The Last Tree

by Denise Getson

  “You mean she had a mutation?”

  “It was her skin. It wasn’t like your skin … or even Fig’s filaments. Her skin was like ….” She pauses, struggling for the right words. “It was thicker and rougher. The closest thing I can compare it to is really smooth, flexible bark.”

  “Bark? Like you’d find on a tree?”

  “Yes.”

  I’m silent, trying to picture what this might look like. Suddenly, an old lesson from the Garner Home for Girls comes rushing back to me.

  “I remember a teacher telling me once that humans and chimpanzees were 98.8 percent similar in their DNA. What was even more fascinating to me was the news that humans and bananas were fifty percent similar. It was hard to wrap my head around that idea.”

  “Mom says that animal and plant life diverged from a common ancestor over two billion years ago. Maybe some of that shared coding is simply buried. Our current environmental conditions might activate gene codes that have been suppressed for millions of years.”

  “Miranda, do you know what benefits Vita’s skin provided to her? I assume it offered sun protection. Was she, I don’t know, more disease resistant?”

  “Your question brings me back to my point. Vita was drought resistant, but I’m not sure she was disease resistant. We’d go outside the dome, and I would need slathers of sunscreen and constant hydration. She didn’t need any of that. She would literally soak up the sun. I mean, I understand that sunlight is our only natural source of vitamin D and our bodies need that to be healthy. But the idea of metabolizing nutrition from the sun achieved a whole new level with Vita. It’s like she literally bloomed when she was outside. Her color changed and she was visibly healthier.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

  Miranda’s expression darkens. For a moment, I think I see tears. When I look again, they’re gone.

  “Once a week, my mom would take a concoction of treated soil and make mudpacks for Vita. I guess the idea was that her skin might be nourished in this way. But one batch of soil must have been toxic, and Mom didn’t catch it. Vita caught blight.”

  “Blight?”

  “There was an unidentified pathogen in the soil. Vita’s skin took on this awful, decomposed look—her skin tissues became infected, and it spread quickly over her entire body. She was dead within days.”

  “Miranda, I’m so sorry.”

  “My mom blamed herself. I’m convinced that’s the reason she agreed to come to Eden. Thorne persuaded her that the tree—its leaves or fruit or seeds—might contain some type of disease resistance that has allowed it to thrive in the desert all these years. Mom hopes to find a treatment that will impart this disease resistance to others. Then she would have the ability to protect Vita, or others like her, so at least a subset of the human population could thrive with reduced water, a diminished ozone layer … all of that.”

  My look betrays my confusion. “I’m not sure I understand. I can see that your mom would want to find something that might make our species stronger, but when Vita died, her mutation died with her—right?”

  “That’s what I thought at the time. But a few months later, AgTech received a new Vita.”

  “A new Vita?”

  “Well, not Vita, but her genetic match. The first time I saw her, I thought I was seeing a ghost, but she walked right by me without any recognition. She didn’t know me. She wasn’t my friend. But she was, apparently, in possession of the same genetic mutation Vita had possessed.”

  “How many are there like her?”

  “I don’t know. There’s only one of her at AgTech. One at a time, I mean.”

  I frown. “It sounds like the Territory’s cloning of mutants is more developed than I realized.”

  Her shoulders lift slightly. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

  I take a moment to absorb Miranda’s story. It doesn’t really surprise me. The technology for successful cloning has been around for years. Now, finally, there were individuals worth replicating for their unique genetic capabilities.

  “You know, when your mom mentioned cloning, I wanted to shut down and not think about it. I was scared,” I tell her. “The idea that I would no longer be unique—it was frightening to consider. On the other hand, if Thorne created others like me and they had my mutation, then maybe he wouldn’t need to keep me around. He could find someone more compliant to make water for him.”

  The pale girl before me gazes back with sympathy. “You’re always unique, Kira. Your personality, your memories, your experiences—those are yours. No one can take that from you.”

