Prototype

by M. D. Waters

  Noah’s hand tightens. “What about the rest? Do they know she’s resistance? Or was?”

  He sounds calm. I cling to that, hoping for an infusion of the same, because inside I am all over the place. So many emotions clamber to be first it is a wonder they have not trampled me into unconsciousness. It matters. It does not matter. I do not know which to hold tight to anymore. I have my family and it does not matter, but they cannot be my entire world—I need to have an identity outside them—therefore it does matter.

  “No,” Foster says. “Shockingly, he left the resistance part out. Guess Burke wasn’t his goal with this revelation.”

  “He wanted to get back at his parents,” I say. “Our parents. But he also wanted to protect their name. Revealing my being resistance would make them look bad, and him by extension.”

  He is such a selfish bastard.

  Noah nods at Foster in a way that dismisses him. “Thanks for the update.”

  “No problem. Burke is scheduled to have a press conference at one.”

  “All right,” Noah says. Once we are alone, he turns to face me. “You okay?”

  I give him a single tight nod. I have to be, because I have bigger things to worry about. “You should go to work. I have to find Dr. Malcolm. My commanding officer is sort of a tyrant, and if I do not—”

  Noah kisses me into silence. He pulls back a moment later and rests his forehead against mine. “Thank you.”

  Well, that was unexpected. Nice, and leaving me near breathless, but unexpected. “There are clear rules against this,” I whisper, glancing around to count the number of voyeurs. There are more than a few. “Are you trying to get me in trouble? I could be court-martialed or something.”

  He chuckles. “I’m the one in trouble, and the punishment will always be ‘or something.’ I can promise you that.”

  “Scoundrel.”

  He beams me a smile that could level entire cities. “Reprobate.”

  A couple walks by, staring openly at us. Their chatter regarding our current state begins the second they pass.

  Grinning like a love-struck fool, I hide my too-warm face in his chest and whisper, “God, I hate you.”

  He cups the back of my head and presses a kiss to my crown. His chest bounces with a silent laugh. “You’re doing me no favors here, either.”

  • • •

  “Dr. Malcolm?”

  I catch him exiting the cafeteria after his breakfast. Something that looks suspiciously like ketchup stains the front of his wrinkled shirt.

  He spins so quickly I am surprised he does not fall over from dizziness. “Miss Emma. How are you today?”

  How do you feel today, Emma?

  I shake my head to rattle away Dr. Travista’s voice. “Is there someplace we can talk privately?” I shove shaking hands into my back pockets. “I will not take up too much of your time.”

  His smile is large and bright. “I would devote as much time as need be. Anything for you, Miss Emma.” He swings an arm in a wide arc. “Shall we go to my office?”

  His office is on a whole other sublevel from the hospital and living quarters, and we have to pass the shooting ranges to get there. The muffled sound of simulated war fills the stone corridor. We are nearly past the area when a door to one of the rooms opens between us and a thick crowd of men spills out, laughing and slapping each other’s backs. The cool air fills with the scent of sweat. Dr. Malcolm whistles and bounces toward his office, upbeat as always, unaffected by the sudden gathering of loud men.

  His office is twice the size of Noah’s. I pause just inside and take in an examination table that sits opposite his desk, silver stirrups folded neatly inside square front cavities. I did not expect that, and it makes me reconsider what I am doing. But Noah promised Dr. Malcolm would be different. I just hope he is right.

  Dr. Malcolm walks along a row of bookcases and taps the tops of vibrant-colored animal figurines, their paws curled over the front of the shelves. Their too-large heads bobble on spring necks. Medical books double-layer the shelves, but so many trinkets sit in front of the books, they leave little room to remove any of the gold-embossed volumes.

  “Come on in,” he says. “Have a seat.”

  Still hesitant, I glance around at the rest of the room. Pictures drawn by small children cover every available wall space.

