Catalyst

by Lydia Kang

  “Ready, everyone?” Marka asks. “Okay. Let’s go. Two by two, and head directly for the podium. Fan yourselves around it. Look serious but, uh, innocent.” As I brush by, she shakes her head. “I’m not good at acting.”

  “We’re not acting, Marka. We are innocent,” I remind her. She nods and follows me out. Kria squeezes my shoulder.

  It’s a cloudy day, but a thin line of sunshine appears at the edge of the sky. The police immediately surround us and escort us forward. I try to look alert, but not too spooked as I head to the sea of press ahead of us. The holocameras are everywhere, and there are loud murmurs over seeing Hex with his four arms cradling a young girl, and Vera’s skin. More gasps erupt over seeing Wilbert’s two heads, but Caliga holds his hand firmly, and even I have to admit that his blush is endearing.

  Kria gives me an encouraging smile and I climb the podium. I clear my throat, and wait. Several police officers come forward. Kria told us to expect this.

  “You are all in violation of HGM 2098, as well as infiltrating the following States under illegal measures: Neia, Okks, Minwi, Inky . . .” He reads every single State and includes the attacks in Minwi and Neia. I keep my expression neutral, though I’m so annoyed that they’re blaming us for what happened in Carus. “Following your statement, you will be escorted to the nearest police station for processing according to California State and Federal laws.” He then reads us the long list of adapted Miranda rights, before pausing. I look to Marka, and she nods for me to go ahead.

  “We’re ready to make a statement,” I tell the officer.

  He nods and I walk up to the audio buds on the podium that resemble a cluster of clear fish eggs. I clear my throat.

  “We would like to address the accusations made against us. Until now, our voices have been silent, not because we chose to be quiet, but because we have been relentlessly and cruelly blamed for that which we have no control over.

  “HGM 2098 states that it is illegal to manipulate human DNA to heritable mutations that could affect the larger population’s gene pools. It’s true that each of us carries a mutation. However, this law is not in effect here. The law cites an action—the creation of a mutation. The person solely responsible for our creation, Thomas Lanier Benten, my father, is now deceased. We, as a group, are incapable of breeding naturally with humans with normal DNA. According to Ernst Mayr’s Biological Species Concept, which is still the standard of speciation nomenclature . . .” I clear my dry throat, trying not to swallow my words. “. . . my family meets criteria as a distinct species.”

  I straighten my back and raise my voice. “On behalf of my family”—here, I turn to gesture to everyone behind me. Marka holds hands with Ana; Kria cradles a weak-looking Jess. Everyone has their innocent doe-eyes on full display—“we are seeking protection in the State of California under the 1973 Endangered Species Act, or ESA, that was amended to a Federal States law in 2077.”

  A huge gasp of surprise erupts from the police and press. Several of them begin to bark out questions, and I hold up a hand.

  “According to the ESA, we are considered endangered. The ESA does not exclude hominid species from its laws. Which means that right now, any action that prohibits our free and natural existence is a felony.”

  The police are now huddling, wondering what to do as the slow roar of questions hit me left and right. But I’m not done.

  “My name is Zelia Shirley Benten. I am eighteen years old. I’m terrified that . . .” Here, my voice quavers, and it’s not an act. “. . . that I won’t make it to nineteen. I love poetry, and my mother and Marie Curie are my biggest heroes.” I turn and smile at Marka and Kria, and they both have tears in their eyes, dabbing them with their fingertips. “Also, I hate peanuts and I love chocolate. I think high heels are torture and I’m sure I’m really bad at public speaking.” Here, a few of the press snicker with amusement. I smile back. “My family and I are different, but we’re also the same. We have sisters, and brothers. Our hearts can shatter when we lose the people we love. We bleed; we feel pain; we laugh and we cry.” I take a huge breath and stare straight into the holocameras. “And right now, all we want to do is live. Freely. Just like all of you.”

  I exhale loudly and close my eyes. There’s no applause. Cy comes forward and holds my hands. I’m aware that the entire press corps and cameras are watching us as I look into his steady eyes.

  You were great. I think you scared the skin off the police.

  “They’re still going to arrest us,” I say.

  I know. You’re going to look adorable in stripes.

  He leans forward and kisses me tenderly on the cheek and a million holocameras catch it for the evening news. The police come closer to arrest us, and we all hug each other quickly. Marka whispers in my ear.

  “This phase of the fight is going to go on for a long, long time. Are you ready?”

  I squeeze her back. “I’ve got my whole long life to fight, Marka. I’m more than ready.”

  EPILOGUE

  TWO MONTHS AGO, IF YOU TOLD ME I’d be best friends with Caliga and chatting daily with my birth mother, I’d assume you were crazy. If you said that I’d be doing press conferences every week inside prison walls, I’d assume you were beyond delusional.

  Then again, my assumptions are often a hundred percent crap.

  I am relearning everything I know about everyone. Kria makes time to spend with me and Dyl. Though it’s awkward, it’s getting better. Dyl says sometimes it’s like living backward in time. We’re rehashing our lives in reverse, so we can move forward. Meanwhile, Marka’s also been schooling me on my scent trait. I have so much to learn, but thankfully, she’s endlessly patient. I love that we have this to share together. It’s icing on a gigantic, sweet confection that’s already more than I could have wished for.

