by Kristen Pham
My room is empty, giving me the perfect opportunity for an up-close look at Jo’s tablet, which has been burning a hole in my bag all night. I run my fingers over the worn purple cover and open it. On the inside, she’s written:
Pass code: The most powerful word in the English language.
How hard can that be to guess? If she’s anything like me, she picked a concept or theory that embodies her view of how the world should be. I clear my throat and speak into the tablet.
“Justice,” I say loudly.
Startled, I almost jump off my bed when a giant red “NO” lights up the screen for three seconds before it goes blank again.
“Love.”
NO.
“Peace.”
NO.
“Freedom.”
The screen doesn’t immediately flash a “NO,” and my heart beats faster. Then an error message appears, telling me I’ve exceeded the limit on the number of times I can attempt to open the tablet, and I can try again in twenty-four hours.
I switch off the lights and crawl into bed. When I shut my eyes, I can picture Justus’s face close to mine and how his fingertips felt on my wrist.
Chapter 18
It takes a full month for my back to heal completely. I skip using the scar cream that Sparkle buys me because I want the marks on my back to be a reminder of what I’m fighting for. Sparkle thinks “preserving my beauty” is the most important thing, but, unlike her, I’m not planning for any nude scenes in the latest rom-com vid blazing across the internet, thank you very much.
The headmaster continues to keep a close eye on me, and I never know when he’s going to pop into one of my classes to observe. I think he’s still buying my humble act because he gives me the occasional nod of approval when he sees me deliver a monologue in Remedial Acting or perform a drum solo in Music.
It’s late in June when we begin learning makeup techniques in Lady Cleo’s class that I actually find enjoyable. We’re turning ourselves into monsters and making full use of our makeup kits. I make a convincing Bride of Frankenstein and am admiring myself in the mirror when Ken stands next to me. He’s made himself up as a goblin but made sure that he’s a hot goblin.
“You should make this getup your regular look. You’re almost fuckable like this,” he says, loud enough for his comment to be appreciated, and everyone laughs at their favorite scapegoat getting cut down.
“Sorry, Ken. Even the Bride of Frankenstein wouldn’t want to catch your gonorrhea,” I retort, rather enjoying our fight, especially when Ken scowls and Sparkle giggles.
Before Ken can make yet another comment about my virginity, which he likes to tease me about on a weekly basis because it always makes me blush, Lady Cleo’s board pings with a message.
Joan Fasces to report to Headmaster Hunter’s office.
My hands start sweating, and my stomach churns, even though I know logically that I’ve played my part as the “good girl.”
“Ooooooooo,” the class says when they read the message.
I’m relieved they’re teasing me because hopefully that means that they don’t think I’m in for another serious punishment. When the headmaster pulled me into the courtyard to be whipped, no one laughed, not even Ken.
“Go now, Joan,” Lady Cleo says.
Am I imagining the reassurance in her eyes? I hope not. On my way out the door, I make eye contact with Sparkle, and my fear spikes again. She is pale and swallows convulsively as if she is terrified of what might happen to me.
The headmaster’s office is on the top floor of the theater, and I decide to take the stairs instead of the elevator to run off some of my excess energy.
When I burst through the door at the top of the stairs into a small lobby, a woman sitting behind a desk with a huge holographic tablet stifles a scream at my appearance, and I remember my monster makeup.
“Joan Fasces. I came from Costumes and Makeup because the headmaster called for me.”
The woman’s breathing slows. She’s an aging Marilyn, still gorgeous in spite of the wrinkles by her eyes and mouth. I hope Sparkle never meets her and discovers that someone with her clone type ended up as a secretary; she would be so depressed.
“Are you the newest girl?” she asks. “It will go better if you treat it all like another acting assignment. That’s what I did.”
“What are you talking about?”
Her face drains of color. “Please don’t tell him I said anything.”
The door to the headmaster’s office opens automatically. Dr. Hunter looms behind it.
“Come in,” he commands me, and then turns to his assistant. “When Ms. White arrives, send her straight in. We have a very special guest today.”
The Marilyn bobs her head and keeps her eyes down.
I straighten my spine and walk into the headmaster’s office. It’s large, as big as the classrooms in the basement of the theater. There are huge glass windows, and the decor is expensive. The latest holographic screens are embedded in tablets on the wall and the desk, and there is a top-of-the-line food and drink dispenser for his personal use.
The headmaster sits on a large leather chair that is next to a plush maroon couch that looks out of place in the otherwise modern, sterile office. Nic sits on one end of the couch, and he fights a smile when he sees me arrive in all my monster glory.
“My apologies for my appearance,” I say sweetly to the headmaster. “I’m coming from Lady Cleo’s class, and I rushed straight over when I read your message, sir.”
The headmaster nods indulgently at me, like I’m a favorite pet. “Quite right. And may I say that your skill with makeup is above average.”
“Thank you,” I breathe, imagining that this compliment is coming from someone I respect, like Harriet or Crew, so that my tone sounds authentic.
