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\nEwing taught her how to do it safely, with a red foil wrapper from one\nof those strawberry candies they gave out with your bill at every\nChinese restaurant. \"They're for good luck,\" he'd said, the first time\nthey tried it. That, and something to do with electrical conductivity.\nThat way you got unlimited minutes and the full spectrum of sensation,\nundiluted by the cranial filters they put in to stop people from\nspiraling out. Or, as Ewing put it, to stop people like them from having\nfun.
\nThey'd been having a lot of fun, lately.
\nKath lay on the dusty couch cushions they'd arranged on the floor,\nwaiting for Ewing's cue. They'd been squatting in the abandoned house\nfor the last week, having broken in after confirming there was nobody on\nthe premises. Ewing was fiddling with the memory tripper that lay in a\nnest of cables near her elbow. The device sounded stressed, it was\nwhirring so loudly. He glanced down at the file queue, and Kath sensed\nrather than saw his frown.
\n\"This playlist again?\" he said, tapping the plastic casing with a\nchewed-up finger. \"Like you actually miss that place or something.\"
\nKath swallowed and felt the remains of the candy stick in her throat. \"I\nwouldn't go back if it was a smoking crater in the ground.\"
\n\"That's not what you said yesterday.\"
\n\"I was in argument mode, dummy.\" She put a hand on her boyfriend's knee\nand squeezed. \"Look, most of my memories are from living with her, the\ngood and the bad. Even if it was mostly bad. So there's more content to\ndraw from, that's all.\"
\nEwing wouldn't meet her eyes. \"It's just, I know things haven't been\nworking out for us the way you maybe thought they would. Thought maybe\nyou'd started having regrets.\"
\n\"Wait another fifteen years,\" she said. \"Then we'll have plenty of\nmemories of each other to trip when we're older.\"
\n\"You think it'll take us that long to make it?\"
\nMake it. As in, make it work, make it big, make it out. After months\nof sleeping in Ewing's car, waiting for the adventure to finally start,\nthe phrase had started to lose all meaning. Ewing had five years over\nKath's sixteen, but constantly having to comfort him made her feel so\nmuch older.
\nInstead of answering Ewing's question, Kath got up on her elbows and\nplastered a sticky kiss on his stubbly cheek. \"I'm ready,\" was all she\nsaid.
\nShe watched as Ewing folded up the crinkly bit of foil, pushed it onto\nthe cable connector, and tucked the ends into the seal. When he was\ndone, he lifted it before her eyes and gave it an anticipatory wiggle.\n\"All aboard, oh captain?\"
\nKath lay back down and folded her hands over her empty stomach. Not for\nthe first time, she noticed that the water damage in the ceiling looked\nlike a map outline of the West Coast before the big one hit. A similar\nmap had been projected on the wall of her high school geo-history class.\nIt hadn't been that long since she'd dropped out, a couple months tops,\nbut it felt like eons ago.
\nThe tripper clicked as it shifted into high gear, bringing her back to\nthe present moment. Then the wrapper-coated tip of the connector was at\nher lips, and she parted them to let the waters rush in.
\n#
\nLucid-tripping, they call it. Colours intensify, senses heighten.\nFamiliar images become strange and new, sharper in some places and\nblurrier in others. The right hack can make sunlight brighter, smiles\nwider. People laugh louder at your jokes. The simplest birdsong sounds\nlike a symphony. You cry so hard at your sister's wedding from five\nyears ago, you think your heart's about to burst.
\nOriginally, the tripper was invented strictly for the courtrooms: a\ndevice that lets you revisit your own memories in five-minute chunks,\nfor the purpose of verifying eyewitness testimony in criminal trials.\nThen the tech got leaked, and copies injected with some thrill-seeker's\namateur crack code hit the streets. They say a hacked tripper is better\nthan drugs, better than virtual reality. It's the ultimate enhanced\nnostalgia.
\nBut whatever control the user thinks they have is an illusion. There are\nhidden dangers that might run you aground if you're lucky, or grab you\nand drag you down if you're not. Whirlpools. Invisible currents.
\nShadows in the deep.
