by Rachel Cohn
The boys come in search of the girls once their FantaSphere game is finished. Farzad looks at me. “Hey, Beta. We need you to make the run.”
“The run” is what I do when Ivan, Farzad, or Dementia send me to find a designated messenger—sometimes a bamboo-vined construction worker, sometimes a human who has gained temporary visitation to Haven—from whom I take delivery of ’raxia pills for the group’s later consumption.
“What run?” asks Tahir. The gang all look at him, confused by Tahir’s confusion.
“The run,” says Farzad. “For the ’raxia hookup. If something went wrong, better the Beta should get caught than us.”
“Yeah.” Tahir shrugs as if he knew that already. “I get forgetful now.”
They all nod, but Farzad’s face displays concern—how could Tahir forget something so important?
Dementia grabs Tahir into a hug, resting her head on his chest. “It’s okay, Tahir. We’re so glad you’re better.”
He kisses the top of her head. “Thanks, beautiful,” he says. But his eyes are directed at me when he says it. I wonder what his look to me is meant to express—the affection and sweetness revealed in the way he looked at Astrid, or the desire for an artificial toy the Governor shows in the way he looks at his luxisstant, Tawny?
“You’re home now,” says Ivan to Tahir. “And we’re gonna take care of you properly this afternoon. This ’raxia we ordered in just for you is supposedly primo grade.”
Tahir says, “I can’t do that anymore, either. It might interact badly with all the medication I’m on.”
“Whoa,” Farzad and Ivan say at the same time.
Ivan says, “You used to be like, King of Ataraxia.”
Farzad allows, “Disappointing, I guess. But I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before you’re good to go again. The Beta can do the run, but we’ll indulge on our own later, when you don’t have to see it and miss it.”
“Don’t not have your fun on account of me,” says Tahir. “Do it this afternoon. I’ll go with the Beta to make the run.”
“You don’t make the run,” Farzad proclaims.
“Especially not you,” says Dementia.
“Maybe the old Tahir wouldn’t,” Tahir says. “The new Tahir will.”
“I just needed a break from them,” Tahir explains as we walk toward the central plaza in the Fortesquieu compound. I wonder—or perhaps wish—Because you wanted to be alone with me, as I wanted to be alone with you? The plaza is located at the top of the dwelling, where the front entryway of the complex leads to acres of landscaped grounds with sculpted trees and flower beds. We reach an elaborate fountain whose centerpiece is a carved jade dolphin with a mouth spraying pale-pink crystalline water. Says Tahir, “I didn’t want to be rude and ask everyone to leave. But they were tiring me out.”
Oh, I see. He’d rather hang out with a soulless nonentity right now because that’s easier. Suddenly, so much about the humans’ affection for Demesne and its clones makes sense. Talking to soulless creatures is less exhausting than interacting with their own kind.
We sit down on the fountain’s ledge. A bamboo-vined worker wearing a gardener’s uniform nears us, but then notices Tahir and continues to walk, as if the gardener never meant to approach us at all.
“Hey,” Tahir calls to him. “It’s okay.”
The gardener backs up to us, looking over his shoulders to see if anyone is watching. “I don’t know,” the gardener says. “I shouldn’t even be seen talking to you.”
Tahir says, “Just hand it over.”
The gardener takes a clear bag containing some pills from his pocket and hands the bag to me. “This never happened,” he whispers, then runs away.
As I’ve been instructed, I place the bag in my pocket as if I’ve never received it and set my face to innocent.
Tahir says, “It’s so unnecessary for the staff to treat me like I’m so sacrosanct. The whole reason my parents like to come here is it’s the one safe place where we can act normal. We can leave the bodyguards to their quarters and just be us. You know?”
I don’t know, but I nod knowingly the way Greer does. “For sure,” I say.
I stare at his full lips. They are so luscious, so close. I could touch them, if I dared. This beautiful male teen is so much better than the underwater manly apparition with a perfectly toned torso. Tahir is real.
You know you own me, Z. For my First and her water god, owning meant something more than what I know it to mean on Demesne—owning a clone worker. I am curious to experience their kind of passion for myself, not just as a flashback vision belonging to her, to Z.
