Reclaimed

by Madeleine Roux

  * * *

  —

  “You’re both so perfect for the program,” Paxton Dunn was saying, while Senna tried not to hyperventilate. “It’s taken me years to find just the right people. I didn’t want to turn either of you down. This kid . . . I mean, this kid really wants to be here.”

  So do I. Or I did.

  “I saw him,” Senna murmured. They had left behind her water glass, the bench and the two artsy nudes, Paxton leading her through the deepening golden light to a walkway suspended over the Dome entryway. It went high, high up, so delicate and fragile it looked like it was floating, every cable, screw and panel of it a strong, clear substance, so strong it didn’t even sway under their weight. Senna leaned against the waist-high, solid railing. “When I came in for my neural mapping on the station . . . I saw him there. He looked at me with so much anger, I don’t think it’s a good idea if I stay. When Zurri goes, I’ll take the shuttle with her.”

  “Number one,” Paxton sighed, ruffling his dark hair, “that would leave me with exactly one participant. Number two, Zurri won’t share anything with anyone. Most importantly, number three—I’ll handle it.”

  Senna flushed and began to shake her head, but Paxton reached over and closed his big, warm hand over her forearm.

  “I want you here, Senna. It’ll be handled, okay?” He laughed breathily and took his hand back. “I know how this is going to make me sound, but the kid idolizes me. He’s . . . well, he’s a big fan. I’ll bring him around.”

  Her brows drew down in frustration. “His mother died. He doesn’t need to be brought around to anything. I’m just a reminder of what he’s lost, and he has every right to be furious. I would hate me, too.”

  “You don’t know everything about the situation, you don’t . . . ,” Paxton replied, trailing off. He looked at her for a long, long moment, and Senna felt the impulse to turn away. “It’s going to get handled. He’s here to forget that night, same as you.”

  “That’s private,” Senna muttered. “You shouldn’t have told me that.”

  The gray VIT on his wrist buzzed, and he pushed away from the railing and away from her. “Senna? I want you here, okay? Stay.”

  She knew then what his VIT had been telling him. Her device vibrated, too. The kid—Han was his name—was getting closer, and now they had been warned of his proximity. Senna clenched her jaw and watched Paxton Dunn saunter away. A strange shape enveloped him, outlining him like there was a shadow clinging to his back, radiating off him in a black surge. It reminded her of what she had seen coming out of the darkness when the facility sirens had blared, and she felt her hand tuck up under her chin. A reflex. The shadow made her want to curl up and become smaller, and hide.

  I don’t care what she says, when Zurri gets on that shuttle, I should be on it, too.

  “Dinner in an hour!” Paxton called over his shoulder, nearly to the delicate, invisible stairs. “It’s your favorite, aloo gobi. That is your favorite, right?”

  He didn’t wait to hear her response.

  Preece liked to do the same thing. He had the most incredible face for listening, grandfatherly and wise, old but somehow unlined, a welcoming, knowing, caring face. But after almost fifteen years of his constant company, of thinking he was listening when Senna told him her secrets or her fears, she started to see the hollowness behind his pale eyes. She started to test him, subtly. Their compound on the station took up the most unwanted real estate in the sector, placed right above the sweltering heat vents of Hydroponica. Creating enough clean water and fresh food for the station required an immense amount of energy, and it had to go somewhere. It went right into the ground beneath their feet, made them sweat day and night, filled the atmosphere above them with a slightly rotten-smelling vapor.

  They had a distinct smell, their group, because the perspiration was constant. Health and virus checks were mandatory, monthly affairs for everyone living on Tokyo Bliss Station. A single undetected outbreak could wipe out the entire population in a matter of weeks if allowed to proliferate. Senna remembered the station health workers twitching behind their face shields and masks, eyes watering from the odor as they took cheek and nasal swabs. They had to swab about three dozen people in the compound, and she could see them fumbling, hurrying to get it done and get out. After the crash, when Senna was the only one left alive, Marin had to explain how the shower controls worked, and the difference between shampoo and conditioner. On the station, there was none of that, just barrels of water, rationed with extreme care for personal cleaning, and a wash rag. Preece made them exercise relentlessly, which didn’t help matters.

