Genesis Girl

by Jennifer Bardsley

  I’ve been dreaming about sunshine forever. But usually, those dreams are nightmares.

  Back at Tabula Rasa, they infused our water with vitamin D so we wouldn’t get rickets. It’s better that way. The outside world is dangerous for a Vestal. Somebody might see us and tell people where we are. Or worse, they might take our picture. Then we’d be overexposed like everyone else, unable to control our own profile because our privacy was gone.

  Vestal purchasers pay good money for our digital purity. Cal has taken every precaution. This limo has dark windows, a lead-lined interior, and a vetted driver named Alan.

  “As soon as you close the windows between us,” Alan tells me, “you are completely cloistered. Mr. McNeal made me guarantee your privacy. So tap on the window if you need something because I won’t be able to hear you.”

  But I don’t close the window between us. Driving through Silicon Valley is overwhelming, and it’s nice to have the company.

  All the newsboards offer support too. Each one we pass shows a Vestal I know. It’s only a matter of weeks before my friends are up there too. Beau leaning against a truck with his arms around Fatima; Ethan looking totally smart, like he actually knows how to make finger-chips.

  A truck company, a fashion house, a chip manufacturer; the only surprise at our Harvest was me. I wish I could be like my friends and still feel normal.

  Right now it feels like my scarf is strangling me. I rip it off my neck and gasp for breath.

  It took me forever to decide what to wear. Dressing for criminals was not covered in school. I finally settled on a bundled-up number with a scarf, tank top, leather jacket, and my high-heeled boots. With my hat and glasses, I’m almost entirely shrouded in white.

  By now we’re in the parking lot of the county jail. “Good luck then, Ms. Blanca.” Alan opens the door for me and nods.

  I smile back weakly and step into the light. Heat hits my cheeks, and I feel like I’m on fire. The sunshine is blazing! I can barely see it’s so bright. I stumble a bit as I walk up the path.

  Grime, sweat, and desperation; the odors assault me as soon as I enter the precinct. The public waiting area is packed with people, some of them so covered in tattoos that their skin is no longer visible. Most of them stare at video screens coming from their finger-chips. The rest gaze into space, totally wacked out on drugs.

  I head straight for the VIP section because Headmaster Russell made some calls before I came over. He knows all the right people. Even though I’m protected by privacy glass, I pull up my scarf anyway. I keep my glasses on too, like I’m an old-time movie star.

  But the VIP section isn’t as a great as it sounds. The officer on duty is middle-aged, nondescript, and lumpy in places she shouldn’t be lumpy. She sits at the counter, too engrossed in her palm game to do her job. I hear tinny music emanating from the speakers in her thumbs. She completely ignores me after several minutes of me patiently waiting.

  That is her first mistake.

  I clear my throat. “I’m here to drop charges against Seth McNeal.”

  “Name?” she says, clicking on her palm. She’s got fake purple eyelashes and insolence emanating from every pore.

  “Blanca.”

  “Last name?”

  “I don’t have a last name. I’m a Vestal.”

  “Don’t be a wise-ass,” she says.

  That was her second mistake.

  The officer holds out her hand, trying to scan me.

  “I can’t be scanned because I don’t have finger-chips,” I say. “I told you, I’m a Vestal.”

  Finally, the officer looks up. “No way.” Then realization dawns as her scan fails. “You’re unreadable!” she blurts, examining me closer. “Show me your wrist.”

  I fight to stay composed. I smooth my expression and hold out my left arm, pulling back my sleeve.

  She picks up my wrist in her technology infested hands and rubs my platinum cuff. “Oh my God! It’s really you! You’re the Vestal from the picture!”

  I withdraw my hand and wipe it on my clean, white jeans. I’ll have the maid bleach them when I get home. This tech-addict never should have touched me.

  That is her third mistake.

  “4-3-8-5-7-2-9.”

  “What?”

  “4-3-8-5-7-2-9,” I say again. “Your badge number. I’m memorizing it.”

