by Kristen Pham
“They aren’t the ones who need to change. We are,” Harriet says.
Sun and I are quiet as we absorb the truth of her words. Now for the hard part—figuring out what we become.
Crew holds me back after class is dismissed. Harriet and Sun leave, still debating possible options to make the Throwback rebellion more effective.
Together, we walk back toward the hidden library.
“Crew, every day, I try to get into Jo’s tablet, but I haven’t found the right word yet.”
“I’ll help you with a list of potential passwords to try,” he offers.
I’m wary of accepting help, because in my experience, the only person you can fully trust to get something done right is yourself. But Jo’s code may be one that I can’t crack on my own.
We enter the library and find Nic putting liquid Amp into his eye with an eyedropper. I flash back to the first time I saw my dad doing the same thing. I was nine, and he told me that he was putting in eye drops, but even then, I knew what the gold sheen in his irises meant.
My reaction is automatic after years of dealing with my parents. I knock the bottle out of Nic’s hand and slap him as hard as I can. The impact makes tears rise to his eyes involuntarily, and I hit him again so that they fall, washing out most of the Amp.
“You bitch!” Nic says, and he lunges at me.
I’ve been hit by someone high on Amp before, so I’m prepared for his clumsy attempt to grab me. I shove him, and he stumbles to the floor. I’m tempted to follow up with a kick to his head to make sure he cries out the rest of the drug, but Crew puts a restraining hand on my shoulder.
“No bruises. You are both going to be on set at Strand next week,” Crew reminds me.
Nic stands, and every muscle in his body is tense. He keeps looking past me at the bookshelves, and I’d bet anything that his stash of Amp is hidden in there somewhere.
“You better get her out of here before I kill her,” Nic says to Crew.
Crew steps closer to Nic, towering over him. “Your problem has gone on long enough. A pair of contacts won’t fool anyone at Strand when you’re on set. The cameras will reveal the gold in your eyes that isn’t noticeable to the naked eye. There’s no way they’ll allow an addict in their promotional vid. Think of the scandal if that leaked.”
“I’m not an addict!” Nic shouts.
I deserve a medal for keeping my face blank at that comment.
“Prove it,” I say. “Walk away, right now.”
Nic smashes his fist into a wall and then leaves without another word. I hear him throwing things in the hallway as he makes his way outside.
“If he’s going to get clean, he’ll need a lot of help,” I tell Crew.
Crew releases a loud breath. “I’ve tried every means I can to help him, but that drug is very difficult to escape.”
“We won’t give him a choice then. Where’s his stash?” I ask, scanning the books on the shelf.
“I’ve thrown away his Amp before, but he gets more,” Crew says, but he walks over to a shelf and pulls off a book.
It’s The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli. Of course. The author of this tome is the source of Nic’s DNA. Machiavelli was a brilliant man who believed that the ends justify the means, even if the means include doing horrible things, like killing innocent people.
My eyes meet Crew’s, and he nods, confirming my suspicions.
“His origins are not a secret,” Crew says. “He would have told you that he shares Machiavelli’s DNA if you asked him.”
The book is hollow, like the book Nic pulled off the shelf to help me earlier today. Inside is the Amp, carefully stored in an airtight container.
“Instead of chucking it, we dilute it,” I explain as I break the seal. “He needs to think it’s the real stuff while we’re weaning him off.”
I use Nic’s eyedropper to carefully extract a few milliliters of Amp from the container. I put it in the trash, and then pull my water bottle from my backpack and extract some water with the eyedropper to replace the missing Amp. I hold it up to the light to check the color.
“Next time, I’ll bring water that has some dye in it so the color doesn’t get too washed out.”
Crew is examining me. “You’ve done this before.”
“Many times. It took a lot of tries to successfully trick my parents into getting clean. But trips to the ER were getting old, and every time, I was sure that that was the overdose that would kill one of them.”
Crew is silent after my admission.
Finally, he says, “Nic will be going through withdrawal during the first few weeks of rehearsals for Strand’s vid.”
“Can’t we sub in someone else? It’s not like he’s irreplaceable.”
“We must avoid attracting any attention. You’ll have to cover for him.”
I release a frustrated sigh outside of Crew’s library. I thought my days of babysitting idiots while they withdrew from Amp were over. But it’s the first mission that Crew has given me, and if I want him to trust me, I’ll have to do it.
On impulse, I go to the trapdoor on the stage of the Little Theater and exit into the Lab instead of walking back to my dorm. I’ve been haunting this place in hopes of bumping into Justus again, without any luck. Either he’s been very busy, or he’s avoiding me.
For the billionth time, I consider sending him a text to end the suspense, but I don’t. Better not let him know how much I care, in case I’m wrong about him and he uses it against me.
I haven’t gone far when a little shadow follows me down a dim tunnel.
“I spy with my little eye . . .” I say, and hear a giggle. “Someone who’s going to get tickled!”
I spin around and grab Maverick, tickling until he’s gasping for breath.
“Stop, stop!” he cries, and I release him.
“You’re lucky I’m feeling merciful today. How are you, buddy? Need some chocolate?”
