Clone Crisis: Book 1 in the Clone Crisis Trilogy

by Melissa Faye

  “Less stable?” I asked. “Is that so? I’m like Soo Yen. Fierce. Blunt. On top of everything. I bet you’re nervous I’m getting ahead of you and you won’t be able to keep up.” The interns sometimes had little competitions to see who would get better opportunities and mini-promotions first. I tried not to engage, but couldn’t help feeling a little thrill when I knew an answer to a question faster than my classmates.

  “No, that’s not it.” Charlie was still trying to catch my eye. He turned towards me on his stool while I pretended to be busy working on my TekCast. In truth, I had gotten very little done so far that day.

  “I’m fine,” I said without looking up.

  “You know, if you’re not fine, you could tell me.”

  “I’m fine,” I repeated. Charlie reached over and squeezed my shoulder. I gazed up at him and saw that look of concern again. It was almost sweet.

  AFTER WORK, BRECK LED us to the Underground meeting. I wasn’t sure what to expect, and pictured a clandestine meeting in the dark of the night at a strange location I had never heard of. Instead, we met at 6 pm at a guy named Omer’s house. We were in a Bronze area, so it was no surprise to see Bronze outlining Omer’s TekCast.

  Omer was several years older than us and lived by himself. His house was small but comfortable. It was about the size of most of the Bronze neighborhood houses, and nicely furnished for a bachelor living alone on a tight budget. Breck and I arrived right on time. I got myself settled on an armchair off to the side of the main room, and Breck talked to others as they arrived. I discretely looked over the group members to get a sense for who was there.

  It was easy to get a sense for who was present by looking at the insignias shining around me. There were mostly Bronzes, with several Silvers and a few Grays. I only noticed one other Gold besides myself and Breck. Clearly, Bronzes were in the best position to rebel against the government. Silvers had things pretty well around Young Woods. Grays rarely had the resources to spend time on protests and letter-writing campaigns. They worked long hours to make up for their poor wages.

  Omer was around my height. He had an olive complexion and soft features. He wore the standard uniform for Bronzes in agriculture: work pants and a denim shirt. There was a book about farming lying on the coffee table and a little more dirt on the floor than normal. His work boots sat off to the side, a likely source of the dirt since they were stained and grimy.

  I didn’t know or trust the Underground. It took a few minutes to figure out, but I finally realized why I didn’t trust them. It wasn’t just that I didn’t know them. It was that I blamed them for letting Alexis get taken away. I couldn’t imagine sharing Etta’s secret with them. I felt myself sit up more comfortably as people settled in, though. They were all so welcoming; it was hard to feel angry.

  Omer was clearly the leader of the group. Once about a dozen people had arrived, he started the meeting. “I’m glad to see we have some new recruits,” he said, nodding at myself and a middle-aged man sitting across the room. The man, a Silver, nodded politely at me.

  I slapped Breck’s knee to get his attention. “Am I your recruit?” I hissed. “Do you get brownie points for bringing someone new?” He shrugged and looked back at Omer.

  “We’re glad you’re here,” Omer said as he gestured to each of us in turn. “Everyone, this is Yami,” he nodded to me, “and Tomas.” Tomas waved awkwardly to the group. They seemed to respond better to him than me. Tomas had a wide grin on his face.

  Omer ceded the floor to a 30-something woman with dark red hair and a serious demeanor. She was the other Gold in the room. Breck leaned over to whisper her name to me: Gianna.

  “I’ve been looking into the history of how the communities are governed,” she said. Her tone was flat and serious, which I appreciated. “I was able to get access to records for the Young Woods Chancellor going back over a hundred years. The governance structures haven’t changed. Assigned Gold students complete internships in Leadership, and the council appoints a new Chancellor from their sector.

  “Leadership careers are assigned based on grades and teacher recommendations. The council members are promoted into their positions over time. They vote on the Chancellor. The vote is private and community members don’t have a say.”

  “How do they decide on the person to elect?” Omer asked. “If the vote is anonymous, are there any hints as to how each person decides to vote?”

  “Not exactly,” Gianna said, again starting a round of murmurs. “There are no records of vote tallies or candidates. I don’t have access to meeting minutes. The only other piece I found is that the council members almost always select someone from their own ranks.”

  “I thought that all members of the leadership team are possible candidates!” A Bronze woman I didn’t know called out. “If the council members just promote themselves, then they’ve abandoned the idea of a democracy entirely. We’re heading more towards a dictatorship, isn’t that right?” Heads nodded in agreement. I wasn’t sure I agreed. It might be nepotism, but there was still a vote taking place.

  “When leadership decisions are made behind closed doors, we all lose out .” Omer’s tone was getting more emphatic. “Gianna, have you been able to follow up on what we’ve discussed about Chancellor Lorenzo?”

  “Yes. He is the only Chancellor I found who wasn’t on the council when he was elected. He was only a few years out of his internship when he was selected. It was also the only case where I saw the council votes – it was unanimous. But several members of the council don’t support his leadership.”

  “So how did he get elected?” Omer asked.

  “I can’t say,” Gianna replied. “Blackmail? Pay offs? Threats?”

