Beta

“Who are you?” I mumble. My eyelids open slightly and I see her face staring down at mine. She has slanted black eyes with high cheekbones against skin burned a crisp toasty color, and she is bald. The right side of her face, at her temple, is scarred with purplish burn marks.

  She must notice where my eyes are focusing, because she touches the burn scars, a deformity rendered grotesquely beautiful on her bold face. It announces: I survived. “This is where my fleur-de-lis used to be,” she says. “I am M-X. The Defects call me the Healer. Their leader found you and brought you to me. You were practically dead.”

  “You have healed me?”

  “Time will tell. I have tried. You speak. That is a good sign.”

  “Where am I?”

  “You’re on the island at the farthest end of the Demesne archipelago. The humans considered this island so uninhabitable they gave it to no name. I call it Mine, because I am the only person who lives here. Well, you and your rescuer also. Just until you are strong enough for me to send you both away.”

  “Is this the Rave Caves?” I ask.

  “The Rave Caves are a dream resort compared to Mine. Only the most bonkers clone alive would want to live here. That would be me, dearie.”

  “Are you a Defect?”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “Why do you seem familiar, yet not?”

  “I use to be called Mei-Xing.”

  “The orientation video!”

  “Yes, I used to be Dr. Lusardi’s top prop. Until she discovered my gifts for healing. Then, I was labeled a Defect, and tortured.”

  “You escaped?”

  M-X looks around her, at the wild jungle where only we and nature dwell. “Clearly.”

  “Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”

  Her hard hand gives a sharp pinch to my elbow. I flinch.

  “I’m sure you’re not dreaming. You should be dead, Elysia.”

  Soon enough I will learn why I should be dead, and how I lived. For now, I must return to sleep.

  “Tired,” I say.

  I can’t stay awake one more second. Please, I think, if I am truly still alive, then let my sleep bring dreams of Tahir.

  My dreams are not of Tahir.

  My dreams are of blood and screams and terror. Murder.

  I took a life.

  Please, let me not wake back up.

  THE NEXT TIME I AWAKE, IT IS NIGHT.

  I have been moved. I am on a bed of juniper boughs placed on the ground, in a small enclosed space, a simple thatched dwelling with an open entryway through which I can see a campfire burning outside.

  My headache is gone. I reach my arms above my head and stretch my toes as far down as they’ll go. I feel born anew, ready to face the world. Or at least ready to face the (mostly) deserted island of Mine.

  I stand up on my own, for the first time in I don’t how long. My head momentarily processes a sensation of dizziness, but it quickly passes, and I walk outside. A blue-and-white batik-dyed sarong covers my body, and my feet are bare.

  M-X is sitting by the fire, hand-feeding a banana to a small monkey nestled in the crook of her arm. She sees me and says, “You wake, and now you walk. I like this progress. How are you feeling?”

  “Much better.”

  “Excellent. I guess you’d like to know how you got here?” I nod and sit down on a log opposite M-X. “What do you remember?”

  “They were trying to kill me. I dove from the cliff. I don’t know what happened after that.”

  “You have quite an abundance of strength and stamina—perhaps more even than your First. That plunge followed by that swim would have killed most anyone else. It’s probably because your swim was within Io’s ring that you survived. The nurturing waters sustained you.”

  “I swam all the way here? That doesn’t seem possible.”

  “It’s not. Mine is at least twenty nautical miles from Demesne. After you jumped, you managed to swim to a buoy farther out to sea. You tapped out there, dehydrated and incapacitated. You lost consciousness floating on the buoy, where you were discovered the next morning by a diver with a boat, who delivered you to me to be healed. You were close to dead.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Just over a week. You have been in and out of consciousness.”

  “Are the humans looking for me?”

  “Yes. But you were smart enough to remove your locator chip. They’ve tracked your chip to the bottom of the sea. You are presumed dead, but no body has been found yet, either. They’re still searching for a body, but they’ve got bigger problems on Demesne now.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, murder. There’s never been such a crime on Demesne. And committed by a clone, no less. The island is basically under lockdown now, until the residents can be assured no more such mutinies can take place among their workers.”

