Origin (5 page)

Dr. Klutz snorts and remembers her cigarette. Before she inhales again, however, she says, “Sounds like some bully magic. So that’s what happened to Falk, then? Shows up bold as brass, names the flower, names the place after himself, and then promptly eats the bloody thing and drops dead?”

“No, that’s not how it happened at all. They set up camp and began experimenting on rats, that’s what they did. The camp moved here and there and finally
here
, where we are now, and then it became permanent. I think it was Dr. Falk’s successor, Wickham, who finally named it Little Cambridge.” And who developed the Wickham test, designed to evaluate new scientists before bringing them into the project. I wonder what Dr. Klutz’s Wickham test was.

“So what’s the chart about?”

“I’m getting to that. Will you be patient?” I brush my hair behind my ears and draw a deep breath. “So, they experimented on rats. They figured out how to add the nectar of another flower to elysia to counteract its lethality and make it safe to inject into rats and humans alike. I’ve never seen the other flower, but Uncle Paolo tells me it’s just called the catalyst. It must be rare because I can’t find it in any encyclopedia or database anywhere. Anyway, they started injecting the rats, but nothing happened. They lived their normal little rat lives and died when they got old. End of story.”

“Is it?”

“Is it what?”

“Is that the end of the story?”

“Of course not!” The woman may be a biomedical engineer, but I begin to think she might also be a certifiable idiot. “Because something happened that no one expected. The scientists had been injecting the rats’ offspring and the offspring’s offspring with Immortis—the nonlethal form of elysia made with the catalyst—never quite believing that anything would come of it. The rats lived, the rats died, and they never showed a sign of anything abnormal. Until…” I cross the room, lift the lid of a cage, and pick up the rat inside it. “Until Roosevelt.”

I hold him up to Dr. Klutz, hoping that—doctor of biomedicine or not—she might scream and cringe. Instead, she plucks Roosevelt from my hands and coos over him as if he were a kitten. A little surprised, but oddly pleased that she seems so taken with him, I continue, “Roosevelt was born in 1904.”

She nearly drops him, and he squeals indignantly. “You’re lying!”

“I certainly am not. Roosevelt is over a hundred years old. Most rats don’t live more than two or three.”

Dr. Klutz stares at Roosevelt, then stares at me. “What happened then?”

Ah. I have her attention again, and this time I know she’s hooked for good. “Well, Roosevelt here revealed a few more surprises. He was the only rat to be born in his litter, which is unusual in itself. When Dr. Falk went to inject him with Immortis, the needle of the syringe snapped. So did the other dozen or so he tried to use. Yes, Roosevelt’s skin is as thick as mine. That is to say, it is completely impenetrable. And what is more, Roosevelt is faster and more agile than any other rat. Uh-huh,” I nod when she looks at me questioningly. “Me too. And most important of all, three, four, twenty years pass, and Roosevelt goes on living as happily and healthily as you could wish for. So of course Dr. Falk runs dozens of experiments on hundreds of rats and discovers the secret.”

I pause, relishing the way Dr. Klutz is hanging on my every word. Finally, I say it. “It comes down to the gradual alteration of the human—or rat—genome. It takes five generations, no more and no less, of periodic injections of Immortis for the immortality gene in the flower to assimilate into the genetic code of the rat or the human. Dr. Falk returned to the outside and found thirty-two of the most healthy, athletic, brilliant, and beautiful young people society had to offer. He brought them back to Little Cam, which is when this place really started to boom, and began injecting them. They had
children, their children had children,
their
children had children, and those children had me.”

I take Roosevelt back and stroke his soft fur, feeling the pattering of his heart in my palm. “And precisely as everyone had hoped during those hundred years of research, experimentation, and selective breeding…I am immortal.”

“S
o,” says Harriet as she grinds her cigarette onto the exam table and flicks it in the trash, “that’s it then? Here you are, immortal, perfect Pia. Seems like the end of the road. Or is there an immortal, perfect hunk around here somewhere?” She looks around as if she expects one to be lurking behind the refrigerator full of saliva samples.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the way I hear it, the purpose of this place is to create a new race of
ubermenschen—
”

“Uber what?”

