Elyle wiped her eyes. Her face grew serious.
“When you first told me about Mur, I knew you were…” Elyle paused, “…special. But some people might think Mur is imaginary — that you’re hearing things. Keep her to yourself, all right?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’d never tell anyone.” I glanced around, but no one was bothering to eavesdrop. A crowd was the best place to hide.
We walked side by side. Our footsteps found a matching rhythm. A fresh breeze pushed us from behind. All the faces in the crowd were portraits to be drawn, souls to be sketched. I swung my arms, suddenly calmer. Elyle made me feel that I could last a little longer with Mother, with the Academy, with everything.
When we reached the edge of Center Block, Elyle said good-bye, sparing me the humiliation of delivering me to the Academy’s doorstep. I wove through the crowd, searching for Jonah. Center Block was filled with uniforms scurrying toward the towering buildings that lined the square like soldiers on parade. The sports complex, medical unit, Academy of Intelligence, offices of GrowTech, and Purity headquarters — all trying to outdo each other. Yet Purity had the tallest tower, with a huge billboard flashing, COMMITTED TO TOMORROW.
I kept an eye out for Purity officers as I dodged around a group of fanatics gathered with signs that read, KEEP BACK THE BEYOND. Militants for Purity. We were supposed to meet in the square for “like-minded discussions” and “matters of interest to the settlement,” but any gatherings were just praise for Purity. I followed the other gray-blue uniforms to the Academy, still looking for Jonah.
The Academy was a four-storey building wedged in beside the main medical unit. The Purity headquarters across the square made me uncomfortable. I thought I saw the stern-faced officer from the cafe — Rylant had been her name — going into the medical unit.
I hurried up the stone stairs, through the double glass doors, and into the main hall of the Academy. The air was no cooler, the noise echoed off the high ceiling, and there was no sign of Jonah.
I checked the bench under the huge spiral staircase to the second floor, our usual meeting spot. No Jonah. Maybe he was avoiding me. Maybe he didn’t want to talk or even be with me. I thought of the connection with him and ached for it.
Back by the doors, I scanned the hall again. Five minutes until first lecture. Come on, Jonah.
Then I caught sight of the game junky from the cafe in an Academy uniform. What was he doing here?
He was in his wheelchair, glaring at the tall staircase. His hair had been shaved to a bright-orange stubble all over his head. I should show him the lift, I thought, but I didn’t move.
He glanced over the crowd, stopping on me, a glint of recognition in his eyes. I started. He remembered me. I hoped he didn’t remember my conversation with Jonah. I spun around, panicked that he might tell someone what he’d heard, and whacked into a familiar chest.
“Jonah!”
He smiled. A good sign. “Hey, Lenni.”
“Oh, Jonah, I’m so sorry about yesterday.” People jostled and bumped us, but I didn’t care.
“Sorry for what?”
“For Mother.”
Jonah grinned. “Your mother? Don’t worry. I have one, too.” He kissed me on the nose, then glanced around quickly to check that no professors had noticed. “What do I have to do to get another portrait like that? What you did — that was incredible!”
A laugh burbled from deep inside. “I’ll sketch you now.”
I wanted to hold him again, to sketch him over and over. Mother couldn’t stop us from being together. She had no power over us.
Jonah glanced at the large clock mounted over the doors then frowned. “I’ve got to go. I got a transmit this morning ordering me to the office.”
“Why? What is it?” I tried not to sound worried for his sake, but my voice hit a shrill note.
“I don’t know, but it’s serious. They asked for my parents to come, too. Can you believe it? They didn’t even check the records.”
Jonah’s father had been exiled from Dawn for an illegal gen-eng procedure. Sent into the Beyond. A terrible punishment. He was diabetic and had just gone in for an implant of insulin-producing cells. Jonah had said his father didn’t know they’d done a gen-eng procedure instead, until it was too late.
“Where’s your mother?” I looked around. If I was going to meet her, I didn’t want to make a bad impression — we’d had enough of that.
“She has to work.”
