Tahir downs his drink in one long gulp. While the humans have wine, he and I were both served nonalcoholic beverages. The better to not encourage Awful behavior, I suppose.
“What’s that you’re drinking?” asks Zhara, sitting next to Tahir, as she regards his glass.
“Green shake,” he tells her. “I don’t really care for the foods humans love. I never got the sense of taste that Elysia got. So cook prepares nutrient drinks for me.”
“Then can I have your artichoke?” Zhara asks him, eyeing his full plate of untouched food.
“Sure?” Tahir says, and I can see he’s unsure whether Zhara was kidding or not.
She was not. She reaches her fork over, plucks the artichoke heart from Tahir’s plate, and places it on her own. “These forks are so lightweight, I can barely feel it in my hand,” Zhara says.
“That’s because they’re made of platinum,” Bahiyya says.
Zhara gulps, and then she takes the bowl of melted parsley butter above her own plate, and instead of dipping a piece of the artichoke into the butter with her fork, she pours the entire bowl of butter over her artichoke, then eagerly gobbles a large bite. Her mouth still full, she exclaims, “It’s a long time since I’ve had food this good. I promised myself I wouldn’t enjoy it this much, but I can’t help myself. Thank you so much for this feast, Mr. and Mrs. Fortesquieu.”
Tariq smiles, and I realize I have never seen his elderly face express genuine amusement. He is a gaunt man with a thin frame, thinning salt-and-pepper hair, and a temperament that is kind but a face that typically registers sad and resigned. “No need to deny yourself pleasure in eating. A hearty appetite is a sign of good health.” His face returns to the look I remember more common from him—disappointment—as he gazes at Tahir’s untouched plate of food. “And please, Zhara. We prefer to be called by our first names. We’re informal here.”
“Nice,” Zhara says. “So does that mean you’ll tell me where the Emergents are imprisoned and if they’re being treated humanely, and may I please visit them?”
The room goes eerily silent. The servants in the corners have no visible reaction, but I see awkward discomfort registering on our hosts’ faces. Bahiyya and Tariq want to be gracious and warm to us—but Zhara has clearly offended their hospitality, even if they’re too polite to say so.
Tahir grins appreciatively at Zhara and raises his goblet to salute her. “By the silence in the room, I think you can assume the answer is ‘no on all counts.’”
Alexander steps in. “Perhaps that’s not dinner conversation, Zhara, when our hosts have been so generous to us.” My chip tells me that the proper way to engage in a political dialogue with benefactors is privately, and not spontaneously, and not during a celebration. His military training would make him fully aware of this. I’ve spent enough time with Tahir’s parents to know Alexander’s strategy is correct. That’s not how to play them, by attacking them directly to their dignified faces. I shoot Zhara a look and silently beg her, Apologize!
Does telepathy actually work? “Sorry,” Zhara mumbles. I can’t believe it. There’s hope for us yet.
Tariq and Bahiyya offer slight nods of their heads, discreet acceptances of her apology. They’re used to insolent teenagers. They’ll let this one pass.
Xander extinguishes the tension by addressing Tariq and Bahiyya, offering them their favorite subject—a dark one, but he gives it a light touch. “I met First Tahir once,” he intones in his gravel voice. “At a surf match on the West Mainland. He won the meet. He was an excellent surfer, incredible technique and focus. And I remember now—he loved french fries.” His turquoise eyes twinkle, and Tariq and Bahiyya both smile with memory, their bodies relaxing. “Tahir had the chef who traveled with him create a fry bar with gourmet sauces for the competitors to enjoy after the meet. It made for a welcome party atmosphere in what otherwise would have been a congregation of sore losers.”
“First Tahir was a suck-up for popularity,” says Beta Tahir. “I know. I’ve done the research.”
Bahiyya ignores Tahir. She closes her eyes briefly, sighs, and then puts on a smile and says, “This is easier now that it’s out in the open about Tahir. No more secrets. No more hiding.”
“No more hiding? Don’t be such a hypocrite, Maman,” says Tahir. “What about the Terrible Ts?”
“The Terrible Ts?” Zhara and I both ask at the same time.
“Terrible name. Terrible children,” Bahiyya scoffs.
