Luca Page 4

  “I’m sorry I brought you here,” the man says. “We should have stayed in Tokyo. None of this would have happened.”

  The woman lays his head on the futon and wipes his mouth. “After the riots, there was nothing left for us in Tokyo. No home. No jobs. We had no choice.”

  “We could have stayed.”

  “We would have starved. The revolution ate up everything. We had to leave. There was land here.”

  “Free land.” The man pauses before a coughing fit wracks his body. “Abandoned for a hundred years.”

  The woman cranes her neck and stares at Luca. “We wanted to have a child.” A warm smile spreads across the woman’s face. “We needed a place to raise her. A place where we could grow our own food.”

  The sound of the voices is familiar and soothing. Luca drops the piece of plastic to the floor and stands on wobbly legs, walking closer to the two adults.

  “But the radiation—”

  The woman shakes her head. “When the Chinese took over the government, they said it was safe. They said enough time had passed. Four generations. Shouldn’t that be enough? They said the reactors had finally cooled down.” She reaches out her hand to Luca. “They said Fukushima was ready to be resettled. They said the land was healthy. It needed people. Whole cities and towns just waiting.”

  “They lied.” The man starts to cough again. He turns, and convulsions shake his stomach. More liquid pours from his mouth.

  It smells metallic.

  The woman wipes the man’s lips with a dirty cloth. “We tried to make a better life. Found this old house and started growing food. It grew so fast. The water looked clean. A whole town sprung up overnight. Little Luca was born here. We were happy."

  The man eases himself back down and stares at the ceiling. “They should have warned us. Everyone’s dying.” After a fit of coughing, he looks up, smiling. “Except the children. They were right about that. There’s something different about the children.”

  Luca’s eyes meet his.

  His hand reaches out, yellow fingers trembling. “Luca, come here, child.”

  “Go ahead, Luca. Say goodbye.” The woman moves to make room and turns away.

  Luca shuffles closer. She stares into the man’s eyes and wants to tell him how much she misses him and how she’s all grown up now and needs him to protect her from the people that hurt her every day. Her chest feels hot, like there's an explosion between her ribs. She opens her mouth to speak, but only one word comes out.

  “Papa.”

  The man smiles. “That’s my little girl.” His arms reach out and pull her close. His eyes are deep pools of misery. “The radiation won’t kill you. It will make you stronger. Someday, you’ll—” Another coughing fit and he can't finish his words. Black blood sticks to her cheeks.

  The scent of death is on his breath.

  Falling on his chest, Luca holds her father as hard as she can. A wave of emotion inside her bursts. She’s wailing now, tears dripping from her nose and cheeks.

  “Take her away.” The man is finally able to speak. “I don’t want her to see me die.”

  Someone pulls Luca’s body up as her arms flail and legs kick.

  She wakes from the dream to the sound of her own sobbing, eyes on the ceiling of her cell.

  6

  JEWEL

  Impossible.

  In a way, it would be funny if it weren’t so sad.

  Qaara was hired by Genesis Corporation to do a simple task: figure out how to destroy a molecule. Not just any molecule, but one with a most unusual design, one that, quite literally, is not of this world. She hasn’t been able to find any natural analogs. Taking molecular structures apart should be easy. All you have to do is find the key, a unique configuration of atoms that fits neatly into the molecule, breaking the bonds and causing it to fall apart. But after six months of work, she can’t even tweak it. It’s been an exercise in frustration.

  Success used to be so effortless.

  If only she could walk away from it all. Admit defeat. Find a new life somewhere else. Away from the pressure of bowing to the demands of others. On her own.

  Away from Genesis. Away from Mercer.

  But defeat is not an option. Her father would never allow it.

  Qaara’s shoulders slump. She falls back into a chair, hands thrusting into her white lab coat. It’s dark outside, past midnight, but the City is a shining sea of light spread out below her like delicate lace. Neon ads play on the sides of blocks of buildings, their glass skins morphing into massive screens detailing the latest offerings in body contouring or Mesh implants, all to catch a few seconds of attention from the eyes of anyone looking up from the latest fashions on their jax screen.

  Staring at a holo ad for glowing skin cream on the building next door, Qaara lets her mind wander.

  Ever since coming to Genesis Corporation, all-nighters are the normal pattern of her life. When the drug kickers reach their maximum levels and begin to taper off, sleep comes in quick snatches. Forty-five minutes in the late morning. A couple of hours after dinner. If she’s lucky.

  She can’t keep up the pace much longer. Daily vita-treatments and the best supplements money can buy will only take her so far. Eventually, in spite of all the technology, the body begins to revolt. At first, it’s easy to hide sagging skin and bloodshot eyes. Sooner or later, it catches up, and she’ll end up looking like some used up Mesh-star.

  She picks up her slate and swipes the screen to turn it into a perfect magnifying mirror. From a distance, her face looks normal. Generous lips and oversized eyes from her artificially altered genome. But as she peers closer, the tiny flecks of yellow in her pupils stand out. The strain is starting to show.

  Time for a quick climb.

  The instant her lab coat slips off, she is a new person. She jogs to the climbing wall, and the rope and harness drop down.

