Emergent (A Beta Novel) (25 page)

“Don’t ruin another piece of furniture, Tamsin baby,” he tells her. “Every time you do they take away something else.”

“Like what?” asks Tahir.

“Not privacy,” Tamsin fumes. “That’s already gone.”

“They reduce our caloric intake. They make the room dark—for days instead of just nights,” Tarquin tells Tahir and me.

“The better for us to fornicate,” says Tamsin. I’m not sure if she’s serious. “They like to watch.” She looks up at the ceiling and accuses.
“PERVS!”

“I love you so much, baby,” says Tarquin. It’s like Tahir and I are not even in the same room as Tamsin reclines back into his lap, and he leans down to kiss her again. And
kiss her and kiss her and kiss her.

I almost admire their crazy love. They’re so open and free about it. But the display feels like equal amounts public show as genuine, private affection.

“For their benefit,” says Tahir, pointing to the side walls, referring to the unseen surveillance.

“To what purpose?” I ask.

“Science?” Tahir posits.

“But
what
science?” I ask. I was brought back to Demesne and given clemency for more than just to be Tahir’s companion. I know it. These humans are too greedy to give
two Betas a second chance just for the sake of love. Certainly the Terrible Ts have not been confined to this space in the interest of their true love.

“I’d like to know the same thing,” says Tahir.

Tarquin’s mouth removes from Tamsin’s to let us in on what he knows. “ReplicaPharm are using
our
raging hormones for a project they call Mimetic. If it’s
successful, it will become a vaccine given to teenagers around the world.”

“To do what?” I ask.

Tamsin hisses, “Make them less like us, of course! Awful!”

“I don’t understand,” says Tahir.

Tarquin says, “Like a flu shot, a vaccine that injects a dose of flu in order to stave off worse flu. Mimetic would be like that. A dose of our reproduced Awful hormones, injected into
teenagers to prevent them from being teens. Wild! Crazy! AWFUL!”

“It would sublimate them until adulthood,” I say, suddenly coming to this realization. “Make them passive. Easy to control.”

“Exactly!” Tamsin and Tarquin both say.

The Terrible Ts are clearly crazy. They have to be making up this nonsense about Mimetic. It’s one thing for the humans to try to control their clones. It’s a whole other thing for
them to try to control all their own teenagers. I’m beginning to understand that destroying the human infrastructure on Demesne is about so much more than Insurrection. It’s about
protecting clones—
and
our young human brethren elsewhere in the world.

Tamsin cocks her head to the side and
nonchalantly
says, “Yeah, sicko science.” Her gaze returns to Tarquin. “I can’t get enough of you, baby.” She caresses
his chin with her hand. “I just love you so much. It’s not even fair how much I love you.”

“I love you more,” says Tarquin.

I’m obviously not going to have the opportunity to make any real connection with the Terrible Ts. They’re too into each other. Is that so terrible?

“Give me a baby, baby,” Tamsin whispers to him. “Please? My eyes are blacker than black. I need hope. Someone to love who isn’t doomed to death.”

“I would if I could,” Tarquin tells her. “You know I’m trying.”

Suddenly she stands up, in what looks like a rage. “You’re not trying hard enough! I never get what I want!”

Matter-of-factly, Tahir says, “Elysia made a baby. It was removed from her.”

Her face set to
shocked
, Tamsin runs over to stand before me. “How is that even possible? Clones can’t replicate.”

“I was the exception, I guess,” I say.

Tamsin begins pulling out her hair, screaming, “GET OUT OF HERE! NOW! I HATE YOU! I WILL KILL YOU!”

Tarquin jumps to her side to attempt to soothe her, but she’s like an animal that can’t be contained. “GET OFF ME! I HATE YOU ALL! I HATE EVERYTHING!”

The entrance doors open and Dr. Gaddis and the two android sentinels come inside the Terrible Ts’ cage. “I think this visit is over,” Dr. Gaddis says to Tahir and me.

