We met in our favorite coffee shop yesterday,
me in my layers of cold-weather gear,
you in your faded green T-shirt,
the one that turned your eyes the color of thyme.
We talked about the old days,
and although a glance in the tableside mirror
confirmed the presence of new lines and shadows and loss on my face,
I noticed that you hadn’t changed at all,
that you still looked exactly the same as you do
in the photo on our piano, the one with your faded green T-shirt and thyme-colored eyes and
time-frozen smile, the one resting on a tear-stained obituary notice
with the dates of your coming and going.
— EPITAPH FOR BENJAMIN BRADY
(JANUARY 16, 2035–AUGUST 10, 2067),
BY KATE SIFFORD, HIS ONE AND ONLY,
DECEMBER 25, 2068
At the top of the stairs, Tia and I said good night. She headed to her room, I headed to mine. I had Mom’s e-spond and a call to make.
I touched in Aunt Paige’s number, willing to risk waking her.
She answered quickly. “I’m not ready to talk to you, Heather.”
“It’s me.”
“Kellen?”
I told her yes. She responded with tears. After she calmed down, I found out where she was — an apartment (her idea, no restrictions, except some suspected surveillance) — and gave her a summary of everything that had happened since I’d left home. Even though I tried to keep it to the basics, she reacted with a million questions and more crying, especially when I told her the part about Dad — her brother — being in Seattle and planning on staying, and nearly an hour passed before the conversation began to run out of steam.
I plugged in a question. “Do you know what they did with Ms. Anderson — our history instructor?”
“I can make an educated guess. A place on the university campus called Harmony Tower. It’s a formerly abandoned dorm PAC uses to detain mild dissidents. Until they’re re-indoctrinated and deemed safe again anyway. I was afraid they’d send me there. But I guess they considered me mostly harmless. And in a critical job.
“I miss you so much,” she added while I thought about what she’d just told me. It was about the tenth time she’d said those words.
“Me, too,” I said.
“You have to visit me. And bring Tia.”
“I will. Soon. Maybe tomorrow, if I ever get out of bed. Do you know if people in Harmony Tower can have visitors?”
“With some constraints, I’d expect. Are you thinking about visiting her?”
“I want to.”
“Give it a try. I think the worst that can happen is that one of the watchdogs there will tell you no. But be careful. You’ve got some pull with your mom on your side, but you wouldn’t want to end up in the place yourself under any circumstances. And you have your trials coming.”
My trials. The last thing on my mind. Something else had taken their place.
Before we said good-bye she managed to tell me once more how much she missed me and I promised once more to visit her soon.
Two thirty a.m. wasn’t late if you had things on your mind. I carried them down the hall to Tia’s room, expecting to have to wake her up. But she was lying in the dark with her eyes open. In the dim light from the window I saw them glistening.
She sat up as I perched myself on the edge of her bed. She smelled of shampoo and soap.
“Can’t sleep?” I asked.
“Sunday’s bed is so empty,” she murmured, and I took her hand. It was cold, even though the heat of a July day still hung in the room. “It all felt like a nightmare at the time, but being away from it — here — makes it seem more real.”
“We can’t bring her back,” I said. “But maybe we can do something that would make us feel a little better when we go on from here.”
Even in the near-dark, I saw a question on her face and in the angle of her body. So I gave her my answer. And we talked, late.
I returned to my room with thoughts of our planning and plotting filling my head, but that would have to wait until the next day. Right now I had something else to do.
I went to my desk and touched my computer to life. I did a search, hoping. And after a couple of tries to find the right spelling combination, I located what I was looking for. NetSketch had a listing for alonebutmerri.
The profile was slim and generic and contained no photos, but I was almost sure I had the right person. So I composed a note to her.
MERRI — I DON’T KNOW WHAT EXACTLY PAC TOLD YOU, BUT YOUR MOM IS THE BIGGEST REASON FEMALES ON THIS PLANET HAVE A FUTURE.SHE’S A HERO.AND SHE GAVE ME A MESSAGE TO PASS ON TO YOU. “TELL MERRI I LOVE HER,”IS WHAT SHE SAID.
For good measure I added ALWAYS, imagining that Dr. Nuyen would have wanted me to. I hadn’t included much in the way of information, but if Merri felt shortchanged she could get back to me, and maybe by then I’d have thought of a way to blunt the specifics of her mom’s death, even if it meant making up something less painful. For Merri. And me.
I posted the note, knowing she wouldn’t read it until the next day at the earliest. But at least I’d sent it. And maybe she would respond. It would be good — mostly — to hear from her, even under the circumstances.
Finally, I headed to bed.