Joan the Made

by Kristen Pham

  She’s right, though I don’t like it. “Fine, take Marie. She can be lookout.”

  “She’s taking me,” Justus says.

  “I am?” Harriet asks.

  “Yes. If I can’t talk you two out of this madness, then I’m going with you. Thinking of either of you putting yourselves in danger will drive me crazy. I’d rather know what’s happening.”

  “What will your dad say?” I ask.

  “I won’t tell him,” he replies. “I’m trusting that you two aren’t planning to do anything illegal or immoral.”

  “We’d never do anything immoral!” Harriet says, straightening her spine.

  “Illegal, however . . .”

  Justus’s eyes narrow. “Not on my watch. Neither of us is going to jail. Let’s go, Harriet.”

  Justus’s eyes flash as he storms out with Harriet behind him, but he closes the door gently behind him so that he doesn’t trigger my headache.

  To distract myself while they’re gone, I clean up the room and take a shower. I brush my teeth three times. My head throbs the whole time, but I compartmentalize it. I wish Addie were here to make me her home-cooked soup.

  A half an hour has passed, but Justus and Harriet aren’t back. It’s still early, so I do some homework, check passwords on Jo’s tablet, and tidy up the room. Another hour goes by without so much as a text from either of them.

  My panic rises, but my mind moves at the speed of a turtle. Do I go to Crew? The police? Chase them down myself?

  Screw it. I’m going after them. I pull on my leather jacket and head downstairs, gritting my teeth as the bumpy elevator stops on the ground floor. I’m two steps out the door when my phone buzzes.

  Harriet and I are grown-ups. Trust us. Stay in your bed and rest.

  It’s from Justus. I should be annoyed at his bossy tone, but the relief that he and Harriet are okay is so immense that I can only smile. Back inside, I wait on the lumpy sofa in the lobby. Justus and Harriet finally come through the door.

  “I left my book in the classroom,” Harriet says in a significant tone to warn me not to question her where we might be overheard.

  The three of us walk to Crew’s classroom. Not knowing what happened is killing me, but Harriet must have a good reason for wanting to talk in a safe space. My curiosity burns bright enough that I’m able to ignore my headache for the short walk. Inside Crew’s classroom, Justus collapses on a chair and bites his thumbnail. I’ve never seen him this anxious before, and fear uncoils in my gut.

  “Tell me.”

  “We followed the headmaster to a bar,” Harriet begins. “He met up with some girls nearby. They aren’t at Seattle Secondary now, but they might be recent graduates, because they were cloned from gorgeous actresses. He took them inside a club that had Deans at every entrance.”

  “Deans?”

  “They’re the clone type Strand created to act as bodyguards and spies. They’re very loyal to Strand and very good at their jobs,” Harriet explains.

  “I know a busboy there, though, and he told the Dean at the back entrance that we were the new dishwashers,” Justus says. “They got some free labor tonight because I spent the entire time actually washing dishes. By hand!”

  “I got into the main room,” Harriet continues. “The headmaster was there, clearly pimping the girls, exactly like you said he did with Beth.”

  “Did you get pictures? Vids?” I ask, excited.

  Marie had modified all of the cameras on our phones so that the zoom and picture quality were top-of-the-line. Even in a darkened club, the images should be of high enough resolution to identify the headmaster.

  “Yes, but we can’t use them,” Harriet says.

  “Why?”

  “When we left, everything that Harriet taped was stripped from her phone,” Justus says. “They must have technology inside the club to prevent anyone from leaving with new pictures or vids. Probably to protect the privacy of their clients.”

  “That’s not all,” Harriet continues. “The footage I had wasn’t only of the headmaster. He was meeting with Lexi White, the Darwin of Strand.”

  Shock grinds my already slow mind to a halt as I try to sift through the implications of this revelation.

  “The headmaster didn’t hide that he was pimping the girls, and Lexi wasn’t surprised. She knew what was going on,” Harriet continues.

