Michael shared my pain, but I’d never known it—the pain of being separated from one’s child—but his pain went deeper than mine. With his pain came the regret of knowingly signing away his rights as a parent.
Could I continue to blame him for not telling me the truth about my stasis, the other participants in the program, and holding his tongue about our daughters until now?
Telling me about the twins beforehand might have resulted in an act of desperation, like me holding a steak knife against Dr. Little’s throat.
Michael did what he thought was best, a product of his upbringing and the society that raised him. I believed him, and now, as I looked into his eyes, apologetic eyes full of sorrow, I forgave him. He was the father of two of my children, after all.
“Are you mad at me for not telling you sooner?” he asked anxiously.
“I’m mad, but I forgive you,” I said.
Four uniformed men were waiting at the hoverbus depot to escort us to the capitol of the region. The clouds shifted above, blocking the sun, casting gray shadows across their grim faces. The four men did not converse other than commanding us to enter a private mover and then exit when the vehicle settled to the ground.
Michael and I didn’t speak, but like me, I could tell he was full of anxiety and disappointment. Our original plans were ruined, but maybe we could still salvage some of our freedom with the information contained in the pin. If anything, I could make a case for Gifford’s impeachment.
We weren’t immediately rebanded as Michael expected, but the faces of the four men were stern, fixed without smiles, warning us that we shouldn’t try to run away.
Shen-Lung’s presidential building was impressive. A multi-inclined roof with sweeping curves made it ancient and historical, a piece of art. The corridor we entered matched the building’s exterior with its high beams and load-bearing columns.
A relief of mythical dragons decorated the door at the end of a long hall. In its center, encircled by a hoard of serpents, was a carving of the benevolent dragon, Shen-Lung, blowing a billow of clouds above its great head, and for a moment I imagined fire escaping its gaping mouth of fangs and pointed teeth.
Attached to its doorframe by wrought iron hinges, the majestic door swung open as we approached it, reminding me of the entrance to my beloved botanical garden, making me smile at the pleasant memory.
In the middle of a fiery red rug stood a man, large of waist, but not height, with his arms spread in a welcoming manner. “I am Shen-Lung.” Shen-Lung’s features were distinctly Chinese, and surprisingly, I wasn’t as intimidated by him as I expected.
“President Shen-Lung,” I said, stepping forward before he could say more. “Before you decide our fate, there’s something we need to share with you.” I held out the memory pin, my hand shaking, as Michael drew me close to his side. “It’s-it’s the Van Winkles files. Unedited.”
The president’s eyebrows came together, and he cocked his head to one side, taking the pin from my hand.
“President Gifford wasn’t planning to share any of my babies with your region or President Tupolev’s. The proof is in the pin,” I continued.
“Then my suspicions were correct.” Shen-Lung lifted his chin and released an audible breath through his nose.
“And there is something else,” I said, taking another step forward.
“Michael and I don’t want this world to end at the grip of a population shortage. The Van Winkle Project can continue, but it needs to do so on my terms in Tasma.” The less government control, the better. In Tasma, Michael and I would serve a greater purpose than we would here, and my children, our children, would grow up in a world more reminiscent of the one I held dear. Michael gave my hand a warning squeeze like he thought I should have kept my mouth shut and waited to hear Shen-Lung’s plans for us first.
But as much as I despised William Gifford, Dr. Little, and Dr. Pickford, I respected the innocent clones who held the “life is precious” motto blindly in their hearts.
“That is very noble of you, Miss Dannacher.” He made a second bow. “But before we can think of the future, on behalf of President Tupolev and myself, I must first apologize to both you and Victoria.” He shook his head. “President Gifford is an evil man, consumed by power and greed, but I am a man full of hope and generosity. It is an honor and a pleasure to welcome you to my home. I will do everything to make things the way they should have been from the beginning.”
“Thank you,” was all I could say, as my heart continued to rap noticeably in my chest.
Shen-Lung whispered into his L-Band and within seconds two women entered. “You both must be tired and hungry. Li Na and Zhang Min will take you to your quarters while important decisions are being made.” He bowed a third time before he left the room, and from the corner of my eye, I saw him hold up the memory pin and smile.