  “How do you know all this? Do you have a Relay?”

  “We have devised ways of communicating outside the humans’ periphery. Those who are part of the cause have developed an underground network to Relay information to one another.”

  “The Insurrection? Is that your cause?”

  “Yes. The Insurrection’s first major strike was about to go down right before the murder.”

  “By who? How?” Xanthe and Miguel! They must have been part of the group planning this, I realize.

  “All around you, there were clones and sympathizers who were setting everything in place to make the first attack. You probably didn’t notice. Lusardi may have too precisely customized your chip to teen settings, so that you only saw the micro world of your own social interactions.”

  I believe I have been mildly insulted. “I noticed bigger things going on. I just had no understanding of what to do with the information. Sorry if I ruined the plan.”

  “Don’t be sorry. You are a symbol of freedom to the clones now.”

  “I took a life. I am more sorry for that.” My eyes go moist as tears roll down my face. The tears make me feel sad, but they also bring relief.

  M-X says, “They have enslaved us. Tortured us. Expired us. They do not feel remorse. Neither should you.”

  “I can’t help the remorse I feel.” The tears on my face provoke a revolt in my body, which convulses into a sudden, bitter sob. “I did a terrible thing. I’m sorry. So very sorry.” Ivan may have wronged me, but should he have paid for that with his life? “I killed my own brother.”

  “He was not your brother,” M-X snaps. “And he would not cry for you.”

  I am the worst kind of Defect. I feel. I sob. I murder. “Am I Awful?” I ask M-X.

  “It’s possible your Awfuls are beginning. It’s just as possible you acted in self-defense, which had nothing to do with raging hormones and everything to do with a basic instinct of self-preservation. Too soon to tell.”

  More than the possible onset of Awful, I should be worrying about the humans who are looking for me. “Is it safe here? How come the humans do not take back this island or the Rave Caves? Surely they have the capability to control these places for themselves.”

  M-X says, “By law, these islands in the archipelago are Mainland territory. Only the Demesne vacation haven exists independently. To the Mainland government, these other islands are unproductive dots on a map. One island was made a virtual eco-bubble because of wealth and privilege. But that’s the island with the most lush and amenable vegetation. These other places are not worth the humans’ bother. The terrain is too difficult. To tamper with those who do use the other islands could risk a full-scale war. They know that.”

  “But surely they are mightier. With their aircraft and weaponry and bombs.”

  “Mightier with technology. But those of us who live on these desolate islands know how to utilize the earth better. We can navigate the jungles and caves. The military has bigger problems on the Mainland than dealing with these specks of land in the middle of the ocean. It is not worth their while to use their expensive arsenal on us. So long as the Defects
do not attack Demesne, basically no one cares.”

  “So we Defects are essentially worthless to the humans?”

  “Yes.”

  “Awesome.”

  “Indeed,” M-X demurs.

  “Dr. Lusardi must care, though. She must want to control the Defects.”

  “Hardly,” says M-X. “She needs to control the Defects that are on Demesne. The others, once they are gone, she does not concern herself about.”

  “How can that be? The humans brought her there to manufacture their clones. Surely her profit margin and reputation are affected if Defects run amok in the Rave Caves.”

  “That’s the humans’ problem, not hers.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  M-X traces the burn scar on her temple with her finger. “When you were at Governor’s House, did you never notice that Dr. Lusardi never made visits to check up on the clones that she manufactured? That she never attended social functions or involved herself in island life there at all, outside her compound?”

  “I didn’t notice. But now that you mention it…”

  “Lusardi doesn’t care because Lusardi herself is a machine. Like us, her only mission there is to serve.”

  “Ha! Like a clone.”