  “Maybe. But if you have a laboratory filled with hundreds of identical white mice, it’s hard to feel sentimental about any single one of them. They become so easily interchangeable. I’m not convinced we need an entire tribe of Vitas or Kiras—no matter what gifts a person has.”

  She says nothing. After a moment, I lift my head and send her a sharp gaze. Her eyes are closed, but she feels my stare and opens them.

  “What?”

  “What is your impression of Thorne?”

  If she’s wondering why I ask, she doesn’t inquire. Her answer comes easily. “He’s a chess player. He’ll always be willing to give up a pawn in order to win the match. It makes him effective—dangerous, perhaps, on an individual level—but not evil.”

  I bite my lip. Was it Thorne’s fault Miranda had been kidnapped, that she now lay dying? Was she the pawn in his master strategy this time? “I’m not so sure.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know what I can do. It may be beyond my control. But I hate the idea of losing my autonomy, of not being able to choose my own destiny.”

  Miranda gives me a faint smile. “Kira, very few of us get to choose our destinies.”

  Those words come back to me repeatedly over the following days. Making water is my vocation, the thing I can do that serves others, serves the planet. Is it also my destiny to collaborate with Thorne? To allow myself to be cloned so my gift can be reproduced? I wonder if my insistence on independence and personal freedom is selfish, trivial even, especially when confronted with the uncommon courage and grace Miranda displays as she faces her mortality.

  During the next few weeks, all the people who love Miranda—and there are many more than even I knew—come to her bedside and say their good-byes. Miranda has not been in Eden for long, but she has made a profound impression.

  There are moments when it seems as though she may get better, when her eyes brighten and those closest to her sit up and pay attention, eager to serve her slightest need. But eventually her gaze loses focus, and those of us who care about her must watch in anguish, overcome with anger and sadness we do not know how to voice.

  Miranda passes away on a hot, sunny morning like every other hot, sunny morning that has ever risen over the desert. In her honor, all the residents of Eden and the nomadic camel herders and the healthiest of the tribesmen from the ancient underground city … all come together for a weeping ceremony, a water blessing for a cherished daughter and friend. And as the wailing begins, I stand on the fringe of the community, my hands linked with J.D’s and tears in both our eyes. Together, we observe an ancient ritual of mourning for one who was young and smart and kind and strong.

  27

  A few weeks later, J.D. and I pause at the dining hall exit as Thomaz approaches. After the weeping ceremony, I heard that Thomaz had left the dome, presumably to return to the tree. Dr. Gallagher went with him, I suspect because she hoped to lose herself in work. Fig is the only one of us who does not hide from grief. I know Tamara spends her evenings attempting to comfort the child, holding Fig’s fragile body close to her as the girl shakes with sobs.

  “Can I speak with you a moment?” asks Thomaz.

  J.D. and I exchange a glance. “Sure.”

  “Let’s walk outside.”

  Thomaz knows J.D. and I cannot stray too far from the dome. Thorne is traveling the Abjadiyyah Territor
ies on behalf of river reclamation efforts, but he has stationed a guard in Eden to keep an eye on us. Most of our free time we now spend in the lab with Tamara, helping her to organize research data or sanitizing test equipment. With Tamara’s access to Dr. Gallagher’s research, we have searched for soil data from Bio-19 that might reveal what Eric was working on when he died. We can’t find anything out of the ordinary. Tamara promises to stay vigilant for anything that might turn up.

  Once a week, J.D. and I go to the orchard to water the date palm trees and check water levels in the quarry. The guard follows at a discreet distance, not interfering but not hiding the fact that he is monitoring our movements. Out of the corner of my eye, I observe that he’s presently standing at the edge of the dome while the three of us stroll beneath the wind turbines.

  “Is it true Thorne posted an alert about Fig on the Nets—in order to draw out one of the rebel groups?” Thomaz asks.

  “Where did you hear this?”

  “Is it true?”

