Origin (23 page)

“Hey!” I draw my knees up indignantly.

Mother perches on the edge of the bed and leans close to
me. “You must be strong, Pia. This is everything. Everything. You must do all that they ask, or they will take Paolo from us.” She grabs the front of my T-shirt. I’m so shocked I don’t resist. “I cannot lose him, Pia. Do you understand me? Paolo is…I
can’t
lose him.”

Her fingers are cold and white, her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. Did she talk to Uncle Paolo last night? Did he tell her about Strauss and Laszlo’s threats? I’ve always known that Mother worshipped Uncle Paolo, but the intensity in her eyes is stronger than I’ve ever seen before. She’s usually so reserved and controlled. Seeing her like this makes me nervous. I’ll be infinitely glad when Strauss and Laszlo leave and everyone starts acting normally again.

“I’m getting up,” I whisper. “Everything will be okay. You’ll see. I’m ready.”

She holds me for a moment longer, then sighs and lets go. Before leaving the room, she looks back and says, “You had better be. Because I’ll do
anything
to keep him here.”

And I don’t doubt a word.

In the menagerie I find not only Uncle Paolo, Laszlo, and Strauss—wearing a different white pantsuit—but Aunt Harriet too. She and the menagerie’s supervisor, Jonas Brauer, are watching and discussing a sick marmoset in a wire cage. They see me and wave, but continue in the flow of their conversation.

A feeling of apprehension grows in me as I near Uncle Paolo, but I am determined to succeed, no matter what he asks of me. I think of my eternal people. Of brothers and sisters and friends who will never die. An immortal family, untouched by pain and death, knowing only life and love and beauty. I try to
imagine it, try to see their faces in my mind…but all I see is a blue-eyed boy sitting by the river, giving me the stars.

So instead I think of Mother and Uncle Paolo and how strong and composed they are.
I can be like them
, I think.
I can do it.
I’m used to them looking at me with pride because of my immortality, but I want them to see that there’s more to me, that I am strong and disciplined.
A circle
and
a line
.…

“Hello, Uncle Paolo,” I say with a smile, hoping he can’t see how nervous I am. I ignore Strauss and Laszlo. If they aren’t interested in talking to me, I’m not interested in talking to them. I’ll pass their little test, but I don’t have to make any friends while doing it.

“Hello, Pia. Sylvia.” He nods to my mother.

“We should get started,” Strauss says primly.

Uncle Paolo leads us to the back of the menagerie. I expect the Corpus duo to follow, but they wait until Mother and I go, and then they shadow us like jaguars stalking their prey.

I sense which cage Uncle Paolo is heading for even before he reaches it, and my stomach knots. I hope he’ll turn and stop at the tarantula or snake terrariums, but he goes on—and stops at the ocelot cage, just as I feared.

I see Jinx inside, with her new kitten that Uncle Jonas named Sneeze. Jinx is seventy-three years old, our only immortal ocelot. She was bred to a mortal male that had been recently injected with an experimental strain of Immortis, and the scientists had hoped their offspring would have some trace of elysia. But Sneeze was born completely normal, further proving that an immortal must mate with another immortal if they are to pass on their eternality to their offspring.

Jinx and Sneeze are lying by their water dish, Jinx dragging
her rough tongue over his back and head. The kitten mews at her in annoyance and then gives his trademark sneeze. They look so peaceful and content that I want to run away right now, before Uncle Paolo can tell me what today’s test is. But I can’t. I have to keep thinking about the Immortis team and the spot on it reserved for me—if I can only pass this test.

“Pia,” says Uncle Paolo, after inspecting a chart on the wall that describes Sneeze’s development. “Tell me what we have here.”

I read the chart, then sum up what it says. “Sneeze—”

“Subject 294, Pia. Or, if you prefer, juvenile male ocelot. But not Sneeze. Never name your subjects, Pia.” He shoots a sidelong look at Strauss as if afraid she’ll pounce.

Except for Subject 77. You named
her.

“Right. Subject 294 is a male ocelot,
Leopardis pardalis
, two weeks and three days old. Subject 294 tested positive for feline immunodeficiency virus, inherited from the mother, Subject 282, but seems to be tolerating the virus exceptionally well.” The feline form of HIV, FIV usually isn’t fatal to its carriers, and it might not affect them for years.

