by Nancy Kress
“Why?” Devrie said. “Why!”
“You look like hell.”
“Why?”
“I think you already know,” I said. She sagged on my white velvet sofa, alone, the PGs that I suspected acted as much as nurses as guards, dismissed from the apartment. Tears of anger and exhaustion collected in her sunken eye sockets but did not fall. Only with effort was she keeping herself in a sitting position, and the effort was costing her energy she did not have. Her skin, except for two red spots of fury high on each cheekbone, was the color of old eggs. Looking at her, I had to keep my hands twisted in my lap to keep myself from weeping.
“Are you telling me you planned it, Seena? Are you telling me you located Keith and slept with him because you knew that would make him impotent with me?”
“Of course not. I know sexuality isn’t that simple. So do you.”
“But you gambled on it. You gambled that it would be one way to ruin the experiment.”
“I gambled that it would . . . complicate Keith’s responses.”
“Complicate them past the point where he knew who the hell he was with!”
“He’d be able to know if you weren’t making him glow out of his mind with neurotransmitter kickers! He’s not stupid. But he’s not ready for whatever mystic hoops you’ve tried to make him jump through—if anybody ever can be said to be ready for that!—and no, I’m not surprised that he can’t handle libidinal energies on top of all the other artificial energies you’re racing through his brain. Something was bound to snap.”
“You caused it, Seena. As cold-bloodedly as that.”
A sudden shiver of memory brought the feel of Keith’s hands on my breasts. No, not as cold-bloodedly as that. No. But I could not say so to Devrie.
“I trusted you,” she said. “ ‘Anything for a sister’—God!”
“You were right to trust me. To trust me to get you out of that place before you’re dead.”
“Listen to yourself! Smug, all-knowing, self-righteous . . . do you know how close we were at the Institute? Do you have any idea what you’ve destroyed?”
I laughed coldly. I couldn’t help it. “If contact with God can be destroyed because one confused kid can’t get it up, what does that say about God?”
Devrie stared at me. A long moment passed, and in the moment the two red spots on her cheeks faded and her eyes narrowed. “Why, Seena?”
“I told you. I wanted you safe, out of there. And you are.”
“No. No. There’s something else, something more going on here. Going on with you.”
“Don’t make it complicated than it is, Devrie. You’re my sister, and my only family. Is it so odd that I would try to protect you?”
“Keith is your brother.”
“Well, then, protect both of you. Whatever derails that experiment protects Keith, too.”
She said softly, “Did you want him so much?”
We stared at each other across the living room, sisters, I standing by the mailnet and she supported by the sofa, needing it’s support, weak and implacable as any legendary martyr to the faith. Her weakness hurt me in some nameless place; as a child Devrie’s body had been so strong. The hurt twisted in me, so that I answered her with truth. “Not so much. Not at first, not until we . . . no, that’s not true. I wanted him. But that was not the reason, Devrie—it was not a rationalization for lust, nor any lapse in self-control.”
She went on staring at me, until I turned to the sideboard and poured myself a Scotch. My hand trembled.
Behind me Devrie said, “Not lust. And not protection either. Something else, Seena. You’re afraid.”
I turned, smiling tightly. “Of you?”
“No. No, I don’t think so.”
“What then?”
“I don’t know. Do you?”
“This is your theory, not mine.”
She closed her eyes. The tears, shining all this time over her anger, finally fell. Head flung back against the pale sofa, arms limp at her side, she looked the picture of desolation, and so weak that I was frightened. I brought her a glass of milk from the kitchen and held it to her mouth, and I was a little surprised when she drank it off without protest.
“Devrie. You can’t go on like this. In this physical state.”
