Eventually, enough time passed with me staring down at the napkin in my lap that I felt people cease staring at me and return to their previous conversations, distracted by the hors d’oeuvres and wine being generously served around the room.
I couldn’t bring myself to look up. I didn’t feel ready to do it yet because when I did, I wasn’t looking down again. I wasn’t looking down, or back. I wasn’t going to cower; I wasn’t going to give up.
I was going to fight. I would get out of here.
“Planning something, are you?”
The voice came from my right. I glanced over to see Dr. Evans in the seat next to me. Our table was empty, besides him, but he looked situated in a way, with his napkin in his lap and wine glass half empty, that told me he’d been there the whole time, and I just hadn’t noticed.
I didn’t respond, but Dr. Evans seemed undeterred by my lack of engagement. He swirled the wine around in his glass a few times before taking a sip.
“Did you know that there have been over forty proven cures for cancer, all which have been brought to the table and then silently dropped off the edge or scooted under the rug? There’s no money to be made if no one is sick. But does that mean people stop trying for the cure? Does that mean we just give up and stop providing solutions to very real problems? That we give up trying to make this world a better place?”
Dr. Evans tipped his wine glass toward me, pointing.
“That’s why I’m trusting there will always be more people like your father. More people who are willing to push past fear and do good. To make a stand in their small amount of time here on earth. It’s not about winning. It’s not about stopping bad things from happening or getting to the end of evil forever. It’s about doing the best we can, being the best we can, right where we are, in the brief moment that we are in existence. We must live our lives this way. We must be willing. Because if not us, then who?”
I was just about to tell Dr. Evans I wasn’t interested in his philosophies or conversation, when I noticed Dr. Adamson across the room, near the far wall, standing alone.
He seemed satisfied to be in the periphery, pleasantly observing the action of the room, uncompelled to join it. What was he so smug about?
He caught me watching and raised his cocktail glass toward me, as if to toast.
I looked away.
A chill ran down my spine at the way he appeared so calm, so in control. The composure on his face was so opposite from how he looked when we were separated at the plane, that I had no room to doubt things were going his way now. Which didn’t mean anything good for me. When I glanced back for a second look, he was still staring at me.
“I’m so sorry, Dr. Evans,” I said, placing my hand on his arm. “Can you repeat that? I didn’t catch what you were saying.” I attempted to create the pretense of interest. Hopefully Dr. Adamson would go away.
“Control, throughout the ages, has always been about some people knowing and most of the others not knowing.”
“Knowing what?” I said, feigning intrigue, glancing over at Dr. Adamson again, who seemed pleased I wouldn’t stop checking.
Dr. Evan’s shrugged. “Anything at all.” He sipped his wine again. “Take the code inside of you, for example. The people on the good side want the world to know about it. You see, if it’s available for the whole world, and not for the few, then we’re raising the quality of life for all humanity. But others only want it for the few. For power.”
I snuck another look at Dr. Adamson.
One of the servers approached him, and he frowned at whatever message the man delivered. Dr. Adamson handed the server his glass and disappeared out the back of the ballroom.
Good. And stay gone.
“Listen, Dr. Evans, I’m really not okay with anything right now, let alone whatever point you’re trying to make. I’m not okay with Vasterias, I’m not okay with what they want to do with the code, I’m not okay with anyone in this room, if we’re talking bluntly, which we clearly are.”
Dr. Evans only smiled at me. “That’s fine with me, dear, but you may want to keep your voice down about it.”
He wiped his mouth with his napkin and put the cloth back in his lap. “You’re a thread, Sage. A thread in the tapestry of our existence. No more, no less, yet needed, very needed, just like each and every one of us. We’re woven together, and that’s what makes the tapestry exist at all. Play your part well. Weave your thread. Leave your mark in the way you were destined to. Each of us has a destiny, and yet we get one choice: Will we live it?”
Adamson was still nowhere in sight, and I was tired of the charade. I needed to think. “Can we stop with the esoteric talk? Please?” I said.
“Aah, I see. Too busy trying to work out how to escape.”
I straightened in my seat and took a drink from my water goblet, not wanting to look Dr. Evans in the eye.
How had he read me so completely?
He lifted his wine glass toward me. “Well then, I wish you the best of luck.”
The strange thing was, I think he truly meant it.
45
BECKETT
What were the chances I would get stuck behind an old lady on this back highway late afternoon on a Saturday? Because I had, and I couldn’t pass her for at least ten miles because of curves and traffic. And now I was officially late.
Sven will be wondering about me.
The gala started at 6:00 pm, and according to my phone, it was 6:20. I was supposed to make it there by 5:30, long before they announced Sage to the attendees. I wanted to be there with her for that.
Before I could see Sage, I still needed time to talk to my father. Then I had to woo Vasterias people who would recognize me. Finally, I needed to reinstate Sage’s trust in me.
All this before we could make our escape. And I was only just pulling in.
The sky had darkened quickly on my ride to the mansion. Storm clouds gathered on the eastern horizon. It made me uneasy. The two worst nights of my life had both taken place during giant storms.
