Someone to Remember Me: The Anniversary Edition (16 page)

Seven was right. The outcome of the war, and the future of their own existences, relied solely upon the success of his plan. The piece of the plan that Seven had asked of her, was standing a few feet away. A manipulative thought came to Eight, motivated as it was by her own survivalism: maybe Tobias Clay would have a role in saving Haven?

“I need something from you, Tobias, and you’re not going to want to give it to me. But if you want to save this city, if you want Haven to name you as its savior, you’ll do it, and you won’t ask why.” Tobias’s face filled with desperation. With yearning. His expression reflected his most intimate wish: to have his reputation, tattered as it was, restored to its primacy.

“What do you need?” he asked her.

Eight answered, “Your command codes for Grand Cross.”

How had Seven known? How could he have known that she would deliver the most dangerous information in Haven to him? With guiltless haste, Tobias Clay gave his wife the codes that would confer upon her unfettered access to Grand Cross.

Eight wondered if a day would come when Seven was wrong? Who would he finally misjudge? And who would pay the price for it? While Tobias scribbled the codes on the empty side of Seven’s note, Eight refocused her attention on Haven. Humming with light and life even in the middle of the night, certain that its reign would never end.

Her husband, selling off the final vestiges of his old authority in the hope of regaining it anew, was proof enough that nothing lasted forever.

Breaking out of the memory was like taking her first breath of air again. Eight smashed back into reality, back into the present, by lurching upright against the protective hands of Ninety-Nine and Null.

“What happened?” she gasped, looking to her comrades for answers.

“You passed out. It’s been an hour,” Null replied sharply. Eight nodded. An hour? The memory hadn’t been more than a few minutes long. With Null’s help Eight returned to her feet and noticed that her headache was gone and so was Ninety-Nine. Null clarified, “She’s down at the shore. Seven and Twenty are almost back.”

Eight headed for the beach despite Null’s silent disapproval and found Ninety-Nine waiting well away from the water. Ninety-Nine nodded to Eight; accepting her revival silently but gladly and the three women watched as Seven and Twenty plodded towards them. Eight’s eyes narrowed as she noticed that Twenty seemed to be moving faster than Seven.

Seven’s reappearance ignited her rage anew. Eight was of a mind to scream herself hoarse at Seven for being stupid, impulsive, reckless, and ignorant but her resolve weakened once the men were among them again. Both were visibly pale, drenched in sweat, and in danger of losing their balance.

Eight and Null helped them get away from the black water, past the beach, and back to the city’s edge. Ninety-Nine tore open a few sealed rations from her traveling bag to help them recover their strength.

Eight could only ask, “What happened to you?”

“It only...gets worse...the closer...” Seven panted and shook his head.

“Tell them...what we found...” Twenty insisted between gasps.

“You found something?” Null asked.

“There was an inscription above a sealed entrance to the Sphere,” Twenty explained as he willed his voice to be steady.

“What did it say?” Ninety-Nine wondered. Seven closed his eyes, his hands tracing invisible letters in the air in front of him. Eight’s stern expression weakened as her curiosity grew.

“‘
Beloved, touch not the forbidden lore. A curse of the flesh is in it. Turn to the golden doors of Haven. An eternal flame is beside it
.’” Seven opened his eyes and exhaled. Reciting the inscription drained him of the little energy he had left. Eight shoved another packet of food at him. Aware of her lingering anger he diligently fed himself.

“There was a lot of other stuff too. ‘
Glory to the Founders
’ and whatnot,” Twenty mumbled. “My favorite was ‘
Let Rot the Tyranny of the Builders
.’ It had a certain poetic truth, if you consider the setting,” he said, staring at the Sphere until he shivered and looked away.

“A curse of the flesh…” Null wondered.

“Slavery. They meant slavery,” Eight asserted. “Knowing the forbidden lore meant knowing history and being exposed to the concept of slavery.”

“Even with a reminder right in front of them the Descendants of the Founders repeated the past. They enslaved a new group of people. Then those slaves rebelled,” said Ninety-Nine, frowning as she considered the story. “Then the AdvISOR killed them all.”

“That still doesn’t explain how we survived,” Null observed.

“I’m beginning to think nothing will,” Twenty groaned.

Eight could sense a dark mood falling across the group. “Let’s get to the ferry,” she ordered. “We need to get away from this place as fast as we can.” Voicing what the others thought gave the survivors the much-needed push to move. Twenty again unfurled his map–soggy from sweat and water. It gave them an accurate direction and they followed the road that peeled away from the buildings and cautiously edged along the shore.

For a brief time they were brought closer to the Sphere. Revulsion overwhelmed the group, most particularly Eight, Ninety-Nine, and Null. Twenty complained of a headache but Seven remained unbothered. The road crept away from the bay that cradled the derelict Sphere and turned along the coast. Quite abruptly the Sphere was behind them though its specter haunted them for a while longer.

Eight found herself calculating the passage of time. Seven and Twenty’s detour meant that their journey along the coastal road would continue into the night. With the day’s end already approaching Eight was reminded of her own peculiar adventure. Everything about the memory was fresh and poignant. Vibrant and lasting, the memory of Haven radiated in comparison to the reality of it.

Despite the lack of smell, the lack of wind, the sheer lack of sensation in general, evening brought a serious drop in temperature to Haven’s coast. Last night had been spent in the confines of the Great Library and in relative comfort. If the temperature continued to drop into the night then the group would need to skip sleeping altogether. Movement would keep them alive and warm.

As usual the group split in half. Seven and Eight paired off behind Twenty, Null and Ninety-Nine. The three wisely chose to give Seven and Eight their space. From what Eight could tell Twenty reveled in sharing, in loud and extreme detail, his bravery during the approach to the Sphere.

