Seize Today (Forget Tomorrow)

by Pintip Dunn

  Not two seconds after Kanya finishes, I hear the clink of my mother’s icicle heels along the corridor’s tiles. She, too, has learned from my childhood vision of genocide, and she’s here to approve my manufactured memory before I show it to the selection committee.

  The chairwoman strides inside, wasting no time shaking her head. “What were you thinking, Olivia, running away like that? How do you think that made me look? My edict was never meant to apply to Remi. She’s on the list to walk through the window. You know that.”

  “The guards in the box certainly weren’t aware of that,” I counter. “Neither was Scar Face. They were ready to snatch Remi right out of my arms.”

  She startles, as if this is news to her. “Well, they would’ve caught the mistake before Remi was injected.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Would they have? That’s a risk I wasn’t about to take.” Even at the expense of Ryder’s good opinion.

  She waves her hand in the air, as if the subject no longer has any consequence. “Devon told me you wanted to use the baby as a prop.”

  Devon? Who’s Devon? Ah, she must be talking about Scar Face. He has an actual name? Imagine that.

  “I pray to the Fates you’re not going to send yourself the same memory that got you into trouble in that vision!”

  I lift my chin. “So what if I did?” I gesture at Remi, who is stacking the cotton balls on top of each other and giggling when they topple over. “If little Remi doesn’t represent everything that’s important and precious in this world, then what does?”

  She clicks her tongue in disgust. “Have you learned nothing from being my daughter? The memories from the future are here to guide you, but they also serve as a warning, damn it. If you don’t like the future you’re shown, then you choose a different pathway. End of story. And the memory of you holding a baby doesn’t end well for anyone.”

  “Least of all me,” I murmur.

  “I am trying to save your life, Olivia.” She blows the hair off her forehead, exasperated. “Please tell me you didn’t manufacture that same pointless memory. Please.”

  “Why don’t you see for yourself?” I hold out the helmet.

  Huffing out a breath, she grabs the contraption and slaps it on her head. With trembling fingers, I pick up a second helmet and slip it on, so that we can live the memory together.

  Kanya cues up the vision.

  I’m standing in the middle of a riot. All around me, people are shoving one another, breaking biometric scanners with blunt weapons, yanking metal statues of trees out of the ground. Smoke billows out of gaping holes in buildings where holo-screens used to reside, and the smell of fire and ash burns my nostrils.

  But I hardly even notice. I’ve created my own vacuum, here in the middle of this riot, and no one can touch me. I hold my baby in the air, my elbows straight, and spin in a slow circle. My heart swells, larger than my body, larger than this safe space I created. Larger even than the mob.

  The baby reaches out a hand, trying to swipe my nose, which is just out of her reach. Her dimpled thighs kick and squirm, right in front of my face. She laughs, and I laugh, because I know without a doubt this is the most important thing in the world: this love that flows between us.

  But the baby is not Remi. She doesn’t have Remi’s dark skin or her curly hair. Instead, the baby looks like a younger version of me, of Olivia Dresden. Brown hair, olive skin, big solemn eyes.

  I gasp, my head whipping up just as two bulky men pass, carrying a holo-screen between them. The screen is off, but the black surface reflects my image back to me. I don’t have gleaming silver hair. I don’t have a web of lines around my eyes and mouth. And yet, my features are unmistakable.

  I’m Marigold Dresden. The chairwoman.

  …

  My mother shrieks, falling out of the vision. Calmly, I slip off the headset and wait.

  She gasps at the air like her lungs have transformed to the gills of a fish. “Why…why did you do that?” she whispers.

  The two of us and Kanya may be the only ones who will ever know. The chairwoman will never let this vid get out, so no one will ever see this woman and baby. I took the faces directly from one of the few holo-images I have of me and my mother, one where our cheeks are pressed close, laughing at an unknown joke.

