Rebel Seoul Page 14

  “Lee Jaewon!” Sela grabs my arm. I look back at her in surprise. She lets go and blushes. “I thought we were speaking . . . about my music video.”

  “Ah, right.” I scratch the back of my head. “Can we talk about it another time?” That’ll give me an opportunity to actually look up the video and research the difference between rock and pop music.

  “Of course,” she says softly.

  I bow and turn to make my way toward Tera.

  Tera watches my approach with a frown. Her gaze flits over my shoulder.

  I remember the way I described her to Bora. Cold and distant. The closer I get, the further away she seems. Until I’m right next to her, and she’s as far away as the stars.

  “Ah, you’re here,” Dr. Koga says. At least he has a smile for me. “I’ll leave Tera with you. She’s been suffering headaches for the past hour. Earlier today there was a demonstration with the Extension. I wanted her to rest, but she insisted on coming. Ama’s half of the demonstration is in a few minutes.”

  Across the room, Dr. Chung calls Koga’s name. He moves away, leaving me alone with Tera. This close, I notice the sickly pallor of her skin. There’s sweat on her brow, and her breaths are shallow. If she’s just run a simulation in the Extension, she’s coming off a high equivalent to five hundred Enhancers.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” I ask.

  “I will be. For Ama.”

  I don’t question her motivations. The two girls must be good friends. I wonder if they grew up together in the Tower.

  “Is the Extension complete?” The last I’d seen the machine, it was missing an arm.

  “Not yet. They had me run a simulation, but the sponsors weren’t impressed. They want to see it in action.”

  “Are you ready for that?”

  She grimaces. “I’ll have to be.”

  Koga and Chung gather up the sponsors, who take seats around the platform, where I now notice there is a single chair.

  The back doors to the chamber open once again, and this time Ama walks in with Tsuko. He leads her to the platform, whispering fiercely in her ear. Tera’s expression darkens. Alex is no better. He circles the room, his eyes never leaving the two of them. After the third revolution, he comes to stand by me.

  “She’s afraid,” he says, nodding at Ama.

  Tera scowls. “You don’t know her.”

  “I know that she hates being the center of attention, and that she’s shaking.”

  He’s right. Ama is visibly distressed. Tsuko sits her down in the chair, hard, and snaps at a scientist who brings him what looks like a large helmet. It looks like a piloting helmet, except that it’s made of metal instead of plastic. He places it over her head and latches it closed.

  Dr. Koga approaches the dais, nervously bowing to Tsuko, who gives him a cursory acknowledgement before stepping off the platform.

  “Just as the Extension extends the reach of Tera’s strengths,” Koga explains to the sponsors, “the Helm augments Ama’s psychic abilities. Today’s demonstration will showcase how the Prototype Weapon Ama can manifest images in the mind. This, we hope, will prove useful in stealth operations.”

  A sponsor raises his hand. “Does she have precognitive abilities?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” Dr. Koga fields several more questions before Dr. Chung holds up her phone to indicate the time. “Yes, well,” he blusters, “let us continue with the demonstration.” He turns back to Ama and makes adjustments on the Helm.

  Alex’s gaze flits to the clock on the wall. “They need to hurry.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “She’s — ”

  “Claustrophobic,” Tera finishes.

  Alex nods. “The longer she’s inside the Helm, the more panicked she’ll become.”

  “Now,” Koga continues, “you can choose to close your eyes or leave them open. Although I warn you, it can be jarring to transition your mind if your eyes are open.”

  I leave my eyes open, as do Alex, Tera, Tsuko, and Park Taesung. The rest of the people in the room close theirs.

  The helmet on Ama’s head begins to glow an iridescent blue.

  “Let’s begin,” Koga says, “in five, four, three, two . . .”

  18

  Memories

  I blink, and I’m in a meadow. Grass stretches into the distance, infinite in all directions, and the sky is light blue, although there isn’t a sun. It feels like a simulation, except there is no interface to interact with the world, and no mode of escape. This should be disturbing, but somehow it’s not. The part of my brain telling me that none of this is real is at war with the part of my brain that’s currently hijacked and telling me it is real.