“No,” she agreed, in a voice so firm and prompt that I was startled further. It was the voice of decision, not surrender. She straightened herself on the sofa. “Even Bohentin says I can’t go on like this. I weigh less than he wants, and I’m right at the edge of not having the physical resources to control the twin trance. I’m having racking withdrawal symptoms even being on this trip, and at this very minute there is a doctor sitting at Father’s desk in your study, in case I need him. Also, I’ve had my lawyers make over most of my remaining inheritance to Keith. I don’t think you knew that. What’s left has all been transferred to a bank on Dominica, and if I die it goes to the Institute. You won’t be able to touch it, nor touch Keith’s portion either, not even if I die. And I will die, Seena, soon, if I don’t start eating and stop taking the program’s drugs. I’ll just bum out body and brain both. You’ve guessed that I’m close to that, but you haven’t guessed how close. Now I’m telling you. I can’t handle the stresses of the twin trance much longer.”
I just went on holding her glass, arm extended, unable to move.
“You gambled that you could destroy one component in the chain of my experiment at the Institute by confusing my twin sexually. Well, you won. Now I’m making a gamble. I’m gambling my life that you can undo what you did with Keith, and without his knowing that I made you. You said he’s not stupid and his impotency comes from being unable to handle the drug program; perhaps you’re partly right. But he is me—me, Seena—and I know you’ve thought I was stupid all my life, because I wanted things you don’t understand. Now Keith wants them, too—it was inevitable that he would—and you’re going to undo whatever is standing in his way. I had to fight myself free all my life of your bullying, but Keith doesn’t have that kind of time. Because if you don’t undo what you cause, I’m going to go ahead with the twin trance anyway—the twin trance, Seena—without the sexual component and without letting Bohentin know just how much greater the strain is in trance than he thinks it is. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t have a twin, and neither do the doctors. But I know, and if I push much farther I’m going to eventually die at it. Soon eventually. When I do, all your scheming to get me out of there really will have failed and you’ll be alone with whatever it is you’re so afraid of. But I don’t think you’ll let that happen.
“I think that instead you’ll undo what you did to Keith, so that the experiment can have one last real chance. And in return, after that one chance, I’ll agree to come home, to Boston or here to New York, for one year.
“That’s my gamble.”
She was looking at me from eyes empty of all tears, a Devrie I had not ever seen before. She meant it, every demented word, and she would do it. I wanted to scream at her, to scream a jumble of suicide and moral blackmail and warped perceptions and outrage, but the words that came out of my mouth came out in a whisper.
“What in God’s name is worth that?”
Shockingly, she laughed, a laugh of more power than her wasted frame could have contained. Her face glowed, and the glow looked both exalted and insane. “You said it, Seena—in God’s name. To finally know. To know, beyond the fogginess of faith, that we’re not alone in the universe . . . Faith should not mean fogginess.” She laughed again, this time defensively, as if she knew how she sounded to me. “You’ll do it, Seena.” It was not a question. She took my hand.
“You would kill yourself?”
“No. I would die trying to reach God. It’s not the same thing.”
“I never bullied you, Devrie.”
She dropped my hand. “All my life, Seena. And on into now. But all of your bullying and your scorn would look rather stupid, wouldn’t it, if there really can be proved to exist a rational basis
for what you laughed at all those years!”
We looked at each other, sisters, across the abyss of the pale sofa, and then suddenly away. Neither of us dared speak.
My plane landed on Dominica by night. Devrie had gone two days before me, returning with her doctor and guards on the same day she had left, as I had on my previous visit. I had never seen the island at night. The tropical greenery, lush with that faintly menacing suggestion of plant life gone wild, seemed to close in on me. The velvety darkness seemed to smell of ginger, and flowers, and the sea—all too strong, too blandly sensual, like an overdone perfume ad. At the hotel it was better; my room was on the second floor, above the dark foliage, and did not face the sea. Nonetheless, I stayed inside all that evening, all that darkness, until I could go the next day to the Institute of the Biological Hope.
“Hello, Seena.”
“Keith. You look—”
“Rotten,” he finished, and waited. He did not smile.
