Oasis (The Last Humans Book 1) (6 page)

“
T
hat’s impossible
,” I whisper, but when I see Owen begin to turn his head, I continue subvocally. “How could they make everyone forget?” I look around the classroom as though my classmates’ memories might show up on their faces. “Hell, how could they get just one person, Liam, to forget someone he’s known all his life? You have to admit it’s more unlikely than me having seen a movie and not recalling it.”

“As I tried to explain, after Forgetting, your brain goes through a process called confabulation,” Phoe says, her tone one of exaggerated patience. “It’s a psychological response first noticed by the ancients. Back in those days, they had incidents of something they called amnesia—cases where people forgot things, either due to age-related brain-degenerative diseases, or due to some brain injuries. People with amnesia often told stories that were not factually true, but which felt true to them. For example, they thought the hospital they were in was their workplace. They basically ended up altering their memory and worldview to make it seem as though the things they forgot never existed. Having watched your mind from day to day, I should add that some mild confabulation is a routine part of how your brain operates—”

“Bullshit,” I think at her and try pinching myself again, but to no avail.

“Denial is as common of a psychological defense mechanism as confabulation,” Phoe says. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t change the facts.”

“But to erase memories—”

“They didn’t erase them. They are blocking recollection, which equates to the same thing but is much easier to do.”

“I would never forget a friend.” I cover my eyes with the palms of my hands to relieve the tension building behind them. “Nothing would make me forget Liam, or Mason, or you for that matter—even if I do wish I could forget the part of my life after you turned up in my head.”

“It’s touching, and insulting, and sadly untrue,” Phoe says. “Look on your Screen. I just gave you the exact transcript of our conversation about
The Silence of the Lambs
—the conversation you can’t recall because it pertains to that movie.”

I don’t question how she made my Screen appear without my willing it. I’m too overcome with disbelief over the text on the screen.

Phoe is right: I don’t recall ever having this conversation with her. Yet the words she tagged as ‘Theo’s lines’ sound like things I’d say.

Exactly like things I’d say.

My pulse accelerates. “You’re inside my head,” I say, trying to reason it out. “You know me well enough to fabricate that conversation.”

“Yes, but why would I want to do that?”

“I don’t know.” My anxiety intensifies. “I want to wake up and see Mason. I can’t accept this.”

“I know how you feel.” Phoe pauses, then says softly, “I’ve also been made to Forget.”

“You have?” Somehow knowing that Phoe, the ultimate know-it-all, was made to Forget makes me instantly transfer my worry from myself onto her.

“What they did to me was worse than what was done to the rest of Oasis,” she explains. “I was basically lobotomized.”

“I don’t know what that word means.” I frown as I shift in my seat.

“You asked me who I am. I told you the answer was complicated, and it is.” She sounds as if she’s pacing the classroom. “When I asked myself this question some time ago, I realized I actually have no fucking clue. I know bits and pieces, but mostly I only know that I forgot something important.” She noisily exhales. “Something huge.” She goes silent, as though trying to think of the right words. “The rest of my memory is a series of gaping holes. Not only did they make me Forget this big thing, but in the process, they even made me forget who I am.”

“How can that be?” My skin prickles with an icy chill. “How can you forget who you are?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Phoe says. “I might have guesses, but that’s all they are. The favor I mentioned to you has to do with my memory gap. In any case, my situation is very different from yours.”

“Obviously,” I subvocalize, still trying to process what she told me.

“Listen, Theo.” Her voice is hushed and urgent. “The Guard is already waiting for you outside this Hall.”

“Crap,” I say. “I’m getting a Quietude session
now
, in the middle of all this?”

“I’m not sure whether they’re here to take you to Quietude.”

I feel as if I’ve swallowed a tray of ice cubes. “Where else would they take me?”

“I don’t know,” Phoe says, and I detect a note of fear in her voice. “Wherever they took Mason, I think.”

“Which is?”

“I have no idea, but there’s a way to figure it out.” She’s speaking faster now. “A couple of ways, actually. One solution is what I’ve been itching to have you do—it’s that favor. Another thing I could do on my own, though the risk is that they might catch on, but since things can’t get any worse, I think we should try both options.”

