CHAPTER TWELVE
Chaz:
Sometimes my arguments with Russ were universal, no different from those that brothers have had throughout history. You got a bigger slice of pie, all the girls like you better, you always think youa€?re right. But lately our words carried a sharper edge, a growing hostility that was pushing us apart.
And despite the increasing tension, I still saw myself in his shadow, following in his oversized footprints.
I hated those moments. Like now. When I knew that I needed to confront him, but I also knew that somehow he was going to make me feel like I had messed up; I was the one tracking mud through the house; I was the one leaving dirty fingerprints behind that would let the rest of the world know, once and for all, that the Domingues were to blame for everything.
Majestic cedars stood outside the window, a patient audience dressed in shades of mossy green and burnt sienna. Their rich fragrance drifted through an open door, a woodsy incense that made me think of childhood. Then the VR projection flickered. Probably a power surge somewhere in the city. For an instant, the large vaulted room filled with wooden desks and spiraling dust motes temporarily faded away to reveal the plant warehouse.
Meanwhile, the debate continued, like it always had. Ia€?d heard this dispute before. I knew there was no conclusion. No happy ending.
a€?What are we going to do if the media gets hold of this? Nobody expected the problems we had with the Ninth Generation clones to show up in the Sixth Generation. Almost any amount of stress will cause them to freeze upa€”a€?
a€?a€”youa€?re worried about the media? Have you thought about what the UN might do? Did you see what happened to that hot pocket of Six-Timers in Jaipur this morning? We werena€?t able to cover it up because one of our nearby plants was bombed. All of our resources were focused there. Just like last year in Tehran and Bangalore. These pro-death organizations are out for blooda€”a€?
a€?a€”I keep telling you, the pro-death committee is not behind this. Somebody else is pulling all the stringsa€”a€?
a€?a€”the experts said this wouldna€?t happen for another century. The problem that was supposed to surface first was infertility. We never anticipated that the host DNA would break down this quicklya€”a€?
It was a corporate board meeting with all the Fresh Start top-level executives. All wearing their pretty-boy monkey suits and their wea€?re-so-very-important scowls.
Just then, Russell filled my vision, larger than life as always. Big brothers always seem too big to put into words, especially when a sizable portion of their life has been spent playing the role of father. I stood in the shadows, arms crossed.
a€?Look, ita€?s not like we were blindsided here,a€? he said. a€?We tried to make changes, to give people incentives to stop jumping so often, especially in India. But the Hindu population has taken a personal interest in resurrection. Something about their search for Nirvana, some quest for a higher rung on the caste-system laddera€”a€?
a€?Why does this always come back to religion? Why do you One-Timers always have to make this an argument about God?a€?
Russ held his own for several minutes, arguing with Aditya Khan, the guy with the unfortunate job of overseeing our business in the Middle East and Asia, where the lion-tiger-and-elephant share of our problems was currently taking place. Then Russ glanced over his shoulder and realized that I had walked into his VR conference call.
a€?Well, look who decided to get his little hands dirty and pay us a visit.a€? He paused, then turned back to the board members. a€?Wea€?ll continue this later.a€? Aditya started to protest, but Russ ignored him. He hit the DISCONNECT button on his wristband and slipped out of his VR suit. Instantly the conference room vista, replete with rustic nineteenth-century woodland ambiance, sizzled and faded. We were back in the plant warehouse now: concrete floors, a buzz of activity in distant office cubicles, the clatter of hospital-grade carts rolling down hallways, and a vague sterile odor hanging over everything.
And somewhere behind us, Angelique was running through a battery of hand-eye coordination tests in a soundproof booth.
A fine layer of dust seemed to hang in the air. Like guilt.
a€?You really must be some sort of idiot,a€? Russ said, his dark-eyed gaze sifting through the dust. He seemed out of place, dressed in an evening suit, one of the latest designer-from-China things, the top buttons hanging open. There was a cut on his forehead and a few drops of blood stained his white collar. a€?What kind of game were you playing in that bar last night?a€?
As much as I had tried to be prepared, he still caught me off guard.
a€?Do you realize we could have a major lawsuit on our hands,a€? he continued, a€?if that brute you tangled with decides to press charges?a€?
a€?Trust me, therea€?s no way that Neanderthala€?s gonna slam us with a lawsuita€”a€?
a€?You didna€?t identify yourself, bruh.a€? He sighed, then glanced over my shoulder at Angelique. a€?One of the mugs in the French Quarter sent me a VR report, minutes after you sauntered out of that club.a€?
I paused. Mentally re-enacted the events in the club last night. a€?I told that goon who I was,a€? I countered, but all of sudden I wasna€?t sure.
a€?You showed him your tattoo, all right. After you blasted him with light. Look, Ia€?m not in the mood to fight,a€? he said wearily. a€?I got yanked out of a dinner with the mayor last night by another board meeting, came in here and had to fight my way through a pro-death rallya€”a€?
a€?Is this one of your infamous a€?my job is tougher than yoursa€? speeches?a€? I glanced back at Angelique and noticed that she had stopped her tests. She was staring at Russ, a guarded expression on her face.
a€?a€”then I got in here,a€? he continued, a€?and found out that an e-bomb had crashed our computer system. We almost lost a Newbie in transit.a€?
a€?Okay, okay, you win. Your job really is tougher than mine.a€? I pulled the plastic bag with the marker out of my pocket and slammed it on the table in between us. a€?Just tell me one thing, what the hell is this?a€?
Russ looked at the bag, then back up at me. a€?Ita€?s a marker. Apparently taken out of a Stringer, since therea€?s blood on it.a€? He shrugged.
a€?Ita€?s not one of ours.a€?
I saw something flash in his eyes, something I couldna€?t quite pinpoint. Anger, maybe. Or fear. His face seemed to shift in the descending dust, like he was changing into someone I didna€?t know anymore.
Like the old Russell was gone.