“Well, they probably just want to congratulate you on your work in the lab,” I said, trying to convince us both.
“Yeah, right.” Jonah laughed. “Whatever it is, I’m not going to be late.”
“You’re never late. You always work hard. I’m sure it will be good news,” I said. Jonah dealt with the disgrace of his father by constantly proving his worth.
He swept his fingers up and down my arm and I shivered.
“I hope so.” Then he was gone.
I headed for my first class, a required course in creative thinking that my professor liked to call Creative Thunk. I liked Professor Fwatt’s class almost as much as the few art classes that I got each month. They were just token classes where we accurately reproduced still images or created advertisements to promote Purity, yet I was pathetically grateful for them.
Near the entrance to Fwatt’s room, Jobey Mendleson and a few others were gathered in a circle.
“Don’t get too close. It may be catching,” Jobey said with a snorting laugh.
The other guys only came up to Jobey’s shoulders. His arm muscles were hardly contained by his uniform.
I tried to peer between them. Which sniveling first-year had they cornered now?
I gasped. It was that poor game junky, his cheeks burning so red that his freckles had disappeared. They had him surrounded, although he looked ready to dive out of his wheelchair and smash his fist into Jobey’s stomach.
“Move, you gorilla. Go get your intelligence supplements.” He rolled his chair forward as if he were going to run Jobey down.
Jobey pulled back his fist, his face dark with fury. “What did you say?”
“Leave off, Jobey.” My mouth was as dry as cotton. What was I doing? I didn’t even know this guy.
Jobey turned to glare at me, his fist still poised. The tight circle widened. I swallowed, not daring to take my eyes off Jobey’s fist. Please, don’t hit me.
A hand on my shoulder made me jump. Professor Fwatt. I let out a breath.
“Ah, a situation. Thank you, Mr. Mendleson for your kind treatment of our new student. We’ll talk about this after class, shall we?”
Jobey lowered his fist, but his face grew redder. He glowered at me as if it were my fault.
Fwatt turned to the game junky. Jobey and his guys scattered. “You must be Reginald Gray.” He smiled, and thick wrinkles sprouted around his eyes.
The professor was ancient with a small, round belly. He wore a shabby, dark-blue instructor’s uniform that he’d probably gotten years ago when he first became a professor.
“Redge,” said the game junky in a gruff voice.
“Pardon?” The professor’s smile faded.
“My name is Redge.”
“Oh, of course.” His smile reappeared even stronger. “Come. I’ve got a special place for you.”
Fwatt entered the lecture hall with Redge behind him. Jobey lingered in the corridor with his guys.
“I hear he’s been locked up in the medical unit,” Jobey said, “but there’s no fixing him.”
“Why’d they let him out?”
“Don’t know.” Jobey frowned at me. “But we’ll send him back.”
I hurried after Redge.
The lecture hall had a stepped floor with rows of chairs on each level that overlooked a podium and display screen with the Academy logo swirling on it. Professor Fwatt arranged a space at the front near the left aisle that was wide enough to fit a wheelchair. Redge looked at it, scowled, then backed his chair into the sp
ace.
I always sat near the back, where I could fade into the crowd. Today, something made me sit beside Redge. He was misunderstood, just like me, and I was curious.
I opened my bag and got out my slate. Sitting in the front row made me squirm — it was too close to Fwatt and people could spy on me from behind. There would be no idle sketching during the lecture today.
Redge lowered a foldout slate onto his lap. “Thanks for standing up for me out in the hall.” His face was still flushed, as if thanking me was an effort he didn’t want to make.
“Sure.” Should I mention that I saw him at the cafe? I wondered again what he had overheard me saying to Jonah. Maybe it didn’t matter. Purity hadn’t been following me, Mother had. When he turned away, I glanced at his skinny legs. Weird, but he couldn’t be dangerous if Purity had allowed him to come here.
“Reginald,” began Fwatt.
“I said my name is Redge.” His face got redder.
“Yes, well, Redge. I begin each class with a discussion of the readings. I won’t expect you to be an expert today, but you can skim through the topics before class begins. I’m transmitting now.”
