Replication (2 page)

Dr. Goyer’s eyebrows crinkled over his eyes. “My daughter. She’s seventeen.”

“What does she look like?”

Dr. Goyer reached into his back pocket. He unfolded black fabric and showed Martyr a colored picture. The doctors sometimes showed them pictures, but never in color. Martyr had never seen so many colors in one place. He stared at the face and exhaled a long breath. The daughter had orange hair! And it was long, past her shoulders, and very curly, like spiral pasta. His eyes were the color of peas.

“He is very colorful.” Martyr’s eyes did not leave the picture when he asked, “What are the colors of peas?”

“Green.”

Martyr stared at the daughter’s eyes. “His eyes are green.”

“Her eyes.”

Martyr glanced at Dr. Goyer. “Her?”

“Women’s belongings are
hers
instead of
his
. They’re called
she
instead of he. Personal pronouns are gender specific.”

Goose pimples broke out over Martyr’s arms. This was why Dr. Woman had been called Her. Martyr wished he could remember more about Dr. Woman, but it had been so long ago, and he had been so young. “I would like to see a woman.”

Dr. Goyer’s eyebrows crinkled together again. He put the picture back into the black fabric and tucked it into his pocket.

“What’s that you keep the picture in?”

“A wallet. It holds my money and credit cards, my driver’s license.”

Martyr shook his head slightly, confused by the strange terms. None of the other doctors ever showed him things like this. He wished he could see the picture again—wished he had his
own
picture—but Dr. Goyer had seemed upset when he put his wallet
back into his pocket. Martyr hoped Dr. Goyer wouldn’t stop showing him fascinating things in the future.

As the silence stretched on, Martyr tried to think of something to say so Dr. Goyer wouldn’t get bored and decide to use needles. “What is Christmas?”

Dr. Goyer leaned against the wall by the door and folded his arms. “It’s a holiday. You don’t celebrate Christmas here?”

“What’s
celebrate
?”

“Celebrate is … being happy together.” Dr. Goyer straightened and looked into Martyr’s eyes. “What do the other doctors do when you have marks?”

Martyr swallowed, torn over how to answer. If he didn’t tell Dr. Goyer the truth, the other doctors would, and Dr. Goyer would know Martyr had lied. Lying always made things worse. “Mostly they use needles to test the contents of different vials. Medicines for outside, I think. Sometimes the vials cause pain, sometimes they make us sleep. Other times the doctors put sticky wires on our bodies that buzz our insides. And occasionally they just ask questions.”

“What kind of questions do they ask?”

“Questions about pain. Questions about math and science. Questions about Iron Man and Fido, or Rolo and Johnson.”

“Who is Iron Man?”

“The doctors call him J:3:1. He’s the oldest who is still living, which makes him the leader. But many of us choose not to follow him. He’s cruel. He’s cruel to Baby.”

Dr. Goyer walked to his chair and sat down, glancing over the papers on his desk. He picked one up and read from it. “What’s the most important rule here?”

It was the standard list of questions. “Obey the doctors.”

“What is your purpose?”

Martyr swallowed and closed his eyes. “My purpose is to expire. To be a sacrifice for those who live outside.” Martyr opened his eyes and met Dr. Goyer’s. “Like you.”

Dr. Goyer folded his arms and stared at his lap.

Did the doctor want a longer answer? “I expire in twenty-five days, when I turn eighteen. Then my purpose will be fulfilled.”

Dr. Goyer looked up. “Does that scare you?”

No one had ever asked if he were scared. “I don’t want to expire.”

“Because you want to live?”

“Yes, but not for myself. I’m content to sacrifice my life to save thousands from the toxic air. But if I’m gone, who will take care of Baby? And if Baby doesn’t live until he’s eighteen, he’ll fail to serve his purpose. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“It’s important to you to serve your purpose?”

“It’s why I’m alive.”

Dr. Goyer rubbed his mouth with his hand. “Can I answer any questions for you, Martyr?”

Martyr thought about the orange necktie and the picture of the daughter. “How do you celebrate Christmas?”

“You give gifts to those you love.”

Dr. Max had explained gifts once, when they talked about being nice to others. But the other word was new. “What is love?”

Dr. Goyer ran a hand over his head again. “Uh … it’s when you have kind feelings for someone.”

