I’m 30 minutes later than I would have been, but I don’t care…unless Castor finds a way to get his father to track where I’ve been. The train pulls up and it’s packed as usual, with couples waiting to see if they’re compatible. It finally sinks in; I’m going to see if I can pass the Match Compatibility Scanner with Castor.
He stands exactly where Phoenix waited the night we came through. It feels like an eternity ago. “Hi, Freya,” he says sincerely. “Hi,” I say. Apollo being targeted may not be his fault, I think, trying to be forgiving because the resentment and pain is too much.
“I didn’t know if you were going to come,” he says, seeming relieved. “I can see you are disappointed and don’t like me, but I don’t understand why.” “I don’t know you, Castor, so it’s impossible for me not to like you,” I respond softly, feeling beaten.
“Well, I want you to get to know me. Do you want to go to the tower tonight? We can just hang out and talk.” “Tomorrow would be better,” I say. “Tomorrow is the gathering,” he enlightens. “Ugh,” I say drawn out, throwing my head back and looking up at the sky. Stars peek out from behind the clouds like tiny rays of hope. Liars.
“So do you support the Creators in this?” he asks, surprising me. “Support what, the scanner?” I question. “Well…yeah, in predetermining that we are going to be a match,” he says. “I understand their thinking, but I don’t know anything about you, so I really can’t say if I trust the judgment about our happiness,” I say.
He stares at me blankly. “This is genetic pairing…for the City, for the Creators. They don’t care about our happiness. We’re going to give them better and brighter replacements. But either way, I lucked out with you. My happiness may just be a byproduct of their methods,” he says, smirking and moving forward with the line.
And my misery a byproduct, I think. My eyes close slowly and I look up again. How can Apollo be fine with this? Dropping my gaze, I stare at Castor, analyzing his appearance and his expressions while he talks. He talks about Ignis Impetus and the golden box he gets to sit in to watch the games since his brother is Reaper. I feel my eyes glaze over in abhorrence.
“We’ll have to catch a Praedo match sometime,” he says. “Sounds good,” I mumble, breathing in deeply and trying to exhale the emotion, to wash away the intensity of seeing Apollo earlier, of being near him. I can’t get him out of my head.
“Freya, just give me a chance,” Castor says unexpectedly. I snap my head in his direction and lift my brows in surprise. I nod softly. “I am,” I lie. I pause. “I am,” I say again softer and more sincere. “It’s just been a really busy month. I just started training, started Ursa, went through the scanner with Phoenix and failed. My brother went missing,” I say and immediately regret it.
We make it inside the lobby. “And you want to pair with Apollo,” he says softly but stern. Did he even hear anything I just said? “No. If I wanted to pair with Apollo, why would I take his best friend through the MCS instead?” I argue. I never want anyone to hurt him again, so I lie through my teeth.
His eyes dart around to the back of the heads in front of us, to the building entrance, to the empty tracks before resting on me again. They soften. A guilty expression occupies his face before he speaks again.
“I think I misjudged the situation,” he says and looks away. I simply nod, expecting this.
A lady in a navy blue dress escorts us to a processing room. “The geneticist will see you in about 20 minutes. Until then, please place your hands on the pad to begin the scan. The outline is lit up to enable the correct hand positioning.” Déjà vu.
We place our hands where indicated and wait. I glance up and Castor is staring at me approvingly. “Do you take medication for anything?” I ask. He tilts his head. “No,” he answers mechanically. “But you’re on Ursa,” I say, confused.
“That doesn’t mean anything. Medication for perfections is a new concept. Only nine people in the city have a genetic perfection. And they progressively get better as new City members are born,” he glances at the viewing screen as the codes scroll down.
“Your brother was diagnosed with hyperreflexia A, and then you were diagnosed. My father says yours is more advanced.” He casually mentions this like I’m aware. I don’t say anything. Looking around the room, it dawns on me where I am. It’s like I was dreaming when I agreed to come here. I don’t want to be here.
