Luca (3 page)

And then there are
men
.

She knows the look. Driven by animal instinct, men have pursued her relentlessly since her youth. But her father is a picky man, and arrangements for marriage have not yet been forced upon her. He’s still looking for a man worthy of the hand of his daughter.

As he is apt to say, one should never sell a stock while it is still rising in value.

And now, years after the invention of Graff, Qaara finds herself under the thumb of another man.

Frank Mercer. The elusive President and CEO of Genesis Corporation.

So far, he’s shown more interest in her brains than anything else. It’s given her an opportunity to escape the constant gaze of others and find temporary relief in the semi-seclusion of her office. And that’s the way she likes it. For now, she can stay inside and bury herself in her work.

Unfortunately, it’s not a long-term solution.

Her gaze wanders to the brown smudge on the far horizon, beyond the thin edge of civilization that clings to the coast, in the direction of the lawless interior of the continent, long abandoned by the old United States of America.

A place known simply as the Zone.

No longer united, the amber waves of grain and lush fields of corn have given way to deserts, desolation and death.

The Zone is home to bandits, outlaws, scavengers.

On every continent, it’s essentially the same story. Civilization ends within a few dozen miles of the ocean.

Yet, in spite of the scary stories, in spite of the universal revulsion in the City for the Zone, it carries a certain appeal for Qaara. She’s dreamed of it more than once. A place where she could leave all her prisons behind and become a new person.

To finally be an individual and not an object.

Someday, she tells herself, she will find the courage to get away, maybe even go off-grid for a while. Find herself.

Qaara shakes her head to clear the images. Daydreaming has become too much of a habit lately.

Time for a quick diversion to clear her mind.

Slipping out of her lab coat, Qaara walks along the window to the far end of the office in a black leather bodysuit, the only outer symbol of her inner desire for rebellion. Never mind that it’s the current fashion for young professional women in the City, almost a requirement. It had taken courage to make the purchase, to allow herself the luxury of dressing in fashion. To feel a connection.

If her father knew, he would scold her. He would tell her to live above others. To be better than they are.

Her palm presses a white square, and the ceiling pulls away to reveal a three-story climbing wall. Organic finger holds push through the soft surface of the wall. A harness drops down on the end of a blue cord, and she steps into it, legs first, and pulls it around her waist, securing the clasp with a click.

She had it installed a month ago. Now she climbs at least twice a day for exercise and to release stress.

Concentrating on the image of a spider as her inspiration, Qaara makes it to the top and pushes away, dangling on the blue cord and dropping slowly to the floor.

Too easy.

“Difficulty grade five,” she says.

Two-thirds of the holds on the wall melt away.

That’s more like it.

This time, it takes three minutes to reach the top. When she does, she pushes off and drops back to the floor, out of breath and refreshed.

Wiping away the sweat beads on her forehead, she walks back to the center of the office, threads her arms through the lab coat and grabs a slate off the desk.

“Another all-nighter, Ms. Kapoor?”

The male voice through the open door startles her, but she’s had a lot of practice hiding her emotions and does a good job of masking any surprise. Lab coat hanging askew, the bodysuit beneath is in full view. Horrified by this breach of protocol, she twists and pulls in an attempt to cover up. The slate slips from her fingers and clatters to the floor.

She bends to retrieve it, taps its surface and the holo of the molecule disappears.

She turns, and her gaze falls on a man leaning against the doorway, mid-twenties, arms folded, blue overalls slightly open at the chest and stretched thin over a muscular frame. Dark hair down to his shoulders. It’s the kind of body one might expect on a WFL footballer whose parents could afford the price of pre-embryonic genetic tweaking, but it looks strangely out of place on a man from the cleaning staff.

A mere sweeper from the Fringe.

“I’m sorry. Did someone send for you?” Qaara avoids eye contact and slips the slate into a large pocket. Her hand instinctively clings to an organic cylinder made of silver and glass that slides comfortably into her palm. “I don’t recall needing any—”

The jax drops from her hand, bounces twice on the floor and rolls away toward the stranger.