\n#
\nKath feels the hot water cascade down her bare flesh and doesn't even\nopen her eyes. She knows she's back in that ugly stucco prison, to which\nshe'd sworn never to return. At least, not in the flesh. But the water\nheater is busted in the place where she and Ewing are squatting, so\nshe's made a whole memory playlist drawn from over a decade's worth of\nhot showers. Being able to just stand here in the warmth and the steam,\nin total privacy, makes it easy to forget whose house this is.
\nMaybe it's a waste of a lucid trip, but those showers were the best part\nof her days growing up. She'd spend whole hours in the bathroom if she\ncould help it, the heat cranked up high enough that she could feel the\nsting on her reddening flesh. Just painful enough to make her forget her\ntroubles at school, Ewing's probation, the constant nagging at home. The\nlook Dad gave her just before he walked out. The fact that he escaped\nfirst and didn't take Kath with him. She tilts her head back and lets\nall of it swirl down, down the drain...
\n\"Kathryn!\" A sharp knocking on the bathroom door. \"How long have you\nbeen in there?\"
\nKath draws breath to yell back, then catches herself. The tripper is\nsupposed to edit out these unpleasant moments. Sometimes it snags, and a\nsnag can lead to spiraling out. But Ewing taught her well. Kath\nconcentrates, trying to lose herself once more in the rush of water.
\nThe knocking increases in volume. \"You know other people besides you\nlive in this house, right? Kathryn? I know you can hear me!\"
\nAnd then something funny happens. The echoey sounds of the bathroom, and\nher mother's voice, disappear. Instead she hears splashing, laughter.\nKath opens her eyes and looks down, noticing a ripple of light dance\nacross the palm of her hand. Beyond her puckered fingers, she sees her\nbare feet wavering spectrally above bright aquamarine tiles. A mild\nbreeze raises goosebumps on her exposed upper arms. She's not in the\nshower any more. She's not even in the house.
\nMemory jump, Kath thinks. Rare, but not uncommon. Sometimes the user's\nbrain associates the current memory with another and switches over to it\nwithout warning, like a skipping record. It's best not to overthink it.\nThe tripper works best with a light touch.
\nSo Kath relaxes and takes stock. She's sitting on the side of the\nswimming pool with her legs in the water, watching her toes ripple under\nthe surface. It's a hot day in July, and this is her childhood friend\nLuci's eleventh birthday party. The pool is filled with graceless\npre-adolescent bodies, mostly hanging off the sides or paddling around\non foam noodles. The tripper intensifies the sunlight sparkling off the\nwater so that it's almost blinding.
\nIf the pool wasn't so full, Kath would be doing laps right now. Whenever\nshe's submerged, her body gets restless, like she needs to kick out and\nkeep kicking until she hits the other side. Unlike her usual slouching\ngait on land, her swim strokes are calm and powerful, and she can hold\nher breath for ages. Like she was born in the water, her high school\ncoach used to say.
\nI don't understand why you quit the swim team. Kath hears her mother's\nvoice echo in her head, a memory within a memory. Why give up the only\nthing you're good at?
\nThe water in the pool grows a little colder. The sounds of laughter dim,\nalong with the sunlight. Kath feels herself destabilizing again, knows\nshe has to anchor herself. There isn't even time to wonder why her\nmother seems to be following her around like a ghost, even into memories\nthat have nothing to do with her. It's the same old dynamic. Kath's only\ninstinct is to get away, by any means necessary.
\nSlowly, carefully, Kath slips off the edge of the pool and lets herself\nsink to the bottom of the deep end. She holds her breath and looks up at\nthe forest of skinny legs flapping awkwardly above her, the sunlight\nflickering between them in fierce white patches. Unbidden, the Jaws\ntheme starts playing in her head. She imagines razored teeth tearing\ninto flesh, a crimson plume billowing into the chlorinated water. She\ncan almost taste the iron sliding down her throat, hot and slick, the\nsudden violence a different kind of escape.
\nKath giggles. A red cloud of bubbles rises and obscures her vision.
\nWhen the blood clears, she's somewhere else.
\n#
\nWhen a user starts spiraling, you can't just yank out the cable. You're\nmore likely to accidentally wipe their memories than if you just wait it\nout and hope they recover on their own, but sometimes it's too late.\nSometimes they get stuck in a feedback loop, re-living the same moment\nover and over, unable to resurface. Or their adult memories get\noverwritten by those of their infant self. The number of tripper-related\ntragedies grows longer and more varied by the year.
