Beta

by Rachel Cohn

  “What was special about him?” Bahiyya asks Tahir.

  “He gave me an island for my thirteenth birthday,” Tahir says.

  Tariq asks, “And what else did he give you?”

  Tahir says, “Access to his private harem.”

  “Correct,” Bahiyya says. “Horrible old man.”

  Tariq holds up a photo of a soccer player in midkick at an international cup match. “Who is this?”

  “Bhekizitha Danjuma, a.k.a. ‘the Sphinx,’ the world’s most revered football champion, three-time Mainland Cup Most Valuable Player,” says Tahir.

  “What was special about him?” Bahiyya again asks Tahir.

  Tahir says, “He wanted to visit Demesne so he came as your guest and he gave me private football lessons two years ago when I was sixteen.”

  Tariq flashes the other side of the card, which pictures a voluptuous young brunette. “And?”

  Says Tahir, “And First Tahir seduced the Sphinx’s girlfriend, causing the Sphinx to vow revenge on Tahir.”

  Bahiyya laughs. “Sore loser.”

  Tariq adds, “Sore loser who will be at the Governor’s Ball as the guest of the envoy, I’ve been told.”

  Bahiyya says, “The Sphinx is married now. Surely he doesn’t care.”

  Tahir sifts through his father’s cards and holds up a card of the most famous young actress on the Mainland, a knockout beauty of mixed descent, with dark cinnamon skin, glossy black hair, and amber eyes. “The Sphinx is married to her now,” Tahir says.

  “Excellent work, Tahir,” says Tariq.

  “May I take Elysia to the ball as my companion?” Tahir asks.

  I’ve been asked to the ball!

  But Bahiyya says, “Of course not. She is a clone. That simply is not done.”

  “I have always been afraid of water,” Bahiyya tells me. She’s invited me to join her for the day’s last soak in her hydromassage tidal pool before dinner. “It’s only on Demesne, where the water is so refined, that I can feel comfortable immersing myself in it. Tariq had this tidal pool built for me as a present after Tahir’s birth. It’s shallow enough that I can relax in it without fear of swimming.”

  “You don’t know how to swim?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Hard to believe, I know! Especially with such a dolphin of a son.” She looks fondly in Tahir’s direction. “At least, First Tahir loved the water. Especially here.” She calls to Tariq and Tahir walking along the beach. “Men, please come join the ladies.”

  They step inside the jade walls of the triangular pool. Tariq says, “Shall we maximize the whirlpool setting?”

  “Delicious!” says Bahiyya. Her husband adjusts the pool setting and the lapping waters warm and begin to whirl harder into a massaging stroke against the skin. Bahiyya asks Tahir, “I don’t think you have been swimming in Io since the accident. You used to love doing swimming drills here before big meets. Perhaps you would like to try now? Before the sun goes down. Elysia can join you.”

  Elysia is quite enjoying the view of steam clinging to Tahir’s bare pectorals. But I know how to do my job. “Shall we have a swim?” I ask Tahir.

  “You swim beautifully. I like to watch you swim. You are very graceful and strong. Admirable.”

  Tariq says, “Good observations. I think you are making progress since Elysia has joined us, Tahir.”

  “I would like to make progress,” Tahir says. There is a new confidence and sincerity in his voice. He turns to me. “I think we should tell them our secret.”

  Why not? I’m marked for death anyway. This air and water feel so, so good. I feel so, so good. The euphoria the humans experience on Demesne: I’m starting to understand it.

  “I am a Defect,” I say, trying to set my voice to bold and fearless. “I feel things.”

  The shocked gasp that comes from Bahiyya’s and Tariq’s mouths is not caused by my revelation. It’s caused by Tahir, actually laughing at my admission.

  Tahir shakes his head. “I didn’t mean that. I meant tell them about the ’raxia.”

  “You laughed!” Bahiyya exclaims. It’s as if I never spoke the blasphemous words: I. Am. A. Defect.

  Tahir says, “Did I? I guess…I am comfortable when Elysia is around. I didn’t try to make it happen. It just did.”

  “Excellent!” says Tariq. He turns to me. “Are you a Defect because you took ’raxia?”

  “Actually, the ’raxia had no effect on me.”

