But I don’t see any of that. I only see a shell of a person. A man who’s been replaced by a hollow void.
I shudder and step back, bowing my head once more and returning to the path. But a hand on my arm makes me shriek. It’s squeezing so tight, the blood flow is stanched.
With horror, I look up to see Rio’s face inches from mine. The emptiness in his eyes is gone. Replaced with something intense. Something crazed. A determined wildness that reveals too much of the whites around his irises.
“Sariana,” he says, his voice tight and full of warning.
Sariana?
I glance around. Who is he talking to? I’m the only one here.
I try to pull away but his grip is strong. I could rip through it and break his hand but his mouth starts to move again, stopping me. His lips flutter without making a sound.
It takes me a moment before I realize what’s happening.
He’s trying to tell me something.
“L-l-l-l-l—” More saliva comes out than actual noise. It drips down his jaw.
“Rio?”
“L-l-l-l-l—” I can almost see the struggle on his face. I can almost hear his mind screaming in frustration.
I gently pry his fingers from my arm, shaking it out to restart the blood flow.
I move away, but he reaches out and grabs me again. This time by the wrist. My gaze lifts to meet his just as the word comes spilling out of his mouth. “Leave.”
14
SEQUENCED
When I arrive home, two hovercopters are parked outside the Owner’s Estate. Crest is ordering around a harried team of valets and housemaids who are loading the luggage and boxes for our tour.
Crest stops to give me a wave and then notices my hands. They’re caked in dirt. “What on earth have you been doing?”
“Digging,” I say, knowing I can’t lie to Crest. It’s no use even trying.
I fear she’s about to ask why and I won’t have an answer to give her, but fortunately, one of the valets trips over a floating hovercase, kicking it open and spilling garments onto the grass. Crest groans and looks to the sky, as if asking it for help.
I use this distraction as my chance to get away, bounding up the porch steps.
“Clean yourself up!” she calls after me, not even bothering to turn around. “And change into the travel clothes I laid out for you.”
I sigh and mutter my assent. Even my travel clothes are coordinated. Crest says once I leave the compound, I will be in the public eye. Everywhere I go, I have to look breathtaking, be on my best behavior, and never appear bored. “ExGens are the epitome of a sparkling, charmed life. You must look vivacious at all times.”
I was tempted to joke that I think Dr. A omitted the “vivacious” gene when he created me but I didn’t think anyone would appreciate the humor except me.
As promised, when I reach my bedroom, I find a shimmering black bodysuit waiting for me on the bed.
I remove the cube drive from my pocket and place it on my bedside table. I don’t have time to shower or bathe, so I simply scrub the dirt off my hands and arms, watching it wash down the drain in a light brown swirl of soap bubbles and mud. I find myself hoping that the extra-strength Diotech cleanser will wash away more than just the dirt on my skin. Maybe some of the dirt on my conscience as well.
I pull off my regular clothes, toss them down the laundry chute in my closet, and put on the bodysuit. The material is soft and pliable but the fit is much tighter than I would have preferred.
Gotta show off that trillion-dollar body, Crest would say. Otherwise, what would the rest of us have to be jealous of?
I stand in front of the ReflectoGlass, trying to find a hint of recognition in my own purple eyes. Who is this person staring back at me with her caramel skin and dark golden hair? A girl who digs holes in the ground and hides what she finds? A girl who can’t seem to escape her past no matter how fast she’s engineered to run?
Rio’s solitary word echoes in my mind like a phantom warning.
“Leave.”
Clearly, that was just the rambling of a madman. Some kind of negative reaction to his procedure.
This is the man who betrayed the Objective. Who betrayed Dr. A.
Even if that was an unusual remnant of the man he used to be, he’s not to be trusted. He’s an enemy.
Like me?
Or like I used to be?
And who is Sariana? He was looking at me when he said it. As if he believed that was my name. I suppose this is only further confirmation that his brain is warped beyond repair. Beyond sense.
