“But . . . but I don’t know enough. I was lucky to make this far.”
“I’ll be right beside you. I’ll distract them as much as I can.”
Sophie grappled for a way to get out of this. If she was stuck in a room with Strauss and Andreyev all day, there was no way she could meet Nicholas, Jim, and Lux at the helicopter.
She ground her teeth together. Should I tell her? Her mind raced. Would Moira help them escape? She seemed to want Sophie off the island—but would she let her take Lux? A day ago, Sophie would have thought that surely Moira would help her, but after what she had seen, she no longer knew what to expect from her mother. If she told her where Lux was, maybe her mom would be distracted enough in going after her that Sophie could slip away . . . or maybe, just maybe, she would help them. How can I know if she’s still trustworthy if I don’t have at least a little faith in her? she thought, trying to swallow her rising panic. This isn’t a plan—it’s a swan dive into shallow water. “I know where she is,” she said, watching Moira closely, trying to gauge from her reaction whether or not she could trust her with their plan.
“What?” Moira’s eyes shot wide. “Where?”
“She’s with Jim.”
“Jim?”
Sophie sighed, letting this truth slip through her fingers. “Jim Julien. Remember him?”
Moira’s brow crinkled. “Steve and Elaina’s boy?”
“He’s the pilot who brought me here.”
“Little James Julien . . .” Her mother’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You told me he dropped you off and then left.”
Sophie grimaced. She had mentioned that, because she’d thought it was true. “Well . . . he didn’t. He’s still here. Nicholas saw him with Lux.”
“Nicky’s a part of all this?” Moira pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned. “Not good. Not good at all.”
“I told you I’d met him.”
“Yes, well, I’ve been looking for him too, but it’s impossible to find that boy when he doesn’t want to be found. Where is the Julien boy? And how in God’s name did he come to acquire Lux? Oh.” The blood drained from her face. “Did she wake up? Sophie, did she imprint?” Her nails dug into Sophie’s shoulders.
“Ow! Mom! I don’t know—I guess so!”
Moira dropped her hands. “I have to find her. But still, we can fix this.” She pounded a fist into her open palm repeatedly, as if trying to drum an idea out of her skin. “I can use one of the other unwoken Vitros to imprint on Andreyev after you’re safely out of the way. And Jim! We can blame all of this on Jim, say he landed here accidentally and wandered into the building . . . yes. He woke Lux and tried to leave, but she followed him. You never need come into this. Of course, if Jim’s brought into this he’ll tell them about you, so it’s better if he’s . . . ah”—she glanced at Sophie—“not in a position to tell them.”
“You’d kill him,” Sophie said disbelievingly.
Her mother squared her shoulders defiantly. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“Well, screw that. Maybe I don’t want your kind of protection.”
“Sophie! I’m your mother. At this point I’m more worried about keeping you safe and getting you off this island. The best way to do that is to keep Strauss mollified for a few more hours to give me time to sort this mess out.”
Because she could think of no other way to avoid it, Sophie acceded. She followed Moira through the building, her eyes watching every exit wistfully as she contemplated simply making a run for it. But unless Nicholas, Jim, and Lux were waiting at the helicopter and ready to go, her dash would be in vain. Her mother might let her go, but she doubted Strauss would simply stand by and wave them off.
They found Strauss in some kind of break room with a counter cluttered with coffeemakers and packets of sugar and upholstered chairs arranged around a central table. One wall was a mural depicting a mosaic sunset, and Strauss sat framed by red and orange rays of asymmetrical tiles, like a model in a Mucha painting. Dr. Michalski and Dr. Rogers sat on either side of her, both of them leaning toward her; from the look of things, the three of them had been in conversation. Dr. Hashimoto was cleaning the coffeepot in a sink, and when she saw Moira and Sophie in the doorway her cheeks turned red.
“Victoria,” said Moira evenly, “I brought her, as you asked. Where is Andreyev?”
“I sent him outside to play for a bit,” Strauss replied, her voice oil over glass.
