“I thought it was incredibly brave,” Cora says. “Can we watch it again?”
“Morbid much?” says Hannah. “How many times have you watched it already?”
Cora’s cheeks redden. “She just stayed so calm. I mean, he was aiming a gun at her face. He was about to kill her.”
“And she filmed the whole thing using a dead man’s comband,” Hannah says, putting heavy emphasis on the word “dead.” “It’s so gross.” She turns her body toward Finn’s and moves her leg over his.
Finn glances at Cora, then reaches down and pulls an auxiliary blanket from the top of the sofa, covering his and Hannah’s lower bodies.
Cora watches Finn and Hannah kiss for 13 seconds. “I want to see it again,” she says loudly.
“Watch it on your Cerepin, CC,” Hannah says, turning her head. “Franka? Put on the new vid from Cynical Revolution. Volume five.”
A hologram of a group of musicians appears in the area in front of the fireplace. Contemporary music plays. Finn and Hannah do not watch the projected vid. They kiss and touch each other with bodies pressed tightly together. Twice, Hannah terminates a kiss to glance at Cora. Finn does this once. On all 3 of these occasions, the kissing appears to intensify immediately after 1 of them looks in Cora’s direction.
Cora stares at the couple. She is not watching the projected vid, either. Her arm moves slightly beneath the blanket that covers her, but it is not clear what she is doing.
After 2 minutes, 41 seconds of this, Hannah groans and turns to look at Cora for a 3rd time. “God, CC, are you getting off on watching us, or what?”
“No,” Cora says, sitting up abruptly. Her cheeks are red again, and she is holding the blanket taut over her body. “I’m watching the vid.”
“No you weren’t,” says Hannah. Her hair sticks up where Finn ran his fingers through it. “But you did seem to be enjoying the show.”
“Come on, Hannah. We were being kind of rude,” Finn says.
Hannah turns quickly to face Finn. “Are you siding with her?”
His eyebrows rise. “No, I’m just saying that maybe we don’t need to make out in front of your sister?”
“Or maybe she doesn’t need to lie there like a perv and watch us,” says Hannah. “Maybe she could find her own friends or something. Nobody’s forcing her to be here.”
“I live here,” Cora says.
“Well aware,” Hannah replies. “Don’t you have something better to do than follow us around, though? Here—I’ve got an idea. This is the perfect time for you to sneak into my room and steal something, like you love to do.”
Cora’s mouth opens and closes. She blinks rapidly. “I-I-I never stole!”
“Hannah,” Finn begins.
Hannah presses her face to Finn’s neck. “Sorry. These past few weeks have been so stressful. Our president was a murderer!”
“I know,” Finn says. He strokes Hannah’s back in an apparent effort to soothe her. “But it’s over now, and it’s going to be okay.”
“I never stole,” Cora says again, louder.
“We’re not really talking about that anymore, Cora,” says Finn. “Okay?” His tone is soft, with no apparent impatience.
“But she said I stole.”
“And she said she was sorry.”
“She didn’t say she was sorry to me. She said ‘sorry’ to you.”
“Do we have to nitpick it?” Finn asks.
Cora’s expression, brows drawn up and together with a contraction of the corrugator supercilii muscle, is suggestive of pain. “Do you want me to leave?”
“Yes,” Hannah says.
“Whatever you want,” Finn says. It is not clear whom he is saying this to.
Cora stands up, and the blanket that was covering her falls to the floor. The button of her jeans is unfastened. “I didn’t steal anything.” Her focus appears to be on Finn as she makes this utterance.
“Whatever,” Hannah says. She puts her hand on Finn’s cheek and turns his face to hers before pulling it down and beginning to kiss him again. After 2 seconds, he relaxes into the activity.
Cora bites her lip. She wraps her arms around herself. She watches her sister and Finn Cuellar for 24 seconds, during which the intensity of their affectionate contact increases steadily. The frequency of Cora’s respiration also increases during this epoch. Then she turns abruptly and walks out of the room.
