Unforgotten (14 page)

I hear his heart pounding, reverberating through his chest cavity. The sound waves penetrate my skin, weave through my rib cage, find the hum of my own thudding pulse, and for a moment the entire world is nothing more than a harmonized

BA-BUMP

BA-BUMP

BA-BUMP

My brain is buzzing. I can’t make sense of what is happening.

But fortunately, I don’t have to.

A second later, he rockets off me, launching himself into the air and onto his feet. He reaches the far side of the room before I can blink. But from the perturbed expression pulling at his features, it’s evident he’d rather be on the far side of the
world
.

I struggle to my feet, catching his eye. He’s glaring at me. I recognize the look. It’s the same one I saw on a hundred different faces as they led me out of the court, as they marched me to the platform, as they prepared to watch me burn.

It’s a look of accusation.

Although I don’t, for the life of me, know what he could possibly be accusing me of. If anything, I’m the one who should be accusing
him.

“W-w-what
are
you?” I manage to huff out, still winded from the effort and the constriction in my chest.

He hasn’t stopped glowering at me from across the room, looking completely rattled. But after three difficult inhales and exhales, he collects his composure. I watch his face slip back into that irritating neutral façade, as flat and uninspiring as an unplanted crop field. I watch the robot return.

“WHAT ARE YOU?” I demand again, this time screaming it, piercing my own eardrums with my angry roar.

“Sera”—he pronounces my name with that same arrogant, condescending heaviness—“do you really think Alixter would make the same mistake twice? Of sending a frail, ordinary
human
to deal with you?”

Whoosh!

My breath deserts me. Sucked out by a giant merciless vacuum placed against my lips.

“What are you talking about?” I choke out, even though I already know the answer. Even though I’ve already fallen to my knees and pressed my forehead against the soft carpet.

On my way down, I just manage to catch sight of it. The ultimate proof. Flashing in and out of view on his left wrist.

A black, razor-thin tattoo, slicing across his skin.

“I’m like you,” he says with chilling detachment. “Only better.”

19

IMPROVED

Slowly I lift my head and peer into his eyes. It’s suddenly like I’m seeing them for the first time.

Everything is different.

The light is different. The shadows are different. The world is different.

Because now there are two of us in it.

I should have realized it the moment I saw him. I should have seen it in his artfully chiseled face. His impeccable skin. His stunning stature.

I should have noticed it in the color of his eyes. That incandescent blue green.

A perfect color.

An
unnatural
color.

Just like my own.

Except for one thing. His eyes have a disquieting quality about them. A hollowness. A deadness. They are paradoxically radiant and barren at the same time.

And his voice. So mechanical. Cold. Inflectionless. Like his lips are forming words, his tongue is forming sounds, but there’s nothing behind them. No one there to form meaning. Zen once told me that when he first met me my speech was stilted and awkward. But I don’t think I ever sounded like
that
.

He said he was like me, only better.

But better
how
?

Stronger? Faster? Smarter? More beautiful?

Possibly.

But there’s one thing for certain that Alixter would consider an improvement over me. According to him, I had only one fault.

My ability to rebel.

To think for myself. To feel and emote and question.

To fall in love.

“How much have you been told?” My voice is shaky. Uncertain. Terrified.

He cocks his head in an inquisitive manner.

I rephrase. “What did Alixter tell you about me?”

He appears to find frivolity in the question. “Everything.”

“Everything?”

“I have been given high-level clearance to Diotech intelligence, including a detailed report of your defective creation as well as Dr. Havin Rio’s duplicity in abetting your escape.”

A reminder of Rio and his attempt to help me is like another punch in the face. And in the stomach. And in the heart. I fight back a wince.

“So you know,” I croak, “how you were created? How
we
were created?”

He blinks. The movement is so perfunctory I swear I can hear a faint
clack
every time his eyelids touch. “Yes. Perfected DNA sequences synthetically engineered to create a superior, enhanced specimen of human.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” I cry out, feeling cold and weak and empty. Not anything like a superior, enhanced human.

“Why would that bother me?”

The frustration flushes my cheeks. Clenches my stomach. Heats my blood. “That you were made against your will?! That you have no family? No friends? No
life
outside the one Diotech designed for you?”

“Will?” he repeats, putting a curious spin on the word, as though he doesn’t understand its meaning.

“Yes! Against your
will
. As in, you weren’t consulted in the matter. You were never given a choice. Your life is not your own.”

“My life is to serve Dr. Jans Alixter and protect the Diotech agenda. That is my only purpose.”

His chilling delivery of this line is all I need to hear. I have my answer. He
does
know everything. But he’s been programmed not to question it. He’s been programmed not to
care
.

He wasn’t lied to as I was.

He wasn’t given false information, false memories, a false childhood.

For him, it was never necessary.

Alixter accomplished precisely what he wanted to accomplish. He figured out how to create the perfect soldier. One who doesn’t question. Who doesn’t resist. Who doesn’t run away.

Kaelen is exactly what I was
supposed
to be …

A human machine. Someone whose brain has been so severely modified that he won’t think for himself.

That he
can’t
think for himself.

“How many are there?” I ask. I need to know what I’m dealing with. What I’m up against. When he doesn’t respond I put the question another way. “How many more of you—of
us
—did Alixter create?”

A lifetime passes. Seasons change outside. A hundred lunar cycles complete. And then finally, he answers. “As of now … we are the only two.”

I feel something inside me release. The first good news I’ve heard in a long time.

However, I can’t help but catch his choice of words.
As of now …

The implication makes me shiver. But I try to push it aside. I can’t get distracted by what Alixter has in store. I have to focus on my
own
plan. My
own
mission. I’m still determined to fulfill it.

I push myself to my feet, puff out my chest, try to command respect. Fear. Anything.

