Seize Today (Forget Tomorrow)

by Pintip Dunn

  My mother crosses the lab and takes the helmet from my head. “Well?” she asks, as though I’m just another tech. “If you’re not looking for them, I’d say the pauses and jerks are barely noticeable, don’t you think?”

  “What are you doing, Mother?” I ask, the fury barely contained in my voice.

  She smiles and strokes my hair like the mother she never was. “If you’re going to question me, darling girl, you know better than to do it in public,” she murmurs under her breath.

  Sure enough, all the techs have stopped working and are staring at us. Without taking her eyes off me, she raises her hand in the air and snaps twice. “Back to work, everyone. Nothing to see here.” She lowers her hand and inclines her head. “Come along now.”

  Like mice, the techs scurry to obey. Also like a mouse, I follow her—but for the last time.

  Never again, I vow to myself. This is the last time I fall in line like a good employee, like a good daughter. She has no hold over me anymore. Why did I try so hard these last seventeen years? What was I hoping to earn? Her respect? Ha. Her love and esteem? Even more laughable.

  We walk into the next room, which is also a lab. Unlike the first one, however, this lab’s been outfitted as my mom’s personal office. Her favorite Drinks Assembler is perched on the counter, and the hard, white sofa looks strange against the tiles embedded with com screens.

  The Drinks Assembler switches on as soon as we enter, preparing my mother’s favorite chrysanthemum tea. A few seconds later, a bot brings the cup into the chairwoman’s waiting hands.

  She settles on the hard cushions as though sinking into a bubble bath. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Don’t do that, Mother. Don’t pull the gracious hostess routine on me. Not when you waived your right to take a plus one. Not when you threw away your chance to save me.” My voice cracks on the last word.

  She purses her lips. “Jumping to conclusions again, Olivia. What do you think I’m doing in that lab?”

  “Manufacturing future memories,” I mumble. “That much is obvious.”

  “Yes,” she persists. “But why?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she barrels on. “You’ve heard about the list of Superlatives the International Council released? That’s how you know about the ‘plus one’?”

  I nod.

  “Well, the list is far from complete. The committee will admit any gold-star winners from this week’s competition. They’re also combing through the archives, searching for superlative memories.”

  “That’s why you’re manufacturing memories?” I bite out. “So you can help people cheat?”

  “Not just people, darling.” She leans forward. “You. In two days, you see, the International Council will go public with the realm machine, as well as the list of approved walkers. We won’t reveal the severity of the time stream situation. We’ll simply spin the trip as a mission to explore a parallel world. Still, there’ll be a lot of accusations of bias and partiality, as people jostle for a position on the list. The other leaders and I must demonstrate our commitment to a fair selection process. We can’t be seen to show any favoritism whatsoever. That’s why we’re waiving our plus ones.” She takes a deep breath. “But you have to believe me, Olivia. I never would’ve done it if I didn’t have a back door to get you in.”

  “But then it won’t be fair. It’s all a lie.” I sag against the sofa. If my mother is to be believed—and that’s a big if—then she didn’t forsake me. But it’s hard to bring myself to feel any relief—to feel anything, really—in light of this fraud.

  “That’s the nature of life, Olivia.”

  “I won’t do it. I won’t take away someone else’s spot by using a fake memory.”

  She sighs. “For Fate’s sake, don’t be so juvenile. For once in your life, try to understand.” She leans gingerly against the cushion. “We world leaders are in a difficult position. We need to pacify billions, even as their very lives, their very bodies, are fading away. And yet, if we want to save the human race, we must keep the truth from them. Think of the realm machine as a lifeboat. If too many people rush on, then the whole boat sinks, and everybody dies. Do you get that? We’re trying to save the people who stay behind, but if we don’t get off this time stream, there’s a big chance that every single person living on this planet will be gone. The human race, extinguished. Is that what you want?”

  “I don’t want any of this,” I say fiercely.

