Clone

by M A Gelsey

  “I just haven’t yet.” Javi hunched his shoulders. He did not want to have to deal with this over breakfast.

  “Don’t forget,” cautioned his mother.

  “I won’t,” Javi said.

  “We should do something to celebrate,” his father declared. “What d’you say?”

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” chimed his mother. “What d’you think, honey? You’ve earned it.”

  Javi took a deep breath and let it out. “That sounds nice,” he said tonelessly. He noticed his parents exchanging a look.

  “You could show a little enthusiasm, sweetie,” his mother said. “You’ve wanted this forever and now it’s finally happened!”

  “I wasn’t the one who wanted it,” mumbled Javi so quietly he wasn’t sure if either of them heard.

  “What are you talking about?” asked his father. A small crease appeared between his eyes.

  “Nothing,” Javi muttered. Silently, he reminded himself that it wasn’t worth the argument right now. In fact, he’d been toying with the idea of not telling them until after he’d already sent his deposit to Georgetown. Then they wouldn’t be able to force him to change his mind.

  “No, go on, tell us. We’re your parents,” his father said with a slight edge to his voice.

  Javi closed his eyes for a second then opened them. “I don’t want to go to Stanford.” He braced himself for the explosion.

  “What — what d’you mean you don’t want to go to Stanford?” His mother said, a dumbfounded look on her face. “You’ve wanted this since —”

  “I wasn’t the one who wanted it,” Javi repeated, louder this time. His mother looked like he’d slapped her in the face.

  “We never forced you into anything,” she said, chin trembling and eyes tearing up. “Never. You’re our son, our baby boy.”

  “I’m your replacement.” Javi shoved his chair back and stood up, suddenly furious. Much slower and more calmly, his father stood up too. They were almost exactly the same height, and in his father’s eyes Javi saw agony. The kitchen was silent apart from his mother crying, and thick with tension. It only took a moment before Javi’s anger receded, replaced by shame and self-loathing. But even then, Javi still couldn’t let go of his resentment. He felt guilty for hurting his parents, but he knew what he’d said was the truth.

  “You’re going to be late if you don’t hurry,” his father said softly, his jaw clenched so tightly Javi thought he might crack a tooth. Javi’s throat was too constricted to speak so he just nodded and left the room. His mother wouldn’t even look at him as he passed her, and tears flowed freely down her face.

  Fred and Herman were waiting outside for him. He barely spoke on the drive, and just before they pulled into the parking lot Herman said, “You’re quiet today.”

  “Just tired,” Javi lied. Herman opened his mouth ready to inquire further when Fred shook his head, causing Herman to reluctantly let the matter drop. Javi was grateful, having no desire to discuss what had transpired that morning. He brooded for most of the day, but he could tell that by the time the last bell rang his friends were growing fed up with his moodiness. He made an effort to join in their plans to do a marathon of classic sci-fi movies that weekend starting with The Matrix trilogy, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  Fred dropped Javi off at the park again to meet Stella. He felt less nervous today, although he couldn’t say whether it was because he was so preoccupied, or whether he was finally becoming used to her presence in his life.

  He arrived at their usual spot in the shade of the willow tree a few minutes early. Stella wasn’t there yet, and Javi lay on his back and stared up through the branches at the overcast sky wishing he had thought to bring a joint with him. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed — he’d been zoning out and trying not to think of Imogen — when he heard leaves rustling. Stella dropped her bag and unceremoniously plopped down beside him, sitting cross-legged. The extra material of her short, flowing skirt pooled between her thighs. With effort, Javi pulled his gaze up to her face.

  Luckily for him, she had been rummaging in her bag and hadn’t noticed how long he had stared at her legs and what was between them. She seemed preoccupied too, and Javi sat up and shifted slightly so he could lean his back against the trunk of the tree.

  “Not much for us to practice today,” he said.

  “No, I guess not.” Stella tossed her tablet onto the grass between them, and typed furiously into her phone for a few seconds jabbing the “send” button much harder than was necessary.