  “Then Lorenzo has been elected in secret through coercion. The people would care about that information!” a Silver woman said.

  I realized I was speaking once I already started. “That’s how it’s set up, though,” I said. “The communities are so high-functioning that citizens are unlikely to question how things work behind the scenes.”

  “That’s right,” said Gianna. “Ignorance is bliss, isn’t that the saying?”

  “Or, bliss comes from choosing ignorance,” said Breck.

  “It raises the question,” said Omer. “What will people do once we don’t let them choose ignorance anymore?”

  Omer invited people to discuss the question in small groups. He sat down and began to speak with people sitting near him. I saw Tomas looking around, probably as confused as I was. He caught my eye and winked. I smiled back.

  “What do you think, Yami?” asked Breck. “Do people want to know? Will they care?”

  “I don’t think it matters what people want, or what they think they want,” Gianna said. She was sitting two people to the left of me on the floor. “The government has an obligation to make decisions and political assignments transparently.”

  “But you can’t involve others without enormous personal risk,” I said. As usual, I was thinking of Alexis and the danger she had put herself in for the Underground. It struck me that, like her, any of these people could disappear without warning.

  “But if you believe that risk is worth it, there’s no question,” said Breck. “Yami, we need to tell them what you learned. From your mentor.” Gianna cocked her head to the side.

  “No, we don’t,” I said with a frown.

  “I told you I wouldn’t mention...” Breck stopped talking and looked around. “But I also told you I’m sharing information about the F-Lab. That’s what we’re all about here. Transparency of information and decision making.”

  Gianna nodded to Omer then eyed Breck meaningfully. Omer called for everyone’s attention.

  “What other information did you bring to share tonight, Breck?” he asked. I huffed loudly while Breck stood up.

  “We found out...” Breck looked at me and changed his mind slightly when he saw my face. “I learned that while it may not look that way, the F-Lab is no longer functioning. The govern
ment is no longer searching for a solution.”

  There was a hush in the room now. People leaned forward in their seats as Breck continued.

  “The Chancellor, or maybe region leadership, has decided that we aren’t going to solve the crisis, and that it’s to everyone’s benefit to continue cloning indefinitely. Maybe forever.”

  No one spoke. Jaws dropped. People looked towards Omer, who was still standing.

  “Breck, are you certain this is true?”

  Breck looked at me then back at Omer.

  “It’s true. I’m interning at the F-Lab, and I had no idea. Everyone there is optimistic. They think we’re doing useful work. But this information is from a reliable source.”

  “I’ve heard rumors about this.” Tomas spoke for the first time. “I work in technology. Many years ago, someone wrote an unsanctioned program to analyze fertility samples. Out of curiousity. He started showing the data to us. The fertility analysts were reporting data about many more samples than they were actually receiving.”

  “What did you do?” Gianna asked.

  “We...I didn’t do anything,” said Tomas. “The man who made the program, his name was Jorge.” His name “was” Jorge, I repeated in my head. “He disappeared a week after he started sharing the information with others. We were instructed to continue our work and reminded not to work on side projects.”

  Omer put his hands on his hips and frowned. “We’ve had disappearances before,” he said. “I don’t think Jorge was ever a member of the Underground. So, not only do we have damning evidence about the F-Lab and the search for a solution to the crisis, but we know there are other people in the community who care about knowing more.”

  As much as I didn’t want to admit it, they made good points. I didn’t want anyone to know about Etta, but I could imagine that there were many community members would want to know that the government had given up on fertility research.

  Omer led a discussion about how to disseminate this information broadly. It sounded like the group rarely took action besides recruitment. This information, Omer said, was too important not to share. The group ran democratically, and everyone voted on what we should do. Someone asked Tomas if it was possible to get the information directly onto people’s TekCasts. “It may be,” he said. “But the person creating and distributing the program could get caught if the right people dig into it.”

  “It’s too big of a risk,” Omer said. “Let’s do what we can to avoid more disappearances.” He patted Tomas on the back.

  The group elected to create a basic flyer with information about the F-Lab, make copies, and post them all over the community during the night. Someone volunteered to design the flyer. One person, a Bronze, volunteered to work with Tomas. Her office space in Construction had a copier, but she would need Tomas to help ensure the copier usage couldn’t be traced.

  I avoided getting involved in the planning, torn between the team’s infectious passion and my dislike for stirring up trouble. Before we left, Breck approached Omer. I stared daggers at his back, knowing what was about to happen. I snuck behind him to hear what he would say.

  “Omer, there’s one more thing,” Breck said. “I don’t feel comfortable sharing it with the group yet, but I would like your opinion on it.”

  I grasped Breck’s arm. “We talked about this, Breck.” He shook me off.

  “What is it?” Omer asked.

  “It’s my girlfriend,” Breck said. “She’s been experiencing...symptoms. Our friend Yami, here, is a medical intern. She helped figure out what’s happening, and doesn’t want anyone to know.” Yet here we are, I thought.

  “My girlfriend is pregnant, Omer.”

  Omer’s expression didn’t change. Breck waited for his response, which took a few minutes to come.

  “Who else knows?” Omer asked.

