All Rights Reserved

by Gregory Scott Katsoulis

  I listened for the door to close, willing Margot to just go. I kept my body between Henri and the exit. I tilted my head, a maneuver I’d seen in movies. Margot’s mouth hung open, and her expression flashed from astonishment to anger. I’d feared this would happen, but I couldn’t avoid it. She pulled her mask over her face and glared, wet-eyed, as she let the door close at last.

  Henri reached down and lifted up my hand. “What’s this?” he asked, interlacing his fingers with mine, so that, even though I didn’t hold his hand back, he held mine firmly.

  In another, more playful time, I would have said, My hand.

  I didn’t answer, of course. I stood on my tiptoes and I nearly kissed him. It was easy to lure him to me. He moved in, and his arms encircled me. He kissed me. How careful did I need to be about my Cuff if we were in a Squelch? Could I hug him back? Could I taste his lips, just a little? They were rough and strong, with a slight tang of orange. I noticed that his head was bigger than Beecher’s, which was a funny, nervous thought.

  Did I like him? I did, but I couldn’t say how. My mind was elsewhere. I put my arms around him, just like I’d practiced, and pulled the zipper open lightly on his backpack. I slipped the blue device out and scrunched my eyes closed against what I was doing. I prayed Henri wouldn’t notice.

  Once I had it, I pulled away. There was no use dragging this out any longer. Poor Henri. He looked so puzzled. I tried to compose myself and smile that Saretha smile, the one from before the Zockroft™, when she was actually happy. How had she ever been happy in this world?

  “Are we...?” Henri didn’t know what to ask. I smiled again. I knew he would think that smile was a yes. If all went well, I would repeat this act one more time and sneak the tear-shaped thing back into his bag. Then I would stop. I would suddenly cease being interested and find some way to apologize to Margot.

  I worried about her. We all knew Margot’s teasing talk of love was a nested act—except maybe Henri. Did he truly not see she was flirting? I’d broken her heart for this key—but her heart would heal. But if I was caught, Kel’s trust would never recover.

  I prayed my plan would work, so it would all be worth it.

  CAROL AMANDA HARVING: $39.99

  When I came home, Sam was just getting ready for school. He still had friends there—people he could talk to. He looked up at me and gave me the best smile he could manage. I was pained to see the distance that had grown between us.

  “Sera Croate is studying for a Custodian’s license,” he said, trying to bring me news. That seemed about right. Sera would excel at being a little Mrs. Harris.

  Saretha was sitting placidly on the couch watching the screen, entranced. My heart thumped against my ribs as I went to the wall and turned it off. I needed their attention.

  Saretha gave a little frown, but did not seem in the least unhappy.

  “That show was good,” she said, her eyes swimming a little.

  I flipped my Placer’s bag over my shoulder and opened it. It was exactly the thing Kel suggested I not do. I pulled an orange out, and the tart, sweet smell flooded my senses. I held it out, and Sam froze.

  “Is that an orange?” Saretha asked, squinting. Sam crossed the room and took it out of my hand, his eyes full of wonder. Despite himself, he licked his lips.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked, then he looked at me. He saw the bag and my matte black clothes. At once, he knew. I thought he would say it out loud, but instead he just looked at me with his mouth half-open in awe. I felt giddy. Sam closed his eyes and smelled the orange. The aroma was a little less sweet and a little more pungent unpeeled, but it was still a beautiful thing.

  I quickly moved to our closet and pulled out Saretha’s nicest dress, shaking it at her. She looked confused. I will admit, I probably looked like a lunatic. She blinked and turned the screen back on.

  “Should we peel it?” Sam asked, holding the orange up. Sam didn’t ask me a lot of questions anymore. Why should he? I would not answer. I could feel him losing hope in our connection. I crossed back to him and plunged my thumbnail under the thick rind and began to peel back the skin. Actions speak louder than words. The orange smell grew more intense.

  “Wow,” Sam breathed.