Moira’s gaze flickered to the doctors on either side of Strauss; Dr. Michalski was looking away, his lips pursed, while Dr. Rogers returned her gaze challengingly. “What’s going on here?” she asked.
“Funny,” Strauss replied, “I was going to ask you the same question.”
Moira’s hand flinched, as if she were going to take Sophie’s hand, but then she thrust it into her pocket. Her pale face belied her steady tone. “What on earth do you mean?”
“What I mean, Moira, is that your associates here have been informing me of some . . . what did you call them, Dr. Rogers?”
He cleared his throat. “Irregularities.”
“Ah. Of course. Apparently there have been some irregularities with your Vitro.” Her gaze shifted to Sophie, who could feel the coldness of it on her skin. “Irregularities of which you have failed to apprise me. Please, Dr. Michalski, will you tell Moira the interesting theory which you just told me?”
Dr. Michalski looked as if he’d rather wrestle a shark, but he swallowed and nodded. “It’s just that . . . her muscle development, her complexion, even her fingernails . . .”
“What about them?” Moira said lightly. Too lightly.
It was Dr. Rogers who answered, rolling his eyes at his hesitant colleague. “This isn’t Lux, is it, Moira? Which means she can only be—”
“All right!” This time, Moira did grab Sophie’s hand. Her voice hissed through her teeth. “I can explain.”
Very slowly, Strauss unwound a tea bag from her finger and dropped it into a trash receptacle. She then set her mug on the counter, matched up the fingertips of her hands, and finally lifted her eyes to Sophie. You wouldn’t be the first threat Strauss has had eliminated, her mother’s voice echoed in her head. Sophie swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
“Michalski, Rogers,” Strauss said evenly, and though her voice betrayed no emotion, it nonetheless made the hairs on Sophie’s arms stand on end. “Leave us.” They scrambled out, followed by Dr. Hashimoto.
“Victoria, let me—” Moira began, but Strauss cut her off with a flick of her hand.
“I’m speaking with the girl. Sophie, is it?” Strauss said, not even looking at Moira. “Tell me everything.”
Sophie felt as if she were filled with helium she was so light-headed. She looked at Moira, who nodded. “I wanted to see my mom, so I paid someone to fly me here. I was curious about Skin Island and wanted to see it for myself. I . . . I fell asleep in one of the rooms, and I guess someone mistook me for Lux. When I woke up and saw all of you, I just went along with it.”
“Hm.” Strauss pulled out a chair and sat, her hands perched primly on the edge of the table. “Why are you lying to me, Sophie?”
“What? I’m not!” She heard Moira make a soft sound behind her, like a strangled warning, but she shook her head stubbornly. “That’s the whole story. I swear.”
“Who brought you here?”
“Just a pilot. But he’s gone now, back to Guam.” Her mother glanced at her, her lips twitching, but she said nothing.
Strauss sniffed. “Dobbs, take your men and head north to the airstrip.” Sophie turned; she hadn’t even heard the guards arrive. One of the doctors must have gone to alert them. “If you find a plane, it means the pilot is here somewhere. Find him and kill him.”
“No!” Sophie cried. “Please—he isn’t part of this!”
The guards ran off, their boots squeaking on the
tile. Strauss’s calmness was deadly. “Moira, where is Lux? The real Lux?”
Her mother stepped forward. “I’m working on that. She’s on the island; I know that much. Nicholas might be able to help us, if I can just find him.”
“Your incompetence astounds me. You are the one who should be outraged right now, not me. This project was conceived by my father—I just inherited it. I’ll do what I must to make it successful, but if it fails, the failure is yours and not mine.”
“We can fix this. Yes, Sophie is here, but no irreparable damage has been done. We have other Vitros we can show Andreyev.”
“Ah. Andreyev.” Strauss leaned back. “He will not be amused by this, Moira. If he withdraws his support—”
“He won’t,” Moira snapped. “This is just a misunderstanding. The Vitros are no less viable than they were yesterday. He’ll see that.”
