Luca (9 page)

“The LUCA?”

“Exactly.”

“How can you be sure your samples haven’t been contaminated? I find it hard to believe in spontaneous generation. Wasn’t that theory disproved centuries ago?"

“Check the memory cube if you like. It’s got all the procedures. The experiment was performed multiple times under careful controls. At first I couldn’t believe it either, but it’s real.”

Qaara presses her shoulder blades into the back of the chair, arches her back into a yoga stretch and points at the collection of dots in the hologram. “OK. So this molecule you’ve given me breaks down any material it touches and somehow transforms it into a cellular organism that you say is basically the starting point of evolution. Like resetting life. That’s all very interesting. But there’s still a piece or two missing from the puzzle. What does the Cloud have to do with all of this?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Mercer folds his arms across his chest. “The company launched a probe into the Cloud ten months ago, just to get a sample and do some simple analysis.”

“What did you find?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Tell me.”

Mercer’s eyes go again to the holo of the floating molecule. “The Cloud is full of that DNA.”

9

INSPECTION

Morning, at last.

After the Voice and the storm and the beating, the sun finally rises in the east. The first hints of dawn break through the slits in the wall of Luca’s cell. Cicadas cry in waves of sound that rise and fall like the slow inhale and exhale of a colossal beast just beyond the fence.

Leaning on the rough interior of the concrete wall, Luca makes it to her feet. Water sloshes between her toes. The stench of mold pours off the soaked futon.

She remembers the plant.

Trembling fingers lift the corner of the futon to find the small plastic container submerged, the tiny green stem floating limp.

Carefully, she lifts it from the water, still alive, cupping it in her hands.

Her shirt is splattered with crimson. It always is after the beatings. Lifting a hand to her face, she presses fingers into tender skin and finds the crusty residue of a nosebleed. Shoulders and lower back ache, but the sharp pain is gone.

It’s better than last time. At least she can walk.

A loud buzzer goes off. Red lights flash from the hallway through the crack under the door. The sound of running feet and yelling penetrates Luca’s cell. An object, hard and metallic, scrapes across the outside of the door.

“Inspection!”

It’s Zero, his voice tinged with desperation.

The latch turns from the outside, and the door swings inward on hinges that scream.

Luca looks down the hallway. The other girls stand outside their cells, clothes dripping.

Zero stares at her, the red mark on his forehead glistening, muscular arms bent at the elbows. He grips a metal rod.

She still holds the tiny plant in one hand. Her fingers close around it, heart beating wildly.

“What have you got?” Zero squints. “Open your hand.”

Luca takes a step back.

“Didn’t you hear me? Open your filthy hand.” He lunges at her, pushing her into the cell, water splashing, metal rod held horizontally between two sets of fat knuckles. Pushing the rod against Luca’s chest, he forces her to the wall.

The rod comes up and presses into her throat.

“Show me.” Bloodshot eyes come closer. His breath smells of dead things. Sweat reeks from his clothes, bulging and tight. “Open your hand."

Luca swallows. A single chord of faint music from the plant threads through her mind. Her hand remains still, cupping the precious life.

Zero smiles. “Let me guess.” Leaving one hand holding the rod, his other hand drops down, finds Luca’s fingers and squeezes without mercy.

The music in Luca’s mind grows fainter.

Zero forces her hand open and rips away the plastic container with the tiny green stem. He brings it just inches from her face.

“You know the rules.” He steps back and crushes the stem between fat fingers.

The music ends.

Lifting the rod high in the air, Zero holds it over Luca’s head, gazing down, jaw clenched.

“Not today.” The woman with the high collar stands in the doorway of the cell, arms folded across a clear slate. “The children must be unspoiled. At least until
after
Inspection. Then maybe I’ll let you have your fun.”

Zero glances over his shoulder and steps back, lowering the rod. “Yes. Of course.”

Luca stares at the dead plant in Zero’s hand. She buries the grief exploding in her chest.

“Get out. Into the courtyard.” Zero walks into the hallway. “Bring your filthy bed. And don’t talk.” He moves on, scraping the metal rod against the wall as he goes.