  Dyl doesn’t speak of Micah for a long time. Six weeks after we arrived in Sacramento, the States were ordered to gather evidence for the ongoing legal battle. Which meant that after everything was catalogued and scanned, our abandoned belongings from Wingfield’s waterlogged spirals were delivered to us.

  Among them were Micah’s things, including a book of poetry from various poets in the twentieth century. He’d written Dyl’s name inside, probably planning on giving it to her. The pages are so warped, the book won’t shut. Dyl holds it for a long, long time.

  “I might have forgiven him. I should have.” Her shoulders start to shake with a sob.

  “I don’t think Micah could have forgiven himself,” I tell her, and we sit there in silence, trying to figure out how a life could have become so broken, so quickly. Micah’s loneliness and guilt still feel huge and real, though he’s gone. Maybe somehow, somewhere, he knows that the slate is clean between us and he can be at peace.

  Every night, I take out Ana’s unicorn and polish its irregular and beautiful body, placing it back on the shelf in my dorm room inside the State of California’s correctional facility. This place is super-low-security, more to keep people out than us inside. We’re gaining tons of supporters in-State and from other countries, who offer safety and citizenship elsewhere. But we want to keep the fight here, where our home is.

  The unicorn has become a mascot for our cause. It’s on billboards and our holo site. Our lawyers tell us it’s only a matter of time before we get our way. They’ve already planned to move us to a high-security residence next month that isn’t technically jail. It can’t come a day too soon.

  It took a week for us to get our awful Inky bracelets safely removed. It took two months before Inky released Renata and the kids from Avida to California. Unfortunately, Bianca and Andy didn’t survive long enough to make it. But we’ve no fear that any of them will suffer like that again. Renata is a different creature now. She has a sturdy, tough core that refuses to break. We’ve also since heard from Tennie, Tabitha, and the others. They’re safe and healthy in Canada. As soon as it’s legal,
there’s going to be a reunion.

  In the meantime, we have epic sleepovers every weekend in the cafeteria. Even the correctional officers say we’re the most charming convicts they’ve ever watched over. Once again, we always squash Marka in the middle of the Carus area. Only now, I never wake up in the middle of the night, worrying half the hours away. I sleep like a rock, tucked into Cy’s arms and breathing in his woodsy scent, with my toes touching Marka’s ankles.

  Dyl and Kria work with federal molecular biologists on analyzing the genetic codes in Dad’s list data. There’s active talk of HGM 2098 being dismantled and dealt with on a State-by-State basis. Inky is pushing hard to make it happen, since it claims to own patents on all its Avida products.

  Which means, in California, we may be free soon. Not free as an endangered freak species, but as people. Like everyone else.

  There’s hope that we’ll be able to manufacture the medications to allow anyone with Benten Mutations to conceive children without Kria or Dyl being the surrogates. It’s not easy, though. Dyl’s passionate about keeping herself from being a trait breeder, the way Dad had designed her, but so far, her work hasn’t turned up a good way to bottle her “key.” But she’s relentless, and I know eventually she’ll find it. Every spare moment I have, I help too. It’s nice to get my hands dirty in the lab world again.

  Hex and Vera have been hinting that they want to be the first to try, in a few years. Hex wants to name their first baby girl “Katydid.” It’s too easy to imagine an adorable, wriggly, green infant with six limbs. Vera’s already chosen their first baby boy name: “Hopper.” Everyone approves.

  Cy’s started taking bona fide medical school courses on holo while I’ve been honing my PR skills. He’s figured out that he has the ability to dilate and constrict even minute blood vessels with his thoughts. A career in neurosurgery is on his agenda now. He had worked up the courage to ask Ana if he could solicit real neurologists to help him work on a treatment to reverse the damage she sustained years ago, when Ana looked at him blankly.

  “What makes you think I need fixing? I’m perfect.”

  And that was the end of that.

  The whispers in my head continue, and the ghostly kisses, but he no longer recites the Luna poem, and I don’t ask for it. He knows now that I’m not some celestial object that cannot be captured, that must be worshipped from afar. I’m just me, my faults, and I. And he is beyond content with that, as I am content with him.

  I still read Dad’s poetry book. I’m not haunted by him, nor do I want to shut the book on my life with him. He was, and is a part of me. I’ll never have the answers to why almost a hundred and fifty years ago, he decided to create more people with traits like himself. Was it to make a family he longed for? To feel like God? Was he afraid of being alone? Did he feel his control slipping away when he couldn’t bypass the laws, when Aureus felt that money was more important than keeping us safe and sound? There are so many questions without answers.

  One thing is for sure: I’m content not knowing it all, which is more than I can say for my father. He likely lived unnatural decades full of discontent, trying to create a happiness that can’t be manufactured in a test tube. That ring was never a marriage to a person. It was an idea, an obsession that outweighed everything that was truly important. I pity him, and the sentiment assuages my anger. Even for a life as long as mine might be, I don’t want to waste time on hate anymore.

