by Lydia Kang
I pick up the dress. It’s a silk hanky of a garment, held together with thin strings around the neck. The pink is rich and saturated and the dress is floor length, but somewhere around the upper thigh area, the pink color bleeds away and transforms into transparent, shimmering spider biosilk. It’s often used in costumes for shameless celebrities and performance artists.
And apparently, me.
After getting dressed and shoving my feet into the dainty silk heels, I sit stiffly on the bed. I contemplate wearing my bed coverlet to dinner. Sure, it would hide all the bumps and curves that this dress reveals and sure, I’d resemble a human soft taco. I start seriously considering it, when the room chirps at me.
“Please depart for dinner.”
The door to my room slips into the wall and the meadow grass beyond dances a welcome. A handful of doors around the meadow yawn open and a few girls walk out, all in sleek gowns and dresses. Caliga stands blinking in the yellow light, dressed in an ice-blue concoction that makes her look like a post-modern Cinderella. She’s got a cane and hobbles over to me. I immediately drop to my knees and inspect her leg. Surprisingly, she doesn’t swat me away.
Her wound is covered in a biogel bandage with an antibiotic infusaport delivering meds straight to the wound.
“It looks good,” I say. “How do you feel?”
“I’d feel better if we didn’t have to do this song-and-dance dinner thing.” She snickers. Her eyes scan me up and down. “Wow. You clean up nice.”
“I can’t stand it. I can’t wait to get rid of this.”
Caliga leans to the left so she can study my hair. “You’ll need a crowbar.”
My hand goes up to my head, where rock-hard loops of hair sprout from my crown. Caliga’s hair is plaited to look like swirls of vanilla icing.
“I think my hairdressing bot despises me,” I grumble.
“C’mon, let’s go,” she says, tugging my arm. After a day of sour attitude, she’s being downright friendly. For once, I don’t mind being close to her. In Avida, we’re allies. For now.
“Where’s Blink?” Caliga asks as we approach the transport. All the other girls have already left.
“I don’t know. Maybe she went ahead with the rest.”
I bite my lip. I have a feeling she was racing me to get to Cy first. But then I mentally smack myself. Stop being so paranoid.
We take the transport and hold our bracelets to the black monitor. Immediately, it shoots up to the top floor and opens to a roof patio. In the center, a long table is set decadently for dinner. Some smaller, one-person café tables are spaced farther out, like satellites to the main table. Wisteria vines hang down from a trellis over the table and all sorts of exotic plants and flowers surround the edges of the roof. Two curving pools of water flank the entire eating area like giant blue parentheses. The water girl from the oasis is there with another teen boy, talking in hushed tones. But the sick one, Ryba, isn’t with them.
Overhead, the dome of our egg-shaped building encloses us. It’s translucent, but I can’t see the setting sun, or any celestial bodies. I long for the day when I can own the sky again.
Something soft brushes my arm. I reach over to rub whatever it is away, when a hand catches mine. It’s Micah. I use every ounce of energy to mask my disgust and not snatch my hand away. He wears a charcoal-gray suit complete with dark tie, and every hair is perfectly in place. Micah squeezes my hand for a millisecond, before he lets go.
“I want to talk to you after dinner,” he whispers.
“We don’t have anything to talk about,” I say. “I heard what you said.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
I turn just enough to see his earnest look. He reminds me so much of the Micah that Dyl and I met in New Horizons after Dad died. A simpler, sweeter guy. But he never really existed.
“There is no such thing as truth in this century,” I say, quoting a common saying. You can always manipulate the truth, be it with neural implants or fake holo feeds or enough repetition of lies. I don’t need to hear his plastic version of what happened.
Someone taps me on the shoulder. I spin around to find myself face-to-face with Cy. Micah is completely forgotten as my mouth drops with surprise. His scraggly beard is gone, revealing sculpted cheekbones from his hard days in the Deadlands. A sleek black suit is tailored perfectly for his slimmer frame, in a shade that perfectly offsets the copper glints in his irises. His tie is narrow and his hair is exactly as it usually is, a slightly rumpled, gorgeous mess of espresso brown. I guess his grooming bot realized he didn’t need help there. Smart bot.
