by P. K. Tyler
“What’s happening to us?”
* * *
Behind her teacup, Dr. Eleni Wilks’ hazel eyes suddenly widened. Shocked, my maternal councilor and therapist sputtered, coughed and spilled green tea down her white cotton tunic. Out of all the intimate details I’d had to share over the years from my carefully cultivated life, I’d never gotten a reaction out of Eleni quite like that. Eleni plinked the porcelain cup on her desk and whipped a handkerchief up to her mouth, stifling a cough. The soft recessed lighting in the domed office brightened from a dim indigo to sky blue, illuminating the tranquil space.
“How did you learn this information, Jaya?” Eleni was mystified how my knowledge had miraculously broadened beyond my strict, dieted curriculum.
“So it’s true?” I’d had my suspicions about Eleni and I still wasn’t sure I could trust her. But Samidha’s death had left behind too many questions and Eleni had answers. A soft chime clinked into life and a light blinked promptly from the cold chrome-colored desk.
“Jaya, how did you know?”
“Is allwell, Dr. Wilks?” MAGS inquired from the screen. Eleni was in mild distress.
“Yes, MAGS.” She adjusted the ventilation sensor on her oxygen collar. “Allswell.” The computer toned again and MAGS retired.
After a few dabs at her shirt front, the doctor’s flushed face gradually returned to her usual pale pink. I sank into the uncomfortable white sofa in the cold, sterile confines of my therapist’s ‘sacred space’. The room, whose large, muted blue and green cushions contrasted too much with the cream colored walls, was relatively large. I fiddled with the green tassel of the cotton throw pillow in my lap. It smelled of soothing lavender and chamomile, two scents I had come to associate with Eleni and, thus, had disliked equally as much. I tossed it away, down the length of the sofa.
“Jaya—?”
“Samidha told me.”
Eleni blinked, genuinely astounded. “What…exactly did she say?”
“She said the Advanced Gene Evolution therapy didn’t work. She’d had two miscarriages before I was born and, against her will, you forced her to have a third conception.”
Eleni’s lips parted, but she hesitated, holding back her response.
“Every gene line gets two attempted conceptions,” I continued. “Two, not three. Why did you break protocol and continue the therapy?” Eleni digested, her eyes wandering over my face as she considered her reply.
“Did she tell you anything else?”
My stomach tightened. Her voice sounded oddly at ease for the topic of conversation.
“No.” I kept my tone flat. Judging by Eleni’s confidant air, I was about to be made the fool. She tapped the console on her desk, calling up a file.
“Your line is unique, Jaya. It’s very special.” She stood and turned her focus to the console, searching through MAGS’s database. “The AGE therapy can be very difficult for some lines. As your Guides, we try to ease as much of the burden as possible.” She looked up with an empathetic smile, setting her tablet on the console.
“Your role is, let’s admit, much more taxing than the male bequests.” Eleni slid the file image from the console screen to the tablet and rounded her desk, taking a seat in the chair next to me. “Amari Samidha Dawar” glowed in white bold face font on the black screen. My sister’s file. Bequests were never allowed to view another’s file. Even of the same gene family. My breathing grew shallow in my chest. I looked up. Small lines at the edge of Eleni’s eyes hardened with anticipation.
“I’m going to show you Samidha’s file, Jaya.”
“What about your breach of confidentiality? The Collective will remove you from your position.”
“I have special permission.” Eleni held out the tablet to me.
“I already know what’s in it.” I lied. Whatever Eleni wanted to show me was in her best interest, not mine.
“You know part of the story,” Eleni assured me, extending the tablet a bit further. “It’s best you know it all.” Reluctant, I took the tablet and swiped the screen open.
“There were abnormalities in Samidha’s chemistry,” Eleni explained. “You have to understand that with the AGE therapy, there are fluxes from one generation of clones to the next. There are ups and downs with any process of change. Samidha’s stage in the therapy was a difficult one.”