  “You think I do?” She raises her voice. “What do you think I’ve been working to prevent my entire life? I gave up everything for this. I gave up who I am, the woman I wanted to be.” She stops, and for a moment, the only sound I hear is her ragged breathing. “I relinquished the love of my life,” she continues, this time, her voice quiet. “I couldn’t be the mother you yearned for, the one who you deserved. I was…I am…ruthless.” She closes her eyes, as though she can’t bear to see this truth. But the moment passes, and then she opens them again. The chairwoman didn’t become who she was by hiding from the unpleasant.

  “I’ve done…terrible things, Olivia. I suppose I don’t have to tell you that. Limbo, an entire movement rose up against me, the Underground, founded by my very own sister, Melie. Did you know she never spoke to me again, after our argument twenty years ago? She passed away without ever forgiving me, and now, it’s too late.” Her words are both sorrowful and angry, full of despair and rage. “I endured it. I endured it all, in the hopes of preventing this moment.” She moves her shoulders. “And still, I failed.”

  I stare at her. “You killed people, Mother. All those people in detainment. You made them fulfill their future crimes, and then you killed them.”

  “I was trying to preserve the time stream!” She lurches to her feet, knocking over the teacup. “Every time a future memory was sent to the past, it created ripples. I was trying to repair the largest ones.”

  She sinks back down, her shoulders rolled forward so that she appears smaller than she is. “I was just trying to restore the balance,” she says in a softer voice. “I suppose, once I hardened my heart, it was difficult to let any bit of kindness, any semblance of mercy, seep in. I suppose I did some things that weren’t entirely necessary. That some people would consider to be…cruel.” She presses her lips together. “But I had to. Don’t you see? If I didn’t cut myself off from feeling altogether, I never would’ve been able to make the decisions I thought were necessary to try to save the world.”

  I breathe deeply, feeling the tightness of my chest, the expansion of my abdomen. It’s a lot to take in, and yet…and yet…somehow, it doesn’t surprise me. Because this is the person I believed in all along. This is the woman I knew she could be, if she would only take a different path. If she had only been able to show me.

  Oh Fates, this explanation doesn’t excuse her. She isn’t redeemed. She chose to kill those people. She chose to torture those children. She has a million sins on her soul, and her justification doesn’t lighten the weight of a single one.

  But, at least now, I’m beginning to understand her.

  Which might be the only reason I decide to push my luck.

  “You mentioned the love of your life. So, once upon a time, you did feel something.” I pause, licking my lips. “Are you talking about my father?”

  40

  The lab is so quiet I can hear the gurgle of the Drinks Assembler. Ten seconds pass, and then twenty. I shift against the cushions. Despite the revelations my mom just shared, I wouldn’t be surprised if she ordered me out of her sight now.

  We don’t talk about my dad—ever. I don’t know his name; I don’t even know what he looked like. Limbo, maybe my mother doesn’t even know. I’m not a betting girl. I’ve never had to be, when all the pathways were laid out before me. But if I were, I’d say there’s a fifty-fifty chance my mom got his sperm from a conception bank.

  “Yes,” she says finally. “I’m talking about your father.”

  My jaw drops. Yes. Just like that
, with a single word, I’ve learned more about my father than I have in a lifetime.

  She walks to the window of the lab, striking the pose I normally see when she’s leaning against the floor-to-ceiling glass wall in her office. But we’re not in her office. She’s not looking out over the raging river and the majestic cliffs. Instead, we’re in an old lab in an out-of-the-way wing, and the only thing outside her window is a dusty and low-trafficked corridor. She continues staring out anyway. That’s when I understand she just doesn’t want to look at me.

  “I never talked about him for a reason, you know. I thought if I said too much, the events wouldn’t unfold the way we wanted. The way we hoped and planned, before you were even born. But I suppose now, it doesn’t matter.” She laughs, but it is short and abrupt—and sadder than I ever thought a laugh could be. “Things will play out the way they’re going to play out, and there’s nothing I can do to change it.”

