'I didn't know; I guessed.'

'Your guesses are good, Rain. You should have told me.' He walks closer; much taller, he looks down, and I fight the urge to back away.

I stand my ground. 'She was my responsibility. It was up to me to deal with it. What are you going to do with her?'

He stares back a few heartbeats, then nods, as if to himself. 'I still think there may be a use for her. In the meantime I need to put her someplace more secure.' He sighs. 'What am I to do with you?' His lips curve up in some semblance of a smile, but the ice is still there behind it.

'I'm sorry, Nico. I just wanted to fix it; it was my fault.'

He stares at me for one beat, two. His eyes soften. He puts a hand on each shoulder, pulls me close and I nestle in against him. Afraid to move, afraid to breathe, to do anything to spoil this.

'Your heart beats so fast,' he says at last. Pushes me away, looks into my eyes. 'I'm not angry with you, Rain. At least not the way you think I am.'

Relief swells through me. 'You're not?'

'No. I was scared.'

'You, scared?' Even saying the words sounds wrong. Nico isn't afraid of anything.

He half smiles. 'Yes. Even I have fears. I was scared of something happening to you. What if you'd got caught? You should have told me where she was, so I could deal with it. You need to stay safe, Rain. I need you to stay safe.'

I stare up at him in wonder. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be sorry. It was brave of you. But promise me something: don't rush off to rescue anyone again without checking with me, first. Deal?'

'Deal.'

'One more thing before you go. Those plans you did of the hospital are wonderful, but I want the people, too. Faces. I know you can draw them. All the faces from the hospital. Nurses, doctors, security. Everyone you come in contact with now or have done in the past.'

'What will you do with them?'

He doesn't answer, and all I can think of is that nurse who died the last time Free UK attacked the hospital. Her blood pooling on the floor. My stomach twists, and I fight to keep it down. If they can identify them outside the hospital, they are easier targets.

'You know, Rain. But don't waste your sympathy on Lorders' servants. Remember whose side you are on. Think about it. If you're not with us, then you are with the Lorders and everything they stand for. You might as well have handed Tori over to the Lorders yourself. Snatched Ben and ended his life. Tossed the match that burned his parents alive. Think about it, Rain. Now, go.'

I head for the door, the long bike ride home. Anxious to escape into the night. But I force myself to look back. Tori's chest rises and falls; her face, peaceful in sleep, a marked contrast from the pain it held earlier.

'She'll be all right?' I can't stop myself from asking.

'For now.'

Back home, I feel my feet are fighting for purchase, slipping down a long and sandy slope. Nico wants faces. But giving them to him would be like handing out death sentences for nurses and doctors.

They're not innocent!

No. They Slated me, countless others like me. What happened to Ben lies square on their shoulders.

They do what they are told. And I know that isn't good enough! But some of them are nice, more than nice. But what else can I do? Nico is right. They're all part of it.

I can't sleep. I spread sketch paper around me. Every time my pencil touches the paper, a real face soon stares back. Like the messy grey hair of Nurse Sally, from the tenth floor. My floor, and she was one of the ones who looked after me at the beginning. She was always laughing, told me about her new grandson when he was born. Showed me his photo.

One day, he may not be safe. Her grandson was it Brian, Ryan, something like that? might say something the authorities don't like, and then go missing, and be Slated, himself. Then be returned or terminated if anything goes wrong. Like Tori, whose life no kidding myself about Nico's slight reassurances now hangs in the balance.

Would Sally sacrifice herself for her grandson? Can I make that decision for her? For her grandson and all the other children and grandchildren whose lives are limited, controlled and threatened by Lorders.

I keep drawing, compelled. I can't stop.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

'Kyla? So, what do you think? Kyla? Kyla...'

'Sorry, what was that?' I turn to Cam, realising I've been hearing an echo of my name for a while. Lost in my thoughts while I ate my sandwich, his voice a comforting sound but the meaning not registering.

Cam mock-glares. 'A simple yes or no is all.'

'Hmmm, let's see: you might be offering me cake, and then I should say yes. On the other hand, you might have suggested anything.'

'Take a punt.'

'Uh...yes!'

'Okay, I'll come get you at about ten.'

'For what?'

'Going for a walk tomorrow.'

'What about school?'

He waves a hand in front of my eyes. 'There is something seriously wrong with your memory.' Then his face falls as he realises what he said. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded.'

'Don't worry. There IS something seriously wrong with my memory. Slating kind of does that.' Not to mention all the rest of it.

'But that is only for stuff before then, right?'

'Right.' Though not so much in my case. 'Besides, if I actually listen, my short-term memory is okay.'

'What is it like?'

'What?'

He hesitates. 'Sorry. Forget it.'

'There you go again!'

'Oh, sorry, I-' He looks stricken so I let him off.

