Eden (11 page)

No.  Sentries are not stupid.  They're machines designed
with one intent—to keep us contained and in check.  To keep us from overflowing
our nest.  The Ten Laws—their shotgun enforcement—erasure....  All of it has
kept us from asking the wrong questions.  Kept us worried about survival.  Too
busy to truly consider our situation.

Were the Forefathers really that cold?  We were their
children.  They cast us out of their garden and left us to fend for ourselves
in a generational prison.  They disinherited us.  Disowned us.  And why?  Did
we dirty too much of their paradise?  Could beauty be worth so much more than
lives?

"Eden," Apollon's insistent voice breaks through
my reverie, and I realize my fingers are like vices on the edge of the table,
my teeth pressed together with such force that they threaten to crumble to
dust.

I drag in a breath through my nose and spit the question out
through my teeth.  "Is everyone in here?  Or just us?  The Forefathers—are
they still out there laughing at us from somewhere we can't see them?"

Apollon's eyebrows go up.  "That would suck."

"That would definitely suck.  And you know what I'm
thinking, right?"

He nods.  "The severed hand."

For a moment, we both seem to be staring intently at the
same spot on the table, as if we can read answers in the wood grains.  As if we
can interpret all the implications of a human hand, bloody in the snow outside
Outpost Three, following our battle with the Sentries.  That hand could mean
everything.

And the voice... there was the voice.  We never thought
Sentries were capable of speaking.  Never expected them to respond with
anything more than programmed, robotic retaliation.

"Whatever happened in Outpost Three," Apollon
says, his voice gone low and serious, "we didn't see any evidence that
there's anyone out there.  I mean, we travelled a really long way, and it was
all wilderness, ruins, or this."  He lifts his arms out, as if to embrace
the scope of our walled-in world.

I shake my head.  "We only saw the smallest drop of
that wilderness.  Anything could be hiding out there.  We could have missed
cities.  We could have missed... anything."

Apollon drums his fingers on the table, thinking, but when
he's finished, he shrugs again.  "It's possible," he says. 
"Anything is possible."

"But think about it," I push on.  "They
wouldn't lock themselves in here, would they?  When they had a world outside
like this?"  Now it's my turn to make the broad gesture, but mine
encompasses the vast stretches of land outside the barriers.  "That would
be insane.  They've gotten rid of us for a reason.  Maybe everyone who was
inside the barrier at first was a criminal.  Maybe people aren't really like
this.  Like us. 
Filthy
."

Apollon snorts.  "I'm pretty sure they were," he
says.  "You know I've read a lot from before the Turn.  Most of it from
wayyyy before.  And people seem pretty much like they do now.  Capable of a lot
of things—good and bad.  Filthy, and beautiful."

I can't help but smile, if just for an instant.  "You
really
aren't
cynical, are you?"

He flashes me a dimpled grin.  "Keats."  He clears
his throat, and begins:

"But this is human life: the war, the deeds,

The disappointment, the anxiety,

Imagination's struggles, far and nigh,

All human; bearing in themselves this good,

That they are sill the air, the subtle food,

To make us feel existence, and to shew

How quiet death is.

Where soil is men grow,

Whether to weeds or flowers."

We sit in silence a moment, tasting the words.

"So what then?" I ask, dropping my hand onto the
table.  "Why are we in here?  And what about the Forefathers?"

"That's the question, isn't it?"  His sigh
stretches out between us.

"What d'you think Jonas will say?" I finally ask,
tapping my fingers on the table.

"That they're all a bunch of assholes, any way you look
at it."

We share a weak laugh.

Apollon shrugs with just his head this time.  "He's
probably right."

"So much for your not-cynicalness."

"Well, you know... I spend a lot of time around
you."

I reach for an orange to throw at him, but somehow it
doesn't want to leave my hand.  I look at it, smell it.  I set it back in the
bowl.  "I have every reason to be cynical," I insist.  "They
stole my brain, for one."

"Technically, you gave it to them, if the stories can
be believed."

My eyebrows go up.  "You think they can't?"

Apollon just smiles.  "Really?  For Jonas? 
You
?"

"Ha ha."  I pick the orange up again, but I'm not
sure why.  "I believe it."  My voice has dropped a level.  "I
feel it.  Just... I don't think Lily knew who or what she'd be.  I think she
expected that she'd still be Lily.  Just Lily without the memories.  And
I'm..."  I don't know what I was going to say.

