by Pintip Dunn
I flash forward to the future. My pathways are more riddled with holes than Swiss cheese. I have no idea if she’s right, just like I have no idea if Ryder will ever forgive me, but we have to make a decision. “Transparent. Do it.”
The pod rises. By the time we’re ten feet off the ground, the walls are completely clear. It’s like we’re sitting inside a glass bubble. A sea of heads appears under our feet, creating undulating waves with their varying heights. Black hair, silver hair, red hair, pink—and some shiny scalps with no hair at all. I can almost feel the wind that’s knocking around these precisely designed hairstyles.
“No sudden movements,” MK says. “Keep as still as possible and chances are, they’ll scan right past us.”
It’s good advice—except I have a one-year-old in my lap. If they notice her, they’ll take a second look, no matter how still I sit.
“There now, Remi,” I murmur. What can I say? How do I keep her still? Ryder would know. He’s so good with his little sister. So good with everything, really. “Let’s pretend you’re a stuffed animal, sitting quietly on my lap,” I say quickly. “Can you do that?”
“Bun-bun!” She bounces on my lap, doing a rather good imitation of a rabbit.
“A sleeping bunny,” I say quickly. “A tired bunny, with no more energy. A bunny that’s, you know, tranquilized.”
MK snorts, and I wince at my choice of words. But at least they seem to work. Remi sags against me, her arms dangling limply.
Thank the Fates. And not a second too soon. The pod passes over Scar Face’s head, which is easily recognizable, since it towers over the rest of the crowd. He’s got deep scratches on his scalp that match the ones on his cheeks. Most people laser away such imperfections, but he kept his. Why? Simply to be intimidating? Or is there another reason? I hope I never find out.
Just as we’re about to leave his field of vision, he looks up. I freeze. Does he see us? I can’t tell. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t spin around and bark orders. Maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe we’re safe after all.
Tentatively, I reach into the future, more out of habit than any belief that I’ll find anything useful. The paths I can see seem evenly split between him seeing us and not, between a battalion of guards waiting for us wherever we land…and not. All I can do is fling a prayer to the Fates and wait.
The pod finds an available lane in the sky and shoots away.
“Where do you want to go?” MK’s hands move rapidly over a palm-sized keyball on the control panel.
Limbo, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Is there anywhere I can go that will keep Remi safe? My timeline ends three days from now. If I don’t get Remi back to her parents, if she doesn’t walk through that window, she has no shot at life. How do I ensure her safety in the short time I have left? Despair drags at me, threatening to pull me under.
And then, the toddler pops up, bored of being an exhausted bunny. She puts her little hand on my nose, and then the little fingers slip down to my mouth. “Vee,” she says. “Vee.”
Oh. She’s saying my name. In just the same way she says Ryder’s. My heart doesn’t stand a chance, a flimsy shard of ice next to the blazing fire of her sun. “Good girl, Remi. You’re a good, sweet, precious girl.”
I can’t let her down. I won’t. I’ll find a way. Any way.
“Take me to the woods.” I name a forest miles away from the FuMA building and Potts’s cabin. They’ll search for me at both spots. If I land far enough away, maybe I’ll have time to figure out what to do.
MK keys in the location without question.
“Thanks, MK,” I say. “About the emergency…”
“Stop.” She puts her hand in the air. “Don’t say any more. Whatever it is, I’m sure you have a good reason. I’m just minding my own business. Giving my old charge a ride.”
I nod, understanding. The less she knows, the less trouble she’ll get into later, if it ever comes to that. “Thank you.” I pack as much gratitude as possible into those two words.
“Not at all.” She glances over her shoulder. “I took my son Cameron to watch the gold-star meet, because he dreams of competing himself one day. Isn’t that right, Cam?”
“Did you see Logan shooting through that water?” The words burst out of the boy like an electro-ray. “Man oh man! He must’ve had solar-propellers on his feet!”
“He sure did.” She reaches behind her and ruffles his hair.
“Do you think I’ll ever swim like that, Mom?” he asks.