Qaara lurches to grab it, teeters off balance and falls, knees hitting the floor. Wincing from the pain, she goes down onto her belly, arms outstretched, chin level with the man’s shoes.

“Got it.” The man beats her to the jax and scoops it up. As soon as his fingers touch it, its blue light fades and dies. For an agonizing second, their eyes lock.

“Here’s your jax, Ms. Kapoor.” The man offers it to her on his open palm and reaches his other hand down to help her up. “Looks like it winked off.”

Ignoring the hand, Qaara stands to her feet. “Skin recog technology.” She grabs the jax, wishing she hadn’t said the word
skin
. “Thanks.”

“I’m here for the stain on the floor.” The man nods, moving deeper into the office and bending down, eyes searching.

“Stain?”

“There it is.” He pulls a blue cloth out of a pouch resting on his hip and begins to rub the floor in slow circular motions. “That's why I came up. You spilled your coffee. Can’t have our star scientist working in filthy conditions. Everything’s got to be pristine. Boss’s orders.” He scrubs for a few more seconds and brings his face closer to the floor, inspecting his work.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t drink coffee.”

“Someone does.” The man doesn’t look up.

Qaara can’t help noticing the bulging biceps. “Thanks.” With effort, she looks away. “I have to slip out for a meeting. Take your time.”

“I’ll have it all cleaned up for you when you get back.”

As Qaara walks by, she sees the man’s gaze following her dark hair as it cascades down the back of her lab coat. She turns to get another look at the biceps and then silently curses herself.

“Name’s Jedd,” he says. “Jedd Dexter, the Third, with two d’s on Jedd.”

His words come slowly, like he’s really thinking about them. And the name. So quaint. Definitely not from the City. Totally Fringe material.

“I’m Qaara. It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for being so thorough.” Qaara’s head involuntarily dips in a subtle nod. She curses herself again.

The man’s aroma of cheap soap mixed with a hint of sweat is pleasant and unsettling.

“No need to introduce yourself to me.” Jedd smiles to reveal a mouthful of teeth. “Everyone from here to Tokyo knows Qaara Kapoor.”

She can’t take her eyes off the teeth. Filed down from use, definitely out of alignment. A few shades darker than neon white. All originals.

Again, how quaint.

For a moment, Qaara peers into Jedd’s eyes. One blue, one brown. A genetic defect. So different from her world of perfection. She knows she’s staring for too long, but can’t rip her gaze away. What’s his life like in the Fringe? Less structure and security, yes. But he can be and do whatever he chooses. She can see it in his face. He could quit his job, walk away, and no one could stop him. No one would even try.

What would it be like to have such freedom?

Jedd’s smile disappears. His hand covers his mouth. “That’s right. I’m one of
them
. One hundred percent organic, you might say. All original equipment. No genmods in my body. Crooked teeth, multicolored eyes. Not many like me in the City.”

Qaara blushes. “No, really, it’s not that. I just—”

“No need to explain.” Jedd takes a step back. “I’ve seen that look too many times, and I know exactly what it means. But don’t worry. It’s not your fault. The City
is
for perfect people.” His eyes sweep over her. “And you fit right in.”

Seconds of awkward silence float between them.

“I’m sorry.” Jedd shakes his head and clenches his jaw, flexing the muscles in his temple. “What I meant to say is you’re completely out of my league, and I’m crazy to even ask, but you’re incredibly beautiful, and it would be great if we could share lunch or maybe dinner. If you have time. Just to chat.” He turns and leans a palm against the wall near the door.

A voice in her mind screams
yes
.

But how can she? If her father ever found out—

Squeezing her jax so tightly that she’s afraid it might shatter, Qaara smiles weakly and turns away. “Sorry to be in such a hurry, but I’ll be in trouble if I don't make it to the meeting. Perhaps some other—” Horrified at what her lips are about to say, daring herself to say it anyway, she stops herself before completing the sentence. The utter incompleteness of her response hangs painfully in the air. Turning, she rushes out the open door.

To the safety of the elevator.

As the doors seal shut behind her, she fumbles in a pocket and pulls out a plastic box small enough to hide in her palm. Pressing on the side, the lid pops up. She takes out a slender tube, raises it to her lips and takes a slow, deep inhale of the colored mist.

