Unchanged (15 page)

This glass ball isn't a prison. It's a display case.

And we are the key to everything.

The Objective is the only answer.

Anyone who opposes it, who stands in its way—Dr. Rio, Lyzender, Pastor Peder, all those protesters outside—should not be trusted.

So when I hear Mosima say, “Well, after that inspiring speech, I think it's time to bring out our special guests,” I am no longer outraged.

I am determined to be the powerful face of the next generation that Dr. A created me to be.

When I feel the plank beneath my feet begin to rumble as the sphere prepares to lower—to deliver me to the world—I am no longer hesitant.

I am ready.

I am fearless.

 

23

REBIRTH

The studio goes dark again as we start our descent from the sky. The fanfare begins the moment we clear the rafters. Multicolored lights dance, artificial smoke wafts into the air, music blares. It is a spectacle like I've never seen on Mosima's show before.

And Kaelen and I are smack in the middle of it.

I hold still, trying to maintain my composure. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Kaelen for cues. He looks stoic in his open-legged stance, arms to the sides. I emulate his posture, reminding myself that this is second nature. Don't think, just react instinctively. Everything I've ever needed to survive the next thirty minutes has already been uploaded into my brain, wired into my skin, programmed into my blood.

When the spheres are only a few inches from the ground, the doors unseal and we step onto the stage. Kaelen's hand finds mine almost instantly. Mosima rises to make grand sweeping gestures toward us. “Look at them!” she's shouting over the thrumming beats. “Just look at them!”

As instructed, we take our seats on a love seat as the music dies down and the lights return to a simple, daylight white.

“Closer together,” Seres's voice booms in my ear, causing me to jump.

Kaelen must have gotten the same order because we simultaneously move toward each other until I'm practically in his lap. He drapes one arm around my shoulder and I place my hand on his leg.

I check my Lenses to see what we look like to the audience but apparently they've deactivated that view. Maybe it's too unsettling to see your own capture playing back while you're sitting here.

But whatever we're doing must be working because Mosima looks exuberant.

“Aren't they divine, everyone?” She's speaking into one of the countless DigiCams that are buzzing around our heads like a swarm of bees. I have to fight not to swat them away.

She turns to Dr. A, who is seated to her left. “You weren't exaggerating, Dr. Alixter. These two are something special.”

Dr. A beams. “Aren't they?”

“Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable.” She focuses back on us. “So tell me. Is this terribly overwhelming for you two? I'm told that you'd never left the Diotech headquarters before yesterday.”

Dane's words race through my mind. A warning that was repeated over and over in the days leading up to this moment.

“Whatever you do,
don't
mention your failed escape.”

“It's certainly different,” Kaelen says.

“What's been the craziest part of your journey into the outside world so far?”

“The hyperloop,” I say, my voice cool with just a tinge of playfulness. “That was pretty warped.”

I steal a glance at the control booth and catch sight of Dane nodding. I knew he'd appreciate my use of modern slang. And apparently Mosima does as well. She seems positively tickled by my response as she says, “I agree. I've never liked traveling that way. I just gobble down a Relaxer and blitz out. But you probably don't even get motion sick, do you?”

“Not that I'm aware of,” Kaelen says.

“We don't get sick,” I add confidently.

My tone, my eyes, my posture. It's exactly as we rehearsed countless times with Dane and I'm actually surprised by how easy the poise comes to me now. Even if it feels like I'm wearing clothing that's three sizes too small.

“That's right,” Mosima chimes. “That's what my notes tell me. Fascinating. Simply fascinating. So you've never experienced even so much as a common cold?”

“No,” replies Kaelen.

“Well, then that means you've never experienced the bliss of a nighttime cold Releaser!” She cackles at her own joke, as does Dr. A.

“Sera and Kaelen have been created with immunity to all known diseases,” Dr. A puts in. “A luxury we hope to be able to offer the general public very shortly.”