“I’m sure you will, dear heart,” she says, her voice thick.
Remi peers over my shoulder and gurgles, pointing at his hair.
“Yep.” Cam grins, shaking his head. “It’s red. You like it? If you want, you can touch it.”
Remi claps her hands and holds out her arms. She may have a limited vocabulary, but she certainly knows how to communicate.
Carefully, I move her to the back row, and the harness fastens over her. Remi grabs a fistful of Cam’s hair, and I return to my seat.
“He likes peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwiches, too,” MK says casually.
The air catches in my lungs. When I was a little girl, that was what I ate for lunch. Every day. “You remember?”
“How could I forget?” She smiles, revealing deep grooves in her cheeks. And all of a sudden, I’m sure those lines weren’t formed from the passage of time, but from something else entirely. From too much knowledge about too tragic events.
“You know, don’t you?” I ask. “You know everything.”
She looks at the kids. Cam has now engaged Remi in a game of peek-a-boo, and the toddler is shrieking with laughter. Neither of them pays attention to a word we’re saying.
“Everything. That’s such an imprecise, all-consuming word. But in this case, it’s perfectly appropriate. Yes, I know. I know about the time stream apocalypse.” She attempts to keep her voice light, but regret lines her words like well-fitted bedsheets. “I know my son won’t live long enough to succeed—or even fail—at his dream. There’s value in that, too, you know: failing. Because if he fails, then at least he will have lived long enough to try.”
I swallow, but the lump won’t go away. Just as nothing I say will ever erase the cracks in MK’s soul. “Is that why you left your position as my mother’s assistant? Because you learned the truth?”
“I’ve always known the truth,” she says wearily. “Ever since you had that vision of genocide when you were six years old. Oh, we kept it quiet. Very few people other than myself ever saw your vision or even heard about it. But I was the chairwoman’s assistant. In order to do my job effectively, I had to know everything she did. I demanded answers, and…she gave them to me.” She shakes her head, as lost as the girl she must’ve been when she first heard the truth.
I know exactly how she feels. That was me, a few days ago. But the difference is, I’ve lived with the knowledge of the world ending for a matter of days. She’s endured these fears for the last decade.
“Why did you stay with her for so long?” I ask. “Why didn’t you leave, raise your family, enjoy life?”
“That’s what William wanted me to do. But the chairwoman tricked me. She showed me the extended version of your vision, the same one she showed Jessa. I saw an assistant with brown hair curved at the ends. Just like mine.” She shudders. “The chairwoman said it was me, and I believed her. I thought I was complicit in the genocide, so I stayed to try to stop the atrocity. I felt like I owed my people, my world, that much.” She takes a deep breath. “It wasn’t until Jessa betrayed her family that the chairwoman revealed the rest of the vision. The birthmark on the assistant’s waist proved that it was Jessa all along. Never me. So when your mother offered me the opportunity to be with my family for these last six months, I took it.”
She lifts her eyes to mine. All the resoluteness in the world can’t erase the guilt that lingers there.
“No one would fault you, MK,” I say softly. “It’s time for you to think about your fam
ily.” Remi’s high-pitched laugh and Cam’s equally spirited cackle wind through the air. I wish I could wrap those sounds around me forever. “It’s time for all of us to think about family.”
Soon after that, the pod touches down in the woods. I gather Remi from the back row. She comes willingly enough, wrapping her arms around my neck, but her eyes stay in the back, on her new playmate, Cam. In a different place, a different time, maybe their camaraderie would have developed into a real friendship. That’s something I would’ve liked to see.
I turn to MK. I doubt I’ll ever see her again, and maybe that shouldn’t be important. I haven’t seen her for ten years. Three days from now, I won’t see many, many people ever again. But this is my first good-bye—the first of many.
“I appreciate the ride,” I say awkwardly.
“Anytime,” she says.
“Thanks for ordering that Meal Assembler,” I blurt out. “The one that made those sandwiches. I know my mom didn’t want it. I know you had to pretend that you really liked peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwiches. I probably didn’t say it at the time, but it meant a lot to me.”