We padded down the paper-walled halls, following the women whose light steps were inhibited by the tightness of their uniforms: full-length dresses patterned with cherry blossoms. Michael was escorted to the room next to mine, but the minute after the women left, he joined me in my room, and the two of us, with Victoria nestled in between, lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Michael rolled onto his side. “The files might not make any difference. For all we know, Shen-Lung is as power hungry as Gifford, and now that Shen-Lung has you and Victoria—”
“Don’t even say that. I don’t even want to think about that right now.” My muscles were tight, on edge, but my mind was as mushy as a sponge. “But I do know this—I want out of the regions, and I want this thing off my wrist,” I said, making a face at my L-Band.
I couldn’t take any bad news or bad thoughts, so Michael and I lay in silence, his hand in mine as Victoria sucked from another one of the bottles Magnum’s mother packed, and I imagined two little girls holding hands, identical to one another like clones.
After a ding, Li Na entered with a hovercart. She set a ceramic teapot, two matching cups, and a plate of hors d’oeuvres on the table and left, giving a bow, but the savory odors coming from the Chinese dumplings and spring rolls did little to give Michael and me an appetite.
Fifteen minutes later, Li Na returned to escort us back to Shen-Lung’s office. While we walked back through the halls, my body shook with the thought of Victoria being taken away again, but at the same time, a bit of hope lingered in my soul, a knot of faith in man.
“Much has changed in the last two hours,” said the president when we approached the fiery red rug. He clasped his hands behind his back. “For one, William Gifford is no longer the president of Region One. He was asked to step down shortly after I finished reading the files and shared them with President Tupolev.”
Yes! My whole body tingled, and when my trembling hand met Michael’s, I could feel him shaking, too.
“You were right about Gifford. He wanted complete control over the repopulation process. He planned to rebuild his region first while letting the populations of Regions Two and Three grow at one-third the rate. He disregarded one of our basic beliefs. ‘Life is precious,’” he said with conviction before leaning over to peer at Victoria, who was cradled in my arms. “You are both free, free to fulfill the destiny, the destiny that you desire.”
Could this be possible? Were we dreaming? “Thank you. Thank you so much, President Shen-Lung.” Michael’s grip tightened as he repeated my thanks.
But can we trust him? I wanted to whisper to Michael even though his misty eyes and soft smile told me he thought we could. This seemed way too easy.
“Yes, I know my new destiny,” I said, releasing Michael’s hand and stepping forward. “And I can fulfill it with Michael’s help.”
The president bowed, his eyes laced with tears, his smile earnest and genuine.
On our terms, the Van Winkle Project would continue in Tasma, and in the process, we would find our daughters, VW-2 and VW-3, and develop an organ-cloning program.
This time we held the cards in ou
r hands, and together with hope and faith, Michael and I knew how to play them.
…
“I love you, Cassie,” whispered Michael as the Tasmanian horizon came into view, the hum of the flyer vibrated through my soul, and Victoria happily drank from a bottle.
“I…” My lips parted, but the words he wanted to hear didn’t come. Did I love him? I wasn’t sure, but I did know one thing—at that moment, I was truly happy for the first time since my awakening. The flyer lowered, bobbing a few feet from the ground. Michael placed his warm hand on my cheek and said, “Welcome home, Cassie.”
Acknowledgments
Thank you to all of my readers for your enthusiasm, dedication, and support. My hope is to write entertaining and captivating novels that all of you will love as much as I do.
My amazing critique partners, Jennifer Anne Davis and Tania Hutley. Your feedback is invaluable. I’m a better writer because of you two!
To my extended family and in-laws for your continued support and inspiration. I love you all.
To the staff and students of Santana High School, especially my work family—the English Department—Andrea, Angela, Barbara, Carolyn, Eileen, Emily, Jamea, Janelle, Marla, Marty, and Sophia. Thank you for seeing me through this amazing journey.
To my street team, The Street Angels, for helping me spread the word about my books. I appreciate and value your special commitment to the team.
To my sister and beta reader, Korina Kramer, for your encouragement and constructive criticism.
And finally, to Entangled Publishing. It is an honor and a privilege to be a part of this incredible team. Robin, Kerri-Leigh, and Liz—you are editing geniuses.
About the Author
Growing up in San Diego, California, Karri Thompson spent much of her years at the beach, reading novels, tanning, and listening to music. At SDSU, she earned a BA in English, MA in education, and her teaching credential. As a wife, mother, and high-school English teacher, she began writing novels, giving all of the compelling plots and unique characters in her head a home. Victorian literature rocks her socks, and when she’s not writing, jogging, going to concerts, or watching her son play football, she’s reading Dickens.
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