Dante

  Visiting Neurogenesis doesn’t tell us much. Actually, it tells me a great deal, just not about what took our memories.

  Transcend Neurogenesis is in a building next to the campus’ teaching hospital, which is also apparently a research hospital, surrounded by “clinics” which are evidently more research facilities and for-profit treatment centers than anything else.

  Given Waycross is supposed to be a huge biotech enclave, it isn’t a shock to see these kinds of facilities – but still strange to see them next to the Academy. A glorified high school.

  “Tower school,” Anton clarifies. “Basically one school running from middle school through university. But technically it’s more spread out than that.” He points a thumb behind them. “West End’s a little more isolated. That’s where the middle schoolers are at. Their advanced placement kids can attend other classes, but Faculty keeps a sharper eye on them than on, well, anyone.”

  “Centerfield’s where you’ll be at – officially,” Christopher adds, waving a hand at the cathedral-like building looming over gardens and athletic fields as we drive by.

  “Eastcheap’s the university sector,” Andrea says, pointing ahead. “Which, despite the name, is ridiculously well funded. You can pick up a PhD in anything there, not just biotech. Some students head to other top-flight universities, but the school as a whole is one big conveyor belt right into the research facilities on this end. If you don’t do anything else, you can land a job in one of the labs working on emerging technology.”

  “Or in one of the startups sprouting up everywhere,” Chris says. “Assuming you’re not starting one.”

  ***

  The labs and equipment are amazing. So are the people, the architecture, the impression of an all-powerful tech giant out to transform the world. The diagnosis is…

  “Nothing,” Dr. Swan says, tilting her head as she looks over multiple screens streaming information in front of her.

  “Nothing?” Andrea asks. She sniffs the antiseptic air in disbelief.

  “Nothing physiological,” Swan says. “And your physical profiles don’t indicate any meaningful regeneration, even,” she nods at Dante, “your less-public profiles.”

  “Nothing catching, I hope,” Anton says, his head still wired up with biofeedback suction cups. Not that they’re necessary, but he volunteered for all the strangest tests anyone could think of, just in case they needed a guinea pig. He seems to find it all amusing.

  Anton catches my eye. “Roll with it, man. Our lives are gonna be interesting whether you like it or not.”

  ***

  Finally, they take me home. And I get my first real-world look at the place.

  Barry’s vacation cottage is tasteful… and immense. After a guard buzzes us through at the gatehouse, the Corvette follows a long drive past decorative trees and artful landscaping. I’m not sure how much they kept of the original forest, and how much is crafted to look like it’s always been here. But whoever did the groundswork earned their pay.

  “So this is just the gardener’s shack, right?” Anton asks, deadpan, as we pull up in front of Barry’s spare mansion. “You’re uncle isn’t expecting you to slum it here, I hope?”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  I answer with a wry half-smile and glance down at the new shades they gave me. Verge seems as dead as the other AIs, so whatever answers it has to offer will have to wait.

  But speaking of which… I pull out my Android phone and open the photos. And blink at a series of thumbnails which make no sense whatsoever.

  “Wait, were you cosplaying or something?” I ask Andrea, glancing up at her in disbelief.

  The cousins exchange a glance. “Cosplaying?” Andrea replies.

  I raise my eyebrows. “Or do you have angel wings in the real world?” I look at the next photo. “That actually fly?”

  “Well, now that’s a story,” Anton begins, stepping forward.

  I take a cautious step back, glancing rapidly from my phone to my forgotten friends, opening one image after another in a blur. And then stop abruptly, my mind still racing. “Okay.” I wave them towards a big entertainment room. “Either someone’s pranking me, or you guys need to see this.”

  “See what?” Chris asks.

  “The only visual evidence of what happened to us, I’m guessing,” Anton says, trailing after me as I stride into what’s basically a huge living room with a few giant plasma screens and a pile of game controllers on a table in front of the couch.

  I agree. “Or someone hacked my phone with the most unbelievable photos ever.” I pause in front of the TVs. “Astra, you synched up with the house, yet? The guest password?”

  “The public systems, yes, of which these screens are one.”

  “Slideshow. Show them what you just showed me.”