  She brushes the harness away. This will be a free climb. Her first. Maybe her fastest.

  Thirty seconds.

  The instant her hand touches the first hold, the timer starts counting aloud. No longer a scientist tackling a problem without solution, she is an entity of energy and grace, scaling the wall like it’s her natural habitat. For a moment, her frustrations slip away, a snake shedding its skin, leaving only movement, clean lines and precision.

  At the top, her eyes find the timer.

  Twenty-eight seconds.

  A new record. The superstitious side of her, what’s left of it, wants to believe it’s a sign of big changes to come. Maybe she’ll be able to get away from Genesis Corporation after all.

  Refreshed, she drops to the floor. The rope disappears into the ceiling; the handholds on the wall melt away.

  Qaara should be grateful. Life is simple for her, far simpler than people from the Fringe, who spend their time working two or three jobs just to scrape by. All she has to do is focus on one task. One very small task.

  All centered on the holo of the molecule floating in front of her eyes.

  The more Qaara thinks about it, the more absurd it sounds. She has no idea where the molecule came from, how it was found, who engineered it or what it’s purpose might be. Only two things are clear: it’s otherworldly and incredibly important to Mercer. She doesn’t even have a name for it.

  Closing her eyes, she relaxes her concentration and tries to remember how it all began.

  It isn’t hard.

  On the day she started work at Genesis Corporation, she was ushered into a large room, devoid of light, the distinct scent of lemons in the air. As the door shut behind her, the middle of the room suddenly lit up with a constellation of rotating dots. At first, their shape seemed random, contrived.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not an astrophysicist, if that’s what you're looking for,” she had said into the dark.

  “I know,” came a man’s voice that emanated from all directions at once. “But if I told you this has nothing to do with astronomy, I’d be lying.”

  “What
do you mean?”

  “Look closer, Qaara.” The voice drew into itself until it focused on a single point behind her. “I think you’ll like what you see.”

  As the arrangement of dots rotated, the clear shape of a double helix came into view.

  “So it’s a biomolecule. What do you want me to do?”

  “I’m hiring you for one reason, Qaara.” The voice floated closer until it was just inches from her ear. “Learn how to destroy it before it destroys you.”

  “Me?”

  “You and me. Everything and everyone we love. All that we know and cherish.”

  Qaara remembers swallowing hard. “How much time do I have? And who are you?”

  “Frank Mercer. I’ll see you in six months.

  Six months is a long time. After the euphoria of developing Graff, it sounded long enough to do anything.

  And now the six months are nearly gone.

  Only five days left.

  Opening her eyes, Qaara draws in a deep breath. Each month has ratcheted up her level of panic. She’s dreaded the day when Frank Mercer would check on her. The time is almost gone, and she’s no closer to the answer than when she started.

  Defeat is not an option.

  The face of her father floats into her mind. In desperation, she tries to push it back, tired of the torture it always inflicts. But the harder she pushes, the more persistent and threatening the face becomes. Lines appear on its forehead, and the eyes narrow into a scowl. The lips move without sound, but Qaara knows what they are saying. It’s been drilled into her from the time she learned to walk. She hears the words in the baritone voice of her father.

  Failure is impossible for you, Qaara Kapoor. Defeat is not an option. You are better than the others. Your mother and I engineered you that way. Enhanced your brain. Gave you the best genetic modifications and education money could buy. You are a problem solver. Whatever challenges you face, you will find a way. You must always find a way. Nothing less is worthy of the gifts you have received.

  Looking down at her empty hands, she shakes her head, searching for the right words. There’s the same weight in the pit of her stomach that never goes away. It feels even heavier now, a black hole pulling her in, draining away her life and leaving nothing but an empty husk.

  A feeble argument forms in her brain.

  I’ve tried everything. The molecule is impossible to attack. Its structure is too stable, too complex. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen. There’s nothing I can do.

  Her palms turn up in supplication to the specter of her father, still lurking in her mind. The image shakes its head in disgust.

  My daughter was not raised to be a failure.

  Rage at the world floods her chest and explodes out of her throat, like gas bursting from a high-pressure hose. She doesn’t care who or what can hear. Jumping out of her chair, she lunges at the holo until she is inside it, arms flailing, throwing atoms around at random, making it a jumbled mess.

  A female sim-voice echoes in the room.

  Unstable configuration.

  Qaara stumbles forward and leans against the window. As she turns to view the holo, the atoms slowly float back into their original positions, mocking her fruitless attempts.

  The lights go dark, leaving only the glow of the molecule for illumination.

  And then she feels it. Another presence in the room. And the scent of lemons.

  Mercer.

  “It’s been almost six months, Qaara.” The voice draws closer. “Tell me the answer to my question. How are we going to destroy that simple little molecule?”

  Her pulse jumps and she whips around to face the voice, the sudden rush of blood leaving her lightheaded. “Mr. Mercer, I didn’t know you were here. I apologize for my behavior. I’m just tired. I can assure you that it won’t happen—”

  “No need to apologize.” He takes a step forward and drops into her chair, his gaze climbing her body like a slowly growing vine. “I just need to know whether you've found the answer.” He motions to the hologram floating between them. “Everything depends on it. And I know that if anyone can do it, you can. That’s why I came. Now tell me what I want to hear.”