Picking up one end of her futon, Luca pulls it behind her, trailing a line of water. She falls in behind other girls doing the same.

They emerge into the sunlight. Luca looks up without squinting, inviting the light to pour into her eyes and over her skin.

Zero stands in the middle, rod in hand. “Hang your beds out to dry, and pray the rain stops.”

Luca walks over the damp concrete to a rusty cable stretched taut along one edge of the open yard. She lifts her futon and struggles to throw it over. Strings of water dribble from its end.

Giraffe, the tall guard, walks from a hallway into the yard pulling a cart stacked high with oversized gray T-shirts. He flashes a quick smile at Luca and then stops in front of Zero, parking the cart.

“Line up, worthless scum,” Zero says. “It’s time for your weekly change of clothes.”

For Luca, it’s been a month since she last wore a clean shirt.

The girls line up, shoulder to shoulder, facing away from the guard. Giraffe pushes the cart down the line behind their backs and lays a clean shirt at the feet of each girl.

Without a word, one by one, each pulls off her old gray shirt, drops it to the ground and puts on the clean shirt.

Giraffe comes to Luca. She turns to face him, finding his eyes. Lips parting into a smile, he reaches back for a clean shirt.

Without effort, Giraffe’s thoughts seep into her mind.

I’m sorry. I wish I could help, but he won’t let me.

“Not her,” Zero bellows from behind. “Are you blind? Her clothes are perfectly clean. You don’t need a new shirt, do you, Luca?”

Luca shakes her head. Looking down at the blood splatter and mud, she senses Zero’s staring eyes. His voice booms in her mind.

Can you hear me, Luca? I’m looking forward to a good beating later.

Up and down the line, the other girls flash looks of concern and fear at her.

It’s OK,
she thinks back to them.
He’s afraid of me.
Of all of us. I have a plan. I’m going to help him. Help him to hear.

Giraffe moves down the line, giving each girl fresh clothing. Now and then, he glances back at Zero and over to Luca, still in her dirty shirt.

The woman with a white blouse and high collar steps through a pair of open doors into the courtyard moving slowly and deliberately.

And then it hits Luca. She finally has a name for the woman.
Cat
.

Taking a deep breath, Cat walks to the side of Zero, a clear slate grasped in her fingers and looks at the girls in the line.

“So good to see all of you on this beautiful morning.” Cat takes a step closer to the girls. “As the Superintendent of the Institution I have some good news." Her eyes scan from right to left along the line.

Until her gaze comes to rest on Luca.

Cat turns to Zero, behind her. “Why isn’t Luca wearing a clean shirt?”

Zero clenches his jaw. “She said it was clean enough. She said she didn’t
want
another shirt.”

Cat’s hand goes to her hips. “Clean? Does it look clean to you? Do you know who’s coming today?”

“No, ma’am. I mean, yes, ma’am.” Zero's stares at his feet.

A gentle giggle works its way through the line of girls.

“Silence!” Cat glares back at the line and snaps her fingers. “Give Luca a clean shirt so we can move on.”

Giraffe runs back and hands the garment to Luca. “There you go.” He smiles and pats her on the head.

As Zero silently grinds his teeth, Luca turns her back to him and changes her clothes.

“There.” Cat looks out on the line of girls. “It’s a special day today. We have visitors from Tokyo. They’re coming to see how you’ve all improved since you came here. I’m sure you won't disappoint them.”

10

SNOOPER

Jedd stumbles into the dark of his apartment without turning on the light, finds his bed and drops in, his whole body hitting the mattress at the same time.

“I keep telling you.” Ricky slips into his bed on the opposite wall. “That Joey kid is bad news. I’d forget about him and just let old Ms. Murphy handle him. She’s good with kids like that.”

“He hates that place.” Jedd reaches under his pillow and pulls out a slate. Its screen lights up his face. “Too many rules. You remember, don’t you?”

“I remember finally having a warm place to stay and almost enough to eat.” Ricky picks up his jax. A blue holoscreen jumps out of it. “And school."

“C’mon. You hated school as much as I did. I’m just trying to give little Joey a hand.”

“Be the father you never had?”