Resolutely, quietly, Tamsin walks toward the sentinels. She offers them her wrists. They cuff her.

“I’m ready to be expired now, Dr. Gaddis,” Tamsin announces.

So that’s the vision of my future with Tahir. We go so crazy that we demand to be expired.

Or, we flee.

Better to die trying.

AS WE RETURN TO THE
hallway corridor outside the Terrible Ts’ prison, Dr. Gaddis tells Tahir, “Your father requested you stop by to see him
before your visit with Tarquin and Tamsin.”

“I don’t want to see Tariq right now,” says Tahir.

“That’s not your choice,” says Dr. Gaddis. “When the boss requests to be seen, he is seen.”

We sit in the mobile cart and Dr. Gaddis maneuvers us to the executive wing of the company headquarters, where a worker is installing a placard bearing the name “Tariq Fortesquieu”
on the outer glass door to the reception area leading to the executive offices. Dr. Gaddis holds open the door for us and ushers us into the reception area.

The Governor is in the area, sitting alone on a couch.

Dr. Gaddis tells him, “You received my message. Excellent. The expiration orders are being authorized for Tarquin and Tamsin. You may handle it.” Dr. Gaddis retrieves a tablet from
his coat pocket. “Read this manual before the procedure.”

Ivan’s father, who once lorded over the island but now is demoted to essentially an errand boy, looks directly at me, taunting. “The procedure will be excellent practice for
me.”

Dr. Gaddis scoffs at the Governor. “You will observe. You’re still in training. You may handle the bureaucratic filings necessary for the Replicant Rights Commission. Anything beyond
that…” Dr. Gaddis laughs. “I hardly think you’re ready for that.”

If it’s possible to measure the temperature of a room by the level of fuming exhibited by one particular human’s presence in it, I’d say the Governor could easily set this
reception area on fire. At first I thought the “coincidence” of his presence here just as Tahir and I arrived was meant to intimidate me. Maybe it was. But I’m also sure that Dr.
Gaddis arranged this encounter to intimidate the Governor as well. Or humiliate him. Same difference, perhaps.

The Governor shoots me a glare that’s both hateful and a promise:
We’re not finished.

I agree, and return the same glare to him.

Insurrection will liberate the clones on Demesne. Seeing the Governor’s ruin completed will be my personal little victory.

I’m mad and I want answers.

Dr. Gaddis ushers Tahir and me into Tariq’s office. It’s an expansive space with clear walls that look like windows with different views over Demesne. The people inside the frames
start to move, and I realize the walls are live surveillance views over the island: inside the laboratories at HQ where researchers in white coats are monitoring data machines; construction workers
laying a foundation for the new building at Haven; ReplicaPharm employees relaxing on the shore at Nectar Bay; Zhara’s room at the Fortesquieu compound, where Bahiyya supervises the
chestnut-haired maid looking under Zhara’s bed—looking for what, I don’t know—but the maid emerges empty-handed.

Tariq stands up from his desk and comes over to greet us. He tries to give Tahir a hug, but Tahir is stiff in Tariq’s embrace.

“How was your visit with Tarquin and Tamsin?” Tariq asks us, gesturing for us to sit down at the chairs opposite his desk. He sits down at his executive’s desk and nods to Dr.
Gaddis, who leaves the room.

Tahir says, “The Ts are at their end. Ready to be expired.” He doesn’t sound
upset
, but I sense he is. We both are. We just witnessed our future. Tahir must not want to
give his father the satisfaction of knowing how unnerved we are. His parents gave us this visit as a cautionary tale to encourage us to cooperate with them, to do as they say in the face of
hormonal chaos converging in our bodies.

Tariq says, “I feared as much. But their time here has not been for nothing. We’ve been able to cull excellent hormonal samples from their Beta chemistry.”

“For the Mimetic project?” I ask. “Or were the Ts lying about that?”
Please say they were crazy. Please say they were lying.

I know they weren’t.