  Swallowing hard, Qaara leans against the glass window at her back, the sea of light still burning brightly in the City below. As far as she knows, Mercer never talks with anyone. He only talks to them.

  She’s heard all the stories.

  He never loses his temper. Always cordial and polite. But when he gets angry with a person, when he decides they have failed him, that is the end for them. Whole divisions of the company have been fired over simple mistakes. Careers have ended. Word gets around quickly. If Mercer doesn’t like you, your professional life is over. His people will make it so no other company will ever hire you. One negative comment from him, and it spreads across the Mesh like a cancer.

  In the dark, Mercer’s fingers uncurl around something round and yellow. He holds it up between his finger and thumb for Qaara to see. “Do you know what this is?”

  “A lemon?”

  He smiles and shakes his head. “Wrong. It’s a mistake. Imperfection.”

  She doesn’t know what to say and says nothing.

  “You and I have much in common.” He brings the lemon up to his lips and takes a bite as if it were an apple, rind and all, chewing slowly. The pungent scent floats toward her. “We’re both products of genetic engineering. Your parents didn’t trust nature any more than mine, so they used a computer to tweak your genes. Just like mine. You might say we’re two peas in a pod. We both paid a high price for what they did, don’t you think?”

  Qaara watches as Mercer takes another bite from the lemon. Juice runs down his chin. It beads up on his shirt, and he flicks it away, smiling.

  “I don’t follow you,” Qaara says.

  Mercer nods and speaks as he chews on the lemon peel. “Our intelligence and our beauty. We both paid a high price for them.” He takes another bite of the lemon and holds it up, dripping, in his fingers. “For me, it all comes down to citric acid.”

  “Citric acid?” Qaara has a look of confusion.

  “The Krebs Cycle.” Mercer motions toward the floating holo of the molecule between them. “I’m sure you remember it from high school.”

  Qaara shakes her head and drops her eyes to the floor. “I never went to high school.”

  “That’s right. I remember now.” Mercer’s eyes float up to the ceiling, as if he’s trying to remember something important. “Straight to MIT after eighth grade, right?”

  Qaara nods.

  “You might say I’ve become an unwilling expert on the Krebs Cycle. It’s vital to my existence. Life and death, really. That tends to focus one's attention.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Simple. It’s the cellular engine. A gift of evolution. How our bodies convert carbohydrates, proteins and fats into carbon dioxide, water and energy. When it stops working, we die.” Mercer leans back in the chair and laughs with abandon.

  “I know about the Krebs Cycle, but I still don’t understand what you mean about citric acid.”

  “My Krebs Cycle doesn’t work without a constant flow of citric acid. If I don’t munch on lemons all day, I get sick. It's the price of the imperfect genetic engineering work done on my genes. A nearly fatal flaw that has turned me into something of a sourpuss.” He takes another bite of the lemon and chews, eyes on the floating molecule. “Your genetic engineering was done much later than mine. You’re closer to physical perfection. But you still pay an awful price.”

  “I still don’t under—”

  “I’ve seen your files, the personality scans. The psychoanalytic assays.” Mercer takes another bite of the lemon. “You carry a heavy load. Your father refuses to allow you the luxury of failure. He poured everything into you, and now he expects a return on his investment: nothing less than perfection.” Mercer holds up the last piece of lemon and appraises it like one might a diamond. “Overall, I got a better deal t
han you did. A bit of damage to my body but less damage to my soul.”

  Qaara keeps her eyes on the floor. Everything Mercer says is true.

  “Now, about this pesky molecule you’ve been working on for the last half year.” Mercer pops the last piece of lemon into his mouth and licks his lips. “I’ve seen your dedication and the nearly impossible energy you’ve poured into the solution, which, I take it, still eludes you.”

  It occurs to Qaara that she has stopped breathing. She lifts her head and fills her lungs. “It might help if you could give me more background, some context for . . . this.” Her hands reach out to the floating hologram.

  “You’ve read my mind.” Mercer moves across the office, pulls a chair out from under a table and walks it back, dropping into it and motioning for Qaara to sit beside him. “I’ve held off for the last six months because I didn’t think you needed to know. But now I see I’ve been mistaken. Have a seat here beside me so we can talk. I’ll tell you everything.”

  She paces in front of the window. “I prefer to stand, if you don’t mind. I do my best thinking on my feet. Keeps my brain moving.” She glances at Mercer from the corner of her eye.

  “I have so much to tell you, Qaara.”

  A tremble runs down her spine like a row of falling dominoes. “I’m anxious to hear it.”

  “Good. I thought you might be. Now, about those lights.” Mercer pulls a pair of glacier glasses out of his pocket, round titanium frames with neon blue lenses like bottomless mirrors. There’s the sound of gentle suction as they seal around his eyes. “My less-than-perfect genmods left me with severe sensitivity to light. Another unfortunate defect. I’m forced to bathe my eyes in darkness. I sometimes forget how alone I am in that.”

  In the ceiling, panels of soft radiance come on.

  “Sorry. I didn’t know.”