Catalyst

by Kristin Smith

  She laughs and raises a hand to shield her eyes from the blinding sun. “It’s a hobby of mine. Gives me something to do.”

  I glance down at Emily, who clutches her favorite doll and a backpack filled with snacks. “Would you mind watching Emily for me? I have to go to work, and my mother… is out of town for a few days.”

  “I’d love to,” she says, smiling. Like a mother hen, she ushers Emily into her trailer, the screen door creaking closed behind them.

  I peek my head in and call out “Thank you,” but Mrs. Locke is busy showing Emily her newest coloring screen.

  As I ride my motorcycle to town, I try not to picture this man I’ve never met dead on the floor. I force images of his family’s tears from my mind. I can’t think of him as anything other than a murderer and a genetic-coding tyrant in order for me to go through with this. The thought of my father dead on our kitchen floor helps to fuel my cause.

  I arrive at City Square only minutes before the Match 360 Extravaganza is scheduled to start. Today, Harlow Ryder will announce the betrothal of his youngest son, Zane, the first genetically modified human and Harlow’s greatest accomplishment. Since birth, Zane has been matched to the “perfect” girl for him. This match has been kept secret for years, but today, all of Pacifica will tune in to the announcement of the decade. Akin to our own type of royalty, Zane and his fiancée will have a hard time avoiding the spotlight once their betrothal is announced.

  Today is also an opportunity for Harlow to introduce his son to the world and show him off as the poster child he is. Whereas much of Harlow’s life has been spent under the scrutiny of society, Zane has lived a more sheltered life. Very few digital images of him exist, and Harlow has always said it was to protect his son.

  I’m here purely for research purposes. Before I go storming into Mr. Ryder’s home to pour poison into his Scotch, I need to analyze the situation.

  The benefit of being small comes into play as I weave in between the crowds of protestors who line the Square and the wealthy Citizens who adorn themselves in the latest fashion, expensive jewelry, and trendy shoes. I see more holographic jackets, vinyl, transparent skirts, metallic corsets, and five-inch heels than I care to ever see again.

  My eyes rest on a girl about my age with sun-kissed hair, tan skin, and a skin-tight outfit with puffy shoulders that makes her look like a butterfly. She smiles and waves to someone she knows in the crowd, showing off a perfect set of pearly whites. I know her. The beautiful, perfect, always alluring Rayne Williams.

  I used to compare myself to her and all those other girls at GIGA. I would come home after school and cry to my mother. It wasn’t fair that they were smart, pretty, talented, and athletic. And I wasn’t.

  My mother would wipe the tears away and say, “It doesn’t matter what they are. It only matters what you are. You are smart, beautiful, and courageous, and I didn’t need a test tube to give me the best daughter in the world.”

  Her words gave me the confidence I needed to face one more day. And then another. Until eventually, I didn’t have to anymore. The truth is, as much as I hated going to that school, I’d take that life—the one with my father alive, my mother home safe, my life secure, intact—over this one, any day.

  Ducking through the tiny pockets the curious onlookers leave, I make my way to the roped-off area in front. A grand stage has been set up in the middle of the Square. It’s adorned with extensive lighting, cameras, and a massive screen. I don’t know why Harlow Ryder decided to have the Extravaganza here instead of in the Capital. Maybe because this is where Zane grew up?

  I spot the triangle symbol that was etched on the black box I stole. Here, the symbol is everywhere—stamped onto the glass podium, on large, unfurled banners creating a backdrop for the outdoor stage, and flashing across the giant screen.

  Two elongated Ms—one right side up and the other upside down—separate, and then move back into position, fitting together perfectly to form the symbol.

  Now, the symbol makes sense. The Match 360 symbol forms a perfect match just as the company does. I groan in response to my discovery. It’s fitting, but kind of cheesy in my opinion.

