Catalyst (38 page)

“Fire on them!” the lead officer yells, because he’s lost communication inside his helmet.

Most of the Wingfield kids cower, covering their heads and diving to the ground. The only people standing are me, Marka, and Cy, who squeezes his hands into fists and concentrates so hard that the veins in his temples and neck bulge. Nothing happens.

Each officer takes careful aim at one of us. One of them walks straight up to Cy. “We won, freak. It’s over,” he says with a grim face. The neural gun presses hard into Cy’s chest as he smiles.

Cy says nothing, still trembling all over. He won’t look anyone in the eye.

None of them aim at our faces, only our hearts. We’ve surrendered now, and they’re still going to kill us. I see Marka’s gaze travel over her children, helpless. Tears wash a thin path down her dirty cheeks.

The officer’s face goes starkly ashen. His trigger finger releases, and his arms jerk once, twice, before his eyes roll into his head. The neural gun drops from his flaccid hand.

And then, as if an unseen person is cutting their invisible marionette strings, every officer collapses to the ground in a synchronized fall.

The silence that remains is so sharp, no one dares to speak or breathe at first.

Cy keeps his concentration for a few more seconds before relaxing. His arms and legs are shaking so hard that he stumbles to the ground. I run to throw my arms around him.

“Oh my god! Cy, you did it!” I shriek. The others yell and scream in triumph, and the entire collective breathes again.

“I didn’t think I could,” he says wonderingly.

“I did,” I whisper.

Hex runs over and offers a bloodied hand to help Cy up. “We’d better go. They’ll all wake up in a minute.”

“Everyone, back to the hoverpod! Now!” I yell as loudly as possible. Most of the kids are okay, but so many of them had been hit with the neural guns, they’re hardly able to walk. We all carry the fallen with us as fast as we can. Wilbert’s still unconscious where he was hit with no fewer than four bullets, so Kria takes the controls, even though she can barely walk.

“Wait! Endall! I need another minute. Please.”

“Zelia, that other police hoverpod’s going to be here any minute,” Kria warns.

“I’ll be quick.” I run out onto the field, but I don’t have to yell for Endall at all. He’s standing right there among the fallen, peeling away his dirty flannel shirt. Underneath, he’s wearing full body armor, the kind that’s illegal in almost every State because it repels neural gun strikes.

“Clever, right?” he says, grinning. “I wear it all the time. It’s easy to fake a neural gun hit. Law enforcement relaxes too much in the presence of an unconscious body.” He laughs, a sound that’s bright and unrestrained. I haven’t felt that way in too long.

“Endall. Thank you for what you did. We’d never have escaped without you.”

“What? For opening a few helmets?”

“It was more than that.” I step closer and try to touch his arm, but he shrinks away from me. “Endall. Come with us.”

“No. But thank you.”

“But your watch! It won’t last forever. How are you going to survive here?”

Endall only smiles, and it makes me distinctly uncomfortable. It’s the closed grin of someone who holds all the answers you ever wanted to know, but won’t share.

“Here, Zelia.” He takes one of my hands, and with his other, digs into his breast pocket. He withdraws the pocket watch and lays it in my outstretched palm. It’s blood-warm from being carried close to his chest.

I shake my head. “I can’t take this!”

“That’s your choice. This is mine.” His face lights with a brilliant, mirth-filled happiness, before he turns and runs into the forest.

“Endall!” I yell. “
Endall!
”

He doesn’t return. I’m left clutching the piece of antiquated timekeeping that was the only thing keeping him alive.

I don’t run after him.

Because I know I’ve just lost an argument that I was never meant to win.

I turn and run back to the hoverpod, which is humming loudly, waiting for me. I gallop inside and Cy shuts the hatch, just as the police lying on the field begin to stir fully awake again. We head to the cockpit and strap into chairs behind Kria and Marka.

“So,” Kria says to us. “I’m heading to Canada, unless anyone else can give me a damn good reason not to. Because after this battle, no one is going to let people like us live in their State.”

