CHAPTER ONE
JOSHUA STOOD IN THE WRECKAGE of what used to be a ship, staring out into the night. Pieces of the crash were everywhere, from shards of plastiglass to remnants of the cockpit. Scattered cargo containers littered the ground, most of them cracked, some of them crushed under each other. Though his mind rapidly collected details of the crash, nothing he observed told him anything important. He didn’t know why he was on the ship or where it had been going, nor did he remember the impact. Even more disturbing, he didn’t know who he was.
In the distance, he heard the whine of other engines approaching. Stumbling out of the debris, he climbed the hill. The roar of ships grew louder and lights burst over the hill, blinding him. He put up shaking hands to ward off the glare.
Shadowy figures emerged in the swirling dust, and soon Joshua found himself surrounded by medics and security police, all in the chaos of engine noise, commands, and questions. He didn’t recognize their uniforms, but they all spoke Common.
The transports they used were intraplanetary class, not designed for space travel. His mind registered this and the fact that none of them were equipped with weapons. He wondered how he knew that or why that particular bit of information stood out to him.
A medic found him and led him into one of the transports. The bright interior made him blink, but he could see the hull was constructed with hexagonal shapes and the dominant color was a sterile white.
He caught his thin, gangly reflection in the wide windows that spanned the hull. Deep, liquid red eyes stared back at him. The two medics in the transport with him didn’t have red eyes. In fact, no one that he’d met so far looked like him. There was something odd and untouched about him that he couldn’t quite reconcile. He realized that everyone else he’d encountered so far had imperfections, small scars or weathered skin, but when he looked down at his hands he saw only smooth, perfect skin. Nothing about him told him anything.
The medic asked his name.
“Joshua,” he said, the answer coming easily.
“Surname or last name?” the dark-haired man asked.
Nothing came to mind so he shook his head.
“Do you know where you came from?”
Again, he had no answer for that. Was that odd? It seemed like he should know that.
“It’s amazing,” the medic said as he flashed a light in Joshua’s eyes, “that you don’t have a scratch on you. Not even a bruise. You’re very lucky.”
“I am?”
“Yes, very.”
He thought about that. Whatever had happened during the crash, he had been well-protected.
Who was he and where did he come from?
***
The cut on Caina’s hand hurt, but it wasn’t too bad. She sat in the hospital waiting room, clamping the kitchen towel around the wound. La Croix Medical Center had a shiny, new feel to it, like most things on the colony. Only fifty years old, Remington was the baby of the Twin Galactic Alliance, but there were definitely some advantages. Everything was new, and they’d needed a premier with colonial administration experience. Her dad fit the role perfectly. He was busy all the time with his new position, but she was happy for him.
The cut on her finger wasn’t a big deal. It wouldn’t take long to fix, though it had ruined her attempt to cook her Dad a birthday breakfast. The orange she’d been slicing nearly looked just like a flower until she’d nicked her finger on the final cut.
A medic and two colonial security officers walked into the hospital, escorting a tall young man. He looked lost and bewildered, his face smudged with soot and his clothes coated in dirt. He was almost childlike as he followed the officers. He was thin, good-looking, with dark brown hair. He turned to look around him and she caught a glimpse of red eyes. A lot of kids in the upper school levels like to change their eye color, but she’d never seen anything quite like this dark, blood red.
She watched as he stood obediently at the admissions desk until the medic gestured over to the waiting area. The young man walked over and sat down next to her. He seemed lost in thought, scanning the curved wooden beams and sparkling glass that made up the lobby.
His gaze made his way to her. She was unprepared for the intensity of his gaze, lost in the powerful red color.
She held up her towel-wrapped hand. “I cut myself making breakfast for my dad. It’s his birthday.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear that,” he said. His voice was deep, clearly past the cracking stage. He was probably four or five years older than she was.
“Did you get hurt?” she asked. He wouldn’t be in a medical center if he were perfectly healthy, of course; she was just curious.