Although he had lost some weight, he was nowhere near as skeletal as Devrie, and it gave me a pang I did not analyze to see his still-healthy body in the small gray room where last I had seen hers. His head was shaved, and without the curling brown hair he looked sterner, prematurely middle-aged. That, too, gave me a strange emotion, although it was not why he looked rotten. The worst was his eyes. Red-veined, watery, the sockets already a little sunken, they held the sheen of a man who was not forgiving somebody for something. Me? Himself? Devrie? I had lain awake all night, schooling myself for this insane interview, and still I did not know what to say. What does one say to persuade a man to sexual potency with one’s sister so that her life might be saved? I felt ridiculous, and frightened, and—I suddenly realized the name of my strange emotion—humiliated. How could I even start to slog towards what I was supposed to reach?
“How goes the Great Experiment?”
“Not as you described it,” he said, and we were there already. I looked at him evenly.
“You can’t understand why I presented the Institute in the worst possible light.”
“I can understand that.”
“Then you can’t understand why I bedded you, knowing about Bohentin’s experiment.”
“I can also understand that.”
Something was wrong. Keith answered me easily, without restraint, but with conflict gritty beneath his voice, like sand beneath blowing grass. I stepped closer, and he flinched. But his expression did not change.
“Keith. What is this about? What am I doing here? Devrie said you couldn’t . . . that you were impotent with her, confused enough about who and what . . .” I trailed off. He still had not changed expression.
I said quietly, “It was a simplistic idea in the first place. Only someone as simplistic as Devrie . . .” Only someone as simplistic as Devrie would think you could straighten out impotency by talking about it for a few hours. I turned to go, and I had gotten as far as laying my hand on the doorknob before Keith grasped my arm. Back to him, I squeezed my eyes shut. What in God would I have done if he had not stopped me?
“It’s not what Devrie thinks!” With my back to him, not able to see his middle-aged baldness but only to hear the anguish in his voice, he again seemed young, uncertain, the boy I had bought coffee for in Indian Falls. I kept my back to him, and my voice carefully toneless.
“What is it, then, Keith? If not what Devrie thinks?”
“I don’t know!”
“But you do know what it’s not? It’s not being confused about who is your sister and who your mother and who you’re willing to have sex with in front of a room full of researchers?”
“No.” His voice had gone hard again, but his hand stayed on my arm. “At first, yes. The first time. But, Seena—I felt it. Almost. I almost felt the presence, and then all the rest of the confusion—it didn’t seem as important anymore. Not the confusion between you and Devrie.”
I whirled to face him. “You mean God doesn’t care whom you fuck if it gets you closer to fucking with Him.”
He looked at me hard then—at me, not at his own self-absorption. His reddened eyes widened a little. “Why, Seeny—you care. You told me the brother-sister thing didn’t matter anymore—but you care.”
Did I? I didn’t even know anymore. I said, “But then, I’m not deluding myself that it’s all for the old Kingdom and the Glory.”
“Glory,” he repeated musingly, and finally let go of my arm. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Keith. This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
“Where do you want to get?” he said in the same musing tone. “Where did any of you, starting with your father, want to get with me? Glory . . . glory.”
Standing this close to him, seeing close up the pupils of his eyes and smelling close up the odor of his sweat, I finally realized what I should have seen all along: he was glowing. He was of course constantly on Bohentin’s program of neurotransmitter manipulation, but the same chemicals that made the experiments possible also raised the threshold of both frankness and suggestibility. I guessed it must be a little like the looseness of being drunk, and I wondered if perhaps Bohentin might have deliberately raised the dosage before letting this interview take place. But no, Bohentin wouldn’t be aware of the bargain Devrie and I had struck; she would not have told him. The whole bizarre situation was hers alone, and Keith’s drugged musings a fortunate side-effect I would have to capitalize on.
“Where do you think my father wanted to get with you?” I asked him gently.
“Immortality. Godhead. The man who created Adam and Eve.”
