The Sentient

by Nadia Afifi

  “This charming chap here is Andrew Reznik. He’s the good Elder’s second in command. Dangerous motherfucker. The Trinity kids here have told me some stories that would make your hair stand up. I don’t know what you’re planning to do with all of this, love, but I hope your plans keep you far the fuck away from Andrew Reznik.”

  Amira leaned in closer to the hologram. While Young’s posture was relaxed and authoritative, Reznik sat upright in his chair, as though poised for attack. What really struck Amira, however, was the lack of emotion on Reznik’s face. His eyes were cold and unreachable, observing Rozene’s humiliation with detached indifference. The longer Amira looked at Reznik, the more unsettlingly familiar he seemed. A sense of déjà vu.

  The protest line outside of Aldwych. The skin on her arms tightened, shrinking as chilling realization struck her. She had seen him in the crowd, his cold eyes staring back at her with the same detachment he directed at Rozene. A Trinity man, Elder Young’s deputy, lurking outside of the Soma.

  Hadrian snapped his fingers and Amira turned back to the hologram.

  The third figure, a middle-aged Asian man in a black suit, sat to Elder Young’s right. Though his posture was alert, his face looked puffy. Hadrian studied the suited figure with narrow eyes, tilting his head as though hoping to gain some new insight from the man’s polite, engaged expression.

  “Now this is a riddle,” he murmured softly, scratching his chin.

  Amira nodded. She had noticed something odd about the man the minute his face was revealed.

  “He’s not compound,” she said.

  “No, he’s not,” Hadrian agreed, continuing to peer into the man’s face. “That fancy suit, that smile of his…. He’s a city boy, that’s clear. Probably not used to the dry climate and the pollen, with that swollen nose of his. Not a convert either, I reckon. He’s watching this shit show to be polite. See that look on his face? He’s got no clue. He’s out of his element here. No, I reckon he’s some kind of guest of the good Elder there.”

  “But who is he, and what’s he doing at the Trinity?” Amira asked. Lee shrugged.

  “Your guess is as good as mine, love,” Hadrian said. “But now you’ve got me interested. I’ll see if any of my kids know anything, or if we can get an ID on him. If you’ve got any contacts who can put a name on the suit here, I’d start talking to them.”

  * * *

  Amira’s mind raced late into the night, long after the last students had stumbled into their rooms from the Riverfront bars. She gazed out the window, where the stars glimmered faintly through the cracks in the clouds. The earlier joy and relief at breaching the wall of Rozene’s memories had proven short lived. Someone had gone to great lengths to keep the identities of those men secret, and now that she’d witnessed the horror of the Trinity Compound, Amira knew they had good reason.

  That night, she dreamed of her own escape from the compound.

  The memory was vivid, of moonlight reflecting off the New Covenant’s glowing white buildings on a cloudless night, the Temple’s spire reaching up to the heavens. Everyone had convened at the temple for the Ascension ceremony that night, to remember and attempt to see those who had ascended to the Nearhaven. Their chanting could be heard from the western walls, the first obstacle Amira climbed after escaping through her bedroom window. Since she was already under lock and key, no one would have expected her in the auditorium that night. The ceremony would keep her parents occupied – something big had happened in the cities, her mother warned, a sign of the end times that required fierce prayer – but Amira only had a narrow window of time in which to act.

  Surrounded by dead grass and thirsty sagebrush, Amira crouched in the desert beyond the compound walls, skinny arms locked tight around her knees. Her airy blue dress provided little shelter from the night chill and her feet were bare, her white shoes suspended in barbed wire somewhere along the compound’s walls. She dug her toes into the cool sand and waited.

  She shivered and ran her fingers absent-mindedly over the thin scars across her palms, a reminder of that first escape attempt. Whatever the outcome, this one would be her last.

  Amira traced the grim outline of the northern mountains as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. Without warning, her surroundings were illuminated when a piercing beam of light traveled across the ground in front of her. The searchlight passed over her head, inches away.

