“Hi,” Reese said out loud.
Amber glanced up and looked rattled to see her. “Hi.” She gestured at the buffet area. “There’s breakfast over there.”
Reese walked over to the buffet. She heard Amber slide something across the table—a bowl or a cup—and the clink of a spoon against ceramic. As Reese assessed the remaining breakfast options, she felt Amber’s gaze on her back like the brush of feathers against her skin, even though she had no idea whether Amber was actually looking. On the buffet table was yogurt, fruit, and granola; bread and various spreads in small jars; a coffee urn; and dishes and utensils. At the end of the table, almost like an afterthought, was a box of Cheerios. Reese spooned strawberries and yogurt into a bowl and made herself a cup of coffee. She added milk and stirred it slowly, wondering whether the Imria always ate ordinary American food, and then she realized she was delaying the inevitable. She picked up her bowl and went to sit across from Amber.
“There’s usually more food, but it’s getting late,” Amber said.
“It’s fine,” Reese said, taking a sip of the coffee. It wasn’t bad.
“Where’s your mom? I thought she was with you.”
“She went for a hike. She left me a note.” The floor-to-ceiling screens on the wall showed the view outside: the grassy field and the hill of eucalyptus trees, a hazy sky above. Reese wondered where her mom had gone. When she returned, Reese would have to tell her that she had persuaded her dad to come to the ship on Saturday, and she would have to tell her why. She wasn’t looking forward to the conversation in which she confessed that she had been deceiving a secret organization that had been surveilling her and her parents for weeks.
Amber closed the lid of the laptop and folded her arms on the table, pushing her own bowl out of the way. Reese saw a few Cheerios floating in the milk at the bottom. “I saw the photos,” Amber said in a soft voice. There was a vertical line in the middle of her forehead, a groove of worry in her skin. “I didn’t know there would be photographers out there. If I had, I wouldn’t have suggested we go to the beach. I’m sure you didn’t want to be outed that way.”
Reese was midway through a bite of yogurt and strawberries, and the yogurt suddenly tasted sour. She swallowed it with some difficulty and reached for her coffee.
“Are you okay? I read about what happened at your house. It sounded… awful.”
“I’m fine,” Reese said, though her stomach had clenched when Amber said the word awful. “Nobody was hurt.”
Amber’s expression, which had been grave, became apologetic. “I know it doesn’t help that I’m not human. I’m sorry to put you through that.”
Reese’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You didn’t. It’s not your fault the world is full of assholes.”
Amber almost smiled. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“I am. Thanks.” Reese nudged the strawberries in her bowl with her spoon. “And you shouldn’t read that stuff. They don’t know you. They’re just being jerks.”
Amber’s eyes lit up, and now she did smile. “Oh, I know they don’t know me. The stuff they write about me is hilarious. The speculation alone! Do you know how much money I could make if I would just pose for Playboy?”
Reese nearly choked on her spoonful of yogurt.
Amber leaned forward, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “That’s all they want—to know exactly how alien I am. Maybe I should do it and get some tentacle prosthetics or something.”
“You don’t find this insulting?” Reese said, amazed.
Amber shrugged, lifting one shoulder fluidly. “Not really. It’s just ignorance. I am insulted by the fact that the masses seem to think I’m stupid. You think it’s because of the blond? Maybe I should dye my hair black. I think I’d get more respect as a brunette.”
Reese laughed. “I like the blond.”
Amber grinned. “I know.”
Reese felt her face warming up and she busied herself with her breakfast, even though she could barely taste it anymore. What was it with people saying I know in response to things? To change the subject, she asked, “Why are you using a laptop? Don’t you have more advanced computers or whatever?”
“It’s easier to use human technology to access the Internet. It’s built for it, you know?”
“That makes sense.”
“Hey,” Amber said, her tone turning serious again. “I really hope those pictures didn’t screw things up with David. Was he upset?”
Reese’s spoon clattered against the bowl. “Upset? He broke up with me.”
Shock flashed across Amber’s face. “What? I’m so sorry. Do you want me to tell him nothing happened?”
“No,” Reese said sharply. “I think it’s best if you guys never talk to each other about it.”
Amber flushed. “Oh. Does he hate me?”
“I don’t know.” It felt wrong to discuss this with Amber—as if she were betraying David all over again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Amber’s gaze lowered. “Okay.” Her cheeks were tinged pink, and she looked worn out and sad. That made Reese ache as if it were all her fault.
Reese pushed her bowl away and said, “Can I ask you something?”
Amber looked up. “Sure, what?”
Reese almost winced at the hope in Amber’s eyes. “Is the adaptation chamber in this ship?”
Amber was clearly surprised by the question. “Yeah, why?”
It’s that easy, Reese thought. She could have asked about this weeks ago. “I want to see it. Will you show it to me?”
Amber seemed uncomfortable. “I don’t know if I should do that.”
“Why not? I was in it, wasn’t I? I have as much right to see it as anyone. More.”
Amber considered her for a moment, then glanced around the empty dining hall. “Okay. I can bring you when you’re finished with your breakfast.”
