“Nobody knows how, or what happened to her.”
I was quiet for a bit, feeling the coarse, curly threads of Taema’s hair. She could annoy me so much sometimes, but obviously I didn’t want to lose her. Death did scare me something fierce. Because it’d be the first time I’d be alone.
I also knew that we had to leave the Hearth, or we didn’t have a shot. Taema hadn’t wanted to research conjoined twins on the tablet. She was afraid of what we might find—though I didn’t understand what exactly she thought that might be. So when she fell asleep and the tablet was still on, I’d researched on my own.
I knew that everyone out there could change how they looked, and that most did. There was very little obesity, few eating disorders, unsightly scars or pockmarks or missing limbs. Everyone was whole. Perfect. And I knew that out there, there were no conjoined twins. I couldn’t find any, not anywhere. Maybe they were all aborted, never even had a chance to live, or “fixed” as soon as they were born.
So even if we did get out, how would people react? It explained the way the people in the supply ships acted around us. Even those grunt monkeys supervising the drones were all beautiful. But getting out still seemed better than sitting here, waiting to die. I knew we only had one chance of getting out, although neither of us wanted to put them in such a tight spot:
“Mom and Dad will know.”
SIXTEEN
TAEMA
The next day, I’m alone.
Nazarin’s gone to the other safe house to check in with his SFPD superiors. He’s going to dig into plastic surgery records at a bunch of flesh parlors, to see if Vuk has any official history there. It’s useless—if Vuk was actually Adam, then he won’t have an official record of even existing, much less getting plastic surgery.
Tomorrow Nazarin has a busy day with the Ratel, as it’s not long until Saturday, the night of the party, and there’s lots to do. Saturday is the night when he might finally meet Ensi, face to face.
I can’t reconcile the image of Adam, that sweet boy, grown up into a hardened killer. Maybe I’m wrong about it all, but I don’t think I am. But then, what do I know about people? My sister could be a murderer too, and I can’t forget how I acted in Mia’s Vervescape.
I can’t stand to think about what happened in that twisted nightmare. Ever since we left the Hearth, I’ve worked hard to fit in: get a good job, buy an apartment, pay my taxes. I don’t stand out, except for my scar. I never wanted to be that strange girl who used to live in a cult. In a world obsessed with perfection, I didn’t want to be known only for having spent sixteen years as a conjoined twin. My goal has always been to stay out of trouble.
Now I’m headfirst in it.
Nazarin’s been undercover this whole time, balancing training me and his work with the Ratel. I don’t have long before I’m to go in.
Being alone is forcing me to consider what’s going on. I don’t have a job. I quit my last one, and turned down going to China. I want nothing more than to sit with numbers and calculations, or fly out over the bay to visit the machines I helped design, and view the city from the top point of a VivaFog. I want to forget about people, and stay with the machines and their cold logic. Maybe after this is all over, I can go back. I hope so.
I have permission to return to my apartment for clothes, so I leave and ping Nazarin with a message of my whereabouts. I take the glowing green MUNI, the ads flashing on the tops of the train. Halfway there, though, I change course; I don’t want to go to my place. I get off, take another train, and head for my sister’s apartment instead. After all, her clothes fit my cover better than my own.
The door opens at my VivaChip, which makes me realize I would have had to use a key at my own place. Tila’s home is a dump, though I’m not sure how much is her usual disarray and how much is from the SFPD searching the place. As I set down my bag, I feel like an intruder, even though I’ve been here countless times before.
I decide to set things to rights—though it’s really an excuse to go through her things, thoroughly and systematically, in case there are any more hints.
Tila stores things in almost the same places I do. Her underwear is in the same drawer, though everything’s just thrown in. Her jeans and skirts are likewise crumpled. I take the time to fold them and put them back, arranged by color. I don’t find anything but clothes in the drawers or closet, and I take a few to bring back with me to the safe house. My fingers hover over the green dress she likes, but the memories of Mia’s mind are too strong, and I leave it on its hanger.