  She crouched, motionless, against the prickly brush. She didn’t dare breathe. Something caught the corner of her eye. Her muscles went rigid with fear.

  A rattlesnake coiled within biting distance, stirring under the invading glow. It let out a low hiss.

  Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

  The snake regarded the intruder with caution.

  A silent prayer played on her lips. Let it go on. Let me leave this place.

  After a moment of hesitation, the reptile recoiled back into the rocks.

  She exhaled softly, returning her gaze to the beam’s circular path.

  Amira learned to welcome silence in her years of being locked away, in her room and sometimes the compound stables. Those long hours of confinement had prepared her for that moment, when opportunity struck.

  The beam traveled around the other side of the compound’s wall. The darkness returned and she ran.

  She tore across the sand at breakneck speed. Without a flashlight to guide her, the desert flora turned against her and whipped mercilessly at her face and legs. She kept running, darting left and right, occasionally collapsing into the sand, only to pull herself up and continue the charge to the northwest range. The tattered backpack she carried over her shoulder, holding the barest of her possessions, began to weigh her down. Her chest burned and her sides ached as she ascended the mountain rim in long, steady strides. Each step was agony; the soles of her feet grew bloody under the relentless assault of rock and thorns. The salty grains of sand stuck to the open cuts and sent shooting pain through her ankles. Despite the pain, she did not slow down. This escape was different – she knew where to run and what she had to do.

  When would they notice she was gone? No sirens sounded, only the fierce pounding of blood in her ears. Someone would surely check on her and trigger the alarms. Even her mother would alert the authorities without hesitation. The barbed wires and searchlights were secondary to the New Covenant’s true strength: the watchful eyes of family and neighbors.

  At the top of the ridge, Amira collapsed on her knees and sobbed, weak with exhaustion, her throat raw and ragged when she sucked in the cold air.

  As she knelt in the sand, a distant, deep rumbling drew her eyes upward. The clouds above her had parted in a wide gash through which she could see the starry canvas of space and an enormous shuttle moving across the sky. In all her years of stargazing, she had never seen a shuttle this close. Though over a hundred miles above her, its red and blue lights flashed and translucent smoke streamed behind its roaring engines. Her arm stretched out almost involuntarily and for a fleeting second, her thin fingers reached up toward the glowing, propulsive object so far above her. In that solitary moment, she could see it all; its engines spinning while men and women in lab coats teemed behind egg-shaped windows. She stood rooted to the ground beneath her, weighed down by a sudden, powerful purpose. Her heart pounded at the base of her throat until the shuttle disappeared once again behind the clouds.

  One day, she would go to space. Whatever purpose the universe had for her, she would find it there.

  A nearer, more familiar engine growled, reverberating across the ground. She leapt to her feet like a deer at the sound of a gunshot. The lights of an all-terrain hovercraft traveled away from the compound’s gates at a steady, unyielding pace across the desert like a hungry gull over water. A wild fear gripped her and she ran.

  There was no alarm this time. No need to alert the entire compound if they did not intend for her to return. A s
ingle bullet would suffice, straight into a shallow, unblessed grave.

  Amira charged forward with a speed she never knew possible. Her legs burned as she weaved through the jagged pines and boulders across the ridge. She was no longer running uphill. Her energy returned, fueled by adrenaline. She crossed the flat peak and stared down into a narrow gully in the mountains.

  And there was the train, exactly where it was supposed to be. A secret from an unexpected ally – an aid worker who refused to let her hide in their convoy but revealed another opportunity for escape. He had told her the truth. Relief shot through her limbs. She could make it. She had to.

  She raced toward the base of the rocky gorge along the dark, winding path. The train’s engine bellowed, and she pushed herself faster down the steep gorge. But she teetered too far forward on the sloping land. She stumbled and crashed to the ground, sliding down the rock face as the momentum carried her downhill. She held her breath as her body flailed and crashed against rock. Somehow, she had to remain silent. A bitter taste flooded her mouth, something wet leaking from her lips. Blood, from biting her cheek. She scrambled to her feet, fighting back pain and rising panic. She couldn’t stop now. Not this close.