“Won't that be nice? And I'm told a simple cut on your finger heals in less than ten minutes, is that correct?”

“That's correct,” Kaelen says.

Mosima looks into the cam hovering in front of her. “
Ten minutes
. Can you imagine? Not very fun for you cutters out there, is it?” She seems to find great humor in this and her high-pitched snort of a laugh grates on my eardrums.

“So,” she goes on, her face serious again, “immunity to disease, obviously extremely good looks—which we can see. I'm also told that you have superhuman strength and speed.”

“That's right,” Dr. A answers for us. “Do you want to play the capture we took during their training session last week?”

Surprised, I blink and turn to Kaelen. I didn't know they had captured our training session last week. Did he?

Mosima nods like it's the best idea she's heard all year. “Yes. Let's do that. Larn, can you patch that in?”

My Lenses flicker and a view of our most recent challenge course comes into focus. I watch as Kaelen and I, dressed in red training suits, take our positions at the starting line and he counts us off in Russian.

“Odin, dva, tri.”

It's always Russian in the training dome. I've never asked him why, but I think the feel of it on his tongue puts him in a running mood for some reason.

I watch us both sprint into the course, tackling each element with speed and precision. The footage contains a digital overlay of the virtual obstacles so the audience can see them the way Kaelen and I saw them through our Lenses during the challenge.

In a span of three minutes, we outrun a high-speed train, leap five-hundred-foot chasms between the roofs of towering skyscrapers, swerve around MagCars on the expressway, and then at the end of the course, we have to lift a small hovercopter from the ground to rescue a dying child pinned underneath. I watch myself wince against the reverse pull of the electromagnets that were used to simulate the weight of the vehicle. My knees wobble and shake as I lift the virtual object from the ground, crouch under it, and, with the strength of my legs and back, hold it up so the child can be rescued.

I remember this specific course vividly. After all, it was only last week. But it's strange to be watching it from the outside. I don't think I've ever actually seen myself in action before. I really am
fast.

Of course, not as fast as Kaelen. He beats me to the finish line by twenty-two seconds. His superior DNA has always given him an advantage in the training dome.

“Impressive,” Mosima commends, and then with a laugh she adds, “I wish I looked that good in a bodysuit.”

There's a pause that I assume is meant to allow her joke to resonate with the viewers. Then she turns to us. “And was that Russian I heard you speaking in that capture? What other languages do you speak?”

“All of them,” Kaelen responds.

“
All
of them?”

“We speak every language.”

Mosima peers back at the floating cam in front of her. Her eyes open so wide I'm afraid they might pop out of their sockets. “Stupendous!” she trills. “What a talent to have! And at such a young age! You're both only eighteen, is that right?”

We nod.

“Kaelen, you were created at the age of seventeen, but Sera, you were sixteen when you were born, so you've been around a bit longer.”

“Yes, I'm definitely older and wiser,” I say with a smirk.

Kaelen tickles my waist, which causes Mosima to giggle even harder than me.

“Isn't he breathtaking, ladies?”

Kaelen grins, revealing two rows of perfect teeth.

“Simply ah-dorable.” She regains her composure. “So, how does it feel to have all those skills?”

“I can't really say,” I reply. “We don't know any different.”

“Touché!” Mosima replies with another chuckle. I can tell by her reactions that Kaelen and I are doing precisely what we're supposed to do. Precisely what we've been created to do. We're charming her. We're charming everyone.

But then why do I feel so horribly out of place up here?

If this is what I was made for, shouldn't I be enjoying it? The way Kaelen genuinely seems to be?

“Dr. Alixter,” Mosima coos, “wherever do they get their dazzling personalities? Are those engineered in a lab as well?”

Dr. A gives her a coy smile. “Now, now, Mosima, we can't reveal
all
our secrets, can we?”

“Does your predicament bother you in the slightest?” she asks us. “Having been born on a research compound with no chance of ever having a normal life?”

