“… and another.”
Meal package. I didn’t know she still had one of those. Sam slips down off the edge of the bed, hugging her knees on the floor beside the blanket. It’s hard to imagine right now that she made that first incision with a steady hand.
“So countries can have their own laws and their own cultures,” I say. “Their own way of doing things. Sometimes their own language … ”
“What do you mean, their own language?”
I think again. “We’re speaking a version of English, you and I. The words are … English, even if they’re pronounced a little different … ”
I’ve gotten so used to Samara’s accent, I’d almost stopped hearing it. It suits her, though. Rhythmic, like the way she moves.
“But another country over here, or over here”—I point to Jill’s scattered belongings on the pretend Earth—“they might have their own system of words. So if you lived in this country, China, the word for ‘cloth’ might sound like yīkuài bù.”
Sam sits back, looking stunned, and then incredulous. “That isn’t a real way of speaking.”
I have to laugh. “It is. It’s the way my mother grew up talking, and she made sure I did, too. My granny spoke Spanish, and I’m not bad at that one, either. But—”
“Say something,” she says. She’s got her head tilted, blinking at me. A challenge. Like in the caves. I stare back at her eyes.
“Tus ojos son hermosos,” I say.
“What does it mean?”
I shake my head. I’m not telling her. “Just imagine,” I go on, “that there are all these countries, and all these languages, all with their own ways of doing things. Your ancestors, the first one hundred and fifty, came from all of them. All the major cultures. But they all had to learn English to come to Canaan. Just like we made sure that everyone who came this time could speak English. So we could talk to you.”
“So you could study us?”
“Right.”
“And so why did they come? Why did they leave Earth at all?”
“It’s like what you wrote in your book. An experiment. To build a better world. To start over without all the bad stuff from Earth. But we never heard from Canaan again, and no one knew what had happened to them. People debated about it for years. Centuries. Dad used to get together with his friends and they’d come up with all kinds of theories. But there’s never been an answer. So, see, you’ve been a mystery.”
I want to see what she thinks of that, but she’s got her mask on. “But why did you wait?” she asks. “Why wait so long to come back and find the answers?”
“A lot of reasons. There was a war a few years after the first colonists left. A big one. All the countries fighting each other … ” She looks over at the blanket. “New World Space Exploration, the company that started the project, got bombed out of existence. That was the Third World War. Then we did it again not long after with the Fourth World War. And because we love to screw up, we did it again with World War Five. But between Four and Five there was another ship sent, only we never heard from it again, either. Have you ever heard stories about Earth being here before?”
She shakes her head. “But I’ve always thought our history was mostly lies.”
“Everybody’s is. A little bit.” Some more than others.
“Is New Canaan like a country?”
“In a way. Except that it’s small. Countries might have a million people in their cities. At least.”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “A million? In one country?”
“No. In one city. Countries have lots of cities, of all different sizes. There are three and a half billion people on Earth. But that’s a lot less than it used to be.” And it’s declining. I watch her stare at Jill’s stuff scattered across the pretend Earth, trying to comprehend. And I can’t help it. I have to try again.
“But this is the point,” I say. She gives me her gaze. “Your ancestors came from Earth, from all of those countries, all those people, and nowhere is there anything like Knowing or Forgetting, or living to be a hundred and forty. These things are not genetic.”
She whispers, “I shouldn’t have to be like this.”
“I don’t think so. Something’s doing it to you. And, Sam, I think you’re going to need my help to find out what it is.”
I stay where I am, balancing elbows on knees while she thinks. Take me with you hangs heavy between us.
“Show me what goes inside those injections, and we could fix this whole mess.”
She’s hesitating, her hair half tied back, loose, twisting, curls falling down all around her face. Then she says, “Why would you do that for me?”
I didn’t expect that question, and I think of about thirty answers, quick. Because you’re smart. Because you’re beautiful. Because you fascinate me and infuriate me. Because you’re in pain, and I don’t want to watch human beings suffer. Because I’m from Earth, and I’m afraid my people might be just as wrong as yours. Because I think I can fix this. Because every time I think of somebody trying to hurt you, I want to park a spaceship on them. But all I say is, “I plan to live on this planet, too.”
She plays with the tie of her sandal, and I can’t tell what she’s thinking at all. Then she says, “I have to stay Underneath, for the Changing of the Seasons, and I won’t be able to hide you. You’ll have to leave me, and go back Outside.”
I nod. Though it’s possible I won’t agree to it later.
“If it’s the injections, like you say, and we can just … stop being Knowing. I might still be … broken. My memories might still … ”
“Maybe you can heal from your memories, Sam, if you stop reliving them.”
“But if there’s nothing in the wellness injections, I will have to get into the Archives, and get the book on Forgetting. I will need to make myself Forget, show the Knowing how to Forget, to break the Council. Do we agree on that as well?”
I shrug. “If you need to Forget, Sam, then you need to Forget.” I say that like it is nothing to me. It isn’t. “I’ll just help you remember after, okay?”
She’s back to staring at the pretend Earth. “I don’t Know what the Council would do to you if they realized who you were.”
Nothing worse than they’d do to her. Probably. “I’m not sure it’s that much more dangerous than where we are now.”
“Promise me, that if we’re caught … you’ll do … something. Use the glasses. Make a fire. Burn someone. Promise me you’ll leave me, and that you’ll run.”
“Sam—”
“Swear it!”
“All right,” I say. “Okay.” Though I’m never going to do that. But I am going to look at those injections, find that power source, and maybe try to talk to Dad, too. And keep Sam alive while I’m at it. Maybe she won’t have to Forget how to save lives.
Maybe she won’t have to Forget about me.
She gets up abruptly, turning to go out the door.