Lotus and Thorn (24 page)

I WOULD FIND A WAY
to get a look at Jenner’s files myself. I crept out of the woods and past the Pavilion. This late at night there were only a few couples left in the tent—taking refuge in the dim corners or spinning slowly on the dance floor, drinks in hand.

But the Genetics Lab was still lit bright, and I could see Curadores moving around in the main room. They were busy monitoring the main computer, screens blinking with a thousand bits of data—even so, it’d be impossible to sneak in the front door without being seen. A Curador came up the path to the Lab and I pulled back into the shadow of a nearby tree. He punched a code into the panel by the door and it slid open and closed again. I’d forgotten that part.

I circled the building trying other entrances. Each one had a panel. Each one was locked. But as I came around the front of the building again, I caught a glimpse of Edison leaving the Lab. He was a ways ahead of me and walking fast, looking agitated. I practically had to run to stay with him, keeping a block between us as he walked through the streets of the sleeping Dome. I thought he
might turn off and go to the church, but instead, he headed toward the Kisaengs’ neighborhood.

I wondered if he was going to Marisol’s and a tiny bit of panic shot through me. Then, as I traced his path through the streets, I suddenly realized where Edison was headed.
To my house.

We were only a few blocks away now and there was no one else out in the wide open streets—it wasn’t like I could simply slip past him and hope he didn’t see me. The panic surged into my feet and I ducked between a pair of houses. Cutting through their backyards. Dodging trees and bushes.

I didn’t know what Edison wanted with me. But I didn’t think he’d be very happy if I wasn’t home when he got there.

I ran, leaping over a low hedge, in through my back door and up the stairs. I was barely at the top when I heard the front door creak open. Breathing hard, I ripped off my dress, tossed it on the floor, and dove under the covers. My bedroom door swung open and I forced my breathing to slow. Forced my whole body to be still.

Edison knelt by my bed. His face close to mine.

“Leica,” Edison whispered. “Wake up.”

I fluttered my eyes open, trying to look groggy. “What time is it?”

“It’s late. Well . . . maybe it’s early . . . it doesn’t matter. You have to come. I fixed it! It works . . . the radio works!”

• • •

The walk back to the Lab seemed to take no time. The whole thing was like a dream. And when we got there, it was already playing—the message from Earth.

“Lotus Colony, this is Homebase. You are under temporary quarantine. Enter verification and transmit on priority frequency so emergency evacuations can be coordinated.”

Edison grabbed the microphone, his face one big grin. “Hello! Hello? We can hear you! We’re transmitting! Is anyone there?”

A flutter of excitement quivered in my chest. It hadn’t just been a ploy—he
did
figure out what was wrong. Edison had managed to get the radio working.

“Hello?” I gave it a try, but the message simply repeated itself again. And again.

“When you got it working, did anyone answer?”

“No, but I didn’t really try. I just heard the message and ran to get you.”

“It says something about transmitting on a priority frequency . . . What if we’re still missing something?”

“I don’t know . . .” Edison was thinking it through. Excitement and concern fighting for control. “It worked for you in the shuttle. Then again, it’s possible that the shuttle was already transmitting the code. Or more likely, this radio is. There’s a lot of variables, but the important thing is that we just took the first step. Do you know what this means?” His eyes were so vibrantly orange, they were practically glowing. And I was reminded of that first day out in Tierra Muerta, when he saw the shuttle hatch.

I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. “Earth.”

“Earth!” His voice was full of awe and he laughed, pulling me into a hug as he spun me around.

The hugeness of it made everything that’d happened over the last few days fade. I imagined myself making contact. Ships and
supplies coming to Gabriel. My people lifted out of ritual and penance. Lifted out of disease. And I imagined Lotus and I, traveling together. Going home for the very first time.

Edison said exactly what I was thinking. “This could change everything.”

We tried for hours, taking turns at the microphone. Talking about what it might be like. About what might happen when we told people. Curadores and Citizens joining forces. Becoming a new community.

But there was still no reply. Only the message playing over and over and over again. I stared at the radio, wondering if we’d ever hear anyone on it again. Wondering if it was really working. So many wires and switches and circuits connecting me to this tenuous thread of hope.

