by Tania Hutley
I watch them dish out as much food as they want, and it’s not until Brugan sits at the table and digs into a full plate that I head over to the serving bowls. Even mimicking the way the others all served themselves, I still feel self-conscious about heaping my plate up, as though somebody’s going to catch me taking too much. I’ve never chosen how much I get to eat before, and this is my first meal in years that hasn’t come out of a dispensing machine.
A bonus: there’s a paring knife in the cutlery rack. Small but sharp. Perfect.
Once the others have all sat down, I pretend to drop something so I can bend over and slip the blade inside the leg of my jeans, tucking it into my sock. The cold metal against my ankle is comforting.
Brugan’s fat lips twist as I sit at the table with the others. “We’re going to be forced to look at that?” He nods at my face. “It’ll make me sick.” Even as he says it he’s shoveling a piled fork into his mouth.
I’ve heard plenty worse, so it’s not hard to ignore. But Cale snaps, “Don’t be an asshole, Brugan.” Like I need him to stick up for me.
Aza glances at me, then looks away. It’s obvious she doesn’t want to get involved. Her lips are pressed together but her eyes are straight from a fairy tale, and her face is as flawless as Rayne’s was. Does she know how stunning she is? Looking at her makes me feel worse about my damaged face than any insult from Brugan ever could. What would it be like to have that beautiful face? To catch someone staring with admiration instead of disgust?
“It’s a burn,” says Sentin, his tone matter-of-fact. “It wasn’t treated properly, because the skin puckered as it healed.”
His plate holds a neat, even circle of rice with matching circles of vegetables on one side, and meatballs on the other. It looks like a math diagram. He uses both knife and fork to surgically remove a tidy mouthful, then chews slowly.
Brugan turns his snarl onto Sentin. “Who asked you, Deiterran?”
I just about choke on meatball. Sentin can’t really be a Deiterran. Maybe it’s a weird insult I’ve never heard of?
“Half Deiterran,” says Sentin calmly.
Cale’s gaping too, so he can’t have known either. “You’re really from there? What are you doing here? And what’s it like over the wall?”
“I’ve lived in Triton for most of my life.”
“But what was it like before you left?” Cale leans forward. “Do they really grow their food?”
“I’m afraid I can’t talk about it.”
“You can’t tell us anything? Not even a hint? At least tell us why it’s such a big secret.”
Sentin just shakes his head, and Cale looks as disappointed as I feel. The Deiterran ambassador’s always refused to talk about Deiterra as well. I’ve heard all kinds of theories why, and it’s hard not to be curious.
Brugan points at Sentin’s face with his fork. “What’s with the spectacles, Einstein?”
I have no idea who or what Einstein is, but Sentin must get the joke because his lips twitch. “Einstein didn’t wear glasses.”
Cale frowns. “I wonder how I’d look in them,” he says, putting his hand out. “Do you mind if I try them?”
Sentin hesitates. I’m expecting him to refuse, but after a moment he hands them over.
Cale puts them on and gives an exaggerated blink. “You guys mind if I dim the lights for a sec?” He touches his band and the lights die.
“Hey!” growls Brugan.
The sudden darkness makes my heart pound. My ears strain for the sound of movement. I’m bending to grab the blade from my sock when the lights flick back on. “Sorry,” says Cale, sounding anything but. He hands the glasses back to Sentin. “But I bet your Skin’s vision is even better?”
Sentin puts the glasses back on and makes another neat slice in his food without answering. I’d love to know what’s so great about his glasses and why Cale wanted to test them in the dark, but the shock of Sentin being Deiterran is still filling my brain.
I’ve never seen anyone from the other side of the wall before. He may as well be an alien for all I know about where he’s from.
Funny how the others are well-matched to their Skins. Not just that Sentin’s reptile is as mysterious as he is, but Brugan’s devil bear is heavily muscled, while Aza’s wasp is slender and lovely. Cale and I are the only ones who don’t quite fit. But of course I don’t, the real Rayne should have had the beautiful Leopard Skin.
