Catalyst

by Lydia Kang

  It’s sick. She makes traited kids sound like products in a factory, and I’m staring at the walking factory in my room. All those women, who had no idea. Kria tries to smile, despite my expression of utter disgust.

  “Why, Kria? Why would you let him . . . Why would you do this?”

  “Your father said I could be part of something so much bigger than myself. Something historical, world-changing. He said that creation was the closest we could get to divinity. I believed him. I mean, look at you. How could I argue with his design?”

  Her eyes are full of pride and love, but her words make me feel like a thing. A chunk of clay.

  “But I am proud of you, Zelia. Your father told me all about your accomplishments, and Dyl’s. He’d show me all your grades.” She drops her eyes to the ground. “He’d even show me holo transmissions of you two sleeping at night. I missed you two. I hated being a lie in your life, but it had to be. It’s what your father wanted.”

  “Is it what you wanted?” I ask.

  Kria says nothing. For the first time in this whole conversation, I actually feel sorry for her. We do have something in common, besides being mother and daughter. We’ve both been masterfully manipulated by my father.

  I rub my eyes. I can’t believe all this. I can, but I can’t. It’s so much. And right now, all I want is clarity, and reason, and understanding. I want the familiar, and I want home.

  I want Marka.

  “I should get dressed . . . or something,” I say, gesturing to my messy hair.

  “Of course, Zelia.” She walks to the door and pauses. “You know, we thought of you the whole time. Of your future and well-being. We planned on building a home here so that we could all be safe someday.”

  “Safe?” I cock my head. The word safe is so soft, so deceptively neat and easy. “We are still illegal. We’re still being hunted. We’re hiding.”

  “Zelia—”

  “We may be standing still, Kria, but we’re all still running away.”

  • • •

  AFTER I GET READY, CY MEETS ME at my door. He’s clean-shaven and looks like the Cy from Carus, from a year ago. Dark gray T-shirt, dark pants. Only, no tattoos and no piercings.

  “Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes,” I say, kissing him.

  “You stole my line!” he says, smirking. “C’mon. Marka’s waiting for us at breakfast.”

  Wingfield is built like a spiral snail shell beneath the quarry floor. We curve around a long hallway, occasionally encountering another tree embedded into the wall, with its leaves splayed against the flickering, watery light from the transparent ceiling. As we walk, I tell Cy about my conversation with Kria.

  “Did she say anything about Endall?” he asks.

  “No. We didn’t really get there. I sort of spent the whole time yelling,” I admit. “But look.” I point to the embedded breathing pacer. Cy runs his fingers over the implant and his lower lip drops in surprise.

  “I thought you didn’t want an implant.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “They just stuck it in you. Without your permission?”

  I nod. “Apparently, it was on Dad’s pre-death orders.” He’s still making choices for me now, even though he’s gone.

  “Well, it’s not like you have another pacer at this point. But we’ll try to make one for you, maybe order one through the black market. And then you can take that one out later.”

  He’s right. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go find Marka.”

  We coil our way around Wingfield until we come to a large, central room. Inside, people I know (and plenty of others I don’t) sit in groups of chairs here and there. In the center of the room is a huge, floor-to-ceiling cylindrical tank with all kinds of fish, from black-and-white striped to brilliant amethyst and burnt orange.

  Dyl and Ana sit at a little table where Ana is tearing apart a cinnamon bun into a thousand pieces. When she sees me, Dyl walks over with a mug of coffee and a plate of toast in hand. She’s cinching a thick book under her arm.

  “Kria told me who she is,” I say, frowning, taking her offering of coffee and toast.

  Dyl nods, looking pissed. “I found out last week. Did she tell you about your genetic makeup?”

  “Not quite. You?”

  “No. She said she would, but she’s been too busy.”

  “Yeah, right.” I tip my chin to the book under her arm. “What is that?” I ask, sitting down next to Ana.

