31
EVE
I’ve been sitting behind open books, staring into the air in front of my face for hours. Not reading. Not writing. Sometimes not even listening. I’ve been present and absent at the same time. English, French, Spanish, and biology: it’s all gone by in a hazy blur of nothing.
At lunchtime I sit in the middle of my garden plot and do nothing but pretend I can see the flowers bloom and flourish before my eyes, my mind speeding up their lengthy process of development. Mother Kimberley comes to offer me food—a sandwich, I think—but I decline. I say “decline,” but really I just ignore her while my eyes remain fixed on the tightly closed bud of a rose. She soon sighs heavily and leaves me to it.
Sitting in mathematics with Mother Juliet and I-concur Holly, I haven’t a clue what puzzle they’re trying to solve, their voices nothing more than buzzing to my ears. Even if I wanted to, I’d be unable to make out the words they’re exchanging or give them any meaning. They wash over me. They are unimportant and futile, given the turn my life has taken lately. I don’t understand why they want me to learn all this nonsense anyway, or where they expect me to put Pythagoras’s theorem to practical use.
I’ve always known there was a plan for my life, a scheduled set of events to be followed to ensure the desired outcome, but ever since that plan came into action with Potential Number One, Connor, my life has started to unravel more than I could ever have feared or predicted. I feel as if everything I ever knew will never be the same again, or that everything I thought I knew I never did.
A large part of that stemmed from the death of Mother Nina, but recent events have forced things to spiral even further away from my past beliefs and ideals. I don’t feel like the girl I was the day I turned sixteen, or when I met Connor. I don’t even feel like the girl who helplessly watched her friend be murdered or who kissed her virtual lover.
I’m starting to discover who I really am or what I could be. I’ve always thought of myself becoming good enough to fulfill their version of who I should be, but now I don’t know if their opinions really matter.
In my empowered mental state, I sit thinking about many things. At some point I linger on the wonder of that kiss and how my first experience of a true connection was literally unplugged. It doesn’t surprise me that I have returned to thinking of Holly and how much I miss Bram. That relationship was one of many catalysts that have spurred my change in drive.
I wonder what he’s doing and if he’s thinking about me at all. My every fiber tells me he is. He must be. I can’t be imagining the spark between us. It’s beyond anything I could’ve fabricated.
I haven’t found myself thinking of food, not in the same way as I did before. I don’t think of the fruit salad I’d like to eat or the milkshake I’d like to slurp. Now I think of how my body feels, after almost two full foodless days. I’m getting used to the hollow sensation in my stomach. I’d even say I like it. It shows I’m taking control of my body and moving their claim to it from their grasp. That I can make myself so light-headed and weak shows I have power over it, and I like that feeling.
“I’m talking to you, Eve. Look at me.”
Her harsh voice snaps my focus back into the room. I’m not sure when she arrived to tower over me, but her presence has caused Mother Juliet to cower in the corner of the room and I-concur Holly to disappear. I do hope they let her leave through the door—otherwise they’re being really slack on this whole technology-versus-reality thing.
Slowly I trail my eyes up Vivian’s crease-free white blouse and force myself to look her square in the eye.
I’m not scared, my inner voice yells at her. I’m not scared of you.
Her eyes widen expectantly, as though she’s heard my head’s whisperings and is daring me to voice them, to cave from my chosen stance of deadly silence.
I squint at her in an uncharacteristically challenging manner, telling her I’m not going to budge, that I’m prepared to stay mute, despondent, and wither away. That their one chance of survival is on the verge of collapse.
“Are you done?” she asks in a belittling tone, the sort I’m used to hearing from her. “You’ve had your fun. Now it’s time to move on and stop sulking.”
My unblinking eyes just stay on her.
“What is it you want?”
A silence lingers. I know she’s asking me this question so that I show weakness—not just for her own pride but for the sake of everyone else. For them to turn me into a starved mute is one thing, but it says something quite different to anyone watching if I’m acting of my own accord. I imagine my reluctance to submit doesn’t send out the image of hope they need me for.
She needs me to talk. Two days ago I wanted to. I wanted to ask her about Bram and figure out a way we could go about making him my Potential, my one. But her actions have shown me the answer to that. They do not care about me or my happiness. Their only wish is for me to comply with their orders and beliefs.
“Do you really think we care if you don’t talk?” she asks, as though she’s reading my mind. “We don’t. But you must give your body what it needs. That is not optional.”
Suddenly I’m looking down on me, rather than being me. The sight of Vivian leaning over my frame in such a threatening manner causes a smile to bubble onto my face. The very fact she needs to use these intimidating tactics to suppress me shows I have more power than I thought. Her words, her physicality—they’re all empty threats. After all, what can she really do to me now?
I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Oh, really?” She laughs, her face tightening in surprise before her arms reach up and beckon toward the classroom door. “Mothers.”
Mothers Tabia, Kimberley, and Kadi walk in sheepishly, looking down at whatever is in their hands. None looks happy. They seem apprehensive and miserable.
“Either you eat or I’ll instruct the Mothers to place this tube down your throat and force-feed you, like a goose.”