“What options?”

“They’re both a form of hacking—”

The bell rings, signifying the end of the Lecture.

“Oh no,” Phoe says. “I lost track of time.”

All the other Youths jump from their seats and start walking out of the Hall, but I sit still.

“Whether you sit here or walk out there, they will take you.” Phoe sounds as if she’s about to leave the room.

“I’m just scared,” I think at her and wonder whether she can feel my emotions as easily as she knows what I’m thinking.

A helmeted head pops through the doorframe.

“Theodore?” the Guard says.

Why Guards wear that shiny headgear is as mysterious to me as everything else about them. They could be Adults or they could be the Elderly underneath those things. Hell, they could even be Youths like me.

“Please, come with me.” The Guard’s tone is tense.

I get to my feet. My legs feel shaky and wobbly. Must be from all that sitting.

“Or adrenaline.” Phoe’s voice sounds as if she’s standing right next to the Guard.

I don’t chastise her for responding to a thought that was not meant for her; I’m too worried about what’s going to happen.

“Hello.” I approach the door and look at my googly-eyed reflection in the Guard’s helmet. “What do you want?”

“You are to come with me,” the Guard says.

I don’t move. “Where are you taking me?”

“Please walk with me,” the Guard says.

“He won’t tell you,” Phoe says. “They never do.”

“Are you taking me to Quietude?” I ask, ignoring Phoe.

Instead of answering, the Guard extends his hand and moves his palm in the air in a strange, wave-like motion. If it’s a gesture command, I don’t recall ever seeing it before.

“Theo, he just tried to give your brain a serious calming jolt,” Phoe hisses. “Act like you’re relaxed. Quick.”

The urgency in Phoe’s tone forces me to do my best impression of getting calmer.

“Don’t ask any more questions,” she says. “Just walk.”

I do as she says, my anxiety growing.

“He tried to mess with my mind?” I make a point of thinking at her, not daring to whisper or subvocalize with the Guard around.

“Yes. To ease your agitation.”

“But I don’t feel relaxed.”

“Because I made your mind impervious to this sort of influence along with most other manipulations,” she explains.

“Oh, right.” I try walking straight while looking relaxed—a difficult task given the treacherous shaking of my legs.

“You’re doing fine,” Phoe says. “Just walk in silence until you exit the building.”

I comply. When we’re out of the Lectures Building, I wonder whether this is how the ancients who were going to the gallows felt. We walk in silence for a few minutes, and then Phoe says, “I think it will be reasonable for you to try talking to him again. Say, ‘Sir, this is a misunderstanding. I was just talking to people about the Freemasons, a group we learned about in Instructor Filomena’s class.’”

I say that, plus a bunch of other bullshit Phoe comes up with.

The Guard says nothing for a few steps.

“And the whole thing started with stonemasons—”

Before I can finish Phoe’s script, the Guard makes a gesture I don’t fully catch.

“What did he try to do to me this time?” I think at Phoe.

“Relaxation again,” she says. “Look calm and stop talking.”

I try to use external cues to relax for real, as our campus was designed with serenity in mind. Focusing on the rock tower in the distance, I let my eyes glide over the symmetrically arranged rocks.

“That is Augmented Reality,” Phoe says. “That tower is not really there.”

“Thanks for the useless information.” I look at the cherry blossom tree, daring Phoe to tell me it’s also not real.

“I’m trying to distract you from gloomy thoughts.” She sounds as if she ran ahead of the Guard. “But if being snippy with me provides relief, then go ahead.”

Ignoring her, I try doing a walking meditation. I focus on the light touch of the wind on my face, on the consistent flexing of my leg muscles, on the warmth of the sun’s rays on my skin—

“Theo, watch out—”

I don’t hear what else Phoe wanted to say, because I run smack into the Guard, who stopped. He’s holding his finger to his ear.

He turns his head toward me. Is he giving me a skeptical stare under that mirrored visor?