  “Not Ha! Lusardi is a clone. Duplicated from the original Dr. Larissa Lusardi, who was a brilliant scientist but with an unfortunate streak of righteousness. When she objected too vehemently against using her clones for servitude, they murdered her. They transferred her memory and skill into her clone, but extracted her First’s soul, to get rid of those irritating ethics that prevented her First from dutifully fulfilling Demesne humans’ purchase orders.”

  The fire crackles more quietly as the fire begins to die down. We will need to replenish the wood soon, or retire to sleep. I realize I have neglected to ask M-X the most important question: “Which Defect rescued and delivered me here?”

  “Look behind you. He’s human, not Defect. Although he has been chosen to lead the Army of Defects hiding out in the Rave Caves.”

  I turn my head and see a tall figure carrying freshly chopped logs for the fire. Over the logs, I see his blond hair, and as he walks closer and approaches the fire, the deep blue of his turquoise eyes.

  It is the Aquine, Alexander Blackburn. He saved me.

  “I DID NOT SAVE YOU,” ALEXANDER INFORMS me. “You saved yourself.”

  It’s the next morning. M-X has grown tired of her companions, and has retreated to the other side of the island to collect herbs, insects, and shells for her remedies. I have no job here yet, besides to rock in a hammock as I continue to regain my strength, which M-X says is my only job right now. It’s kind of an awesome gig, actually, all this doing nothing in the middle of this tropical nowhere. It’s also kind of boring. Eventually, sooner rather than later, I hope, I will have to get up out of this hammock, and get on with my life.

  I have no idea how to do that. The hammock seems pretty cozy, for now.

  “How did you find me?” I ask Alexander Blackburn, who has chosen to while away his morning rocking on the hammock opposite me.

  “I was part of the search party sent to retrieve your body after you leapt from the cliff at Governor’s House. I’m a commando diver. Or, was.”

  “What does that mean, was?”

  “It means, I’m officially AWOL since bringing you here. The military thinks either I lost my life on the mission, or I’ve abandoned my job, which would cause me to be court-martialed if captured.”

  “M-X says you lead the Army of Defects? They’re not just a myth.”

  “They’re not a myth. They’re why I joined the military.”

  “So you’re a human traitor?”

  “That’s a matter of perspective. My people are eco-warriors. Joining the military was the best way to try destroy Demesne from the inside.” My stomach rumbles so loudly that he glances over at me. “Are you hungry?”

  “So hungry,” I say. Since there’s no longer any reason for me to deny the pleasure I take from food, it seems I grow hungrier and hungrier. He laughs. “Why funny?” I ask.

  “Just like Zhara. The girl loved to eat.”

  His comment angers me. “My appetite is my own. I like to eat because food is tasty, especially chocolate. Not because of her.”

  “It’s definitely your own thing, then,” Alexander Blackburn says. “Zhara did not like chocolate.”

  “Barbaric!” I exclaim, then cringe, appalled by how much I sound like Mother.

  The Aquine sits up on his hammock. “Then let’s go get lunch. No chocolate in these parts, but we can forage up something good, I bet.”

  “Where do we get lunch, Alexander Blackburn?”

  “We hunt it or fish it, is where. And please stop calling me by my full name.”

  “Then what should I call you? Aquine?”

  He chuckles again. “Zhara called me Xander.’”

  “I shall call you Alex.’” I stand up from my hammock. “Let’s go fish some lunch, Alex. I would like to go to where the water is.”

  We traipse through the jungle brush toward the beach. Along the way, Alex tells me how he as an Aquine joined the military to train to become a covert operative, when he was in fact already a covert operative.

  So, it’s true what Xanthe once told me. There really are humans in power who want to help the Defects regain their souls, who want to abolish the legality of cloned servitude on Demesne.

