Unforgotten (21 page)

My eyes flash open, my arm catapults down. The metal tip of the Modifier jams against Kaelen’s skull, behind his ear. His body slumps lifelessly against me, his head drooping over my shoulder.

I release a loud sigh, exhaling the last five minutes completely from my lungs. I wiggle out from underneath him and ease his head down onto the seat, turning it so that his cheek is resting against the upholstery.

With shaking hands, I twist his wrist, getting a look at his watch. It’s 3:50.

I reach into his pocket and remove the DIP card with my photo on it and the small cube hard drive. Next, I carefully peel the three receptors from his head, depositing all the items into my own oversize pocket. Pulling the collar of his shirt away, I unclasp the locket from his neck and fasten it around my own. Then I flip open the heart-shaped door and wait for the interior of the cab to fade into oblivion.

32

LAWS

Transession takes its toll on your body. It’s something I learned when Zen and I first arrived in 1609. The disorientation and the queasiness were startling, lasting a few hours for me and two full days for Zen. Apparently the farther you transesse, the harder it is for your system to adjust.

Even though now I’m only moving across a few miles, a few hours in time, I still brace myself for the nausea. The contortion of my organs. The pressure of my lungs banging against my sternum. The dizzying sensation of every particle in my body being flipped upside down.

I wait for it. And I wait for it. And I wait for it.

But it never comes.

I’m exactly where I was. Inside a taxicab barreling down the streets of New York City with a deactivated Kaelen sprawled across the backseat.

I reach down the front of my shirt, making sure that my locket is open.

It is.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and try again. I concentrate as hard as I can on the inside of the apartment. Holding the image captive in my mind. I picture Zen sleeping in the bed, the empty white walls and lonely, barren rooms. I block out all other sounds, all other smells, all other sensations. Until I can practically
feel
myself there.

I repeat the date and time over and over again in my mind, even resorting to whispering aloud.

“February 11, 2032. 12:40 p.m.”

“February 11, 2032. 12:40 p.m.”

“February 11, 2032. 12:40 p.m.”

Ten minutes after Kaelen and I left the apartment to go to Chinatown. I figure that should give me plenty of time to do what I need to do.

But still, when I open my eyes, nothing has happened.

I haven’t moved an inch. Or a second.

I let out a frustrated whimper. What’s going on? Why is it not working? The locket is open. I’m doing exactly what I’ve always done.

Why am I not able to transesse?

The cab’s friendly voice interrupts my thoughts to bring me an update. “We will arrive at your destination in twelve minutes.”

Think,
I command myself.

Did my transession gene somehow get permanently shut off? Did the necklace get damaged in the fire? No, because Kaelen managed to get me here.

Was
he
able to somehow deactivate my gene? So that I couldn’t escape?

I glance at his sleeping face.

No, that’s not right either. He
wanted
to transesse with me to Chinatown instead of taking a cab. He tried to do it back in the apartment. It was me who refused.

My head jerks as I’m suddenly struck with a memory. Not an artificial one. A real one. Something that Kaelen said just a few hours ago. After I woke up in that bed. In that room.

I asked him if I could go back to 1609 to get Zen and he told me it was impossible because I’d already been there.

“The basic laws of transession don’t allow you to occupy space in the same moment of time more than once.”

Is that the problem? Was Kaelen telling the truth? Am I really unable to transesse back to a point in time if I’ve already been there?

That would explain why I can’t transesse back to 12:40 p.m. Because at 12:40 p.m. I was
there.
I was with Kaelen heading to Chinatown. I was occupying space in that exact moment in time.

“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.”

Yes, that’s right. If I transessed back to the apartment at 12:40 p.m today, then there
would
essentially be two of me. One with Zen and one with Kaelen.

Which means the only way I can get back to the apartment while Kaelen is gone is to transesse there
now.
At this very moment, while Kaelen is still deactivated in this cab.

