Greyson

I’ve a strongsome suspicion my father’s device’s some kind of beacon … or a superfluous bridging module between the blue crystal thingies and the bit that makes a ka-cranking sound.

I reckon it’s near complete. I’ve been following the schematics best I can, but it’s hard not knowing what it’ll do — like baking a cake when you’re not even sure it’s a cake you’re baking. I’m hesitant, wigging out I’m putting together a bomb. It doesn’t look like one, more like a kid’s toy, cheerfully lighting up, and for some reason twirl-spinning every so often. I blame that on a loose wire that, all persistent-like, defies the soldering iron. It’s probably not even necessary, and I’m real tempted to yank it out and be done with it except then I think it is necessary and without it the whole thing will self-destruct.

My modes ping. It’s so loud I jump, my fingers tightening on the electrical component to stop it shooting off the desk. It’s an incoming call and it isn’t Rayburn or Bryn. I don’t know anyone else. I’m tempted to ignore it, but I’ve a curiousness to know who’s got enough know-how to work around the wristband restrictions to reach me. Maybe it’s Bones? Maybe the slimy git got away last night? The timing worries me. Does the Guardian suspect something? It pings again and I half-shrug, accepting it with a flick-quiver of an eye-lash.

Hello? A familiar voice asks. I can’t quite place it, recalling red hair and polished skin, not the name. Glitch, I’m bad with names. And faces, really. Maybe just people in general.

Hello? I answer.

Greyson Ward? The voice sounds real confuzzled. Most of my identifiers are off. I yeah-grunt, hoping she’s going to introduce herself. We need to meet, she says. It’s about … she pauses and I recall a visit to Education District Five with that girl who could read handwriting. What’s her name again? It’ll come to me, I’m sure. It’s about what we spoke about before, she says. Are you free now?

Lenora

In the real at Education District Five? Half an hour? The boy suggests and something loosens inside my chest. I can sneak away from filming for a bit with Hugo’s help, and I need a break from Torin. My followers suspect something’s amiss as every time Torin tugs me in for a kiss, I tense.

Everything that’s come so naturally to me is now forced, as I consider and reconsider every word and every gesture before I make them. Especially with Torin. There’s already a poll guessing how long we’ll last and, for a couple who’ve only been out to dinner once, this is a poor sign. Even MsDanikaStarburst has hinted I need to gain control of the rumours or risk my ranking. On the plus side, my less than enthusiastic interactions with Torin have irritated him as though I’m the first to resist his charms. And my rank only continues to rise, settling at 182 before I started filming for the day. Already I’ve beaten Torin’s record for quickest climb in rank.

Perfect, see you then, I send and disconnect.

“You sure this is a good idea, Nora? Are you prepared to risk all this?” Hugo asks, gesturing towards my changing room, yet meaning all my followers, my fame, my career.

“No,” I murmur. “Maybe? I need to know more first. Anyway, I should call Bryn. And can you turn that thing around? It’s creeping me out.” I point towards the robot sitting on my dresser. Its odd coloured eyes are unblinking, its mouth a little open as though it’s panting. It’s been motionless since I dumped it there this morning. It’s not gotten any lighter overnight and my shoulder still aches from lugging it halfway across the station because for some reason Hugo has taken a liking to it.

“It’s a she,” Hugo grumbles, “and how do you expect me to move her?”

I ignore him and send a link to Jonas’s little sister. The call hangs suspended in the air for a moment before it makes a distressed ping and vanishes.

“Huh, it failed like the last one,” I huff and take off my modes to study them. They’re my working modes, powerful, with an incredibly strong uplink and plenty of storage set within a sleek, gold-tinted headset. I give them a shake. Would I even know if there’s something wrong with them? One failed call is a hiccup. Two …

I shove them back on, tucking the band until it hugs the base of my skull.

“Hmm, okay. Try it now,” Hugo says, tilting his head and closing his eyes. I can imagine the stream of information pouring through his head. Is it just information to him, or does he experience things enough to gain knowledge? I’d never call him stupid, and sometimes I’d even say he’s wise, yet is he programmed that way? I’m unsure if I care anymore.

After speaking with Bryn, I change from the white body-suit into something more practical, excitement buzzing beneath my skin at the promise of finding out the truth. I’ve just put on my boots and about to leave when there’s a soft rap on the door.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“It’s your mother,” Hugo says, phasing his face through the wall to peek outside. My mother has never visited me on set before – our schedules never really matching up – and to have her show up now, especially after the events of last night, leaves me worried.

“Mother? What’s wrong?” I usher her inside and gesture for her to take a seat on the narrow day bed against the wall.

My mother is wearing an old frock, one that reminds me of the dress I wore to the Activation Ball, the skirt a woven patchwork of faded blues, greys and lavenders. The scooped neckline emphasises her fragile neck.

“Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart,” she reassures, but her cheeks are pale, even with her holo-glamour in place, and her fingers don’t stop worrying at the fabric of her dress. “I just wanted to see you. Is there something wrong with a mother wanting to visit her daughter?” Her voice cracks and I drop to my knees before her, squeezing her hands gently.

