Rogue Memory Read online

  Stephanie searched the girl's mind for the memories that connected to this one. The naturalists were a small, cult religion which had sprung up on the planet shortly after its conception. They avoided genetic screening for disease and deformity. They spurned modern medicine and technology. Dressed in weird, coarsely woven clothes. They married only within their sect. And they were, in the girl's opinion, bat shit crazy inbred freaks.

  Stephanie let go of her, turning back to the woman on the ground. She'd obviously been beaten.

  "What about the police? Did anyone call them?"

  "It's none of our business."

  "Then why are you all standing here?"

  She knelt beside the woman, brushing her hair out of her face. She didn't know what to do. She looked like she was dead already. She brushed her hand against her forehead, searching for a connection with her mind.

  Please be alive, she prayed. Tell me what to do.

  Memories crashed over her. Fragments of thought came so close together it was like being trapped in a waterfall.

  Then it was gone.

  Darkness wrapped itself around her.

  Chapter Three

  The stretcher hovered through the doorway, guided by two burly paramedics in dark blue uniforms. Their black shoes squeaked on the shining floor as they struggled for purchase, fighting the stretcher's inertia as they turned it down the hallway. The breathing apparatus hissed and caught - the mechanical silence as it paused between inflations almost a noise in itself.

  The girl on the stretcher was oddly beautiful. Dark hair matted with blood on one side, face drained of color. Her eyes rolled wildly, one pupil blown so that her iris appeared black. The other eye was an odd shade of blue-gray, like the ocean in winter.

  "What happened?" an assisting physician asked, scrolling through her file. The tablet connected to multiple sensors on the girl's body, displaying all of the vital statistics as she jogged beside the girl's prone form. She wasn't asking for more information about her condition. Only morbid curiosity compelled her to ask. There were so few accidents these days, fail-safes being what they were.

  "Out at the lake," one of the paramedics murmured. The dark one with soft eyes.

  "Stupid kids," the blonde one muttered.

  They were keeping their voices low out of habit. It was clear the girl was beyond understanding.

  "She jumped?"

  They nodded, almost in unison.

  It wasn't until they'd swung into the operating bay and the hospital’s main computers took over reading her condition that the hospital's legal adviser caught up with them.

  "You can't operate," he said. He was careful to maintain full eye contact with the physician. He didn't look at the girl on the bed.

  "What?" Her hands fluttered over the controls, halfway to activating the micro-operating system.

  "She's a naturalist."

  "What the hell is a naturalist?"

  "It's a religion. They have the right to refuse medical treatment."

  "You want me to let her die?" the physician blinked several times, as though trying to clear her vision. As though seeing the lawyer more clearly would bring his words into focus too.

  "You can't operate."

  She hovered on the controls, uncertainly.

  He sniffed. "The paramedics shouldn't have even brought her in."

  "How were they supposed to know?"

  The lawyer waved a standard ID reader over the girl's wrist. Nothing happened. No beep. No report on the girl's identity. She didn't have an ID chip.

  "What the…" the physician swore. Scanning people's ID's and health insurance wasn't part of her job... but it was supposed to be part of the paramedic’s procedure.

  She pushed the controls away in disgust.

  It was only her third day on this outer planet and she already hated it here. It was a mandatory part of getting her degree - she got work experience on people who didn't really matter and the shitty planet got a doctor with central training. And central was still at least ten years ahead of the other planets, maybe even twenty.

  "What the hell am I supposed to do with her then?" she asked.

  He shrugged. "Disconnect her."

  She hesitated.

  "The law is very clear on this. You have no right to operate. Failure to comply with her wishes is a direct violation of personal rights and will lead to your expulsion from this hospital. Her family has the right to sue you and punishments can be anywhere from fines and losing your license to practice medicine, to up to ten years jail time."

  "Ten years?"

  She scanned her wrist over the orders to disconnect, holding the scanner out for the lawyer to co-sign. She tried to keep her expression neutral as she complied with the orders. There didn't seem to be anything she could do.

  She had a dim memory of hearing about religious extremists who shunned modern medical advancements, but she'd never thought to actually meet one of them. She glanced down at the young girl. She looked so normal. As the system disconnected her from the breathing apparatus, her breaths became labored. Her good eye focused for a brief second on the young doctor. She looked terrified.

  The physician typed a quick order for a sedative to flood the girl's system. The lawyer turned his back, pretending not to notice.

  Technically, she wasn't treating the girl.

  Chapter Four

  She jackknifed into a sitting position, gasping for breath.

  A blanket was tucked around her and it pulled tight as she sat up. She struggled against it, feeling trapped.

  She didn't know where she was.

