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  A bluish haze surrounded the four of us, buzzing like a swarm of angry wasps and flickering like the lights in the underground apocalypse bunker we’d observed a few months ago. Four red dots on her cuff turned to green one at a time, and when the last light changed, the final days of republican Rome disappeared.

  *

  Sanchi, Amalgam of Genesis—50 NE (New Era)

  “Home sweet home,” Analeigh drawled as our group of four arrived back in the small air lock we’d departed from several hours previously.

  Ever since we’d spent an afternoon observing the antebellum American South, Analeigh had been obsessed with perfecting her accent. The bio-tats would supply one if she asked, but she found exaggerating it more amusing.

  I did, too. It never failed to make me giggle. “Yes, although most people wouldn’t call the Academy air lock sweet. It stinks of sweat and feet.”

  She shrugged with a smile. Sanchi was home for all of us, even if Analeigh and I were the only two out of our class of seven born on this planet, and I supposed that made it sweet, in its way. The rest came from nearby planets in Genesis, the solar system adopted by humanity over a generation ago.

  Earth Before hadn’t blown up or disappeared or anything so dramatic. The environment had simply reclaimed the majority of land, and as medicine evolved, so did disease. There had been too many people fighting over declining resources, more wars than peace, and a host of other issues that forced those who remained to seek out a new home.

  Now, the Historians strove to ensure those things didn’t happen a second time.

  The four of us stripped off our dust-covered woolen tunics and togas, placing them in a drawer that extended to receive them, then retracted. Sarah and Analeigh dumped their wigs, too, and the dust in the room made us all cough before the ventilation system kicked on and recycled the oxygen mixture. Everything would be inspected for bacteria and other contagions, and if cleared, returned to the wardrobe closet. Sometimes we had to shower before the air lock let us out, but not often. We allowed a sharp metal protrusion to prick our fingers in quick succession, drawing blood that would also be analyzed for infections or biohazards.

  There was nothing to do until the doors unlocked except stare at one another. Black leggings and hip-length black tank tops made of a lightweight Kevlar blend covered our bodies as we perched on stainless steel benches that always transferred a chill, no matter how many times maintenance promised the air lock temperature was “comfortable.”

  “How do you feel you did?” Maude rose and paced the small area, her question mechanical. More habit than anything.

  She and her twin sister Minnie weren’t my favorite overseers. They smelled like old clothes and some kind of alcohol, and neither of them paid enough attention to us while we were observing. They’d been to the same time and place on countless trips, so maybe I shouldn’t be so judgy, especially given that I often struggled to pay attention even the first time.

  I stared at the Historian insignia stamped on the ruddy flesh inside Maude’s right wrist, trying to appear as though I wasn’t avoiding her gaze.

  Speculamini. Memorate. Meditamini. In the English: Observe. Record. Reflect.

  The words ran along the outside lines of a triangle and decorated not only the inside of our right wrists, but also the breasts of our Historian uniforms and the cloaks we wore on the colder trips.

  When none of us answered, she turned her attention on me. “Kaia Vespasian. Answer.”

  “I feel confident I’ll get into trouble when my chip is uploaded.”

  Maude removed her glasses, black rimmed now that we were home, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why this time?”

  Nerves danced in my stomach. I had to try harder, even though the main events never interested me the most. The ways the major historical episodes affected the loved ones, the children, the enemies, the world around them … that’s what I loved to decipher. In a few years, once my training was complete, I would be allowed to choose my subjects. But not until then.

  “I wanted to see the gardens.”

  In truth, the couples had drawn my attention. I couldn’t tell Maude that, though.

  “Until you’re certified, you’ll see what we tell you to see. Even after that, I doubt you’ll be able to convince the Elders that studying flowers and trees is a worthy use of our many privileges. As always, work on your focus.”

  I nodded, looking down at my toes until I felt her gaze slide to someone else.

  “Sarah Beckwith? Analeigh Frank?”

