Eve of Man

by Giovanna Fletcher

  “Yeah, that was all BE, before we were born. Things got better after she came along, more stable.”

  “Damn right it got better, better for us! If it weren’t for her we’d be out in Central, in the storm with the rest of them, counting down the days to extinction.”

  “We could have been frozen, our bodies preserved for the future,” I joke.

  “Ha, yeah. Or upload our brains into one of your dad’s Projectants,” Hartman replies. “No. Thank. You!”

  “I thought you might like that. Your mind living forever as a projection,” I say. “You love computers!”

  “Er, I’d rather not be turned into one.” Hartman blows on his tea and takes a sip. “Right, you. Stay. Rest.”

  I keep silent. It’s best he thinks I’m struggling with the death of Mother Nina rather than knowing the truth. He was right about one thing, though: my body is in shock. My mind is in shock. But mostly my heart. I’ve never felt it beat as hard as it did today. Beating for a purpose. Beating for someone.

  Eve.

  “I’m going to find out what’s going on. If you start crashing again, you call the medics,” Hartman says, throwing the filthy towel into the laundry chute, then going to wash his hands in the basin.

  “I will,” I say, knowing I won’t.

  “I’m serious,” he replies, also knowing I won’t. He shoots me a look as he opens our door and disappears.

  I lay my head on the pillow and stare up at the bunk above. With every blink of my eyes I see a flash of blue. Deep blue. Eve’s eyes. They’re in my head, staring back at me as if they are permanently burned onto my retinas.

  I hear the soft swish of our door sliding open.

  “I’m fine, you don’t have to worry about me,” I say.

  “That’s good to know,” replies a deep voice.

  “Dad?” I sit up instantly, banging my head on the top bunk. Great.

  “Lie down before you do yourself some damage,” he says, obviously unimpressed. “Shall we discuss today’s events?” He was never one for small talk.

  “Yeah. Shall we start with what the fuck happened and how a complete psychopath was allowed into a room with Eve?” I snap. Maybe I am in shock. My father certainly looks as though he is.

  “Mistakes have been made,” he replies calmly, not rising to my anger. “We’re addressing and researching how and why Diego slipped through our net.”

  “Slipped through your net? I’d say it must have a pretty big hole in it. She could be dead now. Gone.”

  “We’re all aware of the severity of the situation—”

  “Really? Because I’m not sure you are,” I interrupt, anger and frustration bubbling inside my chest. “The future of our species was almost erased in that room today and it must have been more than an accident. Someone has to be held responsible.” My passion has brought me to my feet and I’m standing face to face with my father.

  “And who do you suggest takes that responsibility, Bram?” he barks. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. You and Vivian.”

  His palm connects with my throat faster than I can react, and he slams my head against the steel frame of the upper bunk.

  I don’t fight it. He’s too strong. Physically and mentally. We’ve had fights before. I have the scars, physical and mental.

  “That’s enough from you. Did you really think I came here to discuss the flaws in our system? To hear your opinion? Do you think I care to know what goes on inside your insignificant mind?”

  I feel his hand relax, and my throat is free of his grip.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter. “It’s just that…”

  I hesitate and he shoots me a look. “That what?”

  “It’s just Vivian. Dad, she’s—”

  “Enough. I would be very careful of the path your mind is wandering down. Vivian is not a tolerant woman, and questioning her motives is not something you have the authority or the intelligence to do.”

  I’m a child again in his presence.

  He moves to the window and touches his palm against the glass. The monitor scans his hand and grants him access to any file or program he wishes. He begins flicking through security footage from the afternoon.

  He fast-forwards through the meeting. I watch it all unfold again at twice the speed. I see myself in the room, disguised as Holly, Eve disguised among the Mothers. Both there and not there at the same time.

  “I came here to discuss Eve,” my father says, turning his hand in the air as though winding an invisible cog while the footage plays out on the realiTV screen.

