Текст книги "Return Once More"
Автор книги: Trisha Leigh
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Chapter Two
Standing in my mother’s arms an hour later, it struck me how many things had changed since Jonah disappeared. The fact somehow made the familiar more dear. The way my mother smelled—like dirt and fertilizer, perfumed by whatever plant or flower she’d last touched at the Agriculture Academy before coming home—fell around me like a warm blanket. She could make any shriveled seed bloom, which was why she’d been chosen to remain on Sanchi at the Academy instead of posted on Palenque, where the farms operated. The scent pricked my eyes with unexpected tears and I squeezed her waist hard before letting go.
My dad wasn’t much of a hugger, but the grin under his brown-and-gray moustache betrayed his happiness at having me home. “Hey, bud. Happy birthday.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Are you hungry?” Mom grabbed my black cloak from my fingers, a staple on Sanchi, where the temperature never rose above ten degrees Celsius. She folded it primly over an arm. Her ice-blue eyes pleaded with me to be hungry, for the night to be normal even though it couldn’t.
The house felt unsettled, as though Jonah’s absence had somehow shifted the walls and tilted the floors. But it hadn’t changed the structure—it had changed us.
Both Jonah and I being sorted into the Historian Academy had been a surprise since our parents displayed scientific aptitude—my mother a botanist, Dad a respected genome researcher—but my brother and I shared a love of good-natured discussion on the ever-popular topic of whether humanities’ choices or our genetics had a greater impact on our downfall. Voices had filled our house with laughter and constant debate. It had always been fun, and I’d joined in even before my training began, but now the hallways and bedrooms and kitchen felt deserted. The way things used to be had evaporated, devoured by the shadow of Jonah’s ghost, and as hard as we faked it, we just weren’t the same family without him.
My brother had been gone three years now, running and hiding in the vastness of space. Surviving by committing unthinkable acts of piracy. It seemed like less time had passed since this place had gone from feeling jovial and warm to holding its breath. Waiting. It reeked of forced happiness.
“I’m starving,” I told my mom, grasping for normal.
The kitchen looked the same, with its cheery yellow curtains edging the sink and windows and dings in the metal cabinets here and there. Mom’s meatloaf smelled familiar—though not as good as real beef. Sometimes the hardest piece of the past to leave untouched was the food. No animals had been relocated to Genesis for several reasons, so our nutrition was synthetic. Though I knew nothing different, after a few observations it became clear that even the scents in our new worlds paled in comparison.
We gathered at the table and ate, my mother bowing her head and murmuring a quiet prayer while my father and I dug in. My mother had been raised on Persepolis, a tiny, arid planet where most of the religious traditionalists lived. My father was born on Sanchi and hadn’t been raised with any sort of inclination toward faith. Religion wasn’t popular in Genesis, but also wasn’t prohibited or sanctioned. Those who believed in a higher power followed the same primary, overarching law as the rest of us—no hatred or segregation of any kind.
The Originals had agreed and instituted a zero-tolerance policy for any kind of violence. It was the only true law in our society, and the only infraction punishable by exposure—by death.
Day to day we operated on expectations rather than laws. The System ran more like a corporation than a government, with all of the citizens acting as employees—cogs in the machine. We were rewarded for good performance, demoted and reprimanded for poor, and had a Sanction Guide that amounted to a basic corporate conduct policy. It had worked for us.
“Where are you traveling next week?” Dad swallowed a mouthful of peas and met my gaze.
Our dark eyes matched—chocolate brown threaded with gold—though he didn’t wear glasses. I didn’t need them outside of recording memories, either, but they were like a familiar friend by now. Most Historians wore them all the time.
“Our next trip is to New York City, 1911.”
I smiled and waited. This was a game Jonah had begun years ago, telling Dad a year and a place and seeing if he could recall the event. Instead of the competitive glint that typically shone in my father’s eyes, a trembling fear skittered past.
Then it disappeared, gone too quickly for me to ferret out its source. He swallowed another bite of vegetables, tapping his fork against his chin. “Plenty going on in that time and place, but given that you’re still training, I’d have to guess the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire.”
“Right.” I stuffed more food in my mouth and chewed.
His knowledge didn’t surprise me, but the fear in his eyes lodged a trickle of trepidation at the base of my neck.
The Triangle Fire remained a fixture on the apprentice training schedule, but was kind of a mixed bag. The Historians considered it an important stop because it reminded humanity what could happen when desperate circumstances remained hidden behind walls erected by rich, socially irresponsible men, but the event also birthed labor unions in the United States, which had, after intense reflection, been deemed a detriment to society as a whole.
“When is your first certification exam?” Mom asked, her light gaze holding on to mine.
“We’ve still got a few months, but Analeigh’s already got a study group going. We’ve got a session tonight after I get back.”