  “What do you need to know my badge number for?”

  “I have a responsibility.”

  “Huh?”

  I look at her right in the eyes. “Technology is no excuse to be rude. I hope you get help for your addiction.”

  “What?”

  “People matter, not your palm. Now please get me what I need so I can drop the charges against Seth McNeal.”

  Paperwork, forms, an old-fashioned pen—she has to hunt them down because I refuse to type. She scrambles, but it’s too late.

  Tech-addicts need to be cleaned from the inside out. That’s what Barbelo Nemo wrote. Vestals have a responsibility to avenge all wrongs, especially when our honor is assaulted. When I get home to the manor, I’ll write Headmaster Russell a letter and tell him Officer 4385729 ignored me, called me a “wise-ass,” and touched me without permission. He’ll want to know.

  But right now, I need to focus.

  The new officer who leads me through the corridors to the jail cells is refreshingly obsequious.

  “There’re no cameras in here, Ms. Vestal. And the walls are lined with lead, so you’ll be safe.” The officer pauses and smiles at me shyly. “I’ve never met a Vestal before. My mom told me that they bless people. Is that true?”

  “Yes.” I smile. “Would you like to be blessed?”

  “If you don’t mind,” the officer asks, sheepishly.

  “Of course not. What’s your name?”

  “Stanley Francis.”

  We are standing at the door to the jail cells. The room is gray and stale.

  I look at Stanley full in the face. “Stanley Francis, you have a hard road. In so many ways, it’s difficult being you. But I know that you can do it. You have everything you need to achieve happiness.” I bring my cuff to my heart, and the moment is complete.

  “Thank you.” I think there might be a tear in Stanley’s eye, but I pretend not to notice. “Let’s get you on your way,” he says.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like a few minutes to talk to the Virus first, while he’s still locked up.”

  “Of course, Ms. Vestal. I’ll be a few feet away. If you need anything, let me know.”

  I walk through a river of catcalls. Every last dirtbag I pass hoots and hollers. Cal was upset that his only son was surrounded by criminals, but I’m going to make things right. My very presence will make these prisoners suffer. I let my scarf fall down and show some skin.

  “Hey, baby! No need to wear white after I’m done with you.”

  “Bring some of your blessings my way, sugar!”

  “You only thought you knew what private meant!”

  The only inmate not saying anything, not noticing me, is Seth. When I stand right in front of his cell, he still lies slumped on the ground.

  I crouch down, wrapping my arms around my knees, but not letting my butt hit the floor. “Veritas Rex?”

  “Who’s asking,” he mumbles. But when Seth finally sees me, he scrambles to sit up straight. “Holy shit, it’s you!”

  “Yes. And you’re the Virus who took my picture.”

  Neither of us says anything further. I search Seth’s face for some sign of his father, but all I see is his mother. Brown-black hair bolts straight up and matches the dark eyes from Sophia’s portrait. Seth’s muscular forearms stretch the confines of his orange jumpsuit. I struggle not to inspect his tattoos. When Seth slowly starts to smile, the way his mouth turns up at the corners reminds me of Cal. But then his smile turns acrid, and any familiarity is gone.

  “What are you doing here, Vestal? Have you come to gloat?”
/>
  “Not at all. I’m here to release you.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “No, really,” I say. “That’s what I’m here for.”

  “Then why am I still locked up?”

  “Because I wanted to talk to you first.”

  Seth clenches his fists and gives me a once-over. “Hey, are you still a Vestal? Did that picture get you kicked out?”

  I hold up my wrist so he can see my platinum cuff.

  “Top pick, huh? I guess you’re here to thank me then.” Seth smiles wickedly. There’s a spark in his eye that’s incendiary, like I could be his fuse.

  “It turns out that your picture was the best thing that ever happened to me,” I say.

  “Yeah? Which company have you sold your soul to?”

  I take a deep breath. If Seth ruffles me, then it’s all over.

  “Vestals don’t sell their souls.” I try not to sound annoyed. Instead, I launch a different tactic. “Vestals don’t always get harvested by companies.”

