The Forgetting Curve (Memento Nora) (8 page)

AIDEN

For the next few days, I was stuck in a loop of crushing boredom. Face-time breakfast with Dad, who was clearly stressing about this July 1 deadline. Work (in which I behaved). Dinner. Hanging with Winter, who seemed more and more obsessed with her parents not having been in Japan. (I admit this had me worried about her.) Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I needed to explore. I needed to pull on a few doors and see what the universe had for me, unearth some hidden world that nobody else knew about. A forgotten steam tunnel. A locked clock tower. An abandoned chalet. A back door to a program. (Even if I was a quote-unquote skid.)

The Hub in Tamarind Bay had nothing interesting to offer. I’d looked, hoping it was like Disney World, with its underground system for employees to get magically around. Nada.

“You have one of the new ID chips, right?” Roger asked as he handed me a batch of the newest betas that were slated for fall release.

“Mine’s about four years old.” I’d gotten an ID chip back when I lived in Tamarind Bay before going away to school. I didn’t need one in Bern.

“These models only work if you have the nGram, but you can fake it out with this.” Roger handed me a headset. “The ID chip is mounted inside.”

I looked at him, surprised.

He shrugged. “I don’t have one, either.”

“When’s the deadline?” Funny how Dad hadn’t mentioned me getting one.

“July first,” Roger said. “You’ll be okay. There’s probably some student exemption. I bet you won’t need it at your fancy-schmancy boarding school.” He glanced down at something on his mobile.

“I got kicked out for hacking the payroll,” I said as he started walking away. “Weak, showy shit really.” I needed to feel him out.

“You wanted to get caught?” Roger slowed, looking back at me. “And your dad put you here?” Roger seemed amused.

“I’ve been a good little white hat. So far.” I sighed. “I’ll find something else to challenge myself with.”

Roger rolled his eyes and then left me alone. He was far more interested in his mobile.

Not quite the reaction I was going for.

I was hoping he’d ask “like what?” And then I’d bring up
Memento
. Somehow.

Screw him. I’d figure this
Memento
thing out on my own.

Problem was, I was stuck. GIGO. Garbage in, garbage out.

Micah was a wash—at least until he got out of juvie, and even then he might not remember. Should I find Nora? She probably didn’t remember a thing, either.

Then the universe gave me a big, fat hint.

The test mobile picked up a crackle and then the sound of a woman’s voice.

This is the MemeCast. All that you remember may not be the truth.

AIDEN

The MemeCast lasted only a few minutes. She told the story of an older man who’d once ninjaed (her words) around the city like a superhero, but was now humbled by the horrific memory of something—a mugging—that didn’t really happen to him.
My sources say a little chip might have something to do with it,
she said. Then she played a song by a local band about spitting it out, whatever “it” was, which she said was inspired by
Memento
.

She knew about
Memento
. (And what the chips were capable of.)

The ’casts was obviously unauthorized. Somebody knew what they were doing and was “broadcasting” an old-fashioned pirate radio show on the low-power spectrum. That probably meant they varied the length, timing, strength, and location of the ’casts to avoid being found. And since nobody used these frequencies anymore, it would be hard just to stumble across the show—unless it interfered with something. Like a mobile.

Finding radio signals is pretty old-school stuff. I could drive around with a homemade directional antenna and physically hunt down the transmitter. Back in the day, I could’ve triangulated the signal off of radio towers. But those towers didn’t work anymore. They’d been stripped, scrapped, or had fallen apart. Most people didn’t even remember that radio and TV had once been broadcast over the air from towers like that—for free.

Only geeks knew that kind of stuff anymore. And only a non-skid, like my Winter, would know how to make something to track the signal.

It was time to rattle on some doors.

WINTER

Finally. Something to do.

I had been so bored. I couldn’t call my friends, leave the compound, or see my own grandfather. I couldn’t even go into stupid work. All because Mom (and Dad, but mostly Mom) kept saying I’m still too fragile, that I need time to get my bearings.