  Dyl shows me the gilt letters pressed into the cover. Twentieth-Century Poetry. The one that Dad gave her years ago.

  “You packed that?” I ask, sipping coffee and shoving toast in my mouth.

  “No. I wanted to leave it behind. Marka brought it. She said I’d regret leaving it behind.”

  “But you’ve been reading it?”

  “Yeah,” she says, sounding like she almost regrets the fact. “You know, it’s weird. I’ve been reading so much poetry this last year. This book is really strange.” She taps the tome in her hands. “All the poems are anonymous.”

  “So?”

  “Well, there aren’t a lot of poetry collections by anonymous poets. I never really though much about it until now. Poets may be dripping in creative mystique, but they certainly don’t shy away from getting the credit they deserve.”

  “Hmm.” I take the heavy book from her and flip through the pages. “Luna.” “Prayer for My Child.” “The Memory Play.” I’d been avoiding the pain of reading it again, knowing how it reminded me of Dad. But maybe it’s time to try again. “Can I borrow this?”

  “Sure. It’s yours as much as mine,” she says, smiling. When we look up, we see Micah watching us from across the room. Dyl immediately shrinks from his watchful gaze. “He won’t stop looking at me. It’s super-creepy,” she whispers to me. “So you guys actually got along in that place? Avida?”

  “We did. Sort of. But I was a captive audience. He said a lot of things I didn’t expect.” When Dyl raises an eyebrow, I tell her everything he’s told me. His actions, his punishments under Julian, and how he crossed Julian to ultimately help us escape. How he said he’d never slept with her or Ana.

  “And you believed him?” she says, her voice rising above the din of other conversations. Half a dozen heads turn our way.

  “I don’t know. He was so good at lying. An artist.”

  “He is an artist,” she says. “A con artist.” Her eyes rise to meet his. He tries to smile, but wilts when Dyl pointedly looks away again. I wonder if she will ever forgive him.

  “Zel, c’mon.” Hex is standing behind our couch and claps a hand on our shoulders. “Kria wants to talk to some of us.”

  We stand up, and everyone but Carus members leaves. Caliga, Élodie, and Micah are asked to stay, since they’re new too. Marka sits next to Ana, who leans her head on her shoulder. Kria stands by the fish tank column, pressing a button to release food.

  “They’re African cichlids, from Lake Tanganyika,” she says. We all wait for something more than a biology lecture. “An interesting example of evolution. Every niche of that rift lake now has a different species. Human evolution has been staggeringly linear, in comparison.”

  “What are you trying to tell us? That we’re fish?” Élodie says with a bitterness that we all feel.

  “No. You are a species that has unnaturally evolved, with your father’s help. You are precious, beyond words or money.”

  “Personne ne croit que c’est vrai,” Élodie murmurs. I don’t know what it means, but I can guess. Kria does one of those smiling-but-ignoring-your-comment faces.

  “So. Are you the one responsible for destroying Aureus?” I ask.

  “Yes. But it took years and years to plan. Aureus was abusing its power and turning children into commodities. In the beginning, SunAj agreed to support Dr. Benten and his work. But back then when SunAj built Aure
us, there was a different philosophy: Create products to sustain an income, so the traited children could be sheltered and provided for. But then the money and power became too enticing. Dr. Benten stopped bringing them children. So they killed him.”

  Visions of my dad in the hospital flood my memories. The missing limbs; the ventilator strapped to his chest. I shut my eyes and Marka grasps my hand. Kria continues.

  “Through our contacts, we found a place in Minwi where we could hide children. And your father contacted Senator Milford for the money, weapons, and the hoverpod we’d need to take over Aureus.”

  “Senator Milford!” several of us exclaim at the same time. What? I immediately lock eyes with Marka.

  Vera’s green fingers curl onto Marka’s arm. “Did you know?”

  Marka stands with her hand wide open, as if she’s dropped something she can’t recover. “I didn’t know. Why didn’t my uncle tell me?”