'I'm kidding. Go ahead and ask whatever it is. I don't mind.'

'What is it like, not having any memories?'

'Well. To start with, it's fine. Because you don't know any different. And everyone in hospital is the same as you.'

'And then?'

I frown. 'For me, things got worse when I got out. I wanted to know things I couldn't know. And then it is like you fill stuff in because too much is blank. And then you can't tell what is real, and what isn't.'

'Most Slateds look pretty happy about it.'

I laugh. 'True enough. They monkey with our happy settings, didn't you know? Plus you learn to stay happy so your Levo isn't buzzing and blacking you out all the time.'

'Being happy and forgetting things sounds good,' he says quietly. Thinking about his dad? I lean back, considering. I'd be happier if I didn't remember anything from before. If I didn't obsess about Lucy, and her broken fingers; if Rain's memories never appeared. But then the Lorders would have won.

'The thing is, if you're making yourself pretend-happy to stay level, you don't know what you feel any more. Nothing feels real. There may be some things it would be good to forget. Yet it is frustrating missing pieces of myself I want to remember!'

For someone who talks so much, Cam has a good listener's face. There is something about him that makes me want to tell him everything.

'It's nice to have a day off school in honour of your affliction, though,' he says.

'What are you talking about?'

'Are you pulling my leg, or do you really not remember?'

I aim a punch at his shoulder, but he jumps away.

'Tell me already!'

'There's no school tomorrow. It's Remembrance Day.'

There is a special afternoon tutor group all about it.

We scan in, take our seats.

Our form tutor glances across our faces. 'Can anyone tell us why there is no school tomorrow?'

'Remembrance Day,' several voices call out.

'But what are we remembering? Anyone?'

He spends minutes on the original meaning: remembering those who fought and died for this country in wars, so long ago almost none living can remember. The numbers are dizzying. The population of the UK is less now than then, but still.

'And what else are we remembering?' he asks. But this time he doesn't wait for an answer. He turns the lights down and a film begins. Horrifying images fill the screen. Angry mobs, out of control, destroying everything in their path. The student riots of the twenties.

Windows are broken, shops emptied, fires burn. A girl younger than me is dragged off screaming by a gang of hooded youths, and though you don't see anything else, you get the idea. An old man is pushed and trampled. A child knocked from a mother's arms.

I close my eyes to shut it out. A flash of memory: Nico. He showed us this same film! I remember. Then he showed another one.

Whoever is in charge changes history to suit themselves.

That is what he said. The Lorders took every bit of evidence they had of out-of-control riots and destruction, pieced them together, and made it mandatory viewing for the population. They didn't show Nico's version. Lorders police, they were called, then beating students. Causing many of the injuries and deaths shown, then deleting their involvement so it looked like the rioters were responsible for it all.

Yet the students weren't blameless. They caused damage, and injury. Many deserved to be punished for their part. And criminals and gangs joined in, took part to thieve and murder.

But it wasn't one-sided. And I wonder: if Free UK are successful, and the Lorders beaten down, how will history be rewritten? For a start, they wouldn't be generally called 'AGT' any more, they'd be Free UK to everyone. A more palatable name, dropping the terrorist right out of it.

I feel the lights come back on through my eyelids, and open my eyes. Everyone in the room is quiet, sobered by the violence even though they must be shown this every year.

Just a few weeks from now, the 26th of November is Armstrong Memorial Day: this year it will be twenty-five years since the deaths of the first Lorder PM and his wife. Mum's parents. They were killed on the way to their country house at Chequers to celebrate five years in power: so thirty years, now, of Lorder control. Our teacher tells us about the celebrations planned.

Celebrations of a Lorder government that twists and destroys minds.

As I leave to meet Jazz and Amy to go home, the irony isn't lost on me. The Lorders are saying remember those who died defending the country from itself, almost thirty years ago.

Yet now they make people go missing, make sure they are forgotten, that no one asks any embarrassing questions. They steal memories, like mine.

Lest we forget.

'You're quiet today,' Jazz says, watching me in the mirror as we pull into our village.

'I'm all right.'

Jazz and Amy kiss goodbye, and I slip into the house.

Amy dashes in for a quick change of clothes while I make her cup of tea. I hold it out when she gets downstairs.

'Thanks, Kyla. Are you sure everything is all right?'

'Yes. Fine; go on.' And she dashes out and up the road to the doctor's surgery for work.

But the house is so quiet; there is too much darkness in my mind to be alone. I wander room to room, then finally settle down with my sketch pad. No one will be home for almost two hours. I want to draw, yet I don't. I extract my hidden drawings from last night: Nurse Sally and friends. I sigh.

What does this say about me, about where I stand: am I so weak that I can't do what I see is right, just because it is hard? And I owe everything to Nico. After all he did to save me, protect me, I can't let him down.