Level 2 (Memory Chronicles) (12 page)

Furniture and rugs are scattered throughout the common area, giving the hive a surprisingly cozy vibe. A plush sofa, the color of ripe eggplant. Two overstuffed armchairs. A high-backed chaise longue. I’ll be able to detox in comfort, that’s for sure.

On the left-hand curve of the hive, there is the typical stacked set of memory chambers and one stairway going up. On the right-hand curve the wall is smooth, as if the memory chambers have been sandblasted away. Straight ahead hangs a golden swath of velvet material, gathered in a way that reminds me of a curtain in a theater. In front of that there is a bank of computer equipment. Cables snake out in all directions, some hooked into the memory chambers, others lifeless and frayed. A dark-haired boy hunches over the computers, totally immersed in his work.

“Any updates, Eli?” Mira asks as she kicks off her shoes. She arranges the throw pillows on the chaise longue and curls up on it, the ragged silver strips of her silk voile gown fluttering around her.

Eli swivels in his stool and regards me with a mix of curiosity and detachment, as if I’m a scientific specimen to be pressed onto a slide and studied. Like Julian and Mira, he’s unusually attractive, with high cheekbones and a perfectly symmetrical face. Even his severe military buzz cut and thick-framed eyeglasses can’t diminish his looks.

He turns back to his computers. “I ran more phase two ops.
Subjects overloaded and are bound to be picked up.”

“Overloaded? What does that mean?” I ask. My hands start to tremble, a first sign I’ll have to return to a chamber soon.

Eli clacks at his keyboards, ignoring me.

“I’d try again in quadrant ninety-nine,” Mira says. “Perhaps the more active subjects are better equipped to deal with your ops.”

A tremor runs through me, and I stagger over to a chair.

“I think it is time to show Felicia to her chamber. She must be simply exhausted after our long journey.” Mira’s exaggerated politeness doesn’t ring true. I’m sure she just wants to be rid of me so she can discuss whatever phase two is in peace. But I don’t argue. I’m far too shaky for that.

Julian unhooks some cables from the chamber nearest the floor and gestures for me to get in. I do, eagerly, sighing with relief when the fizzy champagne feeling rushes through me. I know what memory I need to visit. I mess around with the settings of the chamber until my folders load, and I dive in.

Ward, Felicia. Memory #31300

Tags: Germany, Autumn, Julian, Hacking

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“Why do you organize all your books by color?” asks Julian. He’s lounging on my bed, clearly bored of watching me type for the past half hour.

“If you can’t stop distracting me, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” I scold. “Just because you’re done with school doesn’t mean I can blow everything off.” Without taking my eyes from the screen, I reach for my cup of coffee and try to take a sip, but discover it’s empty. I let it clatter back onto my desk with a sigh.

He grumbles and bounces on the bed, making the springs groan. My
Our Town
essay is going to suck. And not only because I’m hyperaware of Julian’s presence, but also because my brain is too jumbled to write coherent arguments.

He jumps up and throws open my closet. “Ha! Exactly what I suspected! All your clothes are organized by color too.” Before I can stop him, he’s at my dresser, opening the top drawer, revealing my rainbow of accessories.

“And you even sort your socks.” From the middle he pulls out a green pair, rolled neatly into a ball, and tosses it at my head playfully.

I catch it. “Fine. I’ll take a break.” I try to get past him so I can put my socks back, but he stops me by brushing his lips against mine. As the kiss deepens, I let the socks drop to the floor.

My cell phone rings. I pull away from Julian reluctantly and answer it. It’s my mother, telling me she’ll be late again tonight. I assure her it’s fine.

“By the way, I bought my plane ticket today,” says Julian when I hang up. “I am going to Angkor Wat. Like you recommended.”

My heart sinks. But it soars, too. I always knew
this—whatever this is—would be short-term. Even shorter term than most of my relationships. As much as I’ve become addicted to his lips and hands all over my body, it will be a relief to stop lying to Autumn.

“Oh?” I say. “I hope you’re waiting until after November fifteenth. Nicole throws a killer birthday party. Or so I hear.” I don’t know why I’m even telling Julian this, since I’m hardly a fan of Nicole or big parties in general.

“I forgot about that, but I can change my ticket.” He sits down at my laptop. “May I?”