\nAnd then there are the strange cases. The user drowns, leaving no trace\nof their original identity behind. But something in them is still alive,\ngliding through the shadowy recesses of what was once a human mind.\nAwakened from its deep slumber in some forgotten crevasse of their\npsyche.
\nHere be dragons.
\n#
\nAnother jump. The tripper doesn't usually skip around this much. The\nmemories haven't turned into nightmares, so she's not spiraling, not\nyet. But the fear is starting to bubble up inside her, and sometimes\njust the thought of capsizing is enough to tip your mind into doing it.\nDon't panic, Kath, she repeats to herself. Go with the flow.
\nShe looks around to try and orient herself and recognizes the virtual\naquarium in the Museum of Natural History where she and Ewing liked to\nget high. In fact, that's what they're doing right now. The two of them\nstand side by side in front of the immense holo-tank, staring up at the\ngracefully bizarre shapes of the computer-generated marine creatures\ngliding past. The hacked tripper amps up her buzz, so that she can feel\nEwing's life force pulsing through their intertwined hands like a\nglowing pink light. The oceanic display before them looks bigger than\nthe entire universe.
\nThere's a school group milling about nearby. Most of the students are on\ntheir phones or chattering away, ignoring their automated guide, who\nlooks like a shinier version of Wall-E from the old animated flattie.\nSeeing the robot helps Kath identify the memory's timestamp: one perfect\nFriday afternoon, bombing around town with Ewing after ditching class\nfor the last time. They visit all their favourite places, talking\nendlessly about the amazing things they'll do once they're finally free\nof their bio families. The aquarium is their last stop.
\nKath grips Ewing's hand as a huge, looming blimp with fins swings slowly\ninto view, dwarfing the display tag along its side that reads: \"Blue\nWhale, Balaenoptera musculus. Conservation status: Extinct.\" The tiny\ntext accompanies the majestic creature as it follows a procedurally\ngenerated route through the shimmering depths, the likes of which Earth\nwill never see again.
\nThe effect impresses even Ewing. \"I fucking love fish,\" he whispers\nreverently. \"Especially that big guy.\"
\n\"Whales aren't fish,\" Kath says, letting the memory's original script\nplay out. \"They're mammals. Like us.\"
\n\"No way. Hey, does that mean we evolved from whales?\"
\n\"I thought we evolved from monkeys.\"
\nSomething behind them beeps, and they both jump. The guide bot seems to\nhave given up on the school group, latching onto Ewing and Kath instead.\nIn a polite electronic voice, it recites: \"The common ancestor of\nhumans, monkeys, and whales was likely a small, furry mammal who lived\nin trees and ate insects. Thanks to extensive DNA sequencing, scientists\nknow that this hypothetical creature is the earliest ancestor of all\nliving placentals today, including humans, apes, whales, bats, cats, and\nmice.\"
\n\"Fascinating,\" Ewing says sarcastically. Kath lets go of his hand.
\n\"What about further back?\" she asks the guide bot. \"I mean, they say all\nlife crawled out of the ocean, so that means our oldest ancestor must\nhave been some kind of fish, right?\"
\nThe bot turns towards the holo-tank and beeps again. The eighteen foot\ntall screen shimmers, momentarily breaking the three-dimensional\nillusion, and the Blue Whale fades from view. The clear azure waters\ndarken to a cloudy greyish-green. The flora takes on unfamiliar shapes:\nelongated cones tipped with long, red tendrils, colourful mushroom-like\npolyps, tufted fronds waving atop slender stalks. One by one, the tank\nstarts generating black dots off in the distance, strange helmeted\nthings with too many legs that scuttle along the seabed. The date\ncounter in the lower right of the screen whirls from 1 MILLION YEARS AGO\nto 370 MILLION YEARS AGO, the numbers spinning too fast to track.
\nAnd then, from out of the murky depths, an immense form drifts leisurely\ninto view. Some kind of monstrous fish, nearly ten metres in length and\nthe colour of rusted iron. The tail and fins have the sleek tapered\nlines of a shark, but its face is a nightmare skull of smooth armoured\nplates. Instead of teeth, the plates simply protrude from the upper and\nlower halves of its mouth in jagged rows. Its gaping jaws are big enough\nto swallow Ewing whole.