The glint off the metal cube drive sparkles in the glass and I turn around and pick it up. I sit down on the edge of the bed and turn the small object over and over in my palm, studying its smooth, shiny surface, wondering what could possibly be stored on it. Some kind of message left for me to find?
“Sync to device,” I command my Lenses. Instantly in my vision, I see a list of all the devices that are within range. My wall screen, my ceiling screen, the ReflectoGlass, the Slate lying on my bed.
Then finally, the last item to appear on the list: the drive.
It flashes green, waiting for me to access its contents. It almost seems to be shouting at me to select it. To give it permission to infiltrate my brain. Sour my thoughts. Mangle my certainties.
Nothing I stream to my Lenses is private. Everything can be tracked.
Even though I know the security team is probably too preoccupied with preparations for our tour to be monitoring Lens streams right now, the history will still be stored on a log somewhere. Accessible anytime suspicion is aroused.
I can’t take the risk.
And what if it really was Lyzender who left it? What would he have stored inside for me to find?
Nothing that can do any good.
A knock on the door makes me jump. My bodysuit doesn’t have pockets so I drop the cube into the toe of my shoe and jam my foot in behind it. The cold metal sends a chill all the way to the tip of my skull.
“Open,” I command the door, and a second later Kaelen enters the room. His face is as bright and eager as the sun making its first appearance in the morning. Apparently he received the vivacious gene.
“Everything okay?” he asks. “You seem, I don’t know, frazzled.”
I know I should tell him. Tell him everything. About the cottage. About the drive. About Rio’s wild, terrifying eyes as he called me by a different name and told me to leave. I don’t know what is stopping me from opening my mouth and revealing everything. But something holds my tongue hostage in that moment.
“Yes,” I tell him. “I’m fine.”
I’m grateful when Kaelen leans in to kiss me. It means he trusts my answer. I’m eager for his kiss to erase the past few hours. The way it always manages to do. But when he starts to pull away a moment later, I feel the uneasiness lingering inside me like dust settling back into place.
I grab his face with both of my hands and pull him back to me, seizing his mouth with my own, trying to draw from his lips whatever magic vanquishing power he seems to possess.
“Are you ready?” he asks when we break apart. “The hyperloop leaves in an hour.”
I’m not ready. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, but I don’t tell him this. I won’t tell anyone.
I am an ExGen. This is my purpose. My part in the Objective. Director Raze is tasked with keeping us safe. Crest is tasked with keeping us on schedule. Everyone has a role to play. All I have to do is not look bored. You would think I could handle such a small responsibility. You would think I could embrace my part—maybe even enjoy it—the way Kaelen seems to do so effortlessly.
I paint on my best smile, the one I’ve been rehearsing for the past year, waiting for the day when it won’t feel rehearsed. Apparently today is not that day. With the drive digging into my toes, I feel more like a fraud than ever.
“Yes. I’ll be right down. Just give me a minute?”
“Of course.” He slips back ou
t the door and it seals shut behind him.
I roll up my Slate and place it in a small travel pouch that Crest has hung on my bedpost. It’s filled with superfood snacks for the road. I swing the strap over my shoulder, take one final look around my bedroom, and head out the door.
In the hallway, I pause at the gold DigiPlaque on the wall and watch as it completes a rotation through the history of the Genesis Project.
Sequence: D / Recombination: W – October 25, 2113
Sequence: D / Recombination: X – December 19, 2113
Sequence: D / Recombination: Y – March 19, 2114
Sequence: D / Recombination: Z – April 23, 2114
One hundred and four failed DNA sequences until mine was a success.
Sequence: E / Recombination: A – June 27, 2114
The day I was “born.”
