Bramford’s magnificent brow furrowed, his chiseled features hardened. “Why would Eden attack you when her father’s work is at stake?”
“Because she can’t control herself.” Ashina paused with a weary sigh. “You know how they are.”
“Do I?”
Puzzled, Ashina shifted her hips. “Excuse me, sir?”
Deep inside, Eden smiled. Whatever Bramford was up to—and she knew it couldn’t be good—at least her supervisor was in the hot spot, too.
“Just state the facts, Ashina,” he said.
“Well,” the girl began, icily. “I caught Eden in a lie. She didn’t complete protocol on the test subjects. Look, Eden knows how much trouble she’s cost me in the past. And I’ve let things go. But tomorrow is the Big Night. There’s no room for mistakes. You said so just the other night, didn’t you, sir?”
Bramford glanced at the metal staircase that led to the operating theater. Eden’s father stumbled down it, blinking rapidly—a sure sign of stress.
“What, what? Bramford?” he said.
Eden suspected that he wore his antiquated glasses just to irritate her, despite her repeated insistence that he get the simple fix. It was just another way of standing out, another way of reminding them that he and his ugly daughter existed.
Thank Earth, Bramford held up a hand to stop him. “No need to concern yourself, Dr. Newman.”
“What? But…” He glanced back towards his work with obvious longing. “If you’re sure you don’t need me.”
Eden swallowed her disappointment, as he hurried back up the stairs. He didn’t even look at her.
“Shen,” Bramford called his bodyguard, a mixed Asian, or Amber, as the racist term went.
Somehow Eden trusted the big man. Maybe it was the quiet look he sometimes gave her, without pity or arrogance, unlike his employer. Only true Coals were allowed to hold security positions. Of course, Bramford could use his clout to bypass such rules. Still, why not pick a Tiger’s Eye, or Latino? They ranked higher in the race wars than Ambers, who stood above Pearls. Was it the touch of Coal in Shen that gave him an edge?
The slithering dragon tattoos that curved down his thick arms seemed to breathe fire as he stepped forward. “Yes, sir.”
“Get Jamal,” Bramford said.
Shen’s Life-Band flashed, and the white dot at his third eye crinkled as he frowned in concentration. What Eden wouldn’t give to wear a white dot on her forehead. It would mean she was mated, safe.
Soon, the entry door slid open and Jamal, the head of security, strode through. Giddy pleasure welled up in Eden at the sight of him. My Dark Prince.
Bramford’s eyes cut towards her, clouded with suspicion. Mother Earth, did he know about her secret visits with Jamal?
Jamal gave nothing away. His grin was all for Bramford. He wasn’t as tall and didn’t have a shred of Bramford’s power or riches, but Eden thought Jamal was special. Unlike most of his kind, he was color-blind. In fact, except for the lack of a white dot and his ebony-colored skin, her prince had nothing in common with Bramford.
Jamal stood before them with his legs braced apart, his broad shoulders square. The warrior tattoo that swirled on one side of his face added to the look of strength.
“I’ve got it under control, sir,” he said.
At once, Holo-Images of Eden and Ashina appeared before the group, replaying the girls’ argument. Eden held her breath, hoping against odds that she would be proven innocent despite her race. But her heart sank as Bramford’s Life-Band ring flashed and the scene disappeared.
“I’ll view it solo,” he said. “No need to stir things up again. Next time, Jamal, check with me.”
Eden tensed. She couldn’t fault his reasoning, but she didn’t trust him. He leveled his gaze at Jamal. Like a snake poised to attack.
“And why weren’t you on site to stop this incident?” Bramford asked.
Jamal stiffened at first. Then he shrugged, and once more gave that winning grin. “I was attending to personal business,” he answered.
Only a cold bastard like Bramford could resist Jamal’s charm. His expression remained impassive, as closed off as his past.
Eden had researched their benefactor when the project began to see what was in store for her and her father. Oddly, she’d found only the most basic facts about Bramford: birth date, un-mated, no child, took over Bramford Industries at age eighteen when his father died from a terrorist Pearl attack. Nothing at all about his personal habits or hobbies. His list of World-Band experiences simply revealed mandatory ones, such as Earth Before the Meltdown or Death by The Heat. Even his genome was fake, a standard model she recognized. Such secrecy frightened her. To be mysterious was perhaps the ultimate power.
