On Through the Never

by Melissa E. Hurst

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Grandma gets a look on her face that almost looks like pity. “This girl may have an uncanny resemblance to Vika, but she is most definitely not the same person. She’s extremely fragile. Possibly a bit unstable. I really think it’s best that you stay away from her.”

  “But why?” I ask. “We’re both going to be at the Academy. I’m sure I’ll have to talk to her at some point.”

  “Just promise me that you won’t get involved with her,” Grandma says. “You don’t need to get wrapped up in the drama surrounding her life. You need to look out for yourself, especially if you’re serious about becoming a soldier.”

  I want to ask Grandma more, but a loud voice booms through the already noisy diner.

  “Furing freak. Your kind shouldn’t exist. You’re ruining the lives of decent, hardworking people!”

  Grandma and I search for the source of the yelling, and when our eyes land on it, I’m horrified to see a middle-aged man with a receding hairline has cornered Shan near the counter. My brother’s back is pressed against the dessert case, and he’s pale and shaking. I wonder why the man is targeting him for a second before it hits me. Like me, Shan is still wearing his Academy uniform.

  Grandma takes off. She gets up in the man’s face, pointing her finger and speaking in a low, stern voice. “If you know what’s good for you, you will get the hell out of here this instant and leave my grandson alone.”

  “And what are you going to do about it,” the man sneers.

  Holding up her wrist, Grandma activates her DataLink, pulling up her identification. “I’m Brigadier General Creed of the Department of Temporal Affairs. You will leave immediately or I will have your ass tossed in The Black Hole for so long that your family won’t even remember who you are when you get out. Hell, I may even have you Nulled.”

  “You can’t do that,” the man says, looking uncertain.

  “Try me,” Grandma says.

  By now, everyone in the diner is now focused on the two of them. Shan is still as a stone at the counter. My heart is pounding. I want to do something to help, but I don’t know what.

  Finally the man backs away. Pointing a shaking finger at Grandma, he says, “You’ll be sorry. All of you will. Jode Lincoln says he’s got something planned for all of you freaks. You just wait.”

  The man pushes his way past other customers, grumbling the whole time. Once he leaves, everyone resumes what they were doing. Chatter gradually fills the diner again.

  Grandma quickly pays the bill and leads us out of the diner. Shan leans against the window by the door, breathing hard. I stand next to him, feeling angry and powerless. I wish I had done something—anything other than sitting stunned, not doing a damn thing to help my brother.

  “Who’s Jode Lincoln?” I ask.

  “I have no idea,” Grandma replies. She places a hand on Shan’s shoulder. “Do you need some Calmer? I have some back at the apartment.”

  He nods.

  “Okay, let’s go get it.”

  She ushers him away, and I start to follow, but I’m too agitated. I need to be by myself for a while. To clear my head. I don’t want to run and hide in Dad’s apartment just because some idiotic Purist tried to start something with Shan.

  “Bridger, come on,” Grandma says, looking back at me.

  “Can I stay out for a little while?” I ask.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says, her eyes flicking back to Shan.

  “Please. I really need to just be alone. I’ll go to the closest Green Zone. It’s only two blocks away. And you can track me,” I say, holding up my wrist so she can see that I’m wearing my DataLink. “Besides, police are everywhere. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

  She frowns, then lets out a heavy sigh. “Fine. But be home in an hour. You do not want me having to look for you today.”

  8

  ALORA

  FEBRUARY 11, 2147

  Mom enters the living room from her office at exactly 1:07 in the afternoon, cocking an eyebrow at me and flashing a half-amused smile. “I didn’t realize you were that anxious to leave.”

  For the past half-hour—the last time I asked her if she was almost finished working—I’ve been pacing in the living room. I’ve already taken a steam shower, changed into a clean green jumpsuit, and even managed to detangle my hair and pull it back in a loose braid. Unconsciously, I touch the slight bulge in my pocket, where I put the Mind Redeemer. I hope I won’t have to use it on Bridger, but I’m betting they stole his memories, like they did mine.