  “Now,” says Dr. Koga, his voice booming across the sky like the voice of God, “we will slowly introduce more senses and details into the world.”

  A bird appears out of the air, a magpie with blue-tipped wings. It warbles a greeting before flitting away across the meadow. The wind picks up, and the grasses rush with sound. I can feel the wind against my skin, warm and sweet-smelling. Maybe my mind isn’t very strong, because I could easily give in to this unreality. To stay here, in a complete state of contentment. It’s a dangerous dream. An actual problem with simulation technology. When your unreality becomes your haven, or your heaven, it’s hard to wake up to the real world. It’s an actual sickness they call the Long Sleep.

  An apple tree appears, and in my hand, an apple. I take a bite. The skin is crisp, the flavor sweet. There’s no metallic aftertaste, unlike the apple I stole from Tera.

  Tera.

  The world pulses. For a heartbeat, I see the chamber juxtaposed over the meadow — two worlds at once — before the vision stabilizes. I drop the apple and it disappears into the tall grass. What just happened?

  “Lastly,” says Koga, “the difference between Ama’s abilities and a simulation is that she can trick your mind into feeling emotions. You can imagine how useful this would be for interrogations. Of course, seeing as this is not an interrogation, we will stick with a much more benign emotion.”

  Forced emotions. That’s interesting. Simulations can’t force people to feel emotions, although they can put you into situations that may elicit them.

  I don’t have time to guess what type of emotion Koga hopes to send through before it hits me, starting in my chest and blazing outward.

  Joy.

  Irrepressible joy.

  Instinctively, I fight the feeling, which is probably a strange reaction to have, but happiness like this is so unnatural to me, it’s almost painful. It is painful. Because although my mind tells me that this warmth in my chest is joy, my memory tells me I haven’t felt like this in a long time. All the people who used to bring me this feeling are gone.

  After an agonizing few minutes, Koga’s voice invades my mind. “The demonstration is coming to an end. Everyone please remain seated as we transition you back into your bodies.”

  It’s over. My heart beats erratically from joy and pain, my mind a mixture of happiness and despair.

  Suddenly there’s a scream, loud, deafening. I lift my hands to my ears, but the scream is in my mind.

  The world shifts and blurs, turning nightmarish colors. Then the scream cuts off, and instead a searing pain invades my skull. I double over. I hear Alex shout Ama’s name. Although I don’t see him, I can sense him by my side, pushing off the wall and stumbling toward her.

  And then, abruptly, the pain stops. In its place, I’m hit with a barrage of moving images, like clips from a movie, but more vivid and imbued with sound and smell and feelings that don’t belong to me. They’re images of places I’ve never been to, people I’ve never met, one right after the other — a misty city at dawn with boats drifting down its watery avenues, a beautiful woman kneeling before a child. “I will come back for you,” she says. “Be strong for me.”


  Are these . . . memories? A girl stands on one side of a window and places her hand to the glass. On the other side is another girl. She can’t be more than six years old. Tera? The memory abruptly switches, and this time it’s viewed from the other side of the glass. Six-year-old Tera reaches up to place her palm against six-year-old Ama’s. Is this the moment they met? I’m pulled away into another memory, a little boy, crying, alone in a basement, his face to his knees.

  Memories, on and on, one right after the other. Some sad, some happy.

  A memory of my own plays back to me. Young and I are in the makeshift basketball court behind our apartment building. I feel the sweat on my back, the ache in my muscles, and the joy in my heart. Young has the ball. He’s running. We’ve constructed a basket out of an old laundry hamper and ropes. Young leaps and dunks the ball through the hole in the basket, but his weight causes the whole contraption to collapse on top of him.

  “Young-ah!” I rush over. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  He’s landed on his butt, making “ah, ah,” noises, but then he looks up at me, a big grin on his face. “Yeah, but did you see that? I think I deserve double points for bringing down the whole hoop!”

