by Malinda Lo
“And if you hadn’t done that, humans might not exist in the way we do today.”
“Right.”
Reese rubbed a hand over her forehead. “Okay. So you said you guys left the planet. Why did you return?”
“For a couple of reasons. Our birth rates are really, really low. It’s not that we’re infertile. It doesn’t really matter if we’re fertile, because we use artificial wombs. They’re a lot like the adaptation chamber, actually. But even though we can have children, our birth rates keep declining. So, many Imrians have begun to believe that humanity—that your people are our best hope of surviving. That’s the first reason we decided to come back to Earth—to support humanity, to make sure you all survive.”
“But humans aren’t dying out. Don’t we have a problem with overpopulation?”
Amber gave Reese a nervous smile. “Yeah, that’s one of your problems. In the first half of the twentieth century, the United States developed the atomic bomb. We didn’t want you guys to destroy yourselves. That’s why we made contact with your government after the end of World War Two. We wanted to steer you away from nuclear weapons, and we also wanted to figure out why you guys had never evolved our ability of susum’urda. That’s really central to our society, and all our leaders thought it was important for humans to be able to do it—if humans were going to be the future of the Imria. That’s what Project Plato was really for, at least on our end: to research human biology and develop a way to give you that ability. Now that you and David have shown that the adaptation chamber works, we want to share it with the rest of humanity. That’s what Akiya Deyir is here to do, to start the process of spreading this ability throughout humanity.”
Amber fell silent, and at first Reese simply stared at her. Everything that Amber said was so mind-boggling that Reese could barely keep it all straight. Finally Reese asked, “Is Akiya Deyir going to tell this whole story at the UN? The fact that you guys manipulated us like guinea pigs for millions of years?”
Amber winced. “I don’t know. It’s really complicated.” She crossed her legs and leaned forward. “If they go public about it, it completely upends your belief systems. Practically every single religious system. Evolutionary theory—at least as it applies to humans—is wrong. Some Imrians think it would be better if we start implementing the adaptation procedure first, so that humans can better understand why we did what we did.”
“What is there to understand?” Reese said, disgusted. “You guys treated us like lab rats. I think humans can understand that. Clearly we are descended from you.”
Amber sighed and shifted in place. She was wearing faded jeans that had a hole in one knee, and she hooked a finger in the hole and pulled at the threads as she spoke. “I get that. I do. But a lot of the Imria aren’t ready to face what would happen if they told humanity the whole truth right now. They believe that they created humans, and humans are their responsibility—their children. They think this adaptation procedure is going to help you grow up or something.”
Reese watched the hole enlarge. The skin of Amber’s knee peeked through. “You keep talking about the Imria as if you aren’t one. Are you saying you don’t buy their argument?”
Amber stopped messing with the hole and leaned back against the wall. “Not completely. I was born here; I grew up here. Sometimes I feel more like a human than an Imrian. I see what they mean, but I’m not sure they’re right.”
“Your mom doesn’t think they’re right either.”
Amber’s eyebrows drew together. “How do you know that?”
“She gave an Imrian DNA sample to David’s dad. That’s how we found out that humans are descended from the Imria. We wouldn’t have known if she hadn’t done that.”
“Yeah. Well, there’s been some disagreement among the Imria here about what to do. My mom—obviously she decided to do something about it.” A strange expression passed over Amber’s face, as if she were realizing something.
“What is it?” Reese asked.
“Nothing.” Amber gave Reese a small smile. “So, that’s about it. That’s everything, I swear.”
Reese shook her head in frustration. “That’s not everything. You guys need to tell the truth.”
“I can’t convince them,” Amber insisted. “They don’t listen to me anymore.”
