IT’S EARLY THE NEXT EVENING before Xander appears, and I’m sick with impatience. He barely opens the door before the words I’ve been waiting to say spill out.
“She