I sit as far from Nic as I can on the couch and bite my tongue to keep from asking the headmaster why I’m here. Sparkle says that Throwbacks should only question an Evolved when it’s required for a particular task. Instead, I cast my eyes down and force myself to breathe slowly. The headmaster seems calm, so my worst fear won’t come true.
The door to the headmaster’s office opens, and a tall woman with black hair streaked with gray enters the room. She takes my strange appearance in stride, offering me no more acknowledgment than a brief nod. I keep my head bent down as I return her greeting.
“Joan Fasces looks more biddable than I expected, given the trouble we had with the last of her clone type,” she says to the headmaster, her voice conveying mild surprise. Then she turns her gaze to me. “Humility becomes you, my dear.”
I want to smack the condescension off her face, but I remain composed, in full “good girl” mode.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Niccolò, Joan, this is the new CEO and Darwin of Strand, Lexi White. She honors us with her presence here today,” the headmaster says as Lexi sits in a chair next to his.
My interest spikes. The Darwin of Strand is possibly the most powerful corporate position in the world. Her presence here is almost like a visit from the president. What’s so important that she couldn’t send a minion to take care of business here?
“You say she’s attractive underneath all of that?” Lexi asks the headmaster, gesturing to my made-up monster face.
“With some work, she’ll be lovely,” the headmaster assures her. “You made a good choice when you selected her for this project.”
Lexi examines Nic next. Pardon, Niccolò. I’ll have to tease him about his full name later.
“I can see why you’ve suggested this boy for the male role. His features lack the symmetry of a Pitt or Denzel Throwback, but he does convey a kind of raw, primal beauty of Unevolved humanity from long ago,” Lexi says, moving from her chair to examine Nic.
She pulls his lip back to examine his teeth and then feels his biceps, like he’s a horse she’s considering purchasing.
“And he’s compliant, you say?” she asks the headmaster.
“Quite. He’s always been obliging when I need him to fulfill his duties, even the ones that some find unsavory,” the headmaster says. “I’ve watched him perform several times, and there is no one in his class who is his equal.”
Clearly, Nic and I are here as props, like dogs who are being touted for their attributes by their breeder.
I sneak a glance at Nic. I know the anger and passion that bubble inside him. He must be a hell of an actor to keep his face so blank. Or maybe he’s really high right now. I check his eyes, but for the first time ever, they’re a flat brown, with no traces of gold.
“I’ll give them a trial run. Have them prepped and send them to rehearsal next week,” Lexi says.
“I will. And if they don’t meet your needs, let me know and I’ll replace them immediately,” the headmaster says.
Lexi stands and gives Nic and me a nod before shaking the headmaster’s hand. As she walks out, I want to scream in frustration because I have no idea what’s going on. Have I been sold or something? Is that allowed?
The headmaster leans back in his chair and clasps his hands behind his head.
“Strand has decided to combat some bad press they’ve been receiving about their taxation of Throwbacks. Ridiculous, really, that these Macs and Mollys complain about the tax when they have Strand to thank for their very existence,” the headmaster says, watching our faces.
I keep my eyes fixed on my lap because I doubt my poker face is as good as Nic’s.
“Ms. White has decided to create a one-hour holographic vid that will be projected to all homes in the country chronicling the lives of ‘typical’ Throwbacks living their lives productively. They have already cast the Evolved roles and found some willing Throwbacks to represent the common clone types, but she also wanted to include some of the more unusual clone types to add interest to the program. She requested you in particular, Joan, if I deemed you to be properly trained.”
It’s getting harder and harder to keep my mouth shut. I’m here to fight a rebellion against this horrible company and the country that supports it, and instead, I’ll be doing a propaganda vid telling the world how great Strand is?
“I will send you files to review before rehearsals begin. You will be representing our school, and this opportunity will put you on a national stage. If you do well, the likelihood of securing roles in prominent vids is much higher.”
“Thank you, sir,” Nic says, and I’m impressed at the sincerity in his voice, since I’m still stunned.
His foot just barely nudges mine, and I swallow my disgust. “Yes, thank you, Headmaster. You can count on us.”
“Dismissed.”
“Quiet. He’s still watching,” Nic says out of the corner of his mouth, as he pulls me by the arm toward the elevator. I glance back at the headmaster’s assistant, who is watching me with pleading eyes. I give her a small nod to let her know that I’ll keep what she said to me a secret, not that I understand it.
Once in the elevator, I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my curses from escaping. We go straight to Remedial Acting, where Crew paces the stage, waiting for us.
“Well?”
“I’m in,” Nic says. “Technically, we’re both in, but I can’t get the information we need if I have to babysit her, too.”
“Hey!” I interrupt. “Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“You will be working at Strand’s headquarters during the creation of this vid,” Crew explains, and then pauses so my mind can catch up with the implications of what he’s saying. “It’s a chance to get some questions answered in order to take this rebellion to the next level.”
“A level where there is actual change,” Nic says, his mouth hard.
He blinks a few times and then touches his eyes to remove the contacts he’s wearing. He must have been covering up the gold in his irises around the headmaster—or Lexi White.
Finally, I have the chance to make a difference. This is why I chose to stay in Seattle! “What’s my role?”
