Mud Bubble turned her. “Red Wave’s request can wait. We are all eager to assess the value of your memories, Morgan.”

Suddenly, Morgan got the uncomfortable feeling that the horror of Al's memory was like an opening act. She was the new species. The main spectacle.

Part of her wanted to tell Mud Bubble to take their evaluations and shove it. The more reasoned parts knew the was the only form of currency she had in order to get her own answers. A tiny portion of her heart ached to see her dad and sister again.

She rose to her feet. "All right. I'll give it a shot."

As Al had done, she walked up to the Knowledge Transfer Device. Holding her breath, she placed her palms flat upon the cloudy globe.

The fog lit up from within. Then, unexpectedly, she found herself gazing at her mother's face.

Morgan thought her memories of her had been dimmed by time. But now, her mom stood there in the fog as real as life, cooking dinner at the stove.

As a little girl, Morgan hadn't noticed the dirty dishes piled up on both ends of the sink, the dark bags under her mother's eyes, or the guilty smile. She had only known that her mother was awake for once. This was a memory of a time before all the rehabs, the broken promises. Before her mom had skipped out with her new boyfriend like Morgan and Emma had never existed.

"Mommy!" Morgan heard herself call out in a light, child's voice.

And that sent her brain skittering to all the times her mother hadn't been there when she should have. Like the time Morgan’s dad dropped her off at Walmart, alone, to pick out her first bra.

Oh God, I don't want the aliens seeing this…

Her thoughts jumped, and so did the visions she saw in the fog which were then projected upon the wall.

Scattered, unconnected memories: Fishing with her father, Emma’s high laugh, and in the next second her father again as he worked under their car. Struggling with her sister for the remote control as a voice on the TV sang out, “Ohhhhhhh… Who lives in a pineapple under the sea…”

Distantly, she heard the Stone Seekers murmuring surprise. Red Wave muttered that the quality of this memory was even worse than the last.

Morgan pulled her hands away. The globe went dim. "I'm sorry! I don't know what I'm doing!”

"Concentrate on a single memory," Mud Bubble said. "Picture it clearly within your mind."

Morgan frowned at her hands, then at the Knowledge Transfer Device. "Is this thing recording everything I'm thinking?"

"Record," Mud Bubble repeated in his own language. "What odd phrasing. Yes, whatever you show us will be kept within our library for all of time."

Well, crap. There were certainly things she wanted to keep to herself. What if everyone saw all the times she’d wanted to kiss Lucas? Her cheeks felt hot, and she knew she was blushing.

Stop it. Aliens won't care if you like a boy.

But doubt swelled up, and she dropped her hands to her side. "I don't know…”

“You do not have to show us war, today," Mud Bubble said as if they had not just watched the Yellow Crest massacre. "Show us your world, Morgan. Show us the day that you left it."

"Oh, like that's not emotional?" But something specific did give her a starting point.

Predictably, Mud Bubble ignored her outburst. “Start with waking up in the morning and walk us through the day from start to finish.”

Okay. She could do that. Morgan took a deep breath and forced herself to remember. It has started with… oh yeah. One of her dad’s stupid end of the world drills. Kind of funny, in hindsight.

She laid her hands flat on the globe. Within a second, the blare of the smoke alarm—so familiar and right—screeched through the room. And then she saw herself argue with her father.

It was weird. She normally couldn't recall what she ate the previous day, especially back on earth when having a meal was as easy as opening a box and pouring out cereal. But, as she walked through her own memories with the assistance of the Knowledge Transfer Device, every detail came back to her in crystal clear quality. She watched herself make breakfast, text her sister, and get ready for school.

Remembering the way Al's memories flashed past points in time, she skipped her bathroom visits.

At first, she was concerned that she was boring everybody, and thought about skipping her drive to school, too. But the stone seekers found the car fascinating. She supposed it would be, to creatures who swam.

