The Tomorrow Gene

by Sean Platt

  With a floating part of his mind he thought of Altruance’s body, bobbing somewhere nearby. Were the guards swimming with it? Did Sophie have to watch its macabre drifting while engaged in battle?

  Ephraim felt a hand on his side, then fingers grasping his pocket. Neven creeping ever downward hunting for his prize. Ephraim’s forearm, horizontal, was pressed against Neven’s throat as he rolled back into the upper position, keeping his arm extended; Neven was stretched to the max but couldn’t reach the MyLife.

  With his weight pushing down and his other arm pulling, Neven had a significant advantage. Ephraim couldn’t hold him for long.

  The engine revved. Someone almost stepped on him.

  Sophie.

  She was a blur behind Neven’s straining chest, his intensely focused eyes. But she was still there and fighting. Ephraim could see her feet. And he felt the boat cant as she returned to the helm and turned the wheel, nudging the throttle.

  “Give it to me,” Neven growled from the deck.

  Ephraim didn’t reply. His stance on the issue was clear, known, and currently under enforcement.

  “You have to trust me,” Neven went on, huffing for breath, straining with all his might. “What happens after this, if you take that back to Fiona, will be worse. We cannot let this information leave the island, no matter what. You don’t know what you’re forcing us to do. It would crush us.”

  “That’s the idea,” Ephraim managed to say.

  Ephraim’s forearm slipped on his sweaty skin, moving up to his neck. The motion compressed Neven’s breathing and shortened the distance between their bodies. Ephraim could feel the other man’s hand fumbling in his pocket, close to purchase.

  He pushed harder. Neven choked, then wrenched sideways. With the roll, the choking ceased.

  The fighting sounds had stopped. The engine’s pitch increased. They slowly gained speed. The guards might be gone; Ephraim couldn’t see to be sure. Or maybe — judging by the fact that nobody had pulled Neven off of Ephraim — Sophie was the one who’d gone overboard, and the boat’s motions were guards steering them back to shore.

  Then the oar fell like a righteous hammer, knocking Neven sideways.

  The shift in balance was enough for Ephraim to crab-shuffle back and sit, then kick and stand. Neven ended up leaning against the side of the boat, gasping for breath. Sophie hit him again. Then he spilled sideways, half overboard, grasping the rail.

  Sitting up, Ephraim finally saw the sea around them. The dock was behind them, the wake from the boat dragging them away. Sophie had battled them all alone, cleared the deck. The bow was headed right between the buoys. Toward national waters.

  “Don’t do this,” croaked a voice.

  Neven, clinging to the rail.

  Ephraim moved without hurry. With the boat gathering speed and Neven’s lower half dragging in the water, their tormentor would never pull himself aboard. He could let go or cling and get bounced until he was covered in bruises. But any hope for mutiny was gone.

  “You’ll kill them all,” Neven said. “You’ll kill them all if you do what you’re about to do.”

  “Just like you killed Altruance,” said Ephraim, unmoved.

  He looked at Neven’s fingers, losing their grip on the rail one digit at a time.

  “There’s something you have to know.”

  A surge of water. A splash and a gasp. Neven coughed. One more finger slipped.

  “Go home,” Ephraim said. “Go back to your island.”

  “Altruance’s sister,” Neven said, “was named Damaris.”

  He slipped from the rail. He tumbled back into the wake behind the boat, and by the time they crossed the border into Mauritius’ Exclusive Economic Zone, Neven had swum halfway back to shore. From what Ephraim could see, he shouted into a device on his wrist while treading water, issuing commands from his impotent seat of power.

  Or at least, Ephraim thought Neven’s power was impotent.

  But five minutes later, flames bloomed from the hills as all of Eden began to burn.

  CHAPTER 68

  SKY-HIGH FLAME

  Ephraim drove while Sophie navigated using a paper map she found in one of the cabinets below the wheel. The boat had a GPS, but it wasn’t active when they boarded — and both of them, through unspoken agreement, afraid to turn it on lest it activated a self-driving feature that would return them to Eden.

