Project Recollection: Book One of the Affinity Series

by A A Woods

  “I wish I could have stopped her, Tora… Mei. I wish I’d known.”

  I shake my head, swallowing convulsively. “It’s not your fault.”

  “But I was the one who—”

  “Stop,” I whisper. “Please. You’re not your mother.”

  Just like I’m not mine.

  I curl in as if I can hold myself together. That one word, that one horrible word, roars like a hurricane in my mind.

  Peaches.

  Peaches.

  Peaches.

  Where are you, Zhu?

  It’s the same question I’ve been asking for so many months, but it means something different now.

  Khali’s breathing next to me, soft and strong. Her fingers are tender as they touch my uninjured shoulder and run along my arm, leaving a ghostly trail.

  “You’re right,” she says at last, letting her hand fall away. “I’m not my mother. But I’m still sorry. Your brother…” She inhales sharply and I wonder if she’s coming apart as much as I am. “I met him once, you know. At one of our events, before I left to become a Gamer. Everyone was talking about this brilliant new programmer, the son of a genius artist and a neuroscientist. I thought he would be a snob. But when I met him… he laughed at all my jokes. Made fun of the investors.” I hear the smile in Khali’s voice. Another part of me snaps off, blows away like powder. “He seemed like a good person.”

  The irony makes me sick, the two of us standing over Yasmin’s body and speaking about Zhu as if it’s his wake, as if he’s the one on the table.

  I can’t stand it.

  I can’t accept that he’s gone.

  If I do, then all of this will have been for nothing.

  I tilt my head toward Khali, away from the stench of death.

  “You could use her body, you know,” I say, hating the words even as I force them out. But I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t say this.

  “Excuse me?”

  I plunge on, ignoring Khali’s disgust. “I think the Ankh program would work, even though she’s been dead for a few minutes. They can treat that kind of shallow damage.” I take a deep breath. “You could live like a normal person.”

  “You mean like a criminal?”

  “I could help you explain to the media. They know about the program now. I think people would understand.”

  I don’t know why I’m pushing so hard, rationalizing this repulsive choice. All I know is that I can’t stand the thought of being like Yasmin. Of acting selfishly. The idea of Khali’s soul being whisked into another body, that body, makes me want to scream and cry and wither into nothing. But the idea of holding back the option just because I can’t stand the thought of losing that beautiful voice, that beautiful face...

  I’d never forgive myself.

  Khali’s sweeps around the room on soft wings. It’s raspy and mischievous and the sound I love most in this world.

  “No,” she says. I open my mouth but she cuts me off. “I wasn’t just refusing because it was your brother, Tora. I meant what I said. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there are no cheat codes to life. You can’t steal the things that really matter.” I feel her eyes on me, twin points of blazing fire. “Who knows how I might be different if I didn’t live under the weight of my problems. But I’m rather fond of them at this point, and not interested in exchanging them for someone else’s.”

  I turn toward her, pulled in by her inescapable force. We’re like magnets, polarized to one another, tuning forks in harmony.

  “You really meant it, didn’t you?” I ask desperately. “That you wouldn’t trade, even if you could?”

  “Not a chance,” she says with a chuckle.

  “It’s going to be a mess,” I say as the air in front of me shifts. As Khali moves forward. “ProRec will be scrambling for control. This will be on the news. Someone will have to come forward and explain everything.” I pause, dizzy as her breath tangles with mine. I have to swallow before continuing. “And I’m going to find Yasmin. No matter what. I need to know if my brother’s still in there.”

  Khali’s laugh is like butterfly wings on my cheeks. Her hands brush up my arms, settle on either side of my face.

  “Well then,” she says as electricity sparks between us, as everything in the world shifts into an orbit with us at the center, “it sounds like you’re going to need my help.”

  When her lips touch mine, they taste like hope.

  Memory File of Annalise Copper

  Chief Recorder for The Over Eye

  Time Stamp: Friday October 19th, 2195

  9:32 A.M. EST

  “Well, we’ve had quite a month, haven’t we Jim?”