Dr. Goyer had been kind. He had given enjoyable marks and mended Martyr’s wrist with no lecture. “Will you give me a gift?”

“Maybe someday.”

“An orange necktie?”

Dr. Goyer pursed his lips as if fighting a smile. “Probably not.”

C
ON NUMBER ONE:
coming home to a vacant apartment
. Weighing the pros and cons always helped Abby Goyer deal with stressful situations. She stood in the open doorway, heart racing, unable to move. Her eyes drifted to the number on the door just to make sure she had the right place.

4B.

Right apartment, but everything else was plain wrong. No furniture. No pictures on the walls. Nothing. She dropped her sleeping bag and pillow, then shrugged off her duffle bag, letting it thud to the floor. After the long ride from Philly, she should be enjoying a
deep, peaceful sleep, not dealing with this. She fished her cell phone out of a pocket in her quilted bomber jacket and called her dad.

The phone rang and Abby scanned the bare carpet for her Silver Persian. “Einstein?”

Con number two: no sign of my cat
.

Dad picked up on ring four. “Abby, honey. You okay?” His voice had a guilty edge to it.

Abby scowled at the parallel vacuum stripes on the carpet. Dad must have paid a service to clean the place. “What’s going on, Dad? Either we were robbed by some pretty thorough burglars or you’ve done something crazy again.”

“Why are you home early? You didn’t get my message?”

“Evasion: con number three, Dad.” Abby ended the call. She took a deep, bleach-scented breath and checked her messages. Sure enough, one from Dad. She held the phone to her ear.

“Abby, honey? Call me before you get in so I can pick you up. Got big news.”

Abby’s posture slumped as she surveyed the bare apartment.
Big news?
“Einstein?”

She kicked her things inside and slammed the front door. At least the heat was still on. She hurried to her bedroom and found it had been emptied as well.
Where is my cat?
She picked up a forgotten red ponytail holder off the floor and stretched it over three fingers, plucking it like a guitar string.

Her dad’s synthesized ring of Elton John’s “I’m Still Standing” echoed in the empty room. He’d changed his ring last time he borrowed her cell, his way of telling Abby he was fine and she could stop worrying about him. That he’d gotten over Mom’s death.

The vacant apartment proved one thing: he was a liar. Abby let the phone ring until the loathsome song stopped. A moment later her cell trilled, signaling a new text message. She opened her phone to see what Dad had to say for himself. They did this when they were angry; speaking by way of text messages kept the screaming to all caps.

ABBY HNY. STY PUT. ON MY WAY.

“Great,” she said to the empty room. “I’ll just hang here and do nothing.”

She settled on the lilac carpet and mourned the loss of her private bath, balcony, and view of the Washington Monument. They’d only lived in this apartment three months. Clearly Dad had found a new job—pro number one—but did the man have enough courtesy to mention an interview? At least drop a hint he’d accepted an offer before packing up everything without a word to his only daughter?

Abby sighed. Mom’s death had messed him up. He
so
needed to see a shrink.

Fighting tears, she gathered her red curls over one shoulder, braided them into a single plait, and fastened the end with the forgotten ponytail holder. Mom had died nine months ago, and ever since Abby kept busy at school and youth group, taking care of Dad in her spare time. She grieved in silence, refusing to fall into despair. She needed to keep a level head—for Dad’s sake. Despite her anger over what he’d done at his old job and his emotional checking out since Mom died, she was all he had. It was up to her to hold things together, which was why his sudden meddling was so unfair. He had put her in charge of their family by his own evasion. How dare he move them without consulting her first?

Abby sniffed away her tears and pulled the latest issue of
CRS Quarterly
out of her duffel bag. Midway through reading
La Brea Tar Pits: Evidence of a Catastrophic Flood
, the front door whooshed open.

“Abby, honey?”

She slammed her magazine shut and murmured, “I’ll ‘Abby, honey’ you …”

Dad’s footsteps creaked through the apartment until he stood in her doorway. He wrung his hands together, his usual frown of concentration replaced with a fake smile. Snow dusted the top of his bald head. He wasn’t even wearing a coat over his dress shirt and tie.

Abby clunked her head against the wall. “Good grief, Dad. Where’s your coat?”

He turned to look down the hall then ran a hand over his head, turning the flakes of snow to water. “I don’t … recall.”