I should resist, but I can’t. “Did you and Astrid experiment with the mighty mighty?” I ask Tahir. Because I am Astrid’s replacement, I think. And I am…inquisitive.
“I don’t even know what ‘mighty mighty’ is. And who’s Astrid?” Tahir’s hazel eyes sear into mine and it’s as if my soulless eyes feel the sizzle.
“The Bratton’s daughter whom I’m replacing,” I say, my tone experimentally set to flirtatious.
He winks at me. “I knew that, beautiful,” he says, pointedly looking deep into my eyes again, so deep I feel I could melt from the heat of his stare. “But it’s Elysia who’s here now.”
“I am a clone,” I remind him. “I am not quite as real as Astrid.” It’s a good thing I am a clone, I think, because clearly my flirting abilities are nil. I have just announced my own undesirability to him.
“’Course you’re real,” he says. His fingers press into my wrist. “You’ve got a pulse.” His index finger gently presses into the left corner of my chest. “You’ve got a heart. Right?”
“Right,” I say, my heart pounding so hard I can’t believe he hasn’t removed his finger from the thunderous beat of it.
But his fixation on my face abruptly ends, and his eyes move to stare into the fountain. He takes his index finger from my chest and places it into the water, trailing his finger in circles through the water. I so want that finger touching me again.
He seems not to have more to say to me, so I must engage in that human pastime called “small talk.” I say, “You must feel so much more relaxed here on Demesne.”
He doesn’t respond. As if he didn’t hear me. As if he’s so mesmerized by his finger’s water swirls that he’s forgotten that this girl clone, the presence of whose pulse and heart he personally verified seconds ago, is sitting right here, eager for more conversation with him. It’s hard to see why Dementia and Greer find Tahir to be such an intriguing scoundrel. I am intrigued by him, certainly, but more because he is so intense and visually appealing, not because he oozes charisma.
“Because of the air here,” I clarify.
“Yes,” is all he has to say back.
Making conversation with cute boys is hard. It’s as if my circuitry has no idea what to do or say to this person whose very nearness makes my heart skip faster but who seems to have forgotten about me with the same intensity that moments ago was focused on me.
“Do you miss taking the ’raxia?” I ask Tahir. Certainly Ivan would miss it terribly if he lost access to it. He worries about losing that access so much he’s started trying to make his own.
Tahir shrugs. “Not really.”
How can Tahir not miss it if the ’raxia is supposedly so great? Maybe it’s not really so great. Maybe I shouldn’t be so curious about it, or about this boy.
IT’S MOTHER–DAUGHTER TEATIME, ON SEPARATE tiers at Governor’s House.
Upstairs on the terrace deck, Mother and her lady friends have convened an afternoon tea party for planning the upcoming Governor’s Ball. The wine is flowing in greater quantities than their tea. Liesel and I can hear their giggles and cackles as the ladies enjoy each other’s company. Below the deck, on the covered patio, Liesel and I have created our own pretend tea party. We sit at a small round bistro table covered with a white tablecloth, drinking from fine china teacups filled with hot chocolate, and nibbling on real peanut butter cooki
es. Liesel has devised a silent party for us to playact. Like mimes, we listen in to the conversation above us, and feign the imagined reactions of the ladies to each piece of gossip.
A new lady has just joined the boisterous group up on the deck. “Sorry, ladies!” she says. Liesel taps at an imagined watch on her wrist. I do the same to my wrist and shake my head. We mouth the word Late! and then roll our eyes. The new lady’s voice sounds like Mrs. Former Beauty Queen’s. She says, “Bad weather on the Mainland delayed my return trip to Demesne. I only got home an hour ago. The trip was horrendous, but I swear, the moment I breathe in the smooth air here, I immediately relax. All the tension just goes away back on Demesne.”
“Yes!” sigh many of the ladies’ voices in agreement.
Mother says, “I didn’t realize you’d taken a trip back to the Mainland. Biome City?” She sounds jealous.
“Yes,” says Mrs. Beauty Queen. “Some business we had to attend to back in the real world. And some shopping to do!”