I stopped at the gate and a man in a tuxedo stepped out from the guard house.
“Can I help you?”
He clearly didn’t like the look of the Ego 45. Or maybe he just didn’t like the look of me.
Here began the night full of deceptions.
I pulled off my helmet and put on my most friendly-looking, innocent face. That always fooled the researchers and doctors back when Dad worked at headquarters.
“Hello, sir. Yes, I’m here by invitation of my father, Dr. James Adamson. He’s currently inside at the party. Would you mind letting him know I’m here?”
“Your name?” he said skeptically.
“Beckett Adamson, sir.”
The guard retreated back to the guard house and eyed me through the window while he spoke into his walkie-talkie. I stretched my arms, tried to stay casual and look calm. Jack would be able to hear my heart pumping hard in my chest. This was the first test. Would Dad even give the okay to come in?
The guard emerged. “I’ll need to search your bike. And frisk you.”
“My pleasure.”
I faked a grin and climbed off the motorcycle. I’d expected as much from the gatekeeper.
When the guard was sufficiently sure I carried no paraphernalia, and only after he had taken a fair amount of time to ogle the Ego 45—without me wanting to notice, of course—the gate began to open.
“You’re free to go. Valet will take your motorcycle at the door.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, pulling on my tuxedo coat. But I had no intention of valet parking.
After a mile or so, the road angled sharply to the left, and the trees opened to reveal the front lawn. I pulled onto the grass, hiding my bike in some shrubbery. Later, Jack would drop off the mannequin, her clothes, and a bungee cord here by the bike.
I walked further up the road toward the circle drive and front entrance. The mansion was most stunning at night, with its landscape lighting shining up the sid
es of the brick and stone façade, creating a haunting look of intrigue.
Hello, old friend. So good to see you again.
Dad and Dr. Dallamore were standing on the steps, watching as I strolled up to the entry.
“Beckett, what a surprise,” Dad said. “Parked on your own, I see?”
I extended my hand. “Father, Dr. Dallamore, I hope you don’t mind me showing up unexpectedly. I’d like to talk with you if I may? I must say, it’s so good to see you both again.”
46
SAGE
The seats at our table filled with women in gowns, men in tuxedos.
Marshall Mitchell took the stage again as the workers started serving the third course. Steak, asparagus, and cream sauce were arranged beautifully on a large white plate in front of me.
Too bad I felt like throwing up.
“I’ve had the great honor of being both a scientist and a board member for Vasterias for the past nine years,” Dr. Mitchell said. “Tonight, before the bidding begins at 10:00 pm, I would like to update you on the status of our current work within our genetics division.”
Dr. Evans leaned in toward me. “That gives plenty of time for everyone to get filled up with liquor. It brings in nice high bids that way.”
I didn’t find this comment humorous, seeing as they were my eggs people were bidding on.
Dr. Mitchell continued. “As many of you know, for the last few decades at Vasterias, we have focused on the application and study of epigenetics, an endeavor which began over twenty-five years ago with both Dr. James Adamson and Dr. Robert Cunningham.
“What we know is that in most cases of gene order and expression, it’s not the DNA itself but the proteins in the body that create specific genetic changes and expressions. Those correct proteins, attached to the correct DNA, can work miracles, and can actually shift the DNA itself. It’s quite an amazing process, to state it lightly.”
Dr. Mitchell adjusted the thin microphone, cleared his throat. “J. A. was the first successful arrangement of this DNA code, complete with an exact arrangement of proteins on top. Unfortunately, J. A.’s DNA code and protein order have been inaccessible to us for many years.”
It took me a moment to realize that J. A. was short for Jack Adamson.
They didn’t even have the heart to refer to him by his actual name?
It made sense though, probably made their inhuman job of working on him easier. They could sleep better at night if they didn’t have to discuss him as Jack: “We’re just working on J. A. Not a real person. Just J. A.”
Mitchell’s voice droned on. “A blanket had been placed over J. A.’s DNA code, making the code non-extractable, unreadable. And even if we were able to read his DNA strands, the specific proteins creating epigenetic changes on top of those genes—the pattern making him exactly what he is—has always been a mystery to us.
“In order to bypass this problem in the past, we attempted to partner J. A.’s sperm with eggs of female recruits. Up to this point, this had been rendered an unsuccessful endeavor.”
I shifted in my seat. I didn’t like the direction this guy headed.
“We currently know that there are over 24,000 protein-encoding genes in our DNA. Both Hope’s and J. A.’s DNA have a specific arrangement of those proteins, and in addition, a specific expression of those proteins—meaning some of those proteins have ‘open’ gene expression and some have ‘closed’ gene expression. This phenomenon was discovered nearly two decades ago when their fathers’ unfolded a gene code that we have yet to duplicate. Now eighteen years later, remarkably, we have available the reproductive cells of two different subjects, one of each sex, whose bodies contain an arrangement of DNA code that we refer to in our research labs as ‘the golden order.’”
I wondered if the people in the crowd knew why I hadn’t been “available” for so long?