“Hi,” I say breathlessly. “You’re . . . you’re in a suit.”
“And you’re in a dress,” he says. He appraises me with an expression of curiosity.
“It’s ridiculous,” I say, waving at my dress and face with embarrassment.
“It is. You’re far more stunning wearing my old T-shirts,” he whispers. He warms my lower back with his hand and I grin stupidly, when thin fingers slip over his shoulder, pulling him away.
“Élodie!” Cy says. “You look beautiful.” Blink stands there, her figure encased in a strapless sheath gown of iridescent black and purple. Her hair is in a perfect topknot and she’s got a teeny waist with enviable cleavage. Cy smiles with a warmth that shows how much he’s missed her. She’s stunning and elegant. In my bright pink dress and makeup, I’m a child’s finger-painting in comparison.
A loud cough comes from the center of the room.
“Please take your seats.” Renata stands at the end of the table. Her unruly hair has been neatly plaited and she wears a brocade gown of gold with copper-colored paillettes.
For the first time, I spin around and look at who’s here. Not including Renata, there’s only ten of us, varying in ages of about fifteen to twenty. Tabitha’s hairy self is squeezed into a white cocktail dress, which is ridiculous. Besides her, there’s another girl whose arms are covered in skin-colored tumors, like she’s got mushroom caps glued all over. One teen girl with a long mane of black hair sports startlingly purple skin. I blink, wondering if I’m seeing what I’m seeing, when she laughs at something and suddenly she blanches orange, before going a pasty gray. She must have chromatophores in her skin.
No duplicate Veras here, and the little children, like the tiny Hex and the tiny Blink, must be eating dinner elsewhere.
Micah sits down between the girl with the bumpy skin and the one with the changing colors.
“Zelia, this is Daphne and Xiulan.” They stare at me uncomfortably as I prepare to say hi, but Renata glares at us like we’re not supposed to socialize, so I hurry to find a seat.
I end up one empty chair away from Renata, next to Daphne and across from a boy who looks about fifteen. Caliga finds one of the little satellite tables and sits down by herself. Her face settles into a pout of resignation.
Everyone’s matching red bracelet vaguely looks like we’ve all got a bloody slash to the wrist. The whole thing—the fancy dresses, the crystal goblets, us—is a joke. A happy family, we are not.
The table is set with three forks, two knives, and a spoon. The salad glistens with dressing and rainbow-colored vegetables and edible blooms, fancier than those that Vera used to grow. I pick up a fork, then put it down when Renata glares at me.
Beyond Renata’s chair, a door opens. A man walks in, wearing a relatively casual outfit in crumpled linen. People smile a welcome, and yet he doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he takes the seat next to me.
“Please, start eating,” he says quietly, waving carelessly at us. I recognize his voice. It’s the same one that spoke to me in the scanner, but softer and less confident. So this is Julian?
He completely ignores me and starts dissecting his salad. First he picks out the nasturtium flowers, then pitches the tiny heirloom tomatoes onto the other side. He eats the lettuce leaves one by one
with his fingertips, like a child. A few wisps of gray hair lighten his mousy brown hair, and there are tiny crow’s-feet at his temples. I almost feel sorry for him. He looks desperate to be alone and away from this huge table of people. Renata ignores Julian like everyone else.
After our plates are switched to synthetic beef tenderloin with morels drowning in butter sauce, Julian shyly catches my eye.
“Have . . . has your stay been okay?”
It’s so polite, I’m too shocked to say anything at first. “Oh . . . um. Yes. My room is fine.”
“Good. Good.” He reaches for his water goblet and drinks so thirstily that I bet he guzzled it to avoid further conversation. This is the mighty leader of Avida? The other half of Renata? I don’t get it.