  I laugh along with him and hold out my hand. He takes it.

  Memory after memory. One ends as another begins, for however many people are in the chamber.

  After a while, the memories begin to ebb, and there’s a lull. It seems to be over, but then a last memory creeps out of the darkness, heavy with a feeling of loss. The feeling mutes the memory, blurring its edges. Yet when the memory begins to shape itself, I immediately recognize where we are.

  The old simTech buildings at Incheon. But they’re intact, as they were before they were destroyed ten years ago. Sunlight glints off the mirrored surfaces of the low buildings.

  A man stands with his back to me. My heartbeat picks up speed. No. This can’t be. Why is he here? Whose memory is this? I can’t see the man’s face, but I know who he is.

  My father.

  “It’s not over,” he’s saying, and his voice, his voice. I haven’t heard it since I was eight years old. How could I have forgotten the sound of his voice? My chest throbs, and I can’t tell if it’s the pain of the memory, or if it’s my own pain of the moment.

  Whose memory is this?

  “Wait here,” my father says, and even though it’s not my memory, I shout, “No!”

  A hand reaches out. Is it my hand?

  “No!” screams a voice, and the sound of it is a punch to the gut.

  Park Taesung. This is Park Taesung’s memory. There’s a tremendous boom as the buildings explode, a roaring inferno rushes forth to engulf my father in flames, and I’m screaming . . . or is it Park Taesung who’s screaming?

  No. No. No.

  I’m dropped out of the memory.

  I’m on the ground of the chamber, my throat sore. The room is in chaos, sponsors sobbing and yelling, all of us stripped bare of our memories, our secrets.

  “Jaewon-ah.” I realize Tera’s beside me, her hand on my forehead. My face is hot, but her hand is cool. She helps me to a sitting position. I look up past her shoulder and search the room for Park Taesung, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

  “She’s not a weapon,” one of the sponsors shouts, pointing at Ama. “She’s a monster.” He follows a tight group of men and women hurrying out of the room.

  At room’s center, Alex crouches beside Ama, helping her out of the Helm. He finds a bar at the back of the helmet that detaches from the contraption. The helmet breaks into halves. Released, Ama throws her arms around Alex, burying her face against his neck.

  Tsuko strides onto the platform. He yanks Ama out of Alex’s arms. “Did you do it on purpose?” he shouts.

  The sponsors have fled the chamber to the outer waiting room. Dr. Koga, Dr. Chung, and Sela are out there as well, most likely to attempt damage control, leaving only the four of us and Tsuko.

  “Are you sabotaging the project on purpose?”

  I push back the pain of seeing my father to focus. Why is Tsuko so pissed?

  The sponsors might be angry and hurt, but in due time they’ll realize that the project was — is a success in its delivery of a human with manifest psychic abilities. The glitch at the end was . . . unfortunate, but it was a glitch, most likely Ama’s inability to control her powers amplified through the Helm.

  It’s a fixable problem.

  No, it seems Tsuko’s anger is more of an emotional reaction. Which makes me wonder which memory was his.

  “Let her go,” Alex growls. He pushes Tsuko’s shoulder.

  Tsuko tenses. Before Alex can step away, Tsuko shoves his palm against Alex’s chest. Alex’s stomach arcs inward, and his body flies across the chamber.

  “Alex!” Ama screams.

  He hits the far wall and slides to the floor.

  What the hell? A light push like that shouldn’t have had that kind of force. What’s with this guy? No one in the outer chamber seems to have noticed, everyone still caught up in their own upset feelings.

  Ama wriggles out of Tsuko’s grip and rushes over to Alex’s side. Tsuko makes a move to follow.

  I wouldn’t call Alex a friend, but I’ve fought by his side twice already. Apparently it’s become a habit. I get to my feet and full-body ram Tsuko. It’s like running into a wall, which doesn’t make sense. Tsuko can’t weigh more than fifty kilos. I stumble away, rolling my aching shoulder. All I’ve done is piss him off.

