Memory Kodes

By Rei Rosenquist

Feral finds a strange box made of unbelievable material. Then, Feral starts thinking strange thoughts. And then, a stranger appears out of nowhere.

Is it all connected? And if so, where does all this strangeness lead?

Curiosity burns in Feral to find out...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rei Rosenquist
• Release date: Jul 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201744816

Rei Rosenquist

Rei Rosenquist first remembers life as seen out the high window of a hotel balcony. Down below is a courtyard, swarms of brightly dressed tourists, the beach. The memory is nothing but a blue-green washed image. Warmth and sunlight. Here, they are three years old, and this is the beginning of a nomadic story-teller’s life. Over the years, they have traveled to many countries, engaged many peoples, picked up new habits, and learned new languages. But, some things never change. For them, these are stories, food service, and traveling. These three passions have bloomed from hobbies, studies, and jobs into a way of life. These days, Rei can be found in between Tokyo, Kailua, and Bellingham, Washington pouring beautiful latte art, baking off a batch of famous savory scones, and cozying up with a laptop to obsessively write mountains of dark speculative fiction. You can find Rei’s stories and blog at reirosenquist.com. You can also reach them via email at [e-mail] or connect via Facebook (Rei Rosenquist), Twitter (rylrosenquist) and Instagram (rylrosenquist).

Book preview

1 EXIT

The factory stood against the horizon like a hideous black smear. Inside its concrete walls, massive machines hissed steam and hydraulic arms oozed grease. Lights dotted the machinery like jewelry, glittering red and green. Belts whirred and wailed. The factory floor was a sea of dirty heads and filthy jumpers. The disheveled people held crestfallen faces and mumbled silently to themselves. Smog-clogged air hung like a blanket overhead, reeking of exhaust and ozone. Everything about the place was gritty, dirty, ugly.

A sharp bell shattered the growling sound of mundane work.

Feral ran sore fingers through a knot of greasy brown hair, tucking it behind a grease smudged ear. The yellow and blue badge on their shoulder was worn now, impossible to read. Once upon a time it'd been bright, brand new. Then, it'd read Ground Operations Team Head Lead. Now, the letters looked more like interpretative art than a title. Feral's calloused, dark hands set the gamer-like rover controls down in the cradle. They rubbed swollen thumbs and forefingers together. A blister had formed on their right ring finger. Another had popped and was raw on their palm. Feral sighed and clanged down the ladder to the manager's exit.

Another long night’s work, done.

Feral dragged themself down the long hallway toward the door. Overhead, artificial lighting glowed as bright as a fake sun. Feral always hated it, but today was especially bad. They squinted and rushed toward the door. Reaching for the door release button, they paused.

There, sitting on the dirt-caked ledge, sat a box.

It shouldn't have been there. Nothing should have. The ledge was barely wide enough to hold a thought, let alone someone's belonging. What would someone be doing to leave it there for fuck's sake?

But, there it was nonetheless. A bright white fabricated stone-like mar-Fab ™ box sitting all alone wedged onto the tiny ledge. Nobody around to claim it. The box gleamed, practically a beacon in the white lighting. Like it was waiting to be seen.

Curious.

Feral picked it up.

White, smooth, small, and heavy. Some kind of etchings all over it. Decoration? A language Feral couldn't read?

Unheard of.

The whole thing was weird, and it made Feral think of some place brand new. The outside. As in, anything outside of District One. Some place open and free. Some place full of unknowns. Full of opportunity.

Did life even exist out that far?

Feral shivered at the the question.

A dangerous thing in this world, asking questions. Anything above mild interest in ones work could get you disappeared. Feral breathed out slow, counted down, forced the excitement away. By the time their fingers turned the box over for further inspection, Feral's nerves were pure calm. The question wasn't a question anymore, but a certainty.

I have to know where this came from.

Grounder, you off? asked a nameless co-worker from behind.

Feral suppressed a nervous jump by freezing solid. Fear gripped them by the shoulders. They deftly tucked the box under an armpit like it belonged there, and whipped around with a tight frown. The nameless co-worker wore a gold patch over one eye. Accident, most likely.

Everything was an accident in District One. Good or bad.

A happy accident, finding the box before