  “Should we maybe go over the new vocab from this week?” Javi suggested. Stella’s phone beeped three times in quick succession with text notifications. She ignored it.

  “Sounds good.”

  “Okay,” Javi said, glancing at her phone uneasily. It beeped twice more. “D’you need to check those? I don’t mind.”

  “No,” Stella said in a tone that brooked no argument. Her lips were pursed in what Javi thought was suppressed anger, although it did not seem to be directed at him. He wanted to ask what was going on but figured she’d say if she wanted him to know. A second later as Javi was loading his notes from the last few days of lecture, Stella snatched up her phone, evidently having changed her mind about checking the messages. Whatever she saw obviously displeased her, since she sucked in an indignant breath and looked as though she was seriously considering flinging the phone away.

  “Un-fucking-believable,” she muttered to herself, clicking the screen off without replying. “My boyfriend,” she said in answer to Javi’s questioning look. Unbidden, Javi’s pulse began to beat more quickly.

  “Are you guys — have you been having problems?” Javi asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

  “He’s an idiot,” Stella replied. “A jealous fucking idiot. I mean, we’re just friends.”

  “We?” Javi asked, bewildered for a second.

  “You and I,” Stella clarified. “Kato doesn’t like me spending time alone with you, as though he gets to have any say in what I do and with whom.”

  “Right,” Javi said, sure his face would betray him and he’d inadvertently enrage Stella further with his euphoria. The idea that Kato Barre considered him a rival worth arguing with Stella over was so thrilling it made Javi momentarily forget his lingering resentment.

  “I mean, I’ve told him it’s ridiculous,” Stella continued, oblivious to his suppressed happiness. “He obviously doesn’t get the concept of platonic friends.”

  “Yeah, no,” said Javi. “Stupid.” Although he didn’t admit it, Javi didn’t think it was stupid at all. Of course Kato had to know he didn’t just want to be Stella’s friend, not really. What mesmerized him though, was that Kato apparently believed there was a chance she felt the same way about him. Not that Javi had any delusions that she shared this view — hadn’t she just said repeatedly that they were only friends? Still, someone thought the idea of Stella Castell wanting him wasn’t too crazy to contemplate, and that alone gave Javi a serious self-esteem boost.

  “How long have you guys been together?” Javi asked, since she didn’t seem eager to begin studying.

  “Not long at all,” Stella said. “We met over winter break but he didn’t ask me out til a few weeks ago. Before that we just hung out whenever our groups of friends got together.”

  “Guess he must be the possessive type,” Javi said.

  “I guess,” Stella looked dejected. “I thought he was different.”

  “Different how?” Javi asked.

  “I dunno, just different.”

  “And that’s . . . a good thing?” Javi hazarded a guess.

  Stella gave him a look. “Yes.”

  “Am I different?” Javi asked. He thought he was probably pushing his luck since she was already in a mood, but her scowl softened when she looked at him and was replaced by a half-smile.

  “Maybe. I haven’t made up my mind about you yet.”

  “Really?” His heart was beating so fast now it was as t
hough he’d been running for miles and miles.

  “Is that so hard to believe?” Stella raised an eyebrow. She leaned back on her hands and her skirt rode up even higher. He couldn’t stop his eyes from roving up her body, over her taut stomach to the swell of her breasts, to her slender neck, finally reaching her face — the full lips curved into a beguiling smile and the green-tinged hazel eyes watching him watch her. Javi’s throat was dry, and he had to shift positions to hide his growing arousal. Somewhere in the back of his mind Javi wondered — was she flirting with him? Hadn’t she just said they were only friends? But then he realized it didn’t matter either way. He had wondered if she knew he wanted her, and now he seemed to have his answer.

  The moment was broken by Stella’s phone beeping again. She took her eyes off his, and read the message. With a sigh, she typed back a response. When she looked up her expression was content once more, and she seemed to be fighting a smile.

  “Never mind,” she said. “He’s apologized.”

  “Oh.” Javi felt himself deflate like an old balloon.

  “Let’s get started on that vocab,” Stella said, all business. She picked up her tablet and began opening her notes.