  It happens in a moment. Tsuko moves to punch me. I won’t be able to dodge it — he’s too quick. But then Tera’s between us. She grabs Tsuko’s wrist in midair and forces it down.

  Tsuko’s eyes widen and then narrow. “Tera.”

  “He’s my partner,” Tera says. “I won’t let you hurt him.” A spark of pleasure burns in my stomach at her defense of me.

  Regardless of Tsuko’s unnatural strength, he’s not a match for Tera. She releases him, and he rubs his wrist. She’s left bruises in the shape of her fingers on his skin.

  “It’s not Ama’s fault,” Tera says. “You know her. You know she was never meant for this.”

  “She’s a weapon! This is her purpose.”

  “She’s not like you. She’s not like me.”

  This seems to placate Tsuko, because he says, “You and I are the same.” There’s a tinge of desperation in his voice.

  “We are. But can you deny that Ama was born with a pure heart? Giving and accepting pain is unnatural to her. She’s joyful and good. Would you really force her to be what she’s not?”

  Tsuko looks from Tera to Ama. “Ai — shhh.” He pivots and strides out of the chamber.

  Before I can dwell on what just happened, a low moan reminds me of Alex. I turn to see him slumped against the wall, Ama hovering at his side. I jog over to his prone body and kneel down beside him. “Are you alive?”

  He answers with something unintelligible, most likely a curse.

  Ama looks at me, tears in her eyes. “Is he going to be all right? His thoughts are all jumbled.”

  “He’ll be fine,” I say. Alex lets out another curse, more distinct this time. “More than fine.”

  Tera joins us, crouching down beside Ama and taking her hands.

  “Did you hear them?” Ama whispers. “They called me a monster.”

  “If you’re a monster,” Tera says slowly, “then I’ll be a monster too.”

  This seems to break Ama out of her spell, because she smiles. “Did you see?” she teases. “We had the same memory.”

  Tera quirks a brow. “Was that on purpose?”

  I remember the memory of the two girls looking through the window at each other.

  “No, it’s just a memory that we’ve both been thinking about recently.”

  They smile. Alex and I watch the girls
, mesmerized. I don’t know what the manifestation of love is in physical form, but this has to come close.

  Ama turns to me. “That’s a lovely thought.”

  Either it’s the stress of the past hour or the psychic mental stress we just went through, but we’re all exhausted. We lean against the wall in a row, Alex and I slumped over on one side, Ama leaning on Tera’s shoulder.

  That’s how Dr. Koga finds us a half hour later. He coughs, and I open my eyes. He’s standing over us, a curious expression on his face.

  Alex takes Ama to her room, and I escort Tera to hers. She collapses onto her bed, immediately falling sleep. The lights are dimmed in her room, and I blame it on exhaustion, but I ache to crawl into bed with her. To find comfort in her and let the memories of the day wash away in dreams and forgetting. But that’s not possible. She’s a weapon, and I’m a soldier.

  I lean down and brush my fingers against her cheek. “Sweet dreams, Tera.”

  On my out of the building, I run into Koga. “Jaewon-ssi,” he says, bowing to me.

  I bow back. “Dr. Koga.”

  I wait for him to say more, but he just waves and walks away. My mind is falling asleep, even if my body is still moving. I need to get home before I collapse altogether.

  I call over a cab and head out of the city.

  19

  Missing Girls

  An incessant buzzing close to my ear wakes me Saturday morning. My phone displays the time in bold numbers: 06:45. I reach out to turn off it off, but it dips out of reach. It’s my own fault. I’ve programmed it to persistently relay messages.

  Blue light shines out from the screen, and a video message begins to play. I squint to see Alex’s face and the upper half of his body. The light comes from an aquarium behind him, the dark figures of exotic fish swimming half a meter from his head. My eyes adjust, and I see that Alex wears a formal suit. At 6:45 in the morning.

  “What is wrong with you?” I groan. He can’t hear me. It’s just a recorded message.