Having become a sort of regular here, I’ve learned to always have extra food stashed in my backpack so I can give it to the kids I bump into in the Lab. Not to brag, but I’m pretty popular down here.
Mav happily chomps on the candy bar I give him, and we make our way through the maze of tunnels.
“I’m gonna help you,” Mav says, his mouth full of chocolate.
I struggle not to laugh at all of the sticky candy on his face. “You always do.”
“For something important, this time!” Mav says, his little face serious in spite of being messy.
I stop and kneel down so we’re eye to eye. I used to hate when adults would act like I was useless because I was a kid.
“Tell me how you can help,” I say, and am happy to see Mav’s eyes light up.
“I know you’re going to spy on the leaders at Strand. Once you figure out who they are, I know how to get their home addresses. The headmaster of Seattle Secondary has high-level access to location databases because of his job. I know his password, and I can get onto his tablet.”
“How?”
Mav pauses and swallows, his eyes flicking away from mine. “My dad cleans his office, and I used to go with him sometimes.”
“I’m not sure that’s a great idea, buddy. The headmaster . . . he’s a very scary guy.”
“I know,” he whispers, his eyes cast down. I wonder if he’s had his own run-in with the headmaster. “No one will ever know if I take those addresses. I promise.”
I’m burning with curiosity to know how much of my conversation with Nic and Crew he overheard.
“Mav, you have to tell me how you would get those addresses so I can be sure—” I try to persuade him, but he’s already running off down a tunnel that I’ve never explored.
“I’ll find you soon!” he shouts, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
Chapter 20
There’s only one more acting class with Crew before I report to Strand’s set for the first rehearsal. Crew surprises me by telling the class about where Nic and I are going, and the “in
tel” that we are supposed to gather.
“Now is the time to think strategically. What can Joan and Nic do to obtain names and locations of the corporate leadership at Strand, without casting suspicion on themselves?” Crew asks the room.
“It seems likely that it will be Joan who messes up. Let’s focus on training her on how to behave so that she doesn’t blow her cover,” Elizabeth says, her eyes skimming over me with open disdain.
“Aw, you’re jealous!” I reply, grinning as I think of how to get under her skin. “But some people are meant to make plans in the shadows, like you, and leave the real work to those capable of doing it, like me.”
“The headmaster is making an example of you, and you’re lucky to be in the right place at the right time,” Elizabeth shouts back.
It’s rewarding to watch the queen lose control. Crew bangs on the stage with his fist.
“Keep your teenage hormones in check,” he says, his voice low and angry. “You are here to serve the rebellion. I want your minds, not your tempers, at work now.”
“They could act like they’re trying to get long-term internships at Strand,” offers a girl with slightly frizzy brown hair and dark, serious eyes. I’m pretty sure her name is Marie, after the original of her clone type, Marie Curie.
“It’s unlikely they would take that bait,” Crew replies.
“They could kidnap one of the lower level employees at Strand who’s on set and torture him for the information,” Rob offers.
Everyone stares at him silently.
“It’s for the greater good,” Rob says, his tone defensive.
“If we let this person live, they’ll report Joan and Nic to Strand or the police,” Harriet jumps in. “And we’re not torturing anyone. That makes us worse than Strand.”
“It would make Strand take us seriously,” Sal says.
I examine Rob and Sal more closely than I ever have before. There’s a twisted logic in their reasoning, and it scares me to think that they might influence weak minds. Luckily, there are only strong minds in this room.
“There is a simpler, safer solution,” Sun says before I can pipe up. “On set, Joan and Nic will be inside Strand’s firewall. Their internal website will have the information we need, and it’s probably easy to find. All Strand employees sign confidentiality clauses to access the intraweb. It will be simple to navigate their system and find such basic information.”
“I vote for stealing a computer, not a person,” Sacagawea agrees.
“Once we have that information, we must strike fast and hard,” Sun continues. “We kidnap these executives and hold them hostage, releasing them in exchange for meeting specific demands.”
“That would definitely make them take us seriously,” I say carefully, trying to build some consensus. “Or, once we have their identities, we could spy on them and see what blackmail we could get.”
“If we get concrete proof of illegal behavior by the Strand executives, we could have them publicly tried for their crimes,” Harriet says, building on my idea and making it better.
“More publicity for us, and we’ll have public opinion on our side. That will be key for long-term change,” I add.
Everyone now turns to Crew, who flashes his toothy smile from the stage. “It encourages me that this class has so quickly arrived at the same conclusion that the rebel leadership, including myself, have come to. We must uncover the sins of the Strand executives before they can be punished for their crimes.”
Nic and I take a bus to Strand’s headquarters, which is in the most affluent part of Seattle. Nic is silent for the entire ride, his face pale and covered in a light sweat.
“What’s up with you?” I ask Nic, wondering what lie Crew spun to explain away his withdrawal symptoms.
“Bad reaction to the flu vaccine,” he mumbles.
I must have overestimated his intelligence if he’s actually buying that weak explanation.
“Try to do a better job hiding how sick you are,” I say, with no sympathy in my voice. He brought this on himself. “We’ll get nowhere if they think we’re weak.”