“What’s on the first round?”
“Genesis foundation, the Originals, function and location of planets. First and second year stuff. No problem.”
“Well, Analeigh is right. It still can’t hurt to go over it and make sure.”
I managed to avoid rolling my eyes, but it was a struggle. My mother thought Analeigh was the best thing since hover transports. She was my complete opposite in almost every way, and I suspected my mother thought my best friend’s natural caution kept me in line.
After dinner, I helped her clear the dishes from the table and pile them into the sanitizer. It was seven-thirty—time to head back to the Academy. I excused myself to use the toilet, even though I didn’t have to go.
My parents probably knew that I snuck into Jonah’s room every time I came home, which wasn’t all that often—every three months or so—but they never asked why or bothered me about it. Papers covered my brother’s walls, leaving no hint of the sturdy metal behind them, and reflected the glow of the blue moon that hung close to Sanchi. They were pages from actual books, mostly religious and historical texts, that had all been transcribed into the digital library in the Archives. I wasn’t here to read them; I could do that on the comps any time. It was the smell that drew me back—stale sweat, lingering male cleansing powder, and a citrusy scent that reminded me of Jonah more than anything else, the result of my brother’s strange obsession with oranges. When he had apprenticed as a Historian, he’d lifted them from every site where they existed, no matter how many times the overseers sanctioned him.
Tanis, the farthest planet from Sanchi, grew citrus trees, but the transports never made it all the way here before the fruit started to spoil. The oranges Jonah brought back from his trips to Earth Before exploded in my mouth, dribbled juice down my chin, and gave me a sensation I’d never experienced until my first observation—one of being suspended in a brief, intense moment. Alive.
I sank down on the edge of Jonah’s neatly made bed with a sigh, running my fingers lightly over the wrinkles in his dark blue quilt. I loved my friends, but they weren’t my brother. They didn’t understand the wrenching loss that still startled me when I remembered I couldn’t talk to him, or the resentment that stemmed from what he’d done to our family. The increased scrutiny applied to me at the Academy just because we shared DNA.
The quiet of Jonah’s space pressed against me, kneading peace into my muscles until a short beep shattered the moment. I looked down at my watch, expecting the noise to be the alarm warning me of my approaching pass expiration, but found that, as usual, I’d forgotten to grab it.
The sound came again, and I listened for a couple of seconds before exploring the stand beside his bed. The metal transferred a chill to my fingertips and I was about to give up when the beeping erupted again, definitely coming from inside the piece of furniture. My fingers hit the bottom of the drawer about two inches down, but the front made it appear at least double that depth. I rapped on the base, receiving a hollow echo that confirmed my suspicions—a false bottom.
It appeared Jonah kept secrets even before abandoning us.
My brother had been a teenage boy, so perhaps I would regret finding what he saw fit to hide, but if the drawer harbored naughty pictures or lube or something else disgusting, I would deal. Most boys hid that crap under their beds, anyway. If Jonah had gone to the trouble of crafting a false bottom, he must have squirreled away something good. Three broken fingernails later, I’d discovered a prize worth all ten.
Jonah’s travel cuff sat in my lap, its red lights winking at me.
It hadn’t been deactivated—I didn’t even know if they could be remotely disabled—and the cuffs weren’t assigned to specific Historians. They didn’t need to be since the bio-tats tracked our movements. I’d always assumed Jonah had taken his with him.
I ignored my excitement over all the possibilities of owning my own illicit cuff and grabbed the only other thing in the drawer—Jonah’s light blue True Companion card. His name and birthday were stamped across the top: Jonah Samuel Vespasian (October 3, 2538–), and under that, the name of his perfect match:
Rosie Shapiro (February 17 th , 1894–March 25, 1911)
Sad. Rose Shapiro had just turned seventeen when she’d died, and given the exact date of her death, I immediately wondered if she’d died in the fire my friends and I would observe in a few days—another horrible event that would be tough to stomach. I tucked the card into my waistband, thinking that I would research Miss Shapiro before our visit to the Triangle Fire, and slid the heavy metal cuff up my arm until it stayed put above my elbow. I’d thrown a long-sleeved Kevlar on over my tank tonight, but the tight black material didn’t conceal much of anything. I’d have to try to pull my cloak on quickly so that my parents wouldn’t notice.
My mom met me at the end of the hallway, tucking her long blond bangs behind her ear. “Oh, there you are, honey, I was coming to check. Everything all right?”
Her blue eyes softened as she took in my face; we both knew I’d been in Jonah’s room and not in the toilet. I bit my lip and nodded, surprising us both by wrapping my arms around her back, careful not to let the cuff bang against her. “I miss you guys.”
