by Lydia Kang
I stare at her blankly. “Have what?”
“The list.”
Again, with the list! I can still hear the yell of the police in Carus, demanding it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re either lying or an idiot.” When I don’t say anything, she rolls her eyes. “The idiot category, then, I see. Pity.” She pushes away from the desk and stands up. “Your father kept records of every traited child he made, and the code for their traits. How he made them. The. List.”
“I don’t have it.” And if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t give it to this woman.
She sighs with irritation. “Micah, show them their room. Dinner is going to be served soon, and frankly, they stink to high holy hell.”
“I have more questions,” I say, not moving.
“I don’t,” she responds. “The answers I need are ones you clearly don’t have.”
A sprinkling of giggles and chortles sounds from behind us. I don’t know what could possibly be so funny, so I whip around angrily to see who’s laughing.
Two small children barrel toward us, scrambling in and out between our legs. A little boy slams straight into Tabitha. He swerves to hide behind her skirt. The boy wears a huge pair of wraparound sunglasses, comically held in place with straps going over his head and chin. Immediately I look over at Blink. She’s already covered her mouth in shock at seeing another person wearing sunglasses the way she does.
“Victoria, I’m not it! You’re it, she’s the base!” he yells.
Victoria crouches on the floor in a frog squat. Her skin is chestnut brown, with corkscrew black curls over her head. She giggles and raises her arms—then a second pair—like a praying mantis ready to pounce.
Four arms and hands. My heart bounces a few inches inside my chest.
“Oh my god!” I say, unable to stifle my surprise.
Office Lady clicks her tongue against her teeth, and Victoria automatically snaps to attention. The boy scrambles from behind Tabitha, pink faced.
“Babies,” she says patiently, “back to your nanna. Now.”
“Can we play with Spork again today?”
“Leave that poor bot alone. No.”
“Okay,” they chime simultaneously. Before they disappear, she yells, “Victoria!”
The four-armed Victoria comes skipping back. The office lady crouches down and captures her chin in her hand, then feels her forehead. “Any more bleeding today?”
“Not much.”
“Well then. Go.”
“Can we have a sweetie?”
Tight lipped, she nods, and Victoria runs out, hollering, “Candy! We can have candy!” Out in the oasis, two whoops of unadulterated glee sound before their footfalls disappear.
I can’t believe what I just saw. My heart feels soft and bruised, just at the memory of them. Caliga lifts her hand with a what the hell gesture.
“You’re their mother?”
The lady barks, “Micah! I told you to take them out to their room.”
He immediately herds us back through the arched door. I hardly see the beautiful trees or flowers in the oasis when we walk through. I hardly notice Cy, even though he’s right beside me as we walk.
All I can see is the girl, Victoria. That heart-shaped face, the dark eyes, and her slender quartet of arms.
We are not unique. In here, and out there.
There are more of us.
CHAPTER 12
I CATCH UP TO MICAH QUICKLY. “Who was that lady? And what is up with the kids?”
“Her name is Renata. And she had those kids years ago, when Benten was still in charge of creating gene-altering meds to make the kids. Since then, no new births.”
“But they have traits that are already out there. Duplicates.”
Micah stops walking and spins to face me. “What, you thought you were unique?”
I don’t mean to sound snobby, but . . . “Well, yeah. Are you unique?” I retort.
Micah recoils. “I don’t know. I’d love to meet a little Micah someday, but who knows if I’ll live that long.” His words are haunting, but he shakes his head, forcing away the thought. “Your dad probably gave you all the answers.”
“He never told me anything,” I say, trying not to sulk.
“It’s not about what you know. They think you are the answer.”
I laugh. I’m probably the only eighteen-year-old girl who doesn’t have to complain about her monthly nuisance. “I’m not exactly a fertility goddess, if that’s what they’re thinking.”
“You don’t know that. Have you ever tried to get pregnant? Have you done it with an unvaccinated guy?”
Micah’s earnest words are, at best, a violent intrusion into my intimate history with Cy. At worst, they’re an invitation. I’m so pissed off, I can’t even spew a retort. Cy stomps to my side.
“That’s enough,” Cy growls, but Micah doesn’t back down.
“She has a right to know what Julian and Renata are thinking. I’ve gotten close to them—”
“You’re good at that,” Blink comments. “You work your way up, wherever you are. You were sent to Avida on an errand and never came back. Why, Micah? Did you know we were going to be attacked?”
“No.” When we all stare at him, unbelieving, he almost yells, “I didn’t know! I would have tried to warn you!”
“Yeah, right,” Cy says. “You’re so full of it. I wouldn’t believe you if you said the sky was blue.”
“You can ask Renata and Julian,” he says defensively.
“As if we’d trust them.” I don’t know why I bother with another question. He’ll just lie again, but I have to ask. “So. Who attacked Aureus, then? Was it people from Avida?”
“No. Julian thinks another group that Aureus had controlled broke off, got their own funds and weapons, and did that. I hear they’re farther north somewhere.”
North. Find your north there.
“North? Where?” Caliga asks, trying to hide her desperation but failing. If Wilbert is alive, that’s where he is.
