Beta

by Rachel Cohn

  I have to wonder: Was my First a slut?

  Away with you, beautiful Aquine. I love Tahir. It’s not possible another male could make me feel so warm and alive. Not. Possible.

  “Z!”

  I whip my head around to see who’s there.

  It’s the Aquine, real and not imagined. I knew he would find me here. He’s almost as beautiful in his formal military uniform as he was naked in my imagination. Almost. When I’ve had visions of him underwater, his dirty-blond hair was longer, his face warm and inviting. Live and in the real flesh, his hair is in a trim military cut, and he looks dashing but stiff, as if he would much rather be wearing surf shorts and communing with water than being adorned in fancy military finery.

  His voice is as gravelly and masculine as when I heard his apparition speak to me underwater. “Z! Is that you? I thought I saw you inside earlier but you hopped off that ridiculous swing before I could get a good look at you.”

  I remember: this Aquine comes from a sect who hates our kind. I remember there were things I wanted to tell this Aquine to his face.

  The quarter moon’s light is so dark save for the candles lining the pier. He crouches down to see my face closer. “Zhara?” he asks. There’s a gentleness to his deep voice. It’s unexpected.

  He reaches for the tangerine votive and places the candlelight closer to my face. I let him look, glaring with my glassy eyes directly into his deep blue ones. Now he can’t not see the vining and the fleur-de-lis on my temples.

  “Who’s Zhara?” I ask him.

  He drops the votive into the pool, shocked. For a moment, it’s like he can’t breathe. His chest seems to choke as his face drains of color. It appears as if he is about to faint. But the moment passes, and as he regains his composure, his blue eyes stare into my vacant clone eyes. Finally, the Aquine speaks. He says, “Zhara was your First.”

  I don’t know why I am so compelled, but I suddenly shove him, so hard his rear end falls onto the deck from his crouching position. This rash stunt from me will surely reveal to him that his First’s clone is an irrefutably crazy Defect. Great first impression. But I don’t care.

  Actually, I do know the reason for my irrational act. The reason is unmistakably human. Hate.

  I hate him for being part of a human sect that considers clones to be unnatural. I hate him for being the cause of Becky’s return to Dr. Lusardi, and Xanthe’s lover’s expiration.

  I hate Zhara, for passing the lust she felt for him into me.

  “Hey,” the Aquine says, shocked. “What did I do?”

  I crouch down opposite him, so he can get a good look at my cloned face. His hand reaches out to try to touch my vining, but I take his hand and slap it away from my face.

  “Back down, tiger!” he growls at me. “I was trying to see if your vining was real. When I saw you up on the swing earlier, I thought you must be Zhara, playing some kind of joke. That’s the kind of inappropriate thing she did.” He pauses. “She also liked to slap.”

  “I am not Zhara,” I proclaim. “I am Elysia. I am a clone, and”—I might truly be malfunctioning at an epic level, because I tell him the truth—“and I hate you. I don’t care what that hate makes me.”

  “Don’t hate me,” he says. “You don’t even know me yet.…” He pauses, searching for the right word. Defect? “Elysia,” he finally concludes, as if reluctant to speak aloud the new name of my First’s clone. As if enunciating the name aloud could make me real.

  “I know enough,” I say.

  He starts to stand up but looks cautiously at me first. “Don’t strike, tiger! I’m just standing up. Let me regain my equilibrium.”

  He stands up. I stand up too, but my knees feel weak, my heart smashed to bits, my breathing hurried and bothered. He is so tall and so—freaking—gorgeous. I totally get why she was obsessed with him. I datacheck this horrible sensation and discover what it is. Swooning is what I am experiencing for this man I just a moment ago so impulsively slapped.

  Appalling.

  Unnecessary.

  I refuse.

  There’s so much I want and need to know about Zhara. I cannot waste this time with the Aquine on swooning or slapping. I must return to being docile, measured Elysia. Fact finder. I ask him, “How did she die?”

  “I don’t know. Until now, I didn’t know she had died. We only knew she was missing. Where did you come from?”

  “I came from Dr. Lusardi. Like all of us here.”

  “All of you here don’t come from Dr. Lusardi. Where did you get that misinformation? Dr. Lusardi only makes the ones whose Firsts die within the Demesne archipelago.”