  “I’m reminding you, Mother,” I say. “I’m reminding you how you felt, once upon a time, when you looked at me. Remi’s safety is not enough. I’m asking you to call off the systematic execution of the children in North Amerie.”

  She shakes her head, as though she can rattle the memory loose from her mind.

  “You may have buried it long ago,” I say softly. “You may have banished such emotions in favor of duty to your nation, in favor of saving the world. But you remember feeling this way. You told me how much you loved me when I was a baby.” I take a deep breath, letting the air stretch my body to its full height. “And now that you did, I remember it, too. I remember that you loved me more than anything in this time. That’s why I believed in you for so long. That’s why I was convinced you still had goodness left in you. I thought it was because I saw your alternate pathways. But that’s not the reason at all. It’s because I remember how your heart feels, beating next to mine.”

  My mother’s face crumples, and she covers it with her palms before I can see. Before she has to admit her feelings to herself. A full minute passes, when her shoulders heave but no sound comes out.

  “We have to give the people who don’t walk a fighting chance,” she whispers. “The only way to do that is to reduce the population, sooner rather than later. I’m not executing children, Olivia. They’re going to die anyway. One of the leaders proposed that the approved walkers each carry a baby through the window, in order to save more people, but the International Council voted it down. There aren’t nearly enough walkers for the number of babies, and if the children aren’t with their parents, they’re more likely to scream and wail and cry. The Council felt like it would create too much chaos and ultimately lead to fewer people crossing the threshold.” She moves her shoulders. “I’m just…trying to make sure the few people who remain on this world survive. That’s it.”

  “Not like this,” I say. “You don’t know what the future holds. Give them all a fighting chance. Please. Remember the mother you used to be. Remember how much you loved me. Back then, wouldn’t you want to give your baby a few more days of life? In case something changes. In case a solution is found. Just…in case. Because some hope is better than none at all.”

  She closes her eyes, her chest heaving, as though she’s raging a battle with herself.

  I hold my breath. I’ve done my best. The rest is up to her. She opens her eyes and looks directly at Kanya, whose mouth fell open at the beginning of our confrontation and hasn’t closed since.

  “Call the guards. Return this baby to her mother, Angela Russell.” She swallows hard. “Pull the, uh, ‘antidote’ from the FuMA centers. Tell them there’s been a recall. We need to study the formula further before we inject anybody else. As for Olivia…” She winces, as though my very name pains her. “Send her to detainment. The International Council is watching, and her subpar memory will not pass their exacting standards.” She turns to me. “The injection of the children was only one way that we were beginning to cull the population. We’ve also started eliminating the Mediocres. You’ll be executed along with them.”

  I step forward, my hands outstretched. But my mom’s already moved away, so the only thing I touch is air. “Mom. You can’t do this. You love me, remember? I’m your daughter. Your daughter!”

  “Yes,” she says. “And it’s because I remember the love a mother has for her baby that I’m recalling the formula against my best judgment. But I can’t save you, Olivia. Not anymore. I told you I can’t show favoritism, and you doomed yourself by choosing a mediocre memory.”

  Before I can respond, even before the guards pounding down the corridor can enter the lab, my mom spins on her heel and strides
out of the room.

  49

  I shouldn’t have fought the guards. It was pointless and futile. I don’t even need the pathways to tell me I’m no match for their electro-whips. But still, I kicked and clawed and thrashed. Because you don’t go quietly to your own death. Even if it’s been predicted for the last seventeen years.

  As a result, thick, bloody scratches travel up my arms. The smell of urine chokes the air, and teenage girls in dirty school uniforms press all around me.

  At one end of the detainment cell, a brunette roars and leaps onto a redhead’s back, grabbing her hair and yanking until it detaches in clumps. Another girl in the corner sings at the top of her lungs. Her head lolls around in a pile of feces, streaking her once blond hair with brown.

  Just a few days ago, these girls were probably so hopeful, so excited. Ready to receive the memories that would shape the rest of their lives. And now, just because Fate has handed them a vision that was deemed mediocre, their days are as numbered as mine.