  Preece was a doctor, so of course he tried his best to convince the station workers that the smell was not a sign that they were unhygienic on the compound. They ate a vegetarian diet, he would shout at the bored workers swabbing away, no caffeine on the premises, no alcohol, no unnatural sugars, no drug use. Daily vigorous calisthenics. Healthiest citizens on Tokyo Bliss. The disease checks remained mandatory, and so did his exasperation.

  When the younger members complained about the heat, Preece would remind them that they were lucky to be warm, that the cold vacuum of space was just on the other side of the station walls. After the disaster, they would come to be known as the Dohring-Waugh cult, named after the ship Preece had hijacked for his suicide mission. On the station, Senna learned they were mostly referred to as Compound Kids, since Dr. Preece Ives pulled most of them in young, straight out of the bloated station foster and adoption system. Internally, Preece called them his brood.

  He was father and mother, and they were all his little chicks, hatched out of desperation but taken under his wing. Cared for. Warm. See? The Hydroponica vents were just simulating their little nest, hugging them with the heat of a round bird belly, holding them down, protecting them.

  Senna stood very still and watched twilight fall in the Dome. Everything she knew about light and dark was simulated. Tokyo Bliss Station did the same thing—tricking them all into thinking they were experiencing a normal cycle, a cycle like earthlings, but in the end, it was all just pretend. It probably comforted the people who had actually been born on Earth and moved to the station for a job or to outrun the flooding.

  The scent of flowers filled the air around her, delicate and plush, not so different from the orchid and hyacinth perfume Marin wore. Life on the station, on the compound, smelled like sweat, like the coarse natural soap they used to scrub at their clothes and their own stench. Now the Dome felt and smelled like what she imagined a far-off glade on Earth to be. Incredible, that it could seem so real and put her at ease. Was that coded into her somehow? Did that live in her DNA?

  Maybe she ought to know, intrinsically, what June smelled like. What did the sun feel like when it began to burn the skin? How did the air and the wind change when summer withered into autumn? She had seen pictures, watched vids, absorbed what she could from stories and poems, but she had never felt it herself. All her life had been spent in space, on a station built by humans but mostly by machines. Even if humanity had built the station, and even if humans inhabited it, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was something other than human. A new thing, and almost alien.

  With his teachings, with his rules, with his enforcements, Preece had tried to keep his brood human, to connect them to one another because they couldn’t be connected to Earth. It didn’t work. Whatever he had inflicted upon Senna, it only made her feel disconnected from everyone around her. They all stared. They all knew. She was something else, almost alien.

  A new thing.

  She heard Paxton’s footsteps growing fainter as he descended the stairs. Taking a few steps after him, she called out, “I don’t want that, actually. I want meat tonight, um, chicken.”

  Was that too much to ask? Too rude? Too much of an imposition? Senna shrank back against the railing and hoped he hadn’t heard her.

  “A new carnivore i
n our midst!” She heard him give a full-bodied laugh. “How intriguing.”

  10

  “There he is! Han. Han, the man of the hour! Just what the doctor ordered.”

  Han spun around, buzzing harder. Man of the hour, is this for real? It was for real. Paxton Dunn emerged from behind an imposing wall of broad-leafed plants. The Dome courtyard felt more like a greenhouse or arboretum—a suspended walkway above them, simulated birdsong and suffused, thoughtful lighting creating the sense that one had stepped into another world, a new biome, an oasis in the middle of an ever-seething icy desert. Fairy lights twinkled faintly with video game surrealism, long bird calls beginning to echo through the expansive anteroom, simulated holographic dew shimmering on the leaves that bobbed out of Paxton’s way as he approached.

  Years. He had waited years for this moment, anticipating how slick his palms would be, how he would hold his head high and take on a serious aspect, and try to greet the man voted smartest, no contest, with confidence. But he crumpled, letting out a snorting, goofy laugh, feeling borderline hysterical as his idol strode across the Mediterranean tiles and presented his broad, flat hand.

