Prototype

by M. D. Waters

  I want the moment to last, but he has erected a wall I cannot get past. He has made a clear effort to remain devoted to Sonya, and I promised myself I would let him go. It just may take more time than I would like.

  Instead of going directly to day care, we walk around the hub for a while. She points at things and I tell her what they are called. She tries repeating most words, though combining certain sounds appears difficult. I begin to make out her particular sound pattern, though. What was only noise before becomes simple words.

  We see Noah with Reid and the colonel at one point. Colonel Updike is average in height and quite a bit older according to the lines creasing his forehead and around his eyes. Despite his age, he is very attractive. He is bald and cleanly shaven, and sharp angles make up his bone structure. Muscles outline his arms and define his shoulders under his dark-brown T-shirt.

  They are far enough away that we go unnoticed by Reid and the colonel, but Noah seems to sense us and turns. My heart gallops. I was supposed to take Adrienne to day care and I have clearly not done so. But he waves and turns back around, making it okay.

  The rest of the morning passes quickly. She naps in my room for an hour; then we have lunch together in the cafeteria. It has been an exhausting yet perfect day. One I should feel guilty about wasting but do not. I need to work on figuring out what to do about Declan, but this time with Adrienne is precious.

  Begrudgingly, I return Adrienne to day care. Once inside the room, she wriggles from my arms, takes my finger, and drags me to a low-lying round table. Multicolored shapes and crayons bounce along the touch-screen surface.

  “Adrienne, I need to go bye-bye,” I say.

  “No.” The one word is practiced; she says it with the skill of an adult, unlike everything else.

  Adrienne pulls me down to sit and slaps the table. A menu of sorts appears. Coloring pages, virtual storybooks, stacking games . . .

  I look around, and when none of the caregivers seem to notice or care that I am here, I tap COLORING PAGES, then GIRLS, then PRINCESSES. A large sheet of paper appears on the screen and Adrienne pulls the image toward her. The scene is from a princess story, complete with a pumpkin and a prince calling to the fleeing princess from a grand staircase. He looks desperate for her to return. Under the “paper” is a perfect row of crayons.

  Adrienne crawls into my lap and leans over the colors. She hums a high-pitched hmmm, as if she cannot decide, then hits the pink. She begins swiping her palm around the screen, and pink strokes follow her movement. When done, she hits the green and repeats the process. She goes through all the colors in a very short period of time, then starts over.

  I hug Adrienne’s small, warm frame and dip my nose to the crown of her head, filling my lungs with the sweet berry scent of her hair. She scribbles away on the table, unaware of how much I already love her.

  I am setting her up with a clean coloring sheet when a strange male voice fills the space. “Well, that looks fun. Mind if we join?”

  The man walks up to our table with Noah and Reid on his heels.

  Adrienne beams and reaches for Noah, who scoops her up without hesitation. “Emma, this is Colonel Updike.”

  I stand and reach out to shake his hand. “It is nice to meet you, Colonel.”

  He frowns and exchanges a look with Noah and Reid. He then gives me a small smile that makes his already thin lips disappear. “You don’t remember me?” He has a low, comforting timbre to his voice, which helps me relax.

  “My memory is very limited.”

  He scratches the cleft in his chin. “That’s too bad. Well, anyway, if you aren’t busy, I thought we could go somewhere and talk. Privately.”

  Privately? Why on earth would he need to talk to me privately?

  I look at Noah, who gives no hint as to what this is about. After a long moment he nods once, urging me to agree to the meeting.

  “Okay,” I say. “Where would you like to talk?”

  “Outside. I’d like you to come somewhere with me.”

  Outside? My heart flings itself against my ribs once, good and hard.

  “Disguise yourself,” he says, and heads for the exit. “Meet me in the command center in five minutes.”

  Noah hangs back as the colonel and Reid disappear. Adrienne rests on his hip, her little arms snaked around his neck.

  “What is going on?” I ask him.

  “He’ll keep you safe,” he whispers, casting a furtive glance around at the nearby caregivers, who ignore us.

  “That is not what I asked.”

  He shakes his head, then smiles at Adrienne. “Daddy has to go back to work, chicken. Be a good girl for Alicia and Renae.”

  “Noah—”

  “It’s not my place,” he cuts in, and sets Adrienne down. He pats her diapered butt and says, “Go play.”

  She runs off and into the arms of one of the girls. Noah watches for a moment, then leads me out of the room.

  “Should I be worried?”

  “No. Listen . . .” He trails off and faces me, his eyes cast down. “Just take care of yourself out there, okay? I have to go.”

  He turns away and leaves me with my heart stone still in my chest. Take care of myself? What does that mean? Why could he not look at me?

  I have no time to consider this if I am to make it back to the command center, fully disguised, in time to meet the colonel. The best I can do with the little time remaining is to wrap a dark blue scarf over my head. The material is large enough that I am able to twist the length of my hair into a low-hanging knot, concealing every dark strand. I wish I had my old sunglasses but make do with a pair I find in “Emma’s” box that are rectangular and tinted blue. I want to wear my leather jacket, but it will be too warm outside, so I stick with my black tank top and jeans.