“Tarquin Thompson and Tamsin Tsaro. The original teen Betas. They’ve been kept hidden like caged animals in Dr. Lusardi’s compound for the last year; not just hidden from the world, but hidden even on Demesne,” says Tahir.
“What?” I say, startled. “Which other teen Betas?”
Tahir says, “I think I told you about them before.”
I say, “I thought you said they escaped and no one knew if they’d lived or died.”
“They lived,” says Tahir. “Mother and Father recently sent me to meet them. So I would know how awful Awful could be.”
“Terrible? Awful? What’s the distinction?” asks Zhara.
“‘Terrible’ is just an unfortunate nickname the scientists gave to the Betas,” Tariq explains. He asks Zhara, “You’ve heard of the Five?”
Zhara nods. “Of course. Who hasn’t?”
Tariq turns to me. “And you?”
I access my chip. It offers no useful data. I shake my head, replaying Zhara’s assumption. Of course. Who hasn’t? Me, that’s who hasn’t.
Tariq says, “The Terrible Ts, as they were renamed in the lab, are members of the original Five.”
Zhara gasps and bangs her fist onto the table, not realizing there was a servant standing behind her about to give her an additional helping of veal. The sudden noise causes the servant to drop the meat tray onto the floor, and as Zhara turns around hastily to see what happened, she inadvertently knocks her goblet onto the floor. It shatters. She stands up. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaims. “Let me help you with that!” She leans down to try to help clean up the mess, but the server staff immediately surround the area behind Zhara’s chair, and the mess is so swiftly removed, it’s as if it never occurred. A new violet goblet is placed at Zhara’s plate, which is also refilled with food, and then the servers stealthily retreat to the four corners of the room. Zhara sits back down and looks at Bahiyya. “I’m so sorry about the goblet. It probably cost more than, like, my family’s house back in Cerulea.”
“It’s nothing, my dear,” says Bahiyya, who I think is glad to be a benefactor again and not subtly be accused of violating clones’ nonexistent rights.
I feel impatient that everyone at the table knows something but me. “I have no idea who the Terrible Ts are,” I say. I hate that the humans have access to so much information that I don’t. It makes me feel ignorant and second class. Which I am. At least I have better table manners than my First.
Xander seems to sense my frustration. He explains: “The Five were an infamous group of teenagers who plotted and then executed a school bombing. Unfortunately, they were too successful. It was a horrific mass murder that killed over a hundred students and teachers. The Five were apprehended almost immediately, but the outrage against them was so dire that authorities feared for the teens’ safety. So in the dead of night, the Uni-Mil illicitly removed the Five from prison and transported them to the Base. The plan was to sequester them there while they awaited trial.”
“Science had other ideas,” Tahir says, with disdain.
“Science makes mistakes sometimes,” cautions Tariq. “Science has traditionally been for the greater good.”
“What happened?” asks Zhara. “I thought the Five died in prison, that they were murdered by other inmates. That’s what the news said. My dad would always remind me about the Five, as a cautionary tale when he thought I was acting up too much.”
“Tell them what really happened,” Tahir dares his father. “Tell them about Dr. Lusardi’s failed experiment.”
/>
“I’ll tell them,” Tariq says defensively. “There’s no need for secrecy about this anymore—not here, at least. The original Dr. Lusardi didn’t uphold ethical standards with respect to her cloning methods. That’s fact. Everyone knows it.” He sounds like he’s trying to justify Dr. Lusardi’s achievements more than explain them.
Zhara and I share a look, and I know we’re thinking the same thing. This magnificent home was built by the labor force created by Dr. Lusardi’s scientific “achievements.”
“We can’t complain,” says Bahiyya. She reaches over to rub Tahir’s hand. “Because of her, we had a second chance for Tahir.”
“But her methods were vile,” Xander offers.
“Sometimes the cost for scientific progress is great,” says Tariq.
“I don’t get it,” Zhara says. “What does Dr. Lusardi have to do with the Five?”
Tariq says, “At the time, Dr. Lusardi had contracted with the Uni-Mil to develop clones for military research. She leveraged that access to make a proposal to the Five. Because of the severity of their crime, and the mass outrage against them, lawyers told them that not only would they certainly receive death sentences, but the odds were good they wouldn’t stay alive long enough to be sentenced. There were too many people, inside and outside the judicial system, who sought their own vengeance against the Five. So Dr. Lusardi offered them an alternative.”