  It was dark. Night time. The room was silent. Electronic light slanted through the window, an odd yellow shade, too warm for the chilly night. She rubbed her arms, surprised to find them bare. She glanced down at herself. She was wearing a bra of some kind with thin straps and a decorative twist in the middle. She struggled to bring her breathing under control. Maybe she'd made it to a hospital. Maybe they'd changed her clothes to attach some of their instruments.

  She pulled the blanket around her shoulders, wrapping her body in a shroud as she stood up and went to the window. She looked outside. A silent street. Small buildings with trees in front and vehicles parked to the side.

  She frowned, trying to remember how she got there.

  She was running away. Ibra wouldn't go with her. He refused to believe her fears were valid, even after they lost the first baby. Or maybe he just wasn't willing to go against his father. She was leaving him. Going to a hospital.

  And then...

  She pulled the blanket tighter around her.

  That wasn't right. She was at a party. She was at a party in the woods with Laurent and there had been a commotion. A group of people gathered around a woman. A woman in a blue dress, stained with patches the color of rust.

  Maia.

  She spun around, searching the dimly lit room for the source of the voice but there was no one there. She backed up against the window. The glass was cold, even through the quilt wrapped around her shoulders. Her quilt. Her room. For the past six weeks, anyway.

  She shook her head. Why had she thought she was in a hospital? Her room didn't look anything like a hospital. Not with the leopard print rug and retro vid posters on the wall. She'd been trying for an ironically kitschy style but she was beginning to think it just came off as trashy.

  My baby.

  "Who's there?" she asked, careful to keep her voice low. Spencer Evans was in the other room and she couldn't risk making him worry any more than he already was.

  She could hear someone crying.

  She crept back to the bed and switched the lamp on. She looked under the bed. In the cupboard. She pressed her ear against the door.

  The view screen was on in the other room. A low voice, slow and sophisticated, droned on about the delicate balance of the ecosystem.

  She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes and sliding down to sit on the floor. She hugged her knees to her chest, burying h
er face. She didn't want to admit it, not even to herself...

  You're in my head, aren't you? Stephanie thought. She held her breath, waiting for an answer that she hoped would never come.

  Where am I? The voice was high and breathy, caught between strangled sobs.

  Maia? Stephanie asked.

  Who are you? What am I-

  Be quiet.

  She heard a noise from the other room, the creak of an armchair as someone stood up. She pushed herself up, wiping tears from her face even though she didn't remember crying.

  A tentative knock, as though he were afraid to wake her. "Stephanie?"

  "One second." She threw the blanket back on the bed and went to the door.

  I don't understand-

  I said be quiet. If he finds out about you... She trailed off, unsure where she was going with the thought.

  What? If he finds out about me, what?

  She pushed the thoughts aside and opened the door, pretending to stifle a yawn.

  "What's up?" she asked, blinking sleepily.

  "Just checking on you, I thought I heard something." Spencer Evans peered at her through half lowered lids, eyes cold and suspicious.

  "Yeah?"

  "Do you remember anything?"

  It was a test. She knew it was a test.

  Stick to the truth as much as possible, Maia whispered in her mind.

  "I don't really remember much," Stephanie said. She pushed her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. "I went to that party by the lake, and there was this girl." She shivered. The memory of Maia's body, crumpled on the ground, blood soaking through her pale blue dress... She felt the voice in her mind huddle in on itself, drawing away from the image in horror.

  "What about the girl?"

  "It looked like she'd been beaten. And they said she was a naturalist so we couldn't take her to the hospital. No one even wanted to call the police. It was horrible." She crossed her arms feeling suddenly cold.

  "What did you do?" Spencer Evans leaned against the door frame, folding his arms casually. He looked genuinely concerned, worried about her.

  "I... I went to her. I wanted to comfort her. She was dying and nobody cared."

  He nodded, listening.

  He was a good listener. It was easy to forget that it was his job.

  She hesitated.

  He'd said he could help her if she told him the second something started to go wrong - the moment the first symptoms appeared.

  She opened her mouth to tell him about the voice, but the words wouldn't come out.

  What if it wasn't a symptom? What if Maia was really there? Like a ghost inside her head, trapped by the connection she'd established just before she died? And what if Spencer Evans thought it was a symptom anyway? He'd think she was going crazy, just like the others, and they'd be scrapped. Her batch sisters too. Their brothers.

  She looked at him uncertainly, scanning his face for a sign that he'd understand.

  She bit her lip. The sound of the view screen filled the space between them.

  She was holding her breath, searching for a sign that she could trust him. A part of her wondered when she'd stopped.

  The second you realized you had something to hide, Maia observed, her voice bitter.

  Spencer Evans was holding his breath too, his eyes never wavering from her face. His concerned expression didn't change but something about his unwavering stare made Stephanie feel as though she was gazing into the eyes of a predator. Waiting, watching, ready to pounce.