  “What do you want to know?” I ask, watching Mother Nina die for the second time that day. My father’s face doesn’t change. It’s hard. Emotionless.

  The screen flicks to a different camera. Eve is being dragged toward the elevator. Holly chases after them, her nearly perfect projection only faltering slightly in the flashes of gunshots in the room behind.

  “Here we are,” my father says, nodding at the screen.

  It’s me. Not as Holly. The real me. We both stare at the screen as I burst into the elevator and land a perfect punch on the security guard’s jaw. The footage pauses.

  “And so you meet.”

  There it is. A historic moment, at least for me. On permanent record. I’m standing over the unconscious body of her kidnapper, she’s kneeling next to him, and, for the first time, we look into each other’s eyes.

  “Did she recognize you?” my father asks.

  “No,” I say without hesitation.

  My father says nothing.

  “No,” I repeat. “At least I don’t think so.”

  He turns his wrist, flicks his finger, and the footage plays. Our recorded voices cut through the air of my room.

  “You are Hol—”

  “He just needs some ice.”

  My father flicks and it repeats.

  “You are Hol—”

  “He just needs some ice.”

  “You—are—Hol—”

  He doesn’t look at me, just stares straight ahead and adjusts the thin glasses on his nose, the way he does when he’s pretending to think about what to say next.

  “I think we both know what she was going to say before you cleverly interrupted her.”

  I stay silent.

  “This footage will not be kept on file for obvious reasons,” he says as he makes a cross with his fingers and erases the best moment in my life so far.

  “Be very careful, Bram,” he warns. Or maybe threatens. It’s hard to tell as he makes his way toward the door. “You might be the best pilot we have, but you are by no means irreplaceable. Should you become problematic, the fact that you are my son will be irrelevant.”

  The door swishes open and he leaves me alone to ponder.

  15

  EVE

  It’s like we’ve pressed Pause in the Dome. A cloud has descended upon us and refused to clear. It feels wrong to laugh, smile, eat—to hold a single meaningless conversation that might lighten our hearts and encourage normality. Mother Nina’s murder has given us a serious reality check in terms of what’s at stake; it’s also hit me with a grief I’ve never experienced before. Not only had I never witnessed the horror of a human dying before my eyes, but I’d never had anyone so close to me taken away like that. Even though I’ve experienced the loss of other Mothers, women who were in their eighties or nineties, none was as important to me as Mother Nina. Our bond was special.

  My mother, Corinne, died during childbirth, and my father, Ernie, was committed after a breakdown following my mother’s death. I did not and do not feel the same emotional turmoil over their absences as I do over Mother Nina’s. Maybe it’s because it’s fresher and raw. Or maybe because it’s real, not something I’ve been told about as though I’m in a history class learning of my past.

 
I remember the day Vivian told me of my own parents and what happened to them. I’d been asking the Mothers which of them was my “real” mother, so the topic needed to be addressed.

  My birth had put “too much of a physical strain” on Corinne’s body, which shouldn’t have come as a huge surprise: she was older than most childbearing women from decades before. Vivian told me how hard they’d tried to save her. She was the first woman in fifty years to bear a female, so it stands to reason that they would do all they could to keep her alive, but sadly she slipped away. I’m told it was peaceful and that I was placed in her arms at the time. I’ve always found comfort in that, even though I have no recollection of it.

  The situation with my father is slightly different. I don’t really remember him either, but I know he tried to kidnap me when I was three, which led to him being cut off entirely. I’m regularly reminded of the incident because of the moon-shaped scar he caused on my wrist—a little rough patch that I always catch myself rubbing. Probably out of habit. I don’t remember much about the episode other than a door creaking open in the dark, a hand grabbing mine and pulling me from my bed, lots of shouting and confusion, a scuffle, and then his tormented face at the sight of my bloodied arm as they dragged him away. I don’t know how much of it is true or whether I dreamed it. Dreams distort, stretch, and obscure the line between what is real and what is not. All I can say with complete certainty is that I dream of my father most nights.