“Of course.” I watch him as he types a long series of numbers into my browser and pulls up the website for TransAsiatic Airlines, though it doesn’t look like a normal consumer site but more like a client interface. “Don’t you have to pay a penalty to change? Maybe it’s not worth it.”

“Pay? No. It costs the airlines nothing to make changes.” He inserts a USB drive into a free slot and copies a program onto my desktop.

“So, what do you do instead?” I ask, wary. Is he about to do something illegal on my computer than can be traced back to me? “Or do I not want to know?”

“See this?” he asks, indicating the window on the screen. “This is a spoof I made of TransAsiatic’s remote access VPN. Fortunately for us, their security is crap. The program I loaded onto your laptop uses brute force to crack the passwords so the tunnel endpoints authenticate.” He brings up his password program, and I watch in fascination as it runs through alphanumeric sequences. “There we go.”
Once he’s in, he zooms through a myriad of booking screens and pop-ups, inputting information when prompted. I get the feeling he’s done this before, and it freaks me out. “I am now leaving on November eighteenth. I upgraded myself to first class while I was at it.”

“But that’s against the law!”

“No need to be so uptight.”

“I’m serious, Julian. What if I get in trouble for this? I mean, you put a hacker program on my computer. My mother could lose her security clearance and get kicked out of the Foreign Service!” And then she would kill me. If that could prove her loyalty to her job and convince them to take her back.

“No one will notice. Trust me. First class on that flight is practically empty. All those seats won’t sell in the next month. I am already on the plane—might as well fly in style. It makes no difference to them.”

I’m glad he gets to stay a couple of days more, but doubts prickle my skin. “You’re absolutely sure they can’t trace any of this to me?”

Thunder claps across Julian’s features, and I flinch. But as quickly as the storm clouds gathered, they part, and Julian beams at me in a way that makes me crave his approval.

I say, “It’s pretty cool you can get into their system like that.”

“Let me teach you a few tricks.” He says it casually, as if hacking is no big deal. “Untraceable, of course.”

“I don’t know . . .”

The door buzzes.

I look at my clock. “Shit! It’s six already. That’s Autumn.”

“Should I slip out your window?” He asks it blandly, as if it wouldn’t bother him to have Autumn catch him here.

“Better not. Someone might see you. It will look even more suspicious that way.”

I walk to the door like I’m going to my own execution. I make up and reject excuses as I go. This is bad. Julian hangs behind in the living room.

I buzz Autumn in and open the door.

“Hey!” She bounds up the stairs, her cheeks red from the cold, her hands full of paper. “Are you finished with your essay yet? I brought you a few more chapters of our book to go over.”

“Uh, no. Not yet.”

Autumn hands me the pages, hole-punched and tied with purple satin ribbon. She walks in. I take a deep breath. I might as well get it over with. “Julian came over to use my computer . . .”

“Hey!” Julian greets her warmly with a hug. “We still on for the movies tonight?” Somehow it doesn’t seem fair that I’m the one who has to sneak around while Autumn gets to go out on the town with him.

If Autumn is surprised to see him here, she covers it well. She smiles. “Of course.”

“Great. Pick you up at seven thirty.” He puts on his jacket, kisses me perfunctorily on both cheeks, and then heads out the door with a wave.

Autumn watches him go with a sigh. “I’m going to be so bummed when he leaves.”

Now’s probably not the best time to tell her he has booked a ticket already.

“So, what did you two talk about?” she asks once we reach my room. As she flops herself down onto my bed, I notice the pair of socks still on the floor where I dropped them. I kick them under my dresser while I deposit her manuscript on top of it.

“Not much,” I say. I hate that lying comes so easily to me. “A little about Nicole’s big birthday bash.” I reach for a bottle of nail polish. Scarlet. The perfect color for someone like me.

“She better invite me this year,” Autumn says. Nicole is notorious for inviting a bunch of guys to her parties but only a select group of girls. And every girl at our school hopes to make the cut.

“Can you hand me the nail polish remover?” I point it out to her on the night table on the other side of my bed. She rolls over and picks it up along with a bag of cotton balls.