Apollon smiles at me—a true, warm smile.  "You're
Eden."  He reaches across the table and puts his hand over mine, orange
and all.

I smile back at him, and for a fraction of a moment, I don't
care
who
I am.

Chapter 10:  Torn

It seems unfair that everything I learn only makes me more
confused.  How do you reconcile these things?  The world you knew—the world
torn to pieces and reconstructed in a different shape.  The self you knew, the
torn self.  What other things can we rip to pieces?  What else can we destroy
and recreate?  This question weighs on me at so many levels.  I've lost my
place.  I don't know where to begin or end.  I don't even know what I want out
of it all.

Morning is stretching through the window, yawning its
light-filled mouth.  Jonas rolls over onto his side and looks at me.  Smiles
gently.  Touches my cheek.  But it's that smile like
Poor thing.  She's so
lost
.  And I am.  How is he not lost?  How did I whisper these revelations
to him in the darkness, and by light, he's the one who seems fine?

I push his hand away, close my eyes, and roll onto my back. 
My shirt sticks to my side, sweaty from being beneath me.  I imagine drifts of
snow, crisp air.  My visible breath, like smoke from a fire.  I never liked the
cold, when I had it.  Now I don't like the heat either.  I can't even make up
my mind about that.

Deep breaths. 
Ninety-nine.  Ninety-eight.  Ninety-seven
. 
The numbers fall away, and I focus deep within myself.  What do I want, when it
comes down to it?  A fraction of a dream interrupts my soul-searching.  A flash
of an alligator.  It's that damned alligator again.  What the hell?

"Are you OK?" Jonas asks softly, and sighs when I
don't respond.  He rolls over and gets up.

I cling to the reptilian vision.  A flash of scaly green
skin and the unsettling curve of a toothy smile.  And nothing.  Absolutely
nothing.  I sigh, too, but I don't open my eyes.  I frown and focus again. 
Deeper.  What really matters?

There's an easy answer.  It's been there all along.  I want
to find Oscar.  Until I do, I won't ever really be OK.  I've been putting it
off, wrapped up in so many insignificant things.  Worried about pretending to
be someone else—why?  Worried about Jonas, and some incomprehensible future
where Sentries don't exist.  Worried about my head, even though it seems to be
fine.  Well, on a physical level, at any rate.

I have one thing I can hold onto.  I fix it in my heart. 
I'm not going to let this go.  Whatever I don't know, whatever I may not
understand, Oscar is real.  Oscar matters.  And right at this moment, he could
be suffering, could be in danger.  And I'm sitting around on my ass doing
nothing to find him.  Vacation.  Over.

I open my eyes and climb out of bed.  Jonas is in the
kitchen, taking out his frustrations on an orange.  Slicing it vehemently.  I
walk to his side and watch as he grabs another and attacks it like he's cutting
its throat.  Then I squint at his face.  "Are you mad at me?"

He glances at me, and there is definitely anger in his
eyes.  "No," he says.  "I'm just mad."

I wait for a moment to see if he means to elaborate, but he
doesn't.  So I guess I was wrong that he's OK.  "Do you want to talk about
it?"

He stops suddenly and his eyes slice into me.  He hesitates,
obviously restraining himself.  Jonas is always so restrained.  Finally, he
lets out a long breath and turns back to the orange, more gently.  "We
have to do this.  We have to take them down."

"...The Sentries?"

His jaw tightens when I say the word.  He answers in a level
but deadly voice.  "Yes."

I know that look of grim determination.  I know how Jonas is
when he makes up his mind.  Cards begin to fall into place in my mind, a deck
that tells our future.  I see the beginning of the path.  But I'm not sure I
want to take it.  Too many questions, not enough answers.  I have only one
answer, and for now, I'm sticking to it.

Jonas finishes with the oranges and holds the plate out to
me.  I take a slice and munch it, studying his intense gaze.

"It has to be done anyway," he says. 
"Getting this chip out."  He winces, but continues.  "I don't
like it.  It scares me to death, thinking about it."  There's a long
pause.  "But the longer it stays in your head, the bigger the chance that
it will hurt you.  We need to just do it.  And then we can do what you set out
to do."

