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?”
Dad rolled his eyes and thrust it into my hands. “It’s a present, Kaia. You have to open it.”
“Happy Birthday, sweetie,” Mom added, rubbing my back.
I untied the curly white ribbon and handed it to my mother, then ripped off the paper. She took that, too, and wadded it up so it would fit in the recycling. A necklace nestled inside the white tissue paper. The flat pendant looked like antique silver, with what appeared to be a palm branch stamped across the front, a laurel wreath on the back.
I looked up at my dad, confused. “What is it?”
“Something that your grandfather collected on a travel. He wasn’t supposed to take it, of course, but seeing that he’s been in his grave for nearly ten years, I doubt he can get sanctioned now.”
I snorted. “You don’t know the Elders all that well, then.”
“You know the Elders decided to trace familial lines back as far as possible prior to evacuating Earth Before, and we managed to go back centuries for most people. Your grandfather took it off our paternal founder on her deathbed.”
All of the families chosen to resettle Genesis had reverted to the surnames of their paternal founders, the point where a genetic line began, and ours belonged to the Vespasians of Rome.
New place, new name. New beginning, fresh start.
I started to blow off the basic knowledge Dad spouted, then his actual words sank in. “You’re telling me this came from Julia Berenice? Queen Berenice?”
“Yes. The symbols represented the love between her and Titus. Or the relationship between Judea and Rome, to anyone who might have been suspicious,” my mom interjected.
Berenice, our paternal founder, secretly bore children for Titus, an emperor of Rome. They never married and were kept apart the whole of their love affair due to various political intricacies. Titus died young, and until the advent of time travel, Berenice’s history had been lost. It had been a surprise to the geneticists when they’d mapped my grandfather’s genes and traced our family to the Vespasians, since no known male heirs to the family existed.
“I love it,” I told my parents, and it was the truth. I’d never held anything more symbolic of my past, or more symbolic of the future. War and hatred had torn Earth Before apart, but Genesis had been born of the desire for peace and harmony. We had clawed our way into the wilderness of space after years of destruction, and as a Historian, I had a duty to ensure those moments did not come to pass again. I fingered the metal as my dad fastened it around my neck, prouder than ever to be part of the future.
I kissed my parents good night, thanking them again for the precious gift. Once outside, I slid into the automated hovercar and swiped my wrist tattoo—the bio-tats resembled barcodes from Earth Before in pattern, but instead of black lines, the pale stripes under my skin were golden in color—instructing it to return me to the Academy. A moment later, the thin gold strands flashed brighter for a split second, delivering a text comm from Analeigh straight into my mind.
You’re going to be late. 2nd Offense. Speed it up.
Her constant worry made me smile, and I spoke a soft response into the tattoo before a flick of my wrist sent it back through the wireless network that connected all Historians.
On my way, Mother.
The manicured pathways and stately brick buildings of Sanchi flew past the windows. The terraform on this planet mimicked an upscale college campus on Earth Before, a deliberate reflection of our industry—academia. Then the hover transport picked up speed, the bushes and stone and pretentious architecture blurring together until Sanchi looked like anywhere else.
Chapter Three
The Historian Academy, a massive five story redbrick building surrounded by carefully landscaped pathways and shrubbery, was quiet when I arrived. The barren hallways echoed the sounds of my footsteps, making me feel strangely alone, but once the door to my room clicked open the sound of laughter and conversation assured me that was far from the truth.
My friends were sprawled on the couch and crammed into the desk chairs in the common room, personal comps on their laps or within reach, a tiny lake of colored note cards spread in the center of the floor. Analeigh sat beside the scraps of pink, yellow, blue, and green, mixing them up with both hands. Levi, a sometimes addition to our foursome, waited at Analeigh’s desk, his gaze turned toward the window that stared out onto the quad. Sarah lounged sideways on the sofa, her long legs draped across her boyfriend Oz’s lap. His thick, inky black curls fell toward his eyes, which were a stormy gray color that held an aloofness that kept the rest of us at arm’s length. Oz had always been polite but separate.
Lately he’d seemed even more standoffish, but I’d given up trying to figure him out a long time ago. Not my boyfriend, not my problem.
Seeing the two of them reminded me of tomorrow night, and my fingers went to the necklace hanging against my chest. Ever since the physicists that had perfected time travel combined their research with that of the geneticists mapping ancestral lines, we’d been able to predict True Companions. One true loves. To most of us, just Trues. On our seventeenth birthday we could find out their names and a few details … if we wanted to know.
Of course, the single most compatible person for each of us that would ever live in the history or future of the universes had only the tiniest probability of living here and now. The chance was so mathematically unlikely that many people never bothered to find out at all. Of those who did, no one pushed that button expecting to be able to have that person. It was mostly fun.
But somehow, Sarah and Oz had won the impossible lottery. They were the only living Trues in all of Genesis.
Ever since his name had shown up on Sarah’s card earlier this year he’d been hanging around more, but he didn’t seem interested in being friends with the rest of us. He tolerated Analeigh and me since we were friends with Sarah, but it didn’t take a genius to see that the notoriety of their connection killed him. Oz and Sarah were pretty much the most famous people in the System. Except maybe Jonah.