Now, Bramford stared off into space, his Life-Band flashing. Eden found the custom gold ring, which held a large onyx stone, as pretentious as its owner. When it stopped flashing, he spoke curtly to Ashina. “I won’t allow internal discord.”
Had justice prevailed for once? Eden could hardly believe it.
Then Bramford added, “Since you instigated the incident, Eden, you must suffer the consequences.”
What did she expect? Bramford hated her. If he fired her and she couldn’t produce, her Basic Resources would end. Which meant death.
Eden appealed to Jamal. “Maybe there’s a mistake somewhere?”
At least he offered a possibility. “Like I said, I was busy. I suppose someone could have altered the record or deleted something important.”
“Why would you say that?” Ashina asked, with a pointed glance at Eden.
The hair on the back of Eden’s neck prickled. Did the nosey bitch suspect her hidden connection to Jamal? Coals often killed Pearls who seduced their kind.
Bramford’s deadpan stare passed from Ashina to Jamal before he responded. “An alert would have sounded if our security had been breached.”
“Unless it duped the system,” Jamal countered. “Maybe a mirroring device or new kind of robot spy dropped in.”
“The FFP?”
Eden quivered at the mention of the dreaded Federation of Free People, a militant organization of Coals that vowed to rid the planet of Pearls.
“They have the tech,” Jamal replied. “Depending on what you’re cooking up there,”—he jerked his head toward the operating theater—“they may have a motive.”
Eden saw something flicker in Bramford’s eyes. Was it alarm? Only he and her father were supposed to know the full scope of the lab’s top-secret operations. She hadn’t intended to solve the puzzle. But then, half of her genome came from her brilliant father.
Ashina pointed a finger at Eden. “It doesn’t change the fact that this was all her fault.”
Bramford silenced her with a mere wave of his hand, then made a final declaration. “Eden, you’re on probation until further notice.”
The injustice of it burned in her gut. Better to punish the Pearl than upset the Coals. If only Bramford knew what it was like to be an outcast.
“Don’t return to work until you hear from me,” he added.
“You, sir?” He never involved himself in such details.
“That’s what I said. Remain at your unit until then.”
“Finally,” Ashina said, turning away in a huff.
In despair, Eden watched Bramford stride towards the operating theater. And yet, as bad as it was, hope welled up in her. Jamal had put his job on the line for her. Was it possible he’d also be willing to pick up her mate option?
He sidled up to her and whispered. “Don’t worry, Little Bunny. I’ll make it up to you. See you after work.”
She smiled at him, for once not caring if anyone noticed.
EXITING THE LAB, Eden passed directly into the security area, her nerves jangling. A glass cage shut around her with a bang that always made her shudder. To control the spread of disease, no one was permitted to enter any area of the Combs without inspection. And the terrifying possibility of being cooped up in quarantine n
ever failed to enter her mind as she waited to be released. Rumors of what was done to sick people in the name of research filled her with dread.
She peered through the glass wall at the dark, masculine robot behind the scanner. It was a classic prototype of the ruling class, from its mahogany-colored casing right down to its superior attitude. It was so real it intimidated Eden. She tensed as it studied the information that the chips in her head projected into the air—medical history, genetic modifications, predisposition to disease, and any current illnesses.
Let them look. They would never know anything about the Real Eden Newman. Only Jamal saw her.
Soon, the door slid open and Eden trudged towards the employees’ quarters. Cones of dim light fell on the concrete pathways. Even here, she couldn’t escape Bramford’s colossal ego. Like an animal, he had marked his territory by carving a ridiculously large initial “B” onto each unit door. His audacious company logo—a snow-capped black mountain against a red desert background that offered false hope in a parched land—glowed at intervals along the walls. As if he owned everything, including her.