  Tahir’s parents turn to him, their faces shocked. “You took ’raxia?” Bahiyya asks Tahir.

  “Yes,” says Tahir. “For a brief moment, it made me feel alive.”

  Tariq shakes his head vigorously. “No. ’Raxia is not the answer. It’s a highly addictive opiate. Any benefit it gives you by making you feel more human will be just as quickly undone by your increasing need for it. It will make you feel so human you will become a monster for it.”

  “Won’t I become a monster anyway, Father?”

  “Don’t say it!” Bahiyya scolds Tahir. “We won’t let that happen to you. Or to Elysia. We will find a cure before it sets in.”

  Tariq says, “We have the best scientists working to find a cure. You must not take ’raxia. First Tahir had addictive tendencies. You were not supposed to inherit them.”

  Tahir datachecks and then his face turns to confused. “I do not find evidence of First Tahir’s addictive tendencies.”

  “That’s because we wrote them out of your programming,” Tariq says. “First Tahir was an excellent young man, but a playboy, who had vices, a susceptibility to alcohol and girls. Nothing that got him into too much trouble, but the potential was there. We knew there was the risk it would get worse as he aged into adulthood. We feared his tendencies could turn to more dangerous, desperate addictions, if left unchecked.” His voice dead serious, he tells Tahir, “Do not take ’raxia again.”

  “But—” Bahiyya says.

  “I mean it!” snaps Tariq. “Where did you get the ’raxia?”

  I quickly compute the only person we can pin the blame on who will not get in trouble for it. “Demetra,” I say.

  “You are forbidden from spending more time with her if ’raxia is involved,” Tariq says. “I understand that teenagers like to experiment with narcotics, but it is more dangerous for you. You are still too delicate, Tahir.”

  “Okay,” says Tahir, who couldn’t care less.

  That matter settled, Bahiyya’s face settles fondly on mine. “I prayed you would be a Beta who could feel. If you can, maybe it’s possible for Tahir too.”

  “You will not have me expired?” I ask.

  “Of course not, child!” says Bahiyya. “Your secret is safe with us.”

  “We will cherish you as our own,” says Tariq. “You can teach Tahir how to feel. Not the ’raxia.”

  LAST NIGHT, I FOUND OUT I DON’T HAVE LONG to live.

  Tonight, I discover what’s worth living for.

  Tahir acts more human at dinner that night—eating the food on his plate, saying “Delicious” about the dessert, letting his mother stroke his hand without flinching, and reciting anecdotes about Governor’s Ball attendees for his father. Having another Beta in the household is proving beneficial to Tahir’s “recovery.” Therefore, we are excused early to play FantaSphere. We do not have to sit through another night of holograms of First Tahir with his parents.

  As we walk back toward his quarters, Tahir asks me, “How is the ataraxia at the Bratton household?”

  “They mimic it like clones,” I say.

  “Really?” says Tahir.

  “Not really,” I have to admit. “Not only do I have memories, but I seem to be capable of making a joke.”

  “Oh,” says Tahir, in a tone sounding close to pity.

  I answer his question. “The Brattons strive for ataraxia, but it does not come as easily as it seems to here. The parents bicker constantly. Their daughter on the Mainland seems to want nothing to do with them—she never calls them, so far as I’ve seen or he
ard.”

  We’ve reached a long hallway where there are holographic displays of his First, a walking family album shining across the length of the walls. It’s like watching his First grow up before our very eyes. There’s real Tahir crawling on the floor as a baby. Tahir taking his first steps. Toddler Tahir blowing out the candles on his second birthday, surrounded by a beaming Tariq and Bahiyya. Prep school jacket–attired Tahir being escorted by his parents and their bodyguards for his first day of school. Tahir and his cousin Farzad as young boys on Demesne, riding their first small waves. Nearing pubescence, Tahir at age thirteen, winning his first surf competition. A close-up shot of Tahir, aged seventeen, dressed in tuxedo finery at last year’s Governor’s Ball; in the vague distance behind him stands blond Astrid, regarding him furtively while he flashes a megawatt grin, not noticing her glance.

  And then it feels like my heart stops cold.