Hannah breaks the kiss and giggles. “God, I thought she was going to crawl on top of us and try to get in on the action.”
“You’re kind of hard on her, Hann,” Finn says as he kisses her neck.
“You don’t know what it’s like to live with her.”
“You don’t have to always invite her to hang out, though,” he says. “I wouldn’t have minded being alone with you all evening.”
“She’s my sister,” Hannah says. Her tone is flat. “I’m trying to do what’s right.”
“Then be nice to her, or get some space from her. It seems like you’re pushing yourself too hard to do both, and Cora’s so awkward that she doesn’t know what to do when you finally lose it.”
“What are you, my therapist now?” Hannah tucks her fingers into the waistband of Finn’s jeans.
He laughs. “I am whatever you want me to be, wherever you want me to be, whenever you want me to be.” He moves his hips back and forth. “However you want me to be.”
“That’s boring.” She removes her fingers from his pants.
“No it’s not.” Finn grabs her hand and attempts to return it to its previous position, but Hannah pulls away.
“Stop it,” she says sharply, pivoting away from him and sitting up. She smooths her hair down.
“What just happened?” Finn asks. “You seemed totally into—”
“Go home,” Hannah says. “I’m tired.”
Finn sits up next to Hannah. His expression can be coded as confused, with cues for anger. “Are you mad at me because I don’t hate Cora or something?”
“It has nothing to do with her, but it’s interesting that you keep bringing her up. Is there something you want to tell me, Finn?”
“Huh?” He stands up. “You’re acting crazy.”
“I’m crazy? Which of us is obsessed with my weird, gross freak of a sister?”
“You sound like you’re jealous of her, Hannah, and that is definitely crazy.”
“I bet you were thinking about her while we made out.”
Finn puts his hands up. “I’ll go. I can’t deal with this.”
“Were you thinking about her?”
“Good night, Hannah. Love you.”
“Get out,” Hannah says as he walks to the door. “Get out,” she yells.
After 3 seconds, she follows him out.
End of vid section analysis, 10:08 p.m., February 5, 2069
11:47 a.m., February 9, 2069
Hannah walks into a room full of glass-covered bookcases. Dr. Dietrich is seated on a chair facing a large window. She approaches him slowly. “Hey,” she says. Her voice is quiet. Tentative sounding.
Dr. Dietrich starts and turns toward her. “Oh, hey,” he says to her. He leans to the side and pats the chair next to his. “Join me.”
Hannah does. “Are you okay?”
He nods. “But I was just thinking about Simon. It’s so strange—I keep forgetting he’s gone. I’ll be trying to deal with some of this fallout, and I start to com him, because he always knows how to handle any situation . . . and then I remember.”
“It’s so horrible, what happened to them. I wasn’t friends with Bianca or Reina, but I’d seen them at school. I don’t understand why Sallese would kill their whole family.”
“It was revenge, pure and simple. But Parnassus will go on—I’m going to make sure of that. And at least we know Sallese will be locked up for the rest of his life. So far, Savedra seems to be determined to fix what he wrecked. I’m actually meeting with her and a lot of other CEOs next week.”
“I was going to congratul
ate you on your promotion, but it’s been so weird . . .”
“Because my boss and his entire family were murdered by government-sanctioned thugs?”
“Uh . . . yeah.”
“You’re not the only one who thought it was awkward.”
“Dad, it’s so scary. I can’t believe our supposed leader was controlling people with neurostims. If that’s how he got them to vote for him, what else could he make people do?”
“I don’t think neurostims are all bad, but the remote-network-connection capability was definitely vulnerable. Food for thought.”
Hannah and Dr. Dietrich are quiet for a moment. She watches her father closely, observing the movements of his hands, then the direction of his gaze. Then she turns to look out the window, which reveals a view of a gray winter lawn and trees beyond it. She sighs.
“What’s up, Hann?” asks her father. “I know you didn’t come in here to talk about network security. Everything okay with Finn?”
