I hunker down in my last class of the day, General and Special Relativity, and open my laptop. Mr. Chandler drones on and on at the front of the room, and with my rapid typing, I look like I’m taking notes. But what I’m really doing is taking matters into my own hands because I don’t trust the Ethics Committee to solve this one. I’ve already run every recovery procedure I can think of to no avail and took extra precautions to reinforce my firewalls with a new MySQL script I wrote last period to prevent the hacker from gaining access to my personal computer again. Now it’s time to dig around and see what else I can find.
Air whistles through my teeth when I navigate to the SSD drive I shoved into one of the IT computers earlier today. It’s still connected. A good thing or a bad thing. Good for me at this moment, but bad for the state of security. No wonder someone else was able to breach the system when our fucking IT department doesn’t even notice a rogue device attached to a computer on his desk.
I bite my lip, my mind flashing to Brandon’s red-rimmed eyes, my brother’s wails, the clear distraction blurring his vision. The clear opening for someone to take advantage of. A quick glance at their accounts in HiveMind confirms as much. Several chunks of time have gone missing from both of their accounts since yesterday, according to the time log.
In the command prompt, I type in a few code words that grant me full read-only access to the monitoring tools. The interface is a lot less user-friendly than the sleek GUI most users of HiveMind see. Instead of compartmentalized windows that are easy to read and navigate, I find myself staring at a root-level folder structure. While Mr. Chandler paces the room, the heels of his loafers clicking on the linoleum floor, I execute a data-mine script from my arsenal that’ll illuminate any code changes made to the HiveMind server master file since yesterday.
A minute later, the results pop up, and I gasp so loudly that all the students in the room turn in my direction.
Holy isotopes. 56,320 lines of code have been altered since yesterday, touching nearly every part of the system. I feel like I’m on the verge of short-circuiting.
Mr. Chandler stops in front of my desk. “I’m delighted you find the concept of replacing the Galilean transformations of Newtonian mechanics with the Lorentz transformations so engaging.”
The class snickers.
My mind is spinning so fast it feels as if the room is a Tilt-A-Whirl. I can barely cling to anything he just said. He keeps staring at me, expecting a response. I pluck out the only word I can remember. “Um. Lorentz?”
“Pay attention!” Mr. Chandler slaps my laptop monitor down until it clicks with the base. I thrust out my hands to stop it, but I’m not fast enough. Blame the Lorentz transformation, which defines the speed at which an object can move between two coordinates.
An itch tingles at the base of my neck, and my leg rattles under my desk. My fingers graze against the edge of the laptop, but Mr. Chandler shoots me a sharp glare beneath his wire-rimmed glasses. I snap my hands back and shove them into my lap, my pulse a metronome in my ears.
His voice seems to drag on, prolonging every second in an attempt to kill me with absolute proof of the theory of time dilation. My eyes glue to the clock, each tick of the second hand racing faster than the beating of my heart. 56,320 lines of code added, deleted, or altered. Shit.
The last official upgrade of HiveMind changed only 25,787 lines of code. 56,320 is massive. Those kinds of changes could encompass an entire plug-in. This is too big for just a patch.
I can’t get away with opening my laptop, but I try to calm myself by inching up my sleeve beneath the desk and reading my handwriting. Under Today’s Events I add:
Backed up recent memories to external hard drive. Discovered 56,320 lines of code have been altered in HiveMind.
When the girl next to me looks over, squinting at my arms, I hastily yank my sleeve downward.
With ten minutes left until the bell, Mr. Chandler announces that he wants us to work independently on a worksheet he pings to us via email. I’ve never opened my laptop so fast. I pull up the sheet and type a bunch of gibberish into the first line so I can load it up when he pauses behind me to monitor my progress. In an adjacent window, I scroll through the list of code changes. To determine what these changes actually do, I’d have to investigate each one, which could take hours. My eyes flash on a few new additions: get_IsVariable_MemName and InitiateMassPurgeMemName plus a few more related code words to define parameters for mass deletion. There’s also new code to support additional memory transfer functionalities that weren’t there two days ago, including TransferSpecial, TransferEmos, and TransferFrags. Who the hell knows what Special, Emos, and Frags means when it comes to the ability to transfer? Another set of phrases sticks out to me. SelectFolder, EncryptFolder, and HideFolderInvisible.
I quickly copy those codes onto my blank arm with my nondominant hand to remember to look into it again.
