by Sean Platt
“Don’t ask Eden staff. Ask the guests.”
Ephraim considered. Evermore had been dabbling in questionable circles for years, but the Tomorrow Gene was new enough that people could mostly only wonder. Hollywood hadn’t suddenly lost thirty years of age just yet. That was probably coming, but the craze was percolating already.
The therapy’s newness left him long on suspicions but short on suspects. Altruance was getting it for sure, so he was one person that Ephraim could ask. Pierra was young; she was probably on Eden for more traditional, less invasive procedures. Gus had come to relax and smoke weed; he couldn’t give less of a shit about his age or fitness. But Sophie? Sophie was 47 and had once been the beautiful darling of every gossip site. A few million credits wouldn’t be much for Sophie to spend — not if she went home looking 25 and started landing top-shelf roles again. The investment would pay her back handsomely.
Still, he’d just met these people. And what’s more, he liked them. He couldn’t bug them about such personal things, let alone ask them to breach an ironclad NDA.
“I wonder,” Fiona said.
“Wonder what?”
“Riverbed is a public company. We have the board and stockholders watching our books. But I’m wondering if there’s a way … maybe … that I can hide a half-million credit spend.”
“Why?”
“So that you can stop being a wanna-be and become an insider. And get us some answers.”
“No,” Ephraim said, knowing what she wanted.
But Fiona was undaunted. “If you sign up for Tomorrow Gene therapy, you’ll get the details. Not their methods, but at least how it works and what’s being done. They’d have to if you’re to trust them rooting around in your DNA.”
“I’m not getting the Tomorrow Gene, Fiona. Forget it. I’m not that eager to recapture my fame, athletic prowess, or cover girl beauty. Just thinking about it scares the hell out of me.”
“I’m just saying—”
“I’ll sneak around and see what I can find like we planned. My cover is holding, and I’m keeping my trail clean. Whatever Eden would tell me, even if I did sign up for therapy, would be sugar-coated — nowhere near what you need to know, and probably less than I might be able to uncover with a bit of cloak and dagger. And honestly, think about it. For now, as long as I keep resin on my fingertips and my hair out of the brushes, they don’t have reason to investigate. Don’t you think that’ll change if I sign up for therapy and they start sticking me with needles bent on changing my genes?”
Fiona sighed, seeing the logic. How well would a skin-deep cover story hold up once they started sequencing his genome? “Just as well. I doubt I could hide that much money from the board anyway.”
Though she'd changed her mind, her tone made Ephraim uneasy. He heard the desperation in her voice. It made him pity her again — and fear what she might be willing to do to quell that despair.
Movement up the hill. Someone was coming.
“Look. I’ll see what I can find, Fiona. And I’ll stay in touch.”
“Just one last thing. Be very careful. If they catch you, I think they might k—”
“I have to go, Fiona. Speak soon.”
He hung up, wondering what k word she’d been in the middle of saying when he’d broken the connection.
If they catch you, I think they might kiss you.
Probably not. It was probably another k word he didn’t want to consider.
“Hey!”
Ephraim turned to see Altruance Brown running toward him and waving for attention.
CHAPTER 11
TO BURY THEIR VISIT
Ephraim waited for Altruance to arrive, making no move to meet him in the middle. He couldn’t have heard any of Ephraim’s discussion with Fiona, but it felt like he’d been caught jerking off in public. He needed a minute to compose his face and slow his breath — to figuratively tuck himself back in.
“Hey! Hey, man! Where you been? I’ve been trying to page you!”
Altruance was shouting. Something had gone wrong. Something was urgent. Ephraim had a million guesses why Altruance might be shouting, but the simplest one didn’t occur to him until Altruance got closer. He’d simply been too far away to be heard without raising his voice.
Guilt must have been on Ephraim like spilled ink. Altruance eyed him from toes to hair.
“What?” Altruance said.
“What what?” Ephraim echoed.
“What you been doing down here?”
“Just making a phone call.”
