Origin (30 page)

I pull out the syringe, feeling Alai’s eyes boring into my back. My hand shakes violently, and then my arm. I drop the syringe and it clatters, making me jump. Thankfully it doesn’t break. I pick it up and have to hold my wrist with my other hand to stop it from shaking. Instead, my breath begins to rattle, like Roosevelt’s just before he died. I feel like one of the maracas the Ai’oans make when they fill empty gourds with dried beans and shake them as they dance.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I chant under my breath, not knowing if the words are for me or Sneeze. The kitten blinks, yawns, and stretches, extending his little claws in front of him.

Just do it, Pia; don’t think twice. Stop thinking. Just do it and be done.

I hold the syringe and tremble, but my knees are going weak. I can’t stand. I scoop up Sneeze and sit cross-legged on the floor.

Have to prove…no right and wrong…progress, regress, reason, chaos. Life and death.

Sneeze sniffs the syringe, then rubs his head and ears over it, purring, liking the smooth, hard feel of it.

You are the pinnacle of human perfection.…There is no greater good than you, Pia…really the greatest and most noble form of compassion.…

He tries to jump away; there’s a cricket scuttling by, and Sneeze wants to pounce on it. I hold him back.

You must do it; you must prove to us that you’re ready.

I pinch the skin on the back of Sneeze’s neck into a roll and fight to steady the violent trembles in my hand. In his cage, Alai is on his feet, pacing back and forth, eyes watching, tail twitching.

You can’t have regrets, and you can’t hold on to guilt. You must kill Subject 294 and be able to leave it in the past, do you understand?

“I don’t,” I whisper, and only then do I realize there are tears pouring down my cheeks. “I don’t understand.” Alai paces, back and forth, back and forth, eyes like Eio’s, so sharp and alive and full of knowing.

It is necessary.

“I can’t!” I throw the syringe aside and scoop Sneeze up, burying my face in his fur. “I can’t do it,” I whisper. “I’ll never be strong enough.

I hear a thump and look up in surprise to see my mother standing in the doorway, watching me.

“What—what are you doing here?” I stammer. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Weak,” she says.

“What?” I squeeze the kitten tighter to me.

“You were always weak, Pia. Soft. Emotional. Incompetent.”

“I—I’m not! It’s just, he’s a
kitten
. What’s the point—”

“The point,” she replies, striding toward us. She’s still dressed, so I figure she was never in her bedroom to begin with; she was probably working with Uncle Paolo in the lab. “The point is that this is what Paolo asked of you. He is a great scientist, a brilliant man, and you should be honored to work beside him.”

“I am—”

She reaches down and lifts Sneeze from my grasp. “You get it from your father, Pia. Certainly not
me
.”

“What are you doing?”

She bends over and picks up the syringe. “What you couldn’t do. Paolo has poured his life into you, Pia. You mean everything to him. I won’t let your weakness cost him his place in Little Cam. Not after everything he’s done for us. You
will
become who he wants you to be, but he doesn’t have to know that we cut a few corners.”

“What do you—
no
!”

It’s too late. She drives the needle into the roll of skin and fur. I clap my hands to my ears, trying to block out Sneeze’s whimper. Alai growls, and Jinx sits up, her hackles raised. Even the Grouch joins in, starting up his terrible long roar, lips protruding in a wide
O
. The other animals, roused and
excited by the commotion, begin squawking, barking, growling, chattering.
Too much noise! Stop, stop, stop!

“Stop!” I cry out to both my mother and the frantic animals. Sneeze is weakening. His tail stops swinging, his paws stop trying to bat at a lock of my mother’s hair, his eyes lose their curious luster.

He goes still. Mother tosses him to the ground beside me, the body making a sickening thud, and I recoil in horror.

“There,” she says. “I do the dirty work, you get the credit.”

“I won’t! I’ll tell him what you did!”

“You’ll do no such thing.” She grabs my hand and presses the syringe into it. “You wouldn’t want the little cat to have died in vain, would you?”

She holds my gaze for a long moment, then turns crisply and leaves the building, letting the door slam behind her. I stare after her, wondering if I even know her at all, as a sob rises in my throat. My heart convulses and tears begin falling down my cheeks.
How could you, Mother?
I think back to the night of my birthday party, of how safe I felt in Mother’s arms during that brief, unexpected hug.

