The Left Hand of Memory (Redlisted)

by Sara Beaman

  I think of him sliding his hand up the back of the double’s skirt. I shudder.

  “Come along,” says Mnemosyne. “Let’s not waste any more time than absolutely necessary.”

  The seven of us—Julian, Richard, Alice, Janice, Mnemosyne, Carlyle and I—walk through the atrium, through a side door, and into a back hallway that leads to a service elevator, one of the ones that goes down to the basement. It’s waiting for us, doors open. Everyone else steps inside, one at a time. I linger at the threshold, pushing down the memories of every other time I stepped through these doors.

  “Katherine,” Mnemosyne says. “Get inside.”

  She doesn’t give me a choice. I step across the crack between the floor and the elevator chamber. Carlyle pushes the B4 button and the doors slide shut.

  I stand facing the doors, eyes closed, as the elevator descends. I have vivid memories of every level of basement and sub-basement in the SpiraCom building, all their offices and meeting areas and labs and holding cells—all except this level. We, the unfinished girls in the Program, were given explicit instructions never to visit it—and by explicit instructions, I mean Compulsions. Whatever Mnemosyne did to restore my memories must have erased that conditioning, because now, despite my overwhelming feelings of dread, I’m not pushing every other button on the panel in a frantic effort to escape.

  After a painfully long ride down, the elevator doors open to reveal a single hallway extending forward, a rectangular tunnel of bare grey concrete harshly lit with fluorescent panels that cover the entire ceiling. I lead the way toward the metal doors at the end of the hallway. They have no knobs or hinges; they look just like another pair of elevator doors. To their right is a black, featureless panel set into the wall.

  “That’s the first scanner,” Carlyle says. “An optical palm reader.”

  “Put your hand against the panel, Katherine,” Mnemosyne Compels me.

  I comply, placing my palm against the scanner. I hear a beep. The doors slide open, revealing a narrow chamber with concave walls of glass, on clear plastic, on the other side. There are two yellow footprints on the center of the chamber’s floor, and on the opposite wall is another set of double doors.

  “It’s a full body scanner,” Carlyle says. “After you, Miss Avery.”

  “Step inside, Katherine,” Mnemosyne orders.

  I shuffle into the chamber and place my feet on the painted footprints. I hear a click and a long, low tone, as the scanner bombards me with radiation. The next set of doors slide open. On the other side is a square, white room maybe three yards wide. On the far wall is yet another set of doors. In the center of the room is a skinny pedestal. The top of the pedestal is concave, save for a thin, metallic protrusion in its center. A needle.

  “This is the blood analysis scan,” Carlyle says. “Miss Avery, if you would be so kind as place your finger on the needle, it will extract a sample.”

  I look back at the others. Everyone stands back in the concrete hallway, watching me from behind the full-body scanner. I ball my hands into fists and hold my arms tight against my sides in silent protest.

  “Do as you’re told, Katherine,” Mnemosyne says. “Put your finger against the needle.”

  I shake my head no.

  Her eyes narrow. “Put your—“

  I close my eyes. The falcon cannot hear the falconer.

  For a moment I think I’ve gained the upper hand. Then I start to feel woozy. My eyes lose focus; my muscles slacken. I fall forward, unable to keep myself upright, but before I faceplant into the pedestal, my spine goes straight, as if my head is suspended from the ceiling by a string. I watch in bleary-eyed shock as my hand floats forward, wrist limp, like a marionette. I want to pull it back, but my muscles don’t respond. Unwittingly, I place my finger against the needle. It punches upward as soon as I touch it, giving me a brief stab. A drop of my blood drips down into the shallow depression below.

  Several seconds pass. Nothing happens. My eyesight starts to clear, and I gain control of my muscles once more.

  “Well,” I say, “that didn’t work.”

  “I would like an explanation, Christopher,” Mnemosyne says.

  “It should have worked!” he protests. “Any of Mirabel’s doubles will pass the scan! I know it for a fact!”

  “Then why isn’t Katherine’s blood acceptable?” Mnemosyne says.

  “I don’t know,” Carlyle says. “She never finished the Program, did she? She still has her own voice.”

