So I wipe his arm clean, squeeze his skin together, and dart the needle inside, quick. He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes. We wait. I glance at Nathan, who’s lost in thought, mind somewhere else. He’s unhappy. Deeply so. It makes me sad to see it. Then I watch a curious story begin on Grandpapa’s face. A looking backward.
“I had a brother,” he says. “A baby brother who died. I never knew … And I see my mother’s face, when she was young. And my grandmother. Her name was Liliya.”
“What else do you see, Cyrus?” Sean asks, leaning forward.
“Dad,” Beckett warns under his breath.
Grandpapa opens his eyes. “Things I’m not going to tell you, young man,” he says to Sean. Teasing. Because he knows that not being told drives Sean Rodriguez crazy. Joanna laughs. But I can see that Grandpapa wants to be alone.
“Go lie down,” I tell him. “We’ll finish our tea and clear up and go.”
He pats my head, rubs Nathan’s shoulder, and there are tears in his eyes when he shuts the door. Joanna drains her tea. “Ready, Beckett?” she says. Significantly.
Nathan raises a brow, and I see Sean sigh as he finishes his notes.
“No,” Beckett says. “I’ll come later. I want to work on some glass. Or if it’s too late to catch a transport I’ll sleep here.”
Joanna frowns. “Beck, you are always—”
“I’m going,” I say abruptly. Even though I have no patients to see and no rooms to go to that do not haunt me. “See you all after waking?”
But I don’t wait for an answer. I take off with my pack, down the streets, up the steps, and through the terraced fields. Up and up until I’m in a blacknut orchard, where I drop my pack, pull out a blanket, spread out on the soft grass beneath the shade, and wait.
Memory is tugging. Genivee, Nadia, and Liliya. Those are three names together on my family tree. The Genivee of the Archives, Nadia who drew the maps, and now Liliya.
I follow the memory to the map inscription. Nadia and Gray, a glassblower’s son. Like Cyrus. I wonder if they’ve always known we had the same ancestors, and just never said anything.
And then Beckett is coming up the slope beneath the trees. He walks straight to the blanket, throws himself on top of me, and puts his face in my hair.
“Why?” he says. “Why so many people?”
I laugh and shove him off, but he takes me with him, and now he has me cradled. “And why aren’t you with me every second?” he asks.
“Because you would get tired of me.” Only I’m not really laughing now. He is such a beautiful alien.
“I’m going to test that theory,” he says, kissing the corner of my mouth.
We test it until the next bell rings. He’s missed the last transport, but he doesn’t seem that sorry about it. He holds me tight, and I listen to the beat in his chest.
“Hey,” he says, “I want you to look at something.” He pulls a new pair of glasses out from beneath his shirt—glasses with no security measures—flicks them open, and puts them on. He finds what he wants, then slides the lenses onto my face. “I’ve been doing some research,” he says. “This first visual is a little hard to watch … ”
My eyes adjust, and it takes a few moments for me to realize that I’m looking at the Cursed City. When it was new. Where did they have cameras in Canaan? But they did, somewhere. The stones are crisp, and there are hardly any trees. The tower in the terraced hole is a beautifully crafted clock. And then I realize that the people are fighting, wandering, attacking each other. Something explodes, and fire blazes. This is panic. Raw fear.
“It’s the Forgetting,” says Beck. “I found this in the first Centauri’s database.” He takes the glasses, switches the visual, and hands them back to me. Now I’m looking at a map. Topographical.
“Zoom in a little,” Beck says, “and do you see that area, just where the river runs into that lake?”
I see it.
“I’ve been looking at that carefully, really carefully, and I think there might be a hole. A duplicated piece of land. Just like what we saw when we looked at New Canaan for the first time.”
“What are you thinking?” I ask, handing the glasses back. He drops them in his shirt and snuggles me back into his chest.
“The Centauri II. There’s just not enough of it here. There was a good bit of the first ship, once we dug it out … ” The Centauri III was sitting directly on top of the first ship. “And Lian”—he doesn’t refer to her as my mother—“she hinted that the last ship just flew away. But I’ve looked at the dates, and I’ve been doing the math. The Centauri II landed just ahead of the comet, thirty-six hours before the Forgetting. And the tech New Canaan had is consistent with what might be left behind, say, at a base camp. There’s a huge amount of work to be done here, I know, but … ”
It’s an amazing idea. What if the crew just … Forgot? What if they’re out there? And when it comes down to it, the Canaan Project belongs first and foremost to Sean Rodriguez. Not Beckett. Beckett isn’t researching it. He’s living it. I sigh, comfortable in his arms. This is almost the only way I can sleep now. My memories are under control, but resting is harder.
“That was a good thing for Cyrus,” Beck whispers, “wasn’t it?”
It was. And now I’m awake, and tense, because I Know what’s coming. The Knowing have been told by the Council that they do not have to be Knowing, and that no new Knowing will be created. For those who have already been injected and drunk the amrita, they may choose. To stop. Or to continue. I have to choose.
“Have you decided what to do?”
“Yes. And you’re not going to like it.” I prop up my head on a hand, so I can look at his face. He’s looking away, his jaw clenched. “Beck, tell me why you want me to be Knowing. The real answer.”
He frowns a little. “Your medical skills … ”
“I said the real answer.”
He sits up abruptly. And now he’s mad, and I’m the one who’s not sorry. Whatever this is, he needs to get it out. Because I cannot be Knowing. Not anymore. I sit up, too. “Why don’t you just say it, Beckett?”
He raises a brow at his full name. “Okay, fine. You said … ” His jaw works, and he starts again. “You said it only comes once for the Knowing, and that your ‘once’ was for me. Well, I guess there’s a lot of security in that, isn’t there? If you’re … me.”
“So you think if I can’t access my memories in the same way that my feelings will change? Have you ever thought that might be a good thing?” He leans on his knees. “If you’re Knowing, your feelings stay the same. That’s true. But it’s like an echo, the same echo, over and over. Nothing grows. But what if not being Knowing meant I could love you more? Or, maybe not being Knowing would mean that you … might love me less.”
Now he’s offended. “Why would you say that?”
“Why would you say it about me?”
He throws himself back on the blanket. “I hate arguing with you. I lose so badly.”
I lie beside him while he fumes.
“What about you?” I say. “What have you decided to do?” The Centauri III is launching after the harvest, and now there is another choice, for every person of age—Earth, Outside, or Underneath. To stay. Or go.
He huffs once. Then he lifts his arm and puts my head back on his chest.
“Well?”
“Oh, please,” he sighs.