On the third day after her investigators left for West Cay, Ms. Dunleavy strides into the kitchen where we’re having dinner, her immaculate white sneakers silent on the granite tiles.
“Leave us, please,” she says, and all her staff scramble out. She’s always nice to us—motherly, even. But every now and then we catch a glimpse of her former life as a CEO, a tiger in the boardroom of VistaNet.
All business, she switches on the monitor against the wall. It glows to life with the message:
INVESTIGATION REPORT
POSEIDON RESORT AND WATER PARK
WEST CAY, BAHAMAS
“You found them?” Eli asks eagerly.
Ms. Dunleavy taps the tablet in her hand and a photograph appears on the big screen. Brilliant blue sky, palm trees, white sand, turquoise water. The composition’s not great—the angle too high and the people off-center.
But that’s not what causes my heart to leap into my throat.
“Steve!” I breathe.
Steve is what I used to call my dad. The surge of emotion is so raw that it’s all I can do to hold back tears. One look at him and I’m six years old again, and he’s hugging me and stroking my hair the way he did when I was upset. I was living a lie back then, but at least I was happy.
“Do you recognize these two?” Ms. Dunleavy prompts.
No one answers. The others are watching me, gauging my reaction. Malik is too much of a tough guy to admit he misses his Serenity parents; Amber is so angry that it overpowers any other feelings she might have. Eli was raised by Felix Hammerstrom himself, so it’s easier for him to walk away. My cheeks are hot with shame. I’m the only one who can be shattered by a picture of a man who lied to me for more than twelve years.
“You okay, Tori?” Amber asks.
“I am,” I reply shakily. And for some reason, saying it aloud makes it true. I turn to Ms. Dunleavy. “That’s Steve Pritel, my Serenity father, and the boy is Robbie Miers, another one of the clones.”
Ms. Dunleavy nods. “You kids were right. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I of all people should understand how smart and resourceful you can be. Take a look at some of these other pictures.”
One by one, the images appear before us—quickly at first, but when Ms. Dunleavy sees the emotional impact the photographs are having, she slows down. We hate Project Osiris, but that doesn’t change the fact that, until very recently, it was our whole world—the same handful of people. It’s our enemy, but it will never stop being part of us.
There they are, our fellow clones and their Serenity parents. Ben Stastny, his long hair blowing straight out behind him as he rides a wave runner; Penelope Sonas trying (and failing) to get herself upright on water skis; Aldwin Wo on an inner tube, passing through artificial rapids on a lazy river. All of them—Freddie Cinta of the famous hair follicle. Margaret Rauha.
“They seem—happy.” It feels bittersweet to speak the words.
“Why wouldn’t they be?” Malik retorts. “They grew up in the same one-horse dump we did. Look at that resort! It’s like it’s impossible not to have fun.”
Amber’s brow darkens. “That’s not it. They’re happy because they don’t know.”
It’s as if the temperature in the kitchen suddenly drops fifty degrees. Robbie, Ben, Aldwin, Freddie, Penelope, and Margaret are just like us. And while fighting for our own future, we never gave much thought to what would happen to them.
“What kind of people are we?” I whisper.
“You know that as well as I do,” Malik replies darkly. “We’re criminal masterminds. And so are they. They would have been just as selfish if our places were switched.”
“You’re being too hard on yourselves,” Ms. Dunleavy cuts in. “You were fighting for your lives and freedom every minute.”
We identify all our parents and several Purple People Eaters (they’re harder to recognize in Bermuda shorts and bathing suits instead of their usual paramilitary gear). The sight of C. J. Rackoff in a Hawaiian shirt makes my stomach hurt. The only reason that terrible con man isn’t in prison is that we broke him out. His clone, Hector, is in the next picture. Malik practically melts into his chair at the sight of his former best friend who stabbed us in the back.
We take note of some important absences. More than half the kids in Serenity weren’t clones; they were the natural children of Osiris researchers. None of those families seem to be in West Cay.