I’m sorry she died, but glad I’m getting to experience it instead.
Can I transfer into my leopard from here? I close my eyes and reach out with my mind, trying to replicate the feeling I got when I transferred. Nothing happens. Maybe I have to be in the pod? I’ll try again when I get to my room, just in case.
Aza pushes her still-full plate away. “I’m going to complain,” she announces. “It’s not good enough.”
“Having to eat with her, you mean?” Brugan points his fork at me.
She gives him a look that could freeze off a body part. “I’m talking about the food.”
“Yeah, it’s not good enough,” repeats Brugan, though he’s almost finished everything on his plate already. “How are we supposed to stay fit eating this?”
Aza gets up, leaving her plate on the table, and sits on the floor in front of the holo. She extends her legs out in front, then bends forward so her torso touches her legs. Stretching her muscles, I guess.
Cale gets up too, but he goes to the counter and piles more food on his plate, making a show of it, not that either Aza or Brugan seem to notice. I catch myself gaping and turn my face away. Stupid to be surprised by such a simple thing, but it hadn’t occurred to me I could go back to the serving bowls to get more food.
I’ve got to stop thinking like a sinker.
I wait until Cale sits back down, then fill my plate again too. Whatever Aza thinks, this food tastes delicious to me. A lot better than I’m used to.
Brugan pushes away his empty plate and saunters over to sit behind Aza on a couch in front of the holo. He flicks it on, but he’s not looking at the picture, he’s watching her stretch. Why can’t he get the message and lay off her? Aza’s convinced she’s better than all of us, and though I’m bottom of the list, Brugan’s obviously included. She’s so generous with her disdain that, funnily enough, it almost makes me like her. At least she hasn’t singled me out.
Cale looks at Sentin and drops his voice, though the holo’s making enough noise that I don’t think Brugan and Aza could hear him anyway. “Who’d you have to kill to get a pair of those glasses? And don’t tell me you bought them on the net, because I know you can’t.”
Sentin lifts one eyebrow but doesn’t reply. He arranges his knife and fork together on his clean plate, then slowly gets up, straightens his shirt, and walks to one of the couches.
Cale and I are the only two left at the table. He grimaces at Sentin’s back, then shoots me a wry look. “Boy, can he talk! I thought he was never going to shut up.”
I turn my face away, refusing to smile. Maybe Cale really is what he seems: a nice guy who thinks we can be friends. But I don’t need a buddy in here. I can lock the door to my room at night to keep safe, and during the day I can watch my own back.
“So.” Cale keeps trying. Got to give him marks for persistence. “What do you usually do for fun, Rayne? I mean, when you’re not transferring your consciousness into a highly-advanced, bio-mechanical avatar, that is.”
Fun? He’s obviously not trying to be offensive, but he may as well have asked whether I prefer wearing a crown or a tiara.
“Nothing.” It’s an honest answer, but a curt one. And when I hear myself say the word, I don’t know why it makes me feel so sad.
“Nothing? You must do something.”
My eyes drop to my hands. I have cuts on top of bruises on top of scars. The rough treatment from the stompers means they’re even more battered than normal. Cale’s fingers are as flawless as the rest of him. Not so much as a freckle.
No, the
worst Mr. High Cheekbones has ever to had to worry about in his perfect life will have been which eager girl to date next. Can’t he see we have nothing, not one single thing, in common?
“Oh-kay,” Cale mutters eventually, after the silence has stretched out for too long. “Wonder what’s on the holo?” He joins the others, putting his feet up on the couch and stretching his arms across its back. Watching him make himself comfortable, the strangeness of where I am hits me.
When was the last time I sat on a couch?
Can all this luxury possibly be real?
Maybe I was the one who died on the floor of the shelter with a blade in my gut, and this is some kind of weird afterlife with couches, private bedrooms, and Skins.