I tap my fingers against the table. Why would a folder need to be encrypted and hidden? And more important, have any folders actually been hidden? In the command line, I type s-h-r /s /d *.* to bring up a list of any hidden folders. Only one result pops up involving a nested folder buried within nearly a thousand parent folder hierarchy. Whoever hid this folder tried to cover their trail but neglected a vital rule of programming: You can’t hide everything.
My eyes widen when I click into it. It contains 7,694 files. The exact number of memories I’m missing.
My shoulders tense, a headache brewing behind my eyes.
HiveMind autotags memories with helpful easy-to-read titles, but every file in this folder contains only a string of gibberish as the title, clearly encrypted. However, about fifty of them retained little stars identifying them as ones I once favorited. I try to drag a few of the files into my account on HiveMind at once, but I get an error warning me I can only copy one file at a time. When I try to drag only one, a new warning pops up telling me that I can’t copy encrypted data. Fuck. I’m going to have to do this the hard way.
I crack my neck from side to side and plug in a USB drive that contains most of my encryption tools. Within a few minutes, I have several programs running simultaneously to try to suss out the encryption keys on a randomly selected file and bust that baby wide open.
I smile to myself when my precious, little genius scripts crack the case in only two minutes and forty-seven seconds. A new record. But I don’t gloat long, because Mr. Chandler clears his throat behind me and I pretend to work on his dumb assignment for a few minutes. Once he moves on to the next student, I haul ass back to the hidden folder. Without encryption, the file slides directly into my HiveMind account, though I can still only copy one at a time. Like other transferred memories, it starts playing in my mind as soon as it finishes copying.
A black cloud washes over the classroom like a tidal wave as the memory plays in my mind. Pressure tugs at my skull and then releases in one swift swoosh, like pulling suction off a surface. The memory seizes control of my vision, replacing the view of Mr. Chandler’s classroom with that of a science lab. Fluorescent overhead lights flood the room, blotting out all traces of blackness. This isn’t Mr. Chandler’s classroom at all, but one with an entirely different layout, and I’m standing against a wall with Sebastian pressed against me.
Right against me. No room for excess molecules to squeeze between us.
His face hovers only inches from mine and body heat radiates off him. He winks at me behind dark plastic-rimmed glasses. His hair is shaved down to only stubble, and I run my fingers through my own hair from ends to roots, except the ends stop a centimeter below my shoulder instead of falling into waves that reach below my boobs. This must be freshman year, when I had an unfortunate incident with a pair of scissors and a bad idea.
[Not here,] I whisper. Except I say it backward, like I’m rewinding my DVR with the volume on. I lean my chin over his shoulder, peering past my classmates scrambling backward, toward a pile of glass shards on the floor. Black liquid bubbles on the ground, shiny like a puddle of slick oil.
[Now impress me with your idea.] His words are also backward, but I understand him. This memory is happening in reverse while my mind moves forward. He shoots me a grin, lit eerily by the glow of his glasses refracting a light source I can’t identify. [Not many people can impress me with a good physics joke.]
[If we worked together, it would be supersymmetry,] I say.
I see a mushroom cloud of fire appear out of nowhere behind his head, followed by a loud boom.
Sebastian lifts away from me, his hands sliding up my arms to my chest as he skids backward. I shoot forward after him, stopping abruptly as his arms jerk down to his sides.
The fire shrinks back down to a puff of smoke as the glass pieces on the floor fly back together, assembling into the shape of a beaker. The smoke turns into a bubbling black liquid inside. My arm stretches out, fingers cupped, and the beaker flies back into my hand.
With my other hand, I grab an empty tube from the counter and hold it over the rim of the beaker. Reverse osmosis occurs as the tube leeches the dark color from the liquid and collects it into the empty tube. [What if I can change your mind, Bash? I’m in need of a physics guru for my project and you seem to be in need of a project in the first place.]
[That’s what Mr. Kimmel said, but this is what I want to work on.] Sebastian bites his lip.
[There’s a fine line between a project and a product. In order for the school board to approve your idea, you have to cross it.]
[No, but she will. If I can just get—] He hastily picks up a paper and then peruses it, purposefully avoiding my eyes, before setting it back down.
I set the test tube filled with black liquid onto the table. [My mother didn’t approve that.]
[Prove the existence of bosonic strings.] He walks backward, and I meet him, stride for stride, the clear liquid in my beaker sloshing. In the background, I can hear the teacher warning students to be careful when choosing compounds to mix because some have dangerous reactions.