People like us. That’s the problem. So long as we’re considered people who aren’t allowed to exist, we’ve got no future. We’ll be extinct, before we even have a chance to really live.

Extinct.

The single word swirls inside my head, needling me.

Wait a second.

“Does anyone here have a holo I can use?” I ask.

“Sure,” Marka says, unscrewing her holo stud. “But what for?”

I take the stud and screw it into my earlobe, turning it on and searching for a State law database.

“I think I may have found a new home. For everyone.”

CHAPTER 35

W
E FLY WEST, NOT NORTH.

The second we left Wingfield, we were quickly followed and now have six hoverpods trailing us at an uncomfortably close distance. As long as we stay in unregulated airspace and don’t do anything offensive, they won’t touch us. But the second we land, they’ll arrest us.

At least, they’ll try. We have other plans.

Vera’s cleaned up Hex’s bloodied face as well as possible. They steal a kiss when no one is looking and Vera sheds a few tears of relief into Hex’s black hair. I told everyone to be camera ready and put on their best doe-eyed looks. Hands will need to be held. The smallest and weakest will be carried, even if they can walk.

Julian’s political lesson plays back in my head on an endless loop.
Greed, fear, sympathy; greed, fear, sympathy.
It’s time to play the sympathy card, and play it well. I’ve been writing a speech incessantly since we figured out where to land. I’ve run it by everyone, tweaking it here and there. When I’m done, I present it to Marka, but she shakes her head.

“You read it, Zelia.”

“I don’t know if I’m the right person to speak for everyone.”

“I think you are.”

I turn the speech off on my holo and sit down, staring out the cockpit where the hoverpod is now slicing through clouds that cover Sacramento. Marka stands behind me and starts to braid my hair, then thinks twice.

“Actually, I like it when it’s frizzy.”

Kria raises her hand. “My fault!”

I laugh. It is her fault. But I can’t seem to hold the same stubborn anger against her anymore. She was as much a victim of my dad’s manipulation as anyone. She’ll never take Marka’s place, but I suspect that a heart can expand in infinite ways that can’t be measured by a cardioscope. I’m gradually feeling the stretch, and I’m okay with it.

The hoverpods have surrounded us in a perfect hexagonal formation ever since we entered the legal airspace of California. Kria steers toward the city hoverport.

“Get ready, everyone,” Kria announces.

“Did you already contact the press?” I ask.

“Yes. I spoke to my personal contact in California, and Marka spoke to Senator Milford’s prior press secretary. It’s going to be a media circus, as requested.”

“Good,” I say, but my heart thrums hard against my chest and I’m hyperventilating without thinking. Hyperventilating! What a weird sensation. I touch the implant in my neck, and Kria sees me fiddling with my scar.

“I’m sorry. I thought I was helping.”

“It’s okay. I mean, I understand.”

“So you still want it out?”

I almost blurt out a yes, but don’t. The last day or so, it’s been one huge thing I haven’t had to think about as much. Granted, it’s still weird to feel the slightly jerky push and pull of my chest wall expanding and contracting every minute of the day. I miss being in control. The funny thing is, most people don’t wish for that level of control. Dad had always had his finger on the pulse of every part of my life. Getting a permanent implant was the only thing I’d resisted, even when I was the docile girl from over a year ago. It’s hard to let go of that bit of rebellion. And yet . . .

“I think I’ll keep it. For now,” I decide. Kria nods and Marka winks at me. That one wink tells me that she’d rather I kept the implant too but was too wise to pressure me about it.

Smart mom.

Our hoverpod approaches the hoverport. Several emergency magpods are scattered in the area around us, and law enforcement are everywhere. There’s a podium set up with a huge holo screen behind it, and a field of press corps waiting. We land.