Tariq shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He sighs. “I guess I couldn’t have prevented them telling you about it. I wanted to tell you myself.” He didn’t. He wanted us to
know, and the Terrible Ts revealing it to us was part of the scare tactic. I know it. “Mimetic is certainly no lie. It’s the most important scientific advancement of the last decade.
It’s a prime reason I agreed to forego retirement and come back to work here. Getting that project to market will be one of my proudest accomplishments.”

“It will make you richer than ever,” says Tahir dryly.

“Yes,” Tariq agrees. “But it’s not about the money. We already have more than the combined per capita income of half the world.”

So share it, I think.

“Mimetic is the rare pharmaceutical compound that will make the world a better place. Save teenagers from themselves.”

“It could have saved First Tahir,” says Tahir.

“Exactly,” says Tariq. “We’re pleased with you, son. Of course. But Mimetic could spare other parents throughout the world from the disastrous consequences of their
teenagers’ wild behavior.”

“It’s a terrible idea,” says Tahir, who looks to me for affirmation. I nod.

“Nonsense,” says Tariq. “You two have no real knowledge of the world.”
How could we? You’ve trapped us here.
“You couldn’t possibly understand
the need for such a vaccine.”

“What did you mean by the hormonal compounds of Betas?” I ask Tariq. There’s no use arguing the ethics of inoculating teens against their basic natures. ReplicaPharm will try
to bring Mimetic to market regardless of any “opinions” the two powerless Betas sitting in the chairman’s office might have. It’s up to us to stop it.

Tariq answers, “Teen Betas, because they’ve been replicated at the juncture of adolescence into adulthood, have unusual hormones we’ve been able to use to create Mimetic. And
I’ve just learned that cells extracted from the womb machine incubating Elysia’s fetus may hold the key to finally perfecting Mimetic.”

That thing doesn’t even exist yet, and already they’re abusing it. Typical, hateful humans. “Are the Beta hormones why I was able to get pregnant?” I ask Tariq.

“We don’t think so,” says Tariq. “Ivan, as you know, had experimented with various compounds of ’raxia, including batches laced with potent amounts of testosterone.
We believe that’s why you got pregnant. Not because of your hormones, but because of his. It was a fluke, but beneficial for our research. Clones created from Firsts have been outlawed, and
those in existence will die out naturally. But at least now we know the factors that could allow the Demesne brand of clones to procreate. It’s a nonissue, really. Would you like to see the
new brand of Betas?” he asks us eagerly.

“More clones?” Tahir says, rising from his chair. “That’s an outrage, Father!” Tariq just laughs, and tamps his hand to encourage Tahir to sit back down.

Tariq says, “Flesh-and-blood clones are old wave. Meet the new.” He presses a button on his desk, and a new person enters the room.

It’s an adult male, dressed in a butler’s uniform, only the male is a 4-D holo-composite. Yet it holds a physical tray in its hand, balancing three glasses of water. The butler
approaches Tahir and me. “May I?” the new and improved Beta asks us politely. We extend our hands, and he places a glass of water in each hand for us.

“Excellent, Jeeves!” says Tariq. “That’s what we’ve named the new Beta. A bit obvious, of course. But we’re very fond of him. Soon all the clones will be just
like Jeeves. Better even than android machines. Truly soulless, because he doesn’t actually exist. He’s just a computer model made to look like flesh and bone.”

“Do you require anything else, sir?” asks Jeeves.

“That will be all,” says Tariq. “You may leave the tray here.” The hologram butler places the tray on Tariq’s desk and then vanishes into thin air. Tariq beams at
Tahir and me. “Spectacular, right?”

I don’t answer because I’m distracted by the surveillance wall behind Tariq’s head, where a frame flashes what appears to be a prison cell, with cement walls and laser bars
separating the room from the hallway. A lone male figure sits on the floor, being guarded by android soldiers outside the confines of his cell. One of his hands has been amputated. For a moment, he
looks up, and I see his olive-skinned, black rose–vined face.

It’s Aidan. He’s alive.