“You used Fig as bait. You planted stories about Fig online where you knew opposition groups would see them. You hoped the rebels would come after her. You used her as bait, and no one knew what you were doing—no one in Eden knew to be prepared for the consequences of that. You put Fig at risk, and you put Miranda at risk. You could have been putting all of Eden at risk.” I lean over his desk, planting my face in front of his. “I think you’re a monster.”
His lip curled. “I beg your pardon. I’m a monster? Be sure you’ve got your facts straight, Kira. If you recall, I did everything I could to rescue Fig and Miranda. I put the lives of soldiers at risk for two young girls. Right now, there is an entire tribe of sick people getting medical treatment because I brought in doctors to help them. And you want to call me a monster?”
I can’t tell if his outrage is feigned or genuine. “I’m not buying your publicity spin on how the UTC is an agent for positive change in the territories,” I snap back. “As far as you were concerned, rescuing Fig and Miranda was secondary to apprehending the rebels you thought had taken them. The fact that you turned a miscalculation into a public relations opportunity doesn’t change the fact that you had a political agenda.”
“Kira, I hate to burst your bubble, but you and I have the same agenda. It’s time you get clear on that. As much as it may pain you to hear it, I’m doing more than anyone to save this planet. Even when you leave your little lakes and ponds scattered here and there, what you don’t see is the work that takes place after you’ve disappeared from the area.”
I make a rude noise.
“We’ve had this discussion before, but this time you need to listen. For every single body of water you create, the UTC has to clean and seed and maintain it in order to develop an actual living ecosystem. And we do it. Even when we know the climate and the geography are unsuitable for long-term water maintenance in the area. Because the goal is always that, one day, the land you’ve watered will become a small patch of life from which the seeds of restoration can grow.”
“Oh, please,” I counter. “What you really mean is that you have to come up with some explanation for why those bodies of water are there, so you turn them into your breeding ground for experimentation. You see, Thorne, I know about the landmines you planted in Slag. You had an opportunity to use the lake as a platform on which to build renewed hope for people. Instead, it became a tool for death and destruction.” I hear the tremor in my voice and am powerless to do anything about it. “That’s on you, Thorne. I hope you lie awake at night picturing the exploded body parts of the people you destroyed because they dared to consume water the UTC hadn’t measured out for them.”
His eyes get hot, and a small vein begins to throb at his temple. Evidently, I’ve touched a nerve.
“You don’t know the whole story, my dear. Don’t forget that I was hurt when the sinkhole you created collapsed our building. While all that activity was happening around the dead lakes region, I was on a transport headed to the hospital at HQ. Extreme measures were put into place without my approval. If I hadn’t been put out of commission, there would have been a different result at Slag. My injury—what happened at the lake—that’s on you.”
“Don’t you dare,” I whisper, choking back tears. “You kidnapped us! Did you think we weren’t going to try to escape?”
“Stop it.” J.D. interrupts, his voice harsh and his eyes cold on Thorne’s. “That’s enough.”
I know J.D. is trying to protect me, but I don’t know how to stop. I can’t back away from what I believe to be an essential truth about Thorne’s character—he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. His ends will justify any means.
“I don’t believe you,” I say to Thorne, striving for calm. “You’re trying to create a new interpretation of events after the fact, but you’ve forgotten something. You told me yourself that a few lives lost in service to your goals were a price you were willing to pay. ‘They’ll drink the water, and they’ll die.’ Those were your words. They were seared into my brain.”
“I was trying to manage you,” he says, raising his voice angrily. “I wanted to scare you into submission. There was never any intent to follow through on it. People would die—from natural causes, more than likely—and we’d spin those deaths to our purpose. It’s unethical, maybe, but it’s not murder. I was talking about a rumor, planted stories to control people’s behavior. I miscalculated. I made a mistake about how you would interpret my words and how you’d respond.”
“But your words were true, Thorne. They were absolutely true. There was follow-through, swift and immediate. I cannot believe your underlings would take such drastic measures unless they had every reason to believe you’d back them up.” I’ve finally found a measure of equilibrium, and my voice is controlled now as I face him. “Telling lies for you is like breathing for the rest of us. Now you’re spinning a lie to justify a lie. How can I trust anything you say?”
“You don’t have to trust me, but you still have to listen. For the moment, you’re a captive audience and I have things to say.” He glances at J.D. “J.D., you can stop looking at me like you’re going to punch me. I am not trying to hurt Kira. I’m trying to get through to her.” He turns his attention back to me.
“I look at you now, Kira, and I see someone who has matured in the past year, someone who has grown into her gift and is becoming a fully dimensional young woman. That’s not who you were when I met you and, if you’re honest, you’ll admit it. You’ve changed.” His voice drops an octave. “So have I.”
I cross my arms, but I don’t look away.
“I’ve studied you, Kira, more than you can possibly imagine. When you were at the Garner Home, you were bright, but you were difficult.”
The subtle lifting of my brow happens before I can stop it.