  “Tell me something, please,” I say, getting off the couch and walking toward her, hoping against hope that this time, her response will be different. That this time, she’ll actually tell me. “His favorite food, an annoying tic. I’d be happy to hear any of it.”

  “He was a scientist.” Her tone is tinged with a mixture of wonder and relief, as though she can’t believe she’s finally saying the words. I can’t believe it, either. I don’t know what’s changed. I don’t know if the time stream deterioration is so advanced she thinks her explanation won’t make any difference. I don’t know if the dam holding back her words finally broke. But I’m not about to question her sudden willingness to share.

  “I was a scientist, too, back in the day,” she continues. “Back before I became the chairwoman. It was such an exciting time, an exhilarating time. Your father and I, along with Preston, were playing with time travel, as giddy as kids at the virtual theater. Oh, nothing like the realm machine we’re building now. We wouldn’t have the foundation for that kind of scale until much later.”

  “Wait a minute,” I interrupt. “Preston. Are you talking about Callie and Jessa’s father? You knew him?”

  “Of course I did.” Her lips curve, like she’s remembering the past. “Who do you think he came to the moment he arrived in the future? Who do you think gave him the job overseeing the research into Callie’s mind? Those things didn’t happen by coincidence, you know.”

  “You were his friend,” I say, the gears in my head turning, recalibrating, recasting the events of the past. “And yet, you would’ve let Callie die.”

  “Yes. And he will probably never forgive me for it. His friendship is one of the many things I’ve had to sacrifice.” She looks at me, pure sorrow shining in her eyes.

  I swallow hard. “Go on.”

  “Preston has the psychic ability of physical displacement, meaning he could pop his body into a space across the room just by willing it there. By studying his power, we were able to extrapolate a way to move his body into a different time.” She wanders to the next window, even though it looks out onto the same view. “So there we were, popping him backward and forward in time in tiny increments, five minutes, then ten minutes, and then an hour. We were ecstatic about our discoveries. And then, everything started to go wrong. Preston insisted on going into the future—far into the future—and we couldn’t talk him out of it. As you know, he got stuck there—or rather, here. Your father and I tried desperately to get him back, and during one of our experiments, I was accidentally displaced into a parallel world.”

  I gape at her. “What?”

  “Oh, I was there for only a few minutes, before your father found a way to haul me back. But the damage was already done.” She crosses over to me and picks up my hands with her cold, cold fingers. “You see, I was pregnant with you. And so, your developing fetus traveled to a parallel world and then back again. More importantly, you moved through the realm in between worlds.” She stops. Takes a breath. “To our knowledge, no fetus has ever done this before. And that is why your father and I believe you are the only true precognitive of our time.”

  I drop her hands and stumble backward, until my knees hit the couch and I fall onto the hard cushion. Oh dear Fate, it makes total sense. That’s why I’ve been able to see other pathways, other worlds. Because I existed in the realm between those worlds. I wasn’t a genetic accident or a twist of Fate. I was the direct result of my mother’s actions.

  I lift my chin, realization dawning. “And Jessa…?”

  My mother nods. “Yes. For a similar reason, we think that’s why Jessa can see a couple minutes into the future. The sperm that conceived her had traveled through time.”

  My mind whirls, as I try to work through everything she’s saying. “But what about Callie? They’re identical twins, at least genetically. Why isn’t she a near-future precog, too?”

  “I don’t have a good answer for you, because the truth is, we don’t know.” She shakes her head. “The research on precognitives is murky at best. There aren’t too many of you around, you know.”

  I look down at my hands. At the cuticles that need to be lasered off, at the half-moon nails that are devoid of tints. Nothing’s changed—I know that. I’m still the same person I was when I charged into the lab, ready to confront my mom. Yet I feel completely different.

  A thought flashes through my mind. I can’t wait to tell Ryder about this conversation. I can’t wait to see what he thinks about my origins as a precog. Will he be surprised—or will he grab my hands and say he knew all along that I was an original? And yet, I haven’t even heard the whole story.