All over again, she felt the burn of her unjust dismissal. The hatred etched onto the faces of her coworkers pressed into her memory. The walls, painted a refreshing mint color that suggested coolness, began to close in around her. Sweat drilled down the sides of her face.
Her World-Band voice gently warned her: My dear, your oxy levels are in the red zone.
The Uni-Gov called oxy “the happy drug,” which seemed absurd since everyone knew happiness had gone the way of the dolphins. The full dose Eden had taken at 18:00 should have kept her on an even keel throughout her twelve-hour work shift. But the extra stress had pushed her over the edge. Already, she felt the telltale dryness in her mouth, the jittery shakes and terrible cravings.
She hurried around the last turn to her unit, her body growing heavier by the second. The door sprung open as the scanner cleared her I.D. chip. She rushed inside and heard a loud, happy bark.
“Gotta get some, buddy,” she muttered to her dog.
Big and energetic with yellow-gray fur, Austin knocked a plastic chair on its side as he turned to follow her. The cramped four-room unit was too small for him. Neither one of us fit, do we?
Eden raked a hand down his back on her way towards her small, narrow bedroom. He padded behind her, the sound of his panting breath growing loud in her ears. She shoved a thin board off the berth-like bed, which also served as a desk, and it banged onto the concrete floor. Trembling, she lay down and pulled the oxy-cap from its storage unit above her. The soft molded apparatus fit over her head. As it clicked into place, a tiny syringe slid out from its sleeve into the receptacle in her scalp. She flicked the dosage to high, a low moan escaping her. Hurry, Eden thought, desperate for the soft, numb kick to begin.
For comfort, she called up her favorite spot. Sequoia-dendron giganteum. At once, an ancient redwood forest appeared, the giant trees towering over her like wise, old sentries that offered protection, even affection. At least, that’s how her brain had been programmed to experience the Holo-Images. A cheerful pair of bluebirds flitted past her. The calming Mood Scent of fresh, damp grass seeped from a port in the wall. She shed her shoes and rustled her feet against fallen, brittle leaves.
At last, the familiar, pleasant rush flooded into her body. Her world slowly turned a muted shade of gray. Possibly, she wouldn’t kill herself tonight.
That was, until an Ethics Officer signaled an incoming visit. Before Eden could pull herself together, the shimmering Holo-Image of a female E.O. appeared in front of her. Naturally, she was a Coal and wore the distinctive red jacket of the Ethics Corps.
“Eden Lavinia Newman, Zone Four, Caucasian?” the officer said without great interest.
“Yes, Officer?” Eden scrambled to sit up.
She flashed on the date: the 29th of May, her half birthday. For Earth’s sake, how could she have forgotten?
“This is your official six-month warning,” the E.O. said. “Do you realize you’ll be eighteen years old on November twenty-ninth?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And are you aware that your Basic Resources will be stopped unless you mate by that date?”
“Yes,” Eden whispered, terrified by the thought of being cut off from food and oxy.
“What did you say?”
“Yes. I said yes, Officer.”
“We cannot afford to supply precious resources to those who do not contribute to the continuation of our species.”
Her Life-Band flashed and Eden’s official entry on the Uni-Gov mating site began to play. Eden cringed at her paltry fifteen percent mate-rate and the unflattering images of her. She had worn an extra thick coat of Midnight Luster that day, though her race was still obvious. Right there, for the whole world to see, underneath the recording of her talking about herself—something she had dreaded almost as much as having her face shown—it read: Caucasian female. Her other vital statistics, including date of birth, height, weight and genetic markers were also listed, but nothing damned her more than being a Pearl.
The officer muted the recording and directed her condescending gaze at Eden.
“I see your mate-rate is below average,” she said. “And yet, a few of your kind have offered to pick up your option. Tell me, Eden Newman, why have you refused them?”
Eden knew they didn’t really care whether or not she reproduced. Truth was, they wished her dead. The E.O. simply needed to check her name off a list. Was it the low level of oxy in Eden’s system or her lingering anger over Bramford’s lies that drove her to speak her mind for once in her life?
“Because I don’t want my child to be all Pearl. I’d rather be dead than mate with one of my kind.” Even as she said it, she cursed herself for taking such a foolish risk.