“You look all sweaty.”
“I pace when I talk. It’s hot out.”
Altruance watched him for another few seconds, then said, “Whatever, man. Didn’t you get my pages?”
“No. You can page people here?”
“It’s supposed to ping on your MyLife. Hell. Must not’ve gone through.”
Maybe that’s because until a half of a minute ago, this phone-charger attached to my Doodad was jamming all the signals around me and broadcasting some bullshit about me and my “compliance officer” talking about surfing.
“Sorry,” Ephraim said.
Altruance pulled his Doodad from his pocket and tapped at the screen.
“Hey. I’ve got bars here. Don’t have bars anywhere else.”
Ephraim said, “This is a communication zone.”
“Oh. You can call out here? Cool.” He looked up. “You were calling someone?”
“Yeah.”
“Your wife?”
“I’m not … I mean, she left me.” Ephraim dropped the lie like a brick.
Altruance looked mortified. He took one of his huge hands from the small device and put it on Ephraim’s shoulders, his brown eyes sympathetic. “Oh, hey man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay. It’s fine. I was calling my mom.”
Well, shit. He shouldn’t have said that. Because if anyone were listening in, they’d have just heard him talking to a supposed company officer, not his mother.
“Oh. That’s cool. I need to call my moms too, and my sister. They worry.” His second hand returned to the Doodad, tapping. “There. Just paged you. You get that one?”
A pop-up had pinged into Ephraim’s field of view. It showed Altruance’s face and the word Test.
“Yeah.”
“Hmm. I guess it’s working now. Wonder why it wasn’t before? Shouldn’t need bars to send a plain old page on the island.”
Ephraim pulled the cord of the now-inactive jamming device from his Doodad and stuffed it into his pocket. “Who knows.”
“Anyway. You been up to your house lately?”
Ephraim shook his head. “I went right from the massage-meeting to here.”
“You expecting visitors?”
“Why, is Sophie there?”
Altruance’s face split into a wide, devilish grin. “Sophie? Why, you expecting her? Just to pop by your place for a little visit?”
“So, not Sophie.”
“No.” Altruance’s smile mostly disappeared. “The people at your place came in a van.”
Ephraim’s pulse doubled. “A van?”
“Yeah. Plain white van. Just pulled right up.”
“Guests don’t have vehicles on Eden.”
“Oh. Right.” He waved a hand. “Must be, like, Housekeeping or something.”
New fear. His “visitors” weren’t housekeeping. For one, he’d explicitly requested that no housekeeping visits be paid during his stay, ostensibly for privacy but actually so they wouldn’t collect evidence of his true genetic identity. And second, Housekeeping didn’t come in unmarked vans.
“What were they doing?” He forced his voice to stay calm.
“Dunno. Cleaning. Fixing. Who knows. You didn’t ask them to come?”
“No.”
“I figured you called them. Like your TV wasn’t working or something. That’s why I was paging you.”
“That’s all? Just my TV not working?”
&nb
sp; Altruance shrugged.
“Why did you run down here if you thought my TV wasn’t working?”
“How do I know what you called them for?”
“I didn’t call them!”
Altruance held up his hands. “Fine. Okay. Got it.”
Ephraim immediately regretted snapping. “I’m sorry. Guess I haven’t found my serenity yet.”
“It’s cool. From what you said, you’re under a lot of stress. I’m no stranger to it, man. When I was fifteen, my moms got into this—”
Ephraim cut him off. “Look. You got anything going on right now?”
“No.”
“You want to take a walk with me?”
“You ain’t gonna try and kiss me, are you?”
Ephraim couldn’t quite manage to laugh, but his tension receded a hair.
“I just meant, come with me to my house.”
“Shit. It’s more than kissing you got on your mind.”
“I meant, to—”
Altruance appeared suddenly exasperated by Ephraim’s inability to understand humor. “I know what you meant. Relax. Or don’t relax; shit, I don’t care. You go ahead and freak right the fuck out if you want. I’m down for whatever you wanna do.”