  “I don’t really have anything else to do,” I say, forcing myself to speak in a calm voice. A part of me is angry with her, but she may not know the full truth either. I have to remember that.

  I check my DataLink again. It took me most of the morning to figure out how to track Bridger through it. He arrived at a small restaurant several blocks away a few minutes ago. If we leave now, I can convince Mom that I’m starving, even though the last thing I want is to eat. I need to talk to him—in person, since I can’t risk sending a message. But how can I do that without Mom seeing me? If she does know the truth about my past, then she has to know that Bridger was the one who brought me back from 2013. Unless I want to risk her blabbing to the DTA, I can’t let her see me talking to him. Then I could kiss my memories goodbye again.

  By the time we make it outside, I could practically crawl out of my skin. I pat the Mind Redeemer in my pocket again, just to make sure it’s still there.

  “Are you all right?” Mom asks, giving me that concerned, parental look as we exit the apartment building. Aunt Grace used to do that to me all the time. If I don’t start acting more normal, Mom might realize that I’m up to something.

  I roll my shoulders and neck and attempt an excited-looking smile. “I’m fine. I guess I’m just a little nervous. You know, this is my first time out in New Denver since I was little.”

  Mom bites her lip. “Yes, that makes sense. It’s just … I wish everything wasn’t so tense.” Our eyes immediately cut to a pair of officers approaching us. They’re in riot gear, as if they expect another protest to take place any minute, and they’re not alone. Across the street, another pair of officers are patrolling. The whole effect just makes me even more anxious. I clench my fists and try to ignore the jittery feeling spreading throughout my body.

  The one good thing I can say is that there don’t seem to be many Purists out, if any. Most everybody appears to be Gen Mods—their lean bodies are a giveaway. Some are wearing sleek, fitted suits in bright shades and asymmetrical tops that randomly change color. From what I’ve learned, they’re super popular now. Others wear clothes retrieved from different periods of time in the past. Like, right now I see a woman wearing a shiny white coat and a short orange and yellow dress with yellow tights that appears to be straight from the 1960s. She’s walking with a man dressed in plaid bell-bottom pants, a navy-blue turtleneck shirt, and a brown blazer. I cringe. Even today, people still make questionable fashion choices.

  “So, are you still hungry? Or would you rather get some new clothes first?” Mom asks, eyeing my jumpsuit and plain black coat that’s a size too big for me.

  I seriously can’t blame her; the few clothes that I have are hideous. But as much as I’d like to ditch them, I need to talk to Bridger while I know where he is.

  “Let’s eat first. I’m starving,” I lie again, still way too nervous to eat.

  “Well, there’s a row of replica twentieth century restaurants just around the corner,” Mom says. “I’m sure we can find something you’d like there.”

  “No! I have something else in mind,” I say a bit too quickly.

  Mom side-eyes me. “Really? And what would that be?”

  I give her the directions to the diner where Bridger is right now. Mom sighs. “That’s nearly five blocks from here. Are you sure about that?”

  “Yep. Positively. I’ve been dying to eat there ever since I heard about it
.” My mind races, trying to figure out a legitimate way I could have heard about the restaurant. “One of my tutors back in Chicago talked about it all the time.” I almost feel guilty lying to her, but I push the feeling away, remembering that she’s been lying to me for the past ten months.

  I’m torn between constantly checking my DataLink and trying not to gawk at the scenery around me while walking through downtown New Denver. Sure, I’ve been out in Chicago some with my tutors, and I’ve seen countless vids showing what other cities are like in this time, but now that I have my memories back, comparing the cities of today to what I grew up with is so freaking weird.

