Asimov's Science Fiction: September 2013 (15 page)

His chances were looking bad. It would be good if Shona and R.J. could make it to L5. But—how had the cops known he was here? Only Shona, Fari, and Isaac were supposed to know. Most likely they'd arrested Shona on her way to Nairobi. With her cogmod, she was fragile. A skilled interrogator would be able to pull all the right levers and make her into emotional jelly. It wasn't her fault. She wasn't strong like Fari. He remembered Fari's vow to fight the cops to the end:
I'd die first.
He realized that he still loved her. He always would. If he could get the handy to turn on, maybe he could leave a message on it saying so.

William Guerrero's crawlie was damaged, and its impact on the glacier had buried it below four meters of soft snow. When Isaac Mwinyi didn't hear from him the next morning, he went to the glacier, found the body, and recovered the handy. He arrived at Nairobi Spaceport in time to give it to Shona Reisner, telling her that due to the worsening global situation, he had decided that it was safer to get it to L5 rather than leaving it on Earth as originally planned. Mwinyi's fate is not recorded, but he is presumed to have been killed the following year along with the rest of the Earth's population. Guerrero-Mwinyi Library on L5 is named for the two mountaineers.

Leah Cypess
(
www.leahcypess.com
)
is the author of two young adult fantasy novels,
Mistwood
and
Nightspell,
and numerous short stories. She lives near Boston with her family, and is at work on a new fantasy novel that will be published in early 2014. One of Leah's most recent short stories for us, "Nanny's Day," (March 2012) is currently a finalist for the Nebula Award. The tale below owes its inspiration to Michael A. Burstein's, "Kaddish for the Last Survivor," and its title to Vaclav Havel's, "The Need for Transcendence in the Postmodern World."

The second Zach's mother walked into his room, he knew it was time for the Talk. She was biting the side of her lip, the way she did when she was really nervous, and she gave his picture of Amy an extra long look before she sat down on his bed.

Not that he was surprised. It was his seventeenth birthday, and the copy of
Dealing with the Teen Years
she kept on her nightstand recommended seventeen as the ideal age for chip implantation. Which made sense: it only became legal at sixteen, and was usually impossible by the age of twenty, due to decreased brain plasticity.

Secretly reading that book had been one of the best moves he'd ever made. Now he always knew what to expect when his mother got nervous.

"Zach," his mother said. Despite all the signs of nervousness, her voice was casual and even.
Dealing with the Teen Years
also recommended "practicing important conversations" and "preparing responses for expected arguments." Though Zach was pretty sure his mother had no response prepared for what he was going to say.

Since she had done all that preparation, though, it seemed polite to at least let her get through her speech. He minimized his v-screen and said, "Hey."

"So." His mother smoothed the blanket over his mattress. "I know a couple of your friends have chips now, and I was wondering if you were thinking about it."

Zach grunted. Suddenly, despite the fact that he had prepared for this, he wanted to put off the inevitable.

"I also know that some of your friends have opted not to be chipped, and your father and I will respect your decision if that's what you want. But we really think getting a chip will be the best thing for you."

Amy's parents had thought the same thing. They had even paid big bucks for the custom add-ons she had asked for.

His mother's brow furrowed, and Zach realized that she was waiting for a response. He tried to think of one. "Uh—why?"

"Because it can be diff icult, in today's world, to hold on to who you are and what makes you unique." She launched into the speech with evident relief. "It's so easy to be swallowed up by the majority, and that might even seem like an attractive option to you. But a world without diversity is a poorer world..."

He tuned her out while pasting an attentive look on his face. The school had been organizing discussion groups about chips for months now; he knew all the arguments and all the counterarguments. They merged in his head into one vast swirl of confusion. It didn't matter. He had made his decision, so he didn't have to think about it anymore.

His mother drew in her breath, and he blinked at her. She was looking at him with concern; maybe his attentive look had slipped. She winced, then said, "If you... want... we can get the version without the Holocaust."