  “Maybe she’s going to take the headmaster’s prostitution ring to the next level,” Justus says, his mouth twisting in a scowl. “Start cloning more famous stars so she can get a cut of the money from prostituting them.”

  “Think of the public’s reaction to a story like this. It has the power to make the entire country hate Strand. I’ll get the proof next time, when the security isn’t so high,” I say, doing my best to hide my disappointment at the wasted night.

  If I’d been there, I know I would have found a way to sneak that footage out.

  “Maybe you will, and maybe you won’t,” Justus says. “And now you’re not the only one Strand is suspicious of. If the club informs Strand of the vid that was stripped from Harriet’s phone, she’ll have a target on her back, too.”

  Chapter 30

  As Harriet, Justus, and I silently walk back to the dorm, goose bumps rise on my arms. The knowledge that Harriet might have caught the attention of Strand’s CEO is terrifying.

  The pounding pain in my head returns full force, and I fight my rising nausea. There is no way Justus is seeing me puke twice in one night. No romance survives that.

  Inside, Harriet gives me a hug, resting her head on my shoulder briefly. “We’ll both be okay.”

  Harriet and I get on the elevator, and Justus slips in behind us. In spite of the pain in my head, the stress of trying to take down the headmaster, and my worry for Harriet, Sparkle, Mav, and almost every other Throwback I know, there’s still room in a girlie corner of my mind to be excited that Justus isn’t going home yet.

  Harriet gets off on her floor, and when the elevator doors close behind her, Justus interlaces his fingers with mine. The contact speeds up my heart and relaxes the tension in my shoulders at the same time.

  We walk to my room, and I stop at the door, touched that he walked me all the way home. It’s something straight out of an old vid.

  His fingers trace the letters etched into the wood. “It’s like the students who lived here before you didn’t want to be forgotten. They had to leave their mark behind.”

  Maybe because it’s late, or because it’s Justus, I open up. “Once I dreamed that the ghosts of all the people before me wrote their initials so that I wouldn’t forget to find them justice for the wrongs against them. The weight of all those people’s burdens is crushing me.”

  “You don’t have to carry them alone.”

  “I know.”

  Justus only releases my hand long enough for me to scan my fingerprints and retina. “I’m not leaving until I’m sure your inside, safe for tonight.”

  That offer sounds a hundred times better than Addie’s chicken noodle soup. Sparkle isn’t back yet, and the knowledge that I have the boy I’ve been obsessing about alone in my room makes my heart pound. Justus takes a step closer to me and brushes my cheek with his knuckle.

  His eyes darken when they meet mine. “I’m beginning to think that you personally exert a gravitational pull for trouble.”

  My gaze moves to his mouth. “Then you should probably run.”

  “The only direction I want to run in is toward you,” he says, and when his fingers skim down my arm, it’s almost as intense as if he kissed me.

  I want to lean forward, close that distance between us, but I don’t. Something isn’t right, and it’s more than the drumbeat of the headache that is blurring my focus.

  My addled mind struggles to name what’s bothering me. “I should have been with Harriet tonight. I stayed behind, and now she’s in danger.”

  Justus looks as though I shook him awake from a very nice dream. “If you had been there instead o
f me, the two of you would never have gotten inside.”

  “We would have found another way,” I say, trying to force my slow mind to work faster and analyze how we can prevent the same problem from happening the next time we follow the headmaster.

  Justus steps away from me. “You need to rest so that you can make sure the next mission succeeds.”

  The earlier teasing warmth in his voice is gone.

  My cheeks burn at how obnoxious and overconfident I sounded. I’d blame the headache, but I know that’s only part of the problem. A part of me agrees with him. Things get done right when I do them myself.

  “I’m sorry, Justus. Thank you for all you did tonight.”

  He nods and heads to the door. Before he leaves, he turns back. “Count me in on whatever you’re planning, Joan. I can help. I need to know what you’re up to, or else I’ll be worrying about you every second of every day.”