“My investigators estimate there are between forty and fifty Osiris people at Poseidon,” Ms. Dunleavy tells us. “Felix’s inner circle, probably. He always talked about how only the most devoted researchers could be chosen to act as parents of the newborn subjects.”
I cringe. Not devoted to us, to the experiment.
The last photograph appears on the screen. The four of us gasp involuntarily. It’s Felix Hammerstrom, his near-black eyes staring at the camera as if he can spot us, pinpoint our location, and dispatch a helicopter full of Purples to Wyoming to scoop us up. He’s standing in front of an aquarium tall and wide enough to fill a wall three stories high. An enormous manta ray hangs in the water behind him. Below it swims a sand tiger shark easily ten feet long.
Between the shark and the former mayor of Serenity, New Mexico, it’s hard to tell which is the more dangerous predator.
“Same old Felix,” Ms. Dunleavy comments with a wan chuckle. “He’s a little older, but I have to say he’s barely changed. All the arrogance is still there, the belief that he knows what’s best for everyone.”
“Try growing up with the guy,” Eli says bitterly.
Amber is impatient. “So that’s it. We know where they are. What happens now? We call the cops, right?”
Our hostess mulls it over. “The problem is which cops do we call? West Cay is part of the Bahamas. American authorities have no jurisdiction there.”
“What about the island police?” I ask. “Or the Bahamas government?”
“Assuming we could convince foreign officials that Project Osiris really exists, then what? They’re not going to arrest upward of forty US citizens for something that sounds like the plot of a horror movie.”
“So we just do nothing?” Malik demands.
“Of course not,” Ms. Dunleavy replies. “I propose that I get in touch with Felix and—”
The four of us all start babbling at the same time, so our protest ends up nothing but noise.
“Let me finish,” she persists. “I understand Felix is a monster to you, and I admit his methods are extreme. But he’s a highly intelligent man who must recognize when he’s out of options.”
Eli is distraught. “And you think, what? That he’ll just let you take the other clones because you ask him nicely?”
“No,” Ms. Dunleavy admits. “But I’m going to convince him that Osiris is over, and there’s no reason for him to hang on to those other children. And in exchange for their release, I’ll pay him enough money that he’ll have no financial worries for the rest of his life.”
Amber is furious. “Just because they’re clones doesn’t mean they aren’t people! You can’t buy and sell people!”
“Felix considers this his life’s work,” our hostess argues. “He’s not going to give it up until he knows that he’s settled for the rest of his days.”
“Like he deserves to get rich,” Malik broods.
“No, he doesn’t,” Ms. Dunleavy agrees. “But he’s got what we want, and he’s not going to hand it over if we offer him what he deserves—which is a long prison sentence.”
“I know what this is really about,” Amber chimes in. “You won’t call the cops on Hammerstrom because he knows about your hacker past!”
“Amber—” I begin warily. My best friend’s face is red and getting redder.
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? And all this money is nothing but a bribe to get him to shut up about it!”
“Not smart, Laska,” Malik says. “Think about whose house this is.”
“You’re right,” Ms. Dunleavy conced
es. “I’ve done some bad things, and maybe I deserve to pay for that. But if I’m in prison, who’s going to make this deal with Felix? Who’s going to take in the new kids and protect them from the questions of the world, the way I’m doing with you?”
“And we’re grateful,” Eli assures her. “Honestly. But you can’t talk to Hammerstrom—and it isn’t because you’d be making a deal with the devil. The real problem is you’d be tipping him off that we’re onto him. And he could take those kids and disappear. West Cay isn’t the only island in the world, you know.”
She’s unmoved. “I think I know a little more about the way things work than four kids who, up until a few weeks ago, lived incredibly sheltered lives. The money I’d be offering Felix—”
“He doesn’t need money,” Eli interrupts. “He’s got Rackoff bankrolling him now. And if Osiris goes underground again, we’ll never find them. It was a total fluke that we found them this time!”
Malik has a suggestion. “You’ve got two guys at Poseidon already. Why don’t you send a few more in your plane, round up the kids, and fly them back here?”