"I set out to find
you
," I say. 
"Don't you see that?  Lily just used the Sentries as an excuse."

He shakes his head, though he looks uncertain.  "She
wanted both.  She wanted the Sentries to be gone."

"She had no idea what she was playing with," I
murmur.

Jonas' fingers close around my elbow, gentle but urgent. 
"Don't you want to do this?  After everything they've done to us?  We have
the ability to stop them from ever doing it to anyone else.  We can be rid of
them, once and for all."

I shake my head, looking away.  My shoulders slump. 
"I'm not ready to have my head cut open."  My eyes go back to him,
searching his face.  His expression is a mixture of relief and disappointment. 
"I'm thinking about it.  Just... not yet.  I want to talk to Coder some
more.  I need some more answers."

He nods solemnly, his hand dropping from my arm.  "OK. 
That's fair."

I take a handful more orange slices from the plate.  Jonas
grabs the rest, and we head out the door.

***

We're sitting around in the room with the brain machine, or
whatever you want to call it.  The same group as last time—Me, Jonas, Coder,
Spec, and Celine.  The dog followed us, along with a group of guards.  We've
left the guards outside, but the dog lays in front of me, resting its head on
my feet.  I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor, thoughtfully stroking the
short, smooth fur.

"So... Lily created a connection with the Sentries
through the chip in her brain," I regurgitate, trying to get my head
around it all.  I frown.  "And she spent a lot of time training her brain
to somehow access the right data through that connection.  But what about
finding
him
?"  I glance up at Jonas.  "How did she make the
Sentries drop her near him?  Did she meditate on that, too?"

Coder shakes his head, again.  "We don't really
know," he admits.  "Lily didn't exactly tell us what she was doing. 
But obviously she figured out how to do it.  She asked me about a million
questions every day about what we were doing.  I thought she just wanted to
understand how it worked—to keep her from thinking about..."  He frowns
and starts again.  "She didn't tell us.  We can only speculate."

"So speculate," I demand.

Coder sighs and glances from me to Jonas.  He looks
uncomfortable, but then, he usually does.  Correction: they all look
uncomfortable.  Me talking about Lily in third person disturbs them.  Even
Jonas.  And myself, I guess.  It's weird not knowing whether to say
she
or
I
.  Weird not knowing which arrangement of letters I should use for
my friend's name.  Often, all answers feel wrong.

"She probably used some variation of what we were doing
to begin with.  She had to have fixed Jason in her mind—a clear picture of his
face.  The Sentries would be able to recognize and track that, if she could
project it to them. 
How
she bypassed their protocols and commanded them
to drop her in that place is a different story, though.  It would take more
than what we were trying to achieve in the first place.  Our goal was to steal
a portion of data—an easier task than breaking into their system and commanding
them to act in a way they wouldn't normally.  I think she would have had to
trick them, otherwise it would have triggered a negative response. 
Punishment—probably her execution. 
How
she got by that is beyond
me."

"Willpower," Celine murmurs, staring into space. 
"Sheer stubbornness."

Jonas tosses her a smile.  "That sounds like
Eden."

And again, everyone is uncomfortable.  But Celine flashes
him a smile back, as uneasy as it is.

Silence falls over the room.  I focus on my dog, petting its
head.  "My pets really don't have any names?  Seriously?"

Celine's eyes widen a touch, but she looks at me and gives a
little shrug.

"The dog," Spec says, seriously.  "And the
cat.  There's no other dogs or cats around here."  The tiniest smile tugs
at the corners of his lips before he smothers it.

Coder turns away and messes with the brain machine.

Celine looks at her lap, her lips pressed together.

I'm still studying her face, my eyes narrowed, when Jonas
pushes onward.  "Don't you want to know more about the chip?  The rest of
us got to ask our questions.  But you were out.  Surely you have a lot that you
want to know."

I shake my head and mumble, "Not really."  Then I
clear my throat.  "So, sheer stubbornness, huh, Coder?  Does that mesh
with you?  Could persistence have gotten Lily through the system and dropped in
the right place?"