  “When I found her, she was mute,” Mnemosyne says. “I restored her voice myself.”

  “Still, she’s incomplete,” Carlyle says. “Maybe that makes a difference.”

  “If all we need is Mirabel’s blood, there are vats of it on level B3,” Richard says.

  “We already tried that,” says Carlyle. “It didn’t work.”

  “Maybe you assholes need to find yourself another double,” I say.

  Janice looks at Mnemosyne. “Um. What about her? She looks just like Mirabel…”

  Carlyle frowns. “This isn’t just an illusion?”

  “No,” Mnemosyne says. “I will not explain how the consciousness transfer works, but suffice to say, not a bit of the double’s blood remains in my system.”

  “Wait a second,” I say. “Didn’t you steal all of my blood? You know, when you murdered me?”

  Mnemosyne shakes her head. “Not your heartsblood. If I had, you wouldn’t be here now.”

  “Hmm,” says Julian, looking at the pedestal.

  Mnemosyne looks at him. “Oh! I can’t—she wouldn’t—would she?”

  “Either of you care to let us in on your thoughts?” Carlyle asks the two of them.

  “She could have set up an anti-compulsion ward,” Julian says. “To make sure someone like—well, us—couldn’t kidnap a double and force her to tithe blood.”

  Carlyle narrows his eyes, inspecting the pedestal.

  “Damn it,” he says. “He’s right. Why didn’t I notice it before?”

  “So the test won’t work if I’m being compelled?” I ask.

  Julian shakes his head and gives me a sly smile.

  “Marduk and Tiamat!” Mnemosyne hisses, like a curse.

  “It seems to me that Katherine holds all the cards, then,” Alice says. “That’s funny.”

  “Not if she cares about Adam Fletcher, she doesn’t,” Mnemosyne retorts. Carlyle’s eyes flick over to Mnemosyne at the mention of Adam’s name. “Nor if she cares about her own life.”

  I look at the pedestal, then at Mnemosyne. I smile. The fact is, I don’t care about either of those things enough to sell my soul. Which means Alice is right.

  “Well, Miss Avery?” Carlyle asks. “What are your terms?”

  “We aren’t bargaining with her!” Mnemosyne protests.

  “What other options do we have?” Carlyle asks.

  Mnemosyne frowns and doesn’t reply.

  Carlyle says, “So. Katherine. What is it you want?”

  My mind races, flooded with a thousand possible demands. I struggle to focus, to pick out the things that really matter.

  “I want Richard's ring,” I say, just because it’s the first thing that comes to mind.

  Carlyle laughs. “That’s it? I’m sure we’d be happy to—“

  “Of course that’s not it,” I say. “I want the amulet as well.”

  “Under no circumstances,” says Mnemosyne.

  “Do you want to get in there or not?” I ask, pointing to the closed doors at the far side of the square room.

  Mnemosyne closes her eyes. Her hands vibrate with rage, fingers curled into manicured talons.

  “I’m not finished,” I say. “I want your guarantee that neither you, nor any of your children, nor your children’s children, or so on unto the millionth generation, will so much as attempt to control me, or Adam, or—or Julian ever again.”

  “If you add my name to that list, I’ll be sure to repay you accordingly,” Alice says.

 
Richard blanches. “You’ll what?”

  “Sure,” I say. “Alice too. Sounds great.”

  “I’ll make no such concessions,” Mnemosyne says.

  “We need to get in that room,” Carlyle tells her, irritated, “and Miss Avery is clearly our only viable option. As long as Mirabel is alive, she’ll never let another of her doubles come down here.”

  Mnemosyne turns to Julian. “This is your doing.”

  Julian shrugs.

  I walk back into the full body scanner and hold my hand out, palm up.

  “Richard, give me the ring,” I say.

  He pulls it off his finger and drops it in my hand with a sneer.

  “Now give me the amulet,” I tell Mnemosyne.

  Holding my gaze with eyes full of spite, she reaches behind her back. The golden disc on the golden chain becomes visible, wrapped around her waist. She releases the clasp and drops the necklace into my hand.

  I look at Carlyle.

  “Can you tell if a Compulsion works?” I ask. “Like, if it goes through? Becomes active?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “I can, yes.”

