My arms fell to my side. Would he really let me go?
I’d have to trust that, because I couldn’t outrun him. I could try to fight him, but he was probably trained better than I was. This may be the easier way.
“Sometimes, it’s good to trust your instinct,” Xavi once said. My instinct said to listen. It also said to run. I couldn’t trust myself or that fickle thing called instinct. It was the thing that had gotten me into this mess in the first place.
“There are some things science can’t explain— yet,” Xavi whispered in my ear. “Have you ever gotten that feeling like there is something bigger than even us, and I’m not talking about that saving Humanity spiel. I think there’s something even bigger than Humanity, and that everything happens for a reason. One day, science may discover the little cords that link us all to the universe, but for now, we get to play around in the whys of things like kids playing in a water sprinkler. I can’t help but think you stumbled onto my path for a reason.”
The world outside the tent was quiet, and it promised to be a pleasant night. We’d left the trails behind completely and decided to spend some time in the mountains we met in, hiking, fishing, and gathering berries. We’d found this field in a small clearing filled to the brim with blueberries. We turned into baby bears as we plucked up the tiny orbs and shoved them into our mouths so that our tongues turned blue and our hearts turned light.
We spent the nights in a shiver-cold frenzy of kissing and halting, like desire and fear couldn’t fit into the same space between us.
Xavi was in a philosophical mood as he kept talking. “It’s strange the way we all cross paths, like there’s this design in the fabric of life that connects and strings us together before we even know the other exists. The Greeks called it fate.”
When Xavi got like this, it unnerved me. He kept trying to tell me something, but he held back. There were still secrets behind his eyes, and, as much as I trusted him, sometimes I didn’t. If I was honest, it was why I kept stopping things at the kissing. I couldn’t share my secrets if he couldn’t share his.
We sat back with our legs crossed in front of us like pretzels. I kept my pack on, ready to leave when Ono was ready to let me. He ripped off his shirt and tied it around the space just above the crook of his elbow where he’d gotten his flea-bite. The thought almost made me laugh. Flea got a flea-bite.
I hoped it hurt.
He wasn’t Flea. He wasn’t even Ono. He was Paramonos Petrakis, and he was a liar. I’d seen his face before on the vids with his father. He was younger then, and hadn’t been featured for years but it was still a bold risk to become a spy with such a recognizable face. I’d been so close to seeing it so many times before, but I’d let myself get distracted by other things.
His muscles moved involuntarily as he tightened his shirt around the wound. They were the same muscles that my fingernails dug into last night, and the sun bounced off his dark skin, making shadows in every crease. I wanted to tear every muscle out, fiber by fiber, sinew by sinew. His efforts stanched the bleeding, but the shirt had already turned red. The bullet wound cut into his perfection and tore it away. It wasn’t deep, but I hoped it left a scar.
I watched in silence until he finally began his story.
“When I was fifteen, I was partnered. My father was ecstatic, because we both thought I wasn’t viable. I’d been flagged at birth.”
“Yeah, right.” I laughed. Anyone with eyes could see the impossibility of that lie.
“No. I was flagged. When I got partnered, my father was so relieved, even more so than most parents. After all, the Chancellor’s son had to be the poster boy for the Republic. He kept me out of sight for the most part and hushed up the rumors with bribes, but flagged is flagged. Had I not been partnered, eventually it would have come out. What would it have said about my father’s Celebrity genetics if I wasn’t perfect? All his children that came before me? What would it mean for their lines?” He grunted a sad laugh about his own sad joke. “When we got the notice, things got better. My father was kinder. He backed off and let me relax a little. But that was when I overheard the first call. ‘What do you mean she’s flawed?’” The way he mimicked the Chancellor’s voice gave me sharp shivers. He sounded exactly like him. “‘Isn’t it a regression to pair him with someone beneath his Caste? An 18th for goodness sake? Everyone knows they are filth. Chunky, fat, brainiacs at best. Even their highest Caste in the 18th is a lower than the lowest Caste in our Colony. You think I don’t know what the G.E.G. is up to?’