He turns back and shakes his head.  "It doesn't matter,
Lily."  Pointed use of my old name, noted.  And now he's talking to me
like I'm a little kid.... "What matters is that you did it.  But things
that have happened since then have put you at risk.  We never thought that
would happen.  Now that we know it, we need to address it.  We need to act on
the data that makes a difference to the future.  Not dwell on the past.  I know
you're curious, but I think you're avoiding the real question.  It's OK to be
afraid.  But we can't avoid the inevitable."

Jonas' eyes narrow on my face.  I avoid his gaze and stare
at Coder.  "I'm not afraid," I say steadily.  "I'm just not
ready.  And I'm fine.  Truth be told, I don't know you well enough to let you
saw my head open—"

"Drill," Coder corrects, methodically.

"Whatever.  I'm going to have to warm up to you a
little bit before I let you go anywhere near my head with any kind of sharp
implement."

Coder flushes red and turns back to his brain machine.  I'm
pretty sure he's just wobbling the knobs out of nervousness, not for any
purpose.

Spec, sitting in a chair, wipes his palms along the front of
his shorts and leans forward.  "You're going to need to trust him soon,"
he says.  "We need to do this."

"To protect my brain?" I ask.  "Or to get
your precious data?"

He starts to shake his head.  "It was
your
data,
Lily.  Your idea.  Your revolution."

"I'm pretty sure it was all a sham," I say,
glancing at Jonas.

That shuts them up for a while.

Celine is the one who finally breaks the silence.  "I
think she has a valid point, boys."  A little smile plays on her face, a
mixture of amusement and teasing.  "Maybe you need to reexamine your
motives before you go cutting open Eden's head."

I don't miss the use of my name—my
now
name.  But I
wonder what she's playing at.

"Anyway," she says, "I'm going to ask you one
more time, and this time I want a real answer.  If she hasn't had any problems
so far, how can you be so certain that she will?  Maybe we could just leave her
be, and she would be fine.  Maybe you're taking unnecessary risks."

I'm really starting to warm up to her, whatever her game.  I
raise my eyebrows at the boys right along with her.

"Oh, god," Spec mutters, turning away and running
his fingers through his hair.  He says something else I can't make out, but
whatever it is, Celine smiles.

"We know," Coder says, "because the data we
did
download says so."  He grabs up a clipboard with a stack of scribblings
and holds it out.  "That right there.  The chip itself is unstable. 
Glitchy.  And can it send signals out that will interfere with your brain
function?  Yes.  Will it eventually happen?  Yes.  There are only two
questions.  How soon will it happen, and will we get the chip out of your head
before it does?"  He gives me a very serious look through his thick
goggles, and for a moment he looks more like a man than an overgrown boy.

"I have another question."  I shift my weight, and
the dog moves his head, looking at me quizzically.  "What,
exactly
,
will happen if it does go screwy while it's still in my brain?"

Jonas looks away—an almost angry gesture, but I know it for
what it is: concern.

Coder sets down his clipboard and wanders toward me.  He
squats down in front of me, and he fixes me with that serious gaze.  "You
need to get this chip out," he says.  "The sooner, the better."

I don't like that cryptic answer, but I feel no need to
punish myself by prying for details.  I can imagine enough horrible scenarios to
suffice for now.  But I don't have time to let them crack open my brain, and to
lay around for weeks or months, healing.  I have a specific purpose.  If it
kills me, then so be it.  "Tell me more about Lily's brain training."

Confusion flits across Coder's face.  He frowns, hesitates. 
He's about to reply when Jonas says, "Get out."

Everyone looks at him.  Alarm and confusion leap from face
to face.

"Get out," Jonas repeats, his voice dark and
serious.  "All of you."

No one argues with him.  Even I'm climbing to my feet before
I really understand why.

"Not you."  He walks toward me.  "You're
staying."

Even the dog flees, giving me a guilty look as it ducks
through the door behind Celine.  As they shut themselves out, Jonas drops to
the floor in front of me.  He mirrors my position, sitting cross-legged.  We
look at each other in silence.

"You are
not
going after him," he finally
says.

He may as well have punched me in the gut.  I open my mouth
and sputter.  I have no words.

He takes my hands in his and leans in.  His touch is
indescribably gentle, especially in contrast to his voice, to his gaze. 
"You have to let him go, Eden.  It's done.  They've taken him from
us."  His face stays so smooth, except for one little twitch in the center
of his forehead that gives away his pain.  That little chink in his armor is
enough to send me out of control.