Since every class of apprentices had recorded the Triangle Fire, all of the girls in the building had an extensive file, even though few of them were individually significant. Their historical contribution lay in their collective demise, not any individual survival. Morbid, but true.
Even the summary of the event hurt my heart. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?”
“Which part?” Sarah frowned. “The part where the poor immigrant girls were underpaid and worked literally to death in those factories for years, or the fact that it took over a hundred of them dying in the gutters of a New York City street on a Saturday afternoon for anyone to give a shit?”
“I vote for the fact that even though that day changed labor laws in the United States, they kept supporting factories that employed the same practices in other parts of the planet for years,” Analeigh added, her eyes glued to the comp in front of her.
“All of it.” I swallowed hard, wishing I could be more professional like my friends. “It’s all terrible.”
I scanned the list of victims again, and the name Rosie Shapiro jumped out at me. I pressed a finger against the name of Jonah’s True and the comp pulled up her file. It would definitely be interesting to see her next week.
The idea that Jonah had perhaps done this exact same thing spread a comforting warmth through my blood, even if it must have been terrible for him to stand there and watch her die. I didn’t think I could do it, be in the room while Octavian put my True to death, but Jonah had always been stronger than me.
Rosie’s file pulled up, displaying a picture and a short list of facts from both the original history and the multiple accounts based on Historian observations. She was pretty, my brother’s True Companion, with peachy cheeks, dark curls, and delicate features. The related photographs rolled a shudder up my spine. The sight of a bunch of soaking wet girls my age splattered on the New York City sidewalk squelched my desire for dinner.
I downloaded a picture of Rosie and stored it to the protected file Sarah had set up in my brain stem tat. She’d created password files for the three of us when we were twelve and thought secret diaries seemed like the coolest thing in the world.
The tat could conjure her photo from the file while we were at the Triangle and use facial recognition software to locate her in the room. It should be easy enough to find her before the fire started. I would probably get into trouble again for focusing too much on one, insignificant life but this time, at least, I knew the reason. It was partly to feel closer to my brother that I wanted to see Rosie Shapiro for myself, but partly because maybe meeting his True face-to-face would convince me there was no real reason to break a million and one rules in order to meet my own.
*
Analeigh sat me down when Sarah hopped in the shower after dinner, pinning me with a hard gaze. “I don’t know what’s up with you, but it’s something. You’re all jumpy, and you were staring at that table comp like it held the secret to the universe. Downloading a manifest isn’t that interesting.”
The sound of running water filled our suite while I struggled with my reply. I might be good at keeping secrets, but it burned to hold them in my mouth. I wanted to tell Analeigh about Jonah’s cuff and everything else, but it wasn’t fair to her and maybe not to my brother, either.
Plus, I didn’t want her to talk me out of what I wanted—to go see Caesarion.
“I don’t know. Still thinking about Caesarion, I guess.” Not technically untrue.
“Really?” The dry tone of her voice spiked my worry, but Oz stuck his head in the door at the same moment, saving me from having to outright lie to my best friend.
He blinked at the sight of us, as though we’re somehow unexpected fixtures in our own room, and his storm-cloud eyes filled with irritation as they swept the room, searching for Sarah. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, but words seemed to escape him. Sarah was his reason for being here, and Oz seemed lost at finding her unavailable. His quiet, watchful nature turned anxious sometimes, like now, although it didn’t make sense in this situation. We’d known him as long as he’d known Sarah, so nerves didn’t make much sense.
Most of the science fiction stories from Earth Before assumed that if we ever advanced to a point like ours—scientifically, medically—that everyone would lead healthier, longer, not anxious, perfect lives. The truth was, our geneticists and medics could ensure all of us were put together in a way that made us live longer, and that no one was born with any kind of disorder at all. That wasn’t practical, though. So, we got to deal with Oz and all of his awkward.
“She’s in the toilet,” Analeigh supplied, taking pity on him.
Oz fidgeted in the doorway, gazing down at his hands. After his third longing glance at the empty hallway behind him, I couldn’t take it anymore. “You don’t have to lurk in the doorway, Oz, for goodness’ sake. Sit down and talk to us.”
Analeigh and I stared as he shuffled toward Sarah’s desk and perched gingerly on the edge of the chair. Oz wasn’t that tall but he was strong. His broad chest filled out the tight clothing, showing off his muscular arms, and his fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the back of the steel chair in the silence.
“What’s wrong with him? He’s even jumpier than usual.” Analeigh’s whispered voice popped into my head, surprising me. Oz sat close enough to hear the sound of us whispering, but probably not to catch the words.
Scientists on Earth Before had discovered that our throat muscles make the involuntary movements to form words even when we only think them. Not everyone on Genesis had this enhancement, but for Historians, it was necessary. We might need to communicate in a scenario where talking was prohibited or our language program might glitch. We had the most bio-enhancements of anyone in the System—unlike the universal wrist tats, the ones connected to our throats and brain stems were unique to our Academy.