So, Morgan took a room full of aliens through a typical high school day. She heard the occasional murmurs: It seemed Mud Bubble was taking notes, and would say things like, “Males are typically larger than females, with impressive whisker growth," and "four-limbed structure. Mostly symmetrical designs."

Her classes, too, were in crystal clear quality. That last day on Earth, Morgan had sat through English, Calculus, and Chemistry II, before lunch.

Now those lectures would be recorded on an alien planet until the end of time.

Her concentration slipped once or twice as she approached the lunch period. By that point, she had been sitting in the same position, her hands against the globe, for hours. Her muscles were growing stiff.

Gritting her teeth, Morgan force herself to power through.

And there was Lucas. His hair was a little shorter. She hadn't realized how much it had grown out since landing on the planet.

I had been so angry with him, she realized as she recalled their conversation at lunch. Angry and suspicious. Seeing it all over again, she still wasn't sure if it was justified or not, but he had been so friendly, and she’d just thrown up walls. Walls that they were just beginning to break down before...

Before she knew it, she was watching the fight between Colton and Lucas again. Viewing it for a second time, without the shock and surprise, details were clear as it hadn't been before. Now, Morgan saw how Colton was bleeding from his nose and one ear. Lucas must have gotten a couple of good shots in before Morgan had arrived. Then Lucas was knocked down, and Colton—

Morgan ripped her hands away from the Knowledge Transfer Device. The image faded into the fog before Colton could stomp down.

Breathing hard, she looked across the room to see a wall of alien eyes staring back at her.

Al stood nearby, too, his head cocked. His expression wasn't one of judgment. It was curiosity.

"Sorry." Her voice sounded loud in the room. "I got… Distracted."

Almost done, she told herself. She wouldn't let Red Wave claim her memories were incomplete.

Letting out a breath, Morgan laid her hands back upon the globe.

They were back in the cafeteria as the rumbling started, and she forced herself to think about that moment and no other. She ended the memory upon waking up on the dome, mostly because she wanted to see Earth again. She held onto that picture of her planet, staring at it with hungry eyes, before she lifted her hands away for the final time.

She’d done it. Emotionally, she was drained. Physically, she felt brittle, as if her body was about to crack into a million pieces and drift away in the air. It wasn't just the act of concentration—though that had been a strain at the end—it was seeing her old home. Her old life.

A life of cars, public school, society, and all the casual technology she had taken for granted despite being told all her life that it would go away.

A clawed, three-fingered hand rested on her shoulder. It was Al, copying that bit of body language in support she had awkwardly given to him.

She turned and gave him a sickly smile. "I'm okay. Thanks."

"Your world…” Al tilted his head and blinked. "It is very strange."

She huffed a laugh. “I guess it can be.”

“That male. Lucas. He’s the one you wanted medicine for? Taking care of your males is important.”

Oh geez. “We take care of each other. I hope… I hope he’s okay.”

Her gaze drifted past him. The council was huddled together, talking. Despite knowing their language, Morgan was too far away to pick out what was being said.

My memory had better be good enough for them, she thought fiercely.

Finally, Mud Bubble, who seemed to be the official liaison for the group, broke off from the group to approach them.

“Thank you for your memory, Morgan. Yours appears to be a fascinating planet. If you had not told us otherwise, we could believe you were a Maker.”

Her stomach dropped down past her shoes into the watery rocks below. “We aren’t. We’ve barely got off our planet.”

Stone Seeker’s crocodile mouths and fixed, unmoving eyes didn’t convey a lot of emotion. Nevertheless, Morgan got a sense of excitement from him. “As Councilor of Alien Cultures, I will allow you and Alphon’zikk access to our libraries—all our libraries—in exchange for one memory a day.” He paused and the whiskers across his snout flared in anticipation. He clearly thought he was being generous. “Weather Eye, who is the Councilor of Trade, would like more memories of the technology and tools, if you can. We have never seen a culture with technology to equal the Makers.”

“None?” She looked at Al, who shrugged. “Then I came here for nothing?”