“I don’t know. I heard rumors of someplace—Wing-something or other—but it’s not on a map, that’s for sure.”
Oh god. Wingfield.
“Who told you this?” I ask.
“You can ask him yourself at dinner.” Micah goes on. “He’s the leader of Avida.”
“Who?”
“Julian.”
Micah refuses to answer any more questions, insisting he’ll get in trouble if we’re late to dinner.
We soon find that the inside of Avida is like a huge hollowed-out Easter egg, with concave outer walls and a central garden in the middle of each floor, like the oasis. And of course, no windows. Micah shows us how to wave our bracelets at the transport scanner, and tells us it knows to limit our access according to our schedules. Cy’s room is on a floor with a perfectly manicured English rose garden and Micah quickly shows Cy his door.
“Unauthorized people in your room are forbidden.”
“Or what?” Cy challenges.
Micah shifts his feet and doesn’t answer immediately.
Cy bristles at the silence. “The building and the State have changed, but you haven’t, Micah Kw. Still the high-and-mighty punisher, I see.”
“Don’t blame me for your mistakes, Cy. I’ve only ever been a messenger. Dinner is in two hours. Be ready.”
Cy walks into his room and turns to say something. To me or Blink, I’m not sure, but the closing door cuts him off. Micah touches my hand, trying to guide me away. I expect a tingling jolt, but his hand is warm and gentle. “You’ll see him later, I promise,” he murmurs.
The kindness throws me off. With Micah on one end, and Cy on the other, my center of gravity is horribly off kilter.
Micah leads the rest of us to a level with a central meado
w, with a holo setting sun in a holo sky. Holo birds fly by, snatching holo dragonflies out of the wheat-colored synth-grass. The sky above is blue mixed with milky clouds. The entire scene is straight out of a movie I’ve already forgotten, because this is so much better. A path curves around the garden where several identical doors line up, waiting for us. A shiny square of black is embedded in their centers.
“Here’s your room,” Micah says, and motions to Tabitha.
Tabitha waves her red bracelet near the ebony square and the door slides open. Cold air swooshes out of the room, hitting the warmer air outside and making a big cloud of icy fog. Hoarfrost quickly grows over the door’s edges.
“You have a cold room ready for me?” Tabitha says warily.
“Yep. All the electronics and bots work at this temperature.”
“Did you know I was coming? I mean, you can’t get this stuff ready in a day.” She steps into the room, running her fingers over the e-console and furniture. The fur on her arms and shoulder fluffs out on contact with the low temperature. She looks like she gained fifty pounds in a second.
“Julian ordered it a while ago. I had no idea anyone like you existed. You can ask him later. You’ve got all you need, but no food efferent. Renata and Julian arrange your meals on a schedule. They like us to eat together as a family when possible.”
“Pfff!” I let the sound escape before I catch myself. Family, my ass. This isn’t a family. It’s Aureus, wearing a wig.
Tabitha shuts the door on us. I’m envying her solitude when Micah turns to me. “Whether you like it or not, this is your new home. You chose to be here.”
I bite my lip. The only thing that matters is reuniting with my family. I will not lose everything I adore. I’ve got to get out of Avida with Cy, somehow. But “somehow” probably means playing nice with Micah. Honey versus vinegar and all that. So I fake a smile, but the effort is akin to stuffing a live chicken back into an eggshell. It’s weird and unnatural and impossible.
“I’m so tired, Micah,” I say softly. “I’m not on my best behavior.”
“Of course. I understand.” Micah points out my room to me. As I scan my bracelet, I carefully sniff the air between us. It smells clean, almost scrubbed with soap. “Get a little rest. I’ll see you later.”
My room is between Caliga’s and Blink’s. Blink opens her door and she sighs in relief to see it’s pitch-black inside. Caliga enters hers without a good-bye. I start to enter mine, when Micah hooks my arm.
“Hey!” The electric tingle of his touch buzzes my skin, and I yank my arm away.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, holding his hands up. “I’m just . . . It’s good to see you. I got kind of excited.”
“Don’t you have an off switch for that?”
“Yes, but it usually involves somebody raining fire-retardant foam all over me.”
I smile, hoping he can’t read what I’m really thinking. Wish I could dump a bucketful on him, right now.
“Look, I know what you think of me. And I get it, you have every right. But this is a new place, and Aureus doesn’t exist anymore. We can start over here.”
“Start over,” I repeat. What does he mean we? There is no we.
“I regret a lot of things, Zelia. But SunAj would have had me killed if I refused his orders.” He takes a deep breath and puts his hands on my shoulders. My skin crawls underneath his hands. “I played the part, because I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Micah,” I say, forcing myself to keep my tone controlled.
“Of course. But some of us are too afraid to make the right ones.” His amber-brown eyes are so sincere. I hesitate, but then harden my heart. He’s playing you, Zel. Don’t trust him. He finally lets go of my shoulders and I turn to enter my room. I can’t get away from him fast enough.
“Only . . . one more thing. I just need to know. Dyl—is she okay?”
My heart fires up at a million beats per minute. I use every single breath and every neuron in my brain to keep myself from strangling him. How dare he even speak her name? I unclench my jaw to speak.