“I don’t want to freak out.”
“Cool. Then let’s go for a walk. You lead.”
Ephraim left the communication zone, Altruance bobbing beside him. For every one of his steps, Ephraim swore he was taking two. The man was a marvel. No wonder he’d been courted by the pros from such an early age. He’d almost have to retire on Eden as a recluse, at least for a while, or the scouts would never leave him alone. What was even more valuable than Altruance Brown? An Altruance Brown who’d magically reverted to his prime, knowing all he’d learned the first time around.
Ephraim looked around, trying to find his bearings. He wasn’t sure they were walking the proper direction, but Altruance didn’t correct him.
The adrenaline from almost being caught talking to Fiona was leaving his system, and now alternate (and far more logical) fears that Eden representatives might have gone to his guest house began to surface.
He felt foolish, having reacted to Altruance’s help as he had. But it felt good, walking beside the famous athlete. It was like having a layer of armor to have a legitimate Eden guest by his side, able to counteract any suggestions that Ephraim’s stay was suspect.
When they curled around the bend and Ephraim’s place came into view (nice enough, but nothing compared to the mansion Altruance was renting much farther from the water), the driveway and packed clay road were empty.
There were no vans.
No people.
Nothing present, save the breeze.
“I guess they’re gone,” Altruance said.
Ephraim moved to the road. It was a step above bare dirt, but still the kind of island road where tires left tracks. But there were none. Just a soft layer of dust across the surface, and even now Ephraim’s feet made prints.
“Where was the van?”
“Right there.” Altruance pointed. “Right where you’re standing.”
Ephraim raised his head, sighting on the front door.
“And you said they went inside?”
“Yeah. Right up there.”
But there were no footprints between the road and driveway. Altruance didn’t appear to notice their absence, but Ephraim did. Had Altruance simply made a mistake? Had he seen the van in front of a different house? Or had people been here and then taken the time to blow dust across their path to bury their visit?
Ephraim approached the front door. It was locked. He opened it, remembering only as he did that he’d left nearly as nervous as he was now and had slipped a tiny piece of paper in the jamb so he’d be alerted to visitors. The paper fluttered to the floor. It was possible the Eden representatives had come and gone, replacing the paper when they did, but it seemed unlikely.
Who would even notice the tiny slip unless they were looking for it?
Ephraim asked Altruance in and invited him to sit. Then he walked through his rooms, trying to look casual. Nothing was different. Nothing had been upset, moved, or changed in any way. His meager suitcase was exactly where he’d left it, how he’d left it. Not that it held anything incriminating. The only evidence of Ephraim’s quiet mission was on his Doodad and the small vial of fingertip resin, both of which Ephraim had kept with him all day.
Except …
He went to the bathroom. There was a hairbrush on the counter, but Ephraim had picked it clean. There was a toothbrush in a holder, but it was only a decoy. Ephraim had brushed with his finger. Toothbrushes accumulated DNA like hairbrushes. It shouldn’t be a problem unless a GEM team came from the mainland while he was away and scoured for the detritus that Fiona’s little HEPA hand vac didn’t catch.
His sheets were exactly as he’d tossed them. The shape of his body was pressed into the pillow and bed, made into his usual nest.
Altruance must have made a mistake. Nobody had been in here to snoop. He wasn’t being watched. He wasn’t being overheard. And even though Fiona had warned that Evermore might k—
(kiss?)
—him if they caught him, that didn’t mean he’d been caught.
It didn’t mean a team had been here, ascertained his true identity and guessed at his purpose, planted spy devices, and covered their tracks so it’d look like they’d never even come.
Definitely not.
“So? What’s next?” Altruance asked when Ephraim returned to the living room.
And Ephraim said, “I need a drink.”