  My friends answered automatically, describing details of the assassination we had been instructed to capture that I had missed. I really did need to pay more attention. Every child in Genesis took aptitude tests that determined our course of study, and they were never wrong. I knew I belonged at the Historian Academy, not in Agriculture, or Genetics, or any other school.

  This had become my home, and despite my struggle to do as instructed on occasion, I loved my studies. Loved the purpose and dedication of the Historians, what we stand for, what we can accomplish. I was lucky to be here at all, after what my brother had pulled. Citizens of Genesis were exiled for only the gravest of infractions, and often their families were sentenced along with them. Jonah’s fate should have been all the encouragement necessary to behave, but a desire to witness those special moments convinced me to break the rules far more often than was wise.

  But the more infractions on my record, the less likely I’d be granted the specialty of my choosing after certifications, and that wasn’t part of the plan.

  My left arm dangled unadorned but a gleaming metal loop circled Maude’s, drawing my gaze. I dreamed of a transport cuff of my own, aching for the freedom it represented. We’d been largely confined to the Academy since we were ten, nearly seven years now. For all of the times and places I’d visited in the past, in the present I’d never left Sanchi. Genesis wasn’t huge, but there were seven small planets and several uninhabited moons. The thought of planet bouncing and freedom brought my brother to mind for the second time in as many hours, but I banished the thought of his name and the image of his face with a frown.

  Stay gone, Jonah.

  I’m not sure if the silent, fervent wish is because of my anger with him or because he’d be executed should he show his face here again.

  Right then, all I knew for sure is that getting out of this decontamination air lock would be enough freedom for me. It usually took less than twenty minutes for computers to analyze our vitals and clothes to make sure we didn’t bring back anything undesirable, while the tattoos etched deep into the skin over our brain stems, wrists, and throats uploaded all the bio information they needed.

  The hollow feeling in my stomach said it had to be close to dinnertime. “What time is it?”

  Analeigh rolled her eyes, and Sarah laughed.

  “I know, I know, I always forget my watch. Is it time for dinner?”

  “Yes,” Sarah answered, shaking her short, dirty-blond hair in an attempt to lose the wig crease.

  “You have a pass tonight for a home visit, right? For your birthday?” Analeigh asked.

  Of course. My birthday.

  The reminder that tonight meant dinner with my parents cracked a grin across my face. I missed them more since Jonah had left the Academy, and the thought of seeing them relieved some of the stress over another botched assignment. “Yep.”

  “And we’re still going to Stars tomorrow, right? For your friend celebration?” Analeigh’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.

  “I can’t believe the Elders gave you two passes for one week. Must be nice to be from an Original family,” Sarah commented, her perfectly formed eyebrows creased together.

  My finger smoothed my unruly brows in response. I hadn’t been to the grooming booth in weeks; I just couldn’t find the time to care as often as my friends. I shrugged. “My parents put in a request. It’s not just my grandfather. I think it’s also, you know … Jonah.”

  Analeigh’s
lips pressed together at the mention of my rogue brother, and Sarah avoided my gaze. Sarah didn’t voice her curiosity, and Analeigh kept silent about her disapproval, both aware that I preferred not to talk about it. We all knew my grandfather’s status in the scientific community curried favors, regardless of Jonah’s decisions. He’d been one of the Original scientists whose work had ensured the survival of selected families from Earth Before, and he’d founded the Historians besides. If my parents wanted me home for dinner tonight, then I’d be home for dinner tonight.

  “Okay, well. We’ll see you for study session, then?” Analeigh asked, quieter now.

  “Yes. My pass is only until eight.”

  Our lights-out alarm came at ten every night, which gave us a couple of hours for a certification review. We didn’t have to go to sleep then or anything, but none of the electronics worked so most of us did. The observations and the traveling wore us out.

  A series of clicks followed by a hiss of air indicated we’d been declared uncontaminated and allowed back into the Historian Academy. Maude exited first, probably thrilled to not have to listen to us anymore. Analeigh and Sarah raced ahead, chattering about our plans for tomorrow night.