“Then let me talk to your mom. David and I both need to talk to her—and to Akiya Deyir.” Amber looked doubtful, and Reese moved to sit on the edge of Amber’s bed, facing her. “You can’t let them go through with this lie. Even if it did work, and somehow the scientific board that David’s dad put together decides to sit on their research—which I seriously doubt will happen—our abilities aren’t—” Reese cut herself off. She had promised David that she wouldn’t tell anyone about their abilities without discussing it with him first, and she had almost spilled it all to Amber.
“Aren’t what?” Amber prompted.
Reese didn’t bother to invent a lie. Everything was going to come out tomorrow anyway. “I can’t tell you right now. I promised David. Could you ask your mom and Akiya Deyir to talk to us? Tomorrow, after David gets here.”
“I can’t guarantee they’ll listen to you even if they talk to you,” Amber warned her.
“They’ll listen,” Reese said, sounding more confident than she felt.
Amber said reluctantly, “Okay. I’ll ask.”
CHAPTER 29
Reese spent the rest of the day trying to do her homework and failing miserably. When her mom returned from her hike, they went downstairs for lunch and discovered that the dining hall was empty. “Your dad called and said he’s coming tomorrow,” her mom said as they assembled sandwiches from the tray of cold cuts. “What’s going on?”
“It’ll be safer here,” Reese said.
Her mom gave her a pointed look. “Safer?”
The conversation about CASS and the threats went about as well as Reese expected. Her mom exploded at her, completely freaked out by the fact that Reese had been putting herself in so much danger. “We weren’t in danger,” Reese protested. “There’s no real danger until—until tomorrow night.”
“Oh, that’s supposed to make it okay?”
“I’m sorry, but there wasn’t any other way.”
“How about you tell me about these things? Have you learned nothing from what happened to you earlier this summer?”
“Yes, I have learned!” Reese cried. “I’ve learned that I have to figure out what the fuck is going on before I say anything to anybody. That is what I learned. And we’re fine. You and I are fine, and David’s fine, and Dad’s going to be fine too—because I didn’t say anything.”
Her mom fumed. “You will tell me everything from now on.”
“Tomorrow,” Reese said, picking up her sandwich. “Once everyone is here—David’s family too—we will tell you all everything. I promise.” She knew she was taking a risk by talking to her mom like that, but she couldn’t think of any other way to do it. She wanted her mom to accept the fact that she was in control of this situation—even if she secretly worried that she wasn’t.
Her mom silently watched her eat. Reese saw the way her mom’s jaw had clenched, and she knew her mom was spinning through various counterarguments in her mind, trying to punch holes in her plan or find a way to pull the whole story out of her right now. To her credit, her mom finally said, “Tomorrow. You promise.”
“Yes,” Reese said quickly. “I promise.”
Nura Halba appeared midway through lunch, and Reese pulled him aside to ask if there was room for David’s family and her dad to stay on board for the next several days. He was taken aback, but he said he would find out. They didn’t see him again until dinner, when once more he was the only Imrian to join them in the dining hall. “Evelyn sends her apologies,” Halba said. “But it’s fine for your father and for David’s family to stay with us. We’ll all fly to New York on Sunday.”
“Where is everyone?” Reese’s mom asked. “I hope we haven’t frighte
ned them all away.”
Halba gave her a strained smile. “Oh, no. They’re in meetings, preparing for the UN.”
Even Amber? Reese wanted to ask, but didn’t. She ate the roast chicken and potatoes that had been left out for them, and wondered whether the mysterious, invisible Imrian chef was making food that was especially intended to be intelligible to humans.
After dinner, Reese and her mom went back up to their rooms. The ship felt empty and lonely. Before they parted, her mom said, “It might be nice to have your dad and David’s family here. It feels sort of abandoned, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
Her mom opened the door to her room. “I have to work on a case tonight, but if you need anything, you know where I am. What are you going to do?”
Reese shrugged. “I’m still not done with my English homework. I have to read The Sun Also Rises.”
Her mom nodded. “I never liked that book.”
Reese smiled. “Why not?”
“I thought it was boring.” Her mom made a face at her and then went into her room. “Good luck.”