“For your sake,” said Strauss, “I should hope so. Take this girl and hold her somewhere. I want her locked away until this is cleared up.”
“She’s no threat to us. She’s my daughter.”
Strauss tilted her head forward; her glare could cut diamond. “Now, Moira.”
Moira stiffened, then reached out and took Sophie by the arm. “I’ll take care of it.”
Strauss nodded and gave Sophie a brief, disdainful look. “If I find out any part of your story is false, or that you’ve left out anything, I’ll have you shot. Are we clear?”
“I understand,” Sophie whispered, and her mother marched her away.
TWENTY
JIM
There was no chance of swimming the channel now. He didn’t have the strength. Nor could he risk trekking back to the resort, at least not until nightfall, when the darkness could compensate for his lack of energy to run away. The morning had left him exhausted and ravenous. From the sun’s glaring position overhead, he judged he’d already missed both breakfast and lunch. When he asked Lux if she was hungry, she just gave him a confused look, as if she didn’t know.
He decided to wait out the day and make one final attempt to rescue Sophie. After what Mary had said, he couldn’t pretend that Sophie was all right.
He trudged into the palms, looking for a shady spot to sit. “I’m an idiot, Lux. What do you want to follow an idiot for?”
But follow him she did, with unwavering doggedness. He watched her warily, his mind replaying what he’d seen: Lux spinning into action with almost cartoonlike speed, laying all three of Jim’s attackers out without breaking a sweat. She’d seemed perfectly at ease, unsurprised at her own skill, as if she were peeling a banana instead of channeling some kind of ninja warrior. And yet she still moved unsteadily, her body at odds with itself, though he noticed she was gradually getting more stable, like someone adjusting to solid land after spending a week on a boat in rough seas.
Mary had called her a “bodyguard model” after Lux had gone all Chuck Norris on them. He imagined, for some reason, a conveyor belt transporting boxes of girls identical to Lux, like giant Barbies, with Bodyguard Model! stamped on them in swooshy pink letters. He shook his head and grunted, disturbed by the image.
He found a flat space of sand between three tall palms and made a kind of mat out of dried fronds, within view of the beach but obscured by a thicket of low-growing, broad-leaved shrubs, so that anyone searching for them from the shore wouldn’t spot them unless they stumbled upon their exact location. Then he gathered an armful of coconuts and hunted for a rock to open them with. He found a nicely sized boulder deeper into the trees, and, with Lux looking on, he smacked the first coconut against the rock. It split neatly in half. He grinned and extended a half to Lux.
“Learned that from a bum named Nico,” he said. “He lived off coconuts and shellfish he pried off the docks. Guy was crazy as a bag of cats, but he knew how to crack a coconut.”
Lux blinked at him, then looked down at the coconut.
He held up his half. “You do know how to eat a coconut, right?” He slurped up the milk, then used his nails to scrape out the white meat. It curled up easily, the smell making his mouth water and reminding him of the Chamorro women in his neighborhood back home when they gathered during fiestas with their special coconut-grating benches to make fresh coconut shavings. He and Sophie used to sit at their feet and catch shavings in their hands; he remembered that he used to pretend the soft curls of coconut were snow, which he still had never seen with his own eyes. Like an echo from across the sea, he could still hear the rhythmic scraping as the women shaved the coconut meat, and their husky, soothing voices as they sang and gossiped.
“There, see?” He stuffed a handful of coconut into his mouth. Lux stared at her coconut for a moment, then began to mimic his actions.
“Lux,” he said, and her head swiveled and her aquamarine gaze locked on him. “What are you?”
She tilted her head, like a puppy trying to hear better. “I am Vitro beta model 2.1.”
Despite his feast of coconuts, his mouth went dry. “Are you . . . human?” His voice cracked as he said it, because he couldn’t believe he was saying it. It was too weird, too inconceivable that this was actually happening. It wasn’t a question he ever thought he would hear himself ask.
“Yes,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation.
“Are you . . . a clone or something?”