Tahir says, “The Five already had prices on their heads, just not monetary ones. The death row prison where they’d been assigned while awaiting trial was filled with criminals who’d committed the most heinous acts. Killing a member of the Five would be like a trophy sport to those criminals.” His voice angry, Tahir adds, “Instead, Dr. Lusardi gave them an alternative to returning to that prison. They could die in her lab at the Base, but re-emerge as clones.”
“The Five became clones?” says Zhara. “Holy crap!”
Tariq nods. “Correct. The Five were already as good as dead. All the abuse they’d experienced in their short lives to that point, the torture that had caused them to act out against society so heinously, didn’t matter. Dr. Lusardi offered them the second chance that the judicial system never would, and probably saved them from certain death in prison too. She gave them the chance to reset their whole lives.”
“By killing them,” Tahir points out. “Dr. Lusardi wanted to experiment with teenaged clones, which no one had done before.”
Xander has barely touched the food on his plate. He quietly notes, “This is exactly the scenario the Replicant Rights Commission had been trying to protect against. Both criminals and their clones—being treated like dirt, without rights, used for research.”
Tahir turns to me to conclude the explanation. “The Five were euthanized and then remade into clones. Three of those clones died not long after. The remaining two, Tarquin and Tamsin, are known as the Terrible Ts.”
Tariq says, “Justice, however illicit, was believed to have been served. The world was told that the Five were killed in prison, murdered by other prisoners. Dr. Lusardi knew that no families would ever come to claim the Five’s bodies and dispute the claim. It’s important to remember that the lie benefited the families of those who had lost loved ones in the bombing. They finally got peace, knowing their loved ones’ murderers had been callously murdered in return.”
“That’s peace? Even when it’s a lie?” Xander asks.
Bahiyya says, “A lie for the greater good.” She says it like she believes it.
“Do I get to meet the other Betas?” I ask. I look at Tahir, who nods across the table at me in understanding. Until today, I thought Tahir was the only teenager on Demesne like me. I want to know everything about the Terrible Ts.
“I wouldn’t advise it,” says Bahiyya.
“Please,” I request of her, my face set to poignant.
“As you wish, dear,” says Bahiyya. “But you may not like what you find.”
MY CLONE’S BOYFRIEND IS QUITE the risk-taker, just like his own First was. Tahir looks great in a wet suit too.
“Ready, gang?” Tahir asks me, Elysia, and Xander. “Time to swim with the sharks.”
As if their aboveground limestone palace carved over the sea was not grand enough, the Fortesquieus’ architect added one bit of flourish that none of the other homes on Demesne have: a subterranean aquarium. It’s like a massive, very deep indoor pool, surrounded on three sides by limestone walls, and the fourth side by glass, for viewing. We stand on the viewing bridge built over it, looking down to a custom-crafted, opulent view of marine life. Schools of tropical fish dart through the artificial coral reefs, visions of oranges, blacks, pinks, reds, greens, and yellows, patterned in multicolored stripes and dots. Deeper down, two small sharks circle, waiting.
“We’re sure about this?” I ask Tahir.
“Trust me,” Tahir says, shooting me that sizzle of a smile that makes me understand why Elysia adores him.
“Classic Z-Dev dive,” Xander says, laughing as he looks down at the sharks. If Tahir looks mighty fine in his black wet suit, Xander looks off-the-charts delicious in his, like a real live man of iron, with heavenly turquoise eyes and blond hair.
“They really are cloned sharks,” Elysia assures me, sensing my apprehension. “Neutered. They’re not programmed to hunt humans. They don’t even eat the fish swimming down there. They only eat custom meals prepared by the marine chef.” She places the oxygen hood that fits like a stocking over her head, and Tahir secures it to her wet suit so that water can’t seep through. I place my oxygen hood on too, and Xander secures mine in the same way. I’m amazed by the marine vision goggles in the hood that make the aquarium below appear even brighter and more beautiful. Before, the aquarium was blue and bright. Now, it’s translucently blue, the fishes’ array of colors more bold, and the sharks below kind of look like teddy bears now. All part of the relaxing Demesne experience, down to the wet suits.