Redge nodded, then touched his slate to power up his knowledge pilot. He still had several bandages on his fingertips.
“Dawg?” Redge spoke softly into his slate.
“Bark, bark.” The voice that answered was metallic — a pathetic dog imitation.
“Your pilot has voice commands? And a name?” I leaned closer.
Everybody had a pilot program with an agenda, assignment manager, and so on, but mine was nothing like his.
Redge smiled for the first time. “Yeah, listen. Dawg, a Chihuahua. Go.”
“Yip, yip.” The voice became a high-pitched yelp.
“I’d give him a biscuit if he had teeth.” Redge’s voice was proud.
“Ha, ha.” The deep male pilot voice was sardonic now. “As your knowledge pilot, I’m obligated to tell you that I’m capable of more.”
“Pure! A pilot with personality. How did you get that?”
“I modified his interaction program.” Redge passed his fingers, wide and flattened on the tips, over the monitor as if he were stroking a dog. The fingernails that weren’t bandaged were short, bitten back to the skin. “A Great Dane. Go.”
“Ar-orf, ar-orf.”
I laughed. “Amazing.”
“Thanks.”
Then Professor Fwatt began his introductory speech. “Please welcome our newest student, Reginald Gray.”
“It’s Redge.” Redge muttered, shaking his head. He didn’t take his eyes off his pilot.
“Reginald is a special guest of the Academy during his stay at the main medical unit. I expect everyone to give him a warm welcome.”
The room was so silent that I could almost hear the questions buzzing through everyone’s minds. Why had Purity allowed him to come here? What was wrong with him? Yet no one dared to ask, and Professor Fwatt didn’t explain.
“Now, on to our opening debate.” The professor cleared his throat. “Should an artist be free to paint any subject matter?”
Still wondering about Redge, I accessed my own, rather ordinary, pilot. I tried to listen to what the professor was saying, but I couldn’t help but notice the sideways looks that Redge was getting.
Then Jobey entered the door at the front of the room.
“What if the artist painted the torture of children?” Professor Fwatt was saying to everyone, although he was giving Jobey Mendleson a stern look. A few people laughed.
Jobey ignored Fwatt. He stood with his legs wide apart and studied the room, looking for a seat. There was one in the far back row and one on the other side of Redge. He glared at Redge, then scaled the stairs to the back, climbing over people’s legs to get to the seat.
“Through censorship of art, we stamp a firm foot down on creativity and deprive everyone of the freedom of expression.”
The topic was interesting — and daring, considering Purity’s need to control — but I kept glancing at Redge. Why was he in a wheelchair? Was he skidge? The rumors about Jobey were that he’d had work done on his biceps, legs, shoulders, and a full plastics job on his face. If any of these changes had involved gen-eng, Jobey would be skidge.
“We do have a right to portray, in art, acts that are not permitted under law in order to provide a comment on society. Through art, society examines itself.”
Thinking about what Fwatt was saying, I stared at the perspiration that was now sprinkled across his forehead like raindrops. More sweat was beginning to collect on the ledge of Fwatt’s stomach and soak his uniform black around the middle. Many times I had watched Fwatt’s race of sweat. I had even bet myself when the upper and lower bands of moisture would meet in the middle.
I thought about sending a transmit to Redge. “Fwatt needs to pinch off his sweat glands.” I glanced at Redge, considering it. He was no longer scowling, although he appeared edgy, uncomfortable.
“Is the suppression of any form of creative activity wrong then? For example, should scientists be permitted to create a new species or alter at will the sequence of genes that has carried humans forward since our early evolution?” The professor gazed about him, waiting for an answer to this question.
This was what I liked about Fwatt. He had the audacity to ask challenging questions. I wondered how he managed it without Purity hassling him. Or maybe they did and I just didn’t know it.
“What about life weed, Professor? Once we have created a monster, what do we do with it?” asked someone near the back.