\n\"Dunkleosteus terrelli,\" Kath reads the tag out loud. \"Conservation\nstatus: Extinct.\"
\nShe watches a school of trilobites part before the slow, menacing glide\nof the armoured fish's shadow, like sparrows taking flight before the\ncrushing treads of a tank. D. terrelli does a pass before its tiny\nhuman audience, then circles back, this time pinning Kath with a single\nbaleful eye. Like it's trying to communicate something, a line from an\nequally ancient movie her father once made her watch before he left: I\ncould've grown legs. I could've been a contender.
\nFurther into the depths, hundreds of torpedo shapes pierce the gloom.\nKath watches them with a longing so powerful it feels like nausea.\n\"Maybe it's not too late to go back,\" she whispers, off-script.
\n\"What?\" Ewing says, then glances down. \"Oh, shit.\"
\nKath feels something cool running under the thin soles of her sneakers.\nShe steps back with a splash. The students, finally paying attention to\nsomething other than their phones, make vague noises of alarm. The\nvirtual fish swim on, undisturbed.
\n\"C'mon, we better get out of here.\" Ewing takes her arm, but she pulls\naway. The water is creeping up her ankles. She turns back to the\nholo-tank and sees a tiny crack in the virtual glass separating the\naudience from the projection stage. As she watches, the crack grows\nbigger, inch by inch. A voice over the intercom calmly instructs\neveryone to evacuate the aquarium.
\n\"Kath, are you nuts?\" Ewing screams. \"Let's go!\"
\nBut that's impossible. The tank is a holographic simulator. There's no\nway it could spring a leak, unless...
\n\"You're spiraling, Kath. Focus on my voice. You've got to pull yourself\nout—\"
\nShe senses Ewing, or the memory of him, tug harder on her arm. For an\ninstant, the noise and panic around her recedes. She can hear the whirr\nof the tripper and Ewing shouting in her ear, can feel her weight\nsinking into the couch cushions. The taste of strawberry candy is\nsickly-sweet on her tongue. But she stands her ground, and the aquarium\nsnaps back into sharp relief around her.
\n\"—could open their jaws in 20 milliseconds and chomp down almost as\nfast,\" the guide bot is saying cheerfully. \"This fearsome fish was\nestimated to have a maximum bite force of over 1600 pounds.\"
\nThe crack reaches the top of the tank. It splinters. The gray-green\nwater explodes outwards, taking all the strange plants and the\ntrilobites and the bladed fish with it. They hurtle towards her in a\nslow-motion wave, Dunkleosteus terrelli at the forefront. Kath flings\nopen her arms and lets the flood smash into her head-on. The last thing\nshe sees is the sight of those jagged plates bearing down on her, opened\nwide enough to devour the world, before they slam shut and send her into\ndarkness.
\n#
\nThere's a rumour that a hacked tripper can allow users access to\nancestral memories. Not in immersive high definition, like with\nneurological memory, but from dim impressions etched indelibly into the\nchromatin network. There's more than one kind of memory, after all. We\npass on what our bodies do not allow us to forget.
\nBut if any of this is remotely true, why stop at human genetics? Recall\nour recent ancestors, the great apes, with whom we still share 98.8% of\nour DNA. Go back even further, before we went into the trees, to when we\nwalked on four legs instead of two. Back further still, legs melting to\nfins, fur to scales. Follow, if mind and machine can bear it, the scar\nof separation anxiety that runs through all our land-bound kind. And\nwhen you retrace the countless staggering footprints in the sand back to\nits source, you will find yourself here once more: the heaving shores of\nour first and greatest mistake.
\n#
\nKath stands barefoot in the surf, staring out over a calmly rolling sea.\nThe sun blazes over the long stretch of beach, with its half-naked\ntourists lounging about on rainbow bath towels and collapsible loungers.\nShe's wearing a skimpy bikini because she knows it will piss off the\nwoman behind her. Everything is just as she remembers it, and more.
\nIt's amazing how much detail the tripper can pull out of a hacked\nmemory. There's a group of young, bronzed model types playing volleyball\nnearby. A couple of boys run past, shouting. One of them is wearing\nSpongebob Squarepants swim trunks. Kath turns her head slightly and sees\nher mother out of the corner of her eye, hidden under at least three\ndifferent types of shade and pretending to read a romance paperback.\nKath doesn't need the tripper to remember what happens next.