I snap out of it when Sentin tells the holo, “Morelle Corporation,” and a familiar voice comes out of it. Director Morelle’s being interviewed. I move closer, grabbing a chair to sit behind everyone else, and listen more than I watch.
“Interest in the transferal technology has been high,” Director Morelle is saying. “Tickets to attend the Skin Hunter contest sold out in just a few minutes. The only part we’re keeping secret is what the Skins will look like and how they perform. And when the public see what they can do, they’ll want to experience them for themselves.”
There’s a scattering of applause. A man’s voice cuts through it. “This technology is unproven. We don’t yet know the risks, or if transferal is as safe as you claim.”
I look, keeping my bad eye shut. The image is distorted with just one eye, but I can see the man arguing with Director Morelle is Vice President Burns.
His skin is very dark, and he’s obviously had a lot of expensive tweaking because his face is almost ageless and impossibly handsome. He and the director are in a studio, sitting in armchairs that face each other. There must be an audience there watching them, but they’re out of shot.
Doctor Gregory said the president was against the contest. The vice president sure is, that’s plain.
“We must find a way to give people what they want,” says Director Morelle.
“Fast track it?” Vice President Burns gives a contemptuous snort. “You mean, like Welcon Pharmaceuticals did?”
“The Welcon incident was seventeen years ago, and I’m utterly sick of politicians using it as an excuse to delay—”
“I’d hardly call millions of unplanned births an excuse!” The vice president’s voice rises with indignation, and I’m not surprised. The Welcon disaster changed everything, and it sounds like the director’s making light of it.
Director Morelle’s expression stays icy cold, and her eyes are sharp as needles “The Morelle Corporation has a reputation for safety that should reassure —”
“Are you suggesting the Morelle Corporation should be above the law?”
“Of course not. All I’m saying is that—”
“Public safety is my primary concern. Is it yours, Director Morelle? Or are you only interested in making more money?”
“That’s ridiculous! And downright offensive.” For the first time, I hear anger creeping into the director’s tone. I’d like to get a better look at her expression, but my good eye’s aching and my vision is blurring.
There are a few mutters from the audience. Sounds like they’re on Director Morelle’s side, so they must be floaters.
New Triton was supposed to be the solution to the population explosion caused by the Welcon disaster, but it turned out to be just an excuse for the rich to raise themselves above the rest of us. Maybe for them, Welcon was an opportunity rather than a disaster.
The interviewer pipes up and the view pans back to include a woman in a formal suit. “But Director Morelle, don’t you agree with the vice president that the public deserves some level of reassurance?”
Shutting my good eye to rest it, I hear the director draw in a sharp breath before she answers the question. “The Morelle Corporation has been delivering quality products since my grandfather started selling the earliest IV enhancers from his workshop. His nano-chip technology helped eliminate disease caused by blood-borne pathogens, can you deny that?”
“That’s not—” The vice president tries to interrupt, but she keeps talking.
“The Morelle Corporation created the holo and the vReal. We brought you—”
“You don’t—”
“Let me finish, please, Vice President. When we tried to release the vReal, it took almost three years to get approval. Three years! And for what? The vReal is about as dangerous as a washing machine or a gamenode.”
Hoots and applause from the audience. They’re definitely on Director Morelle’s side.
“Yes, but—”
“Answer me this, Vice President,” the director interrupts. “Exactly how much longer will it take President Trask to approve Skin technology?”
“That depends on many factors.”
“You can’t give me a straight answer?”
“You know we need to do a variety of tests...”
Boos and jeers interrupt him. I open my good eye in time to see Director Morelle sweep her hand in a wide gesture. “Speak to the audience, Vice President. Tell them how long they’ll have to wait, while you and President Trask do your multitude of tests.”
He snorts. “I don’t need to answer to you, Director.”
The interviewer leans forward, pressing the question. “But Vice President, could you not give us an indication here, tonight, on how much more testing you intend to do?”
