Prototype

by M. D. Waters

  “Thanks, but no. Things are bad enough.”

  Nodding, I tuck my knees to my chest and twist to face him. He leans toward me and lays a soft kiss on my lips, then drops his forehead against mine and closes his eyes. We sit like this for a long time, letting the quiet and nearness soak in.

  Noah yawns, breaking the serene moment.

  I run a palm over his whisker-shadowed cheek. “Go get some sleep.”

  He nods, but the only other movement he makes is to pick up my tablet. He blinks hard as if to clear his vision and wakes the computer up to Declan’s living room.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, peering over to see Declan still pacing his living room, yelling into his phone.

  After a shake of his head, he passes the screen back. “I don’t know. Nothing.”

  He stands and helps me up. He hugs me and kisses my temple. In my ear, he whispers, “I have something of yours.”

  Leaning away, he produces my luckenbooth necklace. He opens the clasp and makes me turn so he can put it back on. Once done, he kisses my shoulder where the curve just meets my neck. Heat flares under my skin and stirs low in my stomach.

  I lay a warm hand over the linked hearts and turn. “Will you tell me about the necklace?”

  His brows knit together. “You don’t remember?”

  “I found it in a box after we returned from San Francisco. I assume it meant something important.”

  A grin tilts his mouth and he leans a shoulder into the wall. “Yeah. To me. I hoped it would have meant something to you, too, but you never wore it. Maybe only the one time because you felt obligated to, but . . .” He looks down and frowns. “You always hated that symbol. I’d foolishly hoped to turn what brought you darkness into something beautiful and only ours.”

  “That is why you branded your hand?”

  Standing upright, Noah peels away the Plasti-skin covering the brand on his right hand. He takes my left in his right and links our fingers so our palms lie flat. He twists my hand so he can see the spot where I used to have a brand. Another twist shows his. They had been strategically placed, as if one set of hearts burned through to the other, binding us forever. Without mine, our link is now broken.

  “I have considered having the brand returned,” I tell him.

  “To fend off any would-be husbands?” His tone holds jest, but his eyes do not.

  I cannot look at him as I admit the reason. “My first painting was of our beach the day we were married. The arch. The flower petals. And a luckenbooth in the sand. I had no memories of you at that time, but on a subconscious level”—I meet his eyes—“I was trying to claw you to the surface.”

  He blinks in response, apparently speechless.

  “This symbol has always been my link to you, and you did that. If I wear it, then I carry you with me always.” I take a shaky breath. “What do you think? Do I have your blessing?”

  Noah catches me around the waist and lifts me from the floor. His nose circles mine, and a grin lengthens across his face. “You have it. All of it. Me, my blessing, my soul, and my love, Emma. You always have. You always will.”

  • • •

  “In today’s news: a thwarted attack by the resistance at Burke Enterprises. And the self-proclaimed Moirai strike in Chicago”—a symbol floats in the holo-vid behind the news desk: three crescent moons connected back-to-back-to-back and held together inside a circle—“killing mogul Titus Belleview.”

  The newsman swivels to face a second camera angle. “But first, reports from the White House show a dramatic decline in new volunteers for the cloning project. And the number of women withdrawing their names has tripled. When asked, Dr. Arthur Travista refused to comment, but sources can’t deny the timing. The decline seems to have started following the announcement of Ruby Godfrey’s death.

  “While some speculate Mrs. Godfrey’s death has a direct correlation to knowing Emma Burke, others can’t help but wonder if this has anything to do with the resistance at all. New groups seem to be rising up every day, most of them crying that these women are unnatural, and believe that God himself had a hand in her death.”

  • • •

  Miles points to the long list of girls on his screen. The other side of his desk, where Farrah normally sits, is empty. I hear she has asked to be reassigned to another partner, but nothing official has happened yet. Because I sit alone in the back, partnerless, I hope to take her empty spot. Miles and I work well together.

  I lean closer to the screens, blinking tired eyes to focus, but the list is still just a bunch of strange names to me. “What am I looking at?”

  “There’s at least ten girls—sixteen, seventeen years old. All of them transferred into this WTC in the last six months. Their hospital records from their originating center have been archived.”

  “I do not understand.”

  He holds up his hand and begins ticking off fingers. “One, transfers are rare at this age. Two, why archive hospital records unless they’re trying to hide something? Wouldn’t they want the new doctors up-to-date on all information, including their fertility status?”

  “Are they fertile?”

  “Yes. And”—he ticks off a third finger—“according to these records, the girls entered the center with below-average weight. You’d probably expect them to supplement their meals, right?”

  I shrug. “I suppose so.” Who am I to know what they would or would not do? I have next to no memories of my time in a WTC. And it is not as if they have the best reputation for caring for the girls.

  Miles shakes his head. “They were put on a special diet. Liquid to start, then graduated to bland solids; nothing processed or seasoned. Sound familiar?”

  Yes. Intimately, in fact. I have little memory of liquids in my early post-cloning days but remember the tasteless meals Randall served me for months. “This still is not enough proof. Declan will have some excuse prepared if anyone asks.”