Was that moment a lie? I think it must have been. There was certainly no maternal warmth in her eyes tonight. The memory of that gentle embrace, which I’ve carried with me like a blanket, has been ripped away and shredded.

She said she would do anything to keep Uncle Paolo in Little Cam, and she proved it. My mother has never been close to me. Her focus has always been on Uncle Paolo and the Immortis team, on her figures and sums. But I always felt I understood her, at least. She is the kind of scientist Uncle Paolo wants me to be, governed by cool reason and
utterly focused on the task at hand. I’ve always admired that about her.

But right now I only hate her, and I hate myself for it. I hate myself for so many things at this moment, most of all for the body in my hands.

“Oh, Sneeze,” I weep, bending over him. “Sneeze, Sneeze, Sneeze, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I look up at Jinx, barely seeing her through the blur of tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.…”

I can’t stop crying. If this keeps up, someone will hear the racket the animals are making and come investigate. I can’t be seen like this. I must be ready, must be strong. After all, I’m one of
them
now. My dream is coming true.

Above all, consider the cost
, Harriet’s voice haunts.
Ask yourself what it is they are demanding of you. Ponder who it is they want you to be.

“It’s a little late now,” I say aloud. “It’s done. It was…necessary.”
But why?
No. I can’t think like that. It’s done; it’s over. I have to make myself accept that.
I can’t bring Sneeze back, but, like Mother said, I can’t let his death be in vain.

I stand up, Sneeze’s body much heavier than it was before, and place him on the table. Then I go to the sink by the macaw cages and wash my hands. I cover them in soap, scrub and scrub, then rinse, then do it again. I wash my hands over and over, and I have to force myself to stop.

Then I go back and wrap Sneeze in a blanket, probably the same one Uncle Jonas wrapped him in when he was born. His head peeps out, eyes glazed over and still. Cradling the bundle in my arms, I drop the empty syringe into the trash and head for the door. Sneeze is heavy, so very heavy.

When I flip the lights off in the menagerie, the animals
finally begin to fall silent. Except Alai. Even in the darkness, I can see his eyes glowing, and a ceaseless low growl vibrates in his throat. There is something feral in his actions, something terrifying. He’s more like a wild animal than the pet I raised and pampered.

I am glad when the door is shut and it’s just me walking quickly across the grounds toward A Labs. Uncle Paolo’s light is still on. I’ll give him his Subject 294 and be done with it.

As hard as I try to shut out every little thought, especially of my mother, one persists until it slips through my barrier and runs around my head like an escaped and frenetic sparrow.

If this was only the test to prepare me…what must come next?

T
oday we go to Falk’s Glen to get a vial of elysia.

Uncle Paolo and the rest of the team—no one on the Immortis team wants to miss out on a day as monumental as this—make preparations as I sit by and watch. The happy congratulations of the team as they welcomed me into their midst are still fresh in my ears, along with Uncle Paolo’s pronouncement last night: in celebration of my new status as a member of the team, we will go to the glen and bring back enough elysia to make one injection of Immortis. A week ago, this would have had me giddy with elation. As it is, my excitement is mingled with dread. I have not seen Uncle Antonio since last night in the hut, and I’m not sure I want to. His words are still parading through my thoughts in bold, capital letters.
Evil in Little Cam
…I stare at my hands.

“Are you ready to go, Pia?” asks Uncle Paolo.

“Been ready,” I reply, patting my backpack.

“We are loading up in five minutes!” he yells. Scientists
scramble to organize their bags and equipment. Really, I don’t see why they need so much
stuff
. It’s supposed to be just a quick trip. Go in, get one vial of nectar, and come back.

Ten minutes later, we load up. There are three Jeeps, though we could all fit in two if not for the baggage. The scientists pack as if they’re setting up a month-long field operation. My mother climbs up beside Uncle Paolo and gives orders to the others as they load their equipment. I watch her, but she doesn’t acknowledge me. She was there last night when I showed Sneeze’s body to Uncle Paolo, and she never so much as met my eyes.