“I think he just got instructions on what to do with you,” Phoe says.

I tense, all traces of my tentative serenity fleeing as I wait to see where he’ll take me.

If I’m to get the usual punishment—Quietude—we’ll turn right.

The Guard looks hesitant for a moment, as though he’s deciding my fate.

I swallow, unable to feign calmness any longer.

The Guard turns to the right, toward the pentagonal prism of the Quietude Building, and begins walking.

“
Y
ou’re going
to Witch Prison,” Phoe says with relief that the building’s nickname doesn’t usually generate. “That means Quietude.”

“I never thought I’d be so happy to be going
there
.” I pick up my pace to catch up with the Guard. “Are you sure that’s not where Mason is?”

“I’m sure,” she says.

“So where is he then?” I risk a vocalization since the Guard’s back is turned to me.

“I don’t know. I still didn’t get a chance to do the hacking I told you about. Plus, I’m beginning to think the safer route is to get you to do the task I’ve been talking about—the one only you can do.”

“What is it?”

“Something that will make your Quietude session pass faster, I suspect,” she says. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to prepare what I need.”

“Wait,” I say. “Tell me what it is I’ll have to do.”

“Fine.” Phoe heaves a sigh. “It’s a way for me to remember some of the things I’ve forgotten. My intuition tells me that if I can recall them, I’ll have an easier time finding out what happened to Mason.”

“‘Intuition’ sounds a little wishy-washy.”

“I’ve done many things on intuition, and you’ve trusted me thus far.” Phoe’s tone is clipped.

“It just sounds contradictory. You forgot something, yet you know that if you remember it, you’ll get specific answers?”

“I know I’ll have better tools for hacking at my disposal if you do what I need you to do. In that sense, I’m certain I’ll be better positioned to figure out what happened to Mason.” It’s clear she’s doing her best not to sound defensive. “Regarding the memory stuff, I don’t know how to best put it into words, but I know something big was erased from my mind—from everyone’s minds. I don’t know what it is, but I’m sure it’s something we’d all want to know, regardless of what happened to Mason.”

I consider that for a moment.

I’m about to be punished by boredom—that’s what Quietude is, essentially. Whatever Phoe wants me to do might be a welcome relief from that.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she says, her tone artificially upbeat.

“So what is it that you want me to do, exactly?”

“Merely play a video game,” she says. Then, under her breath, she adds, “From the Last Days.”

The Last Days is what everyone calls the period of time leading up to the Goo Armageddon, though in some of the texts I’ve read, it’s referred to as the Singularity—a time when technology was invented so fast that human minds couldn’t keep up with its rate of development. Everyone knows that any technology from that time should be treated with caution, if not outright fear.

“What about the technology all around us?” Phoe asks.

“Now you’re getting into completely private thoughts,” I complain. “I thought the technology around us was safer than the abominable things they invented in the Last Days. Weren’t we shielded by the barrier of the Dome and separated from everyone else by then?”

For a few seconds, all I hear are the Guard’s footsteps and the distant voices of Youths.

“I think that’s part of the information I forgot,” Phoe says.

“Well, it’s a video game,” I subvocalize, thinking of what she wants me to do. “How bad can it be?”

“It’s a more advanced version of the technology behind the virtual reality they use in your classes—not bad at all, in other words,” Phoe says. “I’ll try setting some things up. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Hold up,” I whisper, but she doesn’t respond.

For better or worse, we’re almost at our destination.

I gaze up at the building.

Even the ivy looks as if it’s covering it with great reluctance.

As we get closer, I feel the tightness in my chest that I always get when I’m faced with the Witch Prison. The Quietude Building was nicknamed that because of its unique pentagonal prism shape. It has something to do with ancient witches and how they liked to get naked and draw pentagrams all over the place. I think all of us—those of us who were sent here as little ones, at least—feel uneasy about the place. Due to my record number of ‘why’ questions and other mischief, I’ve spent more time in Quietude than most.

We enter the building. With every step down the corridors, I remember why I hate this place so much. Unlike the bright silver of other buildings in Oasis, these walls are a dull gray, and there’s an ozone (or is it chlorine?) odor permeating everything.