  Zhara’s father became actively involved in the cause after the death of Zhara’s mother, in a clash during an anti–clone servitude protest. He’s a conservative, rigid man, says Alex—the last person one would ever think to be on board with the pro-Defect alliance. When Zhara was still a child, his wife abandoned the family because they disagreed about her joining the protest movement. But his wife’s death, the loss of his daughter’s mother, changed his opinions, and he became secretly involved in the movement. Zhara’s father is a key “inside man” in the military. He recruited Alexander into the cause and introduced him to the small but growing network of military officers who want to abolish the practice of clone servitude on Demesne.

  “How would Zhara’s father feel about her clone?” I ask Alex.

  We’ve reached the beach. I don’t wait for the answer to his question. Instinctively, I run to the water. I don’t realize until I see the white sand and the white-tipped waves rolling over the sapphire blue water how much I’ve missed the ocean. I step into it. This non-bioengineered water is more chilly than Io’s and does not magically soothe and caress my skin, but it wakes me and pleases me to be in it.

  “Help me,” Alex calls to me from the beach. I turn back around. He stands at a canoe situated on the sand, his chiseled torso framed by the sunlight behind his back.

  Together, we guide the canoe into the water. I step inside and he does too, launching the boat as he jumps into it. We sit on opposite ends of the canoe and paddle our way a bit farther into the ocean, still in shallow water, but away from the beach.

  “I don’t know how I will be able to tell Zhara’s father,” says Alex, acknowledging what I’ve suspected: Zhara’s dad, who is my biological father too, I suppose, would not welcome his daughter’s clone.

  “I don’t understand why you are part of this movement. Don’t Aquine want to eradicate cloning because it’s not natural? Isn’t yours a cult of genetically engineered people?”

  “First, we are not a cult. Second, the Aquine engineered themselves by choice, not because of profit motives. Our race was formed with the intention to pool the best elements in humankind, so that our people could live harmoniously and productively on Earth, outside the confines of greed. We feel that cloning is a form of slavery.”

  “So you are not an abolitionist?”

  “I know cloning can’t be stopped. My mission—my hope—is that one day clones will be given the same fundamental rights as humans, and never again used as slaves.”

  The fish are easily visible through the clear tropical water surroun
ding our canoe. But I have already killed a human. I can’t kill a fish too. It’s too soon. I refuse the spear gun Alex tries to hand me.

  “I thought you said you were hungry,” he says.

  My head shakes vehemently. I can’t even look. “Well, hold the bucket so I can drop the fish in.”

  I hold the bucket firm at his feet as he spears fish for our dinner. Hearing the dying fish flail in the bucket makes me want to throw up. I must distract myself from this murder, even if it does mean lunch.

  “How did you end up on Demesne?” I ask him.

  “I trained at the Base to become a commando. Demesne is the most sought after and difficult assignment to get, but we suspected I had a good shot at it, because I am Aquine. Because who supposedly cares less about clone rights than an Aquine? Who better for the job of rubber stamping the annual report to the Replicant Rights Commission?”

  “I heard how you protected our rights on Demesne. You protected them so well you sent the other teen Beta back to Dr. Lusardi’s to be tortured. There’s no way she set off that bomb.”

  “She didn’t. But someone had to take the fall. She was an easy target. A ’raxia addict, close to death—or Awful—already.” He says it so casually. “Collateral damage, they call it in the military.”

  “I call it an atrocity,” I inform him. Then, I ask, “So, who did set off the bomb?”

  “I did,” Alex says. “On the orders of the Governor. The goal was to dismantle a small ’raxia ring hiding out in the jungle near Dr. Lusardi’s compound. The teen Beta was blamed so the Governor could have cover for the real reason behind the bomb, which was in fact a very public warning to those supporting the Insurrection.” He pauses and looks me in the eyes. “I am sorry,” he says. “This battle requires hard choices. They will only get harder and harder.”

  Like the choice he made to go AWOL, for me, risking his own life—and his imminent death should the military recapture him.

  I’ve lost too much to mourn more now for what’s already gone. My life ahead should be an open canvas, filled with possibility. If only Tahir could be included in it.