  Who do I believe—this stranger, or Dr. Lusardi, my maker?

  I don’t know how I can get in all my questions before someone comes looking for me, or him. Maybe he feels the same. “When did Zhara disappear?” I ask. Based on the amount of time since I emerged, I know how long it’s been since she died, but I don’t know what happened to cost Zhara her life.

  Zhara. I exist because she once existed. She is me.

  The Aquine says, “Zhara went missing after a class camping trip a few months ago. She and some kids slipped off in the middle of the night, into the jungle, to do some ’raxia. When they woke up, she was gone. She hasn’t been seen since. Presumed dead.”

  “Was she a diver?”

  The corners of his mouth curl up slightly, as if in fond memory. “Yes. How did you know? That’s how I knew her. We were on the same team. Zhara was an incredible athlete. She bronze medaled at the Junior Olympics.”

  This is such a silly question, but I can’t help myself. “Was she nice?”

  He lets out a bona fide laugh. “Nice isn’t the first word that comes to mind. Hellbeast is what her father called her. Spirited is the word I’d choose, if I were feeling nice. I can see some of her passed into you.”

  Defect, I will him to say. Just say it.

  “I am my own person,” I let him know.

  “Clearly,” he says.

  “Do you have a name, Aquine?”

  “My name is Alexander Blackburn.”

  The name feels already etched in my heart.

  Then, Alexander Blackburn does the weirdest thing. He extends his hand to mine, as a welcome, as a greeting. His hand touches mine and it’s like—zap!—a direct connection to my First surges through every fiber of her artificial reincarnation. “Nice to meet you, Elysia.”

  “You mated with her,” I pronounce.

  Alexander looks at me quizzically. “How could you possibly know that?”

  He sits back down on the plank, and extends his long legs lengthwise. He momentarily buries his face in his hands. I think he might be…crying? This very tall, barrel-chested, superstud Aquine?

  “Are you okay?” I ask him. Maybe he’s the Defect freak, not me.

  He looks up. It wasn’t a big cry, but there are tears welling in his blue eyes. “I didn’t know she had even died. There’s no chance to even grieve…her clone is right here. It’s sick. It’s not right.”

  “You have no right to judge me,” I say.

  I cannot believe so much insolence continues to escape my lips. I am writing my own death sentence talking to this Aquine. There’s just something about him that prevents me from stopping myself. I hate him for that too.

  “I’m not judging you,” says Alexander. “Don’t make assumptions you have no idea about. Your datacheck is wrong. I’m grieving for Zhara. Can you allow me that?”

  He asks my permission? There can be no doubt. The Aquine race are definitely Defects.

  He whimpers slightly, such a feminine sound that somehow sounds masculine from him. “Zhara was a beautiful girl, but so reckless. Look what’s become of her. Her lost soul, now resurrected soulless. It’s a lot to take in all at once. Please forgive me.”

  What game does he play with me, this master-race human asking a manufactured clone for absolution?

  I want to know everything about Zhara. Her family. Her friends. Her diving
. Her life as a free human.

  But I have no opportunity to further question the Aquine. We hear shouts coming from the beach, and the Aquine immediately stands up to and heads toward the scuffle. Or perhaps he needs a reason to cease his crying jag. I follow him.

  On the beach, the Sphinx and Tahir are engaged in a brawl.

  “Spoiled brat,” the Sphinx snarls at Tahir, and shoves him.

  Tahir’s response is a right hook directly to the Sphinx’s jaw. Clones are usually too passive for that kind of instinctual human response to threat. Something is very, very wrong with Tahir.

  “Your wife asked me to dance. I did not seek her out,” Tahir says to the Sphinx.

  The Sphinx answers with a jab that Tahir ducks. Tahir grabs the Sphinx into a chokehold, pinning him down to the ground.

  “Break it up!” the Aquine shouts and tries to tear Tahir’s arms from around the Sphinx’s neck. Tahir is in such a rage that his eyes appear engorged and glassy, sweat pours down his face, and his breathing is fast and furious. He doesn’t even acknowledge me. Tahir lets go of the Sphinx long enough to shove the Aquine to the ground. The Sphinx uses this opportunity to jump on top of Tahir, but Tahir flips the Sphinx over his back, sending the Sphinx directly onto a boulder in the sand.

