Tanis, the farthest planet from Sanchi, grew citrus trees, but the transports never made it all the way here before the fruit started to spoil. The oranges Jonah brought back from his trips to Earth Before exploded in my mouth, dribbled juice down my chin, and gave me a sensation I’d never experienced until my first observation—one of being suspended in a brief, intense moment. Alive.
I sank down on the edge of Jonah’s neatly made bed with a sigh, running my fingers lightly over the wrinkles in his dark blue quilt. I loved my friends, but they weren’t my brother. They didn’t understand the wrenching loss that still startled me when I remembered I couldn’t talk to him, or the resentment that stemmed from what he’d done to our family. The increased scrutiny applied to me at the Academy just because we shared DNA.
The quiet of Jonah’s space pressed against me, kneading peace into my muscles until a short beep shattered the moment. I looked down at my watch, expecting the noise to be the alarm warning me of my approaching pass expiration, but found that, as usual, I’d forgotten to grab it.
The sound came again, and I listened for a couple of seconds before exploring the stand beside his bed. The metal transferred a chill to my fingertips and I was about to give up when the beeping erupted again, definitely coming from inside the piece of furniture. My fingers hit the bottom of the drawer about two inches down, but the front made it appear at least double that depth. I rapped on the base, receiving a hollow echo that confirmed my suspicions—a false bottom.
It appeared Jonah kept secrets even before abandoning us.
My brother had been a teenage boy, so perhaps I would regret finding what he saw fit to hide, but if the drawer harbored naughty pictures or lube or something else disgusting, I would deal. Most boys hid that crap under their beds, anyway. If Jonah had gone to the trouble of crafting a false bottom, he must have squirreled away something good. Three broken fingernails later, I’d discovered a prize worth all ten.
Jonah’s travel cuff sat in my lap, its red lights winking at me.
It hadn’t been deactivated—I didn’t even know if they could be remotely disabled—and the cuffs weren’t assigned to specific Historians. They didn’t need to be since the bio-tats tracked our movements. I’d always assumed Jonah had taken his with him.
I ignored my excitement over all the possibilities of owning my own illicit cuff and grabbed the only other thing in the drawer—Jonah’s light blue True Companion card. His name and birthday were stamped across the top: Jonah Samuel Vespasian (October 3, 2538–), and under that, the name of his perfect match:
Rosie Shapiro (February 17th, 1894–March 25, 1911)
Sad. Rose Shapiro had just turned seventeen when she’d died, and given the exact date of her death, I immediately wondered if she’d died in the fire my friends and I would observe in a few days—another horrible event that would be tough to stomach. I tucked the card into my waistband, thinking that I would research Miss Shapiro before our visit to the Triangle Fire, and slid the heavy metal cuff up my arm until it stayed put above my elbow. I’d thrown a long-sleeved Kevlar on over my tank tonight, but the tight black material didn’t conceal much of anything. I’d have to try to pull my cloak on quickly so that my parents wouldn’t notice.
My mom met me at the end of the hallway, tucking her long blond bangs behind her ear. “Oh, there you are, honey, I was coming to check. Everything all right?”
Her blue eyes softened as she took in my face; we both knew I’d been in Jonah’s room and not in the toilet. I bit my lip and nodded, surprising us both by wrapping my arms around her back, careful not to let the cuff bang against her. “I miss you guys.”
“We miss you, too.” She squeezed hard for several seconds, then pulled away and pushed my long waves over my shoulders. “Please make an appointment for grooming. Your hair needs a cut, and I can’t believe Analeigh is letting you get away with those eyebrows.”
I snickered. “The pointed looks have turned to subtle hints.”
“Your father hoped you’d be able to stay a little longer, maybe watch the System Reports, but I see your pass only gives you another twenty minutes.”
“Maybe next time.”
Every single evening the reports replayed a significant event that happened on the same day on Earth Before, and the Elders very rarely chose to remind people of the good decisions that were made. Those weren’t what landed us here.
Most Historians didn’t watch the programming, given that our days were spent capturing, studying, rewinding, and studying again some of the most gruesome mistakes of our collective past.
Mom hooked her elbow through mine and led me into the living room, where Dad waited by the door with a box wrapped in bright orange paper. Even the color—reminiscent of Jonah’s fruit fetish—jammed a lump in my throat. I shrugged into my cloak, grateful it hid the cuff and gave me a moment to recover my wits.
None of us lived at home after our tenth birthdays, when we were slotted into the Academies based on our aptitude tests, so it wasn’t that I wanted to stay. I didn’t belong here. I wanted … I didn’t know what I wanted. My family back, maybe. A familiar place, a safe haven.
Everyone experienced a feeling of wanting to belong at some point, probably, but it plagued Historians more than most. The Elders claimed it was because we didn’t just have to wonder which of the seven planets might feel most like home, but the entire catalog of human history. We couldn’t live there, of course. In the past. Our travels were regulated, and our bio tattoos had programs implanted that would terminate us if we overstayed a set observation by more than twenty-four hours, as a failsafe in case we’d been seen or interrogated.
The cuffs, which offered free access to the past, were privileges. The people of Genesis trusted the Historians with one of the most potentially hazardous pieces of tech in our new society, and in return, we brought back knowledge that benefited everyone. Some Historians had been forced to give up their cuffs, relegated to exclusive reflection in the Archives, when they got too attached to a particular time and place.
I peered up at my father. “What’s in the box?”