  “Okay,” Javi said hollowly. He was the world’s biggest idiot.

  A few hours later, he returned home to find his mother brushing away tears and hurrying from the kitchen at his arrival. His father gave him a look that could almost be apologetic, then followed her upstairs to their bedroom. He could hear them arguing through the wall, but their words weren’t clear enough to make out. Javi felt like screaming and throwing things, but he controlled the impulse. This was his life after all, they couldn’t tell him what to do with it. Still, he hated himself for hurting them the way he had at breakfast that morning. A dead weight had settled somewhere between his chest and his stomach, and hadn’t lifted all day except for the few minutes he’d been stupid enough to entertain the notion that Stella might reciprocate his feelings. The situation with his parents was fucked, and he didn’t know if things would ever go back to the way they’d been before. He didn’t even know if he wanted them to.

  Upstairs in his bedroom, Javi found a note on his desk. It was in his mother’s handwriting, and parts of it were slightly smudged as though she’d cried again while writing it. His stomach twisted itself into knots, and he considered knocking on their door to beg forgiveness. Instead, he read the note, going over it three times before he felt like he’d understood it properly. There had been a phone call that day from a reporter, someone from 2100 magazine named Arthur Blair. They were doing a piece on cloning, and they wanted to interview and profile the first three clones — the only ones who were over eighteen. There was a phone number at the bottom of the note.

  Javi crumbled the paper in his fist. Why would anyone think he’d want to be paraded around like some sort of freak show for regular people to stare at and gossip about? He almost threw the crumpled note across the room into the small trash can by the door, but then he hesitated. Maybe it was pointless for him to try to blend in with everybody else. Maybe no matter what, he’d always be seen as different; an aberration from nature, a science experiment. Maybe he should accept who — what? — he was instead of living in denial. Where had denial gotten him, after all? Nowhere anyone wanted to be.

  26: EDGAR PRIME

  There were few things Edgar Prime found more tedious than spending the evening dodging geneticists clad in cocktail attire who wished to speak to him at the reception following the ICG keynote. He could feel their eyes following him as he refilled his wine glass and moved across the opulent ballroom to stand in the corner with Patrice.

  Dr. Midas, on the other hand, was in his element. His keynote address had been a smashing success, and he’d had Edgar Prime assist him by using a laser pointer to indicate which part of each slide he was discussing when he shared the results of their latest experiments. Edgar Prime supposed it was charitable of Dr. Midas to refer to them as “our experiments” as opposed to “my experiments” but they both knew that was more for PR than any true involvement on Edgar Prime’s part in designing them. Dr. Midas stood in the center of the ballroom while the rest of them hovered around him like vultures over an animal carcass, waiting to take their turn shaking his hand, asking their questions — even breathing the same air as the father of human cloning. It was this that caused Edgar Prime to refill his wine glass for the third time.

  “I’d go easy on that if I were you,” Patrice said mildly. She looked nicer than usual; instead of being thrown into a messy bun, her black hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders and she had lined her dark eyes with kohl.

  Edgar Prime took a long sip of his red wine before answering. “You’re not me,” he said. He didn’t know much about wine, but this one was smooth with a spicy finish. Patrice shrugged.

  “Guess you know what you’re doing.”

  “I do, thanks,” Edgar Prime said. He was vaguely annoyed by the whole situation, but he didn’t want Patrice to leave because then he’d have no excuse not to talk to the others. He cast about for something to say, his mind drawing a blank.

  “Hello, Prime,” said a deep voice off to his right. Startled but endeavoring not to show it, Edgar Prime turned to find a man he’d met a few times before, but couldn’t honestly say he liked. Damon Aldous Harlow was in his early sixties but well-preserved: compact but muscular with a healthy, natural-looking tan, artfully tousled gray hair and a five o’clock shadow that made him look almost ruggedly handsome. Edgar Prime was well familiar with the way his ice blue eyes drew people in, the pitch of his mesmerizingly persuasive voice, and the way he always seemed fully engaged in whoever he focused his attention on.

