“So Dylia has some trait we never knew about?”
“Yes,” she says, lining up the rack of test tubes perfectly parallel to the spectrophotometer. “I promised your father I’d get you both if something happened to him, but I never imagined it would be under these circumstances. Your father never told me that Dyl was gifted.”
“So he knew? About Dyl?”
“He must have. How he managed to get her a valid F-TID without being detected by the government, I have no idea.”
“He should have said something to us. To her. Dyl had a right to know.”
“He was probably trying to protect you both. He could have told me. Carus is built on secrets. I could have held one more.” Marka’s disappointment rises to color her cheeks.
“Is Aureus just like this place?” I say, hopeful. Except for surly Cy and the green girl, everyone else seems kind of nice. But then I remember how Dyl was taken. I know the answer won’t be good before Marka opens her mouth.
“Aureus doesn’t have the same philosophy as we do. I believe our kids have a right to be normal and simply be. Maybe share their talents, if the world was willing to accept them. Aureus has more of an . . . industrial philosophy.”
“Industrial? You mean, marketable?”
“Have you ever heard of SkinGuard?
“Of course.” The ads are everywhere. It’s supposed to make your skin hard, like an insect shell. They use it in combat and on the police force. Only the Neanderthal bullies in school obsess over buying it. “So—Aureus makes that?”
“Right. Costs a fortune. The public doesn’t know where it actually comes from. Aureus uses a middle agency to be the front and pay people in the government to look the other way. It’s legal because the formula doesn’t tamper with actual genomes.”
“Dyl isn’t safe, is she?” I whisper. Marka shakes her head. The answer is so awful, she can’t even say it out loud. “But you can get her back, right?”
“I don’t know, Zelia. I’ve been thinking about it, and I have no answers. Carus’s relationship with Aureus has always been defensive, not offensive. I could risk everything—everyone—and it may not even work.”
If Marka won’t save Dyl, then who else would battle such a beast? Marka walks over to one of the glass cabinets and pulls out a small vial. As she approaches me, I keep my hands clasped together so they won’t tremble.
She unstoppers the tiny glass bottle, sniffs it delicately, and hands it to me.
“This is what you smell like.”
I read the label on the cold glass.
Fear.
MARKA LEADS ME TO A ROOM down the hall. “Wilbert will show you how things work here. We can talk more tomorrow, after you settle in. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say. Marka leans toward me as if to give me a hug, and I stiffen. She’s not my mother. I hardly know what that even is. And my dad was a back-whacker, not a hugger. I only reserved hugs for Dyl, and even those were pretty scarce.
Marka pulls back, her eyes steady on me. “If you need me, just call me through the wall-coms.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, and you should know. Wilbert’s going through a thing lately.”
“What thing?”
“Puberty. Seems like he’s never going to recover, but anyway. Just to warn you.”
She leaves me in front of Wilbert’s closed door. I feel numb, not yet ready to talk to another stranger. I’m a walking anomaly of physics, weighed down by an absence of knowledge.
I don’t know what my sister’s trait is.
I don’t know where she is.
I don’t know how to get her back.
The door before me opens as I sway closer, still reeling. There’s got to be a way. There has to be. There . . .
. . . are pictures of half-naked headless women in this room.
There’s a bed covered in bright blue sheets. On a bedside table is an enormous bottle of anti-nausea medicine, No-PuK. It’s like, gallon sized. But the walls are what have me gaping. They’re plastered with digitized, rotating images of women. I recognize them, because they’re wearing skimpy, low-cut outfits I’ve seen from the tabloids zooming by on the streets at peak ad time. I don’t recognize them by their faces, because they’ve all been digitally removed.
“Uh, okay,” I say out loud. Maybe it is better that Dyl isn’t here.
“I see you’ve found my room.”
I whirl around, my heart exploding in a drumbeat thrill. The kid with two heads is standing behind me, looking sheepish. He’s got sandy-brown hair, lovely hazel eyes, and he waves energetically, as if I’m far away. I try as hard as possible not to stare at the gigantic, faceless other head bulging out of the side of his neck.
I back away from him. “Oh! Hi. I was just looking for . . . um . . .” Answers, not half-naked, faceless women.
He waves at the pictures. “I know, everyone thinks I’m weird. I always feel like the models are judging me, so I remove their faces.”
A girl’s voice pops through the walls. “He likes to objectify their bodies, guilt-free.”
“Vera!” Wilbert sputters. “This is a private conversation!”
“It’s a hallway. I can listen if I want to. So how’s our princess doing?”
“Go away!” Wilbert hollers. I agree. I don’t like the bitchy way she called me “princess.”
“What’s the No-PuK for?” I ask.
“I’ve got a very sensitive stomach,” Wilbert says, gently touching his belly.
“Living gives him motion sickness,” Vera informs me.
I whisper to Wilbert, “Is she going to listen to my conversations all the time?”
“Why?” Her voice is adversarial. “What have you got to hide?”
I’ve got nothing to hide, but there’s plenty I choose not to share—I don’t give a flying fart about what color she is. I’ve just lost everything I’ve ever known and she’s getting all hydrochloric acid on me.
I point to myself and silently mouth the words What did I do? to Wilbert.
“My guess is, you’re female and you exist. Probably an alpha female thing, like wolves or rats—”
“If you just called me a rat, I’m going to twist both your heads off,” Vera snaps. I wonder if one of those heads includes mine.
“VERA! Go AWAY!” Wilbert half whines, half yells.
“Fine, perv. See ya.”
Wilbert slouches in relief, and his extra head sags accordingly. “Come on in.”
I follow Wilbert into the room, and he points to a circular table studded with tiny lenses. “Carus House. Top level.”
A three-dimensional hologram showing the top of our building comes into view, complete with agriplane above. Wilbert touches the image, pulls it out to expand it ten-fold. It looks like there are four levels to our part of the building.
“First, you need to know about security. Marka and I grant clearance. No one leaves or enters without permission from both of us.”
“Exactly who are you keeping out?” I ask.
“Everyone. But mostly, Aureus members. We’re valuable to them, so we have to keep a tight ship. To get in, there’s both a DNA screen and the mirror-password program—”
“Oh! That was like magic! Did you design that?”
“Yes. We’ll have to set yours up too.” Wilbert beams and his extra head pinks up. “I’m almost done with my doctorate in nanocircuitry. Marka lets me update all the security measures.”
“You’re done with college? How?” I don’t get it. This kid looks barely seventeen.
“Oh, this.” He reaches over to tap his other head, which is smooth with no eyes, nose or mouth, but has a soft downy scattering of blond hair. Once again the revulsion swells inside me. It’s like looking at a smashed bird on the street. I want to turn away, but I can’t.