“Dyl is . . . fine. I think. I don’t know where she is, actually.”
“Listen, I need to say something.”
“Look, Micah. I’m really tired. Get my necklace back, would you? I can’t sleep without it.”
“But I have to tell you—”
I reach for the button to shut the door. “I’ll see you at dinner.” I retreat into the room, taking a glad breath. Just before the door shuts, Micah spits out some hasty words.
“Zelia. I . . . I never slept with Ana. And I never slept with Dyl either.”
I whirl around, startled, only to see the door kill the space between us.
• • •
THE DOOR STAYS CLOSED.
And I go a little crazy. What a liar! Why would he say that, when it’s so obviously untrue? I pace around, wishing I could walk in the garden and get some fake fresh air. When I’ve waited long enough to think that Micah’s definitely gone, I wave my bracelet on the door scanner. Nothing happens.
“You are scheduled to rest, bathe, and prepare for dinner,” the voice in the room states. How on earth am I going to get out of here with these kinds of restrictions?
“When can I walk around Avida freely?” I ask my room.
“You will be assigned duties tomorrow. Free play time is allowed if your behavior is satisfactory.”
Play time? Good god. I’m in daycare.
I pace inside the small room, wishing I could throw or hit something, but everything is pretty much attached to the floor or upholstered in soft fabric, as if Avida expects its inhabitants to be suicidal on a regular basis. I couldn’t get a hangnail in this room if I tried.
Finally, I sit down on the bed. I close my eyes and fall backward, letting my body sag into the silky ivory coverlet that catches the roughness of my fingertips. It’s ridiculously comfortable, but I can’t let myself fall asleep. I’ve got no necklace.
My whole life, I’ve never been without it. I still remember the conversation with my dad when I was twelve. Dad was determined to get me an extra implant. Not the one I already had that triggered when I wore my necklace, but one that would completely control everything. It would automatically switch on when I fell asleep, or kick in when my natural breaths weren’t deep enough, but I’d refused.
“I don’t want it in me. I want to be as normal as possible,” I’d told him.
“Honey, it’s not about normal, or not normal. It’s about being safe.”
“I can take care of myself,” I’d argued. “I’ve never forgotten once to put it on. And Dyl reminds me all the time too.”
“But—”
“I’m already weird enough.”
“You’re not weird. You’re beyond perfect,” he’d said, wrapping me in his arms.
Everything makes so much sense in hindsight. Beyond perfect, he’d said. My trait supposedly gives me a long life—longer than anyone, since my DNA won’t degrade over time. But it also gifted me with my Ondine’s curse. Dad wasn’t a flawless architect.
A chime sounds from hidden speakers in the walls.
“Dinner will be served in one hour.”
I push off the bed and head for the bathroom.
CHAPTER 13
THE GROOMING BOTS ARE GOING TO BE the death of me.
There’s two of them. Squat and low to the ground, they scuttle out from the bathroom on spindly jointed legs. Their cantaloupe-sized bodies are black and shiny, just like an insect shell. I’d just stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel when one of them went straight for my face and the other, the crown of my head.
“Get off!” I yell, trying to fight them away. Their arms are thin but strong, gripping my body with gel-like suckers. One hovers over my face, extruding instruments from its belly tipped
with sponges, sprays, and brushes. They’re like giant bug mandibles about to eat my face off. The one on my head yanks painfully on my wet, unbrushed curls. I reach for the legs of the cosmetic bot. They feel like bendy chopsticks.
“Please do not damage the bots. They are only doing their job,” the voice from the wall chides me.
“This isn’t a job, this is assault!” I say, detaching the one on my face and tossing it to the floor. It performs a perfect ten-point landing. After only seconds, it crawls right back up my body with a little square patch extended on a mechanical arm. It tries to stick it on my leg, and I kick it away.
“What is that?”
The room voice chimes, “A sedative, to make your prep time a most enjoyable experience!”
“No, no, wait.” I let go of the hairdressing bot and hold my hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’ll be nice. Please. No drugs.” I can’t risk having a fuzzy mind; I need to know what I’m up against during dinner. And I can’t be falling asleep, especially without my necklace. The bot withdraws the white patch into its body, and proceeds to head for my face. I sit calmly on the edge of the bed.
“Don’t make me look like a circus freak,” I beg. The bot bounces slightly and begins to hum contentedly as my face gets dabbed and sprayed to its little nanochip heart’s content. The hair bot goes back to tackling my hair, but stutters a string of tsks, like it’s highly irritated. I understand this language. I feel this way about my hair too.
Finally, they’re done, even my nails. I’ve no ragged cuticles to chew on to assuage my nervousness. Darn. The hair bot spews a holo message.
A MaxInfuse hair conditioner will be added to your shower unit.
There’s an insult in that statement. I sigh a thanks.
As they scuttle back to their wall units, I peek in the closet. A single peony-pink scrap of clothing hangs in front, with matching shoes and undergarments laid out on a poofy ottoman.
“Your ensemble has been chosen for tonight’s meal,” the voice says sweetly. “According to your measurements, it should fit appropriately.”
So the house computer knows my bra size. Hooray.