  Han reached for it, shaking, but Paxton slapped it with a laugh of his own. “Now, this is the energy our experiment needed. Masculine energy.”

  Reading Paxton’s articles and biography, Han had never expected him to have a British accent. It only made him sound more sophisticated, more impossibly out of reach. Accents on the station tended to blend together unless someone lived in one of the ethnic districts and kept speaking Spanish, or Japanese, or Korean fluently. Han didn’t think he had ever met a British person before, and certainly not one with an actual accent.

  “H-Hi.” Idiot. Han tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans nervously. He was already bungling this. “It’s . . . Wow. It’s so crazy to meet you.”

  “Smart kid like you? Bound to happen. I don’t take interns, but you never know. If this project wraps up nicely, maybe I’ll need some new blood around here . . .” Paxton clapped him on the shoulder and Han felt his knees wobble. This couldn’t be real. He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. “I wanted to have a one-on-one before everyone sits down to eat. That okay with you?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, obviously. Of course.”

  “Fantastic. Jesus, it’s getting dark,” Paxton said, glancing up. “We better hurry. Come on. How much have you seen? Not much, right? What am I saying? You got here an hour ago, of course you haven’t seen much. How are you settling in? Oh, hey, there’s Brea. Have you met her? Come meet her.”

  He talked quickly, but precisely, and with the kind of force that told Han he wasn’t necessarily meant to answer all the rapid-fire questions. With a hand still on Han’s shoulder, Paxton steered him around toward two gigantic bay doors that could be slid open to reveal a gallery, wide and airy, with a museum-like quality. An olive-skinned woman with thick, bunchy black curls clicked toward them with her right palm open and skyward. A small black cube sat on her hand, a red light flickering at its center.

  “Smile!” Brea wrinkled her nose. As she came closer, Han noticed freckles dotted all over her face. She was just as pretty if not prettier than the woman who had greeted him when he arrived, Anju. And just like meeting Anju, he felt paralyzed. Han had two online girlfriends for a while, but they were just for gaming with and sometimes he would ask for raunchy pictures. The ones they sent? He knew they were just fakes pulled off the web. It didn’t bother him much, he knew they would never meet in person, and so he would never have to be disappointed that they didn’t match the photos.

  “Just some arrival captures,” Brea added, closing her hand around the cube and covering the flashing light. “It’s so nice to meet you, Han.”

  “Thanks,” he muttered. Everyone was so nice. Maybe it was easy to be nice in paradise. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

  He glanced up curiously at Paxton. The man. The legend. Of course he lived in isolation with a bunch of astoundingly beautiful woman. Why would he choose to do anything else?

  “Brea will be handling all of our PR for the project,” Paxton explained. She wore a similar outfit to Anju’s, but Earth-sky blue, tailored, trim, a tight skirt and fitted suit jacket with no lapels. “I never allow press here, but you’re going to be one of my success stories. Everyone on Earth, on all the stations, they’re going to want to know about what we accomplish here.”

  Han was already beginning to feel a little tired. He would push through it, and the snack cake had helped, but he never interfaced with real people much. Hacking his nanny Servitors to shut them up was always an option, but he wanted to impress Paxton.

  “You should take the vid again,” Han told her. “I think I looked stupid.”

  “Do not be silly,” she giggled. “Even if you did, we can fix it.” Brea pointed vaguely to the ceiling. “Upon arrival you were digitally scanned and uploaded into our archival system. We can tweak your expressions until they are just right. You will have final approval, naturally.”

  Han blinked. “Oh.”

  “You will recall it was in your NDA,” Brea chirped.

  “Oh, sure. Right.”

  “You’re freaking him out, Brea. Down, girl,” Paxton chuckled, then made a growling sound at her. She smiled, but it never touched her eyes. Her face looked frozen for a moment, like she was waiting for something. “We’re heading to the labs. Is Colbie there?”

  “Yes, I believe she was just shutting things down for the day,” Brea replied, frowning.

  “Well, shoot. Let me just ping her, then. I need things open a bit longer, want to show Han what we’re working on. He’s getting a private tour. I thought a tech head like him would appreciate it.” Paxton nudged him. “Am I right?”