  This close to an HD screen several-feet wide, even the portrait photos are gigantic, and telling. Much less the landscape images covering the whole screen, which is how Astra caught most of her shots.

  Andrea, caught in mid-step approaching me down the train car’s aisle. What looked like a red laser slicing through the car. A towering suit of armor, the palm of its gauntlet still burning bright crimson as it advanced. One quarter of a shining crystalline shield outthrust by Andrea between herself and me and the advancing metal giant. The full shield blazing molten red as a laser from the gauntlet bounced off of it. Another armored intruder. The roof tearing off.

  And then we are airborne. And then we are landing on a… flying bike? Racing through trees, then tunnels. Then talking to Chris and Anton next to a silver corvette. In a cavern. Then more tunnels. An ascent into light. Something like a crystal shard blazing incandescent in Andrea’s hand. Then endless drones. Then Anton fending them off with.. umbrellas? Cards? A box? Then the two armored pursuers ambushing them again. The crash.

  They watch in silence, except right at the end, when Anton says, “Well, at least we can tell Arden what happened to her bike.” Riveted to the screen, no one even pauses to give him side eye.

  Chris firing plasma from his gauntlet. The giants falling. The cracked clockwork computers contained within them. The dark, masked figure at the edge of the forest. An orb of pure light and another of deepest darkness appearing to either side of them. Small, but somehow more menacing than anything else as light burns around the first and shadows deepen around the second.

  And finally, so small I almost miss it, something flashes purple in the final image. “Astra,” I command, pointing, “expand that.” Silently the tiny bit of color expands to show a girl, our age, her hair and eyes gleaming purple in the shadows.

  “What?” Anton cries out, almost jumping like he’s seen a ghost. “Is that—?” He shakes his head immediately. “No, it can’t be.”

  “What?” I ask in turn.

  Anton is already rubbing his temples. “Nothing. Literally jumping at shadows.” He looks at his cousins. “Right?”

  “Not a great image,” Andrea says, peering at the girl’s face. “Let’s run it through facial recognition before we jump to any conclusions.”

  “Who is it?” I ask.

  Chris shakes his head. “Maybe no one. Maybe someone we all used to know, with a knack for stepping into strange situations.”

  “Could she be in danger?”

  “Doubt it,” Anton snorts. “If it’s her. She can take care of herself. But we’ll tell your uncle, either way. It could be some normal kid with contacts and a dye job, stumbling into our fallout.”

  “My uncle?” I ask. “Barry?”

  “Kieron,” Andrea corrects him with a shake of her head. “He’ll know faster than anyone.”

  “And we should have already reported in,” Chris comments.

  “We’re not his junior agents,” Anton snorts. His cousins stare at him. “Not officially,” he adds defensively. “Not… yet.” That last ends in a mutter.

  I should be asking more questions, but suddenly I feel a bone-deep weariness hitting me from nowhere. I fight the lethargy, look one last time at the girl with the purple hair and eyes, and feel it crash into me again like a riptide, dragging me under.

  I shake my head. “I’ll text you the photos, guys. And thanks for reporting all this. I need to get to bed.”

  “Bet we all do,” Anton agrees. Chris and Andrea are still staring at the final photos.

  I know it’s strange, that literally being hunted by robots or power armor firing lasers and plasma, and being hounded by swarms of hundreds of drones, doesn’t stir them at all, but just a glimpse of this girl has them staring so hard I'm afraid Barry’s plasma screen is going to have holes melted in it in the morning.

  “Send those images, Astra,” I tell her, exhausted. “To each of their numbers.” At least the usual pleasantries back in the car weren’t wasted. Especially with an AI taking notes.

  Reluctantly, they all file out and I see them to the door, and watch as they pull down the drive. When the gate shuts behind them, I sag, and turn back into the house. “Astra, pull up the house map and guide me to my room.”

  She answers, but I’m already on autopilot, following her instructions more by instinct than conscious thought. I lock the door, hear the chirp of the security systems resetting, and stumble across rooms and up a grand staircase to my room and my bed.

  I’m snoring almost before my face hits the pillow.

  Hopefully none of these mysteries will kill me in my sleep.

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