Reese took another sip of her coffee and said, “I’m done. I’m not hungry.”
Amber bit her lip. “All right.” She stood. “Let’s go.”
Reese followed Amber out of the dining hall. They walked down a corridor that Reese had never noticed before, and paused in front of a door with a plaque on it that Reese could not read. When Amber touched the plaque, the door slid open to reveal a room with three large, clear tanks on the floor. Two of them were empty, but the third contained a thick, gel-like substance that glowed with a faint blue luminescence. Inside the tank, suspended in the gel, was an oval pod the length of a human body.
Reese crossed the floor toward the pod. The walls of it were made of a material with a golden sheen that looked smooth and hard as an eggshell, but Reese knew it was pliable. She recognized it. She remembered being cocooned in this device, a gelatinous liquid cradling her, making her feel weightless. The smooth, curved walls had sealed shut around her until all she could see was the red-veined golden interior. Had she been in this very chamber? She raised her hand to touch the edge of the tank, and then halted. Her skin crawled. “Is there someone inside?”
“No,” Amber said. She walked around to the other side of the tank. “It’s empty. This one is set up because we’re testing it.”
Reese reached out to touch the tank. It was cool and hard, and a buzz of electricity swept across her skin. “Was I in one of these?”
Amber nodded reluctantly. “Yes.”
“Which one?”
“You were in this tank, but I don’t know if you were in this particular chamber. They’ve all been removed for cleaning and stuff, so I’m not sure which one was put back in for the test.”
Reese stared down at the pod through the glass walls of the tank. She remembered the slow, underwater-like beep from her dream. “What happened the night of the accident? Did you guys bring me to this ship? How did I get to Project Plato?”
“I wasn’t there, but from what I’ve been told, the military found you and David. There are security sensors all around Area 51, and when you guys crashed, you tripped a lot of alarms. The militar
y didn’t want to bring you underground, so they took you to Project Plato. My mom was working. When she saw how seriously you were injured, she knew you’d need the adaptation chamber. She did the surgery at Project Plato, but she also called the ship. Right before dawn, the ship came and they transferred you and David into the chambers. The military didn’t know. They were dealing with the June Disaster that week—a lot of protocols were skipped over or ignored because of the fallout from that.”
The gel surrounding the chamber had tiny bubbles in it. Reese asked, “So why did they move us back to Project Plato? Why didn’t they just let us wake up on the ship?”
“They had to move you. There were records that put you and David at Plato the night that you crashed. My mom had to account for your whereabouts to the military liaisons. You couldn’t just disappear after getting that medical treatment.”
Reese spread her fingers over the glass of the tank. Her hand cast a faint shadow over the pod. “Didn’t they—the military or whatever—realize that David and I weren’t there? They never checked our rooms?”
Amber came closer, brushing against the opposite side of the tank, and Reese glanced up to see the vertical line in Amber’s forehead again. “You have to understand, things really were messed up with the June Disaster. It was literally a disaster for your government. They were involved in this giant cover-up operation that involved a zillion different components—rerouting traffic, the Internet, clean-up crews—and they let things slide at Plato. They didn’t have time to check up on two random kids who’d had a car accident. It didn’t seem relevant to them. By the time they sent someone to check, my mom had transferred the two of you back to Project Plato. You were still unconscious.”
Amber’s words slid like ice down Reese’s back. “What do you know about the cover-up?” she asked.
“I don’t know the specifics,” Amber said quickly.
“Was it about the birds?”
“Yes.”
“What did the government do to those birds? And why?”
“I don’t know. I just know that your military was doing these crazy experiments on livestock—birds and other animals too—using Imrian DNA. My mom might know more about it. But after the planes started crashing, they had to cover up the fact that it was their failed experimentation that made those birds attack the planes. All that confusion saved your life.”
Reese felt sick to her stomach. “My life isn’t worth the lives of the two thousand people who died in those plane crashes.”
Amber seemed upset. Her fingers gripped the edge of the tank. “Why not? You’re exactly what we’ve been working so long to create. You and David, both of you.”
“David and I were in a car accident. An accident. We could have been anybody.”
Amber’s eyes were hard and bright. She leaned over the tank toward Reese. “There are no coincidences.”
Reese’s eyes narrowed at her. “Your mom said that at the press conference. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nig tukum’ta nu nig tukum’ta,” Amber said in Imrian. “There is no coincidence. It means that you’re alive for a reason. My people have been working on this adaptation procedure for a really long time. Everything that happened to put you and David in that car in Nevada on that night in June—the debate tournament, your government’s secret project with the birds, the plane crashes—it all points to you and David. You two were meant to have this procedure. You two survived it, and now you’re here. Alive. You’re important.”
Reese shook her head, a fuzzy panic coming over her. “No.” She backed away from the adaptation chamber. “Maybe your people don’t think there’s such a thing as coincidence, but I’m not Imrian. I’m human. And to me, this is all just one big giant accident, and now I’m here in the middle of something I never chose to be involved with, and—”
“Choice has nothing to do with it,” Amber cut in.