  “My girlfriend, me, and Yami. And another friend who works in Leadership and Records,” said Breck. “And now you. We’re hoping our friend can get in the Records Room to help us do more research on the medical aspects of Etta’s pregnancy.”

  “I assume you didn’t want him to tell anyone?” Omer asked me. I wanted to stare him down, but looked away. The corners of Breck’s mouth turned upwards just barely. “What’s your plan?” Omer continued.

  “They’ll avoid the Med for now,” I said. “We have to limit who knows about this. If the Chancellor is no longer interested in breeding, and if his power depends on keeping control of who knows what, I doubt he will like this.”

  “I’m concerned about the end of fertility research as well,” Omer said. “If Lorenzo decided to give up on it, I worry that he’s against breeding entirely.”

  “Yeah,” said Breck. “That’s a good point. We were worried about unnecessary testing. And that something could happen to the baby.”

  “I worry about you disappearing,” Omer said. “We have no idea where people are taken. They could go to another community, or be banished to one of the ACer camps. They could be taken to a government building and questioned. They could be killed.”

  Tears stung my eyes. I didn’t know what an ACer camp was, but it sounded ominous. My biggest fear, though, was that Alexis had been killed.

  I struggled to pay attention to the rest of their conversation. Omer agreed that Etta needed to stay away from doctors for now. He also agreed not to tell anyone about her pregnancy for the time being. He wanted to be updated over the next week or two, though, so he could help determine next steps.

  I couldn’t speak to Breck as we walked back to his apartment. I was furious that he had told Omer without consulting me, as we had discussed. And a familiar panic swelled up inside me, threatening to explode. All I could think about was what would happen if Etta disappeared. What if I went to their apartment, and Etta and Breck were gone?

  Chapter Six

  Vonna had signed us up for a service project that weekend. We would be repainting and cleaning the dorm community room. Students were expected to regularly complete projects like this, so the room was loud and busy. All of the tables and chairs were pushed towards the center, and people were spread out around the space.

  One of the students took charge of setting up drop cloths so paint wouldn’t get everywhere. Several students organized a system for moving the paint from a storage cart outside the building to the community room. Looking around, I could see why people preferred not knowing what was going on outside their worlds. There was comfort and pride in being part of a group task like this.

  Fewer members of Vonna’s class were there than I expected. She told me it was because career assignments were so fresh. Gold students were likely in that arrogant phase where they thought they were too good for manual labor. Gray and Bronze students were likely commiserating with one another about the way their lives would be. Even Silver students were probably struggling with not being Gold, but feeling lucky they weren’t Bronze or Gray.

  Vonna and I staked out a spot on one of the walls farthest from the doors, and I grabbed us some paint cans and brushes. Vonna was wearing her colors. She was doing her best to avoid complaining, and so far it was working. We gossiped about her best friend, who was trying very hard to get the attention of a boy in the class but failing miserably. She hoped he would invite her to the winter social, but all her hints were going unnoticed. Vonna, meanwhile, had little interest in dances.

  “There’s so much else going on,” she told me. She was wearing an old shirt and overalls, and after only a few minutes of painting, she was covered in it. “Getting together and acting silly with the same people I see all day every day...there must be something more.”

  “Vonna, what’s the big deal? Go to a dance.”

  “Did you go to your freshman winter social?” she asked. She already knew the answer.

  “Don’t compare yourself to me,” I said. “I’m a special case.”

  “What makes your case so special?” Vonna slopped the paint around the wall. I followed her to fix spots where the blobs of p
aint were accumulating.

  “I don’t like people. You like people.”

  Vonna shrugged. She put her brush down in the tray and looked over the wall. “I’m awful at this.”

  “You are awful at this.”

  “I want to be part of something bigger,” Vonna continued. She looked down at her silver insignia as she had been off and on since we met up. “Can I show you something?”

  I put my brush down in the tray. Vonna looked around to see who else was nearby or could be listening. I didn’t like her conspiratorial attitude. She shouldn’t have such serious secrets.

  Vonna reached into the front pocket of her overalls and slipped out a small slip of neon pink paper. It was crumpled, and looked like it had been folded and refolded a hundred times. The edges were frayed, like the note had been torn from a bigger piece of paper. Vonna passed it to me. I struggled to read the letters over the creases.

  JOIN THE ANTI-CLONING RESISTANCE

  IF WE CAN’T BREED, THEN WE DON’T BELONG

  There was a symbol under the print. It was a long oval with a V in the middle that reached from the top of the bottom of the oval. It looked a little familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I turned the paper over, but nothing was written on the back. I read it again.

  My face soured. “Where did you get this?” I hissed. I didn’t know what it meant, but it was definitely anit-community.

  “I found it in one of my new textbooks,” she whispered. She looked crestfallen to see my disappointment, and reached to pull the paper out of my hand. I pulled it back out of her grasp.

  “What does this mean?” I asked. “The words, this weird circle thing?”

  “I don’t know. I thought you might know.”

  “Vonna, I have no idea what an anti-cloning resistance is. How would I know?”

  “You know things!” Vonna whisper-shouted. “You always change the subject when I bring this stuff up. But I know you know more than you say. I can see it on your face.”