Midway through dinner, Julian excuses himself (after three glasses of orange-flavored water, I’m not surprised). When ten minutes go by, Renata groans and leaves. I suspect she’s gone to corral him back to the table. Everyone at the table relaxes a little and our plates are replaced with a dessert of cherry and brandy compote. I try to dig under the bracelet where it’s chafing my skin, but it’s no good. It’s too snug around my wrist.
“Get used to it,” a boy from across the table mutters. His tie is crooked and his hair is mussed up, as if he had a fight with a grooming bot.
“Excuse me?”
“The bracelet. Don’t muck around with it. If you try to forcefully remove it, it’ll blow.” His left arm ends in a scarred stub, poking beyond the sleeve of his crisp shirt. He waves his stump at me. “I’m Tennie.”
“I’m—”
“Zelia Benten. We all know who you are.” At this, ten pairs of eyes stop eating cherry compote and stare at me. My skin rises with countless goose bumps. “We all knew Dr. Benten. You’re like . . . Princess Freak here. Royalty.”
I clear my throat. “I didn’t have anything to do with any of this.”
“Oh. Right, okay.” Tennie nods at me, but disappointment coats his words, which frustrates me to no end. How could I disappoint anybody? I haven’t done anything! None of this is my fault.
“Um, so . . . when did you lose your hand?” I mumble, changing the subject.
“Six years ago. I tried to leave. I thought they were bluffing about the bracelets. I was wrong.”
“Why don’t you have a prosthetic?”
He pokes his fork toward me. “That would take away the whole punishment aspect, don’t ya think?”
Daphne pushes her macerated cherries around. They resemble bloody meat now. The bumps on her face glow with a faint phosphorescence in the twilight. “There’s a beacon signal on the perimeter of the building,” she tells us. “If you managed to jump off the roof, you’d take one step before your hand blew. They say even the ground is wired down to twenty feet below the building. You can’t even dig your way out. Only Julian allows access to and from Avida.”
“Anyway, what’s the point? Feds would round us up and kill us anyway if we left Inky. At least we’re protected in here. Hands and all.”
“Are we? Do you know how many are in the infirmary right now?”
Cy immediately glances my way. “Who’s sick?” he asks.
Xiulan’s skin flashes blue. The blue disintegrates into tiny dots and disappears. “It was only one or two of us, at first. But more are getting sick. Sean’s been trying to figure it out. But they’re getting worse and we can’t ask for help from any Inky doctors. No one knows us like Benten does.” She sees my strained expression, then drops her eyes. “I mean, did.”
I take a breath and gather my thoughts. “Wait. Who’s Sean?”
“You just met Sean,” Tennie says.
“I thought I just met Julian.”
Daphne smiles. “It’s okay, I was confused at first too. It’s his trait. Julian and Sean—they’re two conscious beings in one brain. Sean’s a sweet guy. He takes care of all the technical aspects of Avida, basically runs all the security systems and stuff. He’s been helping with getting meds for the sick kids. But he’s a total wimp. It’s Julian you have to worry about.”
“I don’t get it. So he’s got multiple personality disorder? Last I checked, that was a psychiatric thing, not a trait.”
“Oh no. It’s physiological, not psychological. They share memories. They control who’s the dominant consciousness. The non-dominant one is often just sleeping in the background. They have an overlapping neural network. Sean and Julian have been two separate identities since birth.”
I stare at my plate. It reminds me of Wilbert, but the opposite. Instead of two brains and one being, it’s one brain and two beings. It even reminds me of SunAj with his multiple beings in one person. I wonder if they could all be related.
“Does Julian—do they have any relatives?”
“Oh. Yeah. He’s that Aureus guy’s little brother. Whatshisname?”
“SunAj,” I say, filling in the blanks. “He died when Aureus went down.”
Tennie shakes his head. “Down, left, right. It’s all the same, only with a new name.”
“What are you talking about?”
He leans over, whispering. “They got rid of SunAj on purpose. New leader, same people. I heard they’re in Minwi somewhere.”
“Where in Minwi?” I ask, though I already know the answer. When he says it, my lips form the word simultaneously.
“Wingfield.”
CHAPTER 14
WINGFIELD.