She touches my cheek, the way she used to do when I was a little girl. Did she ever want to see me again, after I went into isolation? Did she ever ask my mom about me?
I don’t voice either question. I don’t want to know the answer. Or rather, I’m afraid I won’t get the answer I want.
“The taste grew on me,” she says. “These days, I even find myself putting honey on my banana pudding.”
The tears gather behind my eyes and I push them back before they can spill out. I hop onto the ground, with Remi on my hip. Clumps of trees surround us, their leaves swaying in the breeze, and the sun’s climbed to the very center of the sky. It’s only midday, although it feels much later.
The pod lifts into the sky, and the opaque walls turn clear as glass. Remi waves both hands at the pod; Cam, with his nose pressed to the wall, returns the gesture. It’s silly, but their obvious yearning for each other sparks something inside me. That’s exactly how I feel about Ryder. But too bad for me, the feeling isn’t mutual. We watch the pod until it is out of sight.
“Well, kiddo, I guess it’s just us now,” I say to Remi.
“Afraid not,” a booming voice says behind me.
My stomach drops. Limbo. I was so distracted by the good-bye that I forgot to look out for Scar Face.
I turn slowly. Just as I expected, the captain of the guards is smiling at me, the gash of his cheek shining under the hot sun. He stands in front of a group of four men and women, all holding electro-whips.
47
I stumble backward, my shoes scuffing against the complex growth of weeds and grass. Sweat springs onto my forehead, and the air feels as thick and unbreathable as the peanut butter I like so much. Just because I knew this outcome was a possibility doesn’t make it any easier. Doesn’t make the reality any less crushing.
“You didn’t think you would actually get away, did you?” Scar Face asks, his lips bisecting his cheeks—again. He’s always smiling when he talks to me. There’s no way he’s this happy all the time. He has to know smiling makes the scar gape horrifyingly on his face. “I saw you in MK’s pod. Hard to miss, when you flew right over our heads. You think you’re so smart, Miss I-Can-See-Into-Everyone’s-Future. Guess you didn’t know the chairwoman had a tracking device placed in her former assistant’s pod without MK’s knowledge.”
Remi slips on my hip, and I hoist her higher. I don’t respond. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
“Go with them.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “As the chairwoman ordered, we’ll leave your punishment to her. This little angel is a different story. Give her here.”
Not while there’s an ounce of breath left in my body.
“No.” If possible, I pull Remi even closer to my chest. I didn’t incur Ryder’s rage just to give her up now. “You can’t have her.”
He lifts a bushy eyebrow. Clearly, he hasn’t made use of the laser treatment for hair removal, either. “No? You heard, just as clearly as I did, the chairwoman’s edict concerning the children in North Amerie. I’m taking her. And you can’t stop me.”
“I can.” My mind whirls, considering and discarding possibilities as quickly as the partial pathways that flip through my mind. “Remi is one of the props I need for my manufactured memory.”
Yes. This excuse will work. I pull my spine straight. “If you’re so concerned about the chairwoman’s edicts, then you should know that I’m due in the Memory Lab right about now. And my mother has issued strict instructions that I’m to have whatever prop I want. Well, this is want I want. Remi.”
One of the guards scans through his wrist com. “She’s right,” he says a few moments later. “Olivia Dresden is scheduled in the Memory Lab at 1600, and she’s to have whatever she wants.”
Scar Face’s temple throbs, but he can’t argue, not anymore. “Fine,” he growls. “Escort them both to the Memory Lab.”
Light-headed, I turn. Before I can leave, however, Scar Face grabs my wrist. “You think you’ve won, Olivia. But I assure you, this isn’t the end.”
He’s wrong. But I can’t muster up the energy to tell him how very wrong he is. Because for me, this is the end.
Or at least, it will be in exactly three days.
…
A few hours later, I set Remi down, and she claps her hands, probably anxious to walk, to explore, to do anything after being held in my arms for so long. I give her a handful of cotton balls, the safest items I can find in the lab, and wish I had Callie’s ability to change them into something more interesting.