  We typically didn’t get passes more than once a month, but birthday celebrations were special, my seventeenth birthday even more so. It meant that tomorrow night I could find out the name of my True Companion—the one person ever born, or who would ever be born, who was made to love me.

  I only had to decide if I wanted to know.

  Chapter Two

  Standing in my mother’s arms an hour later, it struck me how many things had changed since Jonah disappeared. The fact somehow made the familiar more dear. The way my mother smelled—like dirt and fertilizer, perfumed by whatever plant or flower she’d last touched at the Agriculture Academy before coming home—fell around me like a warm blanket. She could make any shriveled seed bloom, which was why she’d been chosen to remain on Sanchi at the Academy instead of posted on Palenque, where the farms operated. The scent pricked my eyes with unexpected tears and I squeezed her waist hard before letting go.

  My dad wasn’t much of a hugger, but the grin under his brown-and-gray moustache betrayed his happiness at having me home. “Hey, bud. Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Are you hungry?” Mom grabbed my black cloak from my fingers, a staple on Sanchi, where the temperature never rose above ten degrees Celsius. She folded it primly over an arm. Her ice-blue eyes pleaded with me to be hungry, for the night to be normal even though it couldn’t.

  The house felt unsettled, as though Jonah’s absence had somehow shifted the walls and tilted the floors. But it hadn’t changed the structure—it had changed us.

  Both Jonah and I being sorted into the Historian Academy had been a surprise since our parents displayed scientific aptitude—my mother a botanist, Dad a respected genome researcher—but my brother and I shared a love of good-natured discussion on the ever-popular topic of whether humanities’ choices or our genetics had a greater impact on our downfall. Voices had filled our house with laughter and constant debate. It had always been fun, and I’d joined in even before my training began, but now the hallways and bedrooms and kitchen felt deserted. The way things used to be had evaporated, devoured by the shadow of Jonah’s ghost, and as hard as we faked it, we just weren’t the same family without him.

  My brother had been gone three years now, running and hiding in the vastness of space. Surviving by committing unthinkable acts of piracy. It seemed like less time had passed since this place had gone from feeling jovial and warm to holding its breath. Waiting. It reeked of forced happiness.

  “I’m starving,” I told my mom, grasping for normal.

  The kitchen looked the same, with its cheery yellow curtains edging the sink and windows and dings in the metal cabinets here and there. Mom’s meatloaf smelled familiar—though not as good as real beef. Sometimes the hardest piece of the past to leave untouched was the food. No animals had been relocated to Genesis for several reasons, so our nutrition was synthetic. Though I knew nothing different, after a few observations it became clear that even the scents in our new worlds paled in comparison.

  We gathered at the table and ate, my mother bowing her head and murmuring a quiet prayer while my father and I dug in. My mother had been raised on Persepolis, a tiny, arid planet where most of the religious traditionalists lived. My father was born on Sanchi and hadn’t been raised with any sort of inclination toward faith. Religion wasn’t popular in Genesis, but also wasn’t prohibited or sanctioned. Those who believed in a higher power followed the same primary, overarching law as the rest of us—no hatred or segregation of any kind.

  The Originals had agreed and instituted a zero-tolerance policy for any kind of violence. It was the only true law in our society, and the only infraction punishable by exposure—by death.

  Day to day we operated on expectations rather than laws. The System ran more like a corporation than a government, with all of the citizens acting as employees—cogs in the machine. We were rewarded for good performance, demoted and reprimanded for poor, and had a Sanction Guide that amounted to a basic corporate conduct policy. It had worked for us.

  “Where are you traveling next week?” Dad swallowed a mouthful of peas and met my gaze.

  Our dark eyes matched—chocolate brown threaded with gold—though he didn’t wear glasses. I didn’t need them outside of recording memories, either, but they were like a familiar friend by now. Most Historians wore them all the time.