The geneticist enters the room, a different doctor from before. “Hello, I’m Dr. Rios. Take a seat.” We both sit down on the white bench near the exit.
“Congratulations, you passed with an eighty percent. At the front desk you can receive the download of your match: compatible traits, genetic gifts and abilities your children will inherit from DNA mutation, as well as some possible abnormalities that could give you undesirable traits. Although, we’ve reviewed your results and there are no abnormalities that can disqualify pairing. We wish you the best of luck,” he finally finishes with a robotic smile and exits through the sliding door.
A two percent increase from what I received with Phoenix and suddenly everything is fine. I don’t understand the science behind DNA pairing, but I’m annoyed. Two percent higher. That’s it.
An idea pops into my head. I want to see if I can score higher. They want me to pair with Castor, but what If I could do better? Maybe they wouldn’t restrict me if I use their methods against them. The method using their developed science and not a method swayed by leadership.
Our bracelets receive the download: the details of our match. His genetics deeply envelop analytical thinking, and when combined with my abilities, they should create a new perfection in enhanced problem-solving. There are no new enhancements in hyperreflexia or vision. The two elements they said would disqualify Phoenix from pairing with me. They obviously don’t disqualify Castor.
Castor turns to face me. He’s well built, his biceps bulge when pressed against his sides. His stature reminds me of Apollo, wearing a tight-fitting shirt that emphasizes his muscular frame and chest, holding his head high, aware of his physical superiority. Apollo’s muscles and stature are larger and more powerful than Castor’s, but Apollo walks with the same confidence, sometimes his blue eyes intimidating, but Castor has an aura of arrogance.
His eyes are stone blue, but lack the light and emotion that I find in Apollo. When Castor speaks he’s enjoying the sound of his own voice and his knowledge, and there is little anticipation or care for what others have to say.
And the way Apollo looks at me is incredible. I can almost feel how much he cares about me through his expressions alone. We can look at each other and know exactly what the other is thinking; I knew he loved me before he ever said it. The sickness pangs my stomach and chest again. I need to stop thinking about him.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me tonight?” he says sensually. “I’m sure,” I confirm. He leans in to kiss my cheek and I remain still. After pulling his lips away slowly, he stares into my eyes again. “We aren’t engaged yet,” I say sternly.
His expression hardens, heavily insulted. “The Creators would applaud if they saw, and what other option do you think you have?” he says haughtily. “The decision is important to me. I’m going to make the best choice,” I say. With this he laughs, the condescension driving me crazy.
“Everyone is allowed an appeal with a geneticist. I take this very seriously,” I say, turning to leave. “I’ll see you at the gathering,” I call as I head for the Sky, now signaling a departure in three minutes. Glancing back, he’s still standing there stunned, his eyebrow lifts and his face becomes rigid. He’s frightening, the perfect villain. And the rejection always new for him.
13
A meeting detailing career commitments will be held with the Council at 9 am before the gathering.
Confirm before 7, arrive 15 minutes early.
Appointment confirmed
The skytrain drops me off at building 151. I’m 15 minutes early, right on time.
I r
ide the elevator silently. It opens to the same winding hallway and I make my way over to the inviting doors. I’m ushered in this time by a woman with a composed face. I can tell she was very pretty in her early years, and still is despite her age, but her face and demeanor seem exhausted. She takes a seat next to me once we reach the chairs before the Council.
“Freya,” Archer Perkins addresses me. “We’re here to discuss your future. It seems Star Miller would like to recruit you into broadcasting. She would like you to work alongside Paris and Andromeda on Wednesdays to announce City news,” he states this like I should be the happiest girl alive.
“You will remain Ursa, but any watch that falls on Wednesday through Friday will be cancelled and there will be a replacement available immediately.” I glance over at Star who’s calmly staring at the ground before looking up at me. “We are looking for the best and brightest faces to relay the news,” she says robotically. Apollo was right about everything; I’ve always been destined to be on viewing screens, regardless of what I want, of my education or family traits. Though his words often hurt, they were true. The Council manipulates everything based on their own biased interpretations, their own agenda.
