Emergent (A Beta Novel) (7 page)

A LIGHT FLASHES ON AND OFF
beneath the boulder separating our “room” from the rest of the Rave Caves.

“They’re ready for you,” says Alex. “Are you ready for them?”

“Ready for what?”

“The Emergents have an orientation for you. I saw the program earlier this morning, while you were still sleeping. It’s how I learned about the soul extraction.”

“Ready!” My whole body has felt assaulted by heaviness and fatigue, but now I feel a palpable rush of energy. I want answers, already. I can’t believe answers even exist in
this nothing place.

Alex pushes aside the boulder. An Emergent stands on the other side, holding up her hand, which is illuminated like a flashlight.

“How are you able to do that?” I ask her.

“We’ve taken the locator chips that used to be under our wrists and reprogrammed the chips for different needs. And to turn off the humans’ ability to find us, of
course.” I can barely see her face, but she clearly recognizes mine. “It’s good to see you again, Elysia.”

“Do I know you?”

“I was the pastry chef at the Governor’s house.”

I still can’t see her face, but I know exactly who she is. “Catra! You made the chocolate soufflés and the lushberry pies!” The other primary want I have, should I ever
achieve a free life where I’m not trapped by a dying clone race’s need for Insurrection: chocolate. Every day, every meal, maybe. Chocolate scramble for breakfast, chocolate sandwich
for lunch, chocolate casserole for dinner. I’m
hungry
. Now I remember: Catra and her delicious concoctions disappeared suddenly from my previous home. I say, “I was loaned for a
week to the Fortesquieu compound. When I returned to the Governor’s house, the desserts were not as good. Was it because you escaped?”

“Indeed,” Catra says. “But I don’t handle culinary tasks here. I’ve discovered my real talents are in drama production.” That’s a waste,
I
think.
And, how is drama production even a valid or necessary role in a stranded environment of outlaws? “You’ll see!” Catra chirps.

These Emergents are very, very different from the clones they were on Demesne, I see. They express their feelings freely.

Catra uses her illuminated hand to guide our path across the caves. We follow what appears to be a stream built into the ground, a long and narrow water channel alongside our otherwise barren
path of rock walls. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the stream.

“Irrigation tunnels for the water supply,” says Alexander.

The redirected technology chips. The irrigation tunnels. Creating these things requires resources. I’m confused. I ask, “I thought these islands in the archipelago were empty.
Hostile for life. How is this possible?”

Catra says, “When we were Defects, we were stockpiling supplies, little by little, and transporting them when we escaped to become Emergents. We had some help on the
inside.”

“Who?” I ask, and Catra and Alexander both laugh.

“Yours truly,” says Alex. “My job on Demesne was to serve as a Uni-Mil liaison between Demesne and the Replicant Rights Commission, to make sure the clones were treated
‘humanely,’ which meant nothing in terms of what the property owners could be held accountable for. It was my duty to interview the clones about their working conditions. There were
some whom I could tell had become Defects. So I made sure there was no trace of the supplies they were stealing. I helped reprogram the island’s requisition and accounting systems, you could
say.”

We reach an opening to a large area, lit with torchlights in each corner of the cave. “This is our dining hall and communal area,” says Catra. A group of Emergents who have been
sitting at tables in the room suddenly rise as we enter. I turn around, wondering what’s so interesting behind me that could cause these people to rise so suddenly.

“They rise to honor you,” says Catra.

The Emergents break out into shy applause, the sound barely discernible as they almost politely tap their hands together. Then I walk past the first table, and the shyness is gone. A female
Emergent lunges toward me, and I recoil slightly, surprised. But she just wants to touch my arm. “Thank you,” she says. The male Emergent standing next to her salutes me.

None of them look me in the eyes. I feel like they’re all looking at my belly, to see if their hope is showing yet. I pull my shirt down and out, not wanting to offer a further view.

The Emergent called Aidan, who I guess is their unofficial leader, steps forward to greet me. He, too, touches my arm, but to lead me to a lectern built at the head of the room. I feel a slight
sizzle
when his hand touches me, then look down and see that the tip of his pinkie finger is a light blue color.