  A branch lashed the left side of her face and she careened diagonally down the valley on a bed of loose dirt and pine needles. When the ground flattened at the valley’s base, she fell forward on her knees.

  “I see her, she’s there!” cried a man’s voice behind her, triumphant.

  The train was no more than one hundred feet away. The smell of diesel burned in her nostrils.

  Freedom within her reach.

  Amira jumped to her feet and raced for the nearest freight car. Run, she chanted in her head. Run!

  A pair of spinning light beams flashed in front of her. She cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder.

  The patrol had found her. The vehicle worked its way down the gorge, a pair of searchlights darting at its helm.

  She locked her sights on the train and pushed harder, her lungs screaming for air.

  Move, she mouthed desperately. Please move.

  The train came to life with a jolt. Its wheels creaked and spun fitfully before lurching forward.

  “Stop!” cried that same male voice, booming through a megaphone. “Stop the train!”

  An adrenal, animalistic rush crashed over her, propelling her alongside the boxcar. Her hands reached out and gripped the ladder. Her feet flew off the ground. With the last of her strength, she swung her body toward the rail and pulled herself upward. A series of loud cracks rang against metal. Bullets. The patrol fired at her. She clung to the back of the freight car, arms and feet locked around the ladder rungs.

  The train gained speed.

  More gunfire sprayed the side of the train. Ricocheted near her, over her head, within inches of her body. The patrol vehicle glided alongside the train but lost ground quickly.

  Straining her neck, Amira finally turned her head to face her pursuers. The lights of the hovercraft grew smaller and dimmer in the dark of the desert. As the train turned a sharp north over the mountains, she allowed herself to believe, at last, that she was free. She tugged at the veil around her hair, releasing it into the fluttering wind. Elation flooded her chest. Tears broke free and streamed down her cheeks. She had made it. The compound, its Elders, Chimyra, and disciples, held no power where she was going. She clung to the ladder with weakening arms, letting a long-suppressed sob erupt from her chest. For the first time, she breathed in free air.

  Chapter Nine

  Entropy

  Jessica Alvarado and Nina Leakey died on June 14, 2226 and June 27, 2226, respectively, days shy of their third trimesters. As a result, when Rozene entered the third trimester and her pregnancy was officially pronounced ‘stable’, the reaction in Pandora was triumphant. Naomi whistled at her desk, Amira received warm nods of recognition in the Soma’s hallways, and even Singh carried a certain bounce to her step. D’Arcy and the quantum programming team congratulated the cloning team as only they could, posting a Stream message from the Nineveh satellite in the Asteroid belt, complete with a montage of viral baby videos. Eventually, the team boldly announced its lack of failure, the headline reading, ‘Birth of First Human Clone Approaches as Healthy Subject Enters Final Trimester’. The story ran across the Soma’s exterior screen, where it was greeted with jeers and shouts of derision by protesters outside. The remainder of Aldwych welcomed the news – the entire district had felt the effects of the controversy surrounding Pandora and welcomed a positive headline.

  Parrish returned to the Carthage station after thanking the team. The blockade of the station was lifted with no explanation of why it had been instated in the first place. The Stream reported that all appeared normal at the Carthage, as much as a prison research facility could be considered normal.

  The upbeat mood on floor 235 even infected Rozene, already improved in mind and body after the last, fateful Oniria session. The weight of her fractured past removed, Rozene’s troubles shifted to the more typical complaints of a young woman in her final weeks of pregnancy – aching limbs, the oppressive weight, fear of the moment of birth and the chaotic months that would follow.

  “Feeling better today?” Amira asked upon entering the ward.

  Rozene did not reply, engrossed in the screen resting on her formidable belly, round and firm as a hard-boiled egg. Amira leaned over her shoulder to find a series of Stream articles on baby names running across the monitor.

  “Names from ancient mythology,” Amira said softly. “Scientific pioneers who changed the world. Notable characters in fiction to give your baby a unique name.”