  “My knee!” the Sphinx screams.

  Tariq and Bahiyya come running down the beach in search of Tahir.

  The Sphinx is too injured to stand up. He hisses at Tahir, “Your eyes—like a clone! You are too strong—like a clone! Not even a clone. A Defect!”

  I go to Tahir and place my arm on him, trying to calm him, comfort him, but he shrugs me away. “Get off me. I don’t want you right now,” he snarls at me.

  There can only be one explanation for Tahir’s rage. Tahir has gone Awful.

  THE SPHINX MAY NEVER PLAY FOOTBALL AGAIN. Everyone on Demesne is talking about it. No one knows the full story of what happened; they only know he was injured in a brawl on Nectar Bay, and departed immediately thereafter under cover of night. He was airlifted back to the Mainland for emergency surgery.

  Traditionally, many Demesne families stay overnight at Haven after the Governor’s Ball and commune together over sunrise cocktails and on into late morning brunch, depending on when the revelers straggle onto the patio lounge tables following the night’s festivities. This morning time is sacred to them. It’s when they discuss the annual gala’s highlights and hookups. The scandals.

  Mother has me sitting next to her so I may rub her neck to help her overcome her hangover pain. The Governor has not yet awoken, but we are joined for brunch by Ivan, Mrs. Red Whine, and Mrs. Former Beauty Queen. Over poached eggs and caviar, the group discusses the high and low points of the evening.

  Mrs. Former Beauty Queen tells Mother, “Everyone just adored your Beta. What a brilliant idea to put her on display on the swing.”

  Mrs. Red Whine says, “But such a shame about your headache this morning, darling.”

  Ivan says, “So what already! The real questions is, who here knows how the Sphinx got injured?”

  Mother says, “No one is talking. Not even the clones. Which must mean the reason is scandalous. Once the Governor investigates and finds out, he will tell me, and I will tell you. Promise.”

  I know the reason, but I remain silent. Please let Tahir be okay. If he is Awful, I need now more than ever to be with him. But I am too busy rubbing Mother’s neck and trying to be invisible.

  The plan for my escape pact with Tahir needs to be accelerated. His parents hustled him away so quickly last night, without even acknowledging my presence on the beach. All they could focus on was removing Tahir swiftly from the scene. The Aquine escorted me back to Haven and then said, simply, “I’d suggest you keep what happened here tonight to yourself.”

  But panic simmers beneath my skin. Tahir and I do not have time to waste for him to relearn how to hovercopter. Because of what happened with the Sphinx, his parents might return Tahir to Dr. Lusardi to be “fixed,” and Tahir will be ruined. Tahir is perfect the way he is, maybe even more so now. I like his Awful. It means he feels. The arrogant Sphinx probably had it coming.

  The Governor arrives and sits down at the table. Mrs. Former Beauty Queen tells him, “Your Beta was such a success last night. I think you should ask for a higher price from the Fortesquieus.”

  The Governor sips from a Bloody Mary. “The deal is off. The Fortesquieus left the island early this morning. Tahir was having problems with headaches, so Tariq and Bahiyya decided to return to BC, where his doctors are, just to be safe.”

  Just like that? Tahir is gone? And my hope to achieve freedom with him?

  It is so hard to rub Mother’s neck at this moment. I want to strangle it in epic frustration.

  Tahir did not leave Demesne because of a headache. He is gone because of what happened last night with the Sphinx. Tariq and Bahiyya must have decided to sidestep Dr. Lusardi completely and cloister Tahir with their private specialists in Biome City. They will try harder to train Tahir to be more like his First. I am certain: Tahir will never return to Demesne again unless he has successfully passed through the Awfuls stage, and until he has unequivocally absorbed his First’s life and memories that his parents have tried to implant. Until they can make him be the son they want, Tahir will be a prisoner in his own home.

  So I must find a way to get to him.

  If he has turned Awful, so too shall I, in all probability. And if madness is all I have to look forward to, what do I have to lose by trying to escape on my own, so I can join my Tahir? It would be madness for me not to pursue my own freedom. If Tahir can’t make our pact come true, I will.