“We have the training orientation ready for you to see,” Aidan says. “If you’re ready to begin now.”

Now I understand why so many are gathered. “The other Emergents here are also new arrivals?”

Aidan says, “No, they’ve seen this already. They just wanted to be near you.” How flattering, especially since I have no real desire to be near them. I don’t hate them,
of course, and I hope they will achieve their Insurrection. I want them to have good lives. Free lives. But the only person I want to be near—ever—is Tahir. “Be seated and we will
begin.”

I sit down, and Aidan points his finger toward the empty wall behind the lectern. The wall suddenly illuminates like a holographic screen. “I have a customized chip beneath my skin,”
Aidan explains. “The file is saved there.”

A holographic video, like the one I saw when I first emerged in Dr. Lusardi’s compound, begins. A hologram of Catra appears. She has smooth, ebony skin, dreadlocked black hair interspersed
with strands of bronze, and perfect facial features—high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes with high arched eyebrows. Her fuchsia eyes seem to shine with
delight
.

Holo-Catra raises both her illuminated hands in a welcoming wave. “Hello, Emergents!” she says. “Great job making it here to Heathen. I’m here to tell you a little bit
about the environment and explain how things work here. As you’ve probably noticed by now, Heathen is quite different from Demesne.” An image of Demesne and its violet sea, called Io,
appears behind holo-Catra, who moves her hands to direct the earth images north, moving the setting from the tranquil sea to the towering waters called the
gigantes
, then past the
gigantes
to the rough ocean and up, up, up, past little atoll islands, past Mine (here the audience behind me applauds again—I guess many of them, like me, took refuge with M-X after
escaping Demesne).

Holo-Catra’s hand stops on Heathen. I let out a gasp as beautiful purple-magenta clouds swirl over the island. “Yes, these clouds look beautiful,” says holo-Catra. “But
here’s what those clouds mean on Heathen. Danger.” The background transforms into Heathen’s jungle, where lush green trees sway and tropical birds sing. What’s so dangerous
about that? I wonder. The purple-magenta clouds hover over the jungle and send a light rain over the landscape, producing beautiful rainbows in the mist.
How beautiful!
I think. Then the
rain turns to hail the size of human fingers—with blades at the tips. It’s like an icy avalanche of dagger pellets. The landscape shifts, taking shelter inside the Rave Caves.
“And that,” says holo-Catra, “is one of the many reasons we choose to live in caves.” Images of clone quarters and the communal dining hall we’re in now flash behind
her.

Next, she takes a bite out of a piece of raw fish. My stomach revolts at the sight, and I swallow a sudden surge of bile. She says, “Fortify, my friends. Just as on Demesne, you’ll
have a role here. The difference is: your role here is your choice. You can fish for food, cultivate the fields of produce, serve as a lookout, become an environmental engineer. No matter what your
role, you will spend your remaining time training.” Artillery fields and military-worthy obstacle courses—in lagoons, in the caves, in the jungle—appear behind her.
“Insurrection is coming, comrades. We
will
be ready!”

The orientation video ends. It was good, I guess—certainly an improvement over the last one I saw, on Demesne, which instructed newly emerged clones on their new lives of slavery. But
it failed to address the fundamental question I want answered.

“But what about the souls?” I ask Aidan.

Aidan points his blue finger at the blank wall again to cue another video. “This is the second part of orientation. This was taken with a stealth surveillance monitor we hid inside Dr.
Lusardi’s private office.”

My heart sinks as I see Dr. Lusardi, with her corkscrew of long orange hair, sitting at her desk, wearing a white lab coat. She’s the reason I emerged. She’s the reason I’ll
barely have a chance to live. Then my heart sings in surprise, because sitting on the other side of her desk is the next best thing to Tahir—his father, Tariq Fortesquieu.

“Where is First Tahir’s soul?” Tariq demands. “I want it back. This Beta Tahir is so rote. He’s breaking his mother’s heart. He’s incapable of
affection.”