  “We confronted him with our suspicion,” I tell Thomaz. “He neither confirmed nor denied it. But,” I shrug slightly, “we know it’s how he works. When he’s single-minded about a goal, people are often collateral damage.”

  “Where did you hear this?” J.D. asks. “I found the post online weeks ago, but when I checked later, it had been removed.”

  “Thorne has been traveling by chopper around the territories putting reclamation teams into place near new river settlements. Last week, he stopped by the tree. He and Dr. Gallagher got into a huge fight. I didn’t hear all of it, but I got the gist. She seems to hold him responsible for ….” His voice cracks and he stops. After a minute, he pulls himself together. “Dr. Gallagher accused him of actions which led to Fig and Miranda being abducted from the orchard. He deflected her attack, but there was something about his responses that didn’t ring true.”

  “That sounds like Thorne.”

  We stroll quietly, aware the low hum of the turbines muffles our conversation from eavesdroppers. It’s a nice night, and I inhale deeply as a hot desert breeze ruffles my hair. After a moment, Thomaz resumes the conversation. “Did you hear we’ve planted seeds from the tree?”

  I’m surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Dr. Gallagher has examined soil conditions at different sites between Eden, the tree, and the Euphrates River and blocked them into research sectors. She’s developing nutrient solutions and putting testing protocols around seed groups to see which ones successfully germinate. Her goal is to create living ecosystems from the tree’s offspring.”

  “That sounds amazing,” I tell him sincerely. “I’m glad the fruit and the restored floodplain will be used for such a worthwhile goal.”

  “The thing is,” he says slowly, his gaze conveying a serious intent, “Miranda said something to me before she died that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind—something about having the freedom to choose our destinies. I think she wanted me to help you. I think she wanted me to release you from Thorne’s control. Now that the Tigris and Euphrates are filling, we know immediate water needs for the Abjadiyyah Territories will be met. It’s not fair of Thorne to keep you here under house arrest while he decides how to use your gift. If you like, I can extract your chips, and you can leave Eden before Thorne returns.”

  I turn to J.D. in delight, then catch sight of our guard. I drop back with a small sigh. “It’s a nice idea, Thomaz, but the minute our tracking devices are removed, Thorne will call out the troops. Now that we know he has surveillance drones available to fly over Aleph Territory, our chances of evading him would be slim. Not to mention we’ve still got to get away from that guy.” I indicate our shadow, watching from a distance.

  “I have an idea about how to manage these problems.”

  “How?” asks J.D.

  “The cook, Jamal, he can put something into the guard’s meal to make him sick and keep him confined to his quarters. Nothing life threatening,” he assures us. “Just a case of mild food poisoning to keep him focused elsewhere for a couple of days. If we want, we can even make sure that several people come down with the same illness so it does not appear the guard was singled out.”

  “Okay, you’ve got my attention,” I tell him. “What’s the rest of your plan?”

  “We know the guard has the ability to monitor your tracking devices even when he’s out of commission, so we want to make sure there’s nothing that raises an alarm while he’s recuperating. The next time you come out to the orchard, I’ll remove your chips and insert them into a family of desert foxes I’ve got caged at the old fort. The foxes can be moved to Eden for a day or two and kept in your sleeping quarters. Then we’ll release them into the desert after you’ve had time to get away.”

  “What do we do once our chips are removed?”

  “You and J.D. can travel to the marina at Ash-Shatrah. A friend of mine keeps a boat there. She’s agreed to take you wherever you want to go. The boat will be fully stocked, so the two of you, plus Tuck, Tamara, and Fig, can travel comfortably for weeks or even months. I’ll remove their chips also, of course.”

  J.D. nods thoughtfully. “It’s an ingenious plan, Thomaz. While we’re escaping by sea, our tracking devices will indicate to Thorne that we’re in the desert. His search and surveillance efforts will be concentrated there, at least until he captures one of the foxes and realizes he’s been duped.”

  “This could come back on you,” I warn Thomaz. “If they suspect that you helped us, you or Jamal, it could be bad.”