  I can’t stop noticing how different things look from the time I grew up in. Nulls are everywhere, performing maintenance and cleaning services—doing jobs that nobody wants. There are no cars, only shuttles whizzing past over the tops of the buildings. Pods, which are smaller white shuttles that can carry just a few people at a time, glide overhead much closer to the ground than regular transport shuttles. Pods function like taxis, but only some people can afford them, since they’re so expensive. The government tries to encourage people to walk or take a Maglev while traveling within the city.

  We’re a block away from the restaurant when I check my DataLink again. My stomach clenches into a heavy knot: Bridger isn’t there anymore. My steps slow and Mom turns to me.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  I lower my arm quickly and look up at her, my mind searching for an excuse to bail on the restaurant now. “Um, I don’t feel so good.”

  She places her hand on my forehead, her brow crinkling. “You’re a little warm. Do you need to sit down?”

  I nod. She leads me to a short bench reserved for people who are waiting for a Pod to pick them up. That’s another difference between this time and the past; their streets are nothing more than wide paved areas, just big enough for a small shuttle or Pod to land on.

  “Can I have something to drink?” I ask. My mouth is dry, but it’s from fear that I won’t be able to talk to Bridger, not from being sick.

  “Of course,” Mom says. “Stay here and I’ll be right back.” She hurries away to a nearby vendor selling bottles of water. I take the opportunity to track Bridger again. The blinking red dot indicating his location is moving at a rapid pace. I look up at Mom. She has the water bottle in hand and is handing over payment. She’ll be back any minute now.

  I watch the dot. Please stop. Please.

  And it finally does, just a block from here. I check the location and find that’s it’s a nearby Green Zone. Now to convince Mom I need to go there. This should be interesting.

  But fortunately, she buys my story that I’m just exhausted from all the excitement of moving and experiencing the protests yesterday, and I need a walk to relax. We make it to the Green Zone within five minutes. I search for Bridger and my legs almost give out when I see him sitting on a bench under a large tree.

  “Mom, I’m kind of hungry again. Do you think you could get me a little something to munch on?” I ask.

  She takes a deep breath and stares at me hard. “Are you sure? I thought you wanted to try out that restaurant.”

  “I feel weak, so I kind of want to stay outside for a while,” I say, then I remember a memory from my childhood. “I used to love coming to Green Zones, right? I feel comfortable here right now. Not so anxious.”

  “Okay, then. I can’t argue with that. I’ll just grab some sandwiches at that shop over there,” she says while pointing to a small bistro behind us. It has a flashing a sign over the door advertising its menu. “Stay right here, got it?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I wait long enough for her to get out of sight, then turn and make myself walk to Bridger—even though I want to run to him. I wonder how he’s going to react. What he will say.

  I’m nearly ten feet away when he suddenly looks up from his DataLink. His mouth opens and shuts a few times, and he turns so pale that I wonder if he’s going to pass out.

  Oh, dear God, please don’t let him faint. I won’t have enough time to talk to him.

  Or even worse, what if he refuses to talk to me?

  9

  BRIDGER

  FEBRUARY 11, 2147

  It’s not Vika. It’s not Vika, I tell myself as the girl I saw at the Academy strides toward me. The same girl Grandma just warned me to stay away from. It’s like I’m looking at a living ghost. Same blond hair. I bet their smiles would be similar, but I have no idea. But then, I’m starting to notice differences, too; her eyes are a lighter shade of blue, and her face is a little rounder. This girl has a determined expression on her face as she stares at me.

  But why is she here? What does she want with me? I should just get up and leave. Nothing good can come from talking with her.

  But I stay in place.

  When she reaches me, she glances over her shoulder for a moment then joins me on the bench. “I know you’re wondering why I’m here. But before we get into that, I need to know if you remember me.”

  I try not to look too much like an idiot, but I have no idea what she’s talking about. “I’ve heard stories about you, but other than that, no. I’ve never met you before in my life.”

  The girl heaves a sigh. “I swear, I’m beginning to hate the DTA. Do you even know my name?”

  I shake my head.

  “That figures. It’s Alora.”