“I see,” the officer said, coldly. “We suggest you attempt to improve your rating by following the Universal Government’s standard recommendations. This warning has been duly noted.” With that, she disappeared.
Eden fell back on the bed, groaning. The Uni-Gov’s recommendations, which included banal instructions such as how to respond to suitors or keep up one’s hygiene, would never help her. For Earth’s sake, she had to do whatever it took to win over Jamal. He was her only chance.
Austin licked her hand, and she turned a lazy eye towards him.
“Oh, buddy, what are we going to do?”
The whitish eyebrows arched, his wagging tail thumped the wall, like a metronome in sympathetic time. Somehow he understood, just like a real sibling would.
Eden glanced at a small photo of her mother that sat on a shelf. It was the only personal effect in the drab room besides the dusty old book of poems her mother had given her. At least she had been right about Austin.
Eden had been skeptical when her mother brought the shivering creature home ten years ago. On bended knee, her mother had peeled back the blanket from the bundle in her arms. Eden vividly recalled the shock of seeing a live animal and how she’d reeled off facts as if they were weapons that could protect her.
—Canis lupus familiaris, a subspecies of lupus or wolf. It’s a male. The webbed paws belong to the retriever family. They’re excellent swimmers. It’s commonly called a yellow labrador, Mother.
—He’s just a puppy, Eden. Why don’t you pet him?
Eden had reached tentatively for the scrawny, whimpering thing, but hesitated.
—Go ahead, you won’t hurt him.
—Oooh.
No Inter-Life samplings could have prepared Eden for the softness of real fur. The labrador had looked at her with wide, begging eyes, his tail wagging at her touch. She’d realized he liked her touch. And since only Mother and, in those days, even Father, ever looked right at her or occasionally touched her, she’d decided that the scrawny, little dog must be family, too.
—What’s his name?
—How about Austin?
—Like Emily’s brother? Is that a dog’s name?
/> —Well, why not? If you had a brother I would’ve named him Austin.
Eden loved old tales about siblings. But one child was the allowable quota, if the mated couple produced enough uni-credits. And like most kids, she never knew her grandparents, who had died, either from The Heat or the toxic environment, long before she was born.
To increase the size of their family, her optimistic mother had adopted her favorite poet, Emily Dickinson, as an ancestor. Eden and her mother had spent many hours in Emily’s World, the World-Band destination where the Dickinson family lived in the 1900’s. When Eden’s mother started to refer to her as Aunt Emily, Eden simply had accepted it. And so, she’d also embraced the dog’s name.
—Hi, Austin.
—Did you see his ears wiggle? He likes you.
—Is he a Pearl?
Her mother had hung her head on her chest and sighed. Even now, Eden winced at the memory of her mother’s red roots. A Pink Pearl, she was fairer than Eden, and therefore even more susceptible to The Heat. But she’d been lax about coating. Minor rebellions keep the heart alive, she would say.
—Austin is colorblind, Eden. He responds to love and kindness. Remember what Aunt Emily said? ‘That Love is all there is, / Is all we know of Love.’ Promise me you won’t forget. Love is like a gentle wind that will open your heart if you let it.
Even at the age of seven, Eden knew love was dead. Only biological instinct and evolutionary climbing mattered. But it was useless to argue with her starry-eyed mother.
—I promise.
And yet, when her mother died three years later, Eden had forgotten about Emily’s World along with useless ideas of love and that gentle wind. She just couldn’t think about it anymore.
Eden checked the time. Jamal would arrive in a few hours and she had to be perfect.
“Let’s eat, buddy,” she said, stowing the oxy-cap.
The redwood forest spread into the tiny main room as she entered it. A sparkling ray of sunshine fell across a utilitarian trio of chairs. Built into one wall, a compact kitchenette contained several chutes from which their daily supplies were dropped. Eden switched on Austin’s nutrient teat, and he began to suck hungrily on it. Then she twisted the knob on a small chute and out popped a perfectly balanced meal, three pills in varying proportions: white carbohydrate, blue protein, and red fat.
Revealing Eden Page 2