“We miss you, too.” She squeezed hard for several seconds, then pulled away and pushed my long waves over my shoulders. “Please make an appointment for grooming. Your hair needs a cut, and I can’t believe Analeigh is letting you get away with those eyebrows.”
I snickered. “The pointed looks have turned to subtle hints.”
“Your father hoped you’d be able to stay a little longer, maybe watch the System Reports, but I see your pass only gives you another twenty minutes.”
“Maybe next time.”
Every single evening the reports replayed a significant event that happened on the same day on Earth Before, and the Elders very rarely chose to remind people of the good decisions that were made. Those weren’t what landed us here.
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.
But famous and infamous weren’t exactly the same thing.
“Oh, good, Kaia, you’re back.” Analeigh finished fussing with the cards and swiped strands of blond waves away from her face. “We need to get started.”
“What’s with the cards?” I asked, plopping down on the floor next to her. The weight of Jonah’s cuff at my elbow made me nervous, but it felt safer to keep it on me. There was no way to stash it with all of them here, anyway.
“Just an idea I had so we can quiz each other. The pinks are establishment questions, blues are Historian questions, yellows are Earth Before, greens are wild.”
“She made us all switch off our brain stem tats, too,” Levi complained.
“Duh, Levi. If it was on, it would just give you the answers as soon as it heard the question.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “They’ll be off during our certification, too.”
There were five certification exams to pass over the next eighteen months, before we would be considered full Historians. The first one, set for about two months from now, covered simple things—facts that we learned as first and second years. We should all know the answers, but my best friend tended toward overpreparing and Oz had backed her up. I’d gone along to appease Analeigh, Sarah hadn’t wanted to argue with her boyfriend, and I didn’t know why Levi had decided to come. The other two girls in our class, Peyton and Jess, had opted out.
I felt a little jealous of them in the face of the rather daunting pile of cards.
“Everyone grab one of each color.”
Analeigh picked out hers, and then I snagged three of each and handed two back to Oz and Sarah on the couch. Once Levi was ready, Analeigh started with a pink one.
“Name a science that was discontinued by the establishment team, and give a cause and effect.”
“Who answers?” Oz asked.
“Um, let’s go with the person on my right. So, Sarah.”
“Okay, so … advanced medicines. Like, ones extending longevity.” She looked to Analeigh for approval, her face breaking into a smile at our roommate’s nod. “It was discontinued in order to head off the kind of overpopulation we had on Earth Before, and an effect is a return to the life expectancy of the mid-twentieth century—seventy-one for women, sixty-six for men.”
I had answered in my head, just to make sure I could, but my mind had gone again to my brother. Overpopulation concerns meant I was the only person in this room with a sibling. Maybe that’s part of why they couldn’t understand how I could miss him after everything he’d done.
“Right! Good. Now you go,” Analeigh encouraged.
Sarah turned over her own pink card, turning toward Oz with a soft smile. “This one is easy. Recite the single law that governs Genesis, as written by the Originals.”
“This is dumb,” Levi interjected. “A five-year-old could answer that.”
“Oh, dry up, Levi. It’s going to be on the certification.” I kind of agreed with him, but it must have taken Analeigh hours to make these silly cards.
Oz cleared his throat, ignoring the conversation as usual, and answered. “Do no harm, for each is equal to the next, and each offers what they are able.”
“Yes. Beautiful.” Sarah leaned up to kiss his cheek.
“My turn.” Oz looked down at his green card and flicked a glance in my direction. “Name at least four of the seven planets in Genesis. Include at least one purpose for which they were specifically terraformed.”
Ugh. Of course I would get the long answer.
“Sanchi, terraformed for academia. Petra, hydrotechnology and drinking water. Angkor, swampy to support the production of sugarcane and cypress. And Roma, industry and production.”
Oz said nothing, just flipped the card back onto the pile.
I chose a green card, too, and read the question to Levi. “Name four sanctions outlined in the Guide to Penalty Determinations.”
“Too bad that’s not your question, Kaia. I’m sure you have them memorized.” He continued when I ignored the teasing jab. “Exposure, exile to Cryon, mopping duty, delay of certification.”
“Yep.” In truth, I’d only experienced one of those—mopping duty. Just thinking about the others gave me the willies.
“Okay, Analeigh. The aptitude tests determine whether we will pursue career or labor at age ten. Give the percentages of each path, along with the names of at least six of the Academies.”
“Sixty to forty percent, career to labor. Energy Resources, Environmental Sustainability, Theoretical Science, Genetics, Architecture and Terraforming, and Space Exploration.”
The next hour went on the same way, with easy answers like the year the time travel formula was isolated—2460 CE—the discovery of Genesis by the Original team of scientists in 2463 CE, the decision to terraform and evacuate Earth Before in 2498. The following ten years were spent making decisions regarding facets of society like organized religion, which had been determined to contain an inherent polarizing ability. They would be avoided as the Originals established our new System.
