by K. Gorman
The other her lifted her head as the doctor made it to the tank and made to let her down. Pale, skinny legs slipped toward the cold concrete, touching down on the balls of their feet as the young woman wobbled upright. One of her arms stayed on the doctor’s shoulder, bracing herself.
“You couldn’t have brought her on a bed?”
A joking voice, but one familiar to her—Elliot Corringham strode in from her left, a glowing netlink in his hand. He was much older than he’d appeared in her dreams with Tia. There, he’d appeared in his mid-thirties, but he had to be pushing his sixties here, even with the rejuve technology that she could see strained into his face. These days, people simply didn’t age as they had—if they had money, anyway. The richest, if they were careful, could top out at around one-hundred-thirty before they died.
Her younger self looked up as Corringham approached from the side, the glow from the tank illuminating his front. Her tousled blond hair fell away finally, revealing the attentive, passive expression on her face.
Karin wasted no time in spotting the telltale marks of injection close to her younger self’s elbow. The puff of taped-on gauze stood out against her bare skin. Marks of a second injection, this one older and forming a triangular shape on her outer thigh, were also visible.
It was odd seeing herself from a different perspective. Every dream and memory she’d had was always from her own point of view—well, except for when she’d awoken in Maya, Program Delphi’s, body.
Actually, come to think of it…
She looked down at herself, seeing the same clothes she’d been wearing before.
Is this part of the new power?
It still rode through her, like trapped lightning, beating at her veins. The whole room pulsed with it, light shimmering in subtle waves. When she shuddered from the sensation, reality shuddered with her.
The rest of the room didn’t seem to notice, though the speech garbled the response from the first man so that only the last words came through.
“—waste a trip?”
It must have been a joke between them, because the two gave each other grins and let out a chuckle. She didn’t. Neither did her younger self.
I must be drugged to all hell. No way I wouldn’t be questioning them now.
She remembered that, at least. Even when she was young, she was always full of questions. She was like Nomiki, that way—always asking. Always needing to know. It didn’t matter that she knew the doctors were lying, she wanted to hear anything they would give her. Perhaps she wasn’t as pushy as her sister, but she had hardly been a pushover.
But then, she remembered those treatments.
It spoke volumes that she couldn’t remember this one. Nor could she remember the two doctors—except for Elliot, who had been in the dream with Tia.
Her attention slid to where her left hand still touched the surface of the Cradle.
Was that the reason?
That second energy slid up her throat like the scent of motor oil. Her stomach clenched.
Was this part of her new power?
She didn’t hear what the men said next, too absorbed in her thoughts, but the right-hand one—was he the other Corringham brother? Bernard? They seemed to have so much familiarity between them—bent to pick a familiar-looking crown up from the table in front of her.
And, she remembered.
Pain spiked through her skull, pressing at several sharp indents around her head. She hissed, bowed her head, felt the anger and rage bubble back up through her like a hurricane. Blackness fed through her blood, erupting across her brain like burst crude sludge. Her breath dragged through her throat in a raw, hoarse gasp, panicking for air.
Lost memories slid into place like pieces to an ill-fitting puzzle.
She shuddered, feeling them fuse. It was like glass in her brain, attempting to fit into the spots she’d lost. Pain and awareness caught her mind and flooded it with power, images rushing through her as each lost memory, for a second, righted itself in her mind—like they were all tiny tuning forks, and her brain was searching for the right sound to fit them back in.
For a second, she felt whole.
Then, as quickly as they’d come, they left.
Her mind fractured apart, the darkness left behind in its broken spaces gaping. She cried out as it sucked at her awareness, felt tears prick the corners of her eyes.
Then, an unreasonable calm settled over her, as deadly as a passing storm.
She opened her eyes, once again focusing on this memory. The Cradle. What they’d done to her. Her younger self still stood in the pool, unmoving, unspeaking, but the doctor stood in front of her. He was so close, she could count every pore on his nose. She stared at his face, eyes darting across his features, willing herself to memorize every piece she could.
Clearly, the travel records they’d found were incorrect. The Corringham’s had both been to Earth within the past fifteen years.
She even found herself recognizing them, bit by bit. As if a piece of the puzzle were within her reach.
Tia’s memory sighed in her head, her voice raw and full of hate.
“What’s there to talk about? You got what you wanted, didn’t you? Do you want me to absolve you?”
Karin’s lip curled back, anger flooding her blood with a roar. She snatched her fingers from the Cradle, a scream of rage strangling through her chest as she strode forward, knocking the table aside as she went for the closest doctor. Her hands rose, seeking his throat.
The scene froze. Her hand went right through him. Before she could even catch her breath, the whole room shook, and the image fell away like rain.
Takahashi stood in the doctor’s place, thin and old, looking harmless in his simple shirt, tanned slacks, and Chamak-branded comfort shoes. A concerned expression formed on his face, his gaze meeting hers with some worry.
She realized that the entire room was staring at her. And that most everyone had moved, identical expressions of worry and concern on their faces.