What a load of crap.

Maybe I should stop asking them about Japan.

The hummingbirds fluttered.

Aiden described his so-called “project” and I told him what to bring. “Can I come now?” he asked.

“You’d better,” I replied.

While he was here, he introduced me to the MemeCast.

VELVET

New amendment to the
Book of Velvet
: when a cute rich guy asks you to hang out, be worried if he shows up with an antenna made out of a potato chip can.

At least I dressed appropriately: old jeans, combat boots, and a Pax Victoriana tee. I was deliberately trying to look like I didn’t care enough to impress him. Mission accomplished.

“What’s that?” I poked my finger at the cantenna.

“We’re going hunting,” Aiden said. “You see, there’s this pirate ’cast—”

“Yeah, the MemeCast,” I interrupted.

He seemed a little miffed that I already knew about it, but it didn’t put him off his explanation. Much. He wanted to find the MemeCast because the person behind it seemed to know about the
Memento
s and Winter.

Of course, I’d wondered about the ’cast, about Meme Girl and where she got her info, but I was mostly into the music and poetry that followed her rants. I told him that. It’s where I’d heard “Enough” by the Multinationals and “Minor Birds” by Robert Frost. She even played and read some local bands and poets. The conspiracy theory stuff had seemed half-baked. Until now. I rubbed the disc behind my ear.

Aiden was going on about tracking the signal.

I had to admit the idea was genius, though I wasn’t going to tell him that. I had a few questions of my own that I wanted to ask. Someone. Anyone.

“Lead on, Macduff,” I told him.

He did. We drove around the center of the city a bit, not talking much because he was intent on listening for the signal.

“We may not pick up anything today. She only ’casts from random locations and intervals—so people won’t find her. Like this,” I said.

“I’m surprised you listen to the MemeCast,” he said.

I was really thinking,
Me? What about you, Mr. Richie Rich?
Instead I went with, “Don’t sound so shocked. Looking good is not my only talent.” I hoped he got sarcasm. Spike didn’t always.

“You do look good,” he said, but then quickly turned back to his signal. He rolled down the window to scan a bigger area.

“Uh, you’re going to make people really nervous driving around in a black SUV with a gun-like thing hanging out the window.” We’d already gotten some panicky looks from passersby, most of whom had hustled away quickly.

He rolled the window back up. “If we could get higher…”

I pointed to the MLK pedestrian bridge that overlooks downtown and joins it with the West End neighborhood, where I live. “You might treat a girl to coffee on the way.”

“I’ll even throw in some cake.” Aiden tapped on the privacy screen between us and the driver. We rolled through a drive-thru, and then Aiden told the driver where to go. It took some convincing, but the driver finally let us out at the bridge; he probably parked around the corner to keep an eye on us.

“You know,” Aiden said as he swept the cantenna over the skyline. “War walking doesn’t have the same romantic appeal as war driving.”

This must be some usage of the word romantic that I’m not familiar with. But coffee and red velvet cake—Aiden’s idea—and watching the city rush by, wasn’t such a bad thing.

Aiden put down the cantenna after one last sweep and sat beside me to sip his coffee.

“How long have you known Winter?” he asked after he inhaled a slice of cake.

“Since seventh grade. She’d just moved to the neighborhood.” You could see Winter’s grandfather’s house from here. It was the only one with an obstacle course in the back. “She was different. I like different.” We’d bonded over our distaste for physical exertion in gym glass.

“Winter didn’t exactly fit in at her old school, either.”

“Did you? Fit in, that is?” I asked.

“Winter got the brains; I got the charm. And I do get by on my looks.” He smiled cheesily. It wasn’t the multiple kilowatt Prince Charming smile he’d tried on me before. More of a parody of it. That was progress.

“How’s that working for you?” I sipped my caramel latte.

“Eh. Not so much lately.” Aiden snorted. He began telling me about this guy at work who seemed to have his number, too. “He thinks I’m some rich kid poser.”