  “Our next trip is to New York City, 1911.”

  I smiled and waited. This was a game Jonah had begun years ago, telling Dad a year and a place and seeing if he could recall the event. Instead of the competitive glint that typically shone in my father’s eyes, a trembling fear skittered past.

  Then it disappeared, gone too quickly for me to ferret out its source. He swallowed another bite of vegetables, tapping his fork against his chin. “Plenty going on in that time and place, but given that you’re still training, I’d have to guess the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire.”

  “Right.” I stuffed more food in my mouth and chewed.

  His knowledge didn’t surprise me, but the fear in his eyes lodged a trickle of trepidation at the base of my neck.

  The Triangle Fire remained a fixture on the apprentice training schedule, but was kind of a mixed bag. The Historians considered it an important stop because it reminded humanity what could happen when desperate circumstances remained hidden behind walls erected by rich, socially irresponsible men, but the event also birthed labor unions in the United States, which had, after intense reflection, been deemed a detriment to society as a whole.

  “When is your first certification exam?” Mom asked, her light gaze holding on to mine.

  “We’ve still got a few months, but Analeigh’s already got a study group going. We’ve got a session tonight after I get back.”

  “What’s on the first round?”

  “Genesis foundation, the Originals, function and location of planets. First and second year stuff. No problem.”

  “Well, Analeigh is right. It still can’t hurt to go over it and make sure.”

  I managed to avoid rolling my eyes, but it was a struggle. My mother thought Analeigh was the best thing since hover transports. She was my complete opposite in almost every way, and I suspected my mother thought my best friend’s natural caution kept me in line.

  After dinner, I helped her clear the dishes from the table and pile them into the sanitizer. It was seven-thirty—time to head back to the Academy. I excused myself to use the toilet, even though I didn’t have to go.

  My parents probably knew that I snuck into Jonah’s room every time I came home, which wasn’t all that often—every three months or so—but they never asked why or bothered me about it. Papers covered my brother’s walls, leaving no hint of the sturdy metal behind them, and reflected the glow of the blue moon that hung close to Sanchi. Th
ey were pages from actual books, mostly religious and historical texts, that had all been transcribed into the digital library in the Archives. I wasn’t here to read them; I could do that on the comps any time. It was the smell that drew me back—stale sweat, lingering male cleansing powder, and a citrusy scent that reminded me of Jonah more than anything else, the result of my brother’s strange obsession with oranges. When he had apprenticed as a Historian, he’d lifted them from every site where they existed, no matter how many times the overseers sanctioned him.

  Tanis, the farthest planet from Sanchi, grew citrus trees, but the transports never made it all the way here before the fruit started to spoil. The oranges Jonah brought back from his trips to Earth Before exploded in my mouth, dribbled juice down my chin, and gave me a sensation I’d never experienced until my first observation—one of being suspended in a brief, intense moment. Alive.

  I sank down on the edge of Jonah’s neatly made bed with a sigh, running my fingers lightly over the wrinkles in his dark blue quilt. I loved my friends, but they weren’t my brother. They didn’t understand the wrenching loss that still startled me when I remembered I couldn’t talk to him, or the resentment that stemmed from what he’d done to our family. The increased scrutiny applied to me at the Academy just because we shared DNA.

  The quiet of Jonah’s space pressed against me, kneading peace into my muscles until a short beep shattered the moment. I looked down at my watch, expecting the noise to be the alarm warning me of my approaching pass expiration, but found that, as usual, I’d forgotten to grab it.

  The sound came again, and I listened for a couple of seconds before exploring the stand beside his bed. The metal transferred a chill to my fingertips and I was about to give up when the beeping erupted again, definitely coming from inside the piece of furniture. My fingers hit the bottom of the drawer about two inches down, but the front made it appear at least double that depth. I rapped on the base, receiving a hollow echo that confirmed my suspicions—a false bottom.