  Shielding my eyes from the glaring sun, I glance around the Square and spot two security guards on each side of the stage. Studying the roofline behind me, I notice two more perched on the roofs of adjacent buildings. The amount of security isn’t surprising. With the growing agitation of the Fringe—a terrorist group that actively takes a stand against genetic matchmaking and modification—and the many death threats Harlow Ryder has received over the years, he is a wanted man. I can attest to that.

  A hush falls over the crowd as three well-dressed men in custom-tailored suits and expensive dress shoes walk onto the stage, escorted by a man in a navy suit with a wire running behind his ear and down his neck. The security guard stands a few feet away as the three Ryder men position themselves in front of a glass podium in the center of the stage. Harlow Ryder, the older gentleman with graying hair and deep-set eyes, steps up to the podium. His two sons stand to the left of him.

  That is the man I’m here to analyze. The man I’m supposed to kill. And the man who ended my father’s life well before his time. Anger wells up inside as I think of my sister who will never know her father and the man responsible only twenty feet from me.

  Breathing deeply, I turn my attention to the other two men on stage. The older son is Steele Ryder, the one who runs the Match 360 headquarters in Rubex, and the one who was in line to inherit the company after his father dies. That’s what everyone believed until Reader’s Daily exposed the sordid details of his removal from power. Apparently, after Zane was born—twenty years his junior—Steele’s position of authority was displaced to his younger, genetically modified brother. And even though society has heard about Steele throughout the years, his younger brother, Zane, remains a mystery.

  I study Zane as Harlow Ryder begins to speak. He’s a beautiful man, with wavy blond hair, a powerful frame, and a warm smile. Oddly, there’s something very familiar about him.

  As his father speaks, Zane’s eyes sweep the crowd, locking with mine for an instant. It’s then that I remember him—the boy from the Megasphere. The one who thought I was a jumper.

  My cheeks flush and my eyes shift downward. I hope he doesn’t recognize me.

  When I think it’s safe, I dare another glance in his direction. He still stares at me, his head tilted, his eyebrows raised, and the beginnings of a smile tweaking the corner of his mouth. My heart speeds up like a freight train barreling through a tunnel.

  When he realizes his father is talking about him, he straightens up and takes on an air of formality.

  “And now, I’d like to introduce you to my son, Zane Ryder,” Harlow says, motioning with his arms.

  Zane steps forward and waves in greeting amidst the cheers and catcalls. Many are from adoring girls, but from the back of the crowd, I hear the murmurs and unease of the protestors, followed by several chants of, “No more match! No more match!”

  When Zane speaks from the podium, his deep voice with the melodious lilt resonates through the microphone. For a brief moment, I picture him walking toward me, hands outstretched, trying to convince me not to jump. The screen behind him lights up with a bigger-than-life image for those in the back of the crowd to see.

  “Greetings, friends! Thank you for coming out today. I appreciate your support. It’s not every day you meet your fiancée for the first time.” The audience chuckles. “You know, I realized today that my father is a genius. A true genius. There are many out there who believe he lacks a heart, or who wonder how he can live with himself for taking away the choice of who to marry and the mystery of birth, but I believe he is the smartest man I’ve ever known. He saw a discrepancy in the way marriage worked. Saw a need for a change and therefore created a scientific formula to make a marriage successful. He created the ideal marriage by producing a matchmaking system unparalleled to anything ever seen before or since.” Zane
pauses and lifts his hand in his father’s direction. “My father had a vision for our future, one of individuals who are no longer bound by disease and imperfections. So he designed a genetic codex to create perfect members of society. He is changing our future for the better. He is the matchmaker. He is the modifier. And a fine one he is.”

  After a few moments, Zane finishes speaking and Steele takes the podium, flashing a wide smile at the crowd. I tune him out as he speaks. He comes across as slightly arrogant, and I’m not really interested in anything he has to say. It’s amazing how two brothers can look so completely different. While Zane is blond, tan, and muscled, Steele is brown-haired, fair, and slightly overweight.