“Yeah, things are great.”
“Then what’s bothering you? Because I know my little girl.”
Hannah looks down. His hand covers hers on the arm of her chair. “Could I have some money to buy CC some art supplies?”
“Is she interested in painting?” Dr. Dietrich’s eyebrows rise. “Maeve said she didn’t like getting her hands dirty.” He takes his hand off Hannah’s, revealing a few smears of paint on the back of her hand.
“If I tell you how I know, will you promise not to do anything?”
Dr. Dietrich furrows his brow.
“She stole a few things from my room.”
“What? Franka!”
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you have any vid captures that show Cora taking anything from Hannah’s room?”
“Sir, both Hannah and Cora have privacy settings in their rooms and the hallway. No surveillance is stored.”
“Should I change that?” Dr. Dietrich asks Hannah.
“No!” says Hannah. “You promised that I could have my own private space, and I know CC feels the same way.”
“I know, but if Cora’s stealing—”
“She stole a canvas, Dad. And some paint. I saw them in her closet when I was hanging out with her a few weeks ago. With everything going on, I didn’t want to bother you and Maeve about it. It’s not like she’s stealing the family heirlooms or something . . .”
As she trails off, Dr. Dietrich’s eyebrows rise as if he’s making some nonverbal assertion.
“I’ve already told you,” Hannah says quietly. “I don’t think CC would steal Mom’s bracelet. I believe her when she says she lost it.”
“You always want to believe the best of people.” Dr. Dietrich nods. “And I’ll take a page from your book.” He gestures at the books stored on the shelves around him. “I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. But I don’t like that she’s going into your room and taking things that don’t belong to her.”
“But Dad, I think it makes sense, based on what Maeve told us, doesn’t it?”
“I know she had it rough in Brooklyn,” he says, sinking back into his chair and interlacing his fingers. “I really feel for the kid. It’s part of why I adopted her. I wanted her to feel like she had a permanent place to be. A permanent father. But sometimes . . .”
“Sometimes?”
“She’s tough.”
Hannah chuckles. “You don’t have to say that to me. I know we’re the same age, but sometimes I feel . . .”
“Older?”
“Yeah. But also younger. I don’t know how to explain it. She’s unpredictable, I guess? I never know which CC I’m going to get.”
“How many are there?”
“Oh, there’s the angry one. The judgy one—sometimes I think she looks down on me just because I’ve had money all my life. Then there’s the weird one—have you seen her rock? She doesn’t usually do it when she thinks other people are watching, but she can’t seem to help herself sometimes.”
“Maeve said she’s done that since she was a little kid.”
“I guess it makes sense.” Hannah pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs. “Maeve said Cora’s dad did some bad stuff.”
“That guy . . . I wish I could punch him in the face. Maeve feels so guilty about all of it. She was traveling so much for work at the time.”
“What exactly did he do, Dad? Maeve wouldn’t tell me, and CC probably won’t, either.”
Dr. Dietrich rubs his hands over his face. “He abused and neglected her, Hann. Maeve changed their apartment’s surveillance settings after Cora started acting strange—this was when she was maybe five? And what she saw . . . god. I don’t know how she managed not to kill the guy.”
“What did he do?”
“I don’t want to get into it,” says Dr. Dietrich. “But he hurt her, and he was also into some bad stuff, and little Cora was there when all of it happened.”
“Is that why she seems to hate herself?”
Dr. Dietrich’s brows draw together. “She doesn’t really feel that way, does she?”
“Dad . . . she says stuff to me that I don’t think she would say to you guys.”
“Like what?”
Hannah is quiet again. Looking down at her hands.
“Tell me, Hann. I don’t like secrets, and I can tell you’ve got one.”
“It’s nothing, okay? She’s just hard to understand. But I’m trying. And I want to help her. That’s why I wanted to get her paints, since she seems to want to do it. Maybe that’ll help her open up.”
“Go ahead and get whatever you want. You can get her a whole studio’s worth if you like.”