  “Dr. Benten expressly asked that it be kept from you,” Kria tells her. “The plans were dangerous and he didn’t want you involved until the very end, when you could be brought here safely. When he died, this place wasn’t ready, which is why Zelia and Dyl went to Carus, instead. But we never anticipated that the senator would be assassinated, or that his death would set off that chain of events that caused Carus to be attacked.”

  “So you know who attacked him? Who poisoned him with my old elixir?” I ask.

  “No. We still don’t know,” Kria admits.

  Cy comes to stand next to me. “So. What do we do now? Stay here forever?”

  “For the time being. Minwi was bribed with a good deal of money to keep this area uninhabited for a few years.”

  A few years. They could go by in a snap. And then what? I sit down on the nearest chair, exhausted. I’m so tired of being chased like an animal, always on the verge of becoming history.

  “Now we have to fight to get you rights,” Kria goes on. “Freedom, like every other human.”

  Marka, Cy, Kria, and Vera start talking heatedly, of which States might be willing to break federal law to help us, or how we’re even going to manage to have a voice when we’re in hiding. I hear them talk about supplies, and money, and how risky it will be to rescue other traited kids across the States.

  I think of Renata, now alone with her children. She’ll have to face those Inky senators by herself, without Julian’s silky behind-the-scenes deal-making. They’re still waiting on a promise for my trait to be made, and I’m gone. There’s only so long before they’ll demand what she doesn’t have.

  While the discussion heats up even more, I quietly get up and leave the room. In the hallway, the trees along the walls and the transparent ceiling of ice-blue quarry water don’t feel ephemeral or unique anymore. They’re just fancy walls to yet another cage.

  The question is, how can we get out and be free, once and for all?

  CHAPTER 31

  WE SPEND THE DAY WANDERING AROUND WINGFIELD, built beneath the water-filled, abandoned mine of the same name. The curving vortex of hallways all share the force field that acts as a ceiling, keeping the water at bay.

  We also meet the other members of Wingfield. There’s about twenty of us in total. It’s all so overwhelming that I can barely remember any names. There’s a girl with bat-like wings, and an eyeless young boy who can navigate the vortex-like hallways easily, amongst others. I’m astonished by all of their varied traits. Traits I never imagined might exist.

  That night, I curl in bed and Cy slides in next to me. When he wraps his hands around my waist, I take his hand and stare at it. Long, strong fingers and wrists so smooth, you’d never know he’d once regularly dragged broken glass across them.

  “What are you thinking?” He breathes, rather than speaks the words.

  “About practicing.”

  “What, mouth-to-mouth resuscitation? I’m ready,” he teases.

  I smack his arm. “I mean your trait.”

  He sighs in resignation. After a few more coaxing words, he starts. We use only our hands to experiment on. Cy tries to pinch off the circulation to a finger at a time, then a toe. It doesn’t always go smoothly, though. I get really dizzy and my heart races when I realize my whole body is being constricted, like I’ve got a python wrapped all over me.

  “Stub,” I say, my speech slurring from the lack of blood to my brain.

  “Stub?”

  I gasp. “Ssss . . . stop!”

  When he sees that I’ve gone red in the face, he releases me. “Oh geez! Zel, I’m not doing this anymore!”

  Luckily, I recover in a few seconds. It takes forever before he’s willing to practice again. By two in the morning, he can make any finger of mine turn white easily. Even my leg, or my arm.

  I yawn. “That was really good.”

  “I almost killed you. That’s good?”

  “Yeah! A miss is as good as a mile, as they say.” I snuggle closer and curl into his arms. Cy’s body radiates warmth straight into my bones.

  He soon falls asleep, his body sagging into the bed. I carefully unwrap myself from his arms, watching his effortless breathing. His face is so peaceful, so perfect. I wish I could bottle this—the feeling I get from being within his orbit. That’s a product that Aureus could have made a killing on.