  Harlow was the world’s first-ever trillionaire, Dr. Midas’s most prominent financial backer and the Chairman of the Board of Directors for Midas Labs. As the living embodiment of one of Harlow’s many investments, Edgar Prime always felt uncomfortable around him.

  “Hello Mr. Harlow,” said Edgar Prime stiffly.

  “Hello Mr. Harlow,” Patrice echoed.

  “Excellent presentation today Prime, excellent,” said Harlow. “Hello to you too, Patrice. Your work at the institute is invaluable. Don’t know what Edgar would do without you.” He nodded to where Dr. Midas was laughing with a small cluster of colleagues.

  “Thank you, sir,” Patrice said. She seemed surprised and flattered that Harlow was familiar with her work. Edgar Prime had heard that he made it his business to know about everyone employed by the institute, and all those who made use of its services. Information was power, and all that.

  “How are you getting on at university, Prime?” Harlow asked. Edgar Prime could see his small knot of surreptitious observers leaning even closer.

  “Good,” Edgar Prime said.

  “Got a favorite class? Let me guess — genetics!” Harlow guffawed at his own joke.

  “Actually, I’m really enjoying my world history class,” Edgar Prime said.

  “History?” Harlow seemed incredulous. “What’s history good for? Just a bunch of dry old men rattling on about things that no longer matter to those of us who live in the here and now.”

  “I like the stories,” Edgar Prime explained. “And they say history repeats itself.”

  “Pah!” Harlow said. “Pish posh balderdash is what I say to that. The future belongs to those who take it, not those who spend their days looking behind them. I’d have thought you’d know that, Prime.”

  Edgar Prime didn’t reply, instead draining the rest of his wine. Patrice looked like she wanted to laugh but was trying hard not to.

  “I’m gonna get a refill,” Edgar Prime said, holding up his empty glass.

  “Good to see you, Prime,” Harlow said. As Edgar Prime walked off, he saw Harlow lean in towards Patrice, no doubt hoping to charm and co-opt her like he seemed to do with everybody else. Moodily, Edgar Prime handed his glass back to the bartender and requested it be filled up to the top.

  “Prime!�
� cried a jubilant voice behind him just as the bartender handed Edgar Prime his now-full wineglass. Edgar Prime turned around to find Dr. Midas standing there with his oldest friend and occasional lover, Dr. Caden Yang. Behind them stood several others Edgar Prime didn’t know, hanging on to Dr. Midas’s every word. Dr. Midas threw an arm around Edgar Prime’s shoulders, effectively trapping him there.

  “Skulking around by the bar I see,” Dr. Midas said with a grin. “Very prudent, Prime. Take advantage of the lower drinking age in Europe while you can.” The others chuckled appreciatively. Dr. Yang’s dark eyes glittered with amusement, and he gave Edgar Prime the smallest of winks.

  “Like original, like clone.” Dr. Yang declared.

  Dr. Midas threw his head back and roared with laugher. He turned towards the others and said in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “Caden here knew me before I became respectable. Oh, those were the days.”

  One of the clustered sycophants edged forward; a chubby man in his late twenties. He had auburn hair, a goatee, a pointed nose and a sweaty sheen on his forehead that he mopped away with his sleeve before extending his hand to Edgar Prime.

  “Arthur Blair, 2100 magazine. Dr. Midas was kind enough to agree to an interview on your behalf for our upcoming feature about the first three clones.”

  Edgar Prime blinked, but after a second got a hold of himself and shook Arthur Blair’s hand. He couldn’t say he relished the idea of talking to a reporter, but agreeing would require less effort than arguing the point with Dr. Midas.

  “You’ll all have that to look forward to next month!” Dr. Midas said to the crowd.

  “Yes, it’ll be timed with the nineteen year anniversary of the birth of human cloning,” Blair said. “Or as I’m sure you think of it, your birthday, Edgar Prime!”

  “Right,” said Edgar Prime.

  “You can call him ‘Prime’ for short,” Dr. Midas said. “Although lately he’s preferred being called ‘Ed’ for some unfathomable reason.”

  “Whichever you like,” Blair said graciously.