Ms. Dunleavy is appalled. “That’s kidnapping!”
“Suddenly we’re worried about breaking laws?” Amber explodes. “Kidnapping is nothing compared with what was done to us and those innocent kids! Any way you get them out has to be better than leaving them there!”
“I agree.” I put a hand on her shaking shoulder. This is no Mickey Seven overreaction. I’m with Amber 100 percent.
A stony hardness sets in our hostess’s eyes. We’re facing Tamara Dunleavy, CEO, again. An executive decision has been made, and no force in the universe is going to change it.
“I know you think you’re right, but in this case, you’re not. I’m going to consult with my lawyers and then reach out to Felix. You’ll just have to trust me.”
We stare at her. She rescued us. She’s totally on our side—our only chance at a real life.
But we have to remember who else she is: the cofounder of Project Osiris.
She’s been wrong before.
16
AMBER LASKA
I storm into the suite I share with Tori, slamming the door behind me. My latest list is right where I left it, on the nightstand next to my bed.
THINGS TO DO TODAY (UNPRIORITIZED)
• Running (5.5 miles)
• Swimming (60 lengths)
• Piano practice (try antique harpsichord) . . .
It’s like it’s mocking me. I snatch up a pen and cross everything out with such viciousness that the point tears through the paper, damaging the polished wood tabletop underneath it.
I don’t stop. Unprioritized? I’ll prioritize it. Hiking, ballet, bird-watching—where do those things rate in a world where kids just like me are in the hands of Project Osiris and nobody is doing anything about it? Compared with that, the items on my list should be so low that they’d need booster rockets to reach the bottom of the page. Am I that small-minded? That shallow? The evidence is right here in front of me.
The door opens. “Amber, stop!” Tori says in alarm. “You’re ruining it!”
“Nothing deserves to be ruined more than this list!”
“Not the list,” she exclaims. “The nightstand!”
I pick up the shredded paper to reveal the scratched tabletop. “I don’t care about the stupid nightstand!” Actually, I do feel kind of bad about that, but it’s so much less important than everything else that it’s hard to get worked up about it. “I’m not a good person, Tori. I thought I was, but I’m not.”
“We obviously all have weird feelings about our DNA—”
“It has nothing to do with Mickey Seven!” I wave the tattered page at her. “I spend my whole life obsessing over me, me, me! And Penelope—Margaret—Robbie—”
“Maybe Ms. Dunleavy knows what she’s doing,” Tori suggests dubiously.
“By telling Felix Hammerstrom we know where he is? You’re supposed to be the master of strategy!”
“It does kind of seem like giving up the one advantage we have,” she admits.
There’s a knock at the door, and Malik and Eli step into our room.
“We have to talk,” Eli announces.
“We’ve talked enough,” I say irritably.
“We can’t let Ms. Dunleavy tip off Project Osiris,” Eli goes on.
“How are we going to stop her?” Tori counters. “It’s not like we can tie her to a chair, or hit her over the head. She’s got staff working here—security people.”
Eli shuts the door. “We’re not going to stop her. We’re going to beat her to the punch.”
“Spit it out, will you?” Malik snaps. “This crazy idiot thinks we can sneak down to West Cay and kidnap those six kids away from Osiris!”
Tori and I are stunned. It’s so obvious. Why didn’t we think of it? Actually, we did think of it, sort of. Malik tried to convince Ms. Dunleavy to use her own people to grab the others away. But when she refused, the next logical step would be to do it ourselves.
“Now you’re talking!” I exclaim.
Malik glares at me. “Brilliant, Laska. We almost got killed, like, fifty times trying to escape Project Osiris. So it makes perfect sense to blow off the one person who helped us and airmail ourselves to the same mad scientists who created us in the first place. Yeah, that makes amazing sense.”
“It would be really risky,” Tori puts in. “You heard the report. There are between forty and fifty Osiris people at Poseidon.”