  There is First Tahir, who is no longer a boy but a buff and strapping young man, surrounded by fellow competitors on the beach at a big-wave surf competition. There is Tahir, yes, looking insolent and confident and ready to be towed out for an epic ride, but there is someone else, a blond man standing in profile behind him. The bronzed man is taller and beefier than Tahir, and appears to be a few years older, and even though I cannot see his turquoise eyes from the angle of the shot, I know who the man is.

  Her surfer god. The man who belonged to my First. I expected to see him next somewhere under water, not on the walls of the Fortesquieu compound.

  I stop Tahir and point him out. “Who is that?”

  Tahir’s eyes close as he struggles to pull out a memory. “I know his name came up in the memory lessons. I’m not sure. Maybe Alexander? He was a rival to my First at surf meets. Why do you ask?”

  “He looks like the man I have visions of. From my First.”

  “How unnecessary for you,” says Tahir.

  Maybe Tahir is right. Suddenly that godlike man from my visions about whom I’ve been so curious intrigues me not at all. He is a ghost who must be exorcised from my subconscious.

  The surfer god belonged to my First’s life.

  I want my own.

  Especially if it’s going to end so soon.

  Tahir and I enter the FantaSphere room.

  “Shall we act out LoveStory tonight?” Tahir asks me.

  “Yes, please.” Hurry.

  He sets the game to LoveStory. “What backdrop?” he asks.

  I have played this game with Liesel before, using our Prince Chocolate creation. Out of habit, I start to ask for the honeymoon suite backdrop, a tropical bungalow that sits on stilts over a sapphire lagoon. Inside, the suite has the usual romantic furnishings, along with a taffy candy machine that Liesel thinks any honeymooning couple would want. Outside, the bungalow’s steps lead directly down to lagoon water teeming with vibrant marine life, rainbow-colored fish who like to nibble and tickle toes, and beyond the blue water, an endless vista of cloudless skies, white sand, and coconut trees, all bathed in sunshine and ocean breezes.

  I’ve had it with paradise. And I don’t have to share Prince Chocolate with Liesel this time. This one’s all mine, and his flesh is real even if is a replication, and the game does not have to stay at a kid-friendly rating level.

  “Biome City,” I request.

  Instantly, we are in the penthouse of the Green Cactus Hotel, BC’s most famous luxury hotel, built to resemble a towering cactus, with balconies crafted to look like cactus needles. Tahir latches his index finger through mine and leads me to the palace suite’s windows so we may admire the view. Bright stars burst across the black night sky while the city’s tree-themed office towers complement the stars with their own flashing jade lights atop each building. Beyond the central business district, the avenues stretch out to the individual communities, where the housing structures are biomimetically modeled on termite mounds, anthills, and bee honeycombs, creating living and livable art from creepy-crawly-pesky inspiration. Past the suburban communities, pyramid-shaped dunes give the appearance of a desert-sand fortress rimming the city.

  Tahir loosens his hand from mine to open the window. Crisp, dry air smelling of desert wildflowers wafts in through the window screen. He reaches his arm around my back as his hand parks itself in the curve of my waist. I nestle my head against the side of his neck.

  We have both been programmed to know what to do.

  “What about your parents?” I ask.

  “They won’t bother us. They want us to be alone together. No one will interrupt us. I promise. We have all night, every night you’re here.”

  His warm, strong arms offer such comfort. With Tahir, now: this is my choice. I can physically experiment like other teenagers, but without their worries. If our lives are destined to be so short, why not try some nights of LoveStory before the Awfuls set in?

  “Why me?” I ask Tahir. He could have any girl. He could have a real girl, like Dementia or Greer.

  “I know I can’t feel. But if I could…you are the girl I would fall into lovestory with. You are strong, and brave, and beautiful. You are kindhearted. You have all the best qualities a human should seek in a mate.”

  You do too, I think. You just don’t know it yet.

  “I programmed a game for you,” says Tahir. “Close your eyes.”

  I close my eyes.

  Tahir tells the FantaSphere, “Elysia’s PromNight.”

  My eyes still closed, I datacheck the words prom night. The interface informs me that prom night is a teenage rite of passage from the pre–Water Wars period, a gala event commemorating a teen’s high school graduation.