“There are other things he said about my future partner I’d rather not repeat. The insults only got worse, and things with my father got bad again. He was convinced that the G.E.G. Radicals were trying to undermine his authority as a Politician. I don’t know if you’ve heard the Nature versus Nurture debates— how the G.E.G. Radicals want Scientists to control the policies of the Republic. My father thought this was just another cruel way to do it— show that his genome was regressing by pairing me so low that he’d loose popularity and votes.
“He only thought of himself, and not about me. I have to admit, I wasn’t thrilled to be paired with an 18th, but I didn’t believe the G.E.G. would destroy an entire generational line just to make a political move.”
I hated how Ono spoke about my Colony through his father’s words. Eighteen was my home, and I knew the people there. They deserved better than the horrible things his father said— the horrible things Ono had the audacity to repeat back to me. I felt sad for this girl. It wasn’t her fault she was a lowly 18th, and I wondered what he’d think if he’d known he slept up with an 18th despite it all. I wanted to interrupt him and rub it in his face, but he didn’t notice my flinch nor give me the chance to break into his story. He was on a roll.
Aeschylus pet the bear. It’s white fur looked soft under his ancient fingers. “What is diversity?”
Agathon grinned. “The amount of genetic diversity within a species.”
“Ah. Let’s define a word with the same word? What is di-vers-ity?” Aeschylus reprimanded.
Berenike piped in, “The amount of genetic characteristics or alleles within a specific species.”
“Getting there. Missing one word,” Aeschylus said.
“The amount of different genetic characteristics.” Berenike corrected her statement.
I groaned. We’d been over this lesson more times than I could count, yet there were still people who misunderstood. It always went so much deeper than everyone else in class was willing to explore.
“Nikomedes? You have anything to add?”
I looked at the bio-cage next to the one Aeschylus stood in. A nearly identical bear looked at us through the glass with angry eyes. Its gargantuan paw kneaded at the dirt as it paced back and forth in front of us. Our presence agitated it.
I shook my head. What was the point? Aeschylus knew I already had the answer he was trying to prod out of the others. They’d learn it better if I didn’t give it to them.
He continued. “In the past, people thought diversity in humans was just about the color of our skin, but diversity is not skin deep. It goes beyond that, and, speaking in all literal senses, it’s what’s underneath that matters. We stand on the hallowed grounds of the original ‘Melting Pot.’ Different people came from all around the world to this very land we stand on, and they naturally began mixing their genomes. We are lucky for this, because it already gave our genetic outcomes a natural inclination for genetic diversity in comparison to the rest of the world. The environment was so different here in terms of survival, and variations mass produced within the larger population. Some mutations were beautiful, others were harmful. Some of the harmful ones were even the result of the environment the population fabricated beyond what was natural. Any problems weren’t noticeable, because the population was so large and science was far behind what it is today. But after the Great Disaster, we had a significant reduction in population, and each person carried with them genetic issues within their DNA.
Why would this be a problem?”
“Degeneration,” Agathon answered. “When the smaller population began to reproduce, certain genetic mutations became common and dangerous. They weakened Humanity and threatened to wipe it out.”
The angry bear growled as if to punctuate Agathon’s answer, and the class let out a pent up giggle.
“But what about the positive mutations. The ones that make you, let’s say, kinder? Smarter? Stronger? Attractive?”
Dion joined in on the dialogue. “Then it’s in our best interest to try and propagate those alleles through selective breeding.”
Aeschylus rubbed his fingers absentmindedly along the bear’s neck. It had a stupid, lopsided gaze to it— a true, life sized teddy-bear. “So, the question is, why can’t we go into the DNA before a child is born and stop the negative mutations there? Why is selective breeding preferable?”