We didn’t stumble over a single answer, but it was kind of good to go over the information, anyway. Each of our families, settlers of this new world, had been chosen due to a variety of genetic and historical factors. A reminder of our short past made me thankful.
The alarms on our watches beeped five minutes before nine-thirty, signaling the end of our free time. The boys got up and made their way to the door, Oz sneaking in a quick, slightly awkward hug with Sarah before slipping into the hallway.
“That was fun,” I commented drily.
“It was helpful,” Analeigh stressed, striding into her room and yanking her blue pajamas out of a drawer.
Sarah and I made eye contact and smiled.
“Tomorrow’s a big day, Kaia.” Sarah yawned. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
My seventeenth birthday. True Companion go-time. It had never been a big deal to me, or anyone else for that matter, but Sarah had different feelings about it. For obvious reasons. “I’ll probably find out. Why not?”
“You never know,” she said, cheeks reddening.
“I guess that’s true.”
But that wasn’t always the case. Sarah and Oz were the anomaly. The exception, not the rule. I wouldn’t be so lucky.
*
Stars in My Pies, a popular restaurant a brief stroll from most of the Academies, was pretty crowded for the middle of the week. Older kids from different apprenticeships filled several tables—pass restrictions expired once we turned eighteen. The insignias on their breasts were hard to distinguish from far away, and I sucked at keeping everyone’s colors straight. It looked like some Mentors and perhaps some kind of Medical Science Academy apprentices joined us for the evening.
I must share my birthday with a few others, because there were at least two tables filled with kids too young to be out without a special pass, plus a red vinyl booth occupied by another group of Historian apprentices in my class.
I knew Jessica Beaton’s birthday and mine were the same. She’d been born on Petra, an outer planet that contained mostly water, but we’d been at the Academy together for years. We’d never gotten along.
I wondered if she was going to find out the name of her True Companion tonight. In general, I felt more curious than swoony over the whole thing, probably because of the impossibility of it all. Still, it would be interesting.
“Kaia, Analeigh, over here!” Sarah’s happy voice floated over the laughter and mid-twentieth century music floating out of a reconstruction of something called a jukebox. It ran on digital files like everything else, but the owner, Max, liked the throwback feel of the place. The robot servers even wore roller skates and red gingham aprons.
The metal chairs made screeching noises as they scraped against the black-and-white tiled floor, and Analeigh and I flopped into them. I hadn’t told her about finding Jonah’s cuff even though keeping secrets made me nervous. She knew me well enough to know I was hiding something, so if we’d been alone it would have been nothing but an endless interrogation. Thank goodness Sarah and Oz had been granted passes to celebrate with us. I needed a buffer.
The two of them shared a chocolate milkshake across the table, poring over a menu even though we ate here every month. We all ordered cheeseburgers—except Oz, who didn’t eat meat, not even the fake, synthetic kind Genesis had to offer.
Once the menus were gone Sarah and Analeigh stared at me while Oz examined his cuticles. Discomfort started in my belly and slowly tightened all of my limbs until my fingernails dug into my palms. Being the center of attention did that to me. “Yes, I’m going to find out, okay? Stop staring like I’ve got a big glob of spinach in my teeth.”
“We could be staring at your unruly eyebrows. Honestly, Kaia,” Analeigh admonished.
“Oh my stars, I will get them done tomorrow.” My heart wasn’t in the retort, my mind mired in the decision to get me up and moving toward the info pod in the corner.
The True Companion calculations had nothing to do with fanciful notions of fate or destiny, the way people used to believe. Science had simply managed to break down genomes into their most basic, molecular components and isolate ones that lined up seamlessly. Like puzzle pieces.
Before we could predict molecular compatibility, most people were happy with regular love—Chosen Companions. Chosens were far more common than Trues, and couples in Genesis were content. In the end, that would be enough for me, too, but for tonight, the curiosity was too much to bear. What if my True lived down the street, or on Angkor or Persepolis?
“Well, go do it!” Analeigh’s green eyes shone, her excitement affecting me in spite of my best efforts. Her seventeenth birthday wasn’t for several months, so she was living vicariously tonight.
I grinned and stood up, rubbing my palms together and cackling. Analeigh and Sarah laughed, but when I met Oz’s smoky-gray gaze, his eyes were serious. They peered into mine as though hoping to see something specific, but I had no idea what. He looked away first.
Victory.
I left them and headed for Stars’ information pod, a shoulder-high metal machine that spit out all kinds of information. Jess stood in front of the display screen, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she waited, hand outstretched, ignoring me. Once we turned eighteen and received transport cuffs like the one Jonah left behind, we wouldn’t have to use the pods to access a database while away from the Academy. They only existed to track information requests of the apprentices.