  “Obviously. The man can spin a steel post into a Christmas tree with a wave of his pinky finger.”

  He wags his eyebrows and grins. Not exactly the look of someone who believes he is out of options, and I think I know why.

  “You need to see the archived records,” I guess.

  “Archived records I’d stake my entire life on that say those girls weren’t fertile prior to transfer.”

  I am suddenly sitting a lot taller and my heart leaps. We might have real proof. “So hack into the archives. Is this not what you do?”

  Miles shakes his head. “I might be able to access the records if I had the hard drive, which is back in Burke Enterprises’ server room. Even if I could get back in to pull it, I’d never make it out. Their hard drives are attached to the security grid. Pulling one out would initiate a lockdown.”

  I fall back in my chair, my back slapping the hard surface. “So we are back to square one.”

  He grins. “Maybe not.”

  “But you said—”

  “That’s in Burke Enterprises. I said nothing about a WTC.”

  I straighten, hearing where he is heading. “We go to the originating WTC and pull the hard drive.”

  “Under the guise of a raid,” he adds. “That way the focus won’t be on stopping me, but the rest of the group. I still have to clear the idea with Tucker and Reid, but if we pull an old-fashioned raid, I think I can get to those records. At least four of these girls came from a center in Alexandria, Virginia.”

  I stand and prepare to leave. “Okay. How about I go talk to Noah while you keep looking for the cloning facility? I cannot believe you have not found it yet.”

  He swivels to face me with a sly smirk. “A little motivation would go a long way. Pictures will suffice. I’ll even take them myself. You won’t have to do a thing but lie there.”

  I turn and wave. “Take your mental pictures as I walk away, you
fiend.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Noah calls for me to enter after I knock. I hover in the doorway for a second and watch him shift a serious look from Sonya, who sits in a chair across from his desk, to me. His eyes widen in surprise.

  Sonya looks back, sighs, then stands. “Perfect. Would you like to tell her or should I?”

  Dread pools in my stomach.

  “Go ahead if it’ll make you feel better,” he tells her, and leans back in his chair. The springs skritch.

  “Should I close the door for this?” I ask.

  “No,” she says. “Everyone will find out soon enough anyway. I’m leaving.”

  I glance between them. Leaving? “For how long?”

  She laughs from a deep well in her chest. “As if I’d return and put myself through any more humiliation. And you two aren’t going anywhere, so . . . I’m leaving. Leaving the resistance. Leaving the east. I never liked it here, anyway.”

  Was she not just lecturing me about doing this very thing? How she would be here to pick up the pieces? What happened to that? “So everything you said to me last night . . . ?” I shrug. “Was about what exactly?”

  “About me reacting in the moment. That’s all. I’d apologize, but . . . Well, you understand.” She shoots me a quick, thin smile.

  That is not good enough. She preached to me about breaking their hearts, but what does she think will happen to my daughter? “What about Adrienne? You are the only mother she has ever known. Why would you—?”

  “Emma,” Noah says. “It’s done.”

  Sonya’s chin drops and she stands with arms akimbo. “It’s for the best. Better now while she’s still too young to know better. In a few weeks, she’ll have already forgotten me.”

  “You cannot really believe that. She loves you.” As much as I hate to admit this, it is true. I have seen and hated every second of the bond they share. Adrienne will be devastated.

  She turns back to Noah. “Anyway. I’ll get with Phillip and transfer all my files. He’ll be up-to-date by the end of next week at the latest.”

  Noah looks down at his lap and nods. “Fine.”

  “You know, there’s a bright side to all this.” She casts us both a glowing smile. “I know you’re getting anxious about Leigh going to see Travista. We all are after hearing Phillip’s theory. Maybe now you can nudge your girlfriend into helping with your”—she emphasizes the word and looks right at me—“clone project.”

  Noah stands so fast his chair rockets back and crashes against the wall. “Get the hell out of my office.”

  I cannot take my eyes off Noah’s face as she starts out, and he cannot take his eyes off her. His neck and face flush with anger.

  Sonya pauses beside me, our shoulders grazing. She lowers her voice to say, “Or you could just leave and avoid the process altogether. But you’ve probably already considered that.”

  I look her dead in the eye. “Not once.”

  I watch her leave, fighting to control the tide of anger that ends in a throb at my temples. Noah passes me and closes the door. The second we are shut in, he turns and gives me a small smile. “Don’t listen to a word she says.”

  I scrape my hair back and release a slow breath. “I know what this project means to you, and I know I promised Dr. Malcolm I would go, but—”

  “No need to explain.” He encloses me in a hug and kisses the crown of my head. “I get it. You’ll go if and when you’re ready. No pressure, okay?”

  “But there is pressure. What about Leigh? If for some reason she has to go through with the cloning—”

  “She backed out this morning.”

  I jerk my head back. “Are you serious?”

  “She was a little full of righteous anger over how Burke tried to have you cloned and wiped last night.”

  I seriously love that woman.