As far as I know, the giant artificial womb where I gestated is still sitting untouched, collecting dust in Rio’s old lab in the Medical Sector. No one goes in there anymore. The door has been locked for over a year. There were a few times, after I returned to the compound, when I was intrigued by the thought of returning to the lab where Rio spent so many long, sleepless nights trying to bring me to life, but my fingerprints and retinas would never open the door. Eventually I gave up.
I often stand here in this hallway, watching the revolving text of the DigiPlaque and wondering what happened to all those other failed attempts. Why didn’t they work? What was so special about S:E/R:A?
Why me?
Then I wonder if any of the other sequences would have been better suited for this role. Would S:D/R:E have been a traitor like me, too? Would S:A/R:U have been as big a disappointment to the Objective? Or would she have been brave and obedient like Dr. A wanted her to be?
The DigiPlaque holds the final date for thirty seconds before starting over again with Sequence: A / Recombination: A. I let myself drift away and continue down the stairs, where Crest and Kaelen are waiting for me.
Crest looks me over and I expect her to tell me to go back upstairs and try again. Surely I’ve done something wrong. Put my shoes on the wrong feet. Mistaken a neck hole for a sleeve. But she purses her lips and says, “Perfect.”
Kaelen kisses my temple, right next to my hairline, and I suddenly panic, thinking he’s going to come away with dirt on his lips. “Perfect,” he echoes softly into my ear.
Right now, it feels like the most inaccurate word in the English language.
Kaelen, Crest, and I board the first hovercopter. Dr. A is already seated in the front row. He gives me an approving nod. Apparently the bodysuit is going over well. Kaelen sits next to him and I take the row behind them with Crest. Director Raze sits in the front seat, next to the pilot. The role of pilot is pretty obsolete. The hovercopters can fly themselves, but someone has to be there to make sure nothing goes wrong.
I find it amusing that with all this technology Diotech has developed, we still need human beings to supervise.
Outside my window people have gathered to send us off. Scientists, lab assistants, and children. They wave and cheer as the hovercopter lifts off the ground. A crop of blue hair catches my eye. Klo Raze—the boy I saw on the Rec Field yesterday—stares back at me with an unsettling intensity.
He’s the only one not waving.
Our ascent into the sky is smooth and fast. I watch through my window as the compound becomes smaller and smaller, less and less recognizable, until it’s just a tiny toy city made of disposable plastic and doll-sized people. The mass of media crews and onlookers outside the walls are now nothing more than mismatched freckles on the earth.
The walls are there to keep me safe. That’s what I’ve been told.
But as we float high in the sky, leaving my protected little world behind in a stream of invisible vapor, I wonder who will keep me safe out here. From those who don’t understand me. From those who want to hurt me.
From myself.
PART 2
THE UNVEILING
15
ENCAPSULATE
The skin of my cheek tugs and ripples after Crest injects me. I let out a sharp cry as the drug in my veins goes to work, recoding my DNA, reshaping my face. My lips tingle as they swell and discolor and I reach up to brush my fingers against them. Crest pulls my hand away.
“I wouldn’t. It’ll only warp you out more.”
She injects Kaelen next and I watch his head bow as he endures the pain in stoic silence. He won’t turn around so I can’t see how different he appears. But I know no matter what he looks like now, I’ll still love him and he’ll still love me.
That’s the beauty of being Print Mates. There is no doubt. There is no insecurity. There is only certainty.
I close my eyes against the sting of my forehead stretching.
“It’s just a precaution, pearl,” Crest tells me, rubbing my back. “The effects will be gone by tomorrow morning and you’ll be back to your stunning self.”
Genetic disguises have been around for more than half a decade. Not many people have access to them, though, or even know of their existence. They’re mostly used for government work. Undercover operations and the like.
I first heard of them when I was trapped in Dr. Maxxer’s submarine in 2032. When she tried to feed me lies about the Objective and what its true purpose was. One of the men she was working with, Trestin, had been genetically disguised when I first met him. He was made to look older and heavier.