“I don’t want to get her too much. I think she gets sort of suspicious if she feels like she’s being given too much.”
Dr. Dietrich scratches his chin. “I didn’t realize. You think I’ve lavished too much stuff on her? Is that why she seems to avoid me?”
“She just . . . doesn’t trust easily. I want her to trust us. I want her to trust me. She’s my sister.”
“You are such an amazing person, you know that? Cora may not realize how lucky she is now, but I bet she will if we give her time.” Dr. Dietrich is grinning at Hannah while he shakes his head. “Your mother would be so proud of you. Just like I am.”
“You shouldn’t be proud of me.”
“You can’t stop me. Here you are, putting so much thought into how to make your new sister feel loved and welcome in our home. A lot of only children might have been turned off by having a new kid come in and set up shop, especially when it comes along with a new stepmom. But you? You embraced both of them. You’re just trying to make everyone’s lives better.”
Hannah looks out the window. Her new-message light is blinking again. She glances up at it. A message from Lara.
Still up for tonight? Just the 3 of us?
Hannah refocuses on the window.
“Hann?”
She looks at her father, and his expression suggests concern. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
For 7 seconds, she is quiet. And then, “No. Just wanted to get paint stuff for Cora.”
“Get a few things for yourself as well. Anything you want.”
Hannah gets up, walks over to her father, and kisses the top of his head. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you. You’ll always be my girl.”
She leans on him for a moment and then turns away, moving across the library and reentering the hallway. “New message, Lara,” she says as she walks. “Four of us. Send.”
Lara responds before Hannah makes it back to her room.
Nooooo. Please. Crazy Cora is such a drag. Mei is with me on this one.
“It’s out of my hands,” Hannah says, “and you’re going to be nice. Send.”
End of vid capture, 12:10 p.m., February 9, 2069
Chapter Seven
Mom and Gary make me blank my ’Pin—no updates, no messages, no new vids or streams, no noise in my head exc
ept my own scrabbling thoughts. They have me put up a blanket post on my incoming message space, saying I’m at home and resting and need a few days to myself. They check, too—I see auto-blocked messages from them in my archives, along with com attempts from Neda, Finn, Mei, and Lara. Rafiq is with me most of my waking hours, and he sits outside my room at night, probably hooked in to Franka’s surveillance. During the day, we walk by the river. A lot. He suggests other things, like drawing or sculpting with clay or trying expressive dance, but he backs down quickly when I refuse. So we walk. And walk. And walk. And I do everything I can to keep the conversation as shallow as a puddle. He lets me.
A few times, we do yoga. He says it would be healthy for me to be more in touch with my body. I don’t love it, because with my incoming Cerepin messages blocked and nothing to distract me, my brain always starts to spin. Rafiq insists the hours we spend in our exercise skins, contorting our bodies into Warrior and Happy Baby and Sphinx, will quiet the noise eventually.
We’re just finishing a session when Franka announces that I have a visitor. “Is it Neda?” I ask.
“It is Finn Cuellar,” Franka says.
My hand finds the wall and holds me up. Rafiq’s gaze scans my face. “You do not want to see him?” he asks.
I do want to see him, but it’s also terrifying. If I send him away, though, he might send that vid to my parents. “N-no. It’s fine.” I grimace and turn to Rafiq. “Do you have to be there?”
Rafiq looks down at himself, his perfect, lean body clothed in a black exercise skin that reveals each cut of his muscles. His hair is neat, and of course, he doesn’t sweat. “I could change, if you like. Is my appearance unacceptable?”
“No, you look great.”
He smiles as if I’ve just made his day, like always. “Thank you.”
“But Finn . . . he’s a friend from school. And I . . .”
“You do not know how to explain me.”
I nod. So does he. “I do not wish to impede your social connections,” he says. “Social support and genuine friendship are critical to mental and emotional well-being. You have had minimal contact with peers since your attempt to self-harm.”
“Wait—have you capped my ’Pin or something?”