“Shut up, Joan,” Nic groans, and he spends the rest of the ride with his head pressed against the window of the bus.
The Strand corporate campus is an impressive feat of architecture. Two giant glass domes that have become a symbol for the company loom at our bus stop. I shake Nic awake, and we get off the bus.
The instructions Lexi sent us on our tablets say to take a back entrance to Strand, in a lot behind the main buildings. I naturally stride toward the wide arches that lead into the studio, when Nic yanks my hand.
“Wrong entrance. That’s for the Evolved actors and visitors.”
“What the hell?”
He pulls me toward a small, dingy door several yards away.
“For the Throwback help,” Nic says as he opens the door for me with exaggerated gallantry.
For how much I know he’s suffering, I’m a little impressed that he has the energy to tease me.
Inside the studio, common clone types hurry around, prepping lighting, fixing technical details on the holographic sets, and applying state-of-the-art makeup techniques on actors I assume are Evolved, since I don’t immediately recognize them.
A Sofia, a clone type commonly found in office settings acting as an admin or office manager, approaches us with a tablet in hand.
“You’re the Joan and Niccolò here for the promo shoot, correct?” she asks, looking at 3-D pictures of us in her holographic tablet.
“Reporting for duty,” I chirp, and the Sofia’s eyes snap to mine.
“Leave the attitude outside. You’re easily replaceable.”
This is one Throwback who has completely bought into the role the Evolved have set for her. I make a mental note to dial my sarcasm down around her so I don’t jeopardize the mission.
She leads us through the enormous Strand Studios lot. I’m surprised that they have the infrastructure to make so many big-budget vids, since that’s not something they brag about. I recognize a couple of popular Evolved actors and consider sneaking some pictures of them for Sparkle. But I doubt Crew would approve, and I’m determined not to give Nic any ammunition to use against me.
“Did you know Strand is in the vid business?” I ask Nic.
“You’re such a moron,” he groans. “Now shut up before you’re overheard.”
Ah, the irritable phase of withdrawal. My favorite. But for once, I bite my tongue instead of snapping back because Nic looks like he’s barely holding it together as it is.
The Sofia guides us into an enormous building. Inside are a dozen different sets, ranging from an office environment to a living room to a fancy restaurant.
There’s a long table in the middle of the room where about ten people are seated. The Sofia leads us to the table, and Nic and I sit down in the two remaining empty chairs. There are tablets waiting for us, preloaded with the scripts for the promo vid.
The syrupy dialogue makes me want to gag, but I keep a neutral expression on my face.
A tall man with silver hair raps a stick on the table like he’s an old-fashioned judge wielding a gavel. He doesn’t have a lavaliere, unlike everyone else seated around the table.
“I’m the director of this project, Blake Greene. We will start today with a read-through, to see if any of you need to be replaced. Once we’ve finalized the Throwback cast, you’ll have the privilege of being introduced to the Evolved actors you’ll be working with.”
I turn my snort of laughter into a cough.
Blake immediately launches into the script, which is titled To Each, His Place. All the roles are identified by clone type, rather than character names. Nic and I don’t appear until over halfway through the vid, as grateful hosts at a prominent New York City restaurant, dazzling patrons with our impressions of the original Niccolò Machiavelli and Joan of Arc.
Every scene is scripted to sound like candid interviews with Throwbacks who love their jobs. It makes me sick
to see how the rest of the Throwbacks around the table throw themselves into their performances. They are thrilled to be here.
Next to me, Nic twitches in his seat. He’s sweatier than ever and turning green. I know that walking away from the first read-through of the script won’t look good, but it won’t be as bad as Nic barfing all over the table.
I grab his hand and yank him away as quietly as possible, searching for a bathroom. Thankfully, tucked behind the living room set is a small room with a sink and a toilet.
Nic makes it to the toilet in time to empty the contents of his stomach into it. I hold back the hair from his forehead so nothing will get on it, and my heart hurts a little when he retches. He may be an overbearing prick, but no one should have to suffer like this. At least my parents were adults when they started using. How old was Nic when he was introduced to Amp?
Finally, he collapses backward onto the cool tile floor. I wet a paper towel and clean his face. Then I help him stand so that he can make his way to the sink to wash out his mouth.
“Somehow, I know this forced detox is your fault,” Nic croaks.
“I thought you said it was a flu shot.”
“Bullshit,” he says. “But I know what I have to do if I’m going to help the rebellion, so I’ll allow it, for now.”
My earlier pity vanishes. “Thank you so much! I’m so grateful that you’ll allow me to hold your head while you puke. It’s been over two years since I’ve had to help someone detox, and I miss the tangy smell of bile.”
Nic must be too sick for a snappy comeback because he lets it go. I toss the messy paper towel in the garbage and leave the bathroom.
I return to the table in time to read my lines. Blake nods in approval at my performance. Nic makes it back, too, and even I can tell that he’s a better actor than anyone else at the table, as he practically convinces me how thrilled he is to achieve his dream of working in a fancy restaurant.
Damn it. I’ll have to work with this asshole, whether I like it or not. I hope he doesn’t screw it all up.