Preset

Subscribe to our newsletter for title recommendations, giveaways and discounts reserved only for subscribers.Join here. PRAISE FOR THE SERIES“A collision of our era’s catastrophes fuses a new world, becoming something rich and strange.”—KIM STANLEY ROBINSON, Hugo Award–winning novelist“Through her sage storytelling, Sarina Dahlan richly weaves philosophy, science, and dystopia . . . Preset offers a trenchant meditation on what we both lose and gain when we choose to remember.”—JENNIFER GIVHAN, author of River Woman, River Demon“Intricate, imaginative, and often surprising, Preset propels you through a future of warning, danger, and possibilities.”—DAVID BRIN, New York Times bestselling author“Reset captured me on so many levels . . . It was an absolute pleasure to read.”—NAOMI GIBSON, author of Every Line of You, on Reset“Reset haunts the reader through an ethereal, existential exploration of memory and meaning that lingers long after the last page.”—D. ERIC MAIKRANZ, author of The Reincarnationist Papers, on Reset“A vivid, evocative journey…This compelling debut is a story for our current world.” —KIMIKO GUTHRIE,author of Block Seventeen, on Reset“Evocative and literary, I highly recommend it.”—DAVID R. SLAYTON, author of White Trash Warlock, on Reset BOOKS BY SARINA DAHLANTHE FOUR CITIESPresetResetSHORT STORY COLLECTIONSShadow Play Copyright © 2023 by Sarina DahlanE-book published in 2023 by Blackstone PublishingCover design by Luis Alejandro Cruz CastilloAll rights reserved. This book or any portionthereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotationsin a book review. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidentaland not intended by the author.Trade e-book ISBN 979-8-200-97850-2Library e-book ISBN 979-8-200-97849-6Fiction / Science Fiction / GeneralBlackstone Publishing31 Mistletoe Rd.Ashland, OR 97520www.BlackstonePublishing.com To Ben & Jane We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make the world.—Gautama BuddhaYou are the drop and you are the sea You are mercy and you are wrath You are nectar and you are poison —Rumi CHAPTER ONE EliCallisto, the Four CitiesInside his right ear was a constant ache. Sometimes it jabbed. Sometimes it throbbed. At all times, it persisted. It ran a straight line from deep inside his cochlea to the bullet scar on his right shoulder, as if it were a string attaching two ends of a tin-can telephone. Accompanying it was a beating sound—the rhythm of a heart. It had been the soundtrack to his life since the day he stood on the precipice of death. The assassin had aimed to kill and missed, but they did not fail. A part of him had died—and in its place was the unending, consuming pain.Above his tabletop, a schematic diagram floated like a golden spiderweb. He rearranged the threads of lights connecting the various points with a finger. At first glance, it was a web of chaos. But there was order and meaning to everything. The process of organizing his predictive model soothed him, like how one got peace from raking a Japanese sand garden. It was the only way to calm his ever-racing mind.How did we get here? Eleanor’s voice rose through the veil of memory. It was a question she had asked the last time they spoke. He couldn’t answer her then, and he did not know how to answer her now. He had been trying to pinpoint a defining moment in their life together that could shed light on this riddle. But there wasn’t one.He hated not having answers. He was supposed to be the one everyone looked to for solutions—the one who brought order to chaos. Perhaps he hadn’t looked closely enough. Thirty-one years together. A lifetime together. To him, though, it was multiple lifetimes—each layer needing to be peeled away to reveal the one beneath. But memories were subjective, each one wrought with the dark spots of imperfection.“Eli, everyone is waiting for you,” a voice said, disrupting his reverie.He looked up and saw the slim flat shape of a silhouette against the backlit door. His heart jumped. Elle?“Lights,” he said.The room slowly brightened. The silhouette took a defined form. Tall, a woman, hair up in a loose bun. It was not his wife, but his assistant, Kennedy.Of course not, the thought bitter on his tongue. His wife was missing, or rather hiding with John and the other enemies of the state. An enemy of the state. What a strange title to associate with the love of his life.Did Eleanor know that her one action had tipped the scale in the Resistance’s favor and put the survival of the Four Cities in jeopardy? She must. That’s why she left. Now he had no choice but to push everything forward faster than he intended.“Do you want me to cancel today’s address?” Kennedy asked.“No.”He looked down at the speech his publicist had written—bullet points with keywords in bold. The people of the Four Cities needed reassurance. They wanted to feel safe again.Smoke and mirrors.There was no peace, and there could never be peace. The problem was choice. The problem would always be choice. Why couldn’t anyone else see it?He rose from the chair. A sharp pang stabbed at a spot on his neck below his earlobe, as though someone had driven a nail through the soft tissue behind his jawbone. The pain pulled him back down and he landed on his seat with a heavy thud.“Damn it!” he spat.Kennedy rushed to him. “Let me help you.”He raised a hand. “I’m fine.”She stopped in her tracks, concern written on her face. She was becoming more empathetic and responsive to his commands—a feat, considering what she was just a year and a half ago. He could take pride in that.“Can I get you anything? A glass of water? A Tab?”He shook his head. “Just give me a minute.”Tab was Eleanor’s creation—a PTSD drug used to calm anxiety and lessen depression. She had made it to help those suffering from their painful memories of the war, the one that killed the rest