When We Wake (15 page)

I had thought the future was
better
. Marie could talk about her wife with no fear, and Bethari had been worried that I might object to her scarf because I was from the past, when anti-Muslim prejudice had been the norm. Most people used public transportation, cars ran on batteries, new houses were built underground to save energy, and the humanure toilets that Dalmar admired were in widespread use.

And the Australian army was going to bring dead soldiers back to a second life.

Bethari had told me about the No Migrant policy and the prejudice against thirdies like Abdi, but I hadn’t understood what was happening or just how grotesque the situation was.

I hadn’t wanted to understand.

With shaking hands, I shut Koko down, knowing it wouldn’t help. The news would still be there.

Bethari’s computer beeped at me.

Caught up in a world in crisis, I’d actually forgotten what it was doing, and I fumbled to turn off the alarm. Then I saw the big red-framed warning.

BREACH DETECTED. ADVISE CLOUD SEPARATION.

TRACE 41.7% COMPLETE.

But I couldn’t disconnect just yet. Bethari’s computer, with its very clever programming, had found what I was looking for.

It was called the Ark Project.

The screen displayed that name and a list of addresses, but everything else was heavily encrypted; I probably had only that much because of a lazy coder somewhere. But there was nothing wrong with the other security protocols. Lots of other very clever computers were currently turning
their
very clever programming, and their much more efficient processors, toward finding where the search had originated.

Racing the trace, I dove frantically into the data. Most of the addresses were in the Northern and Western Territories, but there was one in Victoria—in fact, it was in Williamstown.

Close to the army base. I didn’t think that was a coincidence. I stared at the address, willing myself to memorize it. Pens and paper didn’t really exist anymore, and I couldn’t trust any device I might write the information on.

ADVISE IMMEDIATE CLOUD SEPARATION.

TRACE 96.2% COMPLETE.

“Fuckity fuck fuck fuck,” I said calmly. Then I grabbed my rusty iron statue of the lady in the sea and beat the crap out of Bethari’s computer.

The computer’s pliable material resisted, wrapping around the statue and trying to disperse the force, but I hammered it on the ground, hoping to open a crack somewhere. There might have been a less drastic way to separate a future computer
from the online world, but I had no idea how to do it, and no time to find out before the trace got through the proxies and triangulated my position. Marie’s address would be a very clear indication of the inquiry’s source.

“Stop it, stop it!” I said, and hit harder. Even underground, with the thick earth walls, I was worried that Marie might hear. “Home, play ‘Revolution,’ volume eleven!”

The house computer obeyed, routing the song through the room’s speakers, and under cover of the reverberating strings and heavy bass, I brought the statue down again with all my might.

The iron lady’s head flew off.

But the computer’s surface had finally cracked. I grabbed my bottle of water from the nightstand and poured it into the gap. There were a few sparks, and the screen died.

I thrust the entire mess—statue, water bottle, and all—under my bed.

John sang that it was all gonna be all right.

“Easy for
you
to say,” I muttered, and flopped, spread-eagle, on my back.

“Tegan?” Marie’s light voice called through the noise. “Are you all right?”

I checked to make sure everything was well hidden before I replied. “I’m fine! Come in!” There was anger burning inside me, a hot, tight feeling that would not give way to tears.

Marie evidently saw it on my face as she pushed open the door. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Just… Why is the world so terrible?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “You have… a faith. Does it help?”

“I have faith in a life after death. I don’t think that means we get to make this life awful.”

“We can try to make it better,” she said tentatively. “That’s always been my aim. Are you sorry that I brought you back to this time?”

I thought about it. Yes, the future was much worse than I’d thought. But the past had been bad, too, and I hadn’t even considered leaving it. There had been love for me there, and music, and joy. And here I had Marie and Bethari, and a chance at all those things. “No. Not really. I like being alive.”

Marie’s smile was glorious. “I have a surprise for you,” she said. “It just arrived.”

She leaned down and picked up a guitar case, holding it out to me in both hands.

I sat still for a moment. “Really?”

“You can’t possibly use a school guitar for music tomorrow,” she said, then laughed. “Well, I know you could, but I wanted to celebrate your first day, and this seemed like a practical gift.”

The case was smooth and black, made of something that looked like bumpy plastic but felt like cool, sturdy metal to my fingers. I laid the case on my unmade bed, slipped the catches with worshipful fingers, and caught my breath, gloating, at the treasure inside.

She was an acoustic-electric, with the classic shape, a soft
brown-gold body, and a short black neck. She was nestled in the plush red cushioning like a queen in a pile of velvet pillows.

I lifted her out and slipped the strap over my shoulder. She was a twelve-fret, and the neck was slim enough for my short hand span. I positioned a few chords without strumming, checking the slip factor and reach. The strings were made out of some material I didn’t recognize, but I liked the give under my fingers—not too sloppy, not too tough. My calluses had vanished during my long sleep, but I’d build them up again.

I plucked the thin E string and listened as the high, pure note rang out. It had a lovely solid tone. My old guitar, McLeod, had been a third- or fourth-hand Ovation and an absolute delight, but I thought I might grow to love this guitar more.

She must have cost Marie a mint.