Like a flow of warm water, calmness floods her veins, slowing down her pulse. Since she’s come to Genesis Corporation, she’s acquired a bad habit of relying on pharma-junk to maintain a cool exterior. Everyone does it. It’s part of the Genesis corporate culture, broadly encouraged by Mr. Mercer.

As the floors rush by in the transparent elevator shaft, she takes another deep inhale, filling her lungs and letting the air slowly bleed out.

For a few precious seconds, she’s back in Mumbai, a six-year-old girl walking home from school down a long avenue lined with Kadamba trees.

Before she was shipped away to England.

The heavy scent of honey and wood lingers in the air. The sun is three hours from setting, and she has no homework. There will be time for a walk along the river to her favorite spot where she can sit and think and daydream until dark. Maybe she’ll play with the elephants that come to the banks for a dip in the water. A gust of wind pushes her skirt against the back of her knees.

The elevator slows down, and she feels gravity pulling her away from the past, like a stop-motion time lapse, through all the years and hard work and empty success. When her eyes slide open, the smells and sounds of Mumbai are gone. Her fingers hum with a gentle vibration.

The jax.

She taps the end with her thumb. A round holoscreen hops above her hand with glowing text in the color that can only mean it’s from Mercer’s female assistant. The one who wears only black leather.

Mr. M would like to see you to discuss the results of your research on the molecule. Tonight after dark. He’ll come by your office.

4

CREEP

You’re incredibly beautiful.

Staring out the window at the lights of the City across the East River, Jedd tries to push the words out of his mind, but their pathetic sound plays over and over, an infinite loop in his head. His eyes sweep the familiar skyline, quickly picking out the Genesis Corporation building where Qaara Kapoor is pulling another all-nighter with her holograph and lab equipment.

You’re incredibly beautiful.

How many other men have said the same idiotic words to Qaara? He cringes, turns and falls backward, his head making contact with the pillow.

“Let me guess, Jedd.” There’s a chuckle from the bed against the other wall. “Another girl? Who is it this week?”

“Come on, Ricky. You’re my best friend. We grew up together.” Jedd opens his hand and stares down at the capital F tattooed on his open palm. “We escaped from Moses and the Family together. Went through hell together. You know me better than that. I’m picky. I don’t fall for just any girl . . . or woman.” Jedd knits his fingers behind his head and studies an army of cockroaches crawling across the rough plastic rafters. The stench of home-brewed fish whiskey wafts up from the apartment below. He wrinkles his nose.

Most people in the Fringe will do anything to get a buzz.

Ricky leans his head against the wall, eyes on the clear slate in his fingers. “I know you, all right. You’re thinking about a girl . . . or a woman. Anyone I know?”

“Probably not. Maybe.”

“Try me.” Ricky puts his slate down on his lap and looks up.

Remembering that he hasn’t had anything to eat all day, Jedd reaches over his head and slides his chopsticks out of a crack in the wall. “Mind if I have some of the Chinese you brought home?”

“I’m done. You can have the rest. But tell me about the girl. I’ve been watching you. She must really be something to have you stirred up like this.”

Jedd leans over and picks the carton of rough green paper off the low table between them and stares into its contents. “You always eat all the meat and leave nothing but noodles and veggie chunks.”

“Don’t worry. You didn’t miss anything. It all comes from the same lab. Pseudo protein with the faint taste of plastic and dirt.” Ricky shudders, and his eyes go to the window like he’s trying to look back in time. “What I wouldn’t give for real beef right now. It’s been a long time since I had a T-bone.”

With the chopsticks in his left hand, Jedd digs into the carton and comes out with something long and slippery. “You’ve never had a T-bone, other than in your dreams. That’s City food for rich genmods. But I do remember the time you and I found that scrawny old cow, back when we were kids. Moses even let us have a piece. Haven’t had any real meat since. Probably just make me sick anyway.” He brings the end of the noodle to his lips, grabs it with his teeth and slurps. It travels up, swimming into his mouth without effort.