“This is your room,” the Guard says once we’ve reached the end of the bland corridor.

Knowing from experience how useless pleading with him will be, I walk in without protest.

The room is even duller than the corridor. It’s almost as if all the color was sucked out of it. The air lacks any smell, even that unpleasant odor from the corridors.

The layout of the room is the same as it was during my previous visits, with the same uncomfortable chair that’s not like the ones we assemble, and the same small bed to the side, near a toilet. In the center is a little table with a pitcher of water and a special bar of Food that, if it’s anything like the ones I’ve had before, is completely tasteless. I’m shocked to see only a single bar. These Food bars are how troublemakers like me gauge the duration of our Quietude sessions. They put out at least a bar for every day of the stay. Since there’s only a single bar, I won’t be here for as long as I feared.

I walk around the room and, for the umpteenth time, touch everything. These objects are stationary, the way furniture was for the ancients; gestures or thought commands have no effect on them. Gestures and commands don’t work in these rooms at all—a fact that I verify as soon as the Guard closes the door behind me.

I can’t change the layout, nor can I bring up a Screen.

The lack of a Screen or any kind of entertainment, combined with the blandness of everything here, is what makes Quietude so insidious.

It’s torture by boredom.

Sitting down in the chair, I drum my fingers on the table.

“Phoe?” I subvocalize.

She doesn’t respond.

“Phoe,” I whisper.

Nothing.

“Phoe, I have bad memories about this place. This isn’t a good time to be joking around.” I say this out loud, knowing she’d never ignore me after such an indiscretion.

Silence is my only reply.

What the hell is going on? What is Phoe up to? Why is she not talking to me when I need her most?

I get up and pace the room.

Five circles later, Phoe still hasn’t spoken up.

I pace some more.

No response.

I keep pacing.

I
’m sweating
. I swear a couple of hours have passed with me pacing, and Phoe is still silent. I’m ready to do anything at this point, including playing whatever Singularity-technology VR game she needs me to play.

I try lying down but can only do so for a few minutes before I jump up and start making circles around the room again.

My discomfort is increasing exponentially, and I don’t understand it. Being locked up in this room has always sucked, but I’ve never felt this way before.

It’s as if the gray walls are closing in on me. It makes me want to bash my head against the door and splatter blood on it.

At least that would bring in some color.

Okay, this is crazy. Am I experiencing some side effect from what I asked Phoe to do to my brain? Is this what it feels like to be anxious without the nano-whatever things messing with my mind? If so, how did the ancients not kill each other?

Then I recall that they
did
kill each other during ‘wars’ and even on a day-to-day basis. They did a lot of crazy things, including creating artificial intelligence to aid in their wars.

Thinking about the AIs that unleashed the world’s end makes me shiver—which is further proof that I’m more sensitive to stress than usual. Sure, those thinking machines were the epitome of all that was unwholesome and evil about the Last Days, but AIs, along with things like nukes and torture, are now a thing of the past.

Maybe I should rethink this no-tampering policy and beg Phoe to change me back to the way I was.

Sitting down on the chair, I fold my legs under me and try to even out my breathing. My mind is racing like that hamster in its wheel at the Zoo.

In. Out. In. Out.
I do this for what feels like an hour before I calm down a little.

Then I notice a strange shimmer in the air.

I stare at the apparition for a few moments before I comprehend what I’m seeing.

It’s a Screen—a Screen in a room where I’ve never seen one.

But it’s not a normal Screen.

It’s faint and distinctly unreal-looking, as though it hasn’t
really
formed—as though I’m dreaming this Screen. It’s like this Screen is one of those ghosts the ancients were obsessed with, though ghosts were usually shaped like people, not Screens.

A cursor flickers on top of this apparition for a couple of beats and then begins moving, leaving behind an unusual purple text. For a second, all I see are the lines that make up each letter, lines that remind me of digits on an ancient calculator. Then the meaning of the words seeps through my mushy brain.

Theo, this is Phoe.