  Yesterday, I was reading “Prayer for My Child” when I got a paper cut. I marveled at the little blob of red on my finger. I think of the DNA story hidden there, and the stories that aren’t dictated by our genetics.

  We are not simply a sum of our genes. We are not defined by the code within them. When Endall walked away from his watch, he showed me that I have the power to turn forever into yesterday.

  Maybe we are destined to be extinct, before our generation has had a full chance to breathe.

  But not yet.

  Not yet.

  APPENDIX

  LUNA

  ANONYMOUS

  TWENTIETH-CENTURY POETRY

  I cannot feel your light on my skin.

  This place swells with absences

  As you seep forward

  And I remain, fixed in memory.

  Tonight, silver will dilate on a bed of black

  Leaving me askew, amid curves of water and atmosphere.

  Dead on a living sphere, I wait,

  Too weak to rise and you, too strong to fall.

  The sun will warm your skin

  Touching your sickle waist

  As I watch, jealous from afar,

  Unable to offer one gifted breath.

  Do you remember me?

  I am here, in the same sky.

  I will wait for you, ready to catch

  The quarters and halves and broken hearts.

  After a thoughtless twist, you will return.

  Keep your tides surging with their cold embrace

  And I will rise to meet them,

  Drowning in our histories to come.

  Acknowledgments

  THESE BOOKS COULD NOT HAVE BREATHED and existed without the people who buoyed me up since birth. My sincere thanks to . . .

  Bernie, my husband and best friend. You have always been my number one fan and always see the best in me, even when I have spinach in my teeth. I love you, dear.

  My children, Ben, Maia, and Phoebe. You are the reasons why I smile so much. I am a proud mama. I adore you all.

  Alice. I’m such a fan. You make everything beautiful. And to the Kwon boys: Eemo loves ya.

  Richard, who invented fierce loyalty. I am so glad you’ll be on my side when the apocalypse comes. And to the Kang family—buckets of love from Aunt Lydia!

  To the wonderful Saak family—I love you all so very much! Your support has been priceless.

  Mom, Dad, A-Ma, and Ah-Gong, who teach me about kindness, generosity, and how to stretch your soul to love what matters the most.

  Jenny and Aaron and the Saak girls, whom I love so dearly.

  Dushana Yoganathan-Triola, who gets my frantic daily emails about subjects no other human needs to know about. I’m emailing you right now.

  Gale Etherton, Julie Fedderson, Phyllis Nsiah-Kumi, Jennifer Hickman, Jean Thierfelder, and my other work colleagues who’ve become more than work colleagues. You’re beautiful people and I bask in your radiance.

  Sarah Fine, whose utter brilliance hurts my eyes. Thank you for being you, and being there for me.

  My many author friends, a.k.a. the best career perks EVER—Carol Riggs, Paula Stokes, April Tucholke, Lenore Appelhans, Lynette Moey, and so many others!

  Ellen Scott and the Bookworm Omaha for being so supportive of a local author, and being awesome in general.

  Shelley and Zoe Colquitt, and the CCHS community. You guys are my idols. Thank you for being the real heroes.

  My team at Penguin and Kathy Dawson Books! Endless thanks to Kathy Dawson (Editor Extraordinaire), Claire Evans, Jessica Schoffel, Regina Castillo, Danielle Calotta, Jenny Kelly, Mia Garcia, and Colleen Lindsay. Also, thanks to Alex Genis for spreading the word!

  Dana Kaye and Anne Whealdon of Kaye Publicity. You guys rock. Thanks for getting me out of my hovel and into the presence of flesh-and-blood readers!

  Eric Myers, my agent, who never runs short of excellent advice and thankfully believes that my nutty ideas are great.

  Readers, bloggers, booksellers, librarians, and teachers I’ve met this last year—I would kiss you all, but I’m sure that would freak you out.

  Steven Langan, for being perpetually supportive and shepherding new poets and authors into the world.

  Amber at Me, MyShelf, and I, for the gorgeous swag designing!

  My friends, both Omahaan and far away. There are too many to thank. I am always grateful for the em
ails, the hugs, and messages of support, and the book buying!

  Anna, Leo, and PJ Monardo. Whether you like it or not, you’re family. Let’s make spaghetti soon.

  Drs. Dan Lydiatt and Ali Mirmiran, who gave me advice on Latin and radioactive poisons. Thank you for letting me borrow your genius.

  My brothers and sisters in the Lucky 13s. I need you guys like I need caffeine.

  And finally, to my patients and their families, who show me every day what it means to live, love, and be brave; and to the staff and colleagues who care for them. You bring out the best in me.

  About the Author

  LYDIA KANG is a doctor who decided writing was maybe just as much fun as medicine, so now she does both. Lydia’s highly praised debut novel, Control, was nominated for the YALSA Quick Pick list. She lives with her husband and three children in Omaha, Nebraska. Learn more at WWW.LYDIAYKANG.COM.

  @LYDIAYKANG

  AUTHOR-LYDIA-KANG

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