  She couldn't risk it.

  "By the time I reached her, she was already dead. Have you ever seen a dead body before? It was horrible. People... People shouldn't feel like that when you touch them. I don't know, I guess I kind of lost it at that point. I think I must have fainted or something. I don't even remember coming home."

  He nodded. "That boy brought you. Laurent. He said you fainted but he didn't mention anything about the girl."

  "He was probably scared." I was scared.

  "You're okay. That's the most important thing." He reached to pat her on the arm then seemed to realize that she wasn't wearing a sleeved shirt. His hand hovered, the warmth of his skin almost brushing against hers. She braced herself for the rush of emotions that would follow.

  His hand floated in the air near her skin for a second longer before he pulled away.

  "Get some sleep, Stephanie."

  "Good night," she murmured as he closed the door between them.

  She climbed into bed, tugging the quilt around her and pulling it up to her chin. She couldn't help thinking about the fact that he'd nearly touched her.

  Spencer Evans had nearly touched her, skin against skin, even though it was against company policy to touch a member of the Succubus class without gloves.

  What would have happened, Maia asked, if he did touch you?

  Ah... You don't know?

  What?

  You can't see my memories?

  Why would I...? She felt Maia pull away, curling up in a corner of her mind.

  Maia?

  I... Her voice sounded tight. I don't want to talk about it right now.

  Um. I'd give you some space but... I don't know how.

  Just... Just go to sleep, okay? I need some time to deal with this.

  Stephanie nodded. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her head, focusing on her breathing the way they'd been taught in meditation class. She didn't know how she was going to fall asleep after everything that had just happened. Her mind spiraled through the events of the day, circling back to the same thoughts over and over again.

  Caroline was sick.

  Maia was dead.

  And maybe she was sick now too.

  Chapter Five

  She heard the sound of a coms chiming in the distance and rolled over. Sunlight streamed through the window, stabbing at her eyes, and she pulled the blanket over her head. She didn't want to wake up.

  I have to get up, Maia thought, fighting the waves of sleep away.

  Stephanie groaned, rolling over to bury her head deeper under the blankets. I'm trying to sleep.

  A memory surfaced. Ibra, roughly forcing her into a storage shed on the edge of the commune. It was late, that time of dusk when the sunset had started to fade to a dark smear on the horizon.

  Isaac was there, waiting for her. His face, like an older version of Ibra's, was still handsome, though heavily lined. A muscle flexed in his jaw. Determination steeled his features. He nodded to Ibra, not saying a word, and Ibra left, pulling the heavy door closed behind him.

  Heat flooded Maia as she pieced it together. Ibra's refusal to meet her eyes as he dragged her away from the fence and stuffed her into the storage shed. His father - the righteous son-of-a-bitch who never bothered to listen to anyone around him - waiting for her.

  She breathed a shuddering breath out, gritting her teeth to stop herself from stating the obvious. They knew. They knew she was trying to leave and they'd caught her.

  The storage shed didn't have any windows, and the small lantern flickered as it flung shadows around the room.

  "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Isaac asked.

  She didn't answer.

  "How could you be so stupid?"

  She wasn't stupid. She was just done.

  "You're really willing to throw everything away? Everything you and Ibra and both of your families have been working towards for generations."

  "I never asked to be born into a stupid cult."

  Isaac's hand shot out. Her head rocked back from the blow. Pain exploded through her jaw and her vision faded into black for a second before the room flickered into focus. Something hot and sweet flooded her mouth and she spat, crimson staining the floor of the shed.

  "You're weak," Isaac spat at her.

  "Everybody here is weak." Maia snapped. "And you get weaker with each generation, listening to the same old bullshit year after year. You think you're pure here? Do you know what they say about us out there?
"

  He hit her again. Maia stumbled back against a drum. She heard something slosh inside it, liquid and hollow. A sharp pain pulled at her ribs and she knew she'd be bruised tomorrow.

  It didn't stop her. "They call us inbred freaks. The only religion in the universe to breed itself into the ground."

  "Only the pure will ascend at the end of days," Isaac recited.

  "When are you going to figure it out? The end of days came and went on old Earth and we're still fucking here. No one's ascending. This is all we've got. This life and our children’s lives. Biology ticking along until we die and that's it."

  "Oh, please." Isaac rolled his eyes. "You're just upset because the last one wasn't strong enough and you think this one won't be either. And you're right. You know why? Because you're not strong enough. Your faith is weak and you're weak and your babies are born weak and that's why they're still-"

  She slapped him.

  "I've been to a doctor," she whispered, shaking with a rage so intense it made it impossible to breathe. "It's a genetic defect. Recessive."

  He stared at her, eyes wide as he held a palm to his cheek, the skin there already turning pink.