  Sophie’s navigation system — absent a star-sighting transit and a mariner’s compass — relied mostly on the relative positions of Eden, the first buoys, and the sun. With Agaléga hundreds of miles away, they could only motor vaguely east, keeping the sun on the port side. Given the way neither of them could more than guess at true east once out to sea and disoriented by the fact that they’d left Islet 09 rather than the more familiar Retreat, navigating wasn’t an easy task.

  Given the distance they had to travel, even a slight error in trajectory would cause them to miss Agaléga entirely — not to mention Ephraim likely wasn't driving a straight line to begin with.

  The boat had a full tank, and there were several more topped-off cans in the corner. The craft wasn’t fast, but the weather was clear and Ephraim thought they’d be able to go far. Maybe miss the islands and end up trying to motor to Indonesia before running dry. Who knew? At least they’d starve to death away from Eden’s burning shores.

  But they didn’t reach the shore of Agaléga or any other Mauritius island.

  It wasn’t for lack of proper navigation. After an hour at sea, Sophie spotted a boat on the horizon, steaming west toward them, on a line to intercept. She watched it approach through waterproof binoculars she’d found under one of the seats.

  As it drew nearer, she reported to Ephraim that it was flying a Mauritius flag. That no longer bothered her, her earlier suspicions of the country’s government apparently set aside with Neven’s assertion that Mauritius “couldn’t be bought.” But then they came near enough for her to see the deck, and after she’d inspected it she shoved the binoculars at Ephraim for him to do the same.

  There were only two passengers on the Mauritius ship.

  Elle.

  And Nolon.

  Ephraim hauled the wheel around and headed north. The ship followed for a while, making no true effort to catch up. Soon they reached a fresh set of buoys and Sophie announced they were again heading into international waters.

  They’d barely slipped inside Mauritius’s EEZ again when another Elle and Nolon Party Boat came — something that made Ephraim wonder if the national waters near Eden were always swimming with patrols. The water ahead was a gentle curve of unbroken horizon. But once they turned north, Eden again grew obvious on the port side. Neither of them wanted to look, but neither could resist when they thought the other wasn’t watching.

  Eden’s flames were licking the hills.

  From what Ephraim could figure, Neven must have commanded the setting-off of a failsafe after realizing he couldn’t recover Ephraim’s evidence. It felt like a victory. Until the moment Ephraim suggested that he had Jonathan’s MyLife, Neven had acted like Ephraim’s actions were all predictable. Eden was always one step ahead. And so, Neven had spun those lies about Fiona and Altruance — because they had to be lies. Neven hadn’t seen Ephraim’s final desecration. He hadn’t realized Ephraim had had the stones to take a knife to his brother’s face after killing him, to remove the recorder and its acres of damning evidence.

  He wasn’t your brother, Ephraim told himself.

  But the island burned all the same, validating his evil deed. When Neven had realized that Ephraim had all the evidence needed to bring Eden down (by the wallet if not by the law, as clients canceled excursions en masse), he’d set fire to Eden so nobody could verify Ephraim’s claims. Maybe if he denied things for long enough and eventually resumed his propaganda machine, then maybe, in time, parts of the operations could recover.

  Maybe.

  Ephraim watched it all burn, unable to help himself. This wasn’t
a normal fire. It was thorough, systematic, widespread. He couldn’t see all of the islands through the wall of sky-high flame. They wouldn’t burn the Retreat, would they? Or any of the resident islands? Reception might need to go. Maybe the Reef; definitely the Pearl. But not the Denizen, surely, nor the Retreat.

  He hoped. But it was impossible to say. The devastation, from this far out at sea, appeared complete.

  The people on Eden would have to evacuate. Eden would make sure they did. They couldn’t kill all those rich people and celebrities and claim an accident. There were boats for fleeing, and the people there knew nothing. They’d have to let guests leave even if the island burned.

  They’d have to let Pierra Page escape, right?

  And they’d have to let Gus leave the island, smoking weed and joking in his lifeboat about getting high off of Eden’s fumes. Right?

  Sure they would.

  But Ephraim and Sophie didn’t discuss it. They didn’t make guesses or posit theories.