“You wouldn’t,” I find myself saying, despite my desire to remain quiet. I can’t believe she’d be so barbaric.
My confidence dissipates as quickly as it formed.
“Wouldn’t I?” she asks, her face cold and stern. “Of course, I could just inject sufficient vitamins to keep you alive. I think you’ve forgotten how clever we are here,” she adds menacingly, not even flinching as Mother Kadi drops the tray and equipment on the floor with a bang and scrabbles on her knees to collect it.
“You don’t have to eat to stay alive, Eve,” Vivian snarls. “In reality you can keep starving yourself for as long as you like. But—and this is a firm but—it goes deeper than that. How many times are you going to defy me? How many times are you going to step out of line and cause a minor blip in our plans? Because that’s all they are. Minor blips.”
She pauses, giving me time to reply.
I don’t.
“If you will not cooperate, lessons will have to be taught,” she threatens.
“There has to be another way,” mutters Mother Tabia, who is clearly distressed.
“She means no harm,” Mother Kimberley pleads into her hands, unable to watch.
“She’s just young,” adds Mother Kadi, once she’s finally back on her feet.
“Silence,” Vivian barks, irritated that those beneath her are questioning her methods.
“We mean no disrespect, Miss Silva,” squeaks Mother Tabia. All three stand a little straighter and bow their heads to her.
Vivian looks at them, then back at me. “I will give you one last chance to eat,” she says coolly. “Or these ladies will force a banquet of nutrients into your gullet and do so repeatedly until you cooperate. Understand?”
I’m aware of a sob escaping one of the Mothers.
“And don’t think they won’t. If any of them refuses to follow my orders, I’ll be forced to evict her from the building
.” Her low, venomous tone leaves us in no doubt of her serious intent. It’s a warning to us all. “I’m not here to make friends, Eve. I’d be happy to have you tied to a bed and force-fed for the rest of time. At least then I wouldn’t have to put up with this rebellious, selfish nonsense.”
I lower my eyes to my lap and note how tightly my hands are clenching each other, helping me keep my nerve.
“Very soon we’ll be at the point of retraction, a step closer to achieving our race’s survival. Play your part, Eve. Do. Your. Duty.” Her voice is slow and punchy, but barely above a growl. It’s scarier than when she shouts at me. It’s more calculated and manipulative, more than empty threats.
My body curls and shrinks as her words keep coming.
“The public is on your side, but fail to deliver and that’ll quickly change. You gave them hope once, but they will act in the most vulgar and crude ways if what they live and fight for is taken away. I’d hate them to learn it was your selfish actions that caused humanity’s demise. They wouldn’t think so much of their precious Eve if they heard she was uncooperative and not looking after herself. And if you’re not doing as we ask, you’re of no use to us here. We’d continue looking at other alternatives and send you out there. Alone.” Something outside must catch her attention as she looks over her shoulder and listens before turning back to me and continuing. “But I’m sure it won’t come to that. I’ve raised you to have more sense.”
She inhales a lungful of air as though wanting to say more, but instead she walks out of the classroom door.
I breathe a sigh of relief and feel my head spin. The last thing I’m aware of is Mother Kimberley wailing before the world goes black and I fall onto the cold tiles of the floor beneath me.
32
BRAM
“He’s unavailable.” My father’s assistant, Woo, says while picking her pristine holographic teeth with her holographic thumbnail, barely looking at me from her perch behind the solid steel desk.
“Tell him it’s me and that it’s important,” I say, not in any mood to be messed with. I’ve never understood why my father programmed such a difficult assistant.
Woo looks at me through her small gray eyes with resentment, like I’m an ant at a picnic. Perhaps she’s just programmed to dislike me. “Look, Bram, he’s busy and said he doesn’t want to be disturbed. Okay?” she says, as if I’m still that ten-year-old kid wanting my father to fix my broken toy airplane. One of the downsides of growing up in the same place, surrounded by the same people, is that to some I’m still just the boss’s kid. Even to holograms, it seems.
“Now, I’ve got important work to be getting on with.” Her eyes return to whatever trash she’s programmed to simulate reading.
“Tell him I’ve been down with Mom,” I say, and instantly Woo’s face changes. She sighs. I knew that’d get her attention. Dad hates me visiting Mom. He knows it’s where I go when my mind is troubled, when I have questions. Funny how the dead sometimes have more answers than the living. Tonight, though, I’m hoping that’s not the case.
Woo stares at me with her not-impressed/could-really-do-without-this resting face.
I’ve had enough of waiting.
I walk toward the door to my father’s office. It’s not protected by the same technology as the rest of the building. He creates the most advanced technological systems, but he prefers to be surrounded with things that remind him of his past, of the world he came from. The steel desk is the last metallic surface I see as I head down the oak-clad corridor toward his office.
As I get closer I can see light through the frosted glass coming from inside and his silhouette waving his arms in the air.
“Bram!” Woo calls, her hologram glitching slightly as she tries to keep up with me. “Dr. Wells!”
I open the door without knocking.
My father whips around to face me from beside his leather-bound desk, but he can’t see me through the visor on his head. A pilot’s visor.