Uncle Paolo drives one Jeep, and Uncle Timothy assigns the others to two of his men, who also carry rifles. “For safety,” says Uncle Paolo. Uncle Timothy himself is staying behind.

When the gates finally open and we begin rumbling out, I suddenly realize that this is the first time I’m leaving Little Cam with permission. I’ve been sneaking out so regularly, I’d almost forgotten it was against the rules in the first place.

We turn the first bend in the road, and Little Cam vanishes.

Uncle Jakob gives me a crooked half smile. “Welcome to the jungle, Pia!” he says.

I give him a smile in return, then quickly look away so that he doesn’t see how weak it is.

It’s only two and half miles to Falk’s Glen. We park on the side of the road and have to hike the last mile and a half because the road curves south to the Little Mississip, but the glen lies to the west. The jungle is steamy today, though not too hot. Still, every breath feels damper than the last. The scientists curse and pant, fighting for every step beneath the loads they carry, cursing at my mother when she yells for
them to hurry up. Uncle Paolo shakes his head at them and resigns himself to waiting. He’s sweating like the rest of them, but he seems infused with an energy that defies the exertion. When I look at him, I swear I can see him trembling with excitement.

It’s been eighteen years since the last vial of Immortis was made. The last would have been for my parents, a year or so before they conceived me. Uncle Paolo was here for that, but he wasn’t the one in charge. That had been a man named Dr. Sato, who retired not long after I was born. So this is Uncle Paolo’s first chance to make Immortis himself, to be the one overseeing it all.

After he announced today’s excursion, I asked him why we were going so soon. None of the new subjects have arrived yet, and though I don’t know much about Immortis, I know it has to be used within a week of being made or it loses its potency. Uncle Paolo’s response was a surprise: “As it stands, Pia, one of the subjects
is
already here: me. Yes, I’m going to be participating in the Immortis project myself, and, as such, I will be receiving the first injection.” As far as I know, he’s the first scientist to nominate himself for that role. No wonder he is so eager; he has more invested in today’s excursion than anyone else—except, perhaps, me.

I know Uncle Paolo has always dreamed of influencing the future of humanity by creating immortals, but he’s taking it a step further by inserting his own genetic code into the gene pool that will eventually produce Mr. Perfect. And when one of the female subjects gives birth to what will essentially be Uncle Paolo’s son, will that child be treated differently than the others? Suddenly I wonder whether this plan
of his is designed not just to have even more influence in the Immortis project, but simply to have a daughter or son. It’s a question I’ve never asked him or any of the scientists: Do they
want
children? All living creatures have the built-in urge to procreate; that’s a basic part of biology and one that most of them have sacrificed in order to work here. By the time they retire, it will be too late to have children.

Once again, I’m reminded of how much is invested in me and in the Immortis project, and when I think of how close I came to abandoning this place last night, I feel ashamed.

Yet a little regretful. The hurt in Eio’s eyes when I ran.…

But I can’t think about that. I have to stay strong.

There’s a slender path leading the way, and instead of matching the others’ excruciatingly slow pace, I take the lead. As a result, I reach the glen a good five minutes before them. After climbing a small rise drenched in vivid green ferns and red heliconias, I descend again and find myself in Falk’s Glen.

For a moment, all I can do is stare. The clearing is no bigger than the courtyard in Little Cam, but it’s flooded with purple orchids, like a cup of violet-tinted wine. They’re bigger and more elaborately composed than most species of orchid, and the ends of the petals are tipped with gold. They’re indescribably beautiful. The sight of the glen, after so many years of wondering, lifts my spirits a little. Surely Uncle Antonio is wrong. Such beauty can’t possibly exist beside the evil he imagines, whatever it may be.

I suddenly wonder if the catalyst flower might grow here too, but all I see is elysia.

I’m met by a guard whose name is Dickson, one of Uncle Timothy’s crew. He asks where the others are, and when I tell
him they’re struggling with equipment, he groans and spits on a fern and goes to help them, leaving me alone in the glen.

A smooth rock sits on the edge of the pool of flowers. I sit on it and lean over the flower closest to me, and there, in the small cup formed by the petals, I see a few ounces of the immortality nectar.
Amazing, how death and life can be so closely connected in this one blossom, and the presence of the catalyst makes all the difference between the two.