I opened Samidha’s medical records and scrolled to the maternity file. A daily info list of diet, exercise, routine blood work, urinalysis and every other test imaginable ran on for pages and pages. Below all of that, a timeline table during the years of Samidha’s pregnancies. My eyes snagged a discrepancy on the graph. Two confirmed conceptions. My brain stalled in confusion. I looked again to where my blip on the timeline should have been. There. My finger pointed at a blank. There were no spikes of the traditional hormones associated with pregnancy like the previous ones before me. When I was born, my sister’s levels were completely normal. The realization struck me hard. If Samidha hadn’t carried me….
I looked to Eleni. “Who is my surrogate mother?”
“What does it matter as long as you are here now?” I turned back to the tablet. There had to be a notation somewhere.
“You won’t find her name in Samidha’s file.” Eleni’s tone was matter-of-fact.
Her caring manner struck me as less and less genuine with every bit of info I unearthed about my sisters. Sometimes I thought this was what it would be like to talk to MAGS if she were human. They both had a similar cool and isolated approach to gleaning information from their patients. Eleni studied and scrutinized and assessed, crunching theories and diagnoses in every moment of every session. There was never any real “human” interaction between us. I massaged the sides of my elongated throat with my cold fingers. My jugular pulsed defiantly under the touch. Probably because Eleni didn’t consider me human.
“Eleni, I am about to start maternity council. If Samidha wasn’t my surrogate mother, then I should know why. What happened to the other clones before me? Why couldn’t she carry me to term?”
“She…” Eleni calmed her response, “her body simply couldn’t do it. But you have no need to worry, Jaya. Your test results are coming back exemplary. The best we’ve seen in the Dawar line.”
“So results can be abysmal in one generation and exemplary in the next?” I asked, suspicious. Eleni was still not being completely truthful.
“When we see what’s working and what isn’t, then we can adjust the AGE therapy to correct any anomalies in the next generation.”
“But there was never going to be a next generation. This was a flaw in the gene line,” I argued. “Why was the Dawar line saved?”
“We had a group of mothers who volunteered to carry you. Why would we have turned away the opportunity to save your gene line?”
“The Collective has allowed other lines to die. Many others. This mission started out with over fifty thousand Source Donors. Over eighty percent have failed. There are four other wings on this ship that sit empty. What is so special about the Dawars?”
Eleni sighed, resigned. “A few years before The Collective launched The Halcyon Space Mission for the Pleiades, your Source Mother was on the verge of a great breakthrough for humankind.”
I blinked, suddenly struck with déjà vu.
“Your research will be completely funded on this project,” the businesswoman said with a smile. “This work is groundbreaking for humankind…”
“Some say she had already discovered it.” Eleni continued.
“Her bioenergetics research,” I whispered.
“Yes,” Eleni nodded, surprised. “A new way to send human consciousness through space, as pure energy. Consider the possibilities, Jaya. To transcend the physical form, to travel unhindered by the mass of matter, no longer needing a suit to breathe or a shuttle and seven hundred years of life to get to the nearest habitable planet. You could travel there at the speed of light. Maybe faster.”
I swallowed, knowing the implication
s were unimaginable.
“There is hope that the final piece of her research can still be accessed through your line. And your sisters have all come very close. It’s too much to just let your line die off at the cost of the greatest leap in human evolution.”
I remembered the fear in Samidha’s face the last time I saw her alive. She was haunted by something she refused to share. Perhaps she’d already found the answer to Amari’s breakthrough. I looked to Samidha’s maternity timeline again.
Oh God.
I opened my mouth, the next words halting on my breath, not wanting to be spoken.
“Why couldn’t Samidha carry her next of kin?”
Eleni shook her head, incredulous that the scope of conversation had steered back to such a minor detail.
“It’s not important now, Jaya. You’re here.” Eleni’s expression softened as she took back the tablet. She pointed a thumb up to the ceiling, a gesture directed toward the unseen, all-knowing Government of Elders. The Collective. “They’re taking great care with the Dawar line. This work is groundbreaking for humankind,” Eleni smiled. The same people who had sent Samidha to the Reclamation chambers before a proper ceremony could be held.