“Immortals. But all I see is one scrawny girl with an attitude bigger than her bra size—”

“I am
not
scrawny,” I say, throwing my shoulders back and glaring at her.

“Yes, yes.” She waves a hand dismissively. “You’re perfect, I forgot. Anyway, my question is this: Where’s
Mr
. Perfect?”

I nod in understanding and draw a deep breath. “Well,
once I’m finished with my studies and become part of the Immortis team, we’ll make one.” Saying my dream out loud like that makes my heart flutter in anticipation, and I smile proudly.

For some reason, she busts out laughing. She leans on the exam table, head in her hands, and every third laugh comes out as a snort. When she looks up again, she must see the look on my face, because she stops. “Sorry, Pia. Sorry, I just…” She nearly cracks again, but gets herself under control. “To hear you say that…I’ll bet you’re the first kid in history who can honestly say something like
that
.”

“There’s nothing wrong with what I said!”

“No, no.”

I can tell she’s still trying not to laugh, and I’m getting angrier by the minute. “I wish you would stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop making fun of me. Everything I say, you act like it’s…it’s stupid.”

She frowns and comes toward me. I flinch as she takes my hand in hers. “Oh, Pia. I don’t think you’re stupid. But you have to understand. I just got here a day ago. I came here under the impression I’d be doing routine research and documentation. But instead I find
you
. A young woman of astonishing beauty who tells me she’s immortal. And perfect. And she can prove it, to boot! It’s a lot to take in.”

I see by her face that she’s telling the truth, but I’m still angry. “It’s not your business, anyway. Like you said, you’re here to do routine research. Not study me.”

“No?” She cocks her head. “I once studied a white tigress at the San Francisco Zoo that had as much attitude as you.
Beautiful creature, extremely rare, and she knew it too. Wore it like a badge on that snowy coat. I never knew an animal could be disdainful until I met Sasha.”

I think she might be making fun of me again, but I’m not sure, so I ask instead, “What’s San Francisco?”

“What did you say?” asks a different voice.

We both turn in surprise to see Uncle Paolo standing in the doorway. I know immediately that Harriet Fields is going to be in
trouble
. I give Uncle Paolo a huge smile. “Hi! Doctor Fields was just telling me about San Francisco.”

She swivels her head and gives me a look to burn wet kapok wood. “I most certainly was
not
, young lady!” She looks back at Uncle Paolo. “I wasn’t.”

“Doctor Fields,” he says coldly, still watching me. “May I speak with you in my office?”

She groans and throws up her hands. “Oh, come
on
! I’m new here! Cut me some slack already!”

“Dr. Fields,
if you please
.” Uncle Paolo is not happy. Not happy at all. I decide to pull out of this one and keep my mouth shut tight. Dr. Klutz gives me a dirty look as she leaves the room. Uncle Paolo lingers a moment longer. There’s a look on his face that reminds me of Alai when he’s hunting a mouse in the menagerie.

“Pia, it would be best if you didn’t speak to Dr. Fields for a few days.”

“Is she in trouble?” I ask.

The
look
grows even colder. “Please go to your room.”

Well, now I’m just mad. “No!”

“Pia. Your room. Please.” The
please
sounds more like a warning than a request.

I can’t face that look any longer, so I relent. “Fine.” I stalk from the room. If I had a tail like Alai, or that white tigress of Dr. Klutz’s, it would be twitching.

In my room I sit on my bed with my legs crossed and back stiff, hugging a pillow while I stare at the outside world. Beyond the iron bars and electric fence, the jungle is still, as if waiting for something. Or someone. For a wild moment I imagine it’s waiting for me.

I have only been outside that fence once. I was seven, and it was a delivery day. The gate opened, the trucks came in, and I darted out. Thirteen steps. That’s as far as I got before Uncle Timothy scooped me up like a bag of bananas and dumped me back inside the fence. I got at least five lectures from five different people, most of them containing grisly stories of people getting lost in the jungle and swallowed by anacondas. It didn’t take me long to realize that even a girl who can’t bleed can still be swallowed whole. Needless to say, I never did it again.