A part of her wanted to attack him anyway. Fury rolled through her. She screamed a snarl and turned her attack on the table. It crashed into the side wall a second later. She barely remembered moving it, but she stood about a meter from where she’d started, and her arms were heaving with power.
There were two indents on its surface from where she’d grabbed it.
She stared at them. Then at her hands.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
Without a word, she turned her attention to the door and strode out. Nomiki called after her as she left, but she refused to look back.
Chapter Fifteen
Running footsteps sounded in the hall behind her. She didn’t need to look to know that it was Marc—she’d know that step anywhere.
“Karin—wait!” His voice sounded breathless, worried.
She didn’t slow. At least, not until the closed door of the elevator forced her. She jabbed the button with her finger too hard until it opened and tried to get in without him, but the door was too slow. He pulled her to the side, bending down so that their faces were level, eyes darting from side to side as he searched her face.
“Talk to me, Kar. Are you okay?”
She didn’t respond. The room began to blur.
Understanding dawned on his face—then relief. He pulled her into a loose hug, and she felt the deep exhalation of his chest as a part of him relaxed. He didn’t say anything, just held her.
Pain bloomed in her chest. She took in a sharp breath.
Gods, I’m such a shit. Everyone probably thinks I was hurt.
But—wasn’t she? Something had changed, that was sure. Suns, she had dented that table! That was not normal!
The elevator door opened, and the light changed, space opening to her right, and she slid away from him. The compound’s normal air—not fresh, but definitely fresher than the basement—washed over her. She almost crashed into Jon on the way out. Their eyes met briefly, and a roar of panic and fear washed across her chest—
He knows. In the same, supernatural soldier way that Nomiki knows things. He knows something’s changed in me.
She didn’t want to confront it. Not here, and certainly not now. She walked faster, nearly running as Marc’s strangled protest followed her from the elevator, his steps jogging to catch up, and after some thought, she amended her earlier judgment, a sardonic laugh fluttering up through her chest.
Well, either he knows, or Marc and I are having the Nemina’s most dramatic couples’ fight.
She almost did laugh at the thought—the appropriate lightness came into her chest right after, anyway—but the face of that doctor flashed back into her mind, and her earlier fury drove back into her flesh.
By the time Marc caught up to her in the next hallway, she was shaking.
“Karin, talk to me.” His hands caught her wrists, holding them in a gentle grip, not so much pulling her to a halt as jogging in front of her to block her path.
For a solid, irrational second, she wanted to punch him.
That scared her. The room blurred again. She didn’t look at him—didn’t want him to see the shame on her face. If she wanted him to, he’d let her go. She knew that. She also knew the concern on his face.
A sick feeling ate at her gut. She shuddered. It took several long moments for her to shake off the memory and pull her mind back into herself—into this reality. She stared at his chest. Slowly, the scent of his shirt, the closeness of his skin, and the steady warmth of his body began to ground her.
She allowed herself to relax into him. He released her wrists, hand moving to rub down her back and shoulders. She was still tense, but the motion helped, as did—cliché aside—the warmth of his chest. She always used to sneer at all the romance holos with the woman laying her head on the man’s pecs, but it was working here. She just wanted to nestle into the crook of his shoulder, lay her head on his chest, close her eyes, and breathe.
“Did I disappear this time?” Her voice felt dry and raw when she spoke. She cleared her throat.
“No, but you froze, and your eyes started bugging out. Nomiki knew right away.”
Karin gave a snort, remembering her sister’s face. “Actually, I think she knew before it happened.”
His hand rose to her head, sliding over her hair in a soothing manner. She closed her eyes at the warmth. As her mind came back to her, dropping the image of the doctor’s face and the odd flash of rage she’d felt, she realized that she hadn’t told him what had happened. And that he also hadn’t asked.
“It was a memory, I think. Well, there were other memories, but only one was relevant. And it was the most vivid, VR experience of a memory I’d ever had. I’m not even sure if it was my memory. I was watching myself in third person.”
Hells. At least, they’d found where their memories were stashed. No hide nor hair of Tia, though.
Marc’s chest rumbled. “I’m guessing it wasn’t a good memory, either.”
“No.” Her voice came out curt. “They were about to put the laser-injector crown on my head and have me go in the water.”
He laid a quick, comforting kiss on her forehead. His right hand rubbed her back, left pulling her in tight. “I’m sorry you experienced that.”
She grunted. “Hey, another day, another revelation of fucked up childhood trauma!”
Her mind swam, thoughts turning to the Cradle again, and to its headpiece. She squinted her eyes shut as the ghost pain of its laser injectors crept back around her head. Nausea rolled in her gut.
Okay, so maybe she wasn’t as blasé as she seemed. She let out a breath, sinking back into Marc’s chest—then stiffened as her netlink buzzed in her pocket.
Nomiki, probably.
She guessed Marc must have felt it, too. When she made no move to answer it, one of his hands left her shoulders and fished it out of her pocket and put it to his ear.
“She had a bad memory. I’ve got her. We’re gonna walk it off.”