I hear the question but my mind is still trapped in the previous one.

Where
do
we get our personalities?

Kaelen and I are so different. He's ambitious and charismatic and optimistic. And, as it turns out, might possibly have a disturbing violent streak. While I'm … I don't even know what I am anymore. I've been too many different people to keep track. The dutiful prisoner. The escaped convict. The amnesiac supermodel. The truth-seeking skeptic. The loyal lover. The heroic savior.

And now, the defective traitor trying to redeem herself.

Deep within all of those personas, is there something that might tell me who I really am?

Is there a common denominator I can cling to?

“No,” Kaelen answers Mosima's question, drawing me back to the interview. “We don't mind what we are. We are fortunate to have been given such gifts. Our lives are enriching and fulfilling. We have everything we could ever want.”

“Including love,” Mosima adds with a wink to the viewers. “Dr. A was just telling me before you came on that you two were genetically engineered to be perfect matches for each other.”

“That's right,” Kaelen answers, tightening his arm around my shoulder. “I'm head-over-heels in love with her.”

Mosima practically swoons right out of her chair.

“And you feel the same way?” she asks me. “At least I hope you do. Otherwise, we're in for a very awkward interview.”

I laugh, knowing it's the appropriate thing to do. “Yes. He is the perfect person for me.”

Mosima sighs into the cam. “Doesn't that just melt you? Let's take some questions from the viewers. Larn, do you have a few good ones lined up for us?” Mosima pauses to watch something on her Lenses. “User Jennz122 from Portland, Maine, has posted a question on the comment bar. She asks, ‘If it doesn't work out between you two, Kaelen, would you ever consider going on a reality show to find a wife?'”

Kaelen and Dr. A laugh in unison. I don't find anything particularly humorous about the question. “Well,” Kaelen says jovially, “fortunately I won't have to worry about that. Sera and I are bonded for life.”

“Yes, they are! Thanks for your question, Jennz122. Who's next?” Another pause. “Oh, this is a good one. We have a question from user SZ1609.”

The breath traps in my lungs and for a second the world loses color. Loses shape.

It's a coincidence. It has to be.

There are only so many combinations of numbers and letters out there.

I peer at Dr. A and Kaelen to gauge their reaction. Neither one of them seems to have caught the significance.

Not that I would expect them to.

S
+
Z
=
1609
was
our
secret code. Lyzender's and mine. Even if Dr. Alixter saw it on a memory scan, I doubt he would recognize it here. It's too out of context.

But not for me. Despite my efforts, I can never seem to shove the dark-haired boy out of context. He's always right there, lingering behind my subconscious, like shoes peeking out from under a curtain.

“This question is for Sera,” Mosima goes on. “Our viewer wants to know, ‘If you've never left Diotech headquarters, how can you know for certain that Kaelen is the perfect person for you? What if there's someone else out there who could possibly be a better match?'”

My blood turns to ice.

It's him. It has to be him.

But
how
? How is that possible? He's supposed to be trapped in the past. He's not supposed to be
here
.

I know Seres told me not to look directly into the cams, but I can't help myself. My head slowly turns—as though acting entirely on its own—and I stare straight into the object hovering in front of my face.

A shiver passes through me. It's almost as though I can
feel
him staring back. As though his liquid-chocolate eyes are reflected in the lens of this tiny cam.

“The viewer asks a very good question,” Mosima goes on, oblivious to my reaction. “How can you possibly be sure you are right for each other when your exposure to the rest of the world has been so limited?”

There's no way I can answer. I can't even move my lips, let alone form coherent sounds.

Thankfully, Dr. A swoops in to rescue me, stealing the audience away with his unrivaled composure and articulate speech. “Let me ask you this, Ms. Chan,” he begins. “How many times have
you
been in love?”

She looks taken aback and her face colors slightly. “Well, that's a rather personal question, Dr. Alixter.”