“Are you absolutely sure this is the memory you want?” the tech, Kanya, asks me. She’s got slashing cheekbones and straight black hair, and she’s been assigned to help me manufacture the memory I’ll be showing to the selection committee tomorrow.
Sometime before my arrival at the lab, I remembered my long-ago vision of genocide.
In my vision, I had been locked in a detainment cell full of Mediocres. My mother had been furious at me for sending the wrong memory, one where I held my newborn baby in my arms and felt at peace with the world.
“Why did you send this one?” she had demanded.
“Maybe my future self thought it wasn’t right to execute ninety-nine percent of the population on the basis of their memories,” I’d answered. “Maybe she knew this was the only way to get you to listen. To show you there’s more to humanity than pure talent. There’s also happiness. And love.”
I remembered these words a future version of me spoke on a particular pathway. And as I awkwardly cradled Remi (who’s not exactly a newborn anymore), I felt the pure and utter truth of my words.
That’s the memory I asked Kanya to manufacture. And yet, and yet…I’m not sure it’s the right one. Because I already sent myself that memory, once upon a time. It didn’t convince my mom to change her mind then, and it’s not going to convince her now.
I don’t want to repeat the mistakes of a doomed vision, the one I’ve been trying to avoid for ten years. Unlike people not blessed with precognition, I know I can choose a different path.
“Are you sure you don’t want a memory that shows off your skills as a musician?” Kanya persists. “We could give you the one that you saw in the lab, the one where the girl plays violin on a hoverboard. The truth is, Olivia…” She stops, licking her lips. “The truth is, the memory you chose isn’t superlative in the slightest.”
“Does it matter?” I ask absently. Her mention of the manufactured memory makes me think of Ryder once again, and a sharp pain lances through my heart. I know the pain will only increase once I actually have the time to process what he perceived as my betrayal.
It’s not important, I tell myself. I have only a little over two days remaining. It shouldn’t make a difference what Ryder thinks of me now.
Tell that to my aching heart.
“Of course the memory matters.” Kanya�
�s cheeks turn ruddy red. “The chairwoman will be here in a few minutes, and she’s not going to like this mediocre memory we just made. I’d like to still have a job tomorrow.”
“Why? It’s not like anybody’s going to have a job in a few days,” I say without thinking.
She swivels in her chair. “What?”
Aw, fike. That’s what I get for thinking about Ryder instead of our conversation. “Nothing. I don’t know what I’m talking about,” I say quickly. Perhaps too quickly, since the eyebrows rise even higher on her forehead. Limbo, Limbo, Limbo.
I catch a patchy glimpse of Kanya’s futures. And I see her worrying late into the night because of my careless words.
Part of me wants to shout the truth. These might be our last days in this world. Go. Be with your family. Ask for forgiveness for your sins. Make the most of this final time.
But I can’t. While it’s not fair for Kanya to be stressing about a job that will soon be irrelevant, it’s also not right to destroy a segment of the population’s hope for survival. That’s what will happen if word gets out. I flash forward to the future and see horrifying visions: mobs storming the warehouse, lobbing rocks at the realm machine, dragging Potts out of the shed. Not good. Not good at all.
And so, I paste on a ditzy smile and send a prayer to the Fates that Kanya assumes I’m as strange and out-of-touch as the rest of the world believes. That she dismisses my words as the nonsensical ravings of a girl who’s been in isolation for the past ten years.
And in sixty percent of the pathways, she actually does.
“I changed my mind. I’m not satisfied with the memory, after all,” I say. “There’s one very important change I want to make.”
48
It takes Kanya forty minutes to make the alterations I want. Forty minutes that bring me that much closer to my impending death. Forty minutes when thoughts of Ryder sneak through my defenses. Forty minutes when I change Remi’s diaper and feed her the hummus and pita strips I ordered from the Snack Assembler. She may not like solids much, but she must be hungry because she scarfs down the food. Forty minutes when I turn to the door at the slightest squeak in anticipation of my mother’s arrival.