“Is this necessary?” I say, trying to avoid any tone that could be construed as offensive or defiant. Archer brings one arm across the other, his grey suit perfect, unscathed by wrinkles or creases.
“We like to honor specific members of society with the privilege of being the voice for Council knowledge. Only women may be considered, and only those with specific physical attributes based on fortunate heredities are selected.”
I’m silent. The stillness extends into irritation; the Council members are starting to eye me suspiciously. Of course I have to accept.
“Of course I’ll accept,” I say confidently. The Council member’s piqued expressions are mollified before returning to stares of boredom. “Here are the files for your bracelet. I look forward to working with you, Freya Skarsgard,” Star Miller recites before standing to scan her bracelet to mine. “Thank you,” I say intuitively.
“Council Member Quinn, may I address the Council regarding pairing with Castor?” Looks of peeved curiosity spread across their faces. “Proceed,” Mel states sonorously. “Our score was lower than I anticipated. I would like to seek permission to try other options before committing.”
He appears infuriated. “Committing?” he questions. “Our score was only two percent higher than the percentage I received with Phoenix Dalton. I would like to—
“I thought we made perfectly clear about our expectations from your match,” he says, cutting me off. “I was under the impression that the Creators Council utilizes and reveres the scientific process above all else,” I say, unafraid.
Mel appears extremely irritated and appalled that I dare speak. He straightens the bottom of his blazer. Archer Perkins speaks first. “We are looking for specific genetics for men and women pairing with leadership. Leadership takes priority.”
It’s all suddenly so clear. They don’t want everyone to be as enhanced as possible, the best genetics are promised to leadership, those who control the City. If I were to pair with Apollo, it would question everything. We both have abnormalities that enhance our human traits. They can’t have us together. Our children would most likely be greater than anything they’d ever seen.
“Thank you for your time,” I say and turn to leave. “Freya, I hope you understand that our methods are in your best interest,” Mel Quinn says. “Of course,” I say. There’s a glint of something in his eyes: concern. Fear maybe.
Should he be afraid of me? For some time now I’ve understood that they understand my diagnosis far better than I ever could. Should I be afraid of them, afraid of their fear? People are weak, crazy, and evil when led by fear. I smile politely before leaving, trying to ignore the allegation in their eyes.
I arrive an hour early for the gathering like required. December messaged me to delay going inside without her, so I’m sitting on the massive staircase leading to the building, waiting. People are arriving by the dozens. Castor steps out of the Sky and I quickly look down. It’s too late, he knows I saw him. He come over and squats down in front of me, forcing eye contact. “Hello, beautiful,” he utters smoothly. “Hello,” I say, with little inflection.
“For some reason, you and I got off on the wrong foot. But I can make it up to you,” he says. We stare at each other in silence for a moment.
“It drives me crazy how disinterested you seem.
You’ve never given me a chance, but I think I can change your opinion of me. Come find me, huh?” he requests before plopping softly on the stair below where my boots are perched, awaiting a response. Why can’t I just give Castor a chance?
The answer to my question steps off the skytrain. Because Apollo. My mouth clenches closed and I chew the inside of my cheek like always. He looks perfect and it’s hard to breathe. I try to look away but can’t. Andromeda steps out behind him. He’s talking over his should with her. Feeling possessive, I hide further in my hood.
“Yeah, sure,” I answer softly. The women walking around us eye me with jealousy, and say “Hello” to Castor, receiving his charming smile in response. He stands up, pacified. “I’ll see you in there,” he says. I glance down and rub the bridge of my nose, avoiding his gaze.
“Yep,” I reply. He heads up the stairs and into the building. Apollo is gone when I finally glance back, bringing relief since I’m still undecided of how I plan to act around him, but seeing Andromeda staking her claim was more difficult than I anticipated. They could pair if they wanted to. Apollo already said he plans to avoid me, to let me go.
I hurt.