Wow. They really wanted him to get the chip.

But the wince helped. It seemed to stake out some part of the decision as his own instead of his parents'. There was something about his mother's pride in his accomplishments that could bring out the worst in Zach—as if her happiness wrapped itself around him and stif led him, leaving him no space to breathe. It was easier to be rational around her when she wasn't completely thrilled with him.

"All right," he said with a shrug. "I'll check out both versions and decide which one I want."

His mother peered at him. This was not the response she had been prepared for. "You're sure? You mean... you've already... you're going to get a chip?"

"I am," Zach said. And then, since she seemed to have nothing to say, he pulled up his v-screen again. Hopefully, that would signify that the conversation was over.

The v-screen's audio pickup was obviously working well, since the first thing that popped up was an article called, "Are Chips Making Society More Fragmented?" The answer seemed obvious, so Zach ignored the article and switched back over to the game he had been playing.

But his mother wasn't done. "Zach. I'm very happy to hear that, but I want you to be sure."

"I am," he said. And then, for no reason, "Amy already got one."

"Oh." He could see her struggling with herself. She took a deep breath. "This should be your own decision, Zach. Not something you're doing to be more like your girlfriend.

" A harsh laugh slipped out of him. "More
like
her? Not really."

"Zach. I know how you feel about Amy, but the two of you are still in high school. I know it's hard to see now, but someday... "

"Stop it," Zach said, already regretting the slip. There was a reason he usually kept his love life off limits in conversations with his parents. "Not someday. Today."

"What?"

"Amy and I broke up."

"Oh." She shot another startled glance at the picture on his desk. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

"Zach—"

"It's fine." He restarted the game and scowled with concentration at the new challenge he had just opened. "I just don't want to talk about it. It has nothing to do with the chip."

Which was a lie. But his mother didn't question it, since it was what she wanted to hear.

He saw Amy in school the next day, and for the first time in a week he didn't turn and head the other way. He didn't head toward her, either, though that had been his plan. He just stood and looked at her, standing like an idiot in the middle of the hall, feeling as if his heart had frozen and was blocking his ability to breathe.

He had never believed she would break up with him. Even after she got her chip, even after the school's discussion group on how chips could change relationships, even after days of subtle but definite distance between them. He hadn't believed it until she had told him, and then...

Well, then he hadn't handled it very well.

"I don't want to hurt you," she had said, after about ten minutes of him making a fool of himself. "And I'm sorry, Zach, I'm so, so, sorry. It's just that I'm part of something, something that is big and important and that shouldn't disappear from the world. I don't want to be a part of making it disappear. I have an identity and a purpose, and I want my children to have that, too."

"We can make our own identity." Even as he'd said it, he had been grateful none of his friends were around to hear him begging. "We don't have to be tied down to the past. Cultures change all the time."

"Changing isn't the same as disappearing."

"You were Korean before! Do you think Koreans who haven't been chipped aren't real Koreans?"

She had flinched at that, making him shamefully glad. "No. But it's... it's more of me, now. It's the base of what I am, not just a part of who I am. I can't imagine who I would be if I wasn't Korean."

"I can."

She had stepped back then, giving him a look that made it clear that not only was he not getting it, he had just said exactly the wrong thing. He had seen her drawing away and known there was no way to stop her.

"It doesn't have to be like this!" He couldn't help sounding desperate. "Don't blame it on the chip. You and I, we were talking about
forever."
He had almost been crying. Okay, not
almost.
"I love you, Amy. We were planning to go to the same college. We were happy. How can something be good if it ruins that? What's more important than people being happy?"

"I know you don't understand." If only she had been crying too. But her face, though pale, had been calm. "I don't expect you to, Zach."

He hadn't expected to either.

But today, he was full of hope for the first time in days. He took a deep breath, then another, then another, until it was almost easy. And then he walked right up to her, as if he had a right to, and said, "Hey."