Dr. Rylan Maxxer was the woman who invented the transession gene that allowed me to travel back in time. It’s since been discontinued and banned after it was discovered to cause negative side effects in Normates. The most dire being death.
Even though the gene didn’t affect Kaelen and me in the same way, as a precaution ours were deactivated, too.
After I found the Repressor that Dr. Maxxer had manufactured as an antidote to the transession gene, Dr. A had it reverse engineered and synthesized in bulk so that he could cure every sick person on the compound who’d been implanted with the gene in the past.
Those who weren’t already dead, that is.
Dr. A says Maxxer was once a very fine scientist. One of the best on the compound. But she was too passionate for her own good. She would test her experiments on herself, including the transession gene, and eventually the damaging consequences caught up to her. She became overly paranoid. Delusional. Eventually Dr. A had to dismiss her from Diotech service. She wasn’t mentally fit for research anymore.
This made her angry and she started trying to spread malicious false rumors about Diotech, Dr. A, and even the Objective itself. Rumors about a secret organization called the Providence, which was trying to control the world.
“If that’s not a paranoid delusion,” Dr. A told me, “then I don’t know what is.”
She even tried to recruit me. Tried to feed me her vicious fabrications. Thankfully, I was smart enough to decline.
The one and only redeeming act of my past.
When Dr. A explained all of this to me, I asked him if she was a threat to the Objective.
“She’s too crazy to be a threat,” he assured me. “And besides, she’s not much of a danger to us, being trapped in the year 2032.”
That’s where I left her. By now, she’s most likely dead.
The closest hyperloop station to the compound is in Las Vegas. The station is deserted when we arrive. Dane says all departing and arriving capsules were canceled today to allow us to travel without being seen. The cost of such an expensive endeavor was apparently covered by AFC Streamwork, where Mosima’s show airs, as was the cost of our genetic disguises—in order to protect the exclusive reveal they paid for. If one person managed to capture an image of us, it would be uploaded to the Feed in a matter of seconds and the streamwork’s exclusive would be ruined.
We are escorted through the station by Director Raze’s security team—twenty guards dressed in black with mutation lasers strapped to their belts.
We’re positioned i
n a sea of clacking shoes, blocked from every side in case any onlookers manage to steal a peek through the darkened synthoglass of the station windows. A precaution taken on top of all the others.
Our departure date and time were not released to the public so there shouldn’t be anyone lurking, but Director Raze says you can never be too careful. Any company can have a mole.
Crest also had us don dark, large, old-fashioned sunglasses and MagBall caps. I notice that the logo flashing in the nanostitching of Kaelen’s cap belongs to the Denver team, which is currently in first place, while mine is the Detroit team, currently in last place. Even if that was a coincidence, I find it terribly fitting.
As we pass through the massive hyperloop station with its domed ceilings and modern light fixtures, I take in the closed shops that normally sell snacks and motion sickness meds for passengers who can’t handle the pressure of the vacuum. A few even advertise varieties of alcohol for those who just want to make it all fade into the background.
“Don’t worry,” Killy, a female security agent, says to me, clearly reading the trepidation on my face. “It only feels warped the first time. You’ll get used to it.”
I nod to one of the darkened shops. An ad for meds is playing on the window screen, despite the store being closed. “Do you ever need those?”
She follows my gaze. “Never.” She pats her stomach. “Gut of steel.”
I tilt my head curiously, which seems to make her laugh.
“It’s an old phrase. It means nothing makes me feel sick. Kind of like you.”
I want to tell her she’s wrong. So much makes me feel sick.
The memory of Lyzender’s face.
The small cube drive chafing my toe at the tip of my shoe.
The hollowness of Rio’s eyes.
The way Dr. A regards me as though I really am diseased. Diseased in the mind.
I don’t say any of this, though. I keep walking with my head up and my gaze forward. We reach a bank of lifts and split into groups to ride them to the fifth floor of the station. The voice in the lift tells me it’s the embarkation level.
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