  He leaves me staring after him, my mouth open but my mind empty. The sweet enormity of his words only fully hits me after the door has closed behind him.

  The next day, the rehearsal at Strand is more relaxed as the director focuses his attention on the actors who need more help than Nic and I do. But I still have a performance today, for an audience of one. Whether it’s through hidden cameras or spies, Lexi White or one of her minions is watching me to make sure that I’m suffering for my impertinent attempt to contact the press about the headmaster’s prostitution ring.

  I don’t hide the effect of my still throbbing headache as I lounge around the set, hoping that I’m suffering enough that she’ll be satisfied that I received her message.

  “You aren’t yourself today, Joan,” Blake says with an exaggerated paternal concern in his furrowed eyebrows that makes me slightly sick.

  “I can’t complain. A chance to work on a project like yours more than makes up for any little sicknesses that comes my way.”

  Blake pats my head, his signature mark of approval for his Throwback pets. My mind skitters back to Leo’s lesson in Managing Celebrity class. I’ve already begun establishing my public persona, without even realizing it. Sweet Lil’ Joanie, I decide to call her. She’s charming, tame, even better than the original of her clone type because she knows how to submit to the authority of her betters. In spite of my headache, a grin sneaks onto my face. If only Blake knew that it’s all an act. If only they all knew.

  At the end of rehearsal, Blake hands out envelopes like he’s bestowing manna from the heavens. I rip open my envelope on the car ride home. It’s a receipt telling me that a deposit has been made into my bank account. My first payment as an actress. My eyes narrow when I see the line item about the tax that was automatically deducted and sent to Strand.

  “How Strand thinks they deserve seven percent of all my work for the rest of my life astounds me,” I mutter as Nic and I get out of the car.

  “If that makes you mad, then don’t ask the Evolved actors how big their paychecks are,” Nic says. “We earn a half to two-thirds less than they do, for the same work.”

  The idea of Strand’s money in my account makes me feel a little bit dirty. I’m profiting from a company that creates, controls, and subjugates thousands of Throwbacks in our country alone.

  We’re in front of the Little Theater now, and I check to see if the light is on in the headmaster’s office before I go inside. He usually works late, and I don’t want to miss the next opportunity to follow him. He’s still up there, so I follow Nic down to Crew’s classroom. My headache has receded a notch, and it’s easier to think straight.

  “Report out to the team the status of our discoveries to date,” Crew says to Nic when both of the Remedial Acting classes are assembled in the classroom for our nightly research and strategy sync up.

  “We’ve found solid evidence that we can present against four of the Strand executives,” Nic says. “Two instances of money laundering, where we have a strong paper trail to back up our claims, an executive who has unregistered Throwbacks from a foreign country working for him, and another executive who participates in a black market Throwback fighting ring.”

  “What’s a fighting ring and why is it illegal?” Elizabeth asks.

  She’s ignored me all night, so I know she’s still pissed about our trip to the Emerald City News office.

  “Throwbacks fight each other to the death, and Evolved place large bets on who the winners will be,” Nic says. “We suspect that some of them are being forced to participate.”

  “Even the volunteers are only there because they are desperate for money. Often, they’ve lost their jobs and are hiding from the police,” Joseph adds. “The Evolved who bet on these fights wager millions of dollars. It’s likely that the police know about the fighting ring but aren’t doing anything to stop it.”

  “I don’t know what disgusts me more, the Evolved who bet on men’s lives, or the police who are quicker to crack down on dog fights than Throwback fights,” Marie says with a shake of her head.

  “It makes for a strong story that will horrify the public,” I chime in. “Can we get a vid of these fights? Or possibly interview some of the Throwbacks who participate?”

  “I’ll take the lead,” Sal offers. “I found an online forum where the venues for the fights are posted. I’ll see if I can sneak in.”

  “I wish there were a way to nail the police for this crime as well,” Sacajawea muses.