She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice. Nomiki said something on the other end that she didn’t catch. She relaxed further into his chest.
He ended the call.
“Walking it off is a good idea,” she said, her eyes still closed. “I don’t think I could stay still for long.”
Although she wanted to head back to her bunk on the Nemina and spend the rest of the evening cuddling with Marc, a frenetic energy ran inside her nerves, and her thoughts kept turning back to the compound.
She couldn’t stay away.
He seemed to understand. He looked up with a grunt. “Outside, then?”
She glanced toward the end of the hall. The door they’d come into the compound through stood open, hanging at an angle on its broken hinge. Beyond, the blue tinge of the coming twilight lit the concrete wall that separated the compound from the hills and forest beyond, and her fingers felt the chill of the air outside. It had been close to sunset when they’d landed, but it looked like they still had another half hour.
She pulled away from Marc, already regretting the loss of warmth. “No. Let’s explore this place. I want to see it again.”
Ah, yes. Because exploring the setting of her childhood trauma even further was totally going to help calm her down. And get through whatever the fuck was going on with her body.
Adrenaline. That whole denting-the-table-thing could totally be explained by adrenaline. And it’s not as if running from her problems had ever helped any.
Actually, it has helped plenty. I was doing just fine in my new life until the Shadows came around and fucked everything up.
And now, they had to go unfuck the universe to have even a shot of a normal life—for anyone to have even a shot of a normal life.
Fuck.
Marc’s eyebrows twitched, probably thinking along similar thoughts—at least with regard to her ‘exploration as therapy’ idea—but he wisely chose not to say anything.
Once again, she got the odd feeling of normalcy from the place as she led the way through the hallways. Everything rang with familiarity—every single centimeter of it fixed in her memory, only now aged and touched with abandonment. Dust and dirt had collected in the cases of the tube lights, and there were more cobwebs than she remembered hanging in the corners and draped across the outer windows. The tubes cast a stark light on the floor, making it gleam with white highlights.
She came to the bulletin board a short way from the entrance and halted.
“They still have our pictures up,” she said, hearing the disbelief in her own tone.
The pictures had yellowed and wizened, the paper curling at the edges, and a water stain marked the corner of one of them, but she recognized the drawing. Not one of her own, but from someone she’d known. A face popped into her head—black, curly hair, a squarish figure, eyes that seemed to be sunken into her face, as if she were sick.
But then, they all had been sick, hadn’t they? Even Nomiki, the strongest, had been taken under by the treatments.
Unbidden, a thread of that earlier weakness slipped through her veins—an echo of the nausea she’d experienced yesterday.
Yeah, okay, maybe restarting treatment was a stupider idea than I thought.
Another memory jiggled loose, and she lifted her hand to the paper—Claire, that was her name. She wondered where she was, if she was still alive. She had been among the survivors when Nomiki had made her big move.
Probably, they’d gotten away. All of them. And if they were smart, they would have kept going, running far out of Seirlin’s hands. Maybe even done what Nomiki and Karin had and found a shuttle heading off of Earth. To Mars, or Enceladus, or even through one of the gates, though they would have been hard-pressed to get into Sirius after Nomiki had ensured the gate wouldn’t open again for a while.
Other drawings decorated the board, held up by tacks. She recognized one of her own, a butterfly, well-detailed and colored with even, light strokes of pencil crayon, and took it off the board. Her signature, as neat as the coloring, sat in the bottom right-hand corn
er. With a thought, she allowed her light to slip through her skin, casting a glow over the paper where a lack in the overhead lighting had put it in shadow, but it only made the whole thing appear washed out.
“That’s yours?” Marc asked.
He’d been quiet, waiting. Tense and watchful, too, but that was understandable. She hadn’t vanished into thin air this time, at least, but seeing someone you care about going into a frozen mind state what-the-fuck-ever couldn’t have been pleasant.
She gave a dry swallow and focused back on the paper.
“Yes,” she said. “Did it a few years before we left.”
There’d been no date on the paper, but she’d written her age—seventeen.
She turned away, heading toward the next cross-hallway.
A few corners later, she came to the row of doors that made the lower dormitory rooms, as she knew she would.
Her jaw tightened as memories washed through her. Half-remembered glimpses of herself making the same round-the-corner route and bee-lining for the second door on the left.
Her room.
The door opened with a shudder, one of its hinges crunching, and the smell of must passed over her face. Marc helped her force it through the rest of the way. It creaked open, revealing the small, barren chamber within.
Memories twitched in her gut—along with disgust—as she took it in.
When she’d been growing up, it hadn’t seemed all that odd. Logical, even. Though kids on television had lavish set-ups and accessories like windows and closets, that was on them. In the compound, where they’d been supposedly sent for treatment, or for testing biological cures on diseases, or for saving humanity—the stories had changed as Karin’s bullshit-detector had matured—it made sense that they were kept in chambers like this. They’d made it out to be like a dormitory at school. Had even had some themed parties to make it closer to some of the more popular kids’ boarding school serials that they’d watched.