  Two days. Two more days left to live and breathe this stagnant air. Two more days to replay Ryder’s anger over and over in my head. As miserable as I am now, I’ll be sorry to leave this life.

  Suddenly I hear short, staccato raps against the concrete floor. We all fall silent, even the singing girl. Two people appear at the end of the hallway, my mother and her personal assistant. Jessa’s shoulder-length hair is flipped up at the ends, just like MK’s. Just like my vision. They converse briefly, and then the chairwoman walks toward us, resplendent in her navy uniform.

  I stand on wobbly legs and grab the metal bars of the detainment cell. “Mom. You have to call off the execution.” The words spill from my mouth automatically, almost without thought.

  The hand of Fate is strong. I’ve said these words before. In all my possible pathways, this is the moment that’s lived the most strongly. Perhaps this was why Fate sent this vision to my six-year-old self. Perhaps this is why she continues to push us toward this exact path.

  My mother scans past me a few times, and then she finally meets my gaze and smiles sadly, as though she, too, knows that we’ve been here before. “I told you, Olivia. You knew the price of receiving a mediocre memory, but you wouldn’t listen, would you?”

  My mouth opens to give her the automatic response, the words my brain has formed without me realizing it.

  No. I clamp my mouth shut. I won’t go down this path again. I can resist Fate’s pull, I can wrench our world onto a different path…but we both have to try.

  “You don’t have to do this, Mom,” I say softly. “Give these girls a chance, too, like you gave the children. They won’t walk through the window. They’re too mediocre for that.” Bitterness laces my tone, and I push it away. “Let them live and stay in this time stream, for as long as they can.”

  A muscle ticks at the corner of her mouth. “I would if I could, Olivia. But you have to understand, the order’s not coming from me. It originates from the highest levels of the International Council. They’re not happy with me for pulling the ‘antidote’ for the children, and their instructions were clear. If I interfere with any more population culling procedures, they’ll pull their resources, resources we need if the realm machine is going to work.”

  She touches my hand through the bars, but even her cold fingertips do nothing to pierce through my haze. “Most of these girls will never get a single dose of the formula, so it is a kindness to end their life now, without torture, without pain, rather than make them face what’s to come.”

  “A kindness?” My eyebrows have never climbed higher on my forehead. “Come on, Mom. If you’re going to murder masses of people, at least call it what it is.”

  Her eyes flash. “What would you have me do, Olivia? There’s not enough formula. We can’t all walk through that window. The bodies of the people who are left will slowly deteriorate, day by day. You think seeing Callie’s missing hand was bad?” She shudders. “We hope that once the major organs disappear, the entire body will go, too, but we’re not sure. Time deterioration doesn’t follow the same rules as physical degeneration. How would it feel to exist without lungs, without intestines?

  “That’s not even the worst of it.” Her lips turn so white I think she might faint. “Riots are going to break out. Stealing, fighting. Mayhem like you’ve never seen. What happens when people realize the world is ending? Civilization breaks down. Laws will be ignored, courtesy rendered meaningless. It will be survival of the fittest at its most violent. Except even the fittest won’t survive.”

  She stops, breathing hard. “I’m doing what I have to do, for the greatest good of the people. But if you don’t buy that argument, all you have to know is the International Council is here, monitoring our every move. Watching us even now.”

  I freeze. Her eyes are wide and laser-sharp. She’s trying to tell me something, something important. I just don’t know what.

  “Especially now, they want us to follow their orders to the letter,” she says. Her eyes don’t waver from mine, not by an inch, not by a centimeter.

  I lick my lips. “What do you mean, especially now?”