“Ready, everyone?” Marka asks. “Okay. Let’s go. Two by two, and head directly for the podium. Fan yourselves around it. Look serious but, uh, innocent.” As I brush by, she shakes her head. “I’m not good at acting.”

“We’re not acting, Marka. We
are
innocent,” I remind her. She nods and follows me out. Kria squeezes my shoulder.

It’s a cloudy day, but a thin line of sunshine appears at the edge of the sky. The police immediately surround us and escort us forward. I try to look alert, but not too spooked as I head to the sea of press ahead of us. The holocameras are everywhere, and there are loud murmurs over seeing Hex with his four arms cradling a young girl, and Vera’s skin. More gasps erupt over seeing Wilbert’s two heads, but Caliga holds his hand firmly, and even I have to admit that his blush is endearing.

Kria gives me an encouraging smile and I climb the podium. I clear my throat, and wait. Several police officers come forward. Kria told us to expect this.

“You are all in violation of HGM 2098, as well as infiltrating the following States under illegal measures: Neia, Okks, Minwi, Inky . . .” He reads every single State and includes the attacks in Minwi and Neia. I keep my expression neutral, though I’m so annoyed that they’re blaming us for what happened in Carus. “Following your statement, you will be escorted to the nearest police station for processing according to California State and Federal laws.” He then reads us the long list of adapted Miranda rights, before pausing. I look to Marka, and she nods for me to go ahead.

“We’re ready to make a statement,” I tell the officer.

He nods and I walk up to the audio buds on the podium that resemble a cluster of clear fish eggs. I clear my throat.

“We would like to address the accusations made against us. Until now, our voices have been silent, not because we chose to be quiet, but because we have been relentlessly and cruelly blamed for that which we have no control over.

“HGM 2098 states that it is illegal to manipulate human DNA to heritable mutations that could affect the larger population’s gene pools. It’s true that each of us carries a mutation. However, this law is not in effect here. The law cites an action—the creation of a mutation. The person solely responsible for our creation, Thomas Lanier Benten, my father, is now deceased. We, as a group, are incapable of breeding naturally with humans with normal DNA. According to Ernst Mayr’s Biological Species Concept, which is still the standard of speciation nomenclature . . .” I clear my dry throat, trying not to swallow my words. “. . . my family meets criteria as a distinct species.”

I straighten my back and raise my voice. “On behalf of my family”—here, I turn to gesture to everyone behind me. Marka holds hands with Ana; Kria cradles a weak-looking Jess. Everyone has their innocent doe-eyes on full display—“we are seeking protection in the State of California under the 1973 Endangered Species Act, or ESA, that was amended to a Federal States law in 2077.”

A huge gasp of surprise erupts from the police and press. Several of them begin to bark out questions, and I hold up a hand.

“According to the ESA, we are considered endangered. The ESA does not exclude hominid species from its laws. Which means that right now, any action that prohibits our free and natural existence is a felony.”

The police are now huddling, wondering what to do as the slow roar of questions hit me left and right. But I’m not done.

“My name is Zelia Shirley Benten. I am eighteen years old. I’m terrified that . . .” Here, my voice quavers, and it’s not an act. “. . . that I won’t make it to nineteen. I love poetry, and my mother and Marie Curie are my biggest heroes.” I turn and smile at Marka and Kria, and they both have tears in their eyes, dabbing them with their fingertips. “Also, I hate peanuts and I love chocolate. I think high heels are torture and I’m sure I’m really bad at public speaking.” Here, a few of the press snicker with amusement. I smile back. “My family and I are different, but we’re also the same. We have sisters, and brothers. Our hearts can shatter when we lose the people we love. We bleed; we feel pain; we laugh and we cry.” I take a huge breath and stare straight into the holocameras. “And right now, all we want to do is live. Freely. Just like all of you.”

I exhale loudly and close my eyes. There’s no applause. Cy comes forward and holds my hands. I’m aware that the entire press corps and cameras are watching us as I look into his steady eyes.

You were great. I think you scared the skin off the police.