“Okay, you’re still difficult,” he admits, acknowledging my disdain. “But you were a loner then, an outcast. In your ten years living at the home, your matron said you never bonded with any of the other girls. But now you’ve got an unbreakable bond with J.D. Anyone can see that. You also have a genuine connection with Tamara. What’s more, in a short amount of time, you’ve adapted to a completely new environment and gotten on well with Thomaz and Miranda. And Fig clearly adores you.”
“Fig likes everyone.”
“It doesn’t change what I’m saying. People mature. They evolve. If you could grow so much in the past year, can’t you at least conceive that maybe I’ve learned a few things too?”
“If I was difficult at the Garner Home, it’s because I was a prisoner there. I don’t respond well to constraints. I don’t like being told what to do.”
“No one does.”
“Exactly, and as long as I’m self-determining, as long as I get to choose my path, then you’re right, I’ve learned to be more agreeable. I see the value in giving people the benefit of the doubt.”
“Except for me. You never cut me a break, Kira.”
“What was the first thing you did when you apprehended me and J.D. at HQ? You put a chip into our shoulders and you removed any ability we had to be self-determining.”
“Inserting a chip means I can locate you. It means I can save you if you’re in jeopardy. It does not mean you’re without the ability to shape your future. I’ve met you halfway, haven’t I? Before restoring the rivers, you wanted to see the tree. You saw the tree. When Tamara was in my care at HQ, she thrived. She was restored to health after a year of hardscrabble survival that had weakened her body and her spirit. Now, in a very short time, she and Tuck have become an integral part of this community. It bothers you, doesn’t it, that they’re no longer following you around with no other purpose than to keep you company?”
“They’re my family,” I hiss, shaken. “They’re not my—my entourage. You don’t understand.”
“I understand more than you think. And I still say you can do more good for this planet with my assistance than you can without it.” A tap at the door makes me jump, an
d Thorne rises from his chair. “Kira, we can resume this discussion later, but I want you to think about my words. There’s much more to this than the black and white version you want to believe.”
With an abrupt gesture, he dismisses us. As J.D. and I head to our sleeping quarters, I find myself clenching and unclenching my hands. I’m wound up and unsure what to do with my frustration. After a moment, J.D. reaches over and grabs both my hands. “Kira.”
“He makes me so angry,” I mutter, taking deep breaths and trying to force my blood pressure to return to normal. “I can’t be in the same room with him.”
“I don’t know why you let him get to you.”
I shake my head. “I can’t seem to help it. He’s always gets under my skin.”
“Did you notice,” J.D. asks calmly, massaging my fingers, “Thorne never denied planting the story about Fig?”
26
I enter the room quietly, the surgical mask snug against my face. The girl lying in the bed is barely recognizable as the vibrant young woman I’d watched braving a massive sandstorm only a few short months ago. She has fierceness within her, I think sadly, but it may be no match for the lethal microbe determined to replicate itself inside her body.
Miranda opens her eyes. It’s a huge improvement considering no one knew if she’d ever wake up. But the doctor has not been encouraging. She’s conscious, yes, but not necessarily on the road to recovery. Now it takes her a moment to realize she has company. “Hi,” she whispers, smiling weakly. “I see you’ve arrived properly gowned and masked. Did my mother put you on antibiotics too?”
“She demanded it,” I tell her, grinning behind the mask. “I took a dose of something in my arm, and the nurse gave me pills I’m supposed to take every twelve hours.”
“I hope it works. No one else should get this.”
“Is it okay if I come closer?” I ask. “I don’t want to tire you out. But I thought maybe I could sit with you for awhile.”
“I’d like the company,” she replies.
She waits for me to sit down. This is my first visit since Dr. Gallagher announced that Miranda was awake and able to receive visitors. Purposely, I waited until everyone else had their turn. I knew Fig and Tamara were here daily. I didn’t know Miranda as well as the others. I couldn’t really see that a visit from me would help her in any way. But I wanted to see her. And I realized, eventually, that I did have things—important things—to say to her.
“My mom tells me the Tigris and Euphrates are going to flow again.”
“It looks that way,” I respond, moving my chair closer to the bed. “Seeding the original source springs appears to have worked.”
“Then Eden will survive. And Thomaz’s orchard.”
“Yes. For now.”
“I ate the fruit. The one you brought back with you. I wasn’t sure you knew.”
“What did you think?”
She makes a sour face.
I laugh out loud. “It certainly was smelly. Maybe it will be better once it’s fully ripened.”
“Perhaps. I’m glad I tried it. I was curious. Fig was convinced it would cure me. And I guess … I guess I was hoping the same thing.”
“Like the lemons in your mother’s story.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry the fruit didn’t make you better.” I watch her soberly.
She ponders my comment. “I don’t know,” she says slowly. “It didn’t cure me. But I’m no longer ….”
“What?”
“It’s hard to explain. And it probably has nothing at all to do with the fruit. But I feel different inside, different than I was before the snakebite.”
“How do you mean?”
“I’m not afraid, for one thing.”
“That’s good.”
“Yes.” She watches me for a moment, and I fidget, unsure how to get to what I’ve come to say. Miranda says, “Get Thomaz to give you a piece of the fruit once it ripens and see if you notice anything. You know, Fig made me eat the entire thing, even the seeds. I think she had Jamal boil and roast them.” She gives me a small smile.