In Cerulea, our deep-sea diving equipment at the aquatics club consisted of ancient relics requiring cumbersome oxygen tanks strapped to the back of the wet suit, linked by a regulator hose to the oxygen helmet. The Demesne wet suits are just that—wet suits, but with self-generating oxygen packs lined through the bodysuit, adding no bulk to weigh down deepwater exploration. The suits are linked to a breath mask that fits over the mouth of the hood, allowing the swimmer to breathe for long periods of time while underwater. The hoods also have audio feeds, offering live conversation among the swimmers.
If we swim with the sharks, we can talk privately, away from the unseen but ubiquitous surveillance in every other part of the Fortesquieu compound. There’s nothing to do but trust that the sharks are as cute and cuddly as they appear through the hood’s vision holes.
I look at Elysia, standing next to me on the viewing bridge. “One synchro?” I ask her. While we still can, I think.
I can’t see her face’s reaction but I hear her laugh. “Sure,” she answers. “I’m game.”
Xander gives me a hand to step up onto the railing, while Tahir does the same for Elysia.
Easily slipping back into coach mode, Xander says, “Not enough height here for sophisticated dives, and no board length for an approach. Go with an easy degree of difficulty.”
“Forward somersault with a twist,” Elysia and I both say at the same time.
We assume a starting position, our toes curled over the rail, stance firm, our arms up next to our ears. I want to laugh, thinking, So this is where my Olympic dream ends. Synchro diving with my clone into a subterranean shark aquarium on Demesne. Okay, then. Let’s go!
“Hut!” Xander calls out, and immediately Elysia and I throw our arms down to the middle of our bodies and lift off. Once ascended, our arms go outward and our bodies fold into pike position. At the dive’s peak, we flatten our bodies into vertical position and rotate our upper bodies, our arms tightly squeezed against our torsos as we plunge into the water.
I didn’t even have to see Elysia’s dive to know it alig
ned beautifully with mine. Maybe it worked because it was so spontaneous and unrehearsed; I totally sensed her uniform calibration to mine. The sharks can gobble me right up, I’m so giddy from the dive. I’ll happily conclude my diving career on this very weird note.
Although I have the years of practice conditioning me to rise to the surface after a dive, here I don’t have to. Instead, I swim toward Elysia, who high-fives me underwater.
Tahir and Xander dive down into the water behind us.
“That was kinky as hell. Amazing!” says Tahir’s voice in my ears.
Even the sharks approve. The fish dispersed at the impact of our dives, but the two sharks swim alongside me and Elysia as if congratulating us.
“Perfect ten,” says Xander. I hear that gravel voice praising me, and my heart feels punished with want. Why can’t I get over him? Here beneath the water, our familiar place, he appears extra intoxicating through my vision goggles. Aquine perfect, times a million, masterfully swimming through translucent blue water as a school of fish return to our spot, surrounding him in a rainbow of colors.
The aquarium is easily the size of an Olympic pool, giving us lots of room to explore. Xander leads us into a coral reef shaped like a dome. “Stop here,” he says. “Not sure if this will work underwater, but we’re about to find out.”
Xander points his finger at the reef’s roof above us. Suddenly, Aidan’s face appears!
“What?” I cry out. “How?”
Xander says, “It’s a holo-message he quickly recorded just as the assault began on Heathen, while you and Elysia were in the Mosh Cave. Aidan had copied his technology to my bloodstream as a precaution a few days before. For obvious reasons, I could only show you this in a safe, sheltered space.”
“Zhara,” says Aidan, and hearing him say my name again, my heart bleeds in confusion, given that his voice and image are beaming directly from Xander’s extended hand. “If you can see this, I’m probably dead.” Aidan’s hard face does not look traumatized or upset; he’s typically matter-of-fact in the assumption of his death. The sounds of explosions in the distance can be heard behind the cave wall where he’s speaking. “I want you to know the last few months on Heathen with you were the best experiences of my life. Thank you for sharing the mission with us. If I didn’t die, and we are separated, know this: The original Defects built a hidden bunker beneath Lusardi’s compound on Demesne. If there’s a chance for Insurrection to live on, I will find you there.” Just as quickly as he came alive on the coral reef, Aidan’s face disappears.