“Excellent, excellent,” murmurs Uncle Paolo. “Well, Pia, you no doubt suspect what the nature of this test will be.”

“Yes,” I reply softly. I sense that Uncle Jonas and Aunt Harriet are watching now, but I keep my eyes on Sneeze. He is trying to trap his mother’s tail between his paws, but she keeps twitching it away.

“Pia, this is to be your last Wickham test.”

“The last one?” I do my best to look surprised. Strauss is watching me like a hawk.

“Yes. If you pass this test, you will be made a fully entitled
member of the elysia research team, and you will be told the secret formula to which you owe your existence.”

“Immortis,” I whisper.

He nods. “That is why this test is so very important. I want you to think about it and be absolutely sure you are ready. There can be no going back after this, Pia.”

“Okay.”

He hands me a syringe. “Pentobarbital,” he says simply.

From down the aisle, I hear a little gasp from Aunt Harriet. My heart falls. I had expected something bad, but not as bad as this. “You want me to…” I choke on the words. I can’t even look at the kitten. “But the virus isn’t
hurting
him! He could live a perfectly normal life—”

“And pass the virus on to his offspring,” Uncle Paolo interrupts. “Dr. Zingre has been researching vaccines for FIV, and to do that he needs infected cadavers to examine.”

“Is there a problem here?” Laszlo asks sharply.

“No!” Uncle Paolo snaps. There is sweat beading his brow when he turns back to me. “We’ve all done it at one time or another. We’ve had to. Little Cambridge isn’t like most research facilities, Pia. It’s harder. Tougher. More important. While most scientists piddle away with malaria and cancer and a cure for warts,
we
, Pia, we deal with immortality. The eternality of our own species. There is nothing more important than that, Pia. The goal. Remember the goal.” He puts his hands on my arms and stares intently into my eyes. “The good of the species, Pia. That’s all that matters. The end justifies the means.”

This is not about Sneeze or finding a vaccine for FIV. It’s not even about Strauss and Laszlo and their threats. This is
about me. Sure, this particular test was months, maybe even years off. But it was coming. One day, I’d have to prove myself.

Today is that day.

Am I strong enough? Can I prove myself worthy of my own race? All it takes is a quick plunge of the needle in my hand, a thrust of the thumb to inject the chemical inside. And for Sneeze, it will be like falling asleep.

But when I force myself to look at him, playing with his mother’s tail, completely unwitting of his fate, my legs begin to tremble, and I only want to run and hide and cry. Strauss and Laszlo are watching my every move. I can’t look at Aunt Harriet. I have a feeling that if I do, I’ll lose it completely and start bawling right here.

“We have to be able to make the hard decisions, Pia,” Uncle Paolo continues. “If we couldn’t, then you wouldn’t even be here. This,” he points at the needle, “is your legacy and your destiny. You must learn to control your emotions and focus on the goal.”

Just a baby
, I think, watching Sneeze.

“The final test is always the hardest, Pia,” says Uncle Paolo. “You must be absolutely certain. I want you to take your time. Think it through. Take a day. A week. Whatever you need. But you must reach a final decision. Progress or regress. Survival or extinction. Strength or weakness.”

“A week?” Strauss interrupts, her voice tight. “Isn’t that a bit…generous, Paolo?”

Uncle Paolo’s reply hisses through his teeth. “I’m already breaking a century’s worth of protocol by skipping to the end of the test series, Victoria. This is how the final test is done. Sloppy work makes for sloppy results. Let me do this my
way—no, not my way. Little Cam’s way. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but some things can’t be rushed.”

For once, Strauss has no acid reply.

“Pia,” Uncle Paolo says. “It’s in your hands now. Your dream of an immortal race—it’s all in your hands.”

I don’t reply, but I grip the syringe until my fingers turn white.

“Come, Sylvia,” says Uncle Paolo, putting an arm around my mother. “Let’s give her some time.”

“Be strong,” says my mother, the words more warning than encouragement.

Laszlo follows them out, but Strauss lingers. She takes my arm, her nails digging into my wrist, and I realize that she does know I can feel pain. I sense Aunt Harriet starting toward us.

“We created you,” Strauss whispers. “We can destroy you. So get on with it.”

“Ahem.”
Aunt Harriet’s hand comes down on my shoulder. “I believe she understands, Victoria.”

Strauss’s eyes rise to meet Aunt Harriet’s, and she forces the lines of anger from her face, though her gaze remains as steely as ever. “Harriet. Good to see you again.”

