it takes a few moments for me to realize that I’m looking at the Cursed City. When it was new. Where did they have cameras in Canaan? But they did, somewhere. The stones are crisp, and there are hardly any trees. The tower in the terraced hole is a beautifully crafted clock. And then I realize that the people are fighting, wandering, attacking each other. Something explodes, and fire blazes. This is panic. Raw fear.

  “It’s the Forgetting,” says Beck. “I found this in the first Centauri’s database.” He takes the glasses, switches the visual, and hands them back to me. Now I’m looking at a map. Topographical.

  “Zoom in a little,” Beck says, “and do you see that area, just where the river runs into that lake?”

  I see it.

  “I’ve been looking at that carefully, really carefully, and I think there might be a hole. A duplicated piece of land. Just like what we saw when we looked at New Canaan for the first time.”

  “What are you thinking?” I ask, handing the glasses back. He drops them in his shirt and snuggles me back into his chest.

  “The Centauri II. There’s just not enough of it here. There was a good bit of the first ship, once we dug it out … ” The Centauri III was sitting directly on top of the first ship. “And Lian”—he doesn’t refer to her as my mother—“she hinted that the last ship just flew away. But I’ve looked at the dates, and I’ve been doing the math. The Centauri II landed just ahead of the comet, thirty-six hours before the Forgetting. And the tech New Canaan had is consistent with what might be left behind, say, at a base camp. There’s a huge amount of work to be done here, I know, but … ”

  It’s an amazing idea. What if the crew just … Forgot? What if they’re out there? And when it comes down to it, the Canaan Project belongs first and foremost to Sean Rodriguez. Not Beckett. Beckett isn’t researching it. He’s living it. I sigh, comfortable in his arms. This is almost the only way I can sleep now. My memories are under control, but resting is harder.

  “That was a good thing for Cyrus,” Beck whispers, “wasn’t it?”

  It was. And now I’m awake, and tense, because I Know what’s coming. The Knowing have been told by the Council that they do not have to be Knowing, and that no new Knowing will be created. For those who have already been injected and drunk the amrita, they may choose. To stop. Or to continue. I have to choose.

  “Have you decided what to do?”

  “Yes. And you’re not going to like it.” I prop up my head on a hand, so I can look at his face. He’s looking away, his jaw clenched. “Beck, tell me why you want me to be Knowing. The real answer.”

  He frowns a little. “Your medical skills … ”

  “I said the real answer.”

  He sits up abruptly. And now he’s mad, and I’m the one who’s not sorry. Whatever this is, he needs to get it out. Because I cannot be Knowing. Not anymore. I sit up, too. “Why don’t you just say it, Beckett?”

  He raises a brow at his full name. “Okay, fine. You said … ” His jaw works, and he starts again. “You said it only comes once for the Knowing, and that your ‘once’ was for me. Well, I guess there’s a lot of security in that, isn’t there? If you’re … me.”

  “So you think if I can’t access my memories
in the same way that my feelings will change? Have you ever thought that might be a good thing?” He leans on his knees. “If you’re Knowing, your feelings stay the same. That’s true. But it’s like an echo, the same echo, over and over. Nothing grows. But what if not being Knowing meant I could love you more? Or, maybe not being Knowing would mean that you … might love me less.”

  Now he’s offended. “Why would you say that?”

  “Why would you say it about me?”

  He throws himself back on the blanket. “I hate arguing with you. I lose so badly.”

  I lie beside him while he fumes.

  “What about you?” I say. “What have you decided to do?” The Centauri III is launching after the harvest, and now there is another choice, for every person of age—Earth, Outside, or Underneath. To stay. Or go.

  He huffs once. Then he lifts his arm and puts my head back on his chest.

  “Well?”

  “Oh, please,” he sighs.

  “And your parents?”

  “Staying. There won’t ever be an opportunity like this on Earth.”

  I look at the moving shadows, my head rising and falling with his breath. “In the Underneath,” I say, “when two people make a partnership, they write it down in a book.”

  He strokes my hair.

  “They write, ‘I choose Fred or Tamsa or whoever,’ and when it’s in the book, it’s a promise.” I lift my head to look at him again. “If I gave you a pen right now, would you write me down? Because I would write you down. My book is in my pack right now.”

  He takes my face in both his hands, like he’s going to keep me from falling into a memory. “Yes,” he says, “I would choose you and I would write you down. But if you’re not going to be Knowing, then I want you to not be Knowing when you do the choosing. Do you understand?”

  I close my eyes. Why does he think I will change?

  Then he flips me around, half pinning me down with his weight, and kisses my neck. Fiercely. “Yes,” he says against my skin. “Yes. And yes.” He’s making me giggle. “All the yeses, and just waiting … until then. All right?”