  The woman’s smile is an iridescent white, gleaming even through the spotlights. Super-scrapers glimmer like Christmas trees in the nighttime backdrop, the holographic display dizzyingly wrong for so early in the morning.

  “We sure have,” answers the man with salt-and-pepper hair and an equally radiant grin. “For those of you just tuning in—”

  “Or living under a rock,” the woman says.

  “— Project Recollection has been on shaky ground ever since that mess in their H.Q. approximately four weeks ago. It’s unclear exactly what happened, and the illicit memory that was allegedly proof of their wrongdoing has long since been taken down. But in the past week ProRec has come forward to admit that their disgraced C.E.O., Yasmin Abergel, was indeed guilty of suppressing information about the true addictive qualities of memory-sharing technology. This has been rather unsettling to the public of Nova, more than three-fourths of whom wear and use an IRIS cable in their daily lives.”

  “I certainly do, Jim.” The woman’s perfectly manicured fingers gesture to the smooth cable twisted elegantly into her bun.

  “Well Lisa, ProRec’s official report is that Abergel falsified data and spread lies about MemHeads and Gamers to cover her tracks, making it look like it was human folly responsible for their unfortunate affliction, not ProRec cables. As we reported the day after the incident when the story first broke, Abergel killed herself rather than face justice, using the labs beneath the super-scraper to wipe her memories clean.”

  Lisa shakes her head with a scandalized expression as she continues the story. “So, while we can’t ever know exactly what she was up to, ProRec has verified that Yasmin Abergel is fully responsible for the enormous addiction epidemic that has been sweeping our country and claiming our loved ones.”

  “But never fear—” both their smiles come surging back “— those of you still wanting to tune in to Lifestyles have an answer. ProRec has released a brand-new alternative called a Theia Sheath, their latest solution for anyone yearning to connect to the VERAN.”

  “Can you explain this new development to our viewers, Jim?”

  “This Theia Sheath is made via an injection of nanotechnology designed to coat the Neurowiring already present in your brain, updating it all at once. No extraction necessary. The resultant system has the capacity to block the neural pathways responsible for addiction, making it completely risk-free. According to ProRec, this new tech is safe for long-term use, compatible with international channels, and, most excitingly, it’s wireless. Theia Sheaths will totally do away with the ports and physical cables that keep us all so plugged in.”

  “And that’s not even the best part,” Lisa says, throwing her radioactive smile your way. “To make up for the potential damages that our old, faulty cables caused, ProRec is issuing a fully funded recall of their original IRIS technology. So you can get your Theia Sheath installed as soon as you want by a professional wireologist, all at ProRec’s expense.”

  The man, Jim, leans toward you, his elbows resting on the faux wood desk in front of him. “Of course, the government is still investigating Abergel’s actions and whatever fiasco caused the extensive damage to ProRec’s super-scraper on the night of September 22nd. Due to ongoing enquiry, the FDA cannot yet officially recommend Theia Sheaths for widespread use. But production
has been accelerated due to the newly discovered risk of IRIS technology and the damage ProRec guarantees if people remove their cables entirely.”

  “Well, of course they would say that, wouldn’t they?” Lisa laughs, a polite, tinkling sound. “I don’t know about you, Jim, but I’ll still be first in line at my wireologist on Monday to get my Sheath. I haven’t tuned in to Wanderlust in weeks and it is torture not to see where my favorite travelers have been.”

  “I know what you mean, Lisa,” Jim says. And then his face pulls into the mockery of a serious expression, his eyes meeting yours. “In related news, the Purists have been gaining steady momentum. Their movement has grown from a small office in Mid-Town to over a hundred-thousand strong, with pockets of Purist sentiment popping up all over the country.”

  Lisa nods, her voice splicing in smoothly after Jim’s. “They’re insisting that Theia Sheaths are just as dangerous and ProRec can’t be trusted. They’ve issued widespread invitations for the public to seek out Purist clinics, maintaining that the only safe course of action is to completely disconnect all Neurowiring technology. Their new slogan is remove, not replace.”

