Пинтип Данн - Remember Yesterday

It’s not the first time Mikey’s lectured us about our civic duty. And not the first time I tune him out. Truth is, I couldn’t care less about his political agenda. I have no interest in joining his fight. Callie took it upon herself to save the world—and look what happened to her. I’ll stick with helping my mice, and maybe a childhood friend or two, thank you very much.

Even if it means I inadvertently delay someone’s entrance into uni for a year. I flush guiltily. Tanner glossed over his ruined experiment with a few careless words, but how does he really feel? Is he sad that he won’t go to uni next year? Is he…devastated?

My stomach clenches. I don’t want him devastated. He might be my enemy, but the thought of his lips trembling rips and tears at my heart.

“You have to think.” Mikey’s voice gets louder. “In order for a resistance movement to be successful, it has to be carefully orchestrated, precisely planned. You can’t just go on your own unsanctioned raids because you feel like it. You were almost caught; Jessa was infected. This kind of action shines an unnecessary spotlight on us, attention that could jeopardize the entire mission. From now on, neither of you acts unless I say so. Got it?”

We both nod. We have no choice, really.

Mikey sweeps his arm through the air, indicating the jumbled-up piles of body parts. “As punishment, you two will clean my office. I can’t find a damn thing in here, and you might as well make yourselves useful.”

Ryder groans, poking a leg as if it might grow teeth and bite him. “That’ll take weeks! You can’t walk in here without a limb clobbering you.”

“Then you’d better get started.” Mikey’s com unit beeps. “I have a meeting. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“You mean you’re going to leave us here alone?” Ryder asks incredulously.

His dad lifts his eyebrows. “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”

“Not at all.” I step forward and give him my best you-can-trust-us smile. “We’ll have your office all cleaned up by the time you get back.”

With one last scuff against Ryder’s shoulder, Mikey leaves.

The door bangs shut behind him, and I jab Ryder in the chest. “That was really smooth. You might as well have told him we were going straight into the air vents as soon as he left.”

“Are we?” my best friend asks, looking troubled. “He let us off easy this time. But he won’t be nearly as forgiving if he catches us again.”

“Of course we’re still going! Olivia needs us.”

He huffs out a breath. “Right.”

We look at the smooth expanse of the south wall—that’s not really a wall. Rather, it’s the holographic projection of a solid surface created by a “spider,” and it leads to air vents that wind all over the TechRA building.

I reach inside the wall and flip a switch. The hologram disappears.

I gasp. As expected, the plaster ends abruptly. But instead of a gaping hole, metal slats seal off the opening into the air vents.

“That’s why he left us,” I moan. “He wanted us to snoop and find out that he closed our access to the vents. He’s telling us he’ll always be one step ahead of us.”

Ryder slips on his goggles and peers at the black box sitting next to the spider. “They’re not closed permanently. The slats are retractable—and they’re keyed to a set of biometrics. Probably Mikey’s. So if we want to get into the vents, all we have to do is ask.”

“What are the chances he’ll approve this mission?” I ask faintly.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He picks up a prosthetic hand and scratches his back. “Probably about as likely as you joining forces with Dresden.”

My lungs feel like a vacuum has sucked out all the air. “Now what?”

Ryder slides the goggles off his face. “Plan B.”

“We don’t have a Plan B.”

“Of course we have a Plan B. What kind of delinquents would we be if we didn’t have a Plan B?” He grins with enough confidence for both of us, and I know that in spite of Mikey’s warning, we won’t abandon our mission that easily. “We’ve got to convince an unsuspecting TechRA employee to let us into the lower floors of the building. And to do that, we need to use the full extent of our abilities.”

I freeze. Because he’s not referencing my quick thinking or poise under pressure. This has nothing to do with my hoverboard skills or my fling-myself-into-open-space courage. He’s talking about one thing alone: my precognition.

“I know you believe your psychic abilities somehow killed your sister,” Ryder says gently. “It’s not true. Even so, if you use your powers to help Olivia, maybe you’ll feel like they led to something good.”

He’s right, of course. There’s no good reason I’m blocking my abilities. I saw it as atonement for Callie’s death, but in my practical moments, I know that it won’t bring her back. Nothing will.

I pick up an artificial limb. It’s nice to have something to hold. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

I grip the handle of the picnic basket. People swarm around me, traveling between the industrial-sized Meal Assemblers and the long metal tables, carrying trays of food with mouthwatering smells. Silverware clinks together, and meal packets are tossed through the air. Bots roll around, picking up trash, and a thousand conversations blend into a dull roar. If anyone notices me in the chaos of TechRA’s cafeteria, it would be a miracle.

That’s exactly what I’m counting on.

“Check it out.” Ryder scans the labels on top of each Meal Assembler, his eyes wide. “Seafood risotto with head-on prawns. Blue cheese and fig ravioli. Pappardelle with braised short ribs. Have you ever heard of this stuff?”

“Sure,” I say. “But I’ve never actually tasted them.”

Our Meal Assembler at home doesn’t get this fancy. We have the basic model, the one that produces standard fare—rotisserie chicken and beef stew, pot roast and spaghetti squash. Upgrades for each additional cuisine cost an entire year’s credits, and my mom and I never had the kind of money—or appetite—to warrant the purchase.

“You never tasted them? Then how…” Ryder trails off. “Gotcha. Your sister’s digital journals, right?”

I duck my head, squeezing the basket handle until I feel the straw digging into my palm. Everything I know about Callie comes from three sources: my own scant memories, Logan’s stories, and the school’s mandatory journals. Problem was, Callie wasn’t much of a writer, and so her journals were filled more with recipes than her personal thoughts.

“She wrote about pappardelle,” I say. “About making the pasta and cutting it by hand. When you did it just right, she said, the taste was to die for.”

“I’ll ask Mikey to bring some home next time he goes to the cafeteria.”

“You don’t have to do that. I could eat the same meal from the Meal Assembler every day, and I wouldn’t notice.”

“Don’t discount it,” he says. “Food is a way for you to be close to your sister, so it matters. Just don’t go pigging out and refusing to share.”

My heart compresses, and I squeeze his hand. Ryder’s my best friend for a reason. A million reasons, in fact, and this is just one of them. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

He grins. “Don’t I know it? Come on. Let’s find our mark.”

Nodding, I scan the crowd, looking for a person who fits our profile. A romantic who isn’t too strict about following the rules. Someone young enough to remember the zero-gravity flight of first love.

“What about her?” Ryder inclines his head toward a brunette retrieving a lychee fruit slushie at a Drinks Assembler. Her eyes are as shiny as a new circuit board, and her shoulder-length hair curves at the ends in a familiar question mark.