  Crew leans forward, his eyes glittering. “In time, every last Evolved will pay for his crimes.”

  “The evil ones, you mean,” Harriet clarifies.

  “Sometimes, I think they all deserve to be taken out,” Rob says, loud enough that everyone can hear him.

  Crew changes the subject. “Over the past few weeks, I have been scouring the records of each of the students in our newest class, making sure every one of you can be trusted. I am happy to say that you have all passed, and a few of you have proven your loyalty to our rebellion already through your actions on behalf of our team.”

  Crew’s eyes rest warmly on me, and his acknowledgment makes me sit up straighter.

  “Many of you have wondered how our rebellion can be successful without more resources,” Crew continues. “We have spent decades fund-raising and investing the money, and the result of this effort is housed in a building we call the Chrysalis.”

  “What are you telling us? That we have a bunch of tanks and laser guns in a basement somewhere?” Cesar quips.

  “Not in a basement,” Nic says, clearly enjoying holding the mystery over our heads.

  “It’s better to show you,” Crew says. “It’s time for you to meet the rest of the rebellion.”

  He takes us into the Lab through the entrance beneath the stage. We navigate almost a mile of tunnels to a battered old door caked with centuries of grime. A bar of rotting wood is clumsily nailed across it to keep out intruders.

  Crew steps up to the door and pushes up the bar. It’s covering a dusty screen, and a red light scans Crew’s face. Then he puts a finger up to the screen, and it takes a drop of his blood.

  “Only those with approved Throwback DNA can gain admittance into this building,” Nic explains.

  “But hopefully, we’ll have Evolved allies as our rebellion progresses. They might need to get inside, too,” I interject.

  “They’ll never be welcome here,” Nic says, his voice hard.

  Before I can argue, Crew ushers us into the dark building. When the door closes behind us, a green light shines down from the ceiling.

  “It’s a full body scan,” Marie whispers to Harriet and me. “This is high security, the kind you’d find at the Pentagon or the White House.”

  The green light goes off, and a panel at the back of the room slides open, revealing a white hallway lined with doors.

  “Welcome to the Chrysalis!” Crew says with one of his wide, toothy smiles as he leads us inside. “You have all been registered in our system and are welcome to visit here day or night.”

  “I’ve got to ge
t Justus registered,” I whisper to Harriet. “When he sees this place, he’ll finally believe that the rebellion is real and that we’re going to make a difference.”

  Crew gives us a tour of several floors of the building. Along the way, he introduces us to Throwbacks who work there. There’s a fancy gym where professional trainers will help us get our bodies into peak physical condition and tablet terminals equipped with the latest software for breaking into protected internet sites. This must be where Nic disappears to unearth confidential information about the Strand executives.

  Rob and Sal squeal like kids when Crew takes us to an armory the size of a warehouse that’s filled with laser guns and other high-tech weapons I don’t recognize. We all laugh when we see that there are, in fact, three huge tanks in the middle of the room. It’s nearly impossible to drag Joseph away from the collection of whips on one wall, though the sight of them makes me a little sick.

  My favorite floor is the experimental-science level. It’s here that the rebellion’s coolest gadgets are developed, from holograms you can interact with by touch to suits that mimic your environment so effectively that you’re nearly invisible.

  “I could spend the rest of my life right here,” Marie whispers to me as a Throwback cloned from Einstein demonstrates a gun that envelops enemies in a magnetic field. The movements of the person encased in the field can be manipulated by a controller.

  “It’s like a vid game, except the person you’re moving around isn’t a virtual character. It’s a real human being,” Sun says, and he doesn’t sound like he approves.

  “I call it the Manipulator,” the Einstein, whose name is Dennis, says with a flourish.

  My laugh earns a glare from Dennis. “You might want to leave the naming of your inventions to the marketing team.”

  “When will it be ready for use?” Marie asks.

  “The technology is in beta testing and currently is only effective for brief spurts of time. Entirely unreliable for now.”

  My head spins from all of the new information.