He was becoming maudlin. “Hardly ‘the man,’ ” I pointed out. “My father was only one of a team of researchers. And the same results were being obtained independently in California.”
“Results. I am a ‘result.’ What do you think he wanted, Seena?”
“Scientific knowledge of cell development. An objective truth.”
“That’s all Devrie wants.”
“To compare bioengineering to some mystic quest—”
“Ah, but if the mystic quest is given a laboratory answer? Then it, too, becomes a scientific truth. You really hate that idea, don’t you, Seena? You hate science validating anything you define as non-science.”
I said stiffly, “That’s rather an oversimplification.”
“Then what do you hate?”
“I hate the risk to human bodies and human minds. To Devrie. To you.”
“How nice of you to include me,” he said, smiling. “And what do you think Devrie wants?”
“Sensation. Romantic religious emotion. To be all roiled up inside with delicious esoterica.”
He considered this. “Maybe.”
“And is that what you want as well, Keith? You’ve asked what everyone else wants. What do you want?”
“I want to feel at home in the universe. As if I belonged in it. And I never have.”
He said this simply, without self-consciousness, and the words themselves were predictable enough for his age—even banal. There was nothing in the words that could account for my eyes suddenly filling with tears. “And ‘scientifically’ reaching God would do that for you?”
“How do I know until I try it? Don’t cry, Seena.”
“I’m not!”
“All right,” he agreed softly. “You’re not crying.” Then he added, without changing tone, “I am more like you than like Devrie.”
“How so?”
“I think that Devrie has always felt that she belongs in the universe. She only wants to find the . . . the coziest corner of it to curl up in. Like a cat. The coziest corner to curl up in is God’s lap. Aren’t you surprised that I should be more like you than like the person I was cloned from?”
“No,” I said. “Harder upbringing than Devrie’s. I told you that first day: cloning is only delayed twinning.”
He threw back his head and laughed, a sound that chilled my spine. Whatever his conflict was, we were moving closer.
“Oh no,
Seena. You’re so wrong. It’s more than delayed twinning, all right. You can’t buy a real twin. You either have one or you don’t. But you can buy yourself a clone. Bought, paid for, kept on the books along with all the rest of the glassware and holotanks and electron microscopes. You said so yourself, in your apartment, when you first told me about Devrie and the Institute. ‘Money. She’d buy you.’ And you were right, of course. Your father bought me, and she did, and you did. But of course you two women couldn’t have bought if I hadn’t been selling.”
He was smiling still. Stupid—we had both been stupid, Devrie and I, we had both been looking in the wrong place, misled by our separate blinders-on training in the laboratory brain. My training had been scientific, her humanistic, and so I looked at Freud and she looked at Oedipus, and we were equally stupid. How did the world look to a man who did not deal in laboratory brains, a man raised in a grittier world in which limits were not what the mind was capable of but what the bank book would stand? ‘Your genes are too expensive for you to claim except as a beggar; your sisters are too expensive for you to claim except as a beggar; God is too expensive for you to claim except as a beggar.’ To a less romantic man it would not have mattered, but a less romantic man would not have come to the Institute. What dark humiliations and resentments did Keith feel when he looked at Devrie, the self who was buyer and not bought?
Change the light you shine onto a mind, and you see different neural patterns, different corridors, different forests of trees grown in soil you could not have imagined. Run that soil through your fingers and you discover different pebbles, different sand, different leaf mold from the decay of old growths. Devrie and I had been hacking through the wrong forest.
Not Oedipus, but Marx.
Quick lines of attack came to me. Say: Keith it’s a job like any other with high-hazard pay why can’t you look at it like that a very dangerous and well-paid job for which you’ve been hired by just one more eccentric member of the monied class. Say: You’re entitled to the wealth you’re our biological brother damn it consider it rationally as a kinship entitlement. Say: Don’t be so nicey-nice it’s a tough world out there and if Devrie’s giving it away take it don’t be an impractical chump.