“Maybe.” Jedd’s fingers play across the screen. “Anyway, enough about Joey for tonight. I wonder what the Bollywood Princess is up to.”

“Qaara?”

“That’s Qaara Kapoor.” As the name slides off his tongue, Jedd rewinds the video to play from the point where he left off, speeds it up so it will catch up with her in real time and sits back to watch. The scene inside her office materializes on his slate. “Glad I planted a snooper on her wall. From now on, this is going to be my evening entertainment. Nothing sinister. Just watching her work. Better than wasting time on Meshvids.”

“Worshiping from afar?”

“Maybe.”

Leaning back, Jedd adjusts his pillow and turns down the light on the slate.

“Don’t you have work in the morning? You’d better get some sleep.” Ricky’s head falls back on the pillow.

“No problem. I’ll just take a peep for a few seconds.” Jedd sees Qaara’s back, sitting in a chair near the hologram of the strange molecule that’s been in her office for months. “There she is. In all her glory.”

“You’re a creep, man.”

Jedd adjusts the angle of the shot. “Looks like someone’s in the office with her. Must be a late night meeting. I wonder what they’re talking about." He presses a soft bud into his ear and turns up the volume.

Ricky snores softly.

11

SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

Why me?

Qaara senses the world closing in around her.

The Earth is going to be engulfed by a Cloud that will obliterate civilization unless she can figure out how to save it. It always comes down to the same thing: doing the impossible for someone else in control of her life.

It’s hard to suppress the nausea collecting in the pit of her stomach, the symptom of her helplessness.

“Let me see if I understand what you’re saying.” She tries to stop the trembling in her voice.

“Go ahead.” Mercer tosses a lemon up and down in his hand. “Now that I’ve told you everything, it shouldn’t be hard to put it all together.”

“Everything?”

“Enough for you to have the gist.”

Turning to the holo of the floating molecule, Qaara clears her throat. “You brought me here six months ago. Told me about this new substance you wanted me to analyze. Said it had been developed by the Chinese. Some kind of new material for lightweight armor. We had a contract with the US military to find a way to deactivate it. Break it down. Make it vulnerable. That's all you told me at the time.”

“It was a necessary fiction. I gave you enough to get started.”

“Right.” Qaara lets her fingers wander into the complex of blue dots inside the hologram. “And here it is. I’ve modeled everything. Molecular reconfigs of every size and shape. Thousands of theoretical chemical reactions. Even nuclear bombardment. Nothing works. For all intents and purposes, this molecule is impenetrable. Impossible to destroy. It has no vulnerabilities.”

Mercer nods and takes a bite of the lemon. “Check.”

“And now you’re telling me the Cloud that’s closing in on Earth is full of the DNA that produces this stuff.” Qaara walks to the window.

“In a few days, we’ll all be swimming in it.”

“It’s so hard to believe.” Qaara takes in a deep breath. “I mean, for starters, how could there have been a civilization on the Earth 3.5 billion years ago? That’s when the first cellular life was discovered.”

“I don’t understand everything, but I have a theory.”

“Please tell me.”

“OK. The reason why we think the Earth is 4.5 billion years old is because of the dating of rocks, right?”

“Makes sense.”

“The acid produced by that molecule, the acid that eats through everything down past bedrock, bathed the Earth like an ocean 3.5 billion years ago, and it changed the composition of the rock in the crust on a molecular level. Made it appear younger than it really is.”

“You’re saying that the Earth is older than 4.5 billion years?”

“Probably much older.” Mercer weaves his fingers together. “Old enough for complex civilization to have developed and been destroyed. Perhaps multiple times."

Qaara’s head reels. “OK. But how will the Cloud particles survive the trip to the Earth’s surface. Won’t it all just burn up? Turn to ash? Isn’t that what the atmosphere is for? To protect Earth from alien material?”

Mercer chews on a lemon rind. “I have good reason to believe the Cloud substance will survive the drop. And when it does—”

“It will produce this molecule.”

“And eat up our civilization. Destroy all that we’ve built our lives on. Earth will become a clean slate, ready to start over, another 3.5 billion years of evolution.”

Silence hangs between them. Qaara feels Mercer’s gaze like hot sunlight on pale skin.