“It’s more responsible,” Dion answered again. “If we go in and alter too much of the genome with every preferable trait, we risk creating something that is not human. We risk having to redefine what it means to be human. We risk creating an entirely new species, rather than saving the one we have now. It’s safer to work in small measures and in patience. Shift the direction of the allele slightly, so to speak, and propagate that trait within a small population over generations, then mix those traits within a larger population to protect diversity.”
“But why protect diversity? Why can’t we all have the same traits?” Aeschylus asked.
“Does this debate really matter? Won’t the result be the same, whether we get there quickly or slowly?” Berenike asked. “I mean, we all know that we have evolved into something completely different from what those original people of the ‘Melting Pot’ were. By definition, we are genetically superior to our ancestors. Does that mean we’ve been redefining Humanity with each generation? What would it matter if we did it more quickly?”
“Because, if we were all on the same side of perfection, we risk one wrong mutation wiping us all out completely. Diversity gives us more options in terms of genetic directions we can take. Plus, if we were all genetically perfect, where would the competition be? What would push us to seek out improvement or innovation?” Agathon found his soap-box and stood on it grandly. “Where would the end be? Will the idea— the definition— of perfection stay the same? No. Perfection is too fickle. It’s in our nature to never be satisfied. We always think we can do more.”
Aeschylus sighed. “And there, my friends, is where the debate will always rest. It is why Science and State must remain separate to balance out both sides to this question, because altering Humanity drastically should not be taken lightly. At least we still have time before the debate gains any credence. We still are not advanced enough to create super-humans.”
Ono sucked in another breath. “My father dug deeper and deeper, and the more he discovered about her, the angrier he got. He found a loophole though. Apparently, her parents union had some questionable beginnings. He accused her entire family of Genetic Terrorism. He planted extra evidence against them, and had them killed without a trial. I didn’t know what he’d done. He just came to me with the good news one night. He told me the G.E.G. had made a mistake, and it had been rectified. I’d eventually be paired with someone with more adequate genetic markers.
“Since I was already on the Military Tract, they were to pair me after I was finished with my initiation into the Militia. Everything seemed to be going my way from that moment on. My prodigy status kept growing, and I rose in rank faster than anyone. My rise in rank gave me access to more information, including the G.E.G. databases. I didn’t think much about that resource at first, but I kept having dreams about the girl who turned traitor. I wondered what her family had done, and what type of bullet I dodged.
“Then, I saw my first Terrorist get executed in the wild. My dreams changed into nightmares, and I kept seeing my dead partner, with a face I couldn’t picture, in every face that was executed. I started to get this feeling that there was more to the story— that my father hadn’t told me everything. I started digging into the databases, hacking through walls, until I found the report that indicated she’d escaped— that she was officially a Terrorist living out in the wild.
“Then… then I discovered… When I hacked into other G.E.G. databases, I learned I was a genetic pain in the ass. There was only a very specific and rare genetic strand I was allowed to partner with, and it was this girl. We were both flagged, not because we were defective, but because our children would begin the next line of human perfection.” Ono shook his head and took a deep breath. “If only the G.E.G. had shared that information with my father. If only he’d known what was in that file— that her entire Colony, through generational patience and character coaching, had been working to produce her. She was generations in the making, and they treated her so poorly. They made her think she was inferior so she’d work harder to become a model Citizen. The file didn’t sugar coat descriptions. She wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t beautiful. None of that mattered, because our genetic lines were meant to merge.”
He frowned again, like he was holding back tears. “My father was too near sighted. He forgot that perfection was not about everyone looking the same and being beautiful. Every school child knows that perfection only comes through fostering genetic diversity, but my father didn’t even read the reports. He just let paranoia and pride get the best of him. Had he just used his brain, he’d have seen that he was robbing my line— our line, from the best thing that could ever happen to it.
“She’s out here somewhere, and I set out to find her. She’s smart, so she had to survive it all. My father thinks I’m doing this undercover operation as part of my initiation, and he’s using it as part of his new campaign. He’s hoping that, with the successful military strategies I’ve developed and my work out here, I’ll emerge a Republic hero before the next election.”