  “Do you like the art?” Dr. Malcolm asks as he sits behind his desk. “I know they’re no Emma Wade original, but the kids and I think they’re magnificent.”

  “The children color pictures for you?” I had not meant to sound so astonished, but I am.

  He smiles with a twinkle of pride in his eyes. “I get a new one after every checkup. A work of art for an extra lollipop. It’s a fair trade. Besides, the tots get a kick out of seeing their work displayed.”

  This is a side of Dr. Malcolm I never expected. There is a standard in which we love our children while maintaining some level of maturity. Then there is the degree where I find Dr. Malcolm: intelligent beyond reason yet still a child at heart. He must feel nothing but joy at all times.

  This knowledge is all it takes to put me at ease. I know now I can trust this funny little man with my life, and he will treat it with all the care and tenderness of a devoted father.

  Dr. Malcolm leans back in his chair and tops his shining bald head with his palms. “What can I d—” He tilts back too far, scrambles, and rocks forward with eyes wide and mouth set in an oval. He lays flat palms on the desktop and grins. “That was close.”

  I sit opposite him and begin fiddling with a zippered pocket that runs diagonal across my thigh. “I would like to speak to you about something, but I want to make sure it stays between us.”

  “Strictly between us? No other doctors or—”

  “Nobody.”

  He stands and skirts around his desk. Before I realize it, he kneels before me and takes one of my hands. He kisses my knuckles and smiles warmly up at me. “Miss Emma, will you—”

  “What are you doing?”

  “—be my patient?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He stands and reaches across his desk for a computer tablet. “If you officially become my patient, then I can’t talk to anyone.” He sits in a chair beside me and starts typing on the screen. “My files are password protected against the other doctors.” He glances up with a sheepish grin and bobbles his head from side to side. Not unlike one of his dolls. “Unless I die, of course; then obviously they’ll transfer.”

  That covers Sonya finding out before she leaves. “Noah does not have access either?”

  This makes him pause and look up. “This must be serious.”

  More than I have been willing to admit, but if it is as bad as I imagine, I want to be the one to tell him. He cannot find out through my records. “Maybe. I do not know yet.”

  He hands me the tablet. “Press your thumb to the scan box for a digital signature; then everything that passes between us will be confidential.”

  I do as he asks, relieved I do not have to talk him into complete silence. Then again . . . “You will not use the excuse that I am a clone with no rights and share anyway, will you?”

  “Of course not.” He scoffs. “You can trust me.”

  That will have to do. It is not as if I have another option available. “You mentioned there may have been an upset of the electromagnetic balance during my transfer.”

  “Yes. Considering the sensitivity of the mind-body, one has to wonder how it will try to balance itself out. Basically, where will your soul go when its home has vanished?”

  “I call it an abyss. Lydia Farris calls it a void.”

  Dr. Malcolm grips the arms of his chair and sits back, blinking. “So it’s true.” He sits forward again, eyes wide. “What’s it like?” Just as quickly, he pinches his eyes shut and waves his hands between us. “
I . . . uh . . . you can . . . never mind. Just tell me later. Sorry. Please continue.” Then more to himself says, “Very unprofessional,” as if scolding himself.

  “I do not know if your theory is right or not. That is why I am here. I thought they were just nightmares, but I have recently had episodes while awake. It feels like dying.” I look down at my clasped hands lying in my lap. “I promised Noah I would not leave. But what if there is no choice?”

  “There’s always a choice.”

  I meet his kind eyes. “I want you to run your tests. Just promise me one thing.”

  “Anything.”

  “If something is wrong, and if Noah asks, please let me be the one to tell him.”

  “When would you like to start?”

  After last night, I do not feel there is much time. Ruby collapsed and died of seemingly nothing. If the abyss can pull me from my waking state . . . I want to keep my promise to Noah, and I also want to see my little girl grow up. “As soon as you have time to fit me into your schedule.”

  Dr. Malcolm tosses his tablet onto the desk and grins. “Does immediately work for you?”