\n\"Hey, K-Pop,\" says Kath's mother from under her oversized sun hat. \"Why\ndon't you get in there and show me your front crawl? Teach these jerks\nwho's the queen of the sea around here.\"
\nKath doesn't respond. The voice behind her turns casually sour. \"Scared\nof the water, all of a sudden? Or just trying to tart it up in front of\nthe beach boys?\"
\nAgain, Kath stays quiet. She sees her mother's shadow on the white sand\ncome up to her from behind and merge with her own.
\n\"I brought you here to have a nice time. Can't you give me a little\ncredit for trying?\" There was a long pause. \"You could at least turn\naround and look at me when I'm talking to you—\"
\nGarish red-painted fingernails, clawing at her bare shoulder. Kath\nwhirls, screaming, \"Don't touch me!\" People stare. A seagull cries. For\na moment, Kath sees herself through her mother's eyes, can feel the\nstrain of perpetual disappointment that is their shared bloodline.\nGenerations of Kaths and Kaths' Mothers, genetically predisposed to poor\nlife decisions. Pioneer Kath, Ancient Rome Kath, Cave Kath, Ape Kath.\nAll dreaming of the day one of them manages to break the cycle.
\nThe blue sky stutters. Glitches. A seagull jumps backward midflight. And\nKath remembers that this is the day she decides to run away with Ewing.\nIt isn't a momentous decision. Kath's mother is acting the way she\nnormally does, and even though Kath knows things could be worse, she\nequally knows that her life will never be her own if she stays here.\nWith the sun browning her bare shoulders, toes digging into the hot fine\nsand, Kath silently composes a list of the stuff she'll pack when Ewing\nfinally comes to take her away for good.
\nThat's how it went down in reality. Only, there's something different\nabout the lucid trip version of the scene. Kath can't quite put her\nfinger on it. Then she realizes: there's nobody in the water. The sandy\nbeach is packed with people, but she's the only one even close to the\nshoreline. The ocean stretches before her, empty to the horizon.\nWaiting.
\n\"Hey, K-Pop. Why don't you get in there and show me your front crawl?\nTeach these jerks who's the queen of the sea around here.\"
\nThis time, Kath says, \"Okay, mom. I will.\" She glances over her\nshoulder. The woman lying there on her faded beach towel looks sketched\nout, unfinished. Her face is hidden under the brim of her ridiculous\nhat. Whenever Kath and her mother go out in public together, people\nmistake them for sisters.
\n\"Kath, for Christ's sake, wake up!\"
\nShe looks for the lifeguard on duty, sees them perched in their lookout\nchair even though there's nobody to look out for. She hears Ewing\ncalling her again. But it's too late. She's already moving towards the\nwater.
\n\"Fuck it, I'm going to call the—\"
\nEwing's sobbing voice is lost as she plunges into the surf. She kicks\nout, arms arcing out of the waves, and with a few powerful strokes\nleaves the coastline behind. After a few moments, once she's certain\nnobody is following her, she dives. Waves crash noisily around her head,\nand then everything is blissfully silent. The water is warm as soup, the\ndim sunlight diffusing into a grey-green murk. Particulate matter\nstreams by her face as she descends, the determined rhythms of her body\nrippling with a familiar strength. She'd forgotten how much easier it is\nto move through this world than the one above.
\nShe reaches the bottom much sooner than expected. The seas are shallow\nhere, and crowded. Living shadows move across her vision. Her neck is\nstiff, and she finds she needs to torque her entire upper body to look\nfrom side to side. It no longer feels like she's moving through water,\nmore like the water is moving through her, until the distinction simply\ndissolves away.
\nThe shadows darken and solidify as she moves towards them. The world is\nfilled with purposeful missiles gliding over and under each other, each\ngoing about their unhurried business. Bladed fins jut from smooth\ntorpedo bodies, split on one end by gaping mouths. Aquatic insectoids\nwander the seabed below, scurrying between fronded creatures that wave\ngently in the breeze-like current.