In her own room, Reese lay down on her bunk and opened The Sun Also Rises, but perhaps her mom’s words had biased her; she thought it was boring too. She kept picking up her phone and checking if she had any messages, but nobody had texted. She thought about calling Julian to see what he was doing with the interview footage of her and David, but then she remembered he was finally finished being grounded after his secret trip to Angel Island, and he had a date—his first date in forever, with a guy he had met online. He would be annoyed if she called to interrupt him because she was bored.
The knock on her door was soft, and she wasn’t sure she had heard it at first. It sounded again, and then she heard Amber’s voice: “Reese?”
She sat up, The Sun Also Rises sliding to the floor with a dull thunk. She bent over to pick it up before she went to open the door.
Amber had changed clothes. She was wearing tight black jeans tucked into scuffed ankle boots, and a loose white T-shirt with a big black flower on it. “You don’t have to get up to open the door,” she said with a smile. “You can just say ‘open.’ ”
Reese stepped back and dropped the book on the shelf by the bunk. “I didn’t know.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure. Did you talk to Akiya Deyir?”
Amber entered the room; the door slid shut behind her quietly. “Yeah. Sorry I missed dinner. Everybody had to discuss it—my mom, Hirin Sagal, Eres Tilhar, everyone.” Amber pulled the chair out from the corner and sat down, crossing her legs. She was wearing eyeliner; it was smudged slightly in the corners.
Reese perched on her bunk, feeling inexplicably nervous. “What did they say?”
“They’re willing to talk to you and David tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’s great.”
“And then I think Akiya will want to check in with home—with our leaders on Kurra.”
“Oh. What do you think they’ll say?”
Amber shook her head. “I don’t know. But Eres is on your side. And my mother. And me.”
Reese fidgeted with the hem of the blanket. “Thanks.”
Amber smiled a little sadly. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Were they mad at you for telling me the truth?”
“I don’t think Akiya gets mad. But let’s just say I don’t think they’re going to give me any more assignments.” Her gaze flickered to Reese. “I don’t mean that—”
“It’s fine. I know what you mean.” Silence fell between them, thick and heavy. Amber looked away, studying her fingernails. They were painted black.
“I’m sorry,” Amber said, her voice barely audible.
Reese’s fingers dug into the edge of the bunk. “You don’t have to apologize anymore.” There was something in the slump of Amber’s shoulders that unexpectedly reminded Reese of Amber’s body collapsing against hers in Nevada, the pain from her gunshot wound dragging her down onto the rocky desert ground. “Amber,” Reese said. Her name was soft on her lips.
Amber looked up, a guarded expression on her face. “What?”
“In Nevada, when the bunker was about to explode and we were running toward the ship—this ship—did you know those soldiers were aiming for me? Did you know they were trying to shoot me?”
Amber regarded her for a long moment. Reese forced herself to not look away. She wanted to know. Amber finally said, “You mean did I purposely try to save you?”
Reese’s mouth went dry. “Yeah.”
Amber’s lips were shining in the warm glow of the lights. “I didn’t know if they were going to shoot you. I only knew that if I could do something to prevent you from getting shot, I was going to do it. It wasn’t like there was a lot of time for thought. I just did it. That’s how I do almost everything.” Amber’s mouth twisted in a thin, self-hating smile. “That’s my biggest flaw.”
Reese’s heartbeat thudded inside her. “It’s not a flaw.”
“No? Tell that to my mother.”
Reese’s mouth twitched. “So your mom doesn’t approve?”
Amber choked on a laugh. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “She really doesn’t approve. Although given what she did with that DNA, it’s not like she should be judging.”
Reese was transfixed by the expression on Amber’s face: her self-deprecating smile, her bright gray eyes. For a moment it was like being suspended in time—just the two of them in this room, divorced from everything that had come before, poised on the brink of what might come after. Reese wanted to freeze this instant, to linger in it. And for several breaths, Amber didn’t move.