  CHAPTER 38

  It was not my intention to lie to the American people,” Declan says to an off-camera interviewer. He links his long fingers across the knee of his gray suit pants. “I’ve only ever wanted to protect my wife’s privacy.”

  The camera switches to a brunet man in a navy-blue suit. He smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. “From more than half your board?”

  “The board would have been all over me about taking Emma public. Was it a gamble? Yes, but she’s all I care about. She was dying and the process was untested. Time ran out and Arthur did the only thing he could. When she pulled through, I immediately set to work looking for a subject to satisfy the board.”

  “And the visit to the now deceased doctor in San Francisco? You claimed this was all about her illness, but obviously . . .” The man trails off and lifts his palms. “You lied, Mr. Burke.”

  Declan rests an elbow on the chair’s arm and rubs his chin. A muscle pops in his jaw. “Yes. I lied. The truth is, the resistance is studying my wife. They want the cloning process for themselves.”

  “But there are hundreds of documented clones. They could pick up any one of them off the street. Why your wife?”

  “Because she is my wife. Until she’s home and safe, they will always use her against me.”

  The interviewer nods, seemingly appeased for the moment. “Let’s talk about Mr. and Mrs. Thomas.”

  Declan’s face hardens. “That subject is not up for discussion.”

  “Mr. Thomas, your CFO, is suing for custody of his daughter. Your wife. According to our outside sources, he has not only the right but the sympathy of the courts.”

  Declan stands and buttons his suit jacket. “This interview is over.”

  • • •

  Miles faces a wall in Noah’s office, where he points at a satellite video over Colorado. Barely visible through the mountain foliage is an L-shaped building.

  “It was smart, really,” Miles says. “Hiding it on our turf. So to speak.”

  Noah stands in front and at an angle to me. He is stripped down to his white shirt and pants, his sleeves rolled up over his forearms. To his right, Reid has propped a leg on a chair and rests his elbows across his knee. Both men stare at the enlarged computer screen in silence.

  Miles glances at me over his shoulder. “It’s not even in Burke’s name, which is why we couldn’t find it in any of his assets.”

  Noah tucks his hands into his pockets. “Whose name is it under? Travista’s?”

  “Mine,” I say. “I never gave it any thought, but Declan once had me sign a bunch of paperwork. Financial in nature. He said he wanted to protect me if anything happened to him. He was making sure I was set up and would not have to remarry or work.”

  I had trusted Declan at the time and never read a single line. Had I not been so naïve, I could have saved us all the trouble of finding the facility’s location.

  Reid drops his foot to the floor. “What you’re saying is, technically, nobody owns the building.”

  Noah’s head snaps in Reid’s direction and his hands come free of his pockets set in fists. He does not say a word, though. What can he say? Reid is absolutely right.

  “Thank you for that kind reminder, Major,” I say. “But that is not the real problem here.” Everyone sets their full attention on me. “If the government catches wind of this asset, knowing I am a clone, they will seize the property and everything inside.”

  “But it’s on the wrong side,” Reid says. “They can’t.”

  “I am not talking about the east’s government. It is the west that concerns me. Everyone is guilty of wanting to get their hands on this information. Even if they refuse to use the facility, they could sell Dr. Travista’s data. No one is above making a profit.”

  Reid nods and catches everyone’s eye at least once before saying, “So we need to blow a hole in the ground.”

  Noah stares at the computer screen but seems to be looking past it. “We’ll hit the facility after the Alexandria raid.”

  “I thought the goal was the cloning facility?” Reid says. “Do we even need to do the raid now?”

  I step past Noah. “The goal is to ruin Declan Burke. Destroying the facility is not enough. When the government finds out he has been breaking the law by cloning these girls . . .”

  Noah takes my hand. “We go after both.”

  Reid lifts his computer tablet from the desk. “I’ll get started on the details.”