“And don’t worry.” I take my supplies from her. “She’ll want Julian to go, so she has to invite you.” Rather than crowd Autumn on my bed, I sit on the floor and begin to rub off my pink polish. The sharp scent of ammonia fills the room.

She bites her lip at my mention of Julian. “Did he say anything about me?”

“Um . . . sure. He said you were going to the movies
tonight.” Another lie. Julian never said a word about Autumn. He never does when we’re alone together.

“Maybe tonight’s the night he’ll finally kiss me for real!” Autumn squeals. “He’s such a gentleman. He says the physical stuff should wait until a couple gets to know each other better. But, God! I’ve been waiting, like, a month already.”

Ugh. Now I feel even worse. Because I’m happy he hasn’t kissed her. I open the bottle of scarlet and paint my thumbnail first.

“You know, when I first saw Julian was here, I got a little scared,” she confides. “I thought maybe he decided he liked you better.”

He does, but she doesn’t need to know that. “Nothing to worry about here.” And soon there won’t be, because he’s leaving. Then we can put this unpleasant chapter of our friendship behind us. Right hand polished, I move on to the nails on my left hand.

“I trust you,” she says. I can tell deep down that she knows she shouldn’t. But she does anyway. Because she has an enormous capacity for self-delusion. For overlooking the obvious even when it is slapping her in the face. It makes me want to pinch her. To violently rip her out of her cocoon of obliviousness.

Our eyes lock for a long moment. I break off first, screwing the cap back on the nail polish and then standing up. “My essay’s not going to write itself,” I say, turning toward my desk. I don’t want her here anymore. In moments like this I wonder whether we are bound together by true feelings of kinship or
if we’ve merely clung to each other these past ten years out of obligation, fear, or lack of other prospects. Her huge doll collection made her the ideal friend back when we first met at our post in Ecuador and at our subsequent stint back in D.C., but since we both got to Frankfurt a year ago last summer, after four years apart, I’m starting to think maybe I’ve outgrown her. That’s what moving so often can do to you. It makes you continually question your place in the world, and seek out those few who understand what you’re going through.

Autumn hops off my bed and pulls my arm so I’m facing her. “You’re so pale. And those bags under your eyes! You need to get more sleep.”

“I’m fine.” I wriggle my arm forcefully from her grasp, careful not to smear my polish. I sit at my laptop and start typing, hoping she’ll take the hint and leave me alone. If she hangs around much longer, I might scream.

“Okay, then,” she says over my shoulder, her voice tinged with hurt. “I guess I better get ready for my date. Hopefully I’ll have something to report tomorrow.”

“Hopefully,” I mutter as convincingly as I can manage.

After Autumn lets herself out, I squeeze my eyes shut in frustration and slam my palm down on my laptop. It clicks closed with a loud pop.

My eyes flutter open,
and I sit up with a start. I’m back in the hive, and everything’s quiet.

I exit the chamber. Mira and Julian occupy the armchairs, and Eli remains riveted by his screens.

“Have a seat,” Mira says. “Eli is configuring and testing different parameters. And I am positively dying of boredom.”

“Can you die?” I sink into the sofa, enjoying the way the silken fabric caresses my skin. “I mean, we are already dead.”

“I wouldn’t call it dying, exactly.” Mira purses her lips, as if talking about death is too distasteful a topic. “If something should befall you here, you would cycle through again. Get resorted. You would lose all memory of what happened to you here before—not that it matters to most people, since they don’t retain much anyway. But if it happened to you . . .”

Eli butts in loudly, without turning. “It wouldn’t be convenient to our plans right now. So please, try not to get yourself killed.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Not that I care about their plans, but if I’m resorted, I won’t know that there’s a way out of the hives. And that would be a huge personal setback. “Did Beckah get resorted? I can’t access any of her memories anymore.”

“And Beckah is . . . ?” Mira looks up at the ceiling, and I get the distinct feeling she’s not interested in talking about anything other than the rebellion.

“She’s my friend,” I say. “She disappeared from my hive.”

Mira ignores my sharp tone. “If she had been resorted, you could access her memories. She is more likely in the isolation plains.”

“Isolation?” I ask, goose bumps rising in my soul.

“It’s for anyone who might mess up the equilibrium of the net,” Julian explains. “Like, they don’t want people renting the memories of murderers slashing up their victims.”