  “So what happened to my father?” I ask.

  She sits down next to me, running her hands over the cushions as though she’s trying to gather the threads of her story.

  “I began having symptoms as soon as I returned from the parallel world, and your father quickly diagnosed it as a type of Asynchronicity. My mind and my body had come back intact, but I guess you could say that the bonds tying my mind to this time had loosened.” She wets her lips. “There were moments when my mind would drift to a different world—the parallel world where I had gone, to be precise. We developed a formula to keep me in this time, and in those early days, I had to inject myself only once a month.

  “Then you were born.” Her lips curve, and an expression I’ve never seen crosses her face. It is at once gentle and intense, tender and fierce. Maternal love.

  Jealousy sprouts in my stomach. She’s never looked at me that way in my entire life. And then, I realize that the expression is about me, albeit a much younger version.

  “Those were the happiest days of my life,” she says dreamily. “I used to stare at you for hours while you were sleeping. The curve of your cheeks. Your perfect lips. Your father and I spent our days researching travel to parallel worlds, trying to understand the meaning of the universe. When, the entire time, the meaning of our lives was right there in front of us. With you.”

  A softness rounds her face, and the years seem to melt away. I can almost believe I’m looking at the woman she used to be.

  “It didn’t take us long to realize that you weren’t like other babies,” she continues. “Every time I walked into the room, you were standing at the edge of your crib, already waiting for me. You’d start crying before I put the hot baby bottle into your mouth, and you’d scream and fuss when I pressed the button for the spinach purée, instead of sweet potato, even though you were in the other room.

  “But we didn’t understand the true extent of your powers until you started talking.” Her shoulders begin to tremble, ever so slightly. “It was your father’s idea to search your mind for the possible outcomes of my disease. I’d all but forgotten about my Asynchronicity, as the formula made me completely functional. But he feared the worst.” She swallows hard. “It turned out, he was right.

  “You won’t remember this, of course. Fates, you were only a toddler at the time. But we showed you the amber syringe and asked you to show us the futures surrounding this formula. Your father had
just invented the machine that translated a vision across five senses, so we were able to see the images directly from your mind. It was horrifying.”

  Her voice drops to a whisper. “In roughly half the futures, under an extremely tight regime, we were able to keep the time stream intact. But in the other half…our entire world blinked out of existence. Like it’s happening now. There was only one scenario where we could save a portion of the population, and that was to build a realm machine and move them to a parallel world. We knew all about realm machines, of course, because even back then, your father and Preston had theorized the conditions that would need to be fulfilled. It would take Mikey’s research later to fill in the details. There was only one problem. We didn’t have an anchor.”

  She starts panting, faster and faster, until I’m afraid she’s going to hyperventilate. I’m afraid I won’t hear the end of her story.

  “What happened then, Mom?” I grab her arm, digging my nails in, hoping to make her return to herself. “Tell me. Tell me.”

  “Your father volunteered,” she gasps. “In order to save that small fraction of the human race, he left us, he left his work, he left everything he loved. He withdrew into the woods to raise his bloodhounds and live a plain life, a simple life, one where every day was the same as the previous one.”’

  My mouth drops. “You mean to say…”

  “Yes, Olivia.” The look in her eyes is more than just crushed. It’s like Fate swept up her soul and pulverized it, and all that’s left is a few floating specks of dust. “Your father is the anchor. And the anchor is Potts.”

  41

  Potts is my father. Potts is my father. Potts is my father.

  It’s been an entire day now, and the words won’t stop playing in a loop through my head. They accompany me on my walk into the woods, up to the warehouse containing the realm machine. They keep time with my footsteps as I dodge the technicians carrying heavy equipment, as I skirt around the scientists huddled around a com terminal. And they follow me right up to the shed in the corner, where one person resides, living his life the exact same way, every day, every minute.