  “But don’t jump into their arms just yet,” Jim’s eyes are friendly, like a grandfather giving advice. “Removing fully-integrated Neurowiring, particularly from a person who has suffered addiction or cable alteration, is dangerous and shouldn’t be undertaken without a professional technician present, which the Purists can’t guarantee.”

  Lisa’s lips purse in disapproval. “Just last week, a young Gamer went to a pop-up Purist clinic to get her cable removed and died during the procedure.”

  “Terrible, terrible,” Jim says, but then his mouth pulls wide again. “Well, I know what I’m doing on Monday, eh Lisa?” Warmth and charisma wick off him with enough power to fill the recording studio. “I intend to let ProRec fix their mistakes, especially if I get a free cable out of it.”

  “A wireless cable,” Lisa points out.

  Jim laughs, and the sound is careless and free. It invites you in, makes your face tug up in an answering smile.

  “That sounds pretty good to me,” he says, and you can’t help but believe him.

  To Be Continued…

  Thanks for reading!

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  A. A. Woods is a Boston-based writer of science fiction and fantasy. She's lived in Montana, Costa Rica, Vermont, and Scotland, which has given her a soul-deep wanderlust that she treats by exploring her own imagination. Her deepest ambition is to make people think.

  Keep reading for a teaser of

  VAGABONDS

  Chapter One

  Life at Meru

  If there’s a hell, I bet Meru Academy could give it a run for its money, Eliza thought as she made her way across campus, shouldering her backpack and glaring at the intricate Latin that decorated the arch of the Liberal Arts building. She rolled her eyes at the pretentiousness of it.

  A Liberal Arts building for a high school? Please.

  But after the fourth time Eliza had gotten into a fight at school, her parents had made up their minds. There had been no discussion, no bargaining, just a sit-down at their mahogany dinner table and a stern command.

  You’re going to boarding school, Elizabeth Mason, and that’s final.

  Now, with a frustrated sigh, Eliza waited on the steps beneath the inscribed Latin as she watched the other students milling through the double doors, all on their way to homeroom or gym or advisor meetings or the parking lot behind the athletic facility where they could get high while cutting class.

  No one so much as looked at her.

  Guess that’s what I get when the most popular girl in school hates my guts.

  “Howdy,” came a familiar voice from behind her.

  Eliza’s brooding scowl cracked down the middle as one side of her mouth twitched up.

  “Joe, you can’t say howdy and not expect to have your head shoved in a toilet.”

  “Aw, come on, that’s old-school stuff. No one does that anymore.” Joe leapt up the final stair. “Besides, who would hit a kid with glasses?”

  Eliza couldn’t help but chuckle as her best friend in the world—well, her only friend really—stood beside her, those very same glasses winking in the morning sun. Joe Fagan was cursed with an endlessly entertaining last name, coke-bottle glasses, and skin so pale that it looked almost translucent, except for the spattering of freckles. It didn’t matter that he was tall and handsome in a rangy sort of way. He was a nerd who read books older than their headmaster and watched more Marvel movies than was good for him. If it weren’t for the fact that his parents ran the most successful news outlet in the United States—Hermes News Network, HNN for short—he would have spent his days shoved in lockers and picking his lunch off the cafeteria floor.

  Which meant that he and Eliza basically had to be friends.

  Eliza opened her mouth to greet him when a burly hockey player knocked into Joe from behind.

  “Watch where you’re walking, queer.”

  Joe grabbed Eliza’s shoulder with one arm as she made to lunge after the jock, ready to tackle him from behind.

  “Let me go,” Eliza snarled, but Joe just adjusted his glasses with his free hand.

  “That dumb Neanderthal didn’t even get it right,” Joe said with a half-smile. “My last name is similar to faggot,” he shouted into the swinging doors. “At least insult me correctly.”

  Eliza took a deep breath, glaring into the bustling entrance hall.