Okay, this puts a definite damper on my plan. Especially if the invisible driver is right and we are scheduled to arrive in twelve minutes.

The car slows to a stop at a red light and I anxiously glance over at Kaelen. His eyelids twitch, startling me.

Is he waking up?

How long will he be unconscious? I’m unfamiliar with the intricate workings of the Modifier. He could be deactivated for another hour. Or he could wake up … now.

I can’t take any chances. I have to act fast.

I close my eyes tight and once again focus my thoughts on the inside of the apartment. This time, however, I change the time in my mind to right now.

I breathe out a giant sigh of relief when I feel the familiar swirl of the air around me. The uneasy twist of my stomach. The shifting of my cells as they prepare to disentangle me from this space and reassemble me in another.

I hear Zen’s strained breathing somewhere nearby, telling me that I’ve returned. That I’ve made it back to his side.

As soon as I open my eyes and see him lying there, still unconscious, every molecule of oxygen knocks out of me and I feel like I’m going to collapse again. But I will my body to stay upright. I warn my thoughts to stay calm.

The clock is ticking. The cab carrying my enemy will be here in less than ten minutes. And in that time, I have only one goal: to get Zen out of this apartment.

33

BORROWED

Transession is out of the question. Zen is much too weak. After what happened when Kaelen brought him here, I’m afraid trying to transesse him even an inch would kill him.

I have no choice but to physically move him.

I hurry over to Zen, sliding one arm under his shoulders and the other under his knees. I test a small lift, watching his reaction. He moans slightly, the discomfort showing on his face.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper in his ear, “but it’s the only way. I think I’ve found someone who can help you.”

I scoop him gently into my arms, holding him close to my chest. His weight is not an issue. I could carry ten of him without straining myself. But the obvious pain he’s in, just from the slightest movement, makes my knees feel like they’re going to buckle.

I take deep breaths, trying to steady myself.

No time.

Go now!

I shuffle through the apartment, shifting the majority of Zen’s mass into one arm so that I can open the door and then press the elevator button. I concentrate on walking smoothly, gliding across the floors, but no matter how hard I try, he still releases tiny whimpers of agony with nearly every footfall.

Hailing a cab is the hardest part. Not to mention the stares I receive from several passersby. I manage to balance Zen unsteadily on his feet, freeing up my right hand so that I can wave it at a group of passing cars.

A yellow vehicle swerves out of the traffic, stopping at the curb. The door flings open automatically and I gently lay Zen across the backseat, cooing soothing words into his ear.

I lift up his legs and scoot myself in, laying them down across my lap.

“Good afternoon,” the cab says, and I immediately recognize it as a different voice, this time male, making me wonder how many fake cabdrivers they created. “Where would you like to go?”

“GenZone Research Laboratory,” I tell him. “And please hurry.”

“I apologize, but I am only permitted to drive the speed limit.”

I try not to groan. “Fine. Just go.”

“GenZone Research Laboratory,” the voice repeats cordially. “I have located that destination. It is in Brooklyn. Is that correct?”

I have no idea if that’s correct but as of this very second, anything is better than right here. I glance out the window, scanning the curb for incoming yellow vehicles that might be holding Kaelen inside.

I wonder how he’ll react when he wakes up and finds I’m gone.

“Yes, that’s correct,” I say hastily.

“Excellent,” the cab responds. “Please validate your identity so that I may deduct my fare.”

I lean back so I can dig the DIP card that I stole from Kaelen out of my pocket and wave it in front of the scanner as I saw Kaelen do twice. I wait for the beep and the word
clear
to flash on the small screen in front of me, but it remains tenaciously black.

Feeling anxiety start to rumble in my throat, I try waving the card again. But still there is no response.

“I apologize,” the cab finally says again, “but I was only able to read one digital-identity pass. However, my sensors detect two passengers in the vehicle.”

My fists clench in frustration and I almost let out a scream.

“You’re mistaken,” I say. “It’s only me.”