“To keep your head down and your mouth shut,” Nic snaps.
“She is an asset, and we will use every weapon at our disposal,” Crew says, and Nic’s face twists with anger. “We need to obtain the names and addresses of the key leaders at Strand. Their identities are kept secret to prevent anyone from protesting at their homes.”
“We can start with the woman who’s leading Strand, Lexi White,” I say enthusiastically, now that I’m getting the idea of what’s going on here. “What do we want to know? I can—”
My flow of ideas is cut off as a familiar bolt of pain stabs through the back of my head. My knees go weak, but I shuffle to the trash can in time to throw up into it. Stomach empty, I curl into a ball next to the wall.
“Headache,” I say weakly, as Crew kneels before me.
“Strand must be hitting her with the headache to remind her what they’re capable of doing,” Crew says to Nic. “They’re likely pinging your chip as well, so be sure to play the part of the headache-stricken Throwback when you’re in public.”
I used to think the headaches were the worst pain possible for a human being to experience. Now, I know it’s a mild punishment compared to a whipping. It’s funny how things get put into perspective.
The sound of voices in the hall reminds me that class is about to start.
“Take her to the library and give her the treatment,” Crew commands Nic. “But don’t disable the chip yet.”
Nic scoops me up off the ground. “I almost forgot that you’re heavier than you look.”
“Maybe you’re just a pussy, Niccolò,” I say, but it doesn’t sound like much of a comeback when my voice is so weak.
To my surprise, Nic chuckles. In the library, he puts me down on a chair and turns to the bookshelves. He climbs a ladder to reach a book off a top shelf. He brings it to the table and opens it.
The book is hollow and inside is a small metal medicine transmitter filled with gooey brown liquid. Nic presses the transmitter to the back of my head, near the chip, and something cold seeps into my brain.
In less than a minute, the pain vanishes.
“The gel interrupts the chip’s signal to your brain, blocking the pain,” Nic says. “You won’t feel like yourself for a few days, though. There’s nothing we can do about the confusion and mental lagging.”
“I wish I had this gel six years ago,” I say, mostly to myself.
Nic’s eyes narrow as he examines me. “You’ve had the headaches that long? Strand usually waits until you’re sixteen.”
It’s hard to pay attention to Nic’s questions as I try to push through the sludge in my brain. “Why are they doing this to me?”
“They’re warning you, Clone of Arc. This is a tiny reminder of the pain they can inflict upon you if you disobey.”
“Then they made a mistake,” I reply, staring over Nic’s shoulder at the copy of The Art of War that is lying on the table. “Because this only makes me want to fight harder.”
Chapter 19
Without the headache to disable me for the rest of the day, I’m able to wash off my monster makeup and join Remedial Acting.
“Where were you?” Harriet asks.
“Later,” I whisper, and Harriet returns her attention to Crew, who is delivering a history lesson on the greatest failed military missions of all time.
I need to pay attention because the strategy we’re learning will be useful as we craft our plan for the rebellion, but my mind is foggy, even though the pain is blissfully absent.
One of the headmaster’s comments pierces through my clouded thinking. He said that Lexi White had personally requested me to be in Strand’s vid. Why? How does she know I exist?
Harriet nudges me.
“What?”
“We’re supposed to partner up and discuss examples of peaceful protests that have been successes and failures.”
“The global warming boycotts against the ten biggest polluters made a big difference in changin
g public opinion,” I say, hoping to make up for my lapse by being useful. “And the civil rights protests in the twentieth century were successful, too, of course.”
“It’s easy to think of the successes,” Crew says, stopping beside Harriet and me. “What about the failures?”
“Like Tiananmen Square,” Harriet says.
“Excellent. Now analyze why it failed,” Crew prompts us before moving on.
“This is the first I’ve heard of Tiananmen Square,” I tell Harriet when Crew is out of earshot.
“Back in the 1900s, the Chinese government opened fire on peaceful protesters asking for political reforms and free media. Hundreds died, and it was decades before any real changes were made to the government,” Harriet explains.
“If rebels are too peaceful, the powerful will dismiss them,” a deep voice says.
Harriet and I turn toward a boy sitting by himself a few seats away. He’s tall, with black hair and Asian features. This is the first time he’s spoken in class.
“Join us,” I suggest, and his eyebrows lift in surprise.
“I’m Sun,” he says, moving to a chair nearer to us. “I know who both of you are.”
“I’m relieved you didn’t make us pretend to know your name,” I tease him, and he almost smiles. “Cloned from Sun Tzu?”
He nods. I bet he knows The Art of War like the back of his hand. What an asset to the rebellion.
“You make a good point,” Harriet says, drawing us back to the topic we’ve been assigned. “Peaceful protest works best when those in power know that protesters would be a force to contend with if they ever did turn violent.”
“Strength respects strength,” Sun agrees.
“The Throwback protests have always been peaceful and ineffective. How do we get them to take us seriously?” I ask.
Sun bows his head. “Something must change.”
I turn the problem over in my mind. “We have to stop expecting that the Evolved are going to do the right thing.”