He rips it off and, for a brief moment, I catch a glimpse of the display inside. I recognize it instantly. The Dome.
“Bram? What are you doing here?” He’s obviously flustered.
“Sorry, Dad,” I say as Woo arrives at the doorway, appearing out of breath.
“Dr. Wells, he pushed past. I couldn’t—”
“It’s okay, Woo,” my father says, holding up his hands to calm her. “You can leave us.”
Woo shoots me the filthiest look, then disappears back down the hall.
“Come in and close the door,” my father tells me.
I do as he says, and while my back is turned, I hear the elastic snap of him removing his kinetic gloves. “I’ve been testing some software updates to the system. I think you’re going to like them,” he says, pointing to the visor lying on his desk.
“Sounds exciting,” I say, not sounding in the least bit excited as my mind races forward, assessing the best way to get the answers I need from him.
“That is, if you return from this suspension, of course. How are you coping? What’s it been—two days now?” he asks, packing the visor into a titanium case.
“Fine,” I lie, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
“Really?” The foam lining squeaks as he slides the visor snugly inside. The sound makes me shudder. “That’s disappointing. I was hoping it would be a lesson to you, son.”
Son. The way he emphasizes the word makes it seem forced. Like he’s so not used to saying it.
“A lesson?” I ask.
“Yes, a lesson in discipline. A lesson in restraint. For too long you’ve walked the line, and your name, my name, has kept you here when so many others would have lost a whole lot more than their jobs,” he spits, not making eye contact with me.
“That’s the only reason I’m here, is it? Because of your name? Not because I’m the best-performing pilot the EPO has ever employed, or the longest-serving, most dedicated member of the squad? The one Eve trusts more than anyone else?” I bite back, my heart beginning to race.
“Eve trusts you, that’s true, but you have abused that trust, like other foolish young men before you.” Carefully and precisely, he closes the lid of the visor case and locks it with his thumbprint.
“Well, I guess that’s something we all have in common in this place,” I snap. He doesn’t say anything, but his face dares me to continue the thought. “We’ve all abused her trust. Everyone in this place, from the guards at level zero through to Vivian in the penthouse. Eve lives up there in the ‘perfect’ world Vivian invented for her, a world that you helped create, completely oblivious to reality.”
“Guilty as charged,” he says, holding up his hands, mocking surrender. “But tell me, son”—he moves to the window and flicks his wrist—“would this inspire you to save humanity?”
The outside storm bursts to life on the screen. Rain pounds the side of the Tower as a bolt of lightning illuminates the pollution clouds, bathing the room in a deep, eerie purple.
“Would you want to save a race that has done everything but completely destroy the planet sustaining it?” he asks, and there’s fire in his eyes that I’ve not seen since we first came here. When Vivian plucked him from the gutter and gave him purpose, gave him power.
“If that would be her choice, then it’s one we surely deserve. What gave us the right to decide for her?” I ask slowly and calmly.
“My God, boy, you’re beginning to sound like one of them.” He seems truly disgusted by my question as he points to the faint silhouette of the city’s cloudscrapers in the distance.
There is silence. The atmosphere is thick. I can sense his frustration with me building, like the storm. The signals he’s projecting are hateful. My father can’t even look at me.
“How is she?” I ask.
“You’re not permitted to know that while you’re on suspension,”
he replies.
“Oh, come on, Dad. Is she okay?” I ask again.
He closes his eyes and sighs, letting his shoulders sink underneath his crisp, deep red shirt. “I think it’s time you returned to your dorm and studied,” he says bluntly.
“Sending me to my room? I’m not a kid anymore.”
He pauses. I sense his irritation at my persistence, but I hold my ground. I’m not going anywhere.
“What did you come here for?” he asks, obviously wanting to get rid of me.
“I need some answers.”
The room is quiet and my father is still. I see lightning striking the city, reflected in the lenses of my father’s glasses as he stares outside. Magnified and warped. That’s how he views the world.
“Answers?” he asks.
I nod.
“Answers require questions,” he says.
“Corinne Warren,” I say slowly. That name is never spoken here, not unless it’s whispered behind closed doors. It feels strange forming her name with my lips.
My father’s eyebrow twitches. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepen as he squints, obliterating the freckles and moles that surround them. “A name is not a question,” he says.
“No, but that name raises so many I’m not sure where to begin,” I reply. “I’ve heard so many stories about Eve’s mother, so many theories, and if any of them were true…”
“Yes?” My father fills my silence.
“Then surely you must know about it.”
I say it.
Just like that.
He moves nothing but his eyes. They lock with mine. He stares with an uncomfortable intensity that urges me to look away. I don’t.
“What stories are you referring to?” he asks.
“You know what I’m talking about. Don’t play ignorant with me, Dad.”
He studies me as he would a chessboard, carefully plotting three moves ahead and never giving away his plan.
I don’t break the silence: it’s his move.
“I’m assuming you’re referring to the rumors around Corinne’s death. Rumors concocted by a mentally ill, emotionally unstable man.” He sounds like he’s reading some sort of press release. He’s been media-trained to perfection.
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