There’s a long, confused pause before the nonexistent driver replies, “I am definitely detecting two passengers. Please scan the second pass at this time.”

“Can’t you just go?” I yell back hastily, quickly losing what little patience I had.

“I apologize,” it says a third time, “but I am not authorized to leave the curb until both identities have been validated.”

If there was an actual driver in the front seat, this would be the point at which I would lean forward and strangle him.

With a grunt, I kick the door open and step out of the cab before gently extricating Zen’s inert body and maneuvering it over my shoulder. I glance hurriedly around the street, searching for another option.

I see another cab pulling up to the curb, its automatic door swinging open.

“This is your destination. Please exit the vehicle,” the familiar female voice says.

I notice the tip of Kaelen’s shoe dangling out the open door, twitching slightly as he starts to regain consciousness.

And that’s when I really start to panic.

My gaze sweeps the street until I spot a man approaching a green vehicle that’s parked nearby. He swipes his fingertip across a panel on the car’s door and a faint
beep
follows, along with a voice coming from inside the car: “Good afternoon, Mr. Hall. How was your day?”

He doesn’t respond, simply slides into the seat and slams the door closed. The engine hums to life.

I don’t waste another second. I hurry over to the car and yank open the door.

The man looks up at me, at Zen’s body flung over my shoulder, and his befuddled expression quickly morphs into anger. “Hey!”

“Get out,” I growl, trying to sound as menacing as I can.

“No!” he yells back, reaching for the door to close it on me.

But I don’t give him the chance. Before he can blink, my free hand is inside the car, grabbing him by the arm, and dragging him out. He goes skidding into the street, a look of horror twisting his face.

I peer over at Kaelen’s cab. His foot is no longer there and I can see through the windshield that he’s slowly starting to sit up.

The man scurries to his feet, cowering as he runs toward the sidewalk.

I mumble a hasty thank-you to him as I place my hand over Zen’s head to protect it and then lower him in, positioning him in the passenger seat and resting his limp head against the window.

After getting in, I quickly survey the instrument panel. The last car I drove was back in the year 2013 and it looked completely different. First, it had a manual transmission. This car doesn’t seem to have anything that even resembles a gearshift. And second, there aren’t nearly as many buttons or knobs in this vehicle. The dash is almost entirely smooth.

I certainly don’t have time to read through the car’s manual like I did last time. Even at my reading speed. I glance in the rearview mirror and see Kaelen stepping dazedly out of his cab.

Why didn’t I think to send the cab somewhere else before transessing out of it?

That would have been the smart thing to do. But apparently I was too distracted by the thought of getting to Zen to do the smart thing.

“Go!” I say to the car. But it doesn’t move. I fumble my fingers along the paneling, trying to find a switch or button of any kind. All I manage to do is blow hot air on my face.

“Move!” I try again. Still nothing.

“Drive!” is my third attempt.

This seems to work. A red letter D flashes twice on one of the flat panels and the car starts to inch forward. I shove my foot down on the gas pedal and peel away from the curb. Away from Kaelen. Away from Diotech. Toward what I can only hope will be safety.

34

VISITOR

“You have arrived at your destination,” the car tells me in a voice that sounds chillingly human. “Would you like to activate the auto-park system?”

I learned about halfway through the journey to Brooklyn why cars in 2032 don’t have any buttons or knobs on the instrument panels. Why waste energy pushing buttons when you can simply speak and the car will understand you?

“Yes,” I reply, and my hands immediately leap from the steering wheel when I feel it begin to turn on its own, easing the vehicle effortlessly back and left until we’ve squeezed between two other cars into a space on the curb that I never would have imagined we could fit into.

Once we’ve stopped, I pull on the door handle but it won’t budge. “Open,” I tell it.

“Doors cannot be opened while the car is still in drive.”

I gesture frantically, trying to come up with the right command. “Um …
un
drive.”

Nope, that’s not it.

“Stop.”