by Jaclyn Lewis
Kylee clicks a button that parks our specter into another dimension and it disappears from sight.
“I didn’t know they did that!” I exclaim.
“Just like the elevators.” With a smirk, Paxton keeps moving and we take in the sound of birds making melodies with the rustling of the trees—a symbiotic symphony.
All five of us are on edge and half-expect to find a sniper behind every bush. Even though it is unlikely that any specter would have caught up to us by now, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.
We speak in low whispers and keep our hands ready to grab for our guns. However, instead of snipers, all we see are unending vines of some sort that cover the ground and grow up the trees. Some geese are flying overhead and a deer darts across our path before we reach the main road.
Pavement. I’ve seen it in my mind, but have never walked on it. It’s not different from rocks or smoothed out concrete, but I feel like I can perceive even the slightest differences between our worlds.
Since we don’t have cars on Erimos it makes me a little nervous to think of riding in one. I have memories of them of course, but I’m still not sure what it feels like. We head south toward a small town.
“Why didn’t you just land in Atlanta?” I ask Kylee.
“Because that’s probably one of the first places they will come look for us.” She says matter-of-factly.
I suppose she’s right, but still…from the map it looks like we are probably an hour or so West of where we need to be.
A nice old man in a pickup stops along the road. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days and his clothes are dirty. The wrinkles on his face are like permanent indentions of laughter.
“Looks like y’all been walkin’ for a while. Need a lift?” He asks.
“That would really help us. Thanks.” Silas says as we start to pile in the back of the truck. Silas sits in the cab, but we hear the conversation through the open window in the back.
“Ain’t in some kind of gang or nothin’ are ya? How come you all got snowflakes tattooed on your faces?”
This is one aspect of our arrival we hadn’t anticipated. I’m so accustomed to the tattoos, I forget about them most of the time.
“Ha-ha. No sir. We aren’t in a gang.” Paxton chimes in through the window. “Good US military folk we are. We served in the Army and our platoon was nicknamed the snowflake division.” How did he think of that so fast?
Our story must be convincing because the driver tells us that he was an Air Force man himself years ago.
Paxton asks, “Do you know if there are any internet cafes in town?”
“Naw sir, I don’t. The wife and I have an old laptop at the house, but nowadays everyone uses a Dawn Device. Newfangled things! No sooner does dang technology hit the surface then somethin’ newer and shinier drowns it out. You’d spend a fortune tryin’ to keep up with it. We don’t even try anymore. The grandkids hate it, but we are what we are and we’re just happy that-a-way.”
There’s an awkward silence as Paxton is trying to think through this change of plans. We have never heard of a Dawn Device, but now may not be the time to ask. The man speaks up “Course, you can use our internet if you like. Stay for lunch even.”
“No sir, we couldn’t do that. We hate to be a bother. You can just drop us in town.”
“Alright, son.” He says. “Where’re you from, anyway?”
“Atlanta. We’re from Atlanta.”
The driver pulls into the parking lot of a Wal-Mart—a store where you can buy anything.
The man wishes the “snowflake army brats” good luck and drives away. The ride wasn’t so bad. Extremely bumpy and painfully slow compared to the way we’re used to traveling, but it got us to our destination.
There’s a pawnshop next to the Wal-Mart. Paxton says we should pawn our diamonds and spend the money before anyone can trace it. He’s from this planet and seems to know what he’s doing so we just follow his lead.
We haul in our jewelry and haggle over the prices. The jeweler is obviously astounded to see that we have so much. She tells us she can only buy half and has no use for the rest, but that there’s another pawnshop down the road. She agrees to pay us five times what the diamonds are worth on Erimos. We are shocked, but I’m pretty sure the pawnbroker thinks she’s getting a good deal too.
We walk to the shop down the street and that man pays us for what’s left. So we have more money than we know what to do with. But we have no idea what our expenses will be either.
Silas walks into the Wal-Mart and asks the man if he can see a Dawn Device. I expect to still see phones and computers in the store, but there’s nothing even on the shelves. They must keep everything in the back. Just how old are our memories anyway?
The man brings out the tiniest box I’ve ever seen. In it is a small black square and when you push a button it lights up. At first I think it is a flashlight and that maybe the salesman misunderstood us. But then, on the wall I see the projection that the small square makes. The salesman is talking and explaining things so fast my brain can’t keep up. “This is the Dawn Device 4.6. It is the latest in projective communication. It has the smallest processor ever made and…”
I don’t even hear the rest. He walks up to the wall and starts to type things right onto the projected buttons and screen. I have no idea how this even works, but it fascinates all of us—even Pax who hasn’t seen this kind of thing either.
Silas is hooked and probably understands how it works better than the rest of us. He speaks “computer” very well—and believe me—it’s like a whole other language.
“So can I project it onto anything and type?” Silas is practically drooling.
The man laughs. “Oh course! It’s just like the 4.5 with just a few changes. It can project onto wood, leather, and stone--even water! There are very few surfaces that it won’t work on.”