  That catches his interest.

  “You mean you went Geisha?”

  I nod and look away, my cheeks burning. I know what people whisper about Geishas, but it doesn’t matter.

  Now I’ve got his attention. Now the fun can really start.

  “It’s better than I could ever imagine. He’s so sweet to me, and kind and thoughtful. I never thought I could be this happy.”

  “Some old guy buys you and you’re happy?”

  I grip the bars, and my face is as close to Seth’s as possible. He leans in too, and our noses almost touch.

  “Does age matter when you feel like you’ve known someone your whole life? He makes me feel seen and heard. That’s the most important thing.”

  “Only a Vestal would say shit like that.” But Seth doesn’t pull away. He puts his fingers on the bars right below mine, so that we’re closer than ever. I feel his eyes linger on me, on my eyes, and then my mouth.

  “I’m here to release you, Rex. It only seems fair. You made me the happiest Vestal ever. So yes, I guess I am here to thank you. And to make things fair.” I pull away from the bars and look down at the white tips of my boots. This next part is critical. The most important part. “There’s just one thing,” I practically whisper. I shake my finger between us both. “This has to be our secret.”

  “Why?”

  “My purchaser does not know I’m here.”

  “You didn’t tell him?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not sure he would be forgiving. So do we have a deal? I have to know you’re not going to blog about this to the world.”

  “But the truth never hurts anyone,” Seth protests.

  “Total privacy,” I insist. “Take it or leave it.”

  Seth stares at me. His face has a weird sheen to it, like he’s diseased or in pain. Tech-withdrawal is taking its toll. “I can’t sit on the truth,” he says.

  That’s when I get up to go. “If you’re not interested, goodbye.”

  “Wait!” Seth calls after me.

  I’m already headed toward the door. The other inmates mark my departure with a fresh round of suggestions.

  “I promise!” Seth yells after me.

  I pretend not to hear.

  “Blanca, wait!”

  Finally, I pause.

  The dirtbags around me are practically frothing now that they know my name. The thing is, I don’t know how Seth ever learned it. He’s been incarcerated since he was hauled away. How does he know my name is Blanca? That information wasn’t released until after my Harvest. By the time it was blaring on every newsboard in the world, Seth was already locked up.

  I turn around and walk back to Seth’s cell. This time, I don’t crouch down to his level. “How do you know my name, Rex?”

  Seth stands up and peers down at me. He’s a lot taller than his dad. He holds up his hands so I can see the chips. “I’m a Virus, sweetheart. Ordinary measures of protection don’t keep me out.”

  “Then why have you been locked up in this jail all month?”

  Now it’s Seth’s turn to flush. I must have hit him where it hurts. I’ll be sure to remember that for the future.

  “I heard you and that other Vestal talking,” he says, “before I took your picture.”

  “So you’re not only a thief, you’re also a sneak.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I don’t say anything. I don’t need to. I let my silence weigh in on Seth for a second so he can’t be sure if I will help him or not. I want him to know that there are consequences to being a toad.

  Finally, Seth wags one of his hideously maimed fingers between us. “Private,” he says. “I won’t tell anybody about this.”

  “Anything about me ever,” I correct. “I’m completely off limits.”

  “Okay.”

  “Swear it.”

  Seth holds up his mother’s pendant, the lion-faced cobra, and kisses it. “I promise,” he says.

  And like a fool, I believe him.

  Seth’s hands shake the whole ride back to town. There’s a sticky stench in the car, and it’s not coming from me. It emanates from Seth, the tech-addict sitting to my right, who probably hasn’t showered in days. Alan has already put up the lead-lined divider, and we’re completely cloistered.

  “The batteries are dead,” Seth mumbles. “I can’t charge them in here for some reason. Couldn’t we pull over for a minute?” He’s practically incoherent. “I need to check my feed. I need to —”

  “No,” I interrupt. “I’ve already been gone too long.”