  Colonel Updike waits for me near the teleporters wearing a brown leather shoulder holster for a single HK pistol. The sight of his weapon gives me pause. He wants to take me outside and does not bother to conceal his gun?

  With the way Noah was acting, a horrible thought surfaces. The colonel could be luring me to my very own assassination. The resistance would be better off without me around. With Declan searching the world for me, I can only bring them trouble.

  I stop in front of him and he leans close to whisper, “You’re wearing your suspicious face.”

  “Should I be worried about the gun you carry?”

  “Only if you plan to attack me, in which case, definitely.”

  He looks amused, and I feel ridiculous for suspecting the worst. “I am sorry, but Major Reid has made it clear he suspects me of working for Declan, and he is not the only one. You understand my hesitation.”

  “Believe it or not, Ms. Wade, I like to draw my own conclusions and don’t listen to idle gossip.”

  He turns and steps into a teleporter. “Have you been to San Francisco Island in your recent travels?”

  I step inside the tube. “No.”

  “Good. You used to like visiting new places. Is that still the case?”

  The last time I fawned over a city was my first visit into Richmond, but that was because, at the time, I had no memory of seeing a city outside of pictures in a book. The West America states are different from the East. I have yet to find a city I can appreciate. “Loose” is a word I would use to describe the West. There is no control in the freedom they allow themselves there.

  “Not really,” I tell him.

  He punches in a port number and says, “Well, you always loved San Fran. Let’s see if that’s still the case.”

  The scent of spearmint encompasses the teleporter, and the hub blends into sunlit, foot-traffic-heavy streets. Except the “street” is an eight-lane high-street expressway with a wide pedestrian walkway. A shoulder-high guardrail separates us from an impressive drop into a fog-laden city.

  Silver and bl
ue structures escape the low cloud cover with pointed tops. Identical high streets like this one curve throughout the sky, weaving around the tops of skyscrapers and in and out of the dense fog.

  We step outside, and a strong, cool wind threatens my balance. Goose bumps rise on my arms. While the sunlight glares, the wind off the Pacific cuts off any heat. I should have worn my jacket.

  Colonel Updike leads me to the railing on our side of the street. The fog below ends in an impenetrable roll over the Pacific Ocean, which shines a murky blue. I have learned that the ocean water near land is too polluted to swim in, though the governments are working diligently to clean it up. They seem to have made tremendous progress here in comparison to some of the other cities I have been to.

  From here I make out part of the forty-mile suspension bridge that takes travelers to the mainland and into Los Angeles. The structure is solid silver with beautiful curves for guardrails snaking along the sides. I find it hard to believe that, once upon a time, none of this existed. I have heard stories of the quakes shifting the land in opposite directions, and of magma bursting up to create islands, but they seem like mere fairy tales in light of this view.

  “Look over there.” Colonel Updike points in the opposite direction of the bridge. He has to yell so I can hear over the rush of wind. “That’s where we’re going.”

  Floating in the ocean are islands with lush greenery making up the base, and honeycomb windows linked together and leafing out like enormous flower petals. Suspension bridges link all of them together.

  “Lily communities,” he says.

  I see how the shape lends to the name “lily” but am clueless how the community part comes in to play. “What are they exactly?”

  “Self-sustaining islands, roughly twenty miles in diameter apiece, with everything to meet the community’s needs. They recycle their own waste, produce their own food, and are completely solar powered. Each pad farms fresh seawater fish, which they manage using a filtering system to keep out the impurities in the ocean water.”

  Interesting. “And why are we going there?”

  “I have an apartment there.” He lays a hand on the small of my back. “Come on. Let’s rent a vehicle.”

  We walk for nearly a half mile in silence while I take in the incredible views of the island. I wish I could see the city below the fog, but maybe it is for the best. My experience with the other cities must hold true here, too, which would ruin the effect.

  While the area seems to be a place of peace, the one thing telling me otherwise is the weapon-laden pedestrians. Colonel Updike is not the only one carrying a gun. Not that anyone appears to need one. Not a single fight, verbal or otherwise, has broken out. Maybe the guns are a deterrent to anyone who would cause trouble.

  A parking lot curves off the main road, and Colonel Updike leads me into the area. “Car or motorcycle?”

  If I have ever been on a motorcycle, I have no memory of it, but I think I will like it. “Motorcycle.”

  With a nod, he chooses a sleek, black bike. He stops at a stand where a computerized male voice speaks to him. “Cash or credit?”

  Colonel Updike taps the credit button on the rectangular touch screen.

  “Place thumb on biometric scanner,” the voice instructs, and after the colonel does so, the voice says, “Thank you, Nathanial Updike. Enjoy your stay on San Francisco Island.”

  I wait for him to climb on before straddling the black leather seat behind him. He uses his thumb on another scanner to start the motor, which sends a mild vibration throughout my body.

  Seconds later, we weave in and out of traffic on the high streets, taking turns with ease. We never dip below the low cloud cover and are far beyond it by the time the expressway slopes toward the surface.

  We take a suspension bridge across the water to one of a dozen lily communities. A sign near the island itself reads LILY STATION 6 and WELCOME HOME.