  I perk up when they introduce Zane’s fiancée, a young woman by the name of Arian Stratford. Arian and her parents step onto the stage and stand next to Zane. Curious, I scrutinize the young woman. She is tall and beautiful, her long, dark hair cascading down her back, her slender legs endless in her black sequined pencil skirt and six-inch heels. She looks tailor-made, almost as if she just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. I feel a twinge of jealousy as I admire the glamorous girl. I know I’ll never look like that, no matter how hard I try.

  Zane curiously eyes his new fiancée, as if seeing her for the first time. It’s odd they’ve never met, which is what I gather from the furtive looks and lack of affection. Isn’t it only natural for an engaged couple to hold hands or stand closer together? In truth, they look more like perfect strangers than a perfectly matched and engaged couple. True compliments of the matchmaking system.

  I turn my attention to the target, Harlow, who gazes around the crowd of people with a satisfied smile on his face. When he walks to the podium to speak again, he clears his throat and proclaims he has an important announcement to make.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, as you know, Zane is a miracle, not because he’s handsome and smart, but because he is the first genetically modified human Chromo 120 has produced.” He motions for Zane to join him next to the podium, and Zane walks forward with a confident smile.

  Harlow continues, “And Arian—come on up here, dear.” He waits for Arian to join him and Zane. “Arian is our first genetically modified female. She was created specifically to be a perfect match for my son, Zane. In the next few years, you will see the first generation of genetically modified individuals marrying their matches and expanding this society we live in. A society where there are no limits, only possibilities.”

  A commotion from behind propels me to turn and scan the crowd. A few people in the back hold signs and shout with angry force. I tune in to what they are saying as a murmur spreads through the crowd around me.

  Abomination.

  They shout the word over and over again in one voice, united in their hatred. Something catches the corner of my eye, and I look in time to see a small army of Enforcers making their way toward the shouting people.

  Zane moves to the podium in shock, and his eyes lock with mine as he struggles for the right words to calm everyone down. His gaze is completely unnerving. I glance down at my hands, but my head snaps up when his voice comes clear and strong through the microphone.

  “The purpose of our company is to better society—”

  A gunshot rings out.

  I gasp in horror as a bullet whizzes past Zane’s head and through the screen behind him, leaving a quarter-sized bullet hole in its wake. Everything happens in slow motion. The security guard in the navy suit rushes forward, knocking Zane to the ground and shielding him with his own body. The crowd screams and pushes each other, struggling to get away from the stage. Harlow, Steele, Arian, and Mr. and Mrs. Stratford throw themselves to the ground while several plainclothes guards hurl onto the stage. A hovercraft appears from out of nowhere and lands next to the stage. The guards help the Ryders and Stratfords to their feet and usher them to the waiting craft.

  I scan the crowd, looking for the source of the shot. Another shot fires, this one from the rooftop.

  The mob of people run, almost knocking me to the ground. I struggle to regain my footing and push past everyone. A woman screams to my left, an ear-piercing scream that makes my blood run cold. I duck through the moving bodies until I reach the center of the Square. Blood pools around the lifeless body of a man. The lifeless body holding a gun.

  I struggle to breath as a wave of nausea passes over me. His expressionless face, his unseeing eyes. It all takes me back to another time and another place.

  I don’t know how long my father lay on our kitchen floor, but when I found him, his body was as cold as the tile beneath him. His eyes were haunting. Unflinching. Unfeeling. Just like the ones of the man before me.

  Bodies press against me, trying to get a glimpse of the dead man lying in the street. I push through the crowd of people, wanting to put distance between the man responsible for the attempted murder of Zane Ryder and myself.

  And yet, here I am, about to commit the most heinous act of all. I’m about to become no better than the man lying in the Square. Will that be my end also?

  CHAPTER TEN

  The wind that whips my face as I tear away from the city is a welcome change from the hot, stagnant air of the Square. My bike knows the way, even before I decide where I’m going.

  The road leading to the dam is winding, perfect for a motorcycle. I wonder, as I have before, why more people don’t restore these old relics. There is nothing like the feel of power between your thighs and searing heat only inches from your legs. Nowadays, if you want a fast ride, your only option is a jet bike. Although it is similar to a motorcycle, it lacks the few crucial components that make me feel as if I’m challenging death every time I ride—small wheels, open-air design, and a burning hot exhaust pipe.