The man gets to work programming it with a phone number and we ask him if he’ll set up an e-mail account for us. He looks at us like we must be stupid, but we claim that we are just not very techno-savvy.
When it is all set up it still takes a while for us to say “no” to the millions of accessories that the salesman tries to get us to buy.
I expected there to be taxis everywhere, but there aren’t. Pax says it is because we are too far outside the city. I don’t know if I even have memories of being in a town this remote before. Unless of course, you would call Erimos “remote”. I suspect that if these people really knew about our planet and what was going on there, they’d call me an alien.
We try out the dawn device on a portion of clear wall outside the Wal-Mart. Silas searches for taxis here and we call the first one we find.
At first I think that we must look so silly typing and talking to a wall--until we see other people using theirs on the ground or the doors of their cars. Someone is watching a movie on a tree trunk. It makes me want to laugh. Funny how things that really look so absurd can just become a new normal.
When the taxi pulls up we tell him to head toward Atlanta and that we’ll give him more specifics as he drives. This time Paxton sits in the front and the rest of us pile in back. Silas sits between Ember and I and projects the Dawn device onto a fold up screen built into the taxi.
“Pax, do you have any leads?” I ask him.
“Yes, I have the name of the facility where CGC bought the embryos. We will have to start there. I also have your files which have the collection date stamped on them and a barcode. We just have to hope when we get there we can find out more.”
It takes about an hour to get to Atlanta in this slow moving vehicle. With all the advanced technology I have seen, I don’t understand why Earth isn’t more advanced. Aside from the Dawn Device, they seem to be decades behind Erimos and Pavana. Our time spent in the car is used to research as much as we can. I find myself constantly daydreaming out the window—even as Ember devises an attack plan, Kylee thinks through an escape plan, Pax chats up the driver, and Silas hog
s the Dawn all to himself in the corner of the taxi he has barricaded himself in.
Our arrival at the Georgia Reproductive Offices (GRO) is not met with the fanfare of a homecoming. That would be silly of course, because we are trying to keep a low profile, but I wonder if the people passing by me knew that something once created in this place was in their midst—was back home—what would they do?
Chapter 19
*
Dr. Mitchell
Never in a million years did I think I would hear myself say it, but—I have got to buy some makeup. And probably pounds of it.
Everywhere we go, Genna, Silas, Ember, and Kylee draw attention. And not because they’re trendy and have the hottest threads that all the celebrities are wearing, more like the kind of attention a freak at the circus gets.
I’ve come to admire their tattoos, each one a little different. And I love the way Genna’s wrinkles up when she smiles. I wouldn’t change her one bit, but for this trip I think I will have to.
These thoughts distract me as we are waiting in the lobby of the Georgia Reproductive Offices. My medical badge can get me so far, but I’m still afraid there will come a point where we hit a dead end. I’ve asked to speak to the oldest doctor I could find on the registry—Doctor Chandler.
After almost an hour, we are still waiting for the receptionist to wave us over.
“You know what’s weird?” Silas asks. He has been quiet for a long time and that always means he’s thinking—unraveling some mystery.
No one answers, but he’ll continue anyway. The question was really an opening statement with a common courtesy attached.
“Nothing rhymes with snowflake.” He says. “I mean there are words that are close —and you can try to force words to rhyme with it…blowrake, flowbake, glowsnake…”
Silas continues making up nonsense words, and even as we shake our heads and roll our eyes at him, I earnestly start to think about what he’s said. “Snowflake”. Nothing rhymes with it. This is what I was taught all along about the program—they are different, they are experimental, they are expendable, they can be controlled, they were created to serve us, nothing goes with them--they aren’t like us.
But Titus was wrong. He was wrong about the whole thing. They are more than like us—these with me are the best of us. They are unique because of the obstacles they’ve overcome to get here, to be, to exist at all apart from what CGC told them they were. I can’t even fathom the thought of waking up with someone else’s memories and coming as far as they have come, undaunted and persevering. And Genna—unscathed by the scars that I thought would surely come with such a revelation. Bitterness could eat away at her, but she doesn’t give it room.
“You’re special.” I confess to Genna again. “And no-one rhymes with you, that’s true, but there are many different kinds of poetry.”
Her smile sparkles as she blushes at the sudden and unexpected compliment.
Just then, the receptionist calls my name.
“Take a visitor’s badge with you when you go up. Third floor, second doorway to your left off the elevator.”
“Thank you” we tell her in unison and head to the elevators.
Doctor Chandler’s office is decorated with golf signs. I never really got into the sport even though I was told it was a good thing for a doctor to know how to play. You always get invited to charity events and whatnot, but to tell you the truth—I just hate the sport.
I went for the first time in high school. My dad had a friend who was a doctor and he thought it would be a good idea if I “got a feel” for the profession before I committed to it. Of course, my parents wanted me to be a doctor—who wouldn’t want that for their child? But my parents also wanted me to be happy. I could have flipped burgers and they would have loved me as much. Just the same, I showed a deep interest in learning how to heal others with medicine at a young age and so my father had set up a meeting. I had hoped that this doctor friend would show me around his office—maybe let me silently observe him in the clinic—perhaps get to see some suturing, a little blood, a little bit of what it takes to do what an everyday hero does—well, everyday.