  Rozene looked up with a mischievous smile.

  “I can’t believe Dr. Singh’s letting me name the baby.”

  “Well, it is yours,” Amira said, laughing. Rozene beamed, her face brighter than Amira had ever seen.

  “I know,” Rozene said. “But it’s a big deal. Her name will be in history books, every textbook on biology and genetics to come.”

  Amira gave Rozene’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze, hearing Singh’s voice behind Rozene’s words.

  “Have you decided on a name?” Amira asked.

  “I think I have,” Rozene said, grinning.

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “I’ll keep this one to myself,” Rozene said.

  Of course Rozene craved privacy, so cruelly denied during her long pregnancy. Her innermost secrets laid bare under Amira’s holomentic talents. As Amira’s own dreams continued to plague her, she tried to record them on the archaic holomentic machine she took on loan from the Academy. D’Arcy had walked into her room to find Amira sitting cross-legged on the floor, a burning house on display on her computer monitor. Amira told D’Arcy she was watching Stream viral videos, another lie that rolled off her tongue but left a bitter aftertaste.

  Sparkes rolled into the ward, carrying a tray of pills.

  “At least I’m off the sedatives,” Rozene said, swallowing back the pastel cocktail of medication. Sparkes remained by the door, pacing back and forth.

  “I asked if Sparkes could keep an extra eye on you,” Amira said by way of explanation. Rozene caught Amira’s dark look of warning and nodded with grim understanding. Neither had forgotten the masked figure with the syringe. The intruder, whoever it was, clearly meant Rozene or her clone harm.

  The aura of celebration in the Soma enveloped Amira, but she resisted its pull, unable to completely sink into its comfort. Though free from the effects of the tampered memory, Rozene was not out of the woods, as the memory itself had revealed. The person who had tried to harm Rozene remained out there, perhaps within the walls of the Soma itself, perhaps plotting their next move.

  * * *

  It was well after sunset when she returned to the Riverfront. The residents of the Canary House had converged on
the common area for Singh’s highly anticipated interview on the Stream. Students pressed themselves mercilessly together on worn couches and spilled over onto the floor, exchanging drinks, Academy-approved macrobiotic snacks and predictions for the hour-long exclusive with the Pandora project’s figurehead. After weeks of feigning ignorance and resisting questions from her fellow students, Amira was more excited than anyone for the status of Pandora to go public.

  Julian and D’Arcy greeted Amira excitedly when she entered the common area. Amira found a spot on the thinly carpeted floor, which reeked of stale beer. Several students shared meaningful glances as Amira took her seat.

  “Do you know what she’ll be saying, Amira?” D’Arcy squeezed in tightly with Julian and two others in a large armchair.

  “Not really,” Amira replied, accepting a beer from a classmate. “I know she’s not looking forward to it, though.”

  “Well, it’s not her job,” Julian said. “Doing the rounds, talking to reporters who want to take her down. Everyone’s tuning in for a bloodbath.”

  “This is Westport, not the compounds or the dark ages,” Amira retorted. “They might ask her tough questions, but it won’t be like that. She’s one of the greatest living scientists.”

  Julian sighed and D’Arcy shot him a warning look.

  “I just think you see this place with a rosy tint is all, Amira,” Julian said warily. “Westport isn’t a fucking utopia where everything is fair and civilized, and because of where you came from, you forget that. You want to see the best of this place, but women still have it bad, working people like D’Arcy’s dad still suffer. It’s the same shit in a shinier package.”

  “There is no comparison!” Amira said with vehemence, thinking back to Rozene’s memory in the desert, the sand covering the young girls’ pale, frightened faces. No matter how many stories she shared of the compounds, Julian would never truly understand what it meant to live through it, to survive girlhood within their walls. For all their self-professed enlightenment, the people of Westport clung to their preconceptions like torches, waving them in the air but ignoring the puddles of darkness they couldn’t reach, the corners of human experience they couldn’t understand.