I didn’t say a thing.

Aiden shrugged it off, but I could see it was getting under his skin. Not too many people pierced that Prince Charming armor of his.

A familiar crackle came out of the mobile he had hooked up to the antenna.

“Was that it?” I asked as Aiden scrambled for his mobile.

“There’s a signal—actually a couple—but no ’cast.” He scowled at his mobile. “It’s coming from down there.” He pointed toward a football field-sized yard of junk by the railroad tracks.

We sauntered casually over the pedestrian bridge before his driver noticed and then ran in the direction of the signal.

I knew where we were going.

AIDEN

A freight train clattered by behind us as we stood at the entrance to the scrapyard. A bakery truck was parked down the block, and a rocket fuselage blocked the gate.

“This is where all the stuff from the science and transportation museums ended up,” Velvet explained. “It’s scrap now.”

“It’s a solid mass of junk. Rocket parts. Train cars. Old cars. Some sort of telescope thing. A section of a radio tower.” I’d climbed partway up the cyclone fence to see above the rocket. “Winter would love this place.”

“How do you think I know about it? I’m not Junkyard Girl.” She crawled up the fence and stood on the fuselage. “Do you see a hatch?”

No. I hadn’t quite pegged what girl Velvet was. Maybe that’s why I liked her.

“A hatch?” she repeated. Then she stepped around me and opened a door in the rocket body that I hadn’t seen.

How’d I miss that?

I jumped in after her. We hung a left in the partial darkness and crouch-walked a few dozen meters through the nose of the rocket. We emerged blinking into an open space, surrounded on two sides by walls of junk. At the far end was a white-domed building that looked like a mini-observatory.

“Are you new here?” a lanky girl in glasses asked. She’d magically appeared in front of us.

“Yes, we are.” I extended my hand and moved closer to her. Time to turn on the charm. “We’re doing a school project…”

I heard Velvet sigh heavily behind me. She thunked my antenna with her finger. I relented.

“Actually we’re looking for…” I held out the cantenna.

“Big Steven,” Velvet finished for me.

I was going to say signal, but okay, Steven. Whoever that was. I glanced back at Velvet.

“Steve,” the lanky girl bellowed. “Company.” She tossed her head in the direction of the observatory.

“Big Steven?” I threw Velvet a look as we crossed the courtyard.

“He’s this guy I know.” Her face didn’t give away a thing.

I got momentarily distracted by a pallet of old stereos, lab equipment, printers, and whatever else was stacked against the wall of junk. “We need to come back here for our next date.”

Did I really say
date
?
Facepalm. I waited for an awkward silence to follow.

“You are so related to Winter,” Velvet said without missing a beat.

Steven met us on the steps to the mini-observatory thing. Voices and laughter, mingled with static and banging, echoed inside the dome.

He was a tall, clean-cut guy, maybe nineteen or so. He could’ve been a former basketball player or something, but I doubt it. He was more likely an engineering student at the university. I could picture him in one of those old moon launch documentaries sitting at the mission control desk with a clipboard, a cigarette, and a cup of coffee. And a pocket protector. His barcode tattoo kind of ruined that image, though.

“Velvet? I didn’t think this was your thing. Actually, I didn’t think anything was your thing.” He turned to me before she could respond. “And you are?”

“Aiden.” I extended my hand but he left me hanging.

Velvet stepped up to Big Steven. “It is not my
thing
, Steven Michael Ambrose III.” She stared him down, which was in itself quite impressive. “
Aiden’s
looking for something. And he’s Winter’s cousin, by the way.”

Steven looked at me with renewed interest. It seemed that Winter’s name had unlocked this door. Of course. This was
her
kind of place.

A sheepish grin broke out on his face and he extended his hand. “Sorry, dude, you can’t be too careful nowadays. Welcome to the Rocket Garden.”

Steven showed us into the dome, which probably would have been stifling hot if the canopy hadn’t been cranked open.