“And that makes a difference?” I demand. “I don’t care if there are fifty thousand Osiris people at Poseidon! I saw your faces in the kitchen! Those are the kids we grew up with! The only other people like us in the world! Maybe it’s okay that we forgot them while our own lives were in danger. We can’t forget them now.”
“I said it’d be risky. I never said we shouldn’t do it,” Tori replies with determination.
“And you’re supposed to be the big planner?” Malik rasps at her. “Would Yvonne-Marie Delacroix try to knock off a bank she knows it’s impossible to rob?”
I stick out my jaw at him defiantly. “Maybe that’s how she got caught. After all those crimes, she was finally doing something positive.”
“The key word,” he returns, “is caught. Don’t you think I’d love to rescue Robbie and Aldwin and Margaret and the others? But that’s not what would happen. We wouldn’t be gaining their freedom; we’d be throwing ours away!”
“I’d rather be caught than live with myself knowing I could have helped and I didn’t,” I shoot back.
“I guess that’s the difference between you and me,” he says. “I’ll live with myself just fine. Wasn’t that supposed to be the point of all this—getting real lives? We fought so hard to have a future, and now you want to trash it? Well, be my guest, but don’t expect me to climb aboard the Stupid Express with you. There are a lot of Tater Tots in the world. I intend to stick around to eat my share.”
“Fine,” I sigh. “We’ll do it without you.” When it comes to arguing with Malik, I can usually go on for hours. Suddenly, though, I haven’t got the energy. Maybe it’s an uphill climb we’re facing. “Stay here with your Tater Tots. Eat yourself into a coma.”
His face flashes red. “You have to be the most annoying person ever! All three of you—I’m surrounded by morons!”
“It’s okay, Malik—” Eli begins.
“No, it isn’t!” he rages. “Because now I’m going to have to go with you just to keep you nitwits from getting yourselves killed!” He glowers at me. “Thanks a lot, Laska!”
I feel my face twisting into a smile, which only enrages Malik further.
“Here’s a practical question,” ventures Tori. “West Cay is eighty miles off the coast of Florida. We’re in Wyoming, on the other side of the continent. We’ve got no money, and one of the richest, most powerful women in the world doesn’t want us to go. How are we going to get there?”
“Oh, no problem,” Malik sneers
. “Laska will put it on one of her to-do lists. You know, between the squat-thrusts and the organic brussels sprouts.”
He’s just being his usual self. But for some reason, as soon as he says it, I understand that we will get there. How? The same way we managed to break out of Serenity and elude the Purples and find Tamara Dunleavy and break Rackoff out of jail and crisscross the country and make our way to Ms. Dunleavy again.
We did it because we wanted to learn the truth about ourselves, because we wanted to get justice, because we wanted to have a chance to turn our fake lives into real ones. We did it because what choice did we have?
We have even less choice now. It’s pure luck that we know exactly where Project Osiris and the Purples are holding our fellow clones. If we let this opportunity pass, we’ll surely never get another one.
It’s time to act.
17
ELI FRIEDEN
As a tech pioneer, Tamara Dunleavy made her fortune on the idea that almost everything can be done over the internet. TV, movies, music, and all forms of entertainment and information can be streamed. Machines can perform self-diagnostics and report problems directly to repair crews. Houses can communicate gas and electric meter readings. Tagged endangered species can be tracked. Cars can drive themselves. Sensors in human bodies can contact doctors before the patient ever becomes sick. VistaNet, her company, earned billions improving people’s lives through the limitless potential of the web.
So it makes perfect sense that almost everything in Ms. Dunleavy’s Jackson Hole compound runs on internet-based platforms—including the surveillance system that sends images from hidden cameras all around the vast house and property to a bank of TV monitors in the security office.
It’s a good idea—until it isn’t anymore.
You can’t really blame Ms. Dunleavy for thinking it’s safe. She wrote the computer code for it all personally, so she figured that the only hacker who could break into it would be her. It never occurred to her that nearly fourteen years ago, Felix Hammerstrom made an exact copy of her, only male. Or that I’d have a very good reason for needing to mess with her system now.
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