  After parking, we enter through a set of glass doors and travel down a long hallway that ends in an open, round space. The dome, which would make up the center of the lily, is also constructed of honeycomb-shaped glass. The “petals” of the station rise around us on all sides for what seems like miles. Glass elevators travel between the stories.

  The air smells heavily of seawater. Green plant life bursts from large pots and entwines columns. The floor, too, is glass, showcasing the ocean below our feet. Seaweed floats against the surface with an array of sea life swimming in and around each green vine.

  Colonel Updike’s apartment is on the twelfth floor. It is an expansive room with glass facing the Pacific, white walls, and sand-colored tiles. The room’s furniture is sparse, and what there is looks square and uncomfortable.

  I hang my sunglasses from the front of my tank and sniff the sweet-scented air. “Do I smell a cigar?” Peter always smoked a cigar at the end of every day on his front porch.

  “Probably,” he says, and chuckles. “Connelly!”

  From the outside deck, a head peeks around a lounge chair. His thick, tight, white curls flutter in a heavy breeze, and his black skin has a sheen of sweat from the sun. A white-toothed grin lengthens once he sets his dark eyes on us.

  I start for the glass doors, a smile on my face. “Peter?”

  CHAPTER 22

  Peter sets his cigar in an ashtray beside the lounge chair and opens his arms to me. “Little dove,” he says in a vibrating baritone.

  I melt into his strong embrace and inhale the strong, sweet scent clinging to his button-down shirt. Underneath is the distinct scent of his horses, which brings with it a sense of serenity. It feels as if years have passed since my stay with him in Montana, rather than weeks.

  I look up at him. “What are you doing here?”

  He nods behind me to where Colonel Updike watches us from the railing. “Ask him.”

  The sky behind the colonel is a clear blue with a small scattering of white clouds. He wears a faint smile and looks relaxed, while I am fraught with confusion. From the moment I met this man, I have been both on edge and at ease.

  I leave the enclosure of Peter’s hug and face Colonel Updike. “Colonel?”

  He lifts a white eyebrow. “You used to call me Nate, you know. And since this is an informal meeting of old friends, I think it’s more than appropriate, don’t you?”

  That remains to be seen. “Okay, fine, but—”

  “Peter and I will explain everything, but in the meantime, why don’t you have a seat. I’ll get us all a drink.” He points to Peter. “You better have another one of those cigars for me when I get back.”

  When Colonel Updike disappears into the apartment, I face Peter. “What is going on around here?”

  “Always so impatient to get answers. They aren’t going anywhere.” He motions for me to sit in a chair that angles off the white railing.

  I draw in a calming breath and try to gather my racing thoughts. I cannot imagine why or how I have ended up in this situation, but at least I know now that I am in no danger.

  Once seated, I say, “Things are different now. I have little time for patience these days. Declan is looking for my parents, which means I have to find them first.”

  Miles and I have spent every spare moment he has searching but have come up empty. He is a good friend and tries to hide how discouraged he is becoming, but I am not blind. I am just glad that Declan has had about as much luck as I have in finding them. They are still safe somewhere.

  “Yes, I know,” he says. “I’ve seen the news.”

  I begin unraveling the scarf from my head. It feels good to let the wind blow through my hair. “But that is only part of it. Things are time sensitive, and even being here now . . . Do not get me wrong. It is great to see you, but this thing with Declan could lead to something about me becoming public if I cannot stop him first.”

  “Is this about you being the Original Clone?
”

  A flush races through my body. I had not told him for fear of judgment. “How did you know?”

  “I told him.” Colonel Updike appears with a bottle of liquor in one hand and three glasses pinched in the fingers of his other.

  Peter takes one of the glasses and rests it on his jean-clad knee. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell me yourself.”

  “We barely know each other.”

  He tilts his head and one side of his lips curves up just enough to hint at a deep dimple. “Some things are beyond reason. I don’t offer a home to everyone who pops in unannounced. No one, in fact.”

  Colonel Updike hands me a glass with two fingers full of an amber liquid. “He’s a damn good judge of character, which is why you aren’t locked in a jail cell right now.”

  I set my untouched drink on the glass table beside me. “Noah—”

  “—couldn’t save you if I wanted you locked up for safekeeping.” The colonel sits and begins cutting the end off a cigar. “I know you remember a small part of your life before, but you lived with Declan Burke for months as his wife. Until I heard from Peter, I was on my way to handle your return myself.”

  Both men watch me with raised brows that burrow deep lines in their foreheads.

  I shift uneasily and rub damp palms down my pant legs. “You said before you do not listen to gossip.”

  “I don’t. Facts are not gossip or speculation. You would have been jailed until my questions were satisfied.”

  “So you are satisfied I am not a spy?”

  “I am.” He tucks the cigar into one side of his mouth and his teeth clamp down on the end.

  “Then what am I doing here, Colonel?”

  His brown eyes narrow as he draws in a deep drag. Ashes form on the burning end.

  Peter reaches out and clasps my knee. “We want to offer you a choice.”

  I look at Colonel Updike, my heart tripping in my chest. “I did not realize I needed choices. Do I?”