“Give me my locket back,” I say sternly, eyeing the collar of his shirt, which has been stretched to the side once again during our scuffle, revealing the slim silver chain underneath.

“No,” he says simply.

I have to admit, I didn’t expect my demand to work. Especially now that it’s already been proved I can’t outrun him or outfight him. But I had to at least try.

I mash my teeth together and try to keep myself from charging him again. “I have to go back,” I tell him, the anger quickly thawing from my voice. Melting into desperation. “You can have access to any part of my brain, whatever memories you want, just please, let me save Zen first.”

“That’s not how this is going to work.” The callousness in his tone brings my rage barreling back in a heartbeat.

“Hey!” I shout from across the room. “I’m the one with the information you need. I think that entitles
me
to decide how this is going to work.”

“That’s not entirely accurate.”

I scowl. “What’s not?”

“You’re not the only one with useful information.”

A lump grows heavy and sour in my stomach. “What do you mean?”

“How exactly do you expect to save his life when you don’t even know what’s making him sick?”

The world is suddenly buckling and crashing in around me. Walls tumbling. Floor falling out. Sky shattering.

My throat constricts. Traps the air inside. Traps the words. But somehow I manage to speak. To proclaim the truth that suddenly changes everything.

“You know what’s wrong with him.”

He nods. “And more important, I know how to cure him.”

20

NEGOTIATION

I’m instantly skeptical. I don’t know whether or not to trust him. Or if anything he’s telling me is true. If he’s following Alixter’s orders, he’ll say whatever is necessary to get me to do what he wants. But I also realize what a losing battle this is for me. I can’t win. Even if he’s lying, even if he has no idea why Zen is sick, I don’t have any other options. If there’s a minuscule fragment of a sliver of a chance that he can save Zen, I have to do what he says.

“Has Diotech been making him sick?” I ask, trying to gather as much information as I can.

“No,” Kaelen responds. “But if you want him
not
to be sick, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

“How can I believe you? How do I know you won’t betray me? Let’s say I do exactly what you say, and I’m able to guide you to wherever this supposed map in my head is leading, how do I know you won’t just use the Modifier on me again, take me right back to the compound, and leave Zen in 1609 to die?”

He seems to contemplate the question with great seriousness. “You don’t,” he finally admits.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Well, I’m afraid that’s not good enough.”

He takes a single step toward me. I can already feel that strange magnetism tugging at me again. He seems to feel something, too, because as he takes another step, he hesitates, then rests his foot back where it was. His perfectly formed jaw pulls at the corners, like he’s attempting to tolerate a bitter taste in his mouth.

“What do you want?” he asks. His static face changes ever so slightly, flashing annoyance.

“Cure him first,” I say without blinking. “Then I’ll go with you.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Fine,” I say, glaring at him. “Then let me go back and get him. I’ll bring him here.”

He arches one eyebrow, clearly not believing me for a second. “Even if I did allow that, which I won’t, you wouldn’t be able to go back to save him.”

My forehead crinkles. “Why not?”

“Because you’ve already been there.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I argue.

“The basic laws of transession don’t allow you to occupy space in the same moment of time more than once. You are physically unable to transesse to a point in time you’ve already existed in. Because that would mean there would be two instances of you, which is a quantum impossibility.”

I’ve never heard this before. But then again, I’m not exactly an expert in transession. I’ve really only done it a handful of times. I wonder if Zen knew about this restriction. I think he would have told me if he did.

“Therefore”—he continues his haughty explanation—“your only option would be to transesse to the moment
after
I removed you from the fire and brought you here, but by then, Zen’s illness will have progressed to the point of fatality.”

I’m not sure if I should believe his explanation but it hardly matters. It’s evident he’s never going to let me leave. “
You
go get him, then,” I counter. “You were only there during my execution, which means
you
can transesse to a time earlier than that and bring him back with you.”

Kaelen falls silent, considering.

“Once he’s here and I know he’s still alive,” I say, “I’ll go with you.”

It’s not the perfect solution. But it’s better than imagining him lying dead in the woods somewhere outside the Pattinsons’ farm.

Kaelen gives me a stern warning look. “Don’t move,” he says, and then, in an instant, he’s gone. I watch his body disappear, melting into air.

I eye the door, contemplating my chances if I make a run for it. But it’s not even an option. As long as Kaelen has my necklace, there’s nowhere for me to go. And the debate immediately becomes moot because Kaelen is back in less than five seconds. This time, however, he’s not alone.

I hear a deep, sickly cough. I glance down to see Kaelen’s hand wrapped around Zen’s biceps, holding up his limp body. It reminds me of the way Jane used to carry around her doll, clinging on to one ragged arm, the rest of the body dragging lifelessly at her side.

I gasp as I watch a dark red current flow from Zen’s mouth, blossoming on the beige carpet, creating a crimson shadow around his feet. He coughs again, visibly struggling for breath.

Kaelen callously releases him. Zen’s legs wilt, tugging him to the ground. The top half of his body remains upright for a long, drawn-out, painful second before he slumps over, his face resting in the amorphous splotch of his own blood.

21

REAPPEARED

“Are you crazy?!” I scream at Kaelen as I run to Zen and lift his head off the floor. I attempt to wipe away the smears of blood from his cheek. His skin is a million degrees. But I continue to stroke his face.

“Zen,” I coax. “Zen, can you hear me?”

His eyelids flutter slightly. “What’s happening?” His voice is barely audible.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” I whisper softly into his ear, pressing my lips against his jawline. “I know how to make you better now.”

In a quick motion, I scoop him up and carry him to the bed. I lay his body gently down on the mattress and brush away the damp hair from his forehead.

“We need to make him comfortable,” I tell Kaelen in a broken voice, without taking my eyes off Zen. “Can you do anything for him?”