  Vivian has briefed me on him too, mostly about what happened when I was last in his company. She’s told me little about my ancestry. She said they were keen for my father to be a key figure in my life growing up, but it was too tough for him to be around me. I’ve been told he blamed me for the loss of his wife. Hardly surprising. They were reportedly happy before she fell pregnant with me. That changed everything, apparently.

  I’ve been sleeping with my mother’s book under my pillow for the last three nights, but I haven’t found the courage to open it. I don’t want her words tarnished by my fresh heartache.

  She’s often with my father in my dreams, although I’ve only seen Corinne in pictures they’ve given me and in video clips of her in interviews. Her happiness shines through as she rubs her bump lovingly. None of the clips are long enough to give me a real sense of what’s being discussed, but I’ve watched them a lot. I’ve studied them, just like I have those of the Potentials.

  I look nothing like her. I’m identical to my father.

  Mother Nina filled the void my parents left behind. The thought of not being able to see her ever again, of her not being the first person I see every morning, of never being able to say a proper goodbye or thank her for everything she’s done for me, including giving her own life, is crushing.

  Despite my early numbness, I have cried solidly since Vivian left my room, allowing me to wallow in Mother Nina’s death. My soul feels as black and heavy as the clothes they’ve allowed me to wear.

  I am in mourning.

  I’ve stayed in my bedroom, not caring to venture out. I’ve just sat here, consumed with guilt and sorrow.

  Every time there’s been a knock at my door I’ve momentarily forgotten the terror and expected to see Mother Nina walking in, but now the time has come to end that ridiculous hope and lay her to rest. Vivian has done as she promised and is allowing us to say goodbye in a way we feel shows gratitude and love for Mother Nina.

  Minutes ahead of the proceedings starting, I sit out on the Drop, needing a moment or two of quiet reflection before I have to say goodbye. My eyes are fixed on the clouds as I sense Holly move along the walkway behind me and lower herself next to me.

  She doesn’t say hello. She doesn’t try to force conversation or coax out how I’m feeling so that they can psychoanalyze my mental state. She just sits and allows me to be. That’s how I know it’s her.

  Him.

  Bram.

  I send a mental thank-you to those in charge for allowing me my Holly again on what feels like the hardest day of my life so far. I can’t look at her, but just having her here is enough.

  The silence is comforting. It’s what I need. I close my eyes and breathe it in.

  “Come on,” I croak, a gentle reminder that I’ve barely spoken over the last few days. “We’d better go in. They’ll be waiting.” I get to my feet.

  I’m hit with heartache as I look toward the building and know that I’m walking in to say goodbye. I take a slow breath, trying to stop the tears from falling as I breathe out and look to the heavens above me.

  “I’m here,” Holly says, so quietly it’s as though I’ve imagined it.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod. I appreciate the gesture.

  With my next breath out, I manage to place one foot in front of the other and lead us back through the upper garden zone, just as the rest of the Mothers start to gather. Like Holly and me, they’re all in black and look somber, yet somehow they smile and we exchange hugs. We’re unified in our loss and grief.

  We’re not waiting long before Mother Tabia steps forward. Her graying black hair has been pinned into her usual low bun, yet the air of superiority seems to have left her. Today she’s mourning like the rest of us.

  As usual after a Mother’s death, she cradles a white ceramic pot. There is no body. Instead the pot holds a few of the Mother’s favorite possessions. Items that brought her joy while she was here, usually photos or jewelry, little keepsakes from a former life sealed into an urn, symbolizing the woman she was.

  “A few days ago a terribly unjust thing happened in the worst way imaginable,” Mother Tabia says, taking charge while protectively pulling the pot closer to her chest. “While we may feel that we don’t want to move forward, we have to remember that life is ever evolving, ever changing. Nina experienced love and kindness in her previous life, which enabled her to spread her goodness here. We were fortunate to have her walk among us, and must take note of all her attributes…”

  While she talks I think of our friend and long to be set free from the grief, but I miss her too much.