“Must have been fun,” says Mother.
“Certainly it’s always more interesting back in the world. But never as divine as being on Demesne. Should I have asked you to come along, dears? I know you don’t have your own plane for getting off the island whenever you want to, but you know all you have to do is ask us whenever you want a lift on one of our rides.”
“Yes!” several of the ladies’ voices affirm.
Liesel extends her arms wide and bobs her head in circles, imitating the motion of an airplane. I do the same.
“Demesne is perfect,” says Mother. “Why leave?”
Liesel covers her mouth with her hand as her eyes go wide, meaning Oh, no! She knows Mother is lying. Many nights at dinner, Mother moans to the Governor about how all her friends have planes to take them anywhere in the world they want to go, and why can’t she have one too? She’d like to go to BC to see the fashion shows, and Astrid. The Governor says, “You can ask your friends for a ride.” Mother responds, “I shouldn’t have to ask them. I should have my own. It’s embarrassing.” And the Governor inevitably responds, “Then you go earn the billion Uni-dollars to buy landing rights on Demesne. Last time I checked the bank account, we were several hundred million away.”
A voice that sounds like Greer’s mother’s asks, “Ladies, who here has gotten a look at the new Aquine military representative on the island?”
A few ladies sigh and dreamily murmur, “Yes!” and “Oh my, I have!”
“There’s an Aquine on Demesne?” one of the ladies asks. “I thought they didn’t leave their settlements.”
“Most don’t,” says Greer’s mother.
“I have seen him, and he is a fine male specimen indeed,” says Mother.
Liesel’s hands go over her ears and she shakes her head.
“Ho-o-ow did he-e-e e-e-end u-u-up on Deme-e-esne-e-e?” asks Mrs. Linger.
Mrs. Red Whine says, “I heard the Aquine was really here to investigate what has caused some of the clones on the island to wake up.”
Wake up? Who? Why? Where?
What?
Mother says, “Isolated incidents. Defects.”
Liesel’s hand goes to her mouth in shock. She whispers, “Mother said ‘Defects!’”
“What are Defects?” I whisper back.
Liesel says, “Clones that go bad. That’s what Astrid told me. I’m not supposed to know; Dad says we’re not supposed to talk about it. Ever.”
“Which clones go bad? How? When did that happen?” I whisper.
“Ssh!” Liesel admonishes. She crosses her index finger over her mouth and then points to the deck above us. “I want to hear this!” she whispers.
Mrs. Beauty Queen says, “Maybe it was isolated, hushed incidents in the past. But something’s changed. I’ve heard there have been more Defect cases. Any truth, Mrs. Governor?” she teases Mother.
“None,” says Mother. “Error is not tolerated here. The Governor makes sure of that.”
But Greer’s mother says, “I’m not so sure. This Aquine showing up to prepare the report to the Replicant Rights Commission seems a good excuse for the military to do some investigating.”
“Anyway, here’s to that master race!” says Greer’s mother. “May it always look so fine.”
“And natural!”
“And peaceful!”
“And humble!”
“And so poor and in need of a sugar mama!”
Liesel sticks her finger down her throat to mime gross. I don’t just mimic the confused look back to Liesel—I am confused. Why would a peaceful and penniless Aquine man need a lady covered in sugar?
Mother seems disturbed by the turn of the teatime conversation. Not as disturbed as I feel.
THEY HAVE SOMETHING TO HIDE. I HAVE something to hide.
They, apparently, don’t have a hundred-percent success rate with their clones. They have manufactured Defects in error, and whatever these Defects did was so terrible that the humans try never to speak of them, try not to acknowledge that the Defects even exist.
It is so frustrating to find out new information that is not on my chip, only to have that same chip compute the risk involved in asking the humans for more explanation.
I am a good girl, not a terrible clone. But I have quirks. Memories. Taste. I will not fail the family who loves me by letting these quirks ever be translated into defects. I will not cause my family such shame. I will keep my quirks hidden, the way they hide their Defects. They own me, but I own my Beta quirks. Privately.