  I park in my favorite spot on the lake side of the dam. The reservoir created by the dam is the perfect place to swim—and it would be, if it were legal. Since the lake is our primary source of water, it is now a protected resource. Once a place filled with boats, jet skis, and water boarders, the lake now sits unused and unspoiled.

  I slip out of my black pants and gray shirt, placing them in a pile on a nearby rock. The sun beats down on my bare skin, but I’m not worried about being seen. No one dares come to this part of the lake.

  Climbing the highest rock I can find, I adjust the straps of my pink bra. I eye the surroundings. The turquoise lake stretches for miles to my right, and the large concrete dam is in the distance to my left. I glance below me. The distinct orange line against the rocks shows the water level is lower than it has been in quite some time. The lack of rain in the coming summer months will only decrease the level.

  I know this is stupid—jumping off the cliff. There could be hidden rocks submerged under the water. And the sheer fact that the water level is lower than normal does cause my heart rate to quicken.

  But I love the way I feel when I cliff jump. I’ve jumped off these rocks a hundred times before. And I need something to remove the dead man’s blank stare, the knowledge that Harlow killed my father, and the image of my mom bound and gagged from my mind.

  I take a deep breath before hurling myself over the rock. The cool water stings when it hits my skin. Instead of kicking to the surface, I allow my body to sink downward, toward the bottom of the lake. My hair floats around me like red seaweed, and I stay at the bottom for who knows how long, holding my breath. It would be so easy to stay here. To forget about Harlow Ryder. To escape Radcliffe. To pretend my mother is home safe. To leave my sister—

  A sob chokes the back of my throat, but I still don’t kick upward. I’m not trying to kill myself. I know that. Suicide is never an honorable escape. But perhaps I’m trying to find that place, the one that exists on the cusp of death where life makes more sense. Where things seem clearer.

  Before I can contemplate this, strong arms wrap around my waist and lift me upward, propelling me toward the surface.

  I come up sputtering, coughing, and gasping for air. Someone is behind me, dragging me toward the r
ocks. When I wrench myself free and turn to confront my attacker, I come face to face with Zane Ryder.

  “What the—” The absurdity of the situation hits me, and a laugh of hysteria bubbles out. Zane Ryder, the man who was just shot at, is here at the dam, dragging me from the water.

  I rub my eyes to make sure I’m not seeing things. Sure enough, Zane is treading water three feet from me.

  “That’s the second time I’ve had to save you,” Zane says with a grin.

  Heat rises to my cheeks despite the cool water. “I didn’t need you to save me,” I snap.

  Zane cocks his head to the side and studies me. “You must be a thrill seeker. One of those people who do crazy things for a high.”

  Ignoring his comment, I swim past him to the rocks. I climb out, keenly aware of his eyes on my body. Turning to confront him, I raise my eyebrow. “Do you mind?” I ask as I place my hands on my hips.

  He averts his eyes and mutters an apology, but not before I catch him gazing at my chest. Boys.

  I grab my clothes and struggle back into them. It’s a lot harder to dress with wet skin. Thankfully, Zane stares at something on the other side of the lake, giving me the privacy I need.

  When I’m dressed, I stride to my bike. His sleek silver Mercedes Benz Aria is parked crookedly on the gravel, as if he were in a hurry to get here.

  “Wait,” he calls out.

  Turning slowly, I watch as he swims to the side and climbs out, his boxer shorts clinging to him. I avert my eyes in embarrassment. I’m trying not to notice the dip where his shoulders and bicep connect. I don’t want to admire the broadness of his shoulders or the water that glistens over his smooth skin.

  He hurries into his clothes while I wait.

  When he strides over to me, he’s dressed in the same attire from the Extravaganza, minus the suit coat.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand. He almost got shot for crying out loud. Shouldn’t he be with his fiancée or something?