“I understand you are in mourning right now,” she continued. “Your sister’s Reclamation was hard. We all want to understand what went wrong as much as you do.” I repressed the urge to snort in sarcasm at the term ‘Reclamation.’ ‘Disposal’ was more befitting.
“I encourage you to express it in whatever way brings you the most comfort.”
My mind flared with a desire to kick over the table between us and dump the rest of her green tea onto her white linen pants. Either she was as naive as she seemed or Eleni was just as corrupt as The Collective. Judging from her expression, I think she believed her own act. Eleni smiled and tilted her head in a practiced gesture of empathy. “It’s all part of the process, Jaya.”
* * *
It was black. Muffled clacks of a railcar speeding along aged iron tracks cracked over and over in my ear. Sound was always the first of my senses to wake when the memories began. Like a bedtime horror story, my Source Mother was about to reveal another chapter of her tortured life to me.
Summoning my courage, I dared to crack the slits of my eyes open. My sight was blurred as I slowly eased and settled into Amari’s viewpoint. Shapes of light and dark came into focus around me. Frigid air prickled my skin. The sensation tricked my consciousness into this other reality and rooted me deeper in the moment. The surroundings cleared from the past into the present. I inhaled deeply and became fully aware and fully immersed once again.
I was uncomfortable. Slouched down in a hard-backed seat and my side pressed heavily against a cold, metallic wall, my body jostled awake. My returning consciousness renewed swells of pain from my right shoulder. A cringe of agony seized up my chest. The cry stuck in my throat and died into a pitiful moan. I had never felt pain like this before. A warm ache throbbed at the back of my head. Salt hung heavy in the cold, damp air. I inhaled to clear my head and irritated my lungs instead. I coughed. It smelled of sea water.
The moist atmosphere was old and dimly lit with an odd, yellow hue. A head of long, shaggy gray hair belonging to the unconscious man sitting in front of me rocked back and forth with the motion of the car. A younger man sitting beside him slept on his shoulder. Dark, hollow air swept past the dusty window. Blinding floodlights dotted the brick walls at regular intervals along the track but there was nothing beyond the narrow walls of the tunnel. Around me swayed the inside of an old railcar. This wasn’t a public subway. It was industrial, like an old supply transport fitted with crude seating.
A fine layer of salt had settled on my skin, leaving my face itchy with grime. I grimaced, lifting my hands for a scratch. They jerked to a sudden halt. Pain shot up my arm afresh. I gasped with a wince and looked down. My wrists were clamped in cold metal cuffs attached to the orange resin bench seat between my knees. My clothing was soiled and damp, skirt torn, pantyhose shredded. I felt the ache of a bloodied, scraped knee. Alarmed, I straightened my legs, felt them stop abruptly at the pull of ankle-cuffs locked to the floor. My breath quickened, misty billows of condensation filling the freezing tunnel air over my face. I tried to pull my slender hand through one of the irons but the shackles were firm and secure. My feet were equally incapacitated. A silent whimper of panic welled in my chest.
There was no conductor, no guard. There was nothing except two rows of seats on each side of the car, carrying dark shadows of unconscious passengers. Sleeping men and women bumped silently in their chairs, their heads bobbing, their bodies swaying and shifting into uncomfortable positions. Unable to reach with my hands, I used my forearms to feel against the pockets of my skirt for my mobile. Nothing.
I craned my neck to look behind me. More prisoners. We were all alone in the car together. My eyes locked on a refined young man in the row behind me. He was dressed in an expensive, dark business suit, his tie missing. Dark curls twisted and waved across his cropped, short afro. The yellow light above him made his black skin glow warm against the chilled air. His head swayed on the headrest behind him, his half-open eyes staring at me.
I froze and stared back.
“How’s your head?” he asked with a graveled voice. I sat stunned, my mind stalling for a moment to translate my native Hindi into English.