\nWith the final vestiges of sapient thought, the nameless, supple thing\nthat was Kath feels vaguely foolish. She never should have left, she\nsees that now. She had tried walking on her own two feet, tripped, and\nfell hard enough to bleed. But gravity holds no sway here. This planet\nis more water than land, and water washes away everything. Even regret.
\nAt the end, just before the heavy plates close around Kath's mind and\nbear her down into the ancient depths forever, the lingering sweetness\nin her mouth turns suddenly to salt.
\n#
\n\"Hey Dee. Got another drowner for you.\"
\nDr. Nidhi turned around as the on-duty nurse caught up to her in the\nhallway. He handed her a clipboard and kept pace with her, resuming his\nsummary.
\n\"Kid let his girl spiral out on one of those memory rewinding things.\nToo scared to pull the plug, so he called 911. Came in with the\nambulance, spent an hour or so bawling to the police in the waiting room\nbefore they took him to the station.\"
\n\"Third one this year.\" Nidhi shook her head and flipped through vital\nstats. \"How are those things still legal?\"
\n\"My cousin got called as a witness for some hit-and-run last fall,\" the\nnurse said. \"They used one to get the license plate match out of his\nhead. But the ones on the street, they're just kids messing with\nneurotech they don't understand. Like that haptics virus from a couple\nyears back.\"
\n\"Good move for the boyfriend to call in, though,\" Nidhi said absently.\n\"Poor kid. Probably get off on a Good Samaritan.\" She stopped walking\nand the nurse almost bumped into her. \"Er, what room?\"
\n\"137. Presentation's a little funny. I'm just going down to grab a vent\ntube, but I'll be right back.\"
\n\"Thanks. Oh, Sam, did you sign Erika's birthday card yet?\"
\nThe nurse made an exaggerated wince and jogged off. Nidhi made her way\nto 137 and peeled back the curtain surrounding the bed. The girl lying\nthere couldn't be much older than seventeen. Tangled dirty-blonde hair.\nStrong, broad shoulders. That was maybe the worst part, how healthy she\nlooked. Most drowners were still technically alive and well in the world\nof their memories, more so than typical coma patients. Their sensory\ncortexes still lit up at stimuli no one else could perceive: taste,\npain, the smell of bonfires at dusk. If Nidhi didn't know better, she\ncould almost believe they might wake up any second.
\nShe checked the monitors at the side of the bed and frowned. Most\ndrowners had a pretty regular EKG, but this one was monstrously slow,\nshowing a heart rate just barely above 20 BPM. And when she looked into\nthe girl's eyes to check her visual response, there wasn't the blank,\nempty stare that most drowners had when they spiraled out. Not an\nabsence of memory, but an overabundance, if that made any sense. The\ngirl glared back at Nidhi with gray-green eyes that seemed almost aware\nof the doctor's presence, tracking every movement like a predator\nwatching its prey.
\nThat gaze was old, impossibly old. And hungry. Nidhi took an involuntary\nstep back.
\n\"Dee? I've got the thing. And, uh, we have a visitor.\"
\nNidhi turned to see Sam in the doorway, nervously clutching the vent\ntube. Behind him stood a disheveled woman with dirty-blonde hair\nstraggling out from under a worn baseball cap. The garish red polish on\nher nails was chipped and fading. Her eyes focused on the still figure\nin the bed and fixed there, unblinking.
\n\"Ms. Gorecki?\" Nidhi tried to put on her best bedside manner. \"My\ncondolences. This must be very difficult for you, but I promise we'll do\nour best to make sure that Kathryn has the best recovery possible. She's\nstabilized now, and after we run some more tests—\"
\nMs. Gorecki walked past the doctor and into the room with slow,\ndeliberate steps, as if she too were lost in a dream from which she\ncould not escape. She stopped next to the bed and leaned over to look at\nher daughter's pale face, in which floated those wide, staring, somehow\nancient eyes. If Kathryn Gorecki recognized her mother, she gave no\nindication.
\nMs. Gorecki did not reach out to touch the girl, nor did she start\ncrying. Nidhi and Sam kept still, as if bearing witness. Minutes passed.\nFinally, the woman turned to them and gave a small, sad smile.
\n\"It's okay,\" Ms. Gorecki whispered. Her hands were clenched tight on\nthe bed's railing. \"She'll be okay. She always was a good swimmer.\"
\n© 2025 Sagan Yee
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