“Is this about your argument with Father?” I ask. Maybe she’s ready to tell me what’s really going on?

“Argument?” Mother repeats, her lips tasting the word like it’s unfamiliar.

“You said something about a promise you broke?” I press. “To Thad and Hannah?”

“Sweetheart,” Mother’s smile is shaped by an uncertain sadness, and I suspect she’s not even sure why she came here. “I don’t know who they are. Are they friends of yours?”

My heart sinks. Hugo crouches down beside me, reaching a hand only I could see to cup my mother’s face. His brow furrows as he concentrates.

“Her memories have been altered. I can’t tell what’s been erased, but whatever it was, it goes back decades.”

Can you tell when it happened?

“Recently,” Hugo answers. Fear joins the rolling worry in my gut and my heart feels fragile as if one more tap will shatter it into pieces. How involved is my father?

“Mother, I think you should lie down for a bit,” I help her lean back until she’s lying flat on the bed, and tuck a throw rug around her legs. She makes no protest. The way she clasps her hands over her chest is strangely child-like and I lean in to kiss her cheek. “Get some rest.”

Bryn

Bryn, I just got the glitchiest call, Greyson links, his voice warm.

Lenora Rey, I state rather than guess.

That’s who it was! Couldn’t remember. She didn’t introduce herself.

Unsurprising. She messaged me too.

So we’re meeting at your old school, 12:30?

Yup. I shove my way out of the current of the crowd to find a quiet spot to figure out where in sky I am. Hey, Grey, you still at your lab? I ask.

Leaving now.

Cool. I think I’m in Needlesworth. I miss my modes’ ability to find my location as I thump up a couple of narrow stairs to see over the heads of people.

I’ll meet you at 18th and Jezebel Lane, hatch 12D, Greyson says.

I reach the third stair rung, feeling the sharp edge of the step through my shoes as I balance against the railing. The extra height gives me a clear view of the major thoroughfare that leads towards Depreston one way, and the Core the other.

“Now if only I could remember which way is which,” I mumble.

Greyson

I see Bryn with the map I gave her close enough to brush her nose, making it impossible for her to know her turn’s coming up quick. I dig my shoulder in, angling myself through the crowd until I sweep in and snag Bryn’s elbow, tugging her towards Jezebel Lane, unmarked except for the painted stiletto shoe splashed across the entrance.

Hey, Bryn says, tucking herself up beside me to avoid the enthusiastic crowd surfers. I’m pleased she doesn’t mind how close we are.

You were going to miss your turn, I tease and start counting the steel hatches.

I was not! I knew exactly where I was, she growls, sticking out her tongue.

I grunt and reach for a braid to tug in retaliation. Bryn’s quick though and shakes her hair away with a laugh, slipping her hood (my hood, really) over her head.

I count eight hatches and stop, checking the imprinted letter and numerals across its centre. 12D. This one gives us a direct route to the L5 edu-district via a dizzying number of ladders.

Well, brave leader, we’ve less than ten minutes to climb a bazillion sets of stairs, Bryn sends and widens her stance to hide me from the curiousness of onlookers as I crank open the hatch. I let her go through first, but before she ducks under my arm she looks back, biting her lip all cheeky-like. Race you?

Lenora

“They’re late,” I grumble. My thoughts keep returning to my mother and how she’s not the fierce woman she was yesterday. Are her memories in my father’s drawer? Plucked from her head as easily as removing petals from a rose?

Hugo cracks open one eye. He leans next to me, hands linked behind his head and face tilted as though he’s basking in sunlight when we’re actually hidden in shadows, tucked away from the noise and chaos of grade four kids taking their lunch break. “Well, they are,” I huff and cross my arms, the robot heavy in a bag over one shoulder because Hugo insisted we needed it, her, whatever. My holo-glamour is set to incognito, however I donned a jacket and tugged the hood over my face anyway.

Some kids play beneath a perfectly designed tree, its branches a tad too high for even the tallest student to climb, and spaced evenly to offer shade from the bright artificial light of early afternoon. One group is playing virtual ball and there’s a lot of shouting involved.

When a scuffle breaks out over a poor throw, I push off the wall without thinking, intent on doing something, though I don’t know what. While the ruckus starts off with only a handful of students, others are soon jumping gleefully onto the growing heap, squealing and laughing as they all roll about like a basketful of puppies. We never did that on my level. Although there was by no means an anti-touch policy, we appreciated our space.

A teacher wades through the mass of flailing limbs to break it up and I sink against the wall. I can see from here the teacher is trying to hold back his own grin.

“That’s a fair handy diversion!” a man says cheerfully as he lopes around the corner on long legs. Bryn joins him, shiny-cheeked and panting, leaning against her knees as she calms her breathing. I glance at the man again, trying to place him when Hugo whispers into my ear, “Greyson Ward.”

Surely not! Greyson was that shy, nervous kid. Looked like the rest of his body was trying to swallow his head!

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge, Nora,” Hugo laughs.

Greyson is tall, lean, and straight as he tosses his head back to take in long, shuddering breaths.

“Are you okay?” I ask them both hesitantly and Greyson makes a little we’ll-be-fine wave of his hand.