Abby held in a sigh. “Evidently we’re moving somewhere. Please say it’s not far.”

Dad kneeled on the floor in front of her and took her hands in his. “Just hear me out.”

She shivered at his icy touch. “You’ve got to dress for the weather. Your hands are freezing!”

“I will, I promise.” He grinned like she’d just given him a lifetime subscription to
Biochemical Journal
. “Especially since … we’re moving to Alaska.”

Abby sucked in a ragged breath but couldn’t exhale. It was one thing to move across town without checking with her. It was another thing to drop her in the middle of Alaska, where the temperatures favored below zero. As if the DC winters weren’t cold enough. She opened her mouth to argue, but Dad spoke first.

“We leave tonight. The stuff is already on its way.”

His behavior over the past few weeks suddenly hit her. She hadn’t said anything because she thought it had to do with Mom. That simply moving from the house to this apartment hadn’t worked. That Dad was still trying to avoid dealing with his grief by stuffing memories into boxes.

And then there was the trip he consented to, and paid for, only two days before she’d left. “This is why you let me go to Philly. To soften the blow.” Dad had barely let Abby leave the house since Mom died; he never would have let her go to Philly otherwise, especially because it had been a church trip. Dad had major God issues.
What other signs did I miss?

“I needed to fly up to sign some confidentiality agreements, see the facility, buy a house. It seemed like the perfect time—”

“To get rid of me.”

He tried to work his brown puppy dog eyes. “You wanted to go to Philadelphia.”

“Not so you could pull a fast one on me while I was gone. Dad, it’s halfway through the semester.”

“You’re way ahead. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Dad forced a smile. “It’s a good job.”

“I’m sure it’s fabulous, but why do
you
need to take it? Couldn’t you have found something a little more … south?”

“Alaska has very nice summers. And wait ‘til you see the house.”

“You’re too good for Alaska, Dad. I’ve seen your resume. They can’t possibly have anything going on up there that requires someone of your caliber.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

For himself. For his career. He wasn’t doing this for her. Abby seethed. Just like that, she was supposed to give up what little she had left of her life. Her youth group. Her studies. Her friend Claire. Visits with Uncle Pete. All because Dad wanted to run away.

“Where’s Einstein?”

“He’s in the car.”

“Dad!”

“He’s fine. He’s in his cat carrier. I gave him food and water.”

Abby jumped to her feet and held up her phone, forcing her hand not to shake. “I’m not fighting with you, Dad. Text me the pros and cons, then we’ll talk.” She grabbed her magazine, pushed past him, and headed for the exit to rescue Einstein.

Dad’s muffled voice drifted behind her. “Okay, but our flight leaves in three hours.”

Fishhook, Alaska, slept in the heart of the Matanuska Susitna Valley. The population of 2,640 consisted of farmers, schoolteachers, retail workers, and their families. Fishhook had one mall, but most of the stores were empty. As far as Abby could tell, the new Super Walmart got most of the business.

No Nordstrom. Major con.

The next thing she’d noted was how white everything was. She’d expected snow in early March, just not so much. Snow banks edged every road like retaining walls, and it just kept coming down. Dad had shipped up her shiny red BMW from DC, and
it sat in the driveway under a mound of snow. She’d need to put her first Alaskan purchase, an ice scraper, into action and clean off the car before driving to school on Monday.

Which gave her two days to get settled. The new two-story log house was spacious, the surrounding snow-covered forest was beautiful, but classes and making new friends consumed her thoughts. She spent most her time deciding what to wear to school, knowing how first impressions could forever label her—like it or not.

When Monday morning finally came, she settled on a cashmere cream-and-brown-striped sweater, a brown matte-jersey skirt, and her cream suede knee-high boots. Very chic, very warm, very cute.

Unfortunately, she didn’t give herself enough time to use the new ice scraper. By the time she’d cleaned the mound of snow off the car and scraped a patch of ice big enough to see through, school had started.

She also wasn’t used to driving on snowy roads in the dark. With a speed limit of thirty-five through Fishhook, Abby crawled along at twenty until the front and back windshields defrosted.
This car is going into the garage the second I get those stored boxes unpacked. And when does the sun rise around here, anyway?

Lost in her thoughts, she sailed past the high school and had to turn around in a random driveway. Her tires spun in the snowdrift until her car jerked back onto the icy road.