Then I spotted it.

One wire. Shredded near its connection to the main circuit board. It hadn’t been damaged when I’d left—I’d double-checked everything myself.

I didn’t say anything. Hoping it was nothing—something unimportant. I silently traced the wire with my eyes to where it connected to a jack in the front panel of the radio. I already knew what plugged into that socket, but I checked the path of the cord just to make sure, following each twist and coil. All the way to the microphone in my hand.

A chill crept through me, but I didn’t change my expression. Didn’t move. Didn’t even stop speaking into the mic.

Except now, of course, I knew we weren’t really transmitting. No matter many times I said “Hello!” Earth would never respond, because it couldn’t even hear us.

I glanced at Edison, chatting passionately about humanity’s innate ability to adapt and thrive and it occurred to me that Edison never mentioned
how
he got this thing working. Never told me what his big idea was that made everything suddenly start functioning. Because the thing is, I’d been the one working on the main board. On those wires. And the last time I’d seen them, they’d been intact.

Wasn’t it possible that someone had sabotaged the microphone at the same time they fixed the radio? Wasn’t it possible that someone would want it to only
look
like we were transmitting? And wasn’t it possible that someone was Edison?

• • •

Edison finally fell asleep midafternoon, slumped over the microphone. He’d been up all night, so it was bound to happen sometime. It’d been horrible trying to pretend I hadn’t seen the wire. Our calls going unheard and therefore unanswered. Waiting for him to give up. I wasn’t sure what kind of game Edison was playing, but I knew enough to play along.

Luckily the doors inside the Genetics Lab were only locked on the outside. As I slipped out of the building, it occurred to me that if Edison
was
playing some kind of game with me, then the radio was the
perfect prize
. Thanks to Grimm, Edison knew a lot more about me than I did about him. He knew I loved machines and electronics. And he knew that I was fascinated with Earth. The lure of the broken radio was too much for me to resist—that’s why Edison hadn’t fixed it while I was in isolation.

So why fix it now?

I thought about Edison’s most recent lie about the Mothers. Had I stumbled onto something that’d provoked this distraction?
Still. How long did he think I’d chatter into the radio before I noticed?

I didn’t get very far from the Lab before Grimm appeared. He dove, grabbing my shirt, tugging me toward the forest. In full view of everyone on the Promenade.

“You shouldn’t be here!” I swatted him away as Kisaengs and Curadores started glancing in our direction, but Grimm dove again. Refusing to leave me alone. I’d never seen him like this. A needle of worry pushed into me and I followed him into the woods before we managed to attract the attention of the whole Dome.

Grimm swooped around me, calling out in agitation, as we traveled toward Nik’s house. When I got there, Nik was standing at one of the long tables, but he didn’t look up. He was cramming a new radish sprout into a jar, and he wasn’t his usual, deliberate self. Bits of soil were spilling out over the rim and his rough fingers were smashing the green shoots.

“What did that poor plant ever do to you?” I said, trying to break the tension with a stupid joke.

He ignored me, starting on another pot.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Nik didn’t speak, but every muscle in his body seemed strung taut. Like any second he would snap. Nik started stacking the repotted jars in the corner of the table. Banging them on the counter as he went.
Slam. Slam. Slam.

Behind him on the wall, a computer screen glowed and I spotted my name.

I read the entry out loud, “Leica. Age 17. Processed: July 2592.”

Nik grabbed another jar.
Slam.

I went on. “Blood filtration. Bacteria cultivation. Body scan. Ova harvested. Cycle simulated.”
Slam.

“What does this mean? Ova harvested?” I pointed at the screen, asking the question I was afraid I already had the answer to.

A jar tipped over.
Smash.

“Dammit!” Nik bashed his hand down. Dirt and glass went everywhere. Strewn across the table. Carpeting the cracked concrete. Embedded in his skin. Blood blossomed up—red mixing with the shimmering wreck.

He barely seemed to notice the cluster of cuts that decorated his palm. Or the great slice that cut across the center.

“Let me see that.” I hurried to him, stumbling over a bag of dirt. As I fell, Grimm tried to help, diving for me, catching my hand with his talons.