  “It’s been almost forever.” Seth wiggles his finger-chips. “I need to see my hits.”

  “You need to take a deep breath.” But I can’t ignore the fact that he’s suffering.

  I look down at my cuff. The blank slate of my arms is a crazy contrast to the wall of tattoos covering Seth’s biceps. Sometimes physical comfort helps, so I grab Seth’s hands in mine. The shaking goes right through me. I’m totally clueless about tech-withdrawal, but I do know about comforting someone who’s hurting.

  When we turned fourteen and had our operations, Fatima was a mess for weeks. Every night in our cloister, I’d hear her crying on the bunk right above me. I’d climb up with her and lay my head on her pillow.

  “It’ll be okay,” I’d say. But Fatima would sob and sob.

  “I’ll never have children,” she’d weep. “I’ll never be a mother.”

  “That’s not true,” I’d whisper. “When you’re harvested, your company will assign a family to you. Someday they’ll harvest a Vestal for you and then you’ll be a Vestal-mom.”

  “To a teenager, not a baby!”

  I never knew what to say to that. Sterilization is for our own good, Barbelo Nemo wrote, but Fatima didn’t care. So I would put our wrists together and say the Vestal blessing.

  “Fatima, you have a hard road. In so many ways it’s difficult being you. But I know that you can do it. You have everything you need to achieve happiness.”

  I wonder if the blessing would help Seth too.

  “Can’t you drop me off on some corner?” he begs.

  “So you can go online? You’re so desperate to get your finger-chips charged that you can’t spend five more minutes in the car with me?”

  Seth laces his fingers around my hand. I feel his sweaty arm press into mine. He stares at me with glazed eyes. “Please, Blanca. I need to see what’s happening with my site. I need to see my hits.”

  I try to let go of his grasp, but I can’t. “Fine. I’m due at McNeal Manor anyway. Cal will miss me.”

  I rap on the divider with my free hand, but Seth stops me. Muscles rope through his neck, and he takes deep breaths through his nose.

  “Who’s Cal?” he asks, his voice rising.

  “My purchaser, Calum McNeal. What’s the matter, Rex?” I’ve been very careful to call him “Rex” and not “Seth.”

  He doesn’t say
anything for a minute. Seth stares at me, examining my every inch, right down to the yellow specs in my green eyes. I fight the urge to grab my scarf, to wrap myself up in fabric so I can’t be seen anymore.

  “You were bought by Calum McNeal?”

  “Harvested,” I correct. We’re still holding hands. I wish I could let go, but Seth’s grip is strong.

  “And you’re happy?”

  “Happier than I ever thought possible.” I smile knowingly.

  Seth slumps back in his seat. His shaking has stopped, but I can feel his pulse pound through his fingertips.

  Now’s the perfect time to turn the screw.

  “Cal is wonderful,” I say. “He’s so kind and generous and attentive. He makes me feel like a princess.” I lean in close to Seth and whisper in his ear. “Thanks to you, I’m a happy woman.”

  When the car stops at a random corner downtown, Seth is still. He turns and looks at me with eyes filled with so much kindness that I can almost overlook the ugly snake inked across his face. “Be careful,” Seth says. “The world isn’t made for Vestals.”

  “I don’t want to be part of the world. Cal provides everything I need.”

  Seth swallows hard. “Like I said, be careful.” He holds my hand for several moments too long before finally letting it go.

  “Thank you,” Cal says to me when I tell him the whole story. “I know that must have been difficult.” We’re in the dining room, eating a cozy dinner for two.

  “I’ve never been so close to tech-addicts before,” I say. “Seth and that precinct officer could barely function without their finger-chips.”

  Cal laughs. “It’s how the world works. Everyone’s a tech-addict.”

  “You’re not!”

  “Of course I am. I’m just not as bad off as a Virus.”

  “That’s not true. You don’t have finger-chips anymore.”

  “But I’m totally reliant on my chip-watch. Without the Internet, my entire company would go under.”

  I take a knife to my lamb. The mint sauce is disgusting.