  “The LENG tech,” Han murmured. “You’re going to show it to me now?”

  “Why not? It’s mine. I can do whatever I want with it,” said Paxton, shrugging. “Anyway, I know you’re a busy kid. We can just get your first session out of the way quick, gives you more time to hack my shit.”

  Han felt all the air rush out of him. “I . . . I wouldn’t.”

  “Of course you would. You’ll try. You know why? Because I would, and from everything I know about you, we’re a lot alike.”

  “Y-You really think that?” Han sucked down a nervous breath, his hands wet with nervous sweat.

  “I do. Come on, Han. I’ve got your dossier, you’re not just here for the program, are you? What happened with your mother was tragic, naturally you want to resolve that so you can move on with your life. But your life . . . big plans, right? Big plans that start with me?” Paxton grinned down at him, and Han could hardly believe what he was hearing, or believe his luck.

  Haltingly, he nodded. “Is that bad?”

  “I don’t think so,” Paxton replied, then did his best, guttural Michael Douglas voice. “I’m pulling back the curtain. I want to meet the wizard.” It was a so-so impression.

  “The Game,” said Han. “That’s one of my favorite vids.”

  “Mine too, Han.”

  “If you two are done chitchatting, let me send Dr. Colbie an alert,” Brea said as Paxton pulled Han along and passed her. “I would not want to push dinner late, surely our guests are famished.”

  “Thanks, Brea. You’re the best. Oh! And get some chicken on the menu for tonight, there’s been a change of heart.” He didn’t give further instructions, striding into the gallery off the main courtyard. Along each side, rectangular white pedestals displayed pieces of art. Some appeared ancient, others new; some, Han noticed as he drew nearer, were holographic. Down the center of the wide corridor, an ivory banquet table was . . . building itself. Halfway done, it appeared to grow from the ground up, tiny slice by tiny slice, only the faintest machine whir indicating that hidden mechanisms below the floor were hard at work.

  “This is 3D printing?” Han asked, gasping. �
��I’ve never seen it done so quickly.”

  “It’s silicate we mine from the surface, and we can recycle it, reuse it to build whatever we need,” Paxton said, sounding almost bored. “Fun little prototype, not sure it would work anywhere but on Ganymede, we can take advantage of the liquid core and magnetic field. But side projects aren’t what you’re here for, Han. Let’s go see the good stuff. This corridor is Zone Seven, but we’ll be hustling over to Zones Three and Four.”

  Raising his left hand, Paxton tapped his VIT screen. “You can follow along on the map if you want. I bet you’ve already changed all your settings and icons and tried to dig around in our system, yeah?”

  Han felt his cheeks glow. He was there to impress the guy, not just suck up. “No, not yet.”

  “Ha.” Paxton threw back his head and laughed, gleeful. “Nice. Here, we’re taking that black door on your right.”

  They skirted along the outside edge of the pedestals and where the table was being printed. High above, a dozen or so cables held an avant-garde chandelier over their heads, shards of pink and blue and purple glass arranged like a sprawling amethyst cave crystal. Paxton only had to walk near the black door he had pointed out before and it hissed open for them. Judging by the scan Han had undergone upon landing on Ganymede, he assumed every door and zone in the facility automatically detected privileges, gatekeeping access for staff and keeping the patients out of sensitive areas. Those were tricky systems to fool or work around, but Han made a mental note to try later anyway.

  He was beginning to think of his time there like a test. If he could pull off something truly remarkable, a feat of hacking or programming that impressed even Paxton Dunn, maybe the mogul would consider keeping him on.

  This is an audition, he thought. Don’t blow it, don’t be lame, be the kind of guy Paxton Dunn would want as a friend.

  The jitters in his hands hadn’t calmed down yet. Paxton Dunn guided him through the much tighter hallways of what looked to be administrative offices. They were open plan, but still far less airy and grand than the Dome courtyard and the corridor linked to it. Cool blue tones set the feeling of being deep underwater, as if they weren’t on Ganymede at all but wandering through a dark ocean submersible.