[What’s your thesis project?]
I spin and face a table loaded with beakers and set the one in my hand down. I pick up another tube from an array labeled REACTANTS and hold it over the beaker. The liquid lifts out of the beaker and flows into the test tube. Once the tube is full, I set it back down on a tray.
He nods toward Teddy across the way. Teddy’s head is shaved too, matching Sebastian’s, as if they purchased a two-for-one special. [He’s the best people.]
[Awww, don’t talk about Teddy like that. He’s good people. And besides, it got you into this school, didn’t it?]
[I was robbed. How does a quantum computing simulator not take first place?] Sebastian leans casually next to me, propping his hands behind his head. On the inside of his wrists, red markings dot the surface, scars like my own, but different. His are dots, mine is an angry red line.
[I also know you ranked number two in the country for your eighth-grade project in the National Science Fair competition.]
[They never have much plot, but there’s always a killer ending.] He crosses his arms over his SCHRÖDINGER’S ABS T-shirt. I snicker inwardly at the joke as we walk backward to our station.
[That you read physics books for fun.] I hop onto the black table and straddle the lab report sheet resting there. I grab a notebook from beside me and hold it high over my head as Sebastian tries to swat it away from me. Keeping it high, I flip through it, tilting my head back to read, passing by pages of complex classical mechanics questions. Sebastian continues to try to grab it from me. After a few seconds, I sneak the book back into his messenger bag while he stands in front of me, looking somewhat confused.
His brow lifts. [Hope they were good rumors.]
[Because I heard some rumors about you.]
[Why did you choose me?] He propels himself to his feet and starts to walk away backward.
He keeps skidding backward as if avoiding my siren call. I keep my eyes locked on his, waggling my finger toward my chest.
Blackness seeps over my eyes as the memory ends. I blink against the harsh light that fades back into my vision. It takes a moment to get my bearings, and when I do, I flinch to find Mr. Chandler seated across from me, staring at me with a concerned expression. Every other chair in my classroom is now empty. He snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Arden?”
I rub my fists against my eyes, heart pounding. “What—what happened?”
“Class ended ten minutes ago. You didn’t move.” He jerks his chin toward the clock.
I press a palm against my forehead. I was so deep in the memory I had no idea what was going on in my current surroundings.
“I’m okay.” I scramble out of my chair, wobbling on unsteady feet. Mr. Chandler reaches toward me, but I swat him away. “I’m fine.”
I hastily thrust my laptop back into my bag and then fling myself into the hallway, gulping desperate bits of air. I lean against the lockers and try to make sense of what the hell just happened. The memory played backward but when I piece it back together in the correct order, it makes total sense. I propositioned Sebastian—Bash?—to be my lab partner, first for this chemistry experiment assignment that day and then for our larger thesis project. I told him I was in need of a science genius and he was the best there is. Well, second only to Teddy, according to the science fair competition that my mom established a few years ago to find potential MVH candidates. In the last decade, it’s become the most prestigious science competition for young people short of the Nobel Prize.
After that, I told Sebastian his own project idea for bosonic strings would never get approved because it’s not a product, and I finally won him over with a physics joke about supersymmetry. And he won me over by pushing me out of the way just before my beaker exploded after I mixed the wrong chemical compounds together because I was paying more attention to his adorable smile than the assignment. It all led to him pressed against me, both our chests puffing in and out, while I refused to tell him the one piece of vital info we both need to know: What the hell is our project?
The sensory details were far more vivid than the usual HiveMind replay, overwriting everything in my vision until I could only see the moment replaying in my mind’s eye. With normal HiveMind replay, it’s like a piece of tracing paper overlaid on my eyes. The scents from the memory are muted beyond recognition. But just now, the pungent odor of the chemical compounds at my feet were so strong, I wanted to gag. I couldn’t even hear the bell ringing or my classmates exiting the room.
And that wasn’t the only thing different. We were different. The Sebastian I spoke to this morning was quiet and reserved, but the one in the memory was full of wit and energy. I acted so different with the way I clearly flirted with him.
Holy shit. I need to experience that again. I need to get back another memory.
I slide onto the cold linoleum floor and open my laptop. With trembling fingers, I navigate to the SSD drive. When I click on it, an error pops up: Could not connect.
My shoulders tense. I jab my fingers against the keys, trying a million different things to reestablish the connection and find that folder again, but it’s no use.
The drive’s been disconnected.
Someone pulled it out of the computer.