  “The word’s gotten out, which is to be expected,” she says, her lips hardly moving. I have to lean forward in order to hear her. “You can’t start executing Mediocres and expect it to stay a secret. But it’s more than that. We took Kanya into custody immediately, but she must’ve released the vid of your memory while we were talking. It’s out now, that memory of me looking into your baby face. The vid’s gone viral. The people are holding you up as an example of someone the Council executes, and they’re screaming for your release. In a matter of hours, you’ve become a symbol to them, about what this world means, about what this world needs.”

  She wraps her hands over mine on the bars. “The Council wants to put an end to this uprising, so they’re offering free entry through the window to anyone who’s willing to kill you. This is their way of wrenching back control. By showing the people that everything has a price. That greed and self-interest will always trump love and goodness.”

  “No one’s going to take them up on it,” I say, horrified.

  Her fingers fall away. “They already have. In the first hour alone, hundreds of offers poured in. But one person in particular put in his name, and the Council selected him, based on his relationship with you. The execution has been set. You will serve your sentence two days from now.”

  She looks at me, her eyes caressing every curve and angle of my face, and then she turns and walks away, her heels clicking against the floor.

  “Mom! Tell me!” I call after her, even though I already know. Even though there’s only one answer that makes sense. I just can’t bring myself to believe it. “Who is it? Who did the Council select to kill me?”

  “I’m sure you can guess.” Her voice carries down the long hallway, and I can’t see her face anymore. The only thing I can make out is her navy uniform. “Mikey approached me too late about getting his son a manufactured memory. The Memory Lab was booked solid. And so, he had to find a different way. You may not want to admit it, but you’ve known for eighteen days, when you lived his future memory along with a room full of people, who is going to kill you. Ryder Russell.”

  50

  My mind is numb. A solid, frigid cage that keeps out every thought, every feeling. It stays frozen when the redhead shoves the brunette in the chest, resuming their fight. When the streaky-haired blonde picks up her song mid-lyric, exactly where she’d left off. It continues to be rigid when the slim detainment guard comes to our cell, motioning me out and leading me down the corridor.

  “You’re getting your own cell,” she says. “By order of the International Council.”

  How…nice. Should I send them a thank-you note? Tell them how grateful I am for this courtesy? I start laughing, hysterically, the sounds bubbling out of me like champagne foam. We arrive at my cell, and abruptly, I shut it off.

  I stumble inside, collapsing on the threadbare blanket and p
illow on the concrete floor. When you’re executing masses of people, I guess you have to forgo such luxuries as comfy beds and last meals.

  “You get a final good-bye,” the guard says, as though reading my mind. “A final visit with the person of your choice. Who would you like to see?”

  Who would I like to see? The laughter comes back full force. It spews out wildly, and even slapping my hand over my mouth doesn’t stem the flow. My mother threw me at the Council’s nonexistent mercy. Ryder couldn’t volunteer fast enough to end my life. The emotions surge, but I shut them down. I reinforce the steel cage around my mind. Around my heart. I can’t bring myself to feel anything. Not yet.

  My mother and Ryder are the only two people who might have cared about me. If they’ve already forsaken me, then who’s left? Jessa? Callie? They’re nice enough to visit if I ask, but I don’t need any pity good-byes.

  “I don’t care,” I say dully. “Whoever wants to, I guess. Or nobody, if it comes to that.”

  The guard nods. Her eyes catch the light, and I glimpse a sheen of moisture. Wonderful. It’s the end of my life, and the closest thing I get to tears is from a stranger who’s known me for two minutes.

  Maybe I’m better off returning to the numbness after all.

  The hours pass. As the lights come on for my last full day on Earth, I’m kicking the metal bars over and over again, fully knowing they won’t move, and then adding my fists when the pain isn’t enough. When they bring me my midday meal, I’m sobbing into my blanket, an ocean’s worth of tears for myself and the other Mediocres, for the lives we won’t live, for the moments we’ll never have.

  For Ryder.

  Oh, I shouldn’t be surprised he volunteered to execute me. I can still hear the anger in his voice at the pool hall. He warned me, clearly and concisely. He didn’t know what he would do if I broke his trust again.