As it turns out, the Witch Prison is a Faraday cage—or nearly so. It’s a place where I can’t talk to you. Luckily, I found this one loophole through one of the Guards’ communication channels, and I really hope it works.

On the subject of Mason, I tried hacking into their system on my own, but I couldn’t—nor could I set up the game interface. But I do have an idea about how we can free up some resources, which might give me a good chance at both tasks.

In any case, none of that matters as much as this: You need to get out as quickly as possible.

“What are you talking about?” I think at her. “I don’t understand anything you said, except that you can’t talk to me and that I need to escape.” I look around, waiting for a reply, and then look at the screen. When no response comes after a few moments, I subvocalize, “How can I get out of this place, Phoe?”

The cursor wakes up again and types:

If you’re trying to talk to me, you should know that this is a one-way communication system. I can’t even be sure you’re reading this, but you better be, because you’re in danger.

Someone from the Adult section is on their way to the Prison. That’s really bad.

I will try to unlock your door in a moment. I think I tapped into the building’s emergency-exit procedures. Once the door is unlocked, exit, make two rights, then a left. Then you’ll have to leave through the emergency exit. It will look like a regular door.

I stare at the ghostly Screen in stunned fascination. My daze is broken by the Screen disappearing in the same way it appeared.

Is Phoe serious? She wants me to escape Quietude?

No Youth has ever done this, and I’m sure every single one of them wished they could have.

My pulse racing, I walk up to the door. Unlike regular doors, it doesn’t open for me when I gesture at it. Testing out the ancients’ method, I push it with my hands.

I could just as easily have been pushing at a wall.

“What now?” I subvocalize by habit.

As though in reply, I hear a sharp noise that makes me jump back.

Then I understand.

It’s the door.

Something just happened to it.

I approach the door again and press on it.

Given Phoe’s message on the Screen, I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.

The door opens.

Warily, I stick my head out and look around.

The corridor is empty.

I walk out and try not to dwell on what the punishment for doing this will be.

“Two rights and a left,” I repeat in my mind as I tiptoe down the corridor.

When I get to the end of the corridor, I crouch and look around the corner—a trick I picked up from playing hide-and-seek with Liam and Mason during our childhood years.

My heart bobs up to my Adam’s apple.

There’s a Guard walking toward me.

He’s half a corridor away.

Is it my imagination, or is he walking faster all of a sudden? Did he see me?

It’s impossible to tell with him wearing that shiny visor.

I duck out of sight and swiftly make my way back to the room where I’m supposed to be, staying as quiet as I possibly can.

To my relief, the door closes behind me.

I put my ear to it, but I can’t hear any steps coming down the corridor.

This most likely means the door is soundproof, but it could also mean the Guard didn’t turn this way.

I count the way I did when I was little—one Theodore, two Theodores—until I reach twenty.

Gingerly, I exit the room again.

When I don’t see the Guard in the corridor, a grateful whoosh of air escapes my lungs.

I get back to the corridor on the right and repeat my earlier trick of crouching by the corner.

The Guard is gone.

I get up, turn the corner, and start walking. The corridor is long, and the gray walls blend together to obscure just how
far it goes.

I walk for what feels like a couple of minutes, with no end in sight.

I pass a right turn, but ignore it since Phoe told me to make a left.

I walk some more and finally see the end of this monstrous corridor, but it’s a good twenty feet away.

“This stupid corridor must curve,” I think, unsure whether I’m talking to Phoe or myself.

She doesn’t reply and talking to myself has never really appealed to me—unless that is what I do when I talk to
her
, but I’ve moved beyond that theory.

“Theodore,” a voice says from behind me. “Stop.”

I think it’s coming from where the right turn was.

This voice is male, so I know it’s not Phoe. I assume it’s a Guard, but I don’t look back—that would be a waste of time.

My stealthy walking pace forgotten, I torpedo forward.

He runs after me. Through the beat of blood in my ears, I hear his pounding footsteps. A wall at the end of the corridor looms in front of me. I almost smack into it, but manage to turn left, my shoes sliding on the smooth gray floor.