  He returns my gaze evenly. “What he did wasn’t right, risking Fig and Miranda for his personal objectives. Tamara has told me her story, so I know the role Thorne and his henchmen played in her daughter’s death. An innocent child was made to suffer in order to achieve their aims. Who’s to say he won’t do it again and more innocent people will be hurt? You and Fig are valuable to him because of what you can do. He’ll continue to use the two of you as pawns. The only way to protect you is to get you away from him.”

  J.D. reaches for my hand. “I agree with Thomaz, Kira. I’m not saying Thorne’s strategies aren’t doing some good in the world—clearly they are—but at what cost to the people we love? Our best chance is on our own, off the grid and off anyone’s radar. We’ll do what we’ve been doing. We follow our instincts, look after each other, and you can make water where it’s needed most. Others need to know you’re doing this also. When Miranda saw your mark at Lost Lake, she believed in you, Kira—not Thorne and not the UTC power agenda.”

  I nibble my lip, contemplating the plan and trying to determine what the secondary consequences might be. “It could work. But I want to talk to Tuck and Tamara, and to Fig. I can’t decide for them. This has to be what they want also.”

  “I’m staying here at the orchard for a few days,” Thomaz answers. “You know how to reach me if you want to proceed. Just say the word, and I’ll meet you all here.”

  J.D. extends his hand, then reconsiders and steps forward to embrace the other man. “Thank you, Thomaz. We’ll make a decision quickly. We have no idea when Thorne might return.”

  28

  The next day, I search out Tamara during the midday meal. I find her in the dining room, eating custard and keeping an eye on Fig and her classmates, who have all entered for their midday ration of water.

  “What’s that?” I ask, sniffing.

  “Jamal received a new shipment of fruit for Eden. He’s prepared it with camel’s milk and palm sugar. You should try it.”

  I recognize the distinctive smell and know it to be fruit from the tree. This would be a credible explanation for why Thomaz has returned to Eden. “I’ll fetch a bowl.”

  I return with a dish of the custard and take a place across from my friend. Gingerly, I take a small bite. It is interesting, sweet and tangy. I swallow; wait. When nothing happens, I help myself to a bigger spoonful. It is good, I decide. I’m still not keen on the smell, but I like the creamy texture. It’s not like any
thing I’ve ever eaten—nutty, but with a fermented bite to it.

  “Does it seem strange to you that after all the hard work trying to get the tree to pollinate and bear fruit, now we’re eating the fruit and no one even really knows what this is or where it came from?”

  “What did you expect?” Tamara asks, taking another spoonful.

  “I don’t know … presentations, speeches … fanfare. This is kind of a scientific miracle, isn’t it?”

  “I think the plan is still to keep the tree secret—and safe. Dr. Gallagher wants more time to study the tree and perform analysis on the fruit.”

  “I see.”

  “Did you want to speak with me?” she asks.

  “I wanted to see how you’re doing—how Fig is doing.”

  Tamara places her spoon down gently. “It never gets easier,” she says softly. “Losing people you love. But how can we not love?”

  “Fig is fortunate to have you.”

  “I think it’s more the other way around, but thank you.”

  “Do you have to rush back to the lab, or do you have a minute to talk? There’s something I’d like to run by you.”

  Tamara nods. Without going into all the details, I briefly explain that J.D. and I have a plan to get rid of our tracking devices and leave Eden. What we need to know is whether she is interested in joining us.

  “I don’t want to put pressure on you, Tamara. I want what’s best for you. But I do not believe Thorne has my best interests at heart. I’m more at risk the longer I stay here. The work I want to do … I have to do it on my own terms.”

  Tamara listens with her head down. She fiddles with her spoon, watches as Fig’s class leaves the dining room in an orderly line. Finally, she lifts her eyes and meets my gaze. “What do you believe?”

  I know what Tamara is asking. This is a question everyone has to struggle with on his or her own. The loss of a loved one, especially a young person like Shay or Miranda, begs the question: what’s the point?