“No,” he answered, and then hesitated as if realizing he should offer an explanation. “I was in a transport crash and I’m having trouble remembering things.”
“Were you the pilot?”
“Uh, no. Well, maybe. I don’t know,” he said, looking down at his hands.
This was getting better by the minute, she thought. “Do your parents know?”
“I don’t know who they…I mean, I don’t know.”
“Were you with your friends?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know.”
Astonished, she stared at him. “You really don’t remember anything.”
His mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Nope.”
She held up her cell band and asked, “Can I take your picture?”
“Sure.”
She stood up on her knees and held out her cell band. He looked at her with a confused expression and she almost laughed. “You have to look at the camera.”
This didn’t seem to clarify anything because he started searching around the room. She stifled a laugh. “No, silly, here,” she said, waving her wrist.
“The wrist thing?”
“Right.”
He caught on then and stared dutifully at the place where the lens would be.
She smiled, and the cell band made a helpful clicking sound. She sat back on her knees and examined the picture. She looked pretty good, her practiced smile not overly fake, but his face had a bewildered expression. She showed it to him, turning her wrist so he could see the picture on the screen.
“You look great. I look lost,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice.
“Do you want to take it over again?” she offered. She could reproduce her picture smile a million times.
“No,” he said thoughtfully. “I think it represents us fairly well.”
“I hope you figure everything out,” she said.
“Thanks. Me too.”
Her mother came back into the waiting room, stopping for just a microsecond when she noticed the boy, probably taking in his eyes. She smiled at Caina. “Okay, honey. They’re ready for you.”
Untangling her legs from beneath her, Caina gestured at the young man. “He was in a transporter accident and he has amnesia.”
Caina read the skepticism on her mother’s face, but there was a hint of sympathy, too. It was hard not to see how alone this boy was. It was in the way he looked too deeply into everyone’s eyes as if searching for something.
As if it might help, Caina added, “He doesn’t even know his name.”
“My name is Joshua,” he said apologetically, glancing over at Caina. “It’s one of the few things I seem to know.”
Caina blushed. “Oh. I didn’t ask, I guess. I’m Caina, and this is my mom.”
He smiled politely. “Nice to meet you.”
Her mom tilted her head, her expression speculative. “Take care.”
As they walked away, her mother asked, “Have they found his parents?”
“I don’t think so. No one was with him.”
“That’s sad.”
Caina could tell her mom was interested, maybe even worried about Joshua. “We should check up on him when they’re done with my hand.”
“Maybe.”
The medics fixed Caina’s cut in a matter of minutes. Caina examined the small bandage stuck on her finger, and wiggled it. It didn’t even hurt now, even though it had bled a lot at first. Her parents were calm when she’d cut it, but there had been a fair amount of blood. Being an only child, she was used to a lot of attention, even though her parents tried not to spoil her.
They’d thought about having other kids, but the three of them were pretty happy the way they were. At least they used to be. Caina wouldn’t tell her parents, but since they’d moved to Remington friends had been hard to find.
“Can we check on Joshua?” she asked her mother as they were walking out.
“Well, I’m sure he has people taking care of him.”
“He doesn’t know anyone and he doesn’t remember anything. I bet they don’t even know who his parents are.”
“They’ll run his DNA and find out soon enough. He probably doesn’t need anyone prying into his situation right now. What he needs is rest and some medical care, which he has.”
“But he’s all alone!” Caina protested. Couldn’t her mother see that? He had nobody.
“Caina, he won’t be alone forever. Someone is probably looking for him, and the last thing he needs is us bothering him.”
“Well, what if you’re wrong and he doesn’t have anyone?”
“Why are we arguing about this? We don’t know anything about him.”
Caina wouldn’t give up. There was something about Joshua that told her he needed someone to care about him. “Okay, then let’s make a deal.”
Her mother sighed loudly. “Every time you make a deal I lose. But okay, go ahead. What is the deal?”