“’Raxia will unblock that,” advises Dr. Lusardi.

“No ’raxia,” says Tariq. “That’s what contributed to First Tahir’s death. We tried so hard to discipline him, but Tahir was a playboy. We loved him too much.
We looked the other way when he indulged in alcohol and ’raxia. We thought he was just a young man sowing his wild oats. ’Raxia was what led to his death. No. I demand the soul you
extracted when you made Beta Tahir. Return it to him.”

Dr. Lusardi pauses, then leans in to Tariq. “First Tahir’s soul is there.”

Tariq looks around the office. “Where?”

Dr. Lusardi touches her head, then her mouth, and then her heart. “Here. Everywhere. Mind, body, soul.”

“Don’t be oblique. I won’t tolerate it!”

Sounding
fearful
, Dr. Lusardi confesses, “There’s no such thing as soul extraction. It’s a myth my First developed in order to sell the Demesne clone product line. Souls
die when Firsts die, of course. But when their clones emerge, souls emerge too.”

“The same souls?” Tariq asks, looking confused.

“Not the same. New souls. They form organically. Clones do have them, but don’t know it. So my First developed brain inhibitors to block the clones’ feelings, to make them
emotionless, so they seem soulless.” As if trying to justify herself, Dr. Lusardi amends, “The clones
are
soulless. Because they don’t know their souls exist. And they
wouldn’t know what to do with the souls if they did.”

“This is an outrage,” says Tariq slowly. But I can see by the look on his face: he’s trapped by the lie. He and his wife have tried so hard to pass off clone Tahir as their
actual son, First Tahir. To acknowledge the lie of the soulless clones and spread it would dismantle the entire haven of Demesne. “What does ’raxia have to do with it?”

Dr. Lusardi says, “’Raxia has the unintended side effect of unblocking those brain inhibitors. But no Demesne clone should experience
want
. They should never desire
’raxia to begin with. It shouldn’t be a problem. Let this be our little secret.”

Tariq, normally so calm, uncharacteristically raises his voice. “You’re saying the entire workforce on Demesne could be compromised if they simply took ’raxia?”

“Sorry,” says Dr. Lusardi, who herself is a clone. According to M-X, who’d worked in Dr. Lusardi’s laboratory, the real Dr. Larissa Lusardi was murdered. She objected to
her clones being used as slaves. ReplicaPharm, the corporation that financed her work and most served to profit from it, decided her righteous sense of ethics was all wrong. They killed her, and
then cloned her to finish her First’s work.

So it’s no surprise that her apology sounds
insincere
. This Dr. Lusardi’s not sorry.

I have a soul.

It wasn’t my imagination.

It’s my own, not borrowed from my First.

I feel…
joyful.

“Where’s Zhara?” I ask Aidan, realizing she’s been gone through this whole presentation.

Aidan doesn’t answer for a moment. His face is set to
grim
. “She’s sleeping it off in the tree house.”

“Sleeping what off?”

“When we returned from the atoll yesterday, she bolted into the jungle and returned to her unfortunate old habit. ’Raxia.”

ONCE AGAIN, I AWAKE FROM THE DEAD,
only this time, I wish I hadn’t.

I’m still groggy from the ’raxia that catapulted me into welcome emptiness, but this time I re-emerge knowing exactly where I am, and it’s not Demesne paradise. I’m in
the tree house on Heathen. After we returned from the atoll with Xander and Elysia, Aidan took them to their quarters…and I ran away to the cuvée fields. Aidan must have found me and
brought me to the tree house after I passed out in the fields. I can see by the light outside that it’s midmorning. I must have been out for at least twelve hours. My brain is still hazy, but
my heart pounds hard, remembering. Yesterday, I was ignorant of my clone. Today, I am not.

My whole world is different. Skewed. Wrong.

I press my hand along the floor of the tree house, searching. I want to go back to sleep. I want more ’raxia. Where did I leave the other pills I made from the crushed cuvée seeds
last night?