She looked down at her hands, her brows lowered in thought, then back up at him. “The answer cannot be found,” she said cryptically.
He worked very hard to keep his expression blank. “Um. Okay. So, how old are you?”
Again she hesitated, then said, “Four hours, twelve minutes, fifty-seven seconds.” A pause, then, “Fifty-eight seconds . . . fifty-nine seconds . . .”
“Okay, I get it!” He waved his hand to stop her, though in truth, he didn’t get it at all. Well, that’s not true, is it? He understood what she was saying—in theory—but it was impossible. He sighed and leaned back, his head clunking against the trunk. “The answer cannot be found,” he muttered. “That should be my new life motto. You’re saying you woke for the first time just four hours ago.”
“Yes.”
He thought back to the moment he had found her lying unconscious, of her sleep so deep that his mad run across the island, over hills and rocks, with her in his arms had not woken her.
A gust of wind snapped a dead palm frond high above their heads, and it smashed to the ground off to Jim’s right. Lux flinched.
“Do you think those three will be back any time soon?” Jim asked, not expecting an answer. “Or maybe we have time to nap . . .”
He relaxed against the tree; he hadn’t realized how much tension had been knotted in his muscles until he couldn’t hold it any longer and it seeped out of him and into the sand. . . .
Jim woke with a start, and the first thing he saw was Lux watching him, eternally patient. He was lying on his side; he must have dropped off and then literally dropped to the ground, too exhausted to even wake. The side of his face was crusted with sand.
Jim sat up and stretched with a groan. He’d been lying on half of a drained coconut, and now there was a stinging pain in his hip where it had left a deep indent in his skin. “How long was I sleeping?” he croaked, his throat dry.
“Six hours, nine minutes, four seconds,” said Lux.
“You counted?”
“Yes.”
Jim exhaled noisily and climbed to his feet. He was still sore, but the nap had taken the edge off his exhaustion. “Any sign of Mary and the gang?”
Lux looked around, inspecting every direction before answering. “No.”
The sun had crossed the sky while he slept and now sank in the west, but they were still several hours from night. He roved the vicinity restlessly, wondering if he should go ahead and strike out for the resort now or wait until full dark. He didn’t think they’d run into anyone if they rounded
the eastern side of the island, keeping the mountains between them and the path that led to the resort, and then when he approached the buildings he’d come from the east, where they might not be looking for him. If Mary had told the guards about him, they’d have already converged on him and Lux by now.
There was one aspect of Lux that continued to disconcert him, and the more he dwelled on it, the more disquiet stirred inside him. She obeyed everything he said without hesitation, without question, without resentment. All the thoughtless commands he didn’t even realize he was dropping—Stop that and Come here and Try this and Look over there—she responded to with alacrity. It wasn’t just congeniality; it was deeper, instinctive. Mary had known. She just tries so hard to please her precious master, she’d said. And it seemed all too accurate a description.
Jim asked Lux again, “Why do you do everything I tell you?”
This time, she replied, “I must.”
“Why?”
“You are Jim.” She smiled, as if that explained everything.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “Can’t you disobey? If I tell you to go climb that tree, and you don’t want to—you can say no, Lux.”
This seemed to distress her. Her face twisted into a grimace. “I do not . . . The answer cannot be found.”
“Fine. Listen. Lux, you don’t have to obey me.”
She cocked her head, her eyes troubled.
“Now, go climb that tree,” he said.
She ran to the tree and threw herself at it, but it was a branchless palm and she could get no purchase on its trunk. He ran after her and saw her knees were bloody and scraped from trying to attempt the climb, but even so, she kept clawing at the bark, trying to find a way up.
“Lux!” he shouted. “Lux, stop!”
She went still, her hands at her sides, breathing heavily. Her hair hung in damp, bedraggled strings over her shoulders and a trickle of blood ran down over ankle. Jim watched her in mute horror, guilt souring his tongue. She stared at him, and it seemed to him that there was a little less bright spark in her eye and little more blankness.