December steps off the skytrain. “Hi, sorry I’m late! We are on the verge of discovering a way to eliminate the physical symptoms of common illnesses instantly while still allowing the body to fully fight the virus. The trials were successful. I’m so excited!” she says. “That’s amazing,” I respond honestly.
The crowd outside begins to die down so I stand up, figuring we better go in and get ready.
Inside, the ladies overrun the rotating racks. I sit for makeup and hair before choosing a gown, this time selecting extended lashes, dark eyes and embellished, claret lips. The tattoo technician offers a special weaving design based on my heritage, and I accept. She begins behind my ears, and uses a device to continue down my neck, back, shoulders and left arm, giving the impression of flesh-colored lace in a shade darker than my skin.
I find the perfect dress to show off the art, a sweetheart neckline and a full skirt, the tone spreads to different shades of turquoise. My mind flashes to the pagos and what they would think if they saw our celebrations. It makes sense they confuse us with royalty, with deity. They are given no information about us and struggle for the basic necessities, while we parade around in lavish gowns, and rescue them flaunting perfect bodies due to our genetics, training and nutrition.
I wonder who made the arrangement with them, food for protection.
They call our names and one by one the women descend down the stairs. Andromeda is called a few women after me and gazes at me as she strolls down the long, romantically lit staircase, her red hair flowing down her back. At first, her obvious fascination with me tonight annoys me, but now I’m intrigued as she continues towards me.
“Hello, Freya,” she says casually. “I heard you will be relaying news on Wednesdays and maybe Fridays.” December sneaks up beside me, eager to hear the conversation. “Yes, well I was told Wednesdays,” I say obligingly.
“Well I am assigned to show you the ropes. I’ll see you Wednesday at 7 am sharp,” she says, glancing sideways at December for a moment before turning back to me. Her voice sounds friendly enough. “I look forward to learning all that I can. See you Wednesday,” I say. She smiles and raises her shoulders slightly to convey that her work here is done and saunters away.
“What, what?” December questions quickly, shaking her head, her hair flies wildly. I le
t out a sigh. “I am going to be broadcasting on Wednesdays. I was going to tell you. I just found out this morning, actually.”
“Are you still Ursa?” she asks. “Yes. My watches will be switched around again, but everything should be fairly normal to what I’ve been doing.” She appears disappointed. Pushing her black hair behind her shoulders, her eye catches and lingers on something.
Her eyes dart back to mine and confusion seems to fall over her. “Do you want to get something to drink?” she asks. Curiosity gets the best of me and I turn to see what sparked her query. Apollo is across the room, women flocking around him like I’d seen in the past, Andromeda the closest of them all. He doesn’t look over at me like he normally does. I stare for a moment to wait for his eyes to glance across the room to meet mine, sending that electricity through me with a smile, but it never happens. He continues charming the women, ignoring this side of the room.
I notice Castor staring at me. Maybe this is how Castor feels when I reject him. It’s a terrible feeling.
But women are also congregating round Castor like ducks waiting for a scrap of bread. His eyes catch me looking, and he smiles. I try to smile back, but it feels fake and exaggerated. I probably look crazy, so I stop. My shoulders drop in an attempt to relax. The pain of Apollo ignoring me is unbearable and it takes everything inside me not to cry.
I’m in love with Apollo, and I think I always have been. He’s just letting me go, not even giving me a hint of reassurance that he still cares or ever did.
Phoenix told me that Apollo went on countless dates with multiple women and not once had he ever taken anyone to the scanner. Maybe that’s all this was. Maybe it was a game to him. Maybe he truly is just a terrible person who knew that I was this small and simple girl who had always adored him, and he could take advantage of that.
Maybe he saved Phoenix from me. He knew I would fall away so easily, with such little effort. No, my mind is playing tricks. I know it’s the Council’s decision, but he could at least let me know he still cares. Disgust fills my throat, and I cough to clear the tension clouding my airway. It doesn’t help; the dry, wretched tightness is still there. I blink. I’m not going to cry, darn it.
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