The Forgetting Curve (Memento Nora) by Angie Smibert

Memento .
    She knew about Memento . (And what the chips were capable of.)
    The ’casts was obviously unauthorized. Somebody knew what they were doing and was “broadcasting” an old-fashioned pirate radio show on the low-power spectrum. That probably meant they varied the length, timing, strength, and location of the ’casts to avoid being found. And since nobody used these frequencies anymore, it would be hard just to stumble across the show—unless it interfered with something. Like a mobile.
    Finding radio signals is pretty old-school stuff. I could drive around with a homemade directional antenna and physically hunt down the transmitter. Back in the day, I could’ve triangulated the signal off of radio towers. But those towers didn’t work anymore. They’d been stripped, scrapped, or had fallen apart. Most people didn’t even remember that radio and TV had once been broadcast over the air from towers like that—for free.
    Only geeks knew that kind of stuff anymore. And only a non-skid, like my Winter, would know how to make something to track the signal.
    It was time to rattle on some doors.

19.0
     

SOMETHING
     
    WINTER
     
    Finally. Something to do.
    I had been so bored. I couldn’t call my friends, leave the compound, or see my own grandfather. I couldn’t even go into stupid work. All because Mom (and Dad, but mostly Mom) kept saying I’m still too fragile, that I need time to get my bearings.
    What a load of crap.
    Maybe I should stop asking them about Japan.
    The hummingbirds fluttered.
    Aiden described his so-called “project” and I told him what to bring. “Can I come now?” he asked.
    “You’d better,” I replied.
    While he was here, he introduced me to the MemeCast.

20.0
     

HELLUVA FIRST DATE
     
    VELVET
     
    New amendment to the Book of Velvet : when a cute rich guy asks you to hang out, be worried if he shows up with an antenna made out of a potato chip can.
    At least I dressed appropriately: old jeans, combat boots, and a Pax Victoriana tee. I was deliberately trying to look like I didn’t care enough to impress him. Mission accomplished.
    “What’s that?” I poked my finger at the cantenna.
    “We’re going hunting,” Aiden said. “You see, there’s this pirate ’cast—”
    “Yeah, the MemeCast,” I interrupted.
    He seemed a little miffed that I already knew about it, but it didn’t put him off his explanation. Much. He wanted to find the MemeCast because the person behind it seemed to know about the Memento s and Winter.
    Of course, I’d wondered about the ’cast, about Meme Girl and where she got her info, but I was mostly into the music and poetry that followed her rants. I told him that. It’s where I’d heard “Enough” by the Multinationals and “Minor Birds” by Robert Frost. She even played and read some local bands and poets. The conspiracy theory stuff had seemed half-baked. Until now. I rubbed the disc behind my ear.
    Aiden was going on about tracking the signal.
    I had to admit the idea was genius, though I wasn’t going to tell him that. I had a few questions of my own that I wanted to ask. Someone. Anyone.
    “Lead on, Macduff,” I told him.

     
    He did. We drove around the center of the city a bit, not talking much because he was intent on listening for the signal.
    “We may not pick up anything today. She only ’casts from random locations and intervals—so people won’t find her. Like this,” I said.
    “I’m surprised you listen to the MemeCast,” he said.
    I was really thinking, Me? What about you, Mr. Richie Rich? Instead I went with, “Don’t sound so shocked. Looking good is not my only talent.” I hoped he got sarcasm. Spike didn’t always.
    “You do look good,” he said, but then quickly turned back to his signal. He rolled down the window to scan a bigger area.
    “Uh, you’re going to make people really nervous driving around in a black SUV with a gun-like thing hanging out the window.” We’d already gotten some