  “Why do you always have to be such a pacifist?” she said, shrugging off his hand.

  “What can I say, the sight of blood makes me queasy. Come on, Rambo, let’s get to homeroom.”

  Eliza followed Joe inside. She was already seething and it was only eight o’clock. And the heady atmosphere of a school on Friday was only making it worse. Everyone was talking about the parties and dances they were going to that weekend, some driving as far as Boston to spend their parent’s money and make bad choices. But of course, Eliza and Joe would be here. Him because he had no interest in being a proper teenager. And her because her parents had cut her off, taking the car and the credit card away to ‘ensure good behavior’.

  “I’m not, you know.”

  Eliza started, pulled from her thoughts as Joe bumped into her shoulder.

  “What?”

  “Gay. Not that I have anything against the idea,” he said, the words tumbling out of him. “I’m sure it would be awesome to be gay. Then at least I could respond to them with an enthusiastic hell yeah.” Eliza laughed as Joe continued. “But I’m not.”

  “Joe, I’ve seen your collection of Taylor Swift posters.”

  He ducked his head, pale cheeks flushing with color.

  “Too many?”

  She shoved him gently.

  “Come on, you weirdo, we’re late.”

  Eliza and Joe were the last to enter homeroom, which of course made things more awkward than usual. Mrs. Henderson immediately launched into her disapproving lecture about timeliness and work ethic, but Eliza wasn’t listening. She could feel the eyes on her, hot with malice and cunning. The female student population at Meru seemed to think that Eliza was a barely tamed zoo animal, still reeking of the wild. She guessed that the stories about her last school—where she’d been suspended twice for bloodying a bully’s nose—had circulated enough to give her what her mother would call a reputation. But not enough to make them back off. If anything, it was like they were poking her. Looking for a weakness, a button, a trigger. Wanting to be around to watch the show.

  And it didn’t help that deep down, Eliza wanted to give them one.

  Finally released from the early bird gets the worm sermon, Eliza followed Joe to the back of the classroom, hunching her shoulders to avoid the haughty stares. Worst of all was Tori Bent, as beautiful an
d cruel as a winter storm.

  And unfortunately, Eliza’s roommate.

  “Did you get lost on the way to class?” Tori hissed as Eliza slid into her seat, Joe taking the one behind her.

  Eliza made a coughing sound shaped suspiciously like the word harpy.

  “Look, I know we aren’t exactly friends—” Eliza snorted “— but I want to make it up to you. The girls and I are having a bit of a, shall we say, affair in the woods tonight. By the Fitzgerald Base fence. You know, that clearing off Exit Two.”

  Suspicion prickled along Eliza’s arms. Disgruntled by the sudden appearance of a roommate in what had been a private room the year before, Tori had taken on the mission to exclude or humiliate Eliza as if it were her holy calling. So Eliza knew there must be something more to the affair than Tori was letting on. Especially since Joe was kicking her seat from behind in silent warning.

  “I think I’ll pass,” Eliza said, swallowing the urge, the need even as it welled inside her.

  “Come on, are you scared?”

  It was as if Tori knew the passcode to Eliza’s brain. She fought it, tried to breathe through it, but the instinct to prove herself ran marrow deep. Ever since Katie’s death, Eliza hadn’t been able to resist a call to action. A way to stand out.

  A dare.

  And this was just that.

  “Fine,” Eliza said, ignoring Joe’s foot now hammering on the underside of her molded plastic chair. “What time should I be there?”

  Keep reading Here!

  Books By This Author

  Vagabonds: Book One of the Scottstown Heroes Series

  "Brilliant characters, non-stop action... a book that will keep you turning pages till the end!" ~ Baz (UK Reviewer)

  Something's hiding in Scottstown....

  Eliza Mason is bored and frustrated by her life at Meru Academy. Her it-girl roommate hates her, her teachers pity her, and the only friend she has is the rich but reclusive Joe, who doesn't exactly share Eliza's yearning for adventure.