  “Trumble, go with him,” Noah says, clinging tight to my hand. “Thanks for the hard work. You really pulled through.”

  Miles nods and winks at me on his way out.

  We watch the two leave and do not move until the door slides shut behind them. Noah releases me to shut the wall monitor off.

  “I cannot believe it is almost over,” I say.

  Noah sits in his chair with a heavy sigh and a skritch of springs. He really needs a new chair. “We’ll hit them in a couple weeks. Then no more Declan Burke.”

  My stomach flips. No more Declan Burke. No more hiding. Not that there will be any sort of normalcy, but I can walk into a casino without worry of capture. I can remove my mask at a masquerade ball and drink champagne. Maybe I can even do it at Noah’s side.

  That is where the fantasy ends, because my brother and parents know who I really am. Noah can never be seen in public with me. And if my parents are truly fighting for custody of me, then I am in for a whole other battle.

  “What did Phillip say?” Noah asks.

  I sit across from him and pull my knees to my chest. “It is too early to know anything just yet, but he got what he required to start running some initial tests. I need tomorrow off to sit through the more in-depth examination.”

  “I signed off on his request an hour ago.” He leans forward. “He also asked for some really expensive nanorobotics.”

  Dr. Malcolm did not mention anything about using nanites, and the idea does not sit well with me. “I know nothing about that. Should I be worried?”

  He gives me a firm shake of his head. “Not at all. He knows what he’s doing.”

  “I hope so.” I reach up and finger the patch taped over my heart. It is linked to a monitor and will shock my heart if it stops beating, alerting Dr. Malcolm immediately.

  Noah drops his gaze to his desk and begins fiddling with a tablet stylus. “What did he say about the blackout?”

  “He suggested it might be due to exhaustion, but honestly, I do not think he has a clue yet.”

  “Okay, well, until he figures this out . . .” He pauses to glance up and back. His Adam’s apple bobs heavily. “I have to consider removing you from active duty.”

  The blow rockets me out of the chair. �
��What?”

  “I said I was considering it. And this isn’t just about your safety, but that of everyone around you. What if that wasn’t an isolated incident?”

  I am glad I decided to keep the full extent of my problem to myself, but I guess it does not matter. No doubt he wanted a way to keep me from going on the raid, and he found it. “You—”

  A knock sounds on the door. Noah is quick to allow whoever it is entrance. Anything to avoid my argument.

  A young girl with strawberry-blond waves enters wringing her hands. I recognize her as one of the caregivers in the day-care center.

  Noah stands and darts around the desk. “Amber? Is Adrienne all right?”

  “Dr. Toro asked me to come get you. Adrienne’s running a pretty high fever.”

  My heart lodges in my throat and I am out the door before Noah. Only a moment passes before he catches up to me, and we hurry to the hospital wing together. I push through the swinging door with Noah’s hand on the small of my back. My gaze lands first in the corner where She floated in a tank of water, and a tightness wraps around my chest.

  Noah walks around me. “How is she?”

  I follow the sound of my daughter crying—a pitiful, miserable moan—and find Sonya rocking and crooning to her. Noah stops beside them and lays a hand on Adrienne’s forehead. Her cheeks are bright red.

  “Fever is 102.1,” Sonya says, doing a bouncy rock. “I gave her some medicine. Should come down soon.”

  Noah has not moved to take Adrienne, and I stand frozen watching the three of them together. I know better, but the scene knocks me into last week, when the three of them were the family and I was the outsider.

  Adrienne begins dry heaving and Sonya immediately shifts her out of the cradled position. No sooner is she upright than she is throwing up all down the front of Sonya’s pressed white blouse. Sonya and Noah are practically statues until Adrienne begins wailing.

  I run to a cabinet where Sonya keeps towels—after so many months in the tank, I have an intimate knowledge of where just about everything is. When I have passed a couple over, I open another cabinet and find a pair of clean black scrubs for Sonya to change into.