  Mother grabs at my hand on her neck and gives it a soft pat. “My sweetest Beta,” Mother sighs. “I’m glad the deal is off. I didn’t want to let Elysia go.”

  Mrs. Red Whine asks Ivan, “When do you leave for the Base, dear? Thank goodness your mother will have her Beta to console her while you’re away.”

  “Two days,” says Ivan. “Can’t wait.”

  Ivan! Of course. Ivan is leaving the island. He will sneak me on board his private flight to the Mainland. He will help me. I am his champ.

  Escape. It’s the only word my head can process through their chatter. Escape escape escape.

  Before, I was going through the motions of being the pet Beta at Governor’s House because it never occurred to me I had other options. I emerged, and I did as I was told, because I had no reason not to, no understanding of what other possibilities existed for me. Now, I go through the motions of being their pet Beta—I have no choice—but I am calculating. How can I get out of here?

  I will be reunited with Tahir. We will go Awful and die together. But we will do it as free Betas. Not as puppets of the humans.

  The thought occurs to me that I should seek out the Aquine, Alexander Blackburn, to help. He knows that I am a Defect, but there has been no sign yet that he has revealed me as one to the Governor. While he was no stranger to Zhara, he essentially is one to me, and I’ve already revealed too much of myself to him. To seek him out and declare my desire for emancipation has too high a probability of leading to my expiration. No, not the Aquine.

  Ivan. He is the key.

  Late that night, back at Governor’s House, Ivan comes into my room before I settle into bed. Ivan wants his ’raxia, as I knew he would.

  “Do you want it all or would you like just one pill at a time, so you won’t be tempted to use it up too quickly?” I ask him.

  “Give me three,” he says. “Lately, it’s like, the more I do, the more I need for it to have any effect.”

  I hand him four pills. “Don’t be stressed, brother. Are you excited to begin your new adventure at the Base?”

  “You have no idea. Everything here is the same, all the time. Perfect. Boring. I can’t wait to be somewhere else. To have some purpose. Action. I’ll miss you, though, champ.” He pats my arm affectionately. I hand him a glass of water and he gulps down the first two pills. “G’night,
Beta,” he says, and starts to leave my room, but I call him back.

  “Would you like to play Z-Grav?” I need to buy some time for the ’raxia to take effect.

  “Great idea! Awesome way to coast till the ’raxia kicks in.”

  We leave my room and head to the FantaSphere.

  I don’t need to let Ivan win this particular Z-Grav game. The double dose of ’raxia has quickly kicked in, and Ivan has no desire to race me from the ceiling to the floor. The game suctions us to the ceiling, and Ivan is content to stay there. He floats through the air and bounces against the ceiling but makes no attempt to work his way down to the floor. Nor do I. I’ve got him where I want him.

  A big grin spreads across Ivan’s face as he informs me, “Brilliant idea to play Z-Grav while on ’raxia. Why did I never do this before? I feel like I’m some psychedelic astronaut from forever ago. Everything is so upside down and gnarly and floaty.” He waves his arms around and somersaults against the wall.

  If there was ever a time to reveal to him that I am a Defect, this is it.

  “Brother, would you like to know a secret?”

  “You bet I would! I didn’t know clones had secrets. Cool.”

  “During my time at the Fortesquieu compound, Tahir and I determined that we are mates.”

  “So? You and me are mates too. How’s that a secret?”

  “No, brother. The other kind of mates.”

  He bounces playfully against the wall, but his jaw drops in shock. “You think you experience…love?” He reaches his arms over his head to suction him back to the ceiling. “I must be trippin’ hard.”

  It’s now or never. I proclaim, “I cannot bear the separation from Tahir now. I must go to him in Biome City. You could sneak me on your plane to the Mainland. Tahir will reward you for helping me. I promise you.”

  Ivan’s eyes flutter closed. “No way, dude. Even feeling this mellow, I still know that’s insane. You know I’m gonna have to tell Dad, right, champ? I just want to punch you and Tahir so hard right now, for screwing everything up like this.” He tries to lunge toward me, but the Z-Grav just suctions him back to the ceiling. Frustrated, he kicks his legs in my direction, but he is too far away to harm me, and he is too tired to exert any real force.