Surely they knew what my father had done? How he’d sent my family into hiding, how no one even knew the code existed in me longer than a few days ago?
Surely they knew the testing Jack had undergone? The attempts to use his body for research? The pain they put him through? The attempts that failed over and over again?
I wondered if Dr. Stanstopolis told Dr. Mitchell I’d failed all my tests this morning at headquarters. What would he say to that?
Dr. Mitchell continued, “We still have sufficient amounts of J. A.’s sperm on hand.” He waved toward the spotlighted glass display case. “And we will be pairing them shortly with this selection that Hope has already so graciously supplied us with.”
Graciously supplied? Was he being serious?
“We have high expectations from the results of this pairing: new access to an unrivaled genetic code. The embryos will be an example of what is possible and will provide us with years of research and study. We plan to make this genetic research available to the world.”
Dr. Evans leaned in toward me and whispered. “For those who are willing to pay for it, of course.”
The room broke into a round of applause. Some turned toward me, smiling.
They were clapping for me.
Clapping like I wanted to help them, like it was something I was proud of. Like I was some savior of their world. And maybe I was their savior—their dollar sign, their power to wield. That was their world: money and power.
I wanted to stand up and scream at Dr. Mitchell.
Liar! You’re a liar! I didn’t volunteer ANYTHING!
Would anyone in the crowd even care? Maybe it didn’t matter whether or not the whole thing was covered in lies. Maybe it wouldn’t even bother these people to know I was being held against my will. I wanted jump out of my seat and tackle Dr. Mitchell to the ground. That’d give him a real taste of what my “genes” could do.
But I knew I could do better than that. If I really wanted to get Vasterias where it hurt, I had to do better than that.
I composed myself before turning to Dr. Evans. “Dr. Evans, is it true that many of the recruits are dying off?”
He nodded, an unfortunate look on his face. “I saw a boy stationed at the Vasterias base in London before I left. Poor thing.”
My heart pinged at the thought of Imogen—her strong, capable, sardonic self—wasting away to nothing like Sven described would happen.
I tried to shove this thought aside as I asked my next question. “And am I really Vasterias’s last hope for getting this code off the ground and into the hands of these people?”
Dr. Evans thought about this for a moment.
“At least for the next three or four decades, I’d say.”
I nodded and sat back stiffly in my chair.
Up on stage, Dr. Mitchell rambled on about genetics, proteins, coding, and being on the “cusp” of change.
I slipped my steak knife into the napkin on my lap.
Sven lied to me.
Beckett wasn’t coming.
Jack wasn’t coming.
Finn was quite possibly dead, most likely dead, as much as I didn’t want to believe it deep in my heart.
And if I stayed alive, someday Vasterias would be displaying my real eggs up on stage, not my fake ones.
I had to stop feeding myself the lie that I could somehow escape.
No more games, no more pretending this story had a happy ending.
This had to end. Now.
“Do you mind if I have the rest of that?” I motioned to Dr. Evans’ glass of wine.
His eyebrows rose in surprise, but he scooted it toward me. I swallowed it in five gulps, puckering at the bitterness of the flavor.
My first glass of wine on my last day of life.
How ironic.
As discreetly as possible, I stood up.
It was time to go to the bathroom.
47
BECKETT
Dallamore led us to the same conference room where he’d interrogated me only the week before. We didn’t sit in the leather chairs around the table though. The three of us stood, all too restless, too full of
agendas to sit.
“Clearly, you know how this looks,” Dallamore said. “Especially after your actions to escape the island, and after you lied to us about knowing Dr. Cunningham’s whereabouts, and after you betrayed your father and the Vasterias Corporation.”
“Yes, Dr. Dallamore, all those things are true. But I’ve had a change of heart.”
It wasn’t Dallamore I was worried about. It was my father who I really needed to convince.
“What has changed?” Dallamore said incredulously.
The rehearsed words flowed convincingly off my tongue. “My father offered me a proposition on the island before he left. He said to think about things. That if I decided I wanted to work with him at headquarters, he’d give me a chance to do so. He said I have a heart for people, and that he always knew I would be good for Vasterias.”
I continued without giving Dallamore a chance to express whatever skepticism was on his face.
“Now, I know you may not believe me at first, it’s understandable, with my most recent actions. But the truth, Dr. Dallamore? The truth is, my brother and I never have seen eye to eye, and after the last forty-eight hours with him, I realized that we never will. We got in a fight. He wants to destroy everything, but I want to do good in the world. I believe the code can bring good to the world. And if I may be frank with you, sir, the truth is, I’ve missed my father.”
I glanced at my Dad, his face remained untouched. “It would be an honor to work with him again. All I ask is that you give me time to prove myself. There is no harm in that, is there?”
Dallamore seemed to digest my speech, no doubt trying to pick apart the weak links of my story.
“And where is Jack?” my father said.
“I have reason to believe he may be attempting to come here tonight to kidnap Sage. He wants to kill her, sir, and destroy the code.”
Dallamore looked alarmed. “Here? Tonight?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “And we all know his capabilities, sir. Unless you need to be reminded ….”
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