  I handed the peeled orange to Sam and pulled Saretha up from the bed. She stood, not looking at me, but watching a reality show in which girls competed for the affection of a deformed Lawyer. (It would turn out later that, surprise! He wasn’t deformed at all, and he would marry the girl who was kindest to him while suing all the rest.) I turned the screen off again. Saretha blinked and turned to me. There was no upset in her, only mild confusion.

  “You look taller,” she said. She leaned in and gave me a hug. The Zockroft™ blunted everything. Was I taller? I took an extra moment to assess our heights. We were standing face-to-face, but I hadn’t noticed until that moment I was now slightly taller than her. An odd feeling crept into my throat, like an unsaid apology for all the time I had wasted saying so much less than I should have.

  Sam handed me a slice of orange. I took it, even though it wasn’t really for me. I placed it in my mouth, surprised at the softness of the outer skin. A tart, sweet flavor flooded my mouth. I wanted to savor this moment, but we needed to move.

  I took the dress, held it up to Saretha and shook it again. She shrugged and took it from me with a pleasant smile. Her eyes seemed to swim before finding focus. After a moment, she began to struggle to put the dress on, chewing and swallowing a piece of orange, but taking no more joy or pleasure from the sweet fruit than she would have from a sheet of Wheatlock™.

  Sam looked away, out our small milky window. He always looked away when we got dressed—for the sake of courtesy, embarrassment or possibly both. Now he closed his eyes and smelled the orange again.

  “Have you been a Placer since that night?” Sam asked, smelling the orange even as he savored a slice. “When you came home with the cut on your chin?”

  His voice hitched a little, and it broke my heart to hear it. I thought he would have been happier. My head was filled with things I wanted to say.

  “Placer,” Saretha said, almost like an echo.

  Suddenly Sam turned back. “Did you get a spot for Saretha?” he asked, looking from me to her. He was so smart. It was a good idea, if I had a way to make it happen. I wished that was where we were headed, but this might be just as good. This might be better.

  Instead of speaking, I turned the screen back on and Saretha stopped dressing to watch. I pulled up the interface and sorted through to a screen of Ads. You could watch all the Ads you liked for free. I pulled up a movie trailer for Carol Amanda Harving’s last film, The Bullets Have Names. When she appeared onscreen, I paused the image. Saretha let out a small groan.

  “Speth,” Sam said. He didn’t understand why I would do this. I’m sure it seemed cruel.

  “Zockroft™,” Saretha said weakly, followed by a deep sigh as the disc on her Cuff injected her. $22.99. I hated that stuff. I grabbed her arm.

  “She can’t help it,” Sam said. He put the half-eaten orange down on the counter.

  I pulled out the small blue device I had stolen and ran it over my sister’s Cuff. It clicked. Sam gasped as I cracked it open.

  “Don’t say anything!” Sam cried out, racing to Saretha and grabbing her hand. Saretha looked confused. Her Cuff vibrated in my hands, like an angry beast. It still encircled her arm.

  Saretha Jime—gesture: nod—1 second: 99¢

  I lifted the Cuff away. Its screen dimmed, no longer drawing electromagnetic power from her arm. It went into safe mode. She reached for it, stretching out her hand feebly. Her eyes were pleading, not grateful. She touched the ring on the end that read Zockroft™.

  I was glad taking her Cuff off would mean separating her from the drug. For that alone, it might be worth it, though I
felt a pang that Zockroft™ was the only thing that provided her with any peace. I placed the Cuff on the kitchen counter, splayed open like a gutted animal.

  Sam’s window reflected my thin, weary face in its cloudy glass. I held up my arm and looked at my own Cuff. It was nothing more than a shackle to me. I took Henri’s little device and ran it up my left arm. The Cuff unlocked, and I peeled it off. I put it next to Saretha’s on the counter. She watched, her eyes half-glazed with her final dose.

  “Speth, I don’t know what you want,” Sam said desperately.

  I scanned the room for some way I could communicate. I looked back at the screen and then out the window.

  “Carol Amanda Harving,” Sam said dutifully. His eyes flashed recognition. “You found her?”