Unlike Twenty, the color never returned to Seven’s face. His skin stayed pale and sticky with sweat even hours after the Sphere disappeared behind the swerving coast.

“Careful!” Seven caught her as she tripped on a crack in the road. The hand gripping her arm kept Eight from falling on her face. She grinned sheepishly at him and noticed that it was Seven’s bad hand that was tightly wrapped around her arm. When he realized that his hold went on for longer than necessary he released her quickly.

“Be careful with that,” Eight warned him. She took hold of his bandaged hand and studied it.

“It’s fine, really,” he assured her. “It feels great.” Ignoring his protests, Eight unwound the bandage and studied the wound.

“This is incredible!” she whispered, forcing them both to stop walking. “Look! It’s completely healed! There’s no sign of the cuts.” She turned his hand over in hers, ran her fingers along his palm, deftly trying to find the lines of the vanished abrasions. When Eight glanced upwards to see Seven’s face, a goofy smile greeted her.

“What’re you smiling about?” she grumbled.

“Nothing. Just thinking about what Twenty said,” Seven pulled his hand away and started walking again to make sure they weren’t left behind. Eight wore her frown prominently as she tried to remember whatever it was that Twenty had said. “That I could be something more than I am…” his voice drifted off longingly.

“I don’t think he meant some type of superhuman,” Eight retorted. She could see a light going out in Seven’s eyes.

“I know.” The way Seven said it made Eight feel horrible.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Seven nodded. “I know.” Gathering his courage, he decided, “I won’t leave you like that again. It was selfish and cruel.” Seven squeezed her hand tightly and she saw the hopeful expression on his face.

“Together, next time?” she asked him breathlessly.

Seven smiled, grateful. He agreed. “Together.”

As she predicted the group walked through the night for the sake of warmth rather than sleep in the chilling cold. What particularly bothered Eight during their trek through the night, and unnoticed by the others, was the absence of starlight. When she worked up the courage to glance upwards she saw an empty black sky.

Would the others have noticed it if they remembered the stars as she did? In her memory there were stars in the night sky above Haven. In the present they were gone. Somewhere in the course of five centuries the stars had vanished and since nobody else mentioned their absence Eight decided to leave it that way.

Seven mentioned a headache shortly after midnight when Eight badgered him into confessing his pain. Twenty’s general exhaustion prevented him from being disruptive. Ninety-Nine called the discomfort worthy of the reward. By dawn Null affirmed their general misery when she said, “I think my blisters have blisters.”

Somewhere along the way the road chiseled itself into the cliffside and obscured their view of the city. Presented to them instead was a waveless ocean and the possibilities that lay far beyond its still surface.

Were there any other civilizations out there? Had anyone beyond the island noticed when Haven died? What signs were left said no. Not a soul noticed the perishing of Haven. Eight again came to the realization that of millions only five were left. Eight studied the others. Who were they? What had their purposes been in their previous lives?

How was it possible that five people could exist throughout history, herself among them? And Seven, she decided, was the most curious of the survivors since he was the one to which they were all connected. Seven’s memory of meeting with them, of knowing them all in a previous life, bound them together. How was any of this possible? Who, or what, were Eight and her companions?

Rose Garden would be at hand soon enough. Eight forbid herself to consider the disparate memories again until then. They were dangerous and threatened to unravel everything.

In a comforting sign the road pulled away from the cliffs and down to the shoreline as if timed to sunrise. When it drew level with the rest of the island they were exposed to the city’s skyline once more where Haven’s abandoned spires shone in the unremarkable light of their third morning. They never betrayed their rotting bones to their observers.

Null tiredly praised the exceptional quality of the building materials since the city had survived five hundred years of negligence.

Eight’s eyes alighted across the shoreline. Motionless water lay against the shore, just as it had at the Sphere and at the beach she had woken up beside two days ago. It appeared as nothing more than a dark extension of the land it touched.

As the sun continued its skyward ascent it shed a pitiable light across the shores of Haven and Eight found herself using it to study Seven. He walked in a deliberate manner that was timed to hide his worsening health. He carried himself in a way that betrayed his constant weariness even if he refused to confess it. Relying on strength of will alone, Seven continued his march towards the ferry.

When she watched him it was easy to think about what life might have been like before the world had ended. The way he looked at her, the things she felt towards him, prompted the same relentless question: had there been something between them in the past? Were their memories not only clues to the nature of a previous life, but suggestions of a previous relationship?

When the world ends, and only five people are left, how much of a role does coincidence play? Eight gave up on telling herself that she was confused or misinterpreting signs. Seven never looked confused. Not when his eyes met hers, or when she caught him staring at her, or when he caught her staring at him.

But she feared the memory of a husband. Of a man named Tobias Clay who had threatened Seven; who had implied that Seven was damaged somehow. And she feared the idea that their situation might be manufacturing feelings that would not otherwise develop under normal circumstances. That fear kept her from rampantly daydreaming; from building in her mind’s eye the inevitable conclusion of the looks, touches, and quiet moments.

If Haven was dead at the hands of a supercomputer could this really be the right time to think about romance?

Alternatively, if the world was really over and not coming back then why should she refuse the desires awaiting liberation at the back of her mind? She liked the idea of Seven smiling. She found the idea of him composing music intoxicating. Seeing him exhilarated her.

Rather than voice her concerns she kept her distance. He kept his. When they spoke, when that distance evaporated, an ineffable connection took hold between them. The feeling made her greedy. It made Eight selfish.

An idle thought strolled into her head: what if they accepted the miracle of survival, as Twenty proclaimed back at the Great Library, and left Haven behind? They could go back to the Great Library, steal the rest of the supplies, have a foundry build a ship and be away before the AdvISOR caught up.