The vice president jumps out of his chair. “Do I have to say it again? President Trask is only concerned with public safety. If that’s inconvenient for the Morelle Corporation, I refuse to apologize.”
The interviewer tries to stop Burns from storming off, but when he’s gone, she turns back to the camera. “Once again it seems we’re no closer to a release date for the Morelle Corporation to be able to sell their fascinating new technology. But thank you to both our guests for participating tonight.”
Brugan brings up a panel with his band to take control of the holo, and switches the channel to scan. It’s a dizzying sequence that scans through everything both currently playing and stored in memory.
Cale says, “If they’re right and the Skins need more testing, the director needs to let them do it.”
“President Trask is a dinosaur,” Aza says in a bored voice. She’s in a really complicated position now with her legs folded over each other and her torso twisted around. “He’s afraid to release Skins because he’s stuck in the past. Time we got rid of him and elected a new president who isn’t scared of his own shadow.”
“Sounds like the only reason the director’s running the contest is to pressure the president into allowing the testing to be rushed,” says Cale.
Sentin clears his throat. “To obtain approval for the first Skin prototypes, the Morelle Corporation had to prove a certain level of safety.” He speaks as slowly as if he stops to examine every word before releasing it. “It’s only the testing required for full public release that’s still in progress.”
Aza untwists her body and stands up. “If Skins aren’t on sale by Christmas, President Trask will be voted out. And he knows it.” She tosses her long hair back before striding out.
Brugan watches her leave, giving her back an up-and-down leer that makes me shudder. He leaves the holo on scan mode, jumps up and strides out after her.
Cale looks back at me. “What do you think, Rayne?”
Boy, he really doesn’t give up.
I shrug, uncomfortable at the way both he and Sentin are looking at me. Sentin’s examining me too closely from behind his glasses, and I’ve no idea what they help him to see.
I don’t want either of them to be able to read my face, to know how clueless I feel. I’m the only one who’d never heard of the Skins, so it must have been all over the news feeds. Since I lost my eye, watching the feeds became too difficult to bother with. What else have I missed?
When I don’t reply, Cale glances at Sentin
. “You think the transferal technology’s safe?”
“Until all testing is complete, that’s impossible to answer.”
Cale gives a little laugh. “I thought I was transferring into a saber-toothed tiger. Really, I was becoming a giant guinea pig.”
“Both a guinea pig, and a social experiment,” Sentin agrees.
Cale’s mouth twists. “We’re the bait dangled in front of millions of people to convince them to forget about Welcon. He looks at me again. “How does it feel to be part of a plan to fast-track another untested product?”
I swallow. The question is a blade in my gut. Seventeen years ago, Welcon Pharmaceuticals released the world’s first anti-cancer vaccine and everyone went crazy for it. It wasn’t until a giant wave of new pregnancies was reported that they realized that the vaccine reversed contraceptive tweaking, switching fertility back on with a vengeance, even for women who thought they’d turned it off for good. Clinics were overloaded, and most women had no choice but to give birth.
Welcon’s baby boom couldn’t have come at a worse time. The city was already crammed against its borders.
To add insult to injury, second-child taxes both paid for the building of New Triton—the raising of the rich—and made life all but impossible for the low-paid workers who lived below. My brother was one of the children born in the Welcon boom, and I’m pretty sure my father died from overwork and exhaustion from trying to pay taxes.
Everything miserable that’s happened to my family can be traced back to Welcon Pharmaceuticals fast-tracking a drug that hadn’t been tested properly.
Though I should know better than to let my guard down with my competitors and risk being caught as an imposter, I can’t keep silent.
“How does it feel?” My stomach churns as I admit the truth. “I should care that the Skins aren’t tested. But I don’t.” I meet Cale’s gaze, my caution overcome by the need to know whether he felt the same as I did when he transferred into his Skin. Being the leopard feels like peeling a useless body away and becoming something I’m meant to be. Is it like that for the others too?
“How much do you care?” I demand. “Would you give up your Skin?”