But as I stare out the window into the shadowy teal and blue and green of the rainforest’s depths, I think about that day and those thirteen steps. It’s about thirteen steps from the glass wall of my bedroom to the fence.

“Pia, time for dinner!” my mother calls from the living room.

Shaking myself from my reverie, I join her on the walk to the dining hall. It’s still a little early, so the room is mostly empty. Thanks to the delivery, we have steak and shrimp. Both are rare treats, and I usually dive face-first into meals like this. But I can’t stop thinking about that day when I almost made it into the jungle. I remember the excitement and the
euphoria that came with those thirteen steps of freedom as if it were yesterday, and the memory leaves me with a haunting emptiness no amount of food could fill.

One scientist sits at a table in the corner, and my mother and I join him. I call him Uncle Will, but if I wanted, I could call him Father—because he is. I don’t see him much. He lives in the dorms with the others and spends nearly all of his time tucked away in his lab, where he studies insects my Uncle Antonio gathers in the jungle. Uncle Will is nuts about bugs.

Both he and my mother were born in Little Cam, as were their parents, and
their
parents before that. Each generation of my family tree is stronger than the last, a result of the elysia assimilating into their genetic codes. My parents each have unusually high IQs and nearly perfect immune systems, but already their cells have begun to deteriorate—as mine never will. According to Uncle Paolo’s calculations—drawn from observing the various immortal animal species in Little Cam—once I’m around twenty years old, my cells will continue to regenerate, instead of deteriorating like those of normal humans. I’ll stay young forever.

Unlike Uncle Paolo, Uncle Timothy, Uncle Jakob, and the others, who all came to Little Cam from the outside, my parents—as well as Uncle Antonio—were born in the compound and have lived here their entire lives. They were educated by the scientists just as I am now, and they have taken on roles in Little Cam that were once filled by scientists brought in from the outside world.

Uncle Paolo told me once that the scientists hope to discover a way to create immortals without resorting to organic
reproduction. Forty years ago, they began using in vitro fertilization, which apparently made the whole process run smoother. But until they discover a way to successfully nurture an embryo outside the womb, there will continue to be mothers in Little Cam.

I’m glad they haven’t found a way to replicate gestation yet. I like knowing I came from real, breathing human beings and not from some glass vial in a lab. Though I never knew my grandparents, their names are all on the genealogy chart I showed to Dr. Klutz. It’s my lineage. My family tree.

If you were to trace the lines of the chart, starting with my parents and moving up one and over two, you’d find Alex and Marian. The ones who died too young.

I think about Alex and Marian as I stab at my shrimp. They were the only ones of their generation—which included my grandparents and Uncle Antonio’s parents—who opted not to use in vitro fertilization. Unlike their contemporaries, they chose one another as lifelong companions and wanted to reproduce naturally. I’ve heard Aunt Nénine talk about it to Aunt Brigid, about how they
loved
each other. I study my parents, wondering why they never fell in love. They hardly speak to one another, and I’m surprised they’re even sitting at the same table. At best, their relationship could be described as tolerant.

Alex and Marian left Little Cam together over thirty years ago, and they never came back. I don’t know where they were trying to go or why…but I do know they never made it.

I’m told the scientists discussed starting from scratch to replace that generational line, which would have meant
bringing in sixteen new couples and starting to treat them with Immortis. Since at that time no one knew if the Immortis project would even succeed, they decided to wait until I was born. And they’re still waiting, to see what I’ll become.

To see if I can pass the Wickham tests.

“Dr. Fields got in trouble today for telling me about San Francisco,” I say.

My parents stop eating and look up at me, then around the room. We are still alone. Mother looks mildly angry, but Uncle Will smiles.

“That’s a city,” he says. “Dr. Marshall told me about it once. He said it’s in the United States in America.”

“United States
of
America,” Mother corrects, and I’m surprised that she knows that. Out of all of us, she is the one
least
interested in what lies outside the fence. As the top mathematician in Little Cam, she is completely absorbed in her work and often says that numbers are the same no matter where you are, be it in the jungle or on the moon.

“I
thought
it was a city!” I say to Uncle Will. “It must have even more people than Little Cam.” I picture another Little Cam with all the same buildings in different places.