Ono sucked in a deep, tortured breath before he finished it off. I didn’t want to hear the rest. I already knew so much more than he did, and it splintered my heart along the capillaries that kept it beating. He continued anyways. “Knucs. I’m so sorry about last night. I never meant for it to happen. I knew better, but I was so caught up in the moment. Originally, I thought you’d be able to help me find her or bring me to some Rebels who might know something. I’m so ashamed I let all this happen, and I’m so, so sorry. But I still have a duty to my line, and I need to find her— protect her— prove my father was wrong.”
Laughter tasted so salty in my mouth, but it came out anyways. It embarked on its own little journey and drew confusion out of his stare.
“It’s not funny. I still need to find her… Her name is Nikom—“
“Nikomedes Kostas. My name is Nikomedes Kostas, and you and your father can both go to hell.”
Chapter Fifteen
I got up and walked away. I left him staring at the ground with a stupid open jaw on his stupid perfect face, and I had no other words to give him as a parting gift.
I pushed through the corn stalks, and I figured I might as well keep heading towards the lake. There wasn’t much else to do besides that, and at least the traitor got the Militia off my back for a while with his “orders.” He’d said it with such authority that I was positive it would stop the “Cleansing” for the time being. At least for this migration, there’d be less soldiers, but that also meant there could be more spies.
The sun pulled itself down from the sky by the time I reached the middle of the corn field. I was torn. Should I keep moving? Should I rest? The day had been so long that I didn’t think I could keep going. Instead of giving me more adrenaline, the anger made me tired. Empty. I knew it’d be safer if I just camped where I stood inside the rows.
I took my pack off and pulled out my sleeping bag. As I settled my head onto my pack, I stared at the stars that peeked through the leaves. They pushed themselves through the dark and blinked in colors that surpassed gold.
I knew why
my parents died now.
Me. It was because of me.
Mama was right to fear my genetics, but for different reasons than she had come up with.
The G.E.G.'s actions made no sense. If my line was so rare, why did they stop at me? Why didn’t they let Mama and Daddy have more kids? Was I just a trial? Was there some magic chart out there that cautioned against making more than one in my line? The Genetic Engineering Guild saw so much more than Citizens did. They analyzed and followed the maps to Humanity, and we’d all been taught to trust in their guidance. How could the Chancellor, the face of the Republic, not trust the very foundations which the Republic was built on?
The Chancellor’s face. I’d seen it so many times, but he’d never seen mine. The Department of Human Relations always kept pictures out of the notices since they didn’t see the point of it. If a Citizen was truly worried about the human condition, they wouldn’t care about what their partner looked like. The G.E.G. had other things, like chemistry predictions and genetic compatibility, on their side for mere looks to be a deciding factor in partnering. Without ever meeting me, the Chancellor deemed me unworthy for his precious, perfect son because of what I appeared to be and not because of what I was. That just seemed to be my luck in it all. I was the perpetual blemish on all the documents, and my parents died because of it.
And Ono? Flea? Paramonos? Of all the people to run into? Of all the people to help along? With all his digging, did he not run across a picture? He had to have. I knew I was in vids performing experiments for the G.E.G. I knew I was featured in Scientific Journals. How could he not recognize me?
I looked at my hands and arms. I couldn’t see them well in the dark, but I knew what they looked like. I stretched them out into the sky and grazed my fingers on a leaf that was heavy in texture but light under the weight of my fingers. My arms were slender and tone from having to lift myself up so much. They were a testament to all the weight that had slipped off me like bad memories. Two years as a Track-girl would do that to a person. I hadn’t really looked in a mirror in a long time, and I tried to remember what my face looked like in my past life. Round. Bulbous. Chunky. Mama tried to make me work out, but I was too busy studying. I clung to the idea that my brains would still be the only thing that saved me, because on paper I was already crap. The truth of it crushed me, and I struggled under the weight of tears and death and loss and confusion.
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