  “Open your eyes now,” he says. “If you can’t be my date at the Governor’s Ball, you can be mine at our own dance.”

  I open my eyes. We are in the ballroom of the Green Cactus Hotel, and it’s decorated for PromNight, with strings of soft white lights dangling from the ceiling centered around a chandelier crafted in the shape of a desert rose and emanating a soft pink light. The room’s perimeter is lined with shrubbery, rows of silk trees with bright-pink blooms at their tops, their branches strewn with pink lights. The gala’s music is in surround sound, in the form of a robust power ballad from ancient times, something about how someone’s heart will go on and on.

  We are not alone here. Surrounding us are many teen couples slow-dancing. The dancers are all clones with fuchsia eyes, vined in fleur-de-lis and delphinium, and the word beta aestheticized at the back of their necks.

  “A gala night for us, and our people,” Tahir announces. He is dressed in a formal suit made of caramel-colored raw silk, with a brown fedora hat, so handsome in his finery I actually gasp. I look down at my own finery. He did not dress me in the princess ball gown in which Liesel likes to outfit me, but chose a classic LBD—Little Black Dress—a strapless but not immodest configuration that covers my chest but leaves something to the imagination, and falls to my midthigh.

  “Look there,” says Tahir, pointing to the center of the room beneath the rose-shaped chandelier, which is beaming down holographic images of the dancing couples along with text labels, so each girl and boy gets a chance to be PROM QUEEN, PROM KING, or MOST LIKELY TO… The chandelier selects Tahir as PROM KING and me as PROM QUEEN and I see my whole getup for the first time. My hair has been styled in a braided upsweep and strung with diamonds and pearls. My face has been cosmetically altered, with dark red lips and metallic gold shadow streaking my eyelids. My long legs are bare and glitter with gold, and my feet wear couture black high-heeled shoes with red ribbons wound up my calves.

  “Is your aesthetic satisfactory?” Tahir asks.

  I gulp, and nod. I don’t look at all like me—but the aesthetic is more than satisfactory. I imagine I look the way Z did, when she owned the ghostly surfer god’s heart. Sexy. Mysterious.

  Tahir pulls me to him, and we slow-dance. Our bodies draw heat from each other as we press close. “You lean your head on my shoulder now,” Tahir informs me. I place my head on his shou
lder. I look around at the other couples who seem to be taking their dances to the next level with shared kisses to go along with their embraces. Tahir notices too, and asks, “Shall we mimic them?”

  I lift my head from his shoulder and stare into his hazel eyes as his mouth moves close to mine. I want time to stop right now, so I can capture this exquisite second of anticipation before our lips touch. Snap. The second makes its everlasting impression in my heart. I vow to hold on to it so I can extract the moment whenever I want in the future, when my world returns to being about service to humans and not about a lovestory with this beautiful Beta boy.

  First Tahir was a noted lover of women, but clone Tahir is raw in these arts, as am I. So close, his lips to mine. We have done this before at Hidden Beach, but then we were surrounded by the gang, who were daring him to go further. It didn’t really count.

  I want so badly for it to count this time.

  My mouth parts and his lips descend on mine. Sizzle. The sensation is scientific after all, pure electricity, these lips touching. His hands encircle my waist as mine reach up his back, beneath his jacket, to pull him closer, tighter. The kissing begins innocently, just two mouths meeting, but quickly becomes deeper, to lips guiding and exploring, answering each other’s longing with more longing, more kissing.

  The strings of lights overhead could be fireworks in my heart.

  This is what matters. It’s what brings connection, and purpose, and human love.

  But the song ends and Tahir pulls away. He says, “It does not matter if I do not actually feel it. Tariq and Bahiyya say it is important for me to experience it.”

  I feel it.

  I will make him too.

  “I DON’T LIKE YOU, BETA. GO KEEP DEMENTIA entertained.”

  Hidden Beach today is perfection as usual, except that Farzad has decided he hates me. In his opinion, his aunt Bahiyya trying a Beta for a week has completely ruined the time he was hoping to spend alone with his cousin Tahir. They were boyhood best friends. Surely Farzad should occupy the majority of Tahir’s time now that he’s back on Demesne, and not this Beta companion toy?