“Sorry?” I returned, hoarse and dumbfounded. The man eased his tongue onto his dry, cracked lips. He closed his eyes and swallowed. I could see he was in pain himself.
“Your head,” he continued slowly and reopened his eyes. His accent revealed he was English, probably from Lancashire. “You hit it pretty hard when you fainted.”
I tried to remember how I got here. I was in a corporate meeting along with a colleague in Rome…a meeting with a potential benefactor for our genetic therapy research…suddenly, I felt ill…struggling…scared. I swallowed down the pain.
“Doesn’t hurt as bad as my shoulder.”
“Hmm,” he grunted and lifted his head. With a wince on his face, he found a more comfortable position and relaxed back onto the seat. He heaved a heavy sigh at the effort. “It’s dislocated.”
I blinked.
“The guy who abducted you jammed your shoulder against the door when he tried to pull you onto the train. You put up quite the fight.”
That explained the excruciating ache.
“My best mate in college gave me a rugby injury just like it. I know what it feels like.” He raised his eyebrows. “I know what it sounds like.”
I made my mind return to the moments before I blacked out. Something triggered my panic…I spilled my coffee across the table…fear…tried to run for the doors but my legs wouldn’t move…and then….the images eluded me. I remembered….damn. Nothing.
He sighed, his breath ragged. “You’ll survive, Amari.”
Shock paralyzed my body.
“How do you know my name?” I asked.
“I heard them say it,” he replied.
“How do you know all this? Why were we abducted? Where are they taking us? And…and who’s doing this? Why us?”
“Shh, shh,” he hushed. My voice had broken over the sound of the railway. Motion swayed and bounced us rhythmically. My body shook but not from the rocking train car.
“We’ve been on this train a lot longer than any of the others. Must be why we’re awake.”
I met my associate researcher, Liam, at a corporate office. There was guilt in his eyes. And fear. Why had he been so afraid? And the woman…the representative…the benefactor…she had promised funding and a facility…a strange facility…and…oh God, it was a blur.
“As for the rest of your questions,” he cleared his throat and closed his eyes. “I have no bloody clue.” He winced again. His arm draped over his stomach, partially hiding a large dark stain on his shirtfront. Guilt soured my stomach. He was worse off than I was.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
He at
tempted to smile. “I tried to escape.”
I lifted my hand to reach out and take a look for myself, “Is your injury serious—” forgetting they were shackled to the seat. The cuffs tugged back and clinked sharply. I bit back a cry of profanity.
“This?” He lifted his hand to take a peek. Frowning, he replaced his palm over the wound and closed his eyes again. “This was just a warning.”
Disturbed and bewildered, I turned around and sank into my seat.
“Are we going to die?” I asked.
“One day,” he said, plain and matter-of-fact. “But not now.”
“How do you know?”
“They took us alive for a reason.”
“Your research will be completely funded on this project,” the businesswoman said with a smile. “This work is groundbreaking for humankind…”
“You’re a geneticist, right?”
“Something like that,” I nodded.
“Well, I’m a bioinformatics designer. And the woman sitting next to me is an accomplished environmental engineer.”
I looked across the aisle. There was an older man dressed in a brown corduroy blazer and dress slacks. He looked to be a highly respected professor. The woman next to me wore a smart collared shirt and pleated black trousers. Her tightly pinned bun of hair had loosened in her journey. A badge on her lanyard read: Rebecca Lynn Lawres, Executive Physician of Pediatrics. The pieces were coming together.
“Sounds like we’re very important people,” I muttered.
“Too important to simply round up and kill,” he agreed.
I swallowed down the thought of what lay at the other end of these tracks. Anger and fear swirled in my gut, threatening to spill out into my lap. I shivered. The gravity field around me grew heavy. I sucked a deep breath into my lungs, knowing I was about to faint.
“What’s your name?” I asked to keep myself coherent. I closed my eyes and settled into the chair again as the blood drained from my head.
“Rowan,” he said finally.
I felt cold, sticky nausea bleach my tingling cheeks. Sound receded to the back of my fuzzy brain.