  I smile.

  “I don’t trust your word,” I tell Mnemosyne. “So I’m going to make sure you don’t go back on it.”

  She says nothing.

  Listen, I demand silently. Don’t fight me.

  She grits her teeth.

  Don’t ever force Adam or Julian or Alice or me to do anything against our will ever again, I command her. And don’t allow any of your progeny to do it either.

  Her eyes seem to lose focus for a moment.

  “I believe it worked,” says Carlyle, “a fact which is both baffling and intriguing.”

  “All right,” I say, shoving the ring on my thumb and wrapping the necklace four times around my wrist. I go back into the white-walled room, walk over to the pedestal, and place my finger against the needle. It gives me a sharp jab. My blood flows.

  The double doors slide open. Mnemosyne shoves her way through the full body scanner, past me and into the server room. Carlyle approaches me at a stroll. He reaches into his pocket and extracts a business card. He hands the card to me with a split-second wink, then follows Mnemosyne through the last set of double doors.

  “All right,” Richard says. “Let’s go. We don’t have much time.”

  “All aboard to Romania,” Alice says, extending her arms. “And, most likely, to our imminent demise.”

  Janice laughs and places her hand on Alice’s shoulder. Richard touches her bicep. Julian keeps his hands in his pockets.

  “You should come with us,” I tell him as I make my way back through the full body scanner and into the narrow concrete hallway.

  “I’m a liability,” he says. “I’ll only get in the way.”

  “Mnemosyne will murder you if you stay,” I argue.

  “I’m not sure,” he says. “It didn’t work out well for her last she tried.”

  “But this time you’re sealed,” I say.

  “We’re wasting time,” Richard says.

  “Please, Julian,” I say.

  He sighs, shakes his head, and reaches out to touch Alice’s wrist.

  I grab onto her forearm and we’re gone.

  ***

  In a flash we find ourselves outside the double doors to Mnemosyne’s Romanian enclave. They look just the same as those that stand in front of the Savannah sepulcher. Richard draws a revolver from a holster beneath his suit jacket and coolly loads the chamber. Alice pulls out a long knife from a sheath strapped to her thigh and brandishes it with a tight smile. Janice brushes her bangs out of her face, looking bored.

  “I don’t have a weapon,” I say.

  “You won’t need one,” says Richard. “Remember the plan?”

  I swallow hard. “What if things don’t go as planned, though?”

  Richard shrugs.

  “I should remain here,” says Julian, “since I’ve been sealed.”

  I pull off Richard's dream ring and hand it to Julian. “Here. I don’t know what it’ll be good for, but, you know… just in case.”

  He nods and puts it on.

  “You should go in first,” Janice says to me. “Try to see if you can sneak in without her noticing.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, dubious. “You really think that’ll work?”

  “We’ll be right behind you,” Richard says.

  “What if she notices me?” I ask.

  “I’ll be able to tell if you’re in distress,” Richard says. “Just keep your mental defenses ready. I’ll be prepared to undo any compulsions she throws at you.”

  I grimace, thinking of his technique for reversing compulsions. I hope to God that doesn’t become necessary.

  “Let’s hope that Mnemosyne is right and that Mirabel is sufficiently distracted,” Julian says.

  “All right,” I say, trying to pump myself up. “Yeah. Let’s do this. Richard, make me invisible.”

  “Aren’t you carrying your compact mirror?” he asks, smiling derisively.

  I glare at him. “Just shut up and do it, all right?”

  My arms, legs and torso blink out of sight. Looking down to see if my nose and chin are visible, I see nothing but the leaves and sticks on the ground below.

  “Okay,” Richard says. “You’re all set. Stay close to the wall just in case.”

  “Go with my blessing, Katherine Avery,” Alice says, gesturing with her hand.

  I take one last breath, then wrap my hand around the serrated handle and pull the right-hand door open.