I clutched at my palm, wincing.

“Leica!” My pain finally pulled Nik out of his rage. He blinked like he was waking up from a dream.

“I’m sorry.” He reached out as if to touch the deep ribbon of red that spanned my knuckles, then stopped himself. He looked me straight in the eyes, his jaw tight. And I could see the words were hard for him to say. “I’m so sorry.”

A horrible idea rose up inside me and I touched the scar on my belly. “Did you know about this?”

“Not about your scar, not about the missing Kisaengs . . . not until Ada snuck into the Lab and copied Jenner’s files.”

I shook my head. “Ada? That’s the woman who was here? Why would she help me? She clearly hates Kisaengs.”

“So you
did
come last night,” Nik said quietly. And some of the
hurt cleared from his face. “Ada doesn’t hate them. And she helped because I asked her too.”

I was struggling to put everything together. To understand what was happening. “But she’s the one sabotaging the Dome. I saw her.”

“No.” Then Nik hesitated. “Well . . . yes. But she has her reasons. You’ll have to take my word for it. I’ve known Ada my whole life. I trust her.”

Trust. The word was meaningless now.

Grimm came and perched on my shoulder, burying his beak in my hair for comfort. I ran my hand over the gold feathers on his breast. Reassuring him.

I pointed at the screen again. “Tell me, what does it mean?”

“They cut you open,” he said. I nodded, knowing that part. “And they took your eggs.”

“My eggs?”

“They removed your ovaries and replaced them with a device that synthesized the same chemicals so—”

“Don’t tell me how they did it.” I cut him off. Needing to hear him say the words. Needing to know for sure. “Tell me what it
means
.”

Nik knew what I was asking and there was grief on his face. “It’s impossible for you to have children now.”

His words made my chest ache—my heart struggling to grasp his words. To make them real. It wasn’t like I suddenly longed to hold a baby. Or imagined little girls running around with my same nose or eyes or hands. No. It was that yesterday, there had been all these paths I could’ve taken. All the people I could’ve become. And now—where there’d been noise and chaos and color—there was just blankness. And there was just me.

“Taken, but not destroyed?” Making sure I understood what they’d done to me. “It says
ova harvested
 . . . like I’m some kind of crop?”

“Not destroyed . . . they’re used to make clones. They need unfertilized eggs . . . like blank canvases. They remove the nucleus from your cell—take out your DNA—and insert the cloned one.”

More Edisons. More Niks.

But
not
more Leicas. And somehow that was a relief. My eggs were merely the empty receptacle—incubators. At least there weren’t scraps of my soul being twisted and manipulated without me even knowing.

There were other files on the screen too. Other names I recognized: Riya, Marisol, Aaliyah. They all said the same thing:
Ova Harvested. Cycle Simulated.
But when I got to Oksun’s entry, it was different.

Oksun. Age 29. Processed: November 2585. Pending.

“Pending? What does pending mean?” And I thought about the fact that Oksun was a little older than most of the Kisaengs.

Nik shook his head. “I have no idea.”

I scanned the list, but none of the others were labeled pending. Then I got to another file that was different. Cold dread squeezed my chest.
Olivia. Age 22. Processed: May 2583. Infected: October 2592. Red Death. Isolation Ward C.

So Lotus had been right. The Curadores
were
infecting people with Red Death. They were infecting the
Kisaengs
. And according to this, Olivia was still somewhere in this Dome.

“Where’s Isolation Ward C?” I demanded.

“I’m not sure.”

“But you know something, don’t you?”

The haunted look came back into Nik’s eyes and his shoulders hunched—like he was trying to fold in on himself.

“Nik.” I said the word in a low, calm voice. “I didn’t come to the Dome to be with Edison . . . he was only my way inside. I came because we suspected the Curadores were doing something horrible to Pleiades. So if you care about me at all, then tell me what you know.
Please
 . . . my people are dying.”

He was quiet for so long, I thought he was lost. Then he started speaking. “Grimm was one of my
good
ideas. A friend. Someone to keep Edison and me from going crazy locked inside that lab.”