  Those people would survive.

  Ephraim’s actions hadn’t killed hundreds or thousands of people, both innocent and guilty.

  … right?

  CHAPTER 69

  FAMILY TIES

  Fiona Roberson’s wheelchair was a bulky thing, its back stacked with batteries, its frame all tubes and metal, every inner surface padded. There was a small joystick near her atrophied right hand, but she couldn’t use it. The only muscles she had control of were in her face, so she steered with a straw between her lips.

  She was pretty, though. The disease had taken so much, but her dark-eyed beauty, framed with a curtain of black hair, remained untouched.

  Fiona rolled her chair opposite Ephraim. He waited for his instincts to tell him how much to betray. He’d been considering this first encounter since they’d left Mauritius’s EEZ and the second patrol boat carrying Elle and Nolon had turned away — not as if surrendering in frustration, but as if disappointed that the guests fleeing Eden apparently didn’t want to play. He’d considered it in earnest once the Riverbed helicopter had appeared overhead, hoisting him and Sophie and leaving the boat to drift. But even after the long flight back to the States in Fiona’s jet, Ephraim hadn’t decided how to feel when he faced her.

  “We flew to Madagascar when things began getting strange, well before communication broke,” Fiona said, her head canted a bit too far to one side — an adjustment she couldn’t make without help. “Officially, they have no stance on Eden. Unofficially, most people there had plenty to say about Connolly, his homemade islands, and the things he was rumored to do there.”

  Ephraim ran Fiona’s words through the usual filters. “We flew to Madagascar” meant that she’d sent her people, not that she’d gone herself. Just like “I drove to Boston” meant she’d been driven. Fiona spoke as if she had no disability. She was matter-of-fact about it — insistent more than stubborn or in denial. It was impossible not to respect her attitude. At age six, Fiona’s doctors had told her parents that she didn’t have long to live, that SMA always took its toll. At ten, Fiona’s parents told her what the doctors had said, along with their opinion that it was bullshit. Refusing to die, Fiona built a billion-dollar business.

  “How did you know we’d be on a boat?”

  “We saw the smoke.”

  “From Madagascar?”

  “It was a big fire, Ephraim.”

  Ephraim shook his head. “He must have wanted to destroy the evidence.”

  “That’s what I assume.”

  A caregiver bent over Fiona, moving the steering straw aside — a middle-aged woman with light mocha skin. She wore a suit like Fiona’s, but it made the woman fade into the background rather than stand out from it.

  “Thank you, Maria,” Fiona said. “Give me the mouse.”

  The caregiver moved a new piece of equipment in front of Fiona’s lips. To Ephraim, it looked like a small electronic switch covered in a flexible rubber bubble.

  Fiona reached out with her lower lip, then manipulated the adapted mouse to illuminate a large monitor behind Ephraim, directly in Fiona’s unmoving line of sight. When Ephraim turned, he faced what looked like an image of burned cookies on a bright blue baking sheet, the dark islands as seen from above. Thin white grid lines lay over the image, with small white numbers along the lines at the edges.

  “Google doesn’t take aerials of Eden,” Fiona said, “but we have friends who were able to alter a satellite orbit for a peek, after some persuasion. This is Eden late yesterday.”

  Ephraim couldn’t help it. He almost gasped. He understood what he was seeing; tightly-grouped islands on a sub-oceanic plateau, the proximal water’s elevation making it lighter than the surrounding abysmal depths. But Eden’s islands weren’t green like they should be. Each island was ringed with a thin line of what was probably white sand, but the middles of each were jet black.

  “They all burned?”

  “Appears that way.”

  “What about the people?”

  “A Princess Cruise ship ran across a floating armada of refugees this morning. Almost literally. You know how tall a cruise ship is? Do you have any idea how hard they are to stop? The escapees got way too close, even after the ship spotted them. Almost got sucked under by the wake.”

  “But they’re okay?”

  “All of the people you mentioned are accounted for. Including Pierra Page and Gus Harmon. As I understand it, Gus wouldn’t stop shouting at the Princess liner. He wanted the mates on deck to drop down a lifeboat filled with weed.”