  While I am glowing with happiness over Leigh’s decision, Noah nuzzles closer and bends near to my ear. I hear the smile in his tone. “What do you say we pack a bag and the three of us go away for the night? I keep an apartment in the city for appearances—dinner with my dad or associates, etcetera. . . . It’s private, and no one has to know we were there.”

  Can we leave now? The idea of going away with him and Adrienne sounds amazing and just what we need, but there is so much going on lately. Can we just disappear like that? I still have to tell him about Miles’s plan. “What about work?”

  He looks skeptical. “How much work can there be? It’ll take at least a day to analyze the data from the drive.”

  “Miles has already found something interesting. That is why I am here.”

  We sit facing each other in front of his desk, and he pulls my feet into his lap as if he has done this a thousand times. He strokes my shins while I talk, which is very distracting. When I finish my short story, he remains silent for a long moment.

  “What do you think?” I ask. Going through the details again, I find I am anxious to get started on this plan and even hope to go along with Miles. He will need backup, and how dangerous can it be if we avoid the main cluster of fighting? Not to mention getting the chance to have a personal hand in Declan’s downfall. After he tried plotting the cloning of Noah’s “date” last night, I would love a shot at him.

  “That’s a lot of lives at stake just for a hard drive,” Noah says.

  I pull my feet free and lean forward. “You want to nail Declan. This is a hell of a shot. In fact, I think this is the shot.”

  He leans into an elbow and rubs his beard-shadowed chin. He watches me through narrowed lids.

  “Not even Declan can get away with this,” I add. “Those girls are protected—though loosely, I admit—by a government-funded oversight committee. They are not to be touched.”

  “Someone’s been reading up on their politics.”

  I ignore the comment. “If you make this public, imagine the outcry. The committee will be forced to act against Declan.”

  With a sigh, Noah leans forward and braces his elbows on his knees. Not much space separates us. “I’ll discuss this with Reid.”

  “Admit it. It is a good plan.”

  “It is.”

  “So why do you look so hesitant?”

  He drops his chin. “Because you want to go.”

  I bite my lip and look away. “You must want to chain me to a solid surface.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  I shake my head in response.

  He reaches out and skims fingertips across my cheekbone. “It’s okay. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “You will let me go?”

  “Yes, but only because I won’t let you out of my sight. I’ll be going too.”

  My heart leaps into my throat. I am sick thinking of him in this kind of danger. “You do not have to protect me.”

  He takes my hands and rolls his thumbs over my knuckles. “Let’s shelve this conversation for a much later date, okay? I don’t want to fight.”

  “Okay. What do you want to talk about?” I would love to get back to the night away he mentioned.

  He lifts his eyebrows. “Ready to talk about your parents yet?”

  I stand and retreat automatically. “Not really.” Never would be too soon.

  “I did some digging.”

  I lift a digital frame that flashes through images of Adrienne from birth to now. I missed so much.

  “They were right about needing to change your name. Our people watched the Thomases for years after they double-crossed the four hub cells, and probably would have taken you to hurt them. They lived under heavy guard for years. Daxton too.”

  My throat tightens, and I grip the frame until my knuckles whiten. “Noah, I really do not want to hear this.”

  “Parents make a lot of choices, good and bad, when it comes to protecting their children. They were looking out
for you.”

  “They could have kept the life they had with the resistance. They could have kept their family together and happy.”

  Noah’s hands wrap around my shoulders, startling me. “That was a different time. Had it been me, I wouldn’t have had Adrienne anywhere near the hub.”

  “It is no excuse.”

  “They wanted to keep you close to home but also offer you a good life.”

  I shut my eyes and hug the picture frame. There are so many options in front of me to keep my own daughter safe, and choosing to hide her in a WTC and arrange her marriage is not one of them. I would sooner leave her with Sonya to raise.

  “They love you,” he says, and kisses the top of my head. “In a perfect world, they just would have loved you differently.”

  I turn and melt into him, pressing my cheek against his beating heart. I hear what he says, but the facts do not make it any easier to deal with. Everything I went through to find them, thinking at one time they might be in danger. So much wasted time and heartache. Maybe one day I will see through the rips in my heart and feel at peace with how things turned out.

  Today is not that day.

  “I would love to get away for a night,” I say, and look up.

  Noah tucks my hair back and studies my expression. He finally smiles and says, “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  • • •

  I have no outfits I would consider for a date, but I find a top made of a thin, taupe-colored material that hangs off one shoulder. My options for bottoms are my black uniform pants and boots, or jeans and old flip-flops. I settle for the latter and vow to shop for nice pants and heels the second this is over.

  Noah and Adrienne come looking for me early in the afternoon. She reaches for me automatically and Noah takes my worn backpack. My heart flutters in my chest, and he has as much difficulty holding my gaze as I do his.

  We take the private teleporter in his office and appear in a bright white room. The clinical nature reminds me of a lab but for the couches, chairs, and floor cushions—all white with black accents. If not for the thin, black strips of molding, I would not know where the white tiled floor meets the white walls meets the white ceiling.