“I would not say that. All the wealth of our centuries of knowledge is in here. And of course, here.” He raised his hand and brushed her forehead with a tentacled finger.

She slapped his hand away. “What does that supposed mean? You can’t—Oh God, I’ve come all this way, and for what? If you can’t help me, who can?”

They hadn’t seen a car, or anything like a car before. No computers. No electricity. The Stone Seekers had no more way to get off this planet than she did. She should have stayed in the village. At least then she could have been by Lucas’s side in case he didn’t get better.

Morgan wasn’t prone to panic attacks, but she felt very close to hyperventilating. The enormity of her failure pressed down on her, making her feel like she couldn’t breathe. The Makers—whoever or whatever they were—were out of reach. And she… she had stupidly taken herself so far from the only other humans on this entire planet. There was no help for them. None at all. They’d all go Lord of the Flies soon, if they haven’t already.

As usual, Mud Bubble didn’t seem to notice her rudeness. “It is rare to discover a species with a formal school system. How many years of education have you had?”

His question took her off guard and neatly cut through her distress like a knife. “Since I was four. So… thirteen years, give or take.”

Mud Bubble repeated her words for the council, which caused a new flurry.

“What is school?” Al asked.

“Like… training. To get a job when we’re grown up,” Morgan replied. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Mud Bubble repeated, shocked. “Young human, there are entire cultures who are born, live, produce offspring, and die in that amount of time. You have the equivalent of lifetimes of knowledge.”

“Sure, the alphabet and books and… and US history. None of that can help me!”

She turned away, eyes burning. “I can’t… I need space.” She needed to get out of this ugly bog range and go back to Lucas.

“Of course. We have prepared rooms for your stay.”

“Morgan is my pride sister,” Al said sharply. “We’ll room together.”

Why? Not like she cared. Numbly, she watched as Mud Bubble directed a young Stone Seeker to make preparations for a larger, joined room before he shuffled back to speak with the rest of the councilors.

Exhausted, Morgan leaned against the nearest wall, then sank down and put her head in her hands.

Al sat next to her. “That male, Lucas. You wanted him to be your mate? I’m sorry he was hurt.”

“I don’t know if I wanted him as my, um, mate or not. But that’s why I came out here. No.” She shook her head. Why was she lying to herself? “That’s the excuse I gave for coming out here. I wanted to help his broken knee and all, but the truth is… I want to go home.”

“Oh.” Al seemed shocked. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“He’s not dead.” At least, I hope not. Lucas, I’m so, so sorry…

“Broken legs aren’t fatal to humans? But how can he walk?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.” Her laugh was a touch hysterical, even to her own ears. “I don’t even play one on TV…”

She stopped.

She had just replayed a day in its entirety, including class lectures she probably couldn’t have recited if her life depended on it. But the Knowledge Transfer Device had plucked it all out of her head, authentically.

Was that what Mud Bubble was trying to tell her?

“Morgan?” Al asked, looking concerned.

“I think…” She shook her head. It was too hard to explain. Rising, she strode back over to the Knowledge Transfer Device and laid her hand on it.

Her brain had been sluggish thanks to the marathon recording session, but adrenaline was a hell of a drug. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to remember the first time she had read her book on edible mushrooms.

Then… there it was, rising out of the fog. She was in her father’s cabin in the woods, the book resting on her lap. In the fog, she watched herself flip open the cover to the first chapter: The basics of mushroom identification.

The page was in crystal clear quality.

It’s all here, she realized. I have access to it…. I have access to all of it.

Everything she had ever read. Every TV show, documentary, every lecture about preparing for and surviving end times that her father had dragged to….

Mud Bubble had wandered over. “Morgan. Are you well?”

She tore her gaze from the fog. “Do you have writing tools? Something to write on?”

Mud Bubble made an affirmative motion and turned to gather their equivalent of a pen and paper.

If the Stone Seekers couldn’t help her, then maybe she could help herself.