  I can’t sleep. There are too many unanswered questions fighting for space in my mind, so I leave and walk through the darkened, spiral corridor in my nightgown.

  At the innermost coil, there is a single door. It opens to a staircase, and then to a huge, dark cavernous space. Something clinks in the distance. Sounds like a dropped screwdriver.

  A distant voice huffs in annoyance.

  “Hello?” I call.

  Suddenly, the lights pop on. I try not to squeal in surprise. There’s a huge hoverpod taking up a hangar barely big enough to shelter it. The hoverpod is shaped like a square pillow, with black metal encasing the structure. There’s a shuffling sound, and Kria walks out from behind the hoverpod, wearing dirty work clothes.

  “Zelia! What are you doing up?” she says, wiping her dirty hands on her pants.

  “Nothing. Sorry,” I say, immediately turning back to the door. I don’t really want to chat with her right now. And anyway, she’s busy.

  “Please. Stay a few minutes. I could use your help.”

  “I don’t know a thing about fixing hoverpods.”

  “Neither do I. We’ll be ignorant together.” She smiles, but a certain desperation lurks behind her eyes.

  I’ve no idea how to help. Kria opens the hatch to the hoverpod and steps inside, and I follow. Inside, she squats by an open panel revealing a million wires and circuits, blinking in red, white, and green. “It’s like a glowing Italian flag in here. I don’t know what I’m doing,” she confesses.

  “Why don’t you ask Wilbert? He’s good at this stuff.”

  She scratches her head. “Wilbert is with his wife for the first time in ages. I’m not going to bother him for this.”

  Oh. The first time they’ve been able to be together. As in, together.

  “So you made the vaccine for Wilbert?”

  “Oh yes. It was the first thing we worked on after I got him out of Aureus.”

  “So that was really you? You attacked Aureus?”

  She touches the frazzled braids over her head. “I don’t look very fierce now. But it helped to have the right equipment and friends.”

  “So you killed SunAj?”

  Her face clouds over. “It didn’t go as planned. He attacked first when I arrived at their new base in Okks. I wish so many Aureus kids hadn’t run away, it would have made things easier. But the kids are safe now, so it was worth it.” There she goes again, with the safe thing. She’s delusional, if she thinks hiding equals safety. She points to some flashing lights, and says, “The cloaking buttons aren’t working on the starboard side
. Everything outside is okay, so it’s an internal issue.” She wiggles a few circuit relays, then throws her arms into the air. “Ugh. I really should just wait for Wilbert tomorrow.”

  “Why’d you bother?” I ask, before I realize the question is a little rude.

  “Why not? Funny, your father would have said the same thing. It used to drive him crazy when I started something he assumed I couldn’t finish.”

  Never start something where failure is likely. He used to say that to me too. I look at Kria, up in the middle of night, working on something stubbornly, despite the odds. It reminds me of someone.

  Oh. Me.

  “So.” I stand up and back away a little, as if my upcoming question requires space. “So if you’re my mom, are you . . . How much of me . . .”

  “You want to know who you are?” She crinkles her eyes at me. “What you are?”

  It sounds like I’m asking for ingredients to a pot roast. “Yes.”

  “You’ve grown into such a pretty girl.” Kria barely suppresses a smile. “Well. That hair is mine, so I’m sorry about that. Your father designed your longevity trait, and your body has developed slower because of it. I added Marka’s genes, as an extra gift.”

  I’m definitely feeling like a pot roast now. “Why the extra scent trait? Why is it showing up now?”

  “Your father wanted some children to have two traits.”

  “Who made you?”

  “A long as there’s been gene manipulation, there’ve been scientists who wanted to experiment. Really, it could have been anyone.”

  “How could you want to give birth to these kids, to us, and not know . . . everything?”

  Kria’s lip trembles. “I loved him. He was a brilliant man, doing great things. I didn’t ask to be in charge of it all. He was supposed to be here. With us.”