Aunt Harriet says nothing.

“Well,” Strauss steps back and straightens her white jacket. “I’ll be sure to tell Evie you said hello.”

Aunt Harriet’s lips tighten, but she says nothing.

After she’s gone, I sink to the floor and stare at the pair of ocelots. They are so innocent, so unaware that I hold death in my hands, it’s nauseating.

“It’s a terrible thing to ask anyone to do,” says Aunt Harriet.

“Who’s Evie?”

“An old colleague of mine. Nobody important,” Aunt Harriet replies quickly. “So will you do it?”

“Eventually. Not today.” I’m not ready yet, just like Uncle Paolo said. I need time to prepare myself, to steel my nerves and my stomach. And I don’t want to give Strauss the satisfaction of seeing me “get on with it”
too
soon.

“I think it’s barbaric. What do they want you to prove, anyway? What will they ask of you next, once you’ve shown you are beyond morality?”

Morality.
Not a word oft spoken in Little Cam. It’s filed away with words like
love
and
San Francisco
. “I don’t know. But it can’t be worse than this, can it?”

“How can I know? I know less than you do. I’m new here, remember?”

“He’s only a baby.”

Aunt Harriet watches me watching Sneeze, then she sits beside me, legs folded, hands knotted beneath her chin. “You don’t want to do it.”

“Of course I don’t!”

“That’s good. It means you’re human.”

I stare at her, feeling the tears redden the rims of my eyes. “If I were truly human, all I’d care about would be the advancement of the species, like Uncle Paolo, and not some stupid kitten.”

Aunt Harriet’s lips tighten. “That’s what they’ve taught you, I suppose. Ah, well, how can I come in from the wild yonder you’ve never even heard of, telling you what’s right and what’s wrong, when you’ve got all these brilliant scientists to do it already? Still, you don’t
want
to listen to them, do you? You wish there was another way.”

I nod, unable to trust my own voice.

“That’s your moral compass, Pia.”

“My what?”

“Moral compass. They’re trying to force it to point the wrong way, but it keeps fighting, keeps swinging in the opposite direction. Don’t you feel it?”

I do, and I wonder how she knows. It’s exactly how I feel.

“Your moral compass,” she confirms.

“Are you saying I shouldn’t do it?” I ask, holding up the syringe. “That I should give up everything—give up all my dreams—for one insignificant life?”

“You should…” She hesitates, and there are things storming behind her eyes that I can’t understand. I’m generally good at reading people, but Aunt Harriet closes to me like a thundercloud blocking out the sun. “You should think long and hard about it, Pia,” she says at last. “And above all, consider the cost. Ask yourself what it is they are demanding of you. Look at who Pia is now, and ponder who it is they want you to be.”

“Perfect,” I reply immediately. “They want me to be perfect.”

“Perfect,” she repeats hollowly, “is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“A man named Plato once said something similar. I don’t suppose they’ve told you about Plato, hmm? Ah, I see not. Should have guessed it. Well, be sure not to mention him to anyone or we’ll both be in trouble. I think I’ve got plenty of potential troubles to deal with for now, thank you, so keep it mum.”

She rises and brushes the straw and dust from her jeans.

As she begins to go, I call out, “Aunt Harriet?”

“Yes?”

“Everyone who comes to Little Cam has to take a test like this. So what was yours?”

She turns her head so that her frizzy red hair covers her expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”

With that, she strides hurriedly out of the menagerie, leaving me alone with the animals and the needle in my hands.

I
t’s two in the afternoon, which is when I usually hit the gym, but instead I’m stuck shadowing Uncle Paolo as he gives our guests a tour of Little Cam. There’s a restlessness tugging at me all day, and I find myself staring longingly at the jungle whenever we go outside. I half hope Eio will appear on the other side of the fence, but he doesn’t, which is just as well. Who knows what Strauss and Laszlo would have to say about a wild, shirtless boy knocking on the front gates, asking for Pia?

I’m not the only project that Corpus came to check up on. There are dozens of others run by the scientists who aren’t on the Immortis team. Most of them research medicinal uses for the native plants, and some of their projects have even resulted in new medicines. If Little Cam were ever discovered by the wrong people, these are the only projects they would find out about—biomedical research important enough to be kept secret but harmless enough to allay suspicions.