No wonder she’d missed it—the high school looked like a warehouse, a big, rectangular, windowless, two-story building with a lit-up sign that read simply:
Fishhook
. Hopefully, looks were deceiving.

Abby parked her car in the first spot she saw, eager to walk on solid ground. She soon regretted that wish—and her decision to wear the suede boots—as she slipped and fell on the icy pavement. She sat still a moment in the dark, wincing at her throbbing tailbone, thankful she was late and no one had seen. The cons against life in Alaska were climbing rapidly.

Abby checked in at the school office. Back in Washington, DC, she’d been a junior at George Washington High School, with a 4.2 grade point average, taking four AP classes, and auditing Gross
Anatomy at the university three nights a week. Now, four days later, she was one of seventy-six juniors at Fishhook High School, where only two AP classes were offered—English and calculus—both of which Abby had taken her sophomore year. She opted to take them again, hoping the teachers would let her serve as a teacher’s assistant. She handed her choices to the frog-eyed administrative secretary.

“Ooh!” The woman’s bulging eyes grew wider. “Calculus is tough stuff.”

Abby faked a smile. “That’s me. I like a challenge.”

“Well, our Future Farmers of America program is stellar. You can talk to Mr. Lester about it. He’s your biology II teacher. Now, here’s your locker combination and your schedule. Your first class is AP English with Mr. Chung. He’s such a nice young man.”

Abby’s cheek cramped slightly from the cemented-on smile. Sure, all of these Alaskans were nice people, but this wasn’t home, and she couldn’t keep up the relentless cheer much longer. She accepted the papers and stalked away.

Her locker stood at the end of a long hallway and took three tries to open. When she succeeded, she hung her bomber jacket and backpack inside, taped a picture of Einstein to the inside of the door, then checked her schedule for the room number of AP English.

“New student?” a deep voice asked.

Abby peeked around her locker door to see Mr. Smallville himself walking toward her. She sighed with relief. Despite his Clark Kent looks, he didn’t dress like a farmer.

“I’m Abby, from Washington, DC. I’m a junior.” She winced, hoping that her TMI response hadn’t come off too hyper.

The guy sent her a wide smile that undoubtedly cost plenty in orthodontia. “JD Kane, from Fishhook, Alaska. I’m a senior.”

Ooh. Handsome
and
older. Two marks in the pro column. “You aren’t in the Future Farmers of America are you?” Not that there was anything wrong with that.

His eyebrows wrinkled in a smirk. “Not me. I play football.”

Hmm. Jock. She twisted her lips, contemplating whether being a jock was a pro or a con. JD stepped beside her, and a plume of
cologne attacked like exhaust from a city bus. She coughed in search of clean air and mentally marked a check in the con column for
reeks
.

His chocolate-brown eyes searched hers. “You don’t like football?”

She pulled a notebook and pen out of her backpack. “I’m not really into sports.”

He leaned one arm against the locker beside hers, pinning her between him and her open locker door. “Are you into fame? ‘Cause you’re looking at it. I’m the star quarterback.”

Abby gagged inside.
Ego. Major con
. Why did all the hot guys lack personality? She dodged out of his predatory lean and slammed her locker.

“See you around, JD.” She lowered her voice. “Good luck with all that fame.”

Abby floated through her first day like it was a bizarre dream. The place had the feel of a normal high school, but so far students had only stared, gaping like Abby bore the face of a third-degree-burn victim. The teachers had been friendly, and she participated in the discussions, but sensed that was a bad way to get started. Becoming the overachieving teacher’s pet was not on her list of high school goals.

Abby hadn’t been popular at George Washington High, not that she’d cared. With eight hundred plus in the junior class, she had plenty of room to find friends with similar interests. Unfortunately, girls interested in DNA and fingerprinting were likely scarce at Fishhook High, and although Abby didn’t really care about popularity, the fear of being the only science-minded girl in the school made for lonely thoughts. She prayed God would lead her to more of her type.

At least one of her type.

When the bell rang after second period Government, she gathered her things and inched out the door with the crowd. Every eye
tracked her as she made her way down the hall, as if she were some creature to be gawked at. She clutched her books to her chest and raised her chin. Why did this bother her? She wasn’t the type to be intimidated.