“We check up on him. If the hospital hasn’t found his family and he doesn’t have anyone who knows him then we can visit him.”
“Deal. Because when we ask, I’m sure we’re going to find out his family has been contacted and he’s on his way back home.”
“Fine. It’s a deal.”
They called the hospital later that night, and they were told his family had not been found yet but he was being examined and to come back later the next day. Disappointed, but vindicated in her suspicion that he was alone, Caina glanced at the picture on her cell band. His dark red eyes stared back at her, his face empty and solemn.
***
Joshua did not have a lot of time to sit for long in the nicely furnished room they gave him. A knock came at the door soon after he arrived. He let in the thin man with dark skin. The man had a long, intelligent face and sharp eyes. A small patch on his shirt identified him as a psychologist.
“Hi, Joshua. I’m Dr. Calloway.” The psychologist’s gaze was direct, professional.
“Hi,” Joshua answered.
Dr. Calloway went to the stuffed easy chair next to the bed and sat down. Joshua stood by the window, his hands in his pockets
Dr. Calloway leaned back in the chair. “So you’re having trouble with your memory.”
Joshua gave a hesitant nod.
“I’ll be honest, we’re not sure if it’s a natural block caused by trauma or an erasure, but the solution is the same.”
“What’s an erasure?”
“It’s kind of a trend now. People wipe out memories they don’t want—heartbreaks, a negative experience, any number of things. I think it’s dangerous, but until someone proves it fries your brain, people will still do it. Some of them go wrong, but not many. It could be what happened to you, I don’t know.”
“So I did it to myself?”
“Maybe.” Dr. Calloway continued, “Normally we would leave remembering up to you, but colonial security has a concern.”
Joshua slid his gaze over to the doctor. He had arrived on a mystery ship and claimed not to remember anything. His friendly but thorough interrogation with Colonial Security last night had given them little information. In his opinion, they’d be stupid not to be concerned.
“We’re going to try a memory stimulant. It should help you focus.”
“Even if I had an erasure?”
“Nothing is truly gone. Your memories are always there, whether you can get them or not.”
Joshua found this comforting, and for the first time he relaxed. He felt like he could trust the confident psychologist.
“Just sit down on the bed and we’ll get started,” Dr. Calloway said.
“Just like that? Sounds easy.”
Dr. Calloway drew a blue strip out of his pocket. “Yes, it’s fairly easy. I might be overpaid.”
Joshua’s mouth twitched in a smile as he sat on the bed.
“Hold out your arm, please,” Dr. Calloway instructed.
The doctor put the strip on Joshua’s arm with cold fingers. “You won’t feel much. I’m going to leave you alone so you can start focusing, but I’ll check in on you. Okay?”
Joshua gave a nod. After the door closed behind Dr. Calloway, Joshua looked down at the blue strip stuck on his skin. His heart beat a little faster as he waited for the drug to reach his brain and unlock his memories. Maybe he didn’t want to remember. He shook off the dread.
At first the burning sensation was almost pleasant, then it most definitely was not. His veins burned and his head raged with pain, spiking in a blinding headache. He paced, pressing his hands against his eyes, acrid nausea filling his mouth. He found the window control panel and darkened the glass to black. He wanted to slice his head open and relieve the pressure.
A knock sounded and Dr. Calloway entered, though Joshua didn’t look up. He felt a cool hand on his arm. “What’s happening?”
“It hurts,” was all he could manage.
“Sit down, I’ll be right back.”
Joshua found the bed, holding his head in his hands and rocking back and forth. He’d been worried about what people thought of him, but now he didn’t care, the excruciating pressure blotting out everything else. The pain took over and he threw up on the shiny floor.
The door opened and other people came in, but he didn’t look up, his hands pressed against his eyes. He spent the next two hours in agony, with a bewildered medical staff taking tests and offering any painkiller that might help. He finally lost consciousness.