“You do seem … peaceful,” I say, noticing that she does in fact project a sense of tranquility. It’s not a quality I have ever experienced myself. “Peaceful is good.”
She nods, then glances down at the bed. Absently, her slender fingers pick at the thin blanket covering her. She seems suddenly shy.
“Kira,” she says softly, “it makes me happy that I got to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“And I’m happy I got to spend time with Fig. That I met Thomaz.” Still bowed, her face is quiet, introspective.
“He cares about you.”
“Yes.” She brightens infinitesimally. “And I got to see the last tree.”
“I’m sorry … the last tree?”
Her laugh is slightly embarrassed. “Doesn’t it feel that way—like it’s the last truly wild tree? It’s not an Ag-Tech clone or some new, genetically modified hybrid officially approved by the UTC.” She makes a small motion with her hand. “Anyway, it’s the last tree for me.”
I ignore the implication of her comment. “It’s interesting to hear you say that. I’ve been thinking about it as the first tree—the mother of all trees. Is that silly?”
“You sound like Thomaz.”
“Maybe I do. I don’t see how anyone could be in the presence of the tree and believe for a minute that there’s not something … an essence ….” I stumble, unable to express myself.
“Sentience?”
“I’m uncomfortable with that word,” I respond wryly. Miranda smiles at me but says nothing. We’re silent for a while, and it’s a companionable silence. Finally, I force myself to speak, to express what’s in my heart. Time is running out. “I meant what I said. I like you very much Miranda. I wish ….” I stop.
“Yes.” Miranda’s lips quiver slightly with emotion. “Me too.”
More minutes pass in silence.
“I came to see you today because I want to tell you a story. I want to tell you about a place that J.D. and I found last year. If you’re not too tired ….”
“I’m not too tired.”
“It’s a happy place, Miranda. It’s breathtakingly lovely. And there’s not only one tree in this place but more trees than you can count. There are trees and flowers and birds … hummingbirds … and butterflies.” I proceed to tell Miranda about the mountain valley where the last vestiges of health remain, a protected sanctuary where color and green smells that she couldn’t begin to imagine still exist in the world. “To be in that place is to be filled with joy and harmony with the Earth. I wish I could take you there.”
“It’s enough to know it exists,” she says, her face lit with pleasure. “And you’ll recreate it … here in Eden. And other places. I know you will.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I believe in you. I believed in you the moment I saw your pink flower on the rocks at Lost Lake.”
I’m unable to speak. I have no words, but an ache inside leaves me shaken. I’m no stranger to the short life spans of my species in this place and time. Still, I want to cry out, to protest this injustice. But I won’t. I will sit here with Miranda and simply be present. Exhausted from the battle her body is fighting, Miranda drifts to sleep. When she awakes later, I’m still at her side, quiet and watchful.
“Kira, can I tell you something?”
I nod.
“Life is hard.”
“Yes.”
“We think it’s harder for us than it’s ever been for anyone, ever in the history of our species. But maybe everyone always thinks their life is hard.”
“Probably.”
“So if life is so hard, why am I reluctant to leave it?”
This is a valid question, and I try to give it the consideration it deserves. “Maybe because it’s all we know. And even in the midst of constant suffering, there is good for those who know how to find it.”
“I do
have one worry. It’s selfish and foolish and makes me feel small.”
I wait.
“I’m afraid of being forgotten,” she whispers, “like I was never here. How many billions of people have walked on this planet and been forgotten? We’re like a colony of ants, aren’t we, indistinguishable to everyone but ourselves?”
“Or to the people who love you, who see you and love you,” I tell her. “And you are loved, Miranda. Never doubt it. There are people who will never forget you. I’ll remember you always. And Thomaz. And the friends you’ve made here in Eden. I see them every day, missing your presence in their lives. And your mother. And Fig, most especially Fig. There are so many people who hold you in their hearts.”
I hope she is reassured by these words, but I worry they’re not enough. I hold her hand, and it is me who is comforted.
“Kira ….”
She seems uncertain how to continue.
“Yes?”
“Did my mother speak with you about being cloned?”
My stomach clenches, but I keep my composure. I don’t want to lose my cool in front of Miranda.
“She said something about it when we were at the tree,” I say. “I’m afraid I wasn’t very nice about it. I refused to listen.”
“I want to tell you something I’ve never shared with anyone. It may be important for you to know.”
I lean forward in my seat. “Go on.”
“You know that AgTech conducts research for the Territory, right?”
“Like your mom’s soil research.”
“The research on soil, water, and air quality—that work is common knowledge. The Territory uses the results all the time in their communication with the population, to demonstrate how hard they’re working to improve our chances of survival. But there’s other research they never mention. The only reason I know about it is that I lived in the lab with my mom. Sometimes you can’t help but hear things, see things.”
“What things, Miranda?”
“A few years ago, I had a friend who also lived in the labs. Her name was Vita. She and I went to school together. She had no memory of her parents, but one of the lab techs looked after her. She was unique, the same way that you and Fig are unique.”
The Last Tree Page 18