The Soul Continuum Read Free Page A

myself.”
    She nods and looks at the syringe. I think she is trying to work out whether handing it to me is a worse thing than doing it herself. “Are you sure? I mean, are you sure you can’t feel anything?”
    â€œI feel happy, like I always do, but I can see you don’t like doing it.”
    She’s still thinking about it. “How do you know I don’t like it? What does that mean to you?”
    â€œWell, you don’t do as much when you feel unhappy, and I don’t think that’s right.”
    â€œSo you’re just . . . working it out?”
    â€œI suppose so.” But I am no longer sure if this is true. For the first time, I think I feel something. A twinge of what might be called anxiety, a sense that something is wrong, but also a sort of duality, as if I am far away from myself, looking through a window into my mind and feelings, and I wonder if this treatment is starting to work.
    Of course, Sartixil is no ordinary drug. It is a catalyst to wake up the tiny experimental nanodrones in my bloodstream. The genofect scientists engineered them to respond to a specific type of electromagnetic radiation abundantly provided by brown dwarfs, but they are made inert when we breathe them in and only reactivated when we use the Sartixil. They are very versatile little robots and aren’t just used for repairing cells. Before coming to Saliel, Mother reprogrammed some of them to build and configure our eco-bubble. She is even more clever than Father.
    Mother breathes hard through her nose, and she still hasn’t taken her eyes off the syringe. Finally she says, “No. I should do this. It’s my responsibility.”
    â€œI really don’t mind.”
    She smiles her fake smile again, lifts my arm, and without another word, jabs the needle into my vein. There is a sharp sting followed by a hot rush through the length of my arm, then a sudden dizziness that makes me feel sick. I am told that all the other children start crying when this happens, but the little burst of emotion that fills my head works differently for me, and I do what I usually do. I giggle.
    But something else stirs in my mind. Something is not right.
    â€œThere!” Mother says, rubbing my arm. “Are you all right?”
    â€œYes.” I grin at her. “I feel a bit sick.”
    She nods and gestures to the bathroom. “I’ll get you some milk.”
    â€œI’ll be better in a minute or two. It passes quicker every time. Can I go out after? I think the new girls will be in the park this afternoon.”
    â€œOnly if you keep your locater patch active and only if you’re sure you’re feeling steady on your feet.”
    She helps me to stand before I go to the bathroom. The room is spinning, and there’s a buzzing in my head as though a circuit is shorting out inside my brain. I always imagine that this is the little robots waking up and zapping my neurons, but I probably wouldn’t be able to feel that.
    â€œNeed me to stay with you?”
    I do. Something is happening in me, as if I’m fighting back a rising sense of panic. “No. I’m fine. Honestly.”
    Why did I tell her that?

TWO

    T he town clock clangs its four-o’clock chime as I run excitedly past it toward the path that winds into the park, but I skid to a halt before reaching it. I almost missed them because of the bright summer sun in my eyes, but I catch sight of tiny red and black dots splashed upon the leaf of a low-hanging branch. I gasp as I study them. Ladybugs! I think the collective name is loveliness . I have always wanted to see real ladybugs. They died out on Earth about seven hundred years ago, but Mother had antique books amongst the memorabilia passed down to her through the generations, and some of them had these pretty little insects painted on their spines. She knows I like them. These are not real, of course, but my mother must have programmed them into the