invented. Probably all of it. He’d had to sign off on all new inventions before they were used on the general public.
The last time I’d seen him, he’d smiled. But it had been filled with sadness and had painted pinched lines around his eyes.
He’d gone into the forest a few nights before, but he wasn’t wearing his jacket when he’d hugged me good night. His long-sleeved shirt smelled like onions from dinner.
“Good-bye, V,” he said.
I hadn’t noticed that he’d said “good-bye” instead of “good night.” I remembered the next morning when I woke up—and he was gone.
I’d searched the house for his jacket. I was late for school because of it.
The jacket wasn’t there. I never did find it.
In fact, by the time I got home from school, the house had been purged of everything that belonged to my father.
But not my memory.
I could still see him if I closed my eyes and concentrated. His green eyes twinkled with sparks of gold. His trim brown hair. His ivory skin. His warm embrace that comforted me at night.
I heard him tell me he loved me. His voice was low and crackly, and filled with emotion.
A tear ran down my cheek. I made to wipe it with my tagged hand and winced at the flash of pain.
A doctor checked my wrist where the skin was still regrowing. He made a tiny note on a big electro-board and moved away. I turned my head toward the back wall.
An exit sign hung above a door radiating some severe tech energy. Jag’s haunted voice filled my head.
“They’re the good guys.”
I couldn’t go to Freedom. Which meant I had to get to the Badlands. Somehow. Maybe I could find my dad.
He made his choice,
the voice whispered, carrying a hint of empathy. Something I definitely didn’t want.
I didn’t care about choices right then. I didn’t need that stupid Thinker to feel sorry for me. I wanted to be left alone.
Shut up!
I commanded.
Get out of my head!
The voice didn’t return. At least I couldn’t hear it through the swirling desperation, ill-conceived hope, and anger coursing through my body.
Doctors checked my wrist every ten minutes, making notes. Finally one of them removed the silencer and said, “Look.”
My flesh had returned. I ran my fingers over it, feeling the miniscule knot that could’ve been part of my wrist bone. The techtricity in the tag sent a dull ache resonating up to my elbow. But whatever. I’d learned to live with the slight buzzing in my ears from the comm too.
“Learn your place, and we’ll never need to use that tag,” the middle Greenie said. I hadn’t recognized him without the Institute robes on—but his voice was ingrained in my brain. He pulled off his face mask and glared down at me.
“And you’re not to return to the Goodgrounds. Ever.”
“I don’t want to come back,” I spat, the last thread of hope that I’d marry Zenn drying up with my words. But I’d be okay. I always am.
“The boy now?” another doctor asked as I was escorted away.
“No, Thane wants to do it himself. Besides, that boy won’t be awake for a couple hours at least, and I’m beat. Let’s rest. Then we can—” The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off his voice.
Back in the cell upstairs, Jag still hadn’t woken. I lay on the floor and stared under his bed, the cement as hard as ever.
I clenched my teeth and growled, “No way in hell Thane—whoever he is—is tagging Jag.”
8.
Tech is an interesting thing, full of power—for good or bad. Unlike Ty and my dad, I don’t have the inventing gene. But I can certainly recognize good tech when I see it. Or rather, feel it. And I’d seen and felt it in the tech-lab downstairs.
I couldn’t stay here and do nothing.
Yes, you can
. The voice carried a patronizing air. I really hated that. I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest, listening, hoping the Thinker would implant another thought, desperate to identify him. His voice sounded so familiar.
When no one spoke, I got up and shook Jag. He didn’t
The last time I’d seen him, he’d smiled. But it had been filled with sadness and had painted pinched lines around his eyes.
He’d gone into the forest a few nights before, but he wasn’t wearing his jacket when he’d hugged me good night. His long-sleeved shirt smelled like onions from dinner.
“Good-bye, V,” he said.
I hadn’t noticed that he’d said “good-bye” instead of “good night.” I remembered the next morning when I woke up—and he was gone.
I’d searched the house for his jacket. I was late for school because of it.
The jacket wasn’t there. I never did find it.
In fact, by the time I got home from school, the house had been purged of everything that belonged to my father.
But not my memory.
I could still see him if I closed my eyes and concentrated. His green eyes twinkled with sparks of gold. His trim brown hair. His ivory skin. His warm embrace that comforted me at night.
I heard him tell me he loved me. His voice was low and crackly, and filled with emotion.
A tear ran down my cheek. I made to wipe it with my tagged hand and winced at the flash of pain.
A doctor checked my wrist where the skin was still regrowing. He made a tiny note on a big electro-board and moved away. I turned my head toward the back wall.
An exit sign hung above a door radiating some severe tech energy. Jag’s haunted voice filled my head.
“They’re the good guys.”
I couldn’t go to Freedom. Which meant I had to get to the Badlands. Somehow. Maybe I could find my dad.
He made his choice,
the voice whispered, carrying a hint of empathy. Something I definitely didn’t want.
I didn’t care about choices right then. I didn’t need that stupid Thinker to feel sorry for me. I wanted to be left alone.
Shut up!
I commanded.
Get out of my head!
The voice didn’t return. At least I couldn’t hear it through the swirling desperation, ill-conceived hope, and anger coursing through my body.
Doctors checked my wrist every ten minutes, making notes. Finally one of them removed the silencer and said, “Look.”
My flesh had returned. I ran my fingers over it, feeling the miniscule knot that could’ve been part of my wrist bone. The techtricity in the tag sent a dull ache resonating up to my elbow. But whatever. I’d learned to live with the slight buzzing in my ears from the comm too.
“Learn your place, and we’ll never need to use that tag,” the middle Greenie said. I hadn’t recognized him without the Institute robes on—but his voice was ingrained in my brain. He pulled off his face mask and glared down at me.
“And you’re not to return to the Goodgrounds. Ever.”
“I don’t want to come back,” I spat, the last thread of hope that I’d marry Zenn drying up with my words. But I’d be okay. I always am.
“The boy now?” another doctor asked as I was escorted away.
“No, Thane wants to do it himself. Besides, that boy won’t be awake for a couple hours at least, and I’m beat. Let’s rest. Then we can—” The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off his voice.
Back in the cell upstairs, Jag still hadn’t woken. I lay on the floor and stared under his bed, the cement as hard as ever.
I clenched my teeth and growled, “No way in hell Thane—whoever he is—is tagging Jag.”
8.
Tech is an interesting thing, full of power—for good or bad. Unlike Ty and my dad, I don’t have the inventing gene. But I can certainly recognize good tech when I see it. Or rather, feel it. And I’d seen and felt it in the tech-lab downstairs.
I couldn’t stay here and do nothing.
Yes, you can
. The voice carried a patronizing air. I really hated that. I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest, listening, hoping the Thinker would implant another thought, desperate to identify him. His voice sounded so familiar.
When no one spoke, I got up and shook Jag. He didn’t
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