  My chest rose and fell in relief. Yes, I thought. I walked out the door and waited for them to follow. Saretha finished jamming herself into her dress, which only barely fit. I hadn’t considered how little she had to wear now, but it would have to do. Sam pushed her forward and we were on our way, leaving the precious remains of the orange behind.

  MURDEROUS: $40.99

  It was still bright when we emerged outside. The dome glowed a brilliant frosty white above the city. Saretha blinked in the light. She hadn’t been outside in so long, she needed a moment to adjust. She glided along, running her fingers over the buildings’ walls and Ads, like she needed to feel them to know this was real. The light patter of Ads around us suddenly went dark. Even without Cuffs, we were still being monitored. The Ad panels pinged for Cuffs, only to find they weren’t there. I worried. What if they scanned our faces? Would Rog be notified? Would the police?

  They mostly shut down, which was a relief, but an illusionary ring of shadow surrounded us wherever we walked. It was hard to hide, and people began staring.

  Cars drove fast around the outer rim. The sound of them bounced between the tall, long buildings. My body was trembling with nervous exhilaration. We just had to make it to Malvika Place.

  “Do you think she will talk?” Sam asked. “Are we going to meet her?”

  I wished I had a better way to explain. I had to show them what I’d seen. I hoped to pass Saretha off as Carol Amanda Harving. How could they prove my sister wasn’t her? They could never produce Carol Amanda Harving in court. Not even Butchers & Rog could conjure a human being from thin air.

  I could feel eyes on us everywhere. Some were curious, others disdainful. We hadn’t traveled far when a pack of kids a little younger than me fell quiet at the sight of us. One of them signed the zippered lips. Sera Croate hissed from behind them, “Don’t do that!” I was startled to see her. Her Cuff buzzed, and her face sneered.

  “Do you know what you’ve done?” she demanded. The kids around her scattered. I said nothing, praying she would get bored with us and move along. “I should—” She stopped talking and began tapping up an InstaSuit™. She waited for my Cuff to buzz in receipt, and when it didn’t, her eyebrows knit in angry confusion.

  I put my left arm behind me, to hide my missing Cuff from her view.

  “Hey!” Sam said suddenly, brightly. “Let’s go! Mrs. Harris is waiting!” He lied so easily.

  He took my right hand and pulled me forward. Sera eased out of our path, baffled, cowed by our Custodian’s name.

  We made it as far as the bridge leading to Falxo Park. I’d planned to move toward the city center and Malvika Place, but a car came toward us and pulled to a sudden stop. A tall, sharp-faced man emerged, staring at me.

  He wasn’t a Lawyer. He wasn’t dressed like one, and he looked too brutal and dim. He wasn’t a police officer, either. His lip curled, and he rapped on the roof of his car.

  “Hey, look,” he said, like he had found something interesting. Two other men, who appeared to be his brothers, emerged from the vehicle and sneered.

  They all looked identical—lean and rough, with long, muscled necks that seemed dangerous and the same watery blue eyes. Each of them was dressed in an ivory-buttoned Arlington Heights Transcolor™ shirt—one indigo, one maroon and one gold. Their crisp black pants were thick and itchy-looking.

  I don’t know if Sam sensed my unease, but he turned to me and said, “I can make you think of zebras.”

  He remembered our dad’s trick of the mind. He nudged me with his elbow and inclined his head backward, toward the bridge.

  “Come on,” he whispered.

  I didn’t want to use the bridge, but I sensed Sam was right; it was better to avoid confrontation. We could go into the park and then turn back at the next bridge.

  At first I thought the brothers might have been summoned by some alert from the Ad scans, but then I saw Sera Croate standing uncomfortably in the distance, pretending not to watch.

  Ads babbled in our wake as we moved across the bridge, brought to life by the three brothers who began to follow us.

  Sam forced a laugh. “Do you see it?”

  I wasn’t thinking of zebras, not with those three men behind us.

  “I wonder what your zebra looks like,” Sam said. “Whether it’s standing in a great plain, or by a tree. Are the stripes thick or thin, or curved or straight?”

  I saw it then. A zebra flicked in my mind’s eye, striped thin, standing under a tree, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

  We should have run.