  She slides her hand into her pocket and extracts something small, then flips her hand over so I can see it. I blink a few times to make sure I’m not hallucinating. It’s a Mind Redeemer. How did she get one of those? Only DTA operatives can have them, and only while on assignment to erase the short-term memories of ghosts in the past who have accidentally witnessed a Time Bender.

  “What are you doing with that?” I ask, looking around us to make sure nobody else can see the Mind Redeemer. There aren’t many people close to us. Just an elderly couple two benches away from us talking to each other, a few people jogging, and several Nulls picking up trash off the ground. I shudder looking at them.

  I never want that to happen to me.

  The girl—Alora—stares down at the Mind Redeemer clasped in her palm. “I found it in my bedroom with a note telling me to use it on myself if I couldn’t remember my Aunt Grace. Or … you.”

  I look sharply at her. “Me? Why would it say that? We’ve never met.”

  She reaches across and takes my hand. Her hand feels nice against my skin. “But we have met. I’d tell you everything, but I think it would be better if I let you remember for yourself.”

  She holds up the Mind Redeemer, but I panic and scoot away, glancing at the Nulls again. “No, I can’t do this.”

  Her brow crinkles, and I’m reminded of Vika. “Why not? The DTA has been lying to both of us. Don’t you want to know the truth?”

  A huge part of me does. After all, I lost several weeks of my life when they took my memories after I went temporarily insane. But according to this girl, I met her and something else happened. It must be really important if she’s risking her own safety to come to me.

  But I don’t know if I can handle remembering the truth. Maybe it’s better that I don’t know. I’ve finally been promoted at the Academy. I have a good chance of being able to join the military, just like my father. Even General Anderson said he’d look out for me, so that has to mean something. I don’t want to jeopardize all that I’ve worked for.

  “I don’t think this is such a good idea. I think you should just go,” I reply. But even as I say those words, I wish I could take them back. The look on her face is hard to bear. It’s as if I’ve punched her.

  For a moment, I think she’s about to stand, then her hand whips up in front of my forehead and she whispers, “I’m sorry.” Then I’m hit with a pain that’s like someone shooting a stunner right into my skull.

  I close my eyes and grit my teeth to keep from screaming. It seems like the pain will never end. But it slowly recedes, and the memories begin to re
turn.

  And they all center on Dad. How he sent me back to the year 2013 to save Alora from being murdered. Discovering that both he and Vika were cloned, and that he’s still alive. Realizing that I didn’t wild out last year at all, like everyone said.

  The DTA lied. My mother lied. Everyone lied.

  I bend over and rest my head between my knees. Alora rubs her hand across my back. “I’m so sorry. I had the same reaction.”

  I can’t do anything for a while but gasp for air. Feelings of rage and betrayal consume me. The DTA did this. General Anderson was somehow behind all of it. Last year, after I illegally shifted to 2013 and returned to this time, he was determined to capture and then Null me, while Professor March pretended to help me to escape. But then Dad warned me not to trust the professor again. I feel sick. Professor March’s comm from earlier today echoes in my mind. He’s been acting all concerned, checking in on me and Shan at school since last year. But he’s never even mentioned his part in orchestrating my “escape” from being Nulled—the plot that Anderson apparently engineered. Why did they do that? Why did they cover it up?

  When I finally feel well enough to sit back up, Alora is biting her lip and looking at me with concern. I remember how I was starting to develop feelings for her when we found out that she’s Vika’s half-sister. Oh man, that’s so messed up. But Alora is here now, and I’m overwhelmed to realize how much I’ve missed her. I lean over and throw my arms around her. God, she smells so good. Like lavender. Her arms tighten around me, too. I wish we could just stay this way: two people trying to make sense of a world that unjustly tore us apart.

  She pulls back suddenly, looking back over her shoulder again. “I can’t stay much longer. My mom will be here any minute now, and she can’t see us together. I don’t know if I can trust her.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I say, hating how bitter I sound. “I don’t really know who we can trust, either.”