  “That sounds like Gus.” Or a very accurate clone.

  But that was no way to be thinking. Gus hadn’t undergone the Tomorrow Gene. If they had clones of Gus, they were blanks without any of his mind to make them real, more of those vacant animals who did little more than stand and stare. He didn’t have to ask Fiona if the blanks had survived. If they had, it’d be front-page news the world over. Technically, the loss of all those clones meant genocide. But it sure had made Sophie feel better, knowing that a black market wouldn’t suddenly open up for Young Sophie Norrises as sex toys.

  “So they were all able to escape?”

  “As far as the Navy is concerned, yes. But based on what I downloaded from Jonathan’s clone’s MyLife — combined with what you’ve told me and the few of your MyLife memories that seem worth trusting — I think we can note a few exceptions.”

  “The clones. They obviously weren’t with the refugees from Eden.”

  “Correct.”

  “Nor that guy Neven.”

  Fiona couldn't nod, but she made a face of agreement. “Nobody fitting his description cleared customs. We had people there too, so nobody bribed their way through. Same for the clones you described as ‘Elle’ or ‘Nolon.’ And obviously none of those ‘ghosts.’”

  This time, Ephraim nodded. If Eden didn’t care when ghosts fell under lawnmowers, he doubted they’d care when they burned to death, either. Some of the unaccounted-for people on Eden might have escaped other ways, but not the ghosts. With no island to watch over and keep tidy, the faceless workers would be useless. Best to burn them with the rest of the trash.

  “It looks like most of the boats in the group were Eden’s as you described, but with their limiting devices disabled. The GPSs were active. It’s how they found the cruise route. There was a good mix of VIPs and plenty of legit Eden staff. They’re being held for now, but it won’t last. There’s no evidence of any crimes, and even if there were, there’s no extradition from international territory. The MyLife only implicates Jonathan and this man Neven. Everyone else, from what I can see, was simply doing their job.”

  “Do you think he died? Neven?”

  “No.” Fiona toggled the mouse with her lip, then rolled her eyes up to her caregiver. “Where did you put the rest of the Kosmos7 photos?”

  “They’re on the other thumb drive. Would you like them?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  Maria left the room. Fiona looked at Ephraim
and sighed, both of them waiting. He met her eyes, trying to see into them. Many called her ruthless, but he’d always assumed it was because she was powerful and a woman. Still, there were plenty of people who didn’t trust Fiona Roberson. After all Neven had said, Ephraim was trying to decide if that included him.

  “You did well, Ephraim. Thank you.”

  Ephraim exhaled. He looked away, then back. “Eden is destroyed.”

  “And nobody of consequence was hurt. You got me all the evidence I need. You even …” She hesitated, probably realizing that this sentence’s intent had already gone awry, then finished anyway. “You even learned what happened to your brother.”

  Ephraim tried to weigh her sympathetic tone. He couldn’t feel it. Neven had polluted him. Fucking Neven hadn’t just stolen the memory of Altruance Brown’s friendship. He’d taken his unshakable faith in Fiona as well.

  It wasn’t fair.

  “What?” Fiona asked, reading his expression.

  “I was thinking of Altruance.”

  “He has a strong family, and his money will go to support them. He died bringing Eden down, ending this clone-selling scheme and making sure it can’t happen again, once what’s on this MyLife hits the zeitgeist. That’s a good cause. Something worth dying for.”

  “He’s gone because of me.”

  Fiona said, “You could just as easily say it was because of me.”

  Given her condition, Fiona was unable to use most of the social cues that helped a conversation proceed. She couldn’t get up. She couldn’t walk to another part of the room to give their discussion a break. She couldn’t even turn her head. Ephraim watched her, feeling his doubt build. And he decided that no matter what, he could no longer abide secrets. He’d always hated lying and liars. If he spoke his mind now and Fiona turned out to be the bad guy as Neven had claimed, so be it. He’d rather die at the hand of an assassin than go through more of what he’d already endured — both inside his head and out.

  “That’s exactly what Neven told me before we got on the boat,” Ephraim said, closely watching Fiona’s eyes.