“Marka, I think someone’s been going into my room.”
She doesn’t look surprised. “Wilbert is a terrible snoop.”
“I really don’t think it was Wilbert.”
“You can lock the doors on your voice command. But I assure you, there’s no danger here. You’re safe.”
“But—”
Cy’s voice barks through the walls.
“Zelia.” He doesn’t sound happy. Marka gives me a look that says she’s used to whatever bad mood he’s in.
“What?”
“Clean your crap up.”
“I’m not done. And it’s not crap. I’ll be back soon.”
Cy curses. Marka’s only symptom of annoyance is speeding up. Great. Now I have to jog to keep pace.
“Cy, if you need extra equipment, then by all means poach it from Hex’s lab. He’s not using it,” she reasons.
The walls go silent.
“Friendly guy,” I say. “My father worked with him the last few years? No wonder he looked so beaten down all the time.”
“Actually, they worked really well together,” she says as we reach the kitchen. “I’m impressed, though. Cy’s behavior can be much, much worse.”
“I’ll bet your dinners here are pretty fun.”
“Ah, well.” Marka clears her throat. “Actually, we don’t really have meals together.”
Hmm. I guess all is not peaceful and happy in the land of Carus. I glance around the kitchen. There’s a food efferent, as well as some modern ion ovens. Marka punches in an order at the efferent, but nothing happens.
“Cy was in charge of loading up the efferents this week. Sorry. We’ll have to go analog today.” She opens up the refrigerator and takes out some cheese and tomatoes. We start slapping sandwiches together, which is fun. I haven’t made a sandwich since I don’t know when. I douse mine in salt, pepper, and mayo, but Marka keeps hers unseasoned. I take a huge bite and almost choke from trying to swallow too fast.
“Marka, geez, don’t try to kill her. At least not yet.” Hex’s voice sounds close, but it’s coming from the wall. I’m getting used to the wall-coms. Not the eavesdropping, though.
“Is there no privacy in this place?” I say, still choking on crumbs.
“Precious little. I’ve been trying to get Wilbert to change the settings, but he keeps forgetting.”
“No secrets, then, huh?” I finish swallowing and chug some water. “So how did this happen?” I wave my half sandwich around the kitchen. “Not the kitchen, I mean. Carus.”
Marka refills my water. “I almost wish I could give you my scent memories. They’re so much more detailed than words.” She brushes the crumbs off her hands. “When I was a child, I was overwhelmed with my scent trait. It gave me terrible headaches and I wore a mask all the time, housebound. Even though my parents were well connected, it took years to locate a geneticist who could figure out what was wrong with me. Or right with me, depending on your perspective.”
“What, do you have more scent receptors in your nose?”
Marka smiles. “Yes, even more than canines. And they’re not just in my nose, they run all the way into my bronchi. The olfactory center in my brain is pretty huge.” She frowns. “But it wasn’t a natural, random mutation. My genes were altered in too many places.”
“By whom?”
“I wish I knew. I asked your father what he thought, but he doesn’t have any idea either.” She puts her hand to her mouth. “I mean ‘didn’t.’ I’m so sorry. Sometimes I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
I stare at my lap to hide my watering eyes. It was only three days ago. With everything going on, I’ve been distracted from my grief. But it lies in wait for moments like this, when it can slap me fresh across the face.
Marka doesn’t try to pat my shoulder, or say anything. She lets the quiet rest between us.
“So,” I say fumbling with my wet sleeve, “what happened after you found out about your trait?”
“The geneticist went to report my findings to the government. He was following the law, of course, but my uncle interceded.”
“Your uncle?”
“He’s an influential senator in California. I come from money, Zelia, and power. It’s the reason why I’m still alive, and why Aureus has been less than successful in bringing Carus into its folds. But they’ve been getting bolder. They’re making their own friends in the government. Taking Dyl under my nose was proof of this.”
I pick up my sandwich and nibble it, but it’s suddenly tasteless. “What happened to that geneticist?”
This time, Marka looks at her lap. “He died in a magpod accident.”
I drop my sandwich. Visions of bobbling, out-of-control magpods swim in my memory. “A magpod accident,” I repeat slowly.
“Yes. My uncle made it happen. My records were erased and all my DNA samples destroyed. He thought I was a gift to the world, not something to be reported and taken away. My family staged my death once I turned eighteen. It was fairly easy, since everyone knew I was an invalid. My uncle helped set up Carus off the grid in a neutral state, far from California and with limited allotments for my freedom. He’s slowly working to reverse the laws, but nothing substantial has happened. It’s through him that I have a link with New Horizons, and another foster home in Kansas City. That’s it.”
“So you’ve brought other kids here. That’s very . . . good of you.”
“It’s not just about being good.” Marka stares past me as if she could see through the walls. Maybe even beyond the borders of Neia. “You know, I still remember what that geneticist smelled like. Curiosity, coffee beans, and clean linen. And the pure scent of his newborn daughter . . .” Her violet eyes are glassy as she meets mine. “I have the blood of an innocent man on my hands, Zelia. It does things to you.”
CHAPTER 10
THAT NIGHT, I MAKE SURE MY DOOR is securely locked. Half a dozen times, I’m awoken by haunted sounds that are either torn bits of dreamscape, or nothing at all. Once, I swear I catch a forlorn sigh, only to realize it’s a scuffing breeze outside the building.
When I wake up in the morning, there are no new doll heads decorating my room.
I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me today. I grab a quick breakfast of cereal in the kitchen, where artifacts of other Carus members remain. Dirty mugs, the crust of a cheese sandwich, and the carcasses of four doughnuts with the glaze nibbled off.
It’s weird. Considering all of Marka’s good intentions, they’re not very cohesive as a foster family. Everyone’s content to be far away from each other for most of the day. Dyl and I always made sure we had breakfast and dinner together. We’d call Dad every night before dinner, though most times he couldn’t join us. But at least we tried.
I spend the morning in the lab, extracting Dyl’s DNA from the second hair sample. Cy pointedly ignores me, reviewing journal articles and punctuating the relative quiet with low cusses. Apparently everything he reads pisses him off. My work goes well, but by afternoon, the windowless lab makes me twitchy and claustrophobic. I need some sky. Inside the nearest transport, I order it to go up, but it doesn’t budge.
“Oh come on!”
“Sorry,” Wilbert’s voice pops in, sounding sheepish.
“Let me guess. The agriplane is off limits.”
“Our section of agriplane is sealed off. But the fences go all around, and we’ve got a clear plasma grid above it you can’t see. Can’t get in or out, so it’s safe. Marka already okayed your access, but you have to ask every time.”
“Thanks, Wilbert,” I say, but a chilling realization comes over me. Vera’s and Cy’s bad attitudes suddenly make more sense. They’re just prisoners. I mean, we’re all prisoners. I’ve got one place to live, and that’s it.