CHAPTER 12
THE SILENT WATCHER
Going to the Fête felt like overkill, especially since it was early afternoon. So they went to one of the oases, considered getting one of the everyday spa treatments, decided among chortles that doing so threatened their masculinity, and ended up with feet dangling into a hot tub, sipping drinks with umbrellas and sugar on the rims. The drinks were called Flamingos. And they were pink.
But they were good, and after three Flamingos Ephraim started ordering them more boisterously. Maybe the pink things had more alcohol in them than their color indicated or maybe it was psychosomatic, but drink by drink Ephraim felt his tension unraveling. And as it did, he decided more firmly that Altruance had been wrong. Ephraim was acting crazy with his dreams of persecution.
So he laughed. Altruance laughed. Then he told Ephraim about his family, how close he was to his sister, and Ephraim, with less guilt than usual (must be the alcohol,) told Altruance about his fictional one.
Ephraim ordered another. Altruance went to the bathroom. Ephraim moved from the hot tub to a deck chair, now bathed in shade instead of sun. The view was lovely and so were the grounds, with guests milling slowly in every direction. Colors were vibrant, and the clouds perfect overhead. In the distance, an enormous lawnmower — the size of a wheat thresher, but with a lower profile — purred across the grass. It was nearly silent, with none of the noise a machine its size should have been making. That didn’t seem possible, but much of what happened on Eden wasn’t technically supposed to be possible.
Ephraim watched the machine for a while, feeling content. He was just a little drunk. Enough to shed his edge and believe that the world — full of plots and schemes and false identities as it might be — was fine after all.
Even the ghosts no longer bothered him. The lawnmower, incongruously, was as white as the buildings, ugly only at the bottom where the blades devoured grass. It was as easy to miss the white-clad workers on its top as it was to miss them everywhere else. But now, lubricated, their faceless garb made sense to Ephraim. They were workers. They didn’t need to see more than what their visors showed. They cared only about the trash that needed gathering, the grass that needed mowing, or the wall that needed painting. They shouldn’t see the guests, who’d paid a premium for privacy.
But there was someone watching Ephraim.
Beyond the massive lawnmower.
/> The watcher was so still that for a few moments Ephraim thought he might have made a mistake — that what he’d at first taken for a man was only a sculpture, some artist’s idea of a joke, plopping an artificial person right in the middle of a concrete walkway amid the pedestrians. But it wasn’t a sculpture. It was a man in jeans and a flannel shirt. He had very short hair and a neat black beard, heavy eyebrows above frozen eyes.
His entire presence was quiet. Ephraim stared at him for several long seconds, waiting for the man to move. Other Retreat guests walked in front of and behind him as if the man wasn’t even there. He wasn’t trying to hide. Ephraim locked eyes, trying to make the man flinch — to realize he was being rude and had fallen to staring.
But Ephraim flinched first. And when he looked up again, beyond the large and surprisingly quiet white lawn machine, the man with the beard was still watching.
“What the fuck is that?” Altruance said from behind him.
Ephraim turned, then turned back. But Altruance wasn’t talking about the man. He was gazing, somewhere between unbelieving and amused, at the enormous piece of landscaping equipment that had just obscured Ephraim’s watcher from sight.
The machine had stopped, now sidelong to Ephraim. And he saw that it was landscaping equipment, not just a lawnmower. There was a deck on the back stacked with quiet arms and cogs. As the big machine stalled, Ephraim saw that the arms were digging holes and planting small flowers.
“There’s a guy …” Ephraim began.
But the machine had already finished its row of planting and moved down. The spot of walkway was again visible, and the staring man was gone.
Ephraim didn’t finish his sentence. He took one of the tiny vials Altruance had in his hand — both of which may have been meant for Altruance, for all Ephraim knew — and drank it down.
The trickle was liquid fire on his tongue. It lit the back of his throat like high-proof whiskey, then dissipated in his stomach and ran away to do terrible deeds.
“Shit, man,” Altruance said. “You do know what you just drank, don’t you?”
“Pink Lady. Sloe Gin Fizz. White Russian without the White in it.”