  Deep End

  {Adam}

  I awaken to a scream and a white-hot throb of pain. I open my eyes—eyes, two of them—and I bring a hand to my face—all of it, whole. My glasses are gone, undoubtedly destroyed when Desmond shot me in the face. I squint, blink, rub my eyes. It’s difficult to make out much of anything in the darkness. Overhead is the moon, shining down through a circular clearing of trees. Where am I? Savannah? Another enclave? The air is freezing. Thinking back, I recall some mention of going to Romania. Yes—didn’t Richard say we would be going there? But I don’t feel the echo chamber of telepathic mental feedback I normally experience when he’s around. Where is he? What has happened?

  They broke through. Breached the last of the doors. They must have her. Have the girl. The unfinished one.

  I sit up and look in the direction of the mental agitation resonating through my skull. When I see who it’s coming from, I scramble to my feet as quickly as I can. Henna-red hair, bony limbs, milk-pale skin. Mirabel.

  The witch woman is inside. Mnemosyne. Lucien’s murderer. Her tendrils are in the system, taking it apart, subverting it, debasing it, bending it to her will—

  She stands in front of the deep pool with her back to me, staring into space, gesturing erratically with her hands. She doesn’t seem to notice that I’m awake. She’s too deeply engrossed in whatever is prompting her furious internal monologue.

  She can’t possibly understand the complexity of the system. Extant it will overwhelm her. It must, when she gets to the core—or she’ll weaken it and snap it in half with her clumsy fingers.

  I take a few tentative steps closer. In front of Mirabel, a web of green filaments of light slowly comes into view: an image she’s projecting in her mind’s eye. It pulsates and warps, changing form as its strings are pulled by an invisible hand. Mirabel grasps at strands seemingly at random, perhaps to undo these changes, but the web still morphs. One string at a time the web changes color, becoming a shade that seems to flash, both indigo and yellow at once. Mirabel’s hands radiate pale green light, pushing back against the intrusion of the flashing indigo. Another shock of pure nerve pain hits her system; a shadow of the same hits mine as well, making me shudder involuntarily. She screams. The light from her hands flickers and fades.

  It isn’t working—why isn’t it working? It’s my system—mine to command—Give it back to me it isn’t yours you hag it’s mine it’s my mind my entire being is i
n that system!

  I come to the realization that as soon as Mirabel loses this phantom battle, she’ll turn on me, and God knows what terrible things she’ll do. I have to do something, and I have to do it now. I reach behind my back, into the waistband of my jeans, for my gun. It’s gone.

  No no no no no—you can’t have it I won’t give it to you—

  Breaking my attention away from Mirabel and the web, I search frantically for my gun, but I can barely see. The moonlight does next to nothing to eat away at the shadows, and without my glasses, everything is a blur. Just looking around is going to avail me nothing, and I know it. I could search the entire clearing and never find the gun. I need to reach into Mirabel’s memory and find out where she hid it—and to do that, I’ll need to make contact.

  How is this happening? This can’t be happening—it’s impossible—my failsafes failing—firewalls crumbling—I don’t understand—

  My hand shakes as I reach out to touch Mirabel. I brush the back of her shoulder with my fingertips, expecting her to whirl around and throw the brute force of her mind against me like a wrecking ball, but she doesn’t notice. As discreetly as possible, I extend my consciousness into her memory, and I ask myself: where is the gun?

  The shallow pool.

  Mirabel screams once more. Her spine arches. Her arms and legs go tense down to the digits. An electric shock courses through my body as well, echoing the pain she’s experiencing. I bite my knuckles to keep from crying out as I scramble back towards the shallow pool. I don’t see anything inside, but I plunge my hand down into the water regardless. Instead of water, I feel the tickle of feathers against my skin, then cold metal as my fingers brush the handle of the gun. I grab it and pull it out. I still can’t see it, but I can feel its weight in my hand.

  Dear God no he’s warding the perimeter I won’t be able to reach inside any longer I won’t be able to fight back—

  I can make out only her outline, like the black silhouette at a shooting range. I steady my hand. I’ll only get one shot. With my mental crosshairs over her heart, I hesitate. My loathing of violence is at war with my loathing of her. How do I know this is the right decision?

  I hate you how could you do this to me we were partners I will kill you I’ll destroy everything we created and I will feel glad for it I will kill all of you and eat your hearts and I will be stronger than I’ve ever been stronger than anyone and you’ll all be dead!