It is the rare morning when my time is my own. Ivan continues to strengthen and wants to do real boxing lessons today, as my agile jabs impress him less and less. He craves brute male power, and is therefore working out with one of the buff male fitness trainers at Haven. Liesel is with her tutor, and Mother rarely emerges from bed before eleven o’clock. Therefore, I take advantage of my free time to jump into the pool at Governor’s House.
Back and forth beneath the water, I search for the underwater man-god, hoping to hear his siren call: You know you own me, Z. As I dive through the water, he deigns to appear, but in brief, soundless bursts. I see his blond hair swishing and his rock-hard body angling as he swims near the hole that leads to the grotto side of the pool. But the visions of him are brief, murky flashes, out of focus, as if the psychic frequency through which he communicates to me has dimmed. Not even his gravelly voice calls to me this time. My skin tingles at each sighting of him, and I dutifully race toward each vision of him, but he disappears as soon as I reach him. When he reappears at the opposite end of the pool, his arms opening for me, his lips parting as if waiting to kiss me, I swim to him again, but he disappears again.
I am tired of being teased.
I swim through the long connecting tunnel to the grotto side of the pool, where I can sulk in private, like a real teen. I don’t know exactly what I want, but I know I want more than to be so continually cheated by this apparition, who only appears in visions and never in the flesh. I lie on a slab of flat, wet stone, in a perfect spot where the sun can peek through the grotto’s cave walls and bathe my face and body in warmth. I set my face to sulk, but my body is too warm and my mind too distracted to accomplish the proper level of this trademark teen state.
I came to the pool hoping for a vision of my First’s man, and I got it, sort of. Yet it’s Tahir Fortesquieu I can’t stop thinking about. Could it be that my thoughts of Tahir are breaking up my visions of underwater man? To hope to know Tahir better is inappropriate for someone of my caste. I understand that, and do not expect more. But I can’t stop myself from wondering about that human affliction called intense physical attraction.
On the other side of the pool, I hear the voice of Tawny, as she and the Governor step onto the deck and walk toward the pool. “The children are at Haven. Mrs. Bratton is still asleep. Your morning meeting with the envoy has been moved to this afternoon.”
I hear the Governor’s gruff voice. “Finally! Some time for myself.”
&n
bsp; I peek through the hole in the grotto cave wall. Tawny wears a tiny bikini on her flawless body and is helping the Governor, dressed in boxer shorts, to step into the pool. I can see them, but they must not be aware that I am in the grotto.
“I have warmed the water,” Tawny says. “To help loosen your joints.”
It’s true, the water does feel warmer. I thought it was the sun and my thoughts of beautiful boys that had made it seem so. But it was science.
Tawny stands in front of the Governor, both now submerged waist-high in the pool. She lifts his right leg up and down, then in a circular motion, then she repeats this pattern with his left leg. “Ah, joint therapy,” the Governor sighs. “The best part of my medical plan.”
The aquamarine-blue tips of Tawny’s long, white-blond hair swirl in the water. The Governor’s hands reach around her exposed back to press her close to him, groin to groin. She massages his scalp with her hands.
“Tawny,” I hear him say. “What do you know about the Insurrection?”
“I only know what you have told me,” she answers. “There are rumors of a rebellion raised up by a few Defects who sought freedom. Those Defects were captured and expired. But there is human concern that more Defects may be out there.”
“When you’re off work at night, in clone quarters…you haven’t heard more about it there?”
“No, sir,” Tawny says. Her hands move from the Governor’s head to beneath the water. I can no longer see where her hands are, but they appear to be stroking his most private place.
“Do you wish for freedom?” the Governor asks, panting.
“I do not wish,” Tawny states. “I serve.”
“Good girl,” the Governor grunts.
Defects. Insurrection. Freedom.
These are not just words, but actual concepts. I’m not sure how to process.
As Tawny serves the Governor, I quietly step out of the water and disappear behind the trees flanking the grotto end of the pool. I walk through the trees, away from Governor’s House. I walk until I reach the spot of land where the clone quarters are, several bamboo huts built side by side, each sized to accommodate two to four clones at a time. Since it is daytime, the quarters should be empty, and yet, from the hut at the far end of the row, I hear moaning sounds.