When Amber slid to the floor, kneeling in front of the bunk between Reese’s legs, Reese didn’t try to resist. She had known what was coming. Amber’s hands, cool and dry, reached for hers. Inside, Amber was a whirlpool of longing. “Can’t we start over?” she whispered.
There was nothing stopping her. Nothing at all. She could try to stifle the desire that bloomed inside her. She could make the decision to never set it free again. Or she could give in. She watched Amber’s mouth tremble. She saw the rise and fall of Amber’s chest as she waited, her fingers curling through Reese’s, knotting them together.
Kissing Amber was like falling down the rabbit hole. Reese could barely believe she was doing it again. Amber’s mouth was so familiar to her, the shape of her lips soft and warm against her own, but there was more this time. There was all of Amber behind it: the tide of her emotions dragging at Reese the way the ocean waves suck the sand out from under your feet. Memories of Reese from before, images flashing past like an old home movie. There they were in the park, on the swing set at night, momentum making her stomach flip as her whole body lit up from the kiss.
Amber rose. Reese scooted back on the bunk and Amber climbed up, straddling her lap and cupping Reese’s head in her hands. Reese couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to breathe. She only wanted to touch her, and she pulled Amber closer, her hands gliding over Amber’s back. The T-shirt slipped off her shoulder, and Reese’s fingers slid beneath the strap of Amber’s black bra, her skin silky. Reese knew that Amber had put these clothes on for her, that she had come to her room hoping for this moment, and the knowledge made her dizzy, as if everything was spinning around the two of them. Amber buried her fingers in Reese’s hair and whispered, “Of course I hoped. I’ve always hoped.”
Reese drew her close and kissed her again. With David, it had felt as if they were careening out of control every time they kissed, because neither of them knew how to drive this connection between them. It was frightening in its headiness. With Amber, it was different. Amber clearly had done this before, and even as Reese felt the rising heat inside Amber, her increasing focus on the shrinking space between them, Reese did not feel afraid. She felt intoxicated: held between Amber’s hands, pressed against her body. But beneath the luxurious slide of desire, she felt a keen, persistent ache. Even if she was in love with Amber, that didn’t stop
her from being in love with David.
Amber pulled away, stroking Reese’s hair back from her face, and whispered, “I don’t care. I don’t care.”
Reese looked into Amber’s eyes and said, “But I do.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Amber insisted. “You can love him too.”
“How would that be okay?” Reese asked, bewildered. “You would start to resent me.”
Amber shook her head. “I wouldn’t. You don’t understand. It’s not like you have a limited supply of love. You can love more than one person at once.”
Reese flushed. “But that’s not fair to either of you.”
“It’s not fair to shut yourself off. That’s what’s unfair. To know that you have these feelings and then deny them.”
“I’m not denying them!” Reese’s hands had come to rest on Amber’s thighs, and she pushed her back.
Amber looked hurt. She climbed off Reese’s lap and sat against the wall at the head of the bed, drawing her knees up defensively. The laces of her right boot had come undone.
Reese missed her instantly. “I can’t be with you if I still want to be with him,” she said miserably. “I can’t be with either one of you.” As she said the words she realized this was the solution she had been looking for: a way out of the quagmire of being in love with two people at the same time. She wished the solution didn’t make her feel like digging her own heart out of her chest.
A teardrop trickled down Amber’s cheek and into the corner of her mouth. “That’s a really limited way to think about it.”
Reese groaned. “It’s reality. Why don’t you get that?”
Amber’s expression hardened. “I do get that you think that way. I’m saying you don’t have to.”
“What do you mean?”
Amber wiped the tear away roughly, smearing her eyeliner across her cheek. “I mean you could date both of us.”
Reese stared at her in astonishment. “At the same time?”
“Not at the same time,” Amber said, as if Reese were being dense. “I’m not that into guys. Although David is cute, but—”