“I talked to some people,” Marie said. “Is it all right?”

“It’s unbelievable,” I breathed, sliding my fingers over the pickguard—more mahogany, inlaid with some sort of shell. “She’s beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“Do you want to play it?” she asked.

I did. More than almost anything.

“After dinner,” I said, and put my guitar back in her case. My fingers couldn’t resist one final swipe over the polished wood, but I managed to tear them away.

I couldn’t close her up in the dark again, though. I left the case open on my bed, breathing in the air under the earth.

Apart from anything else, she’d help conceal the messy truth hiding under my bed.

With Koko in my pocket and Abbey the guitar beside me, I traveled alone to school the next morning. Gregor was driving, and I could feel him watching me.

It was no part of my plan to provoke suspicions. So before I got out of the car, I said, “Thank you, Gregor. For stopping the Inheritor. You saved my life.”

Alex, who was an accomplished liar, had taught me as best she could. Keep it simple, she’d said. It sounds more sincere.

Gregor’s teeth flashed. “You’re welcome,” he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “All part of the job.”

Which job would that be?
I thought, but my face stayed, I hoped, in the same grateful smile. I was still wearing it when I got out, to be escorted by Zaneisha past the crowd of journalists waiting for me.

“Why are you so happy, Tegan?” yelled one of them.

Hah. If only they knew.

I was hoping that I’d have time to find Bethari before music, and maybe even enough privacy to talk about what I’d found—and to apologize for destroying her computer.

But Abdi was waiting just inside the entrance. He was still gorgeous, those light eyes striking in his dark face. He still looked completely uninterested in me.

He had a flute case in one hand, though. That was new.

“I’m supposed to show you to music,” he said.

“No need,” I said politely.

“The teacher told me to show you.”

“Well, that’s fine, but I know the way,” I said, sharper this time. Zaneisha had made me memorize the building plan and every escape route.

I glanced at her for confirmation, but she was no help at all. She and Abdi could have an expressionless face-off.

Except that Abdi’s bored blankness had broken into open annoyance. As I turned back to argue the point, he grabbed Abbey’s case from my hand and took off.

“Give her back!” I snarled, and raced after him. Had it been my wallet he’d snatched, I would have tackled him. Unfortunately, he was holding something much more precious, and I couldn’t risk him dropping her. While I dithered, he dodged through a slalom course of students coming the other way and started down a flight of stairs.

Mistake. I took a deep breath and swung myself over the edge. I heard students gasping behind me, but I twisted and landed square on the bottom step, facing Abdi as he came to a halt, inches from my nose.

Okay, it was a stupid stunt. Jumping onto stairs is far more dangerous than onto flat ground, where you can easily roll to take the impact. But I’m light, and I land well, and it definitely got Abdi’s attention.

I snatched Abbey away from him, cradling her tenderly. “What is
wrong
with you?”

“People are staring,” he said tensely, and then walked through the door. I caught snatches of instruments being tuned.

He’d led me right to music, just as he’d said he would.

People
were
staring. “That’s not
my
fault,” I told Zaneisha, who had caught up with us and was resolutely avoiding eye contact.

I hoisted Abbey a little higher and stepped into the classroom. What a great start to the day.

When I’d asked Koko for information about my music teacher, I’d been flooded with it. Kieran—one name—had a blunt nose, dark curls streaked with blond highlights, and an incredibly impressive record. He was a Wurundjeri man who’d been a session musician, a solo artist, a producer, a soundtrack designer, and, in semesters when he felt like it, a teacher at Elisa M, his alma mater. I couldn’t imagine anyone more different from Just-Call-Me Eden. Kieran’s students were all quiet and disciplined, seated in a semicircle, straight-backed on stools with table attachments.

No one would be napping in his class.

There were instruments and equipment at the back that I longed to get my hands on and at least two recording studios elsewhere in the school. Koko could do a lot of basic production for me, but a real studio was still the golden apple of the recording world.

However, I wasn’t going anywhere or touching anything until Kieran let me. And right now, perched on my own stool in front of them all, I wasn’t sure that he’d even let me stay in the class. Now that I’d met Kieran, I could sort of see why Abdi had obeyed his instructions instead of my wishes.

So far, under the guise of “getting to know my new student,” I’d answered questions about my training (one guitar lesson a week was clearly horrifying), my practice hours (not too shabby, thank god—but I’d had to admit I hadn’t really practiced since I’d woken up), and my performance credentials (apparently playing for old people’s homes didn’t count).

By the end of the interrogation, I was more hiding behind Abbey than holding her, and the line of sweat down my back owed very little to the warm classroom.

“Well,” he said finally, “I can see we have some work to do.”

I nodded, thoroughly cowed. Abdi must have been
loving
it, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off Kieran to check.

“Who are your favorite musicians?”

“The Beatles,” I said. “Ani DiFranco. Nina Simone. Bruce Springsteen. I like, um, Janis Joplin, Vienna Teng, Janna van der Zaag, and…”

Some of my classmates were nodding, which was a pleasant surprise. I should really have expected it—they were musicians, like me. Of course they’d be more informed than Bethari on the obscure music of the last century. But they didn’t seem terribly excited by my choices.