  I shuffle on the spot, shrugging my shoulders and trying to ease the weight bearing down on them.

  “I’m going to pass this around,” Mother Tabia says, her dark eyes looking down at the container in her hands and raising it a few inches. “I’m sure most of you will echo my own anguish at never having had a chance to say a proper farewell to our Nina. I know that’s how Eve feels,” she says, looking at me with the saddest of smiles. She’s been in to see me regularly over the last three days. She might be the strictest of the Mothers and easily influenced by Vivian, but she’s listened to me and tried to coax me out of the darkness. “So, as you find this in your own hands,” she continues, “think of how she made you feel. Thank her. Will the love she radiated to shine through us all always.” With that, she closes her eyes with a frown, as though she’s struggling with her own emotions while communicating with some higher being. I’m still watching her as the faint lines around her eyes soften and smooth. A peaceful expression takes over her dark skin as she grins, white teeth flashing.

  She opens her eyes and passes the object to Mother Kadi and then on across the group. I watch as the same acceptance and tranquility befalls them. When it is my turn I almost feel scared to touch the pot, just in case I’m unable to absorb the comfort it’s given them. But I take it from Mother Kimberley and pull it to my breast, my arms wrapping around it. I can’t remember the last hug Mother Nina and I shared, and the thought saddens me. Was it on the morning of her death? I’m not sure. We spoke of love and her past…I wish I’d hugged her more, like I did when I was younger. I wish I’d been more grateful. I wish I’d shown her more often how much she meant to me.

  The thoughts of her looking after me fill my heart with gratitude and joy. Not sadness. I was loved. As was she.

  A smile of acceptance stretches my lips.

&nbs
p; A thank-you.

  A goodbye.

  I open my eyes and turn to hand the container to the person next to me, but when I open my eyes Holly is looking at the pot regretfully, her brows knitted.

  She can’t take it.

  In that moment I don’t feel clever in catching out the system and their trickery. I don’t feel smug at the awkwardness created as the Mothers rush in and try to cover up the mistake. I feel sorry for her, because she should’ve been able to put to rest her thoughts of Mother Nina too.

  “She’d be glad you came,” I tell her, uttering the words like they’re some sort of consolation prize while cringing at myself.

  She shrugs and nods at the floor, a movement that isn’t very Holly. I wish I could give her the same comfort she offers me. Not her, but him. I’m not sure I know where Holly ends and Bram begins. I’ve spent years trying to figure it out, but meeting him has thrown me. He was so different from Holly in so many ways, yet he was familiar—hardly surprising given the amount of time we’ve spent together over the years. I do know the person standing beside me and I wish I could console her. Him.

  Once Mother Tabia has the pot back in her arms she starts singing, a lullaby Mother Nina used to croon to me when I was younger. Everyone joins in. Even Holly. I asked for this song to be included. It talks of a bird with broken wings being set free. That’s how I want to think of her today, learning to fly. It gives me hope and fills me with love.

  “Thank you, everyone,” Mother Tabia says at the end, indicating with a wave of her hand that we can disperse.

  “Where has she gone?” I ask before anyone has had a chance to move.

  “To her husband,” she replies.

  “I thought he was—”

  “No,” she says firmly, shaking her head, blushing at the awkward silence that’s fallen around us. “He’ll be happy to have her back…”

  I’m happy Mother Nina is back where her heart was. But, not for the first time, I’m seeing the holes in the information I’ve been given. The lies. I’m sure someone thinks it’s for my own good to shield me from a world I know nothing of, but suddenly I’m feeling like an actor in a play: I know my own lines, but everyone else knows theirs and mine and has read the entire play. I want to get my hands on the script and find out what else is being hidden from me. I want to know more about the world my children will be born into and the life we shall lead if I succeed in helping the rebirth. I want to know the truth.