  “Did you know zebra stripes are like fingerprints? If you ever look at them, it’s like a huge thumbprint on the side of a white horse—like a huge giant with inky fingers picked the zebra up and left the mark behind.”

  I turned back to look at the men. Two of them were right behind us, near enough for me to hear the the rustle of their stiff clothes as they walked. The third brother, the one in indigo, peeled off and was walking quickly on the far side of the bridge forty feet away. I think he was trying to flank us.

  “Are you picturing the giant? Is it a cyclops?” Sam asked, elbowing Saretha, then me. “I bet it is now.”

  Saretha laughed a loopy little laugh. What a time for Sam to come back. I’d missed his voice, but I could only half-listen.

  “I can make you think of a gigantic cyclops picking up a zebra, just by saying it. That’s a pretty serious power,” Sam said more seriously. I didn’t know if he was thinking of what I had sacrificed, or of his own future. I would never be able to ask, but I know he was trying to reassure us.

  “Sluk,” a low, rasping voice behind us said. I felt Saretha bristle.

  We were halfway across the bridge now, a few feet from the apex. The split in the safety mesh had never been repaired from when Beecher jumped. Sam wheeled around.

  “You need to watch your mouth,” he warned. He was easily two feet shorter than any of these men.

  “We know who you are,” the leader in gold warned.

  “You know Miss Harving?” Sam asked. His voice was strange. What was he doing? I wanted to take his hand, but I didn’t know if my eyes would be shocked if I tried.

  The “Don’t Jump,” song began playing, triggered despite the fact that—or perhaps because—we did not have our Cuffs. I glanced down at the ring below. There was no memorial to Beecher down there. The cars went zooming underneath us, blurs of red, silver and gold. The bridge was a constant rumble.

  I didn’t like this place.

  “We know her,” the maroon brother said, pointing a thick, knobby finger at me. “The Silent Freak™.”

  “But you don’t know Carol Amanda Harving?” Sam asked, as if that was the more important subject.

  Apparently they did, because they turned to look at Saretha. The indigo brother had circled around and was now standing right in front of Saretha. He cocked his head. “The actress?”

  “The actress,” Sam confirmed.

  All three brothers got squinty. They now had us surrounded.

 
We were sandwiched between them and the bridge’s wall, waist-high and full of colorful bunnies.

  “She looks chubby for an actress,” the gold brother said. The lead looked at his Cuff as if it would tell him what to do.

  “Why’s she with the Silent Freak™?” The maroon brother jabbed his finger at me again. His Cuff buzzed. Mrs. Nince got richer.

  “She’s studying for a role,” Sam said, as if it was obvious. I’d never realized how quickly Sam could think on his feet. He leaned in to the gold leader and whispered, “She is going to play the Silent Girl in an upcoming film.”

  “Oh, is she?” the gold brother asked, like he wasn’t buying it.

  “She looks like a sluk,” the indigo brother said.

  My skin was crawling. I hated that word.

  “She’s playing a role,” Sam shot back as if the indigo brother needed this explained to him like small child. The man’s face grew red.

  I turned to look at the green of Falxo Park. It was empty, like it had been cleared. I scanned for anyone who might be a Silent, but how would I know? What could they do?

  “Don’t look away from me,” the gold brother demanded, pushing on my cheek so my head turned.

  “You made us talk,” the maroon brother complained. He spoke loudly over the roar of the traffic below. “You’re gonna pay for that.” Then he thought about the words in his mouth. “...and for this.”

  He turned his Cuff to Sam and pointed. His wristlet was rimmed in gold and a crust of diamonds. The bill scrolled with his words.

  “Fancy,” Sam commented. I loved that little voice, but he really needed to keep quiet now.

  A woman jogged by with her tiny dog and pretended not to see anything. There was a roar of engines beneath us that crested, then pitched lower as a group of cars passed. Suddenly, the air grew quiet. I tried to push through the three men, but they would not budge.

  The gold one looked Saretha over again, and then me. He narrowed his watery eyes.