Life wort, I wanted to say, but I was frozen, waiting for the professor’s answer. The stains from around Fwatt’s collar were gathering strength now — straining to meet those traveling up from his stomach. I realized that I was holding my breath and released it. My father’s creation. Was lifewort a monster?
“Destroy it,” called out Marissa Francisco, a girl I’d once called a friend, until Mother had told her that I was too good for her. “If we created it, we can destroy it.”
I wanted to interrupt, but didn’t know what to say. Why did everyone hate lifewort? It might be invasive, but it had a purpose. It created the biodegradable plastic that we used everywhere — on the walk in the commons, in the benches at the Academy. Wasn’t lifewort just struggling to survive like any other plant?
“Ah, Marissa,” answered Fwatt, “life is different from art. Do the same rules apply? Once that life form has been created, should it enjoy the same rights as you and I?”
“Can’t destroy lifeweed anyway,” said Jobey. “It has an unbeatable defense mechanism.”
I could keep silent no longer. “You’re talking about killing off a whole species. What gives you the right?”
Everyone looked at me. Except for the sound of a shoe scuffing against the floor, all was silent. Then someone said, “But lifeweed is killing off other plants!”
“Ah, now we have an interesting debate.” Professor Fwatt’s face was triumphant.
If only I could wipe the glorious look from his face. “No, we don’t. This is not a classroom experiment. Lifewort is a living thing.”
“Her father runs GrowTech,” someone behind me whispered.
“Ohh,” was the answer.
This had nothing to do with Dad. How dare they gossip about me?
Then Redge folded back his slate, unlocked his wheels, and began to roll himself out of the room. I saw that Redge’s face was red again. Maybe even redder than before. With one push of his arms he was halfway to the door. Where was he going?
“Reginald?” asked the professor, confused.
The class snuffled and giggled. This interruption was better than any lecture. Everyone sat up and paid attention.
“I don’t belong here,” Redge spoke with clear pauses like bullets between each word.
“Pardon?”
“You think you can just sit around here and decide what has a right to live?” The words exploded out of him. “I don’t want to
be part of this.”
Redge avoided my eyes, but I felt I finally had an ally.
“Uh, perhaps you should go to the office?”
“Right away.” Redge almost spat the words out. Then with two more strong pushes he was through the door.
Someone muffled a loud guffaw and the sound echoed through the room. Softer laughter followed.
The professor began to discuss how a society forms its moral values, but I was wondering where Redge would go. Not to the office, obviously. If only I had the nerve to follow him out of the lecture hall. If only I didn’t have to do what everyone expected of me. I sighed and tried to pay attention. If only I could just walk out of the Academy without Mother hounding me.
purity
“How could you? You… you…” No name was evil enough to call Mother. “How could you possibly?”
“What choice did I have?” Mother’s tight smile was infuriating. “That boy was a disruptive influence. Even though I forbade you to see him, the other girls at the Academy were still at risk. It was my responsibility as a parent to let the Academy know about the situation.” Mother casually clipped a droopy blossom from a hibiscus.
Seething, I thumped down onto a chair. The forest of Mother’s plants dominated the sunroom. They cast a shadow over me. Even the sun couldn’t shine under Mother’s spell. I should have known she would do something. I clenched my jaw. Why hadn’t I been more careful?
Before me, the neatly set table grated on my nerves. I wanted to swipe the supper dishes onto the floor, hear the satisfying crash, and watch Mother jump. But Elyle would just give me a disappointed look and set the table again.
“I can’t believe you had Jonah expelled!” My voice was almost a shriek. “What about his job in the lab? His hopes for a posting? Gone! Because of you!”
“He did it to himself,” Mother shrugged. “His genetic history is less than satisfactory.”
My mouth hung open. Had she researched his family history? “You mean his dad?” I shook my head, amazed she could slur Jonah without a second thought. “That was an accident! Jonah wasn’t affected.”
Elyle appeared in the kitchen doorway with a huge bowl of spinach salad in her hands. A sculpture standing strong against the violent emotions that threatened to swamp me. She smiled sadly. I’m sorry, her expression said.
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