Why would Dad want me to find safety with those who destroyed Aureus?
I open my mouth to ask more questions, but the boy’s open demeanor suddenly folds shut like a book. Renata and Sean reenter the dinner area, arm in arm. All the kids at the table abruptly sit up straighter, stop talking, and drop their gazes to their plates. Sean pulls out her chair for Renata to sit down; she complies with a simpering smile.
No, not Sean. This must be Julian. I try not to stare, but it’s impossible. Sure, he looks exactly the same—same mousy brown hair with threads of silver, same linen outfit—but he’s altered. Like someone removed a dying lightbulb from his body and replaced it with a solar-watted torch.
Julian turns to me. His pupils are so large and black. Not as enormous as Blink’s, but they eat away almost the entire space of his blue irises. Their yawning void makes me uncomfortable, so I discreetly inch farther away from him.
“Welcome, Zelia. I feel like I already know you intimately. Your father spoke fondly of you when he used to visit.”
My lips stay closed.
“Apparently you’re quite talented in the lab. We look forward to seeing your gifts here.” His eyes travel over the thin silk of my dress, and I cross my hands in front of my chest. Julian laughs at my clumsy efforts to conceal myself.
“You’re a pretty young thing, Zelia. No reason to be ashamed.”
“I’m not ashamed. I don’t enjoy being on display like a hunk of meat.”
Heads turn at my words. I’ve said them more strongly than I anticipated, but there’s no reeling them back. Julian leans back in his chair to consider me.
“Interesting. Your father was far more docile.”
“You’re wrong,” I retort, trying not to raise my voice. “He stopped being a pawn. He changed.” I’ve been so angry at my father for so long that coming to his defense is entirely strange.
Julian smirks. “Change does not always equal rebellion. Sometimes it’s just selling yourself for a better price.”
Renata watches us jealously and gets up to fill Julian’s wineglass. “Julian dear, you’ve had a busy day. You should relax.”
“Excellent idea. Perhaps a walk? I need to show the newest member of Avida her new home.” Julian stands up and offers me his hand.
Micah stands up suddenly.
“I was planning on giving them a tour after dinner. I promised Zelia.”
I furrow my eyebrows.
He made no such promise. He lies like he breathes air.
“Down, Micah. I know she’s our crown jewel, but you’ve had your share already,” Julian says, smiling.
My face boils with irritation. I’m not a freaking crown jewel, and attention is the last thing I need, when all I’m planning on is leaving this place as soon as I find a way. The faces in the pool and at the table fix their eyes on me yet again. Some seem intimidated by me, while others wear pure disgust. This is because of Dad, I think. This is all because of him. I didn’t ask for this. Is he responsible for creating everyone in this room? He can’t be, Julian is too old. I’ll never have the answers I need—but then again, do I really want to know the full horror of what my father did?
Julian extends his hand again but I don’t take it. I stand up and straighten out my dress, wishing I could fan my warmed cheeks. Micah immediately comes to my side. He looks freaked out and discomposed, which throws me totally off. He’s usually Mr. Super Cool about everything.
He reaches for my arm and whispers so quietly that Julian can’t hear him. “You don’t want to be alone with him. Come with me.”
“Micah!” Julian growls. “I said sit down.”
“But—”
“Sean. Do it.”
I’m confused. Why is Julian talking to his other . . . self?
Julian’s eyes suddenly flicker, the black pupils shrinking to pinpoints. He slouches ever so slightly, and I realize he’s Sean now, touching a complicated holo image that emerges from his bracelet.
A strangled cry pierces the quiet. Micah’s fallen to his knees and he’s clutching at his bracelet. His face is bright red, eyes squeezed shut. He doubles over and stuffs his wrist and fist into his stomach.
“Ahhh, god! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he says, grimacing, before yelling out again in pain.
I can’t believe it. This is what Micah did to me and to everyone he policed in Aureus, burning us with his electric touch. He deserves this. And yet, somewhere in my gut, I know that Micah was trying to protect me somehow. That he doesn’t deserve this.