Her friends exchanged looks, then scattered. They didn't even bother making excuses.

"Hey," Amy said warily. Her dark eyes were red-rimmed, but Zach knew better than to assume she had been crying over their breakup. The first couple of weeks after implantation were said to be tough.

"I'm getting my chip this afternoon," he said. "My parents talked me into it."

Amy peered at him from under her red-streaked bangs. She knew him better than anyone. She knew his parents hadn't talked him into it.

"Good," she said finally. "I think you should get a chip."

"I'm aware of that."

"I think everyone should know where they come from."

"Spare me the pep talk."

She narrowed her eyes. "I also think you should be doing it for the right reasons." Zach swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of the overlap between grand romantic gestures and pathetically desperate wussiness. "I'm doing it for you."

"Oh, Zach."

"Once I have a chip too, I'll understand you again, and we'll—"

She shook her head so sharply that the ends of her black hair whipped into his face. He hadn't realized he was standing so close to her. But she didn't step back, so neither did he.

"Don't you want that?" He had def initely crossed over the
wussiness
border now, but he couldn't make himself stop. "You said I couldn't understand you anymore... "

"You won't be getting the same chip as me, Zach!"

Zach tried to imagine telling his parents that instead of the Jewish chip, he wanted the Korean one. Even in his mind, he couldn't pull it off. "I read this article last week. It said the gap between the chipped and the non-chipped is far greater than the gap between those whose chips are from different cultural backgrounds."

"That makes sense." Amy stepped back, squashing Zach's impulse to lean in and kiss her. Which was probably a good thing. "Now that I have the chip, I feel a connection to everyone who's proud of their differences, even if they're not different in the same way I am."

"So once I have a chip—"

"Zach." She bit her upper lip, a habit she had developed back when she was trying to cure her overbite. He had always found that habit oddly sexy, but now all he felt was a roil of misery and confusion. "Don't. Even if you get a chip, we're not getting back together."

This time, he was the one who stepped back. "Fabulous idea, then, isn't it? After all this time we've spent learning to respect our common humanity, to know that we're all the same deep down, let's divide people up into distinct little groups again. Like we don't have enough ways of making people more distant from each other."

"Zach." She stepped forward, and he held up both hands as if to ward her off. "You already are distant from almost everyone who exists. The chips make you closer to the people you
can
be closer to." She bit her upper lip again. "But that's not the point. If that's how you feel, you shouldn't get a chip."

She was so calm, so reasonable. He couldn't even make her mad anymore. It was like they had broken up a year ago instead of last week.

She hadn't cried at all. Not over him. He had; he had sobbed in his room the night they broke up, with his music cranked up loud so no one could hear. But he was sure she had not cried over him, not one single tear. And he knew it was horrible, but he wished that she would.

The silence stretched between them. She kept her beautiful dark eyes on him, careful and considering. It wasn't just that they were red and puffy. They were... old. Older than seventeen. Burdened with knowledge and experience.

I don't want eyes like that,
Zach thought suddenly. He drew in a ragged breath, and heard himself say, "I hate you for this."

Amy blinked. Then she reached out and touched his cheek. "No, Zach. You don't."

He'd had a response all ready, but her touch froze him. "How can you—

" She smiled, a smile as old as her eyes. "Because I know what it's like to really be hated."

And soon, he guessed, so would he.

He didn't cancel the implantation. He didn't have the energy to face that fight, not after how excited his parents had been all day. At least someone was happy.

"So," his father said, in the gray-walled waiting room. "About the Holocaust... "

The woman in the seat next to them, a black woman with a bored-looking teenage boy, glanced at them and then looked away. Zach wished his father would lower his voice.

"You know," his father said, not lowering his voice, "the whole reason the original chips were developed was because of the Holocaust. Because the last survivors were dying, and people were saying it never happened. They wanted to make sure the next generation would never forget."