But no—he invited me golfing. It took all day to hit a little ball (for me it was more like 5 little balls thanks to the creek that can through the course) into 18 different tiny, impossible little holes. That wasn’t even the worst part—the worst part was that our conversation was punctuated by the greens. No sooner would I get up the courage to ask an important question and something would distract the doctor and I’d have to circle back to my question. Altogether it was unproductive. And yet, I survived and became a doctor after all.
“You must be Doctor Mitchell. Patricia said you were here visiting the facility.” Doctor Chandler’s amicable voice shakes me from my memories even as he shakes all of our hands. He looks to be past the age of retirement, but I guess there’s no expiration date on the Hippocratic oath.
“What can I do for you?” He asks
“Thank you for seeing us.” I take a seat across from him. The others hang back—knowing that this is my field and department of expertise.
“I have a few files here that I would like some additional information on. Camp Global Commerce purchased some embryos; I have their case numbers here. I was wondering if there was anything more you could tell me.”
“Like what.” His eyes narrow a little.
“Oh, you know, the date of conception, possibly any surviving family members…”
“Young man, do you mean to tell me that you want me to be break my oath of confidentiality and tell you the names of the parents?”
Does silence always betray defeat? I hadn’t expected him to reason so bluntly.
Doctor Chandler sighs and stands up. Facing the window, he offers a proposition.
“I’m an old man, Doctor Mitchell. If you make it worth my while, I can get you want you want.”
Suddenly, I remember the wads of cash I have in my bag at this very moment.
Knowing he’ll haggle up, I start at ten grand.
“Twenty.”
“Fifteen—not a penny more.” Golf may not be my game, but poker used to be.
“Seventeen.” He counters.
“Thank you for your time.” I stand up. “We’ll go find someone else to pay off—after we’d told them how your price was too high.”
He studies me and concedes. “Fine. Fifteen. I’ll go pull the records. I hope you know this could end my career if you say anything.” He glowers sternly at each of us.
I do know what it’s like to risk your entire reputation, risk being stripped of your medical license, face even death or imprisonment. But not for something as feeble as cash. It was for love, compassion, and maybe a little remorse that I did what I did.
I’m disgusted a little with this man even though I know I need him. He goes into another room to access files kept on a Dawn Device. Undoubtedly, he needs the privacy, but it seems to be taking a while.
Over a half hour later, he returns. He enters slowly, carrying a diamond in his hand. “I’m afraid, Doctor Mitchell, I’ll be needing a little more money. This one is some no-name couple from France.” He tosses a diamond to Kylee. “But I’ll need Twenty thousand for this other one. When you see what’s on this diamond you’ll know why. My risk factor is going through the roof if I give it to you.”
The way the diamond is cut, makes me think it somehow stores information, but I’ve never seen it before and I’m afraid he’s bluffing.
But we won’t get the diamond without paying him what he wants, and now that I’ve seen it I want it all the more. I take all the stacks of hundred dollar bills and count it out for him. Before we leave, I hand Silas the diamond and right away he seems to know what to do with it.
I haven’t taken my eyes off Doctor Chandler, or the money. I want to make sure we haven’t been swindled, and I’m waiting for confirmation from Silas about the files. What’s taking him so long?
“Silas?” I snap my head back
towards where he is sitting—his face has turned white as a ghost.
“He’s not lying.” He says. “Our file numbers were traced to an en vitro procedure for Titus and Annalise Camp over twenty-five years ago. He’s our father.”
The diamond projects an old photo of the two onto the wall. They are a smiling happy looking couple--not like the Titus I know.
“Well,” I sigh. “Meet the parents.”
Chapter 20
*
Genesis
Living amounts to this: a series of questions and answers—a cycle that perpetuates itself until death. No sooner do you get past one set and you find out there’s another lurking behind it—waiting to jump out at you as soon as you the second your back is turned.
Doctor Chandler has asked if we would please leave his office and discuss these files somewhere else. He wants nothing else to do with it all.
We leave quietly and head toward the stairs. Pax says we need to find a hotel immediately—somewhere we can be together and discuss our next move in private.
Silas hasn’t stopped reading whatever is on that file, perhaps afraid that, if it closes, the link to our parents will disappear forever. He doesn’t even look where he’s going and trips a little going down the stairs. We have to even help him across the street because he’s almost hit by a car.
Once in the cab he tells us, “Titus and Annalise had one successful pregnancy. They delivered a daughter—and you’ll never guess what her name was.”
In my heart I already know whom he’s going to say. The one I have such a connection to—the one who’s haunted my dreams since the day I was “born”.
“Elise. It has to be Elise.” I whisper.
“That’s not the only weird thing.” Silas sounds concerned again. “According to this record, there were only two embryos leftover from the procedure.”