“We are not getting into some debate about free will right now,” Reese snapped.
“That’s not what I’m doing!”
“Maybe we’re having a cultural difference, then.” Reese crossed her arms and stood her ground. “Just tell me one thing. If David and I are so important to you guys, when are you going to tell us the truth about who you are?”
Amber took a step back. Her hands left condensation marks on the tank, like the handprints of someone trying to escape. “What do you mean?”
“David called me this morning and said his dad got the results back from the preliminary tests on our DNA. He said the results show that we—humans—are descended from the Imria.”
Amber’s face went pale.
“Is that true?” Reese asked.
“I don’t think it’s my place to say.”
Reese stared at her, dumbfounded. “It’s not your place?”
Amber gave Reese an anguished look. “It’s not like I don’t want to tell you, but Akiya Deyir made me promise—I mean, I messed everything up with you. They don’t trust me anymore. They want me to do what I’m supposed to do and shut up. I can’t tell you.”
Amber’s words echoed in the quiet of the lab. Reese’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. Amber had been so forthcoming today that Reese thought—she had hoped—that the time for secrets was behind them.
“I’m sorry,” Amber said. “I’ll ask my mom—”
“Amber, please,” Reese said in a low voice. “This is so important. Can’t you tell me the truth?”
Amber’s gaze faltered, her eyes flickering toward the door. Reese heard the whisper of Amber’s breath as she inhaled and exhaled. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Amber said, “Okay. I’ll tell you, but not here. They could come in at any minute. We have to go somewhere else.”
CHAPTER 28
Amber’s room was only a few doors down from the one Reese had been assigned. It had the same layout as Reese’s, but it was obvious that Amber had lived there for a lot longer—and she was much messier. Makeup and jewelry were scattered all over a shelf near her bed. Clothes peeked out from drawers in the corner. The bunk was unmade, the pillows pushed haphazardly against the wall. As the door closed behind Reese, Amber pulled a chair from the corner beyond the end of the bunk.
“Have a seat,” Amber said. She pushed aside the blankets on the bed and sat down, scooting up so that her back was against the wall.
Reese lowered herself into the chair and looked at Amber.
“Here’s the thing,” Amber said. “We do want to help you—I mean the Imria want to help humanity. That is totally our number one goal.”
“But?” Reese prompted.
“There’s no but. I want you to keep that in mind.”
“Why?”
“Because what I’m about to tell you might make you doubt that.” Amber paused. “So, David’s dad is right—sort of. Humans are descended from us, in a way. We’ve been coming to your planet for a long time.”
“How long?”
“We first discovered Earth about two million years ago.”
“Two million?”
“Um, yeah. Humans didn’t really exist back then. We—the Imria—were in a period of exploration at that time. We were trying to figure out how to deal with environmental changes on our own world, and we were sending out lots of probes across the galaxy to look for intelligent life. Earth was an amazing discovery. There were no humans, like I said, but there were plenty of species who seemed like they might develop into intelligent life. So we sort of helped a few of those species along, just to see what would happen.”
Reese’s mouth fell open.
Amber rushed on, waving her hands. “It was an experiment, and it wasn’t well thought out. Communication was very slow back then. It took forever for the explorers who discovered Earth to get in touch with our home planet, Kurra. The experimentation on Earth was never authorized by our leaders, and by the time they learned about it, it was kind of a done deal. So then we couldn’t exactly abandon Earth. We had a responsibility to make sure we hadn’t
completely messed things up with the species we’d modified. Eventually it became obvious that one species in particular was evolving differently than the others, and that it was going to become the most intelligent species on Earth. That species became Homo sapiens.”
“How many times did you guys… modify us?”
Amber looked uncomfortable. “I’m not sure. The historical records are really complicated and really old, and honestly, even our historians aren’t entirely sure. We’re talking about millions of years here. But after a while, we stopped intervening. Humans were obviously doing fine, and most of us didn’t want to interfere anymore. A lot of us didn’t think we had any business messing around with your societies, especially because humans at the time couldn’t always understand who we were. Sometimes humans thought we were… well, gods.”
“You mean those ancient alien shows are right?” Reese said in disbelief.
Amber made a face. “Not entirely. A lot of that stuff is bullshit. But… some ancient human societies thought we were gods. Not all of them. Some humans understood exactly what we were. It’s the same as it is now—or the way it was before we revealed ourselves last month. Some people totally believed in extraterrestrials, while others thought the people who believed in them were crazy. Anyway, my people decided it was best to leave you guys alone and wait until your societies developed the technology to be on equal footing with us.” Amber took a deep breath. “But a few things happened to change our minds.”
“Wait a minute,” Reese said, backtracking to make sure she understood everything. “You said the Imria came here two million years ago and found some species that you experimented on. So basically, you made us look like you?”
Amber hesitated. “Um, yes.”
“Are you saying that you created us?”
“Not exactly. Some species that could have evolved on their own already existed, but we pushed certain species in a different direction, one that wound up as Homo sapiens.”