“This thing is an old mobile observatory/tracking station from NASA. The museum got a few of them when the space program shut down. We gutted and cannibalized this one to set up our workshop.”

The workshop consisted of a few folding tables, a bench loaded with power tools, some tanks for welding, buckets of circuit boards, an old vending machine, and a table saw. At one of the tables, a short-haired woman in coveralls was showing four kids how to solder. Another kid was tinkering with something across the workshop. I knew what this was.

“It’s a hacker space!” I’d read about these places that provided workshops, equipment, classes—all informal—to show people how to hack or create things. The spaces sprang up every few decades, and there were some still in Europe. They weren’t exactly legal in the US anymore.

“We call it a maker space. Hacker is such a touchy term.”

Tell me about it.
I shook my head in agreement.

“So what I’ve heard about you is true?” Steven asked, amused.

“What are they working on?” I said, changing the subject. I didn’t really want to hear what he had to say about me—in front of Velvet.

“Becca is showing them how to make radios. Lina is packing up router kits. And over there Dune is working on a chip scanner.” Steve jerked his thumb in the direction of an Asian kid, probably Vietnamese, who looked twelve or thirteen, working at a table alone.

I had to see the chip scanner.

“It looks like the one the cops use for IDs,” Velvet said from across the room.

“Yes, but simpler. We don’t want to read the ID, just detect if someone has one of the new ones,” Dune said.

“You mean the mandatory ones?” I asked as he ran the scanner behind my ear. Nada.

“How is it that the heir apparent to the company that makes them, doesn’t have a chip?” Steve asked, genuinely intrigued.

“He’s been away at boarding school,” Dune answered for me.

“Uh, yeah,” I said staring at the kid.

“My brother works at Nomura,” he said, obviously proud. “He—”

Steven cleared his throat, and Dune instantly became engrossed in the inner workings of his scanner.

Was Roger his brother? Why would Steven care if I knew?

“What’s the point of scanning for a chip?” Velvet asked, derailing my thought train.

It was a good question.

Steven took the wand in his hand. “When it becomes illegal
not
to have one next week, it might be useful for those of us off the security grid to know who’s really one of us.”

“You never know what they plan to use the chip for, anyway,” the short-haired woman in coveralls called from the workbenches. She looked familiar.

Steven ran the wand behind his own ear and another kid’s. All the while Velvet was backing toward the door. What was up with that?

“Velvet?” I asked, moving in her direction.

She backed right into the lanky girl who had appeared by the door. Then Steven was in Velvet’s face, running the wand behind her ear. The scanner chimed pleasantly.

“Back off,” I told Steven as I came between them. “So what if she has an ID chip. It’s mandatory.”

I expected Velvet to rage at Steven and the others for getting in her face. I think he expected it, too. He seemed be itching for a fight for some reason. Instead, tears were running down her cheeks and she was trembling.

Steven backed off, mumbling an apology.

“Velvet,” I said, touching her hands, “what is it?”

She let out a little sob. “I don’t remember getting one,” she whispered. A torrent of tears and furious words spilled out of her as I held her. She shook as she told us about getting stopped by the cops. And not being able to remember the few weeks before that clearly. And how she also knew where Winter and Micah were.

I pulled her close and let her sob. Her body fit perfectly against mine, like it belonged there.

The short-haired woman brushed past us and out the door. Velvet pulled herself together, apologizing for her meltdown.

“No, I’m sorry, Velvet,” Steven said. “I was just messing with you. I did not expect you to have one. Him, yes, but not you. Tell us what happened again.”

She repeated her story clear-eyed but still looked pissed.

Steven paced. “I wonder if Little Steven and my parents have one.”

Velvet held out her hand. “I can find out at the next band practice.” She took the scanner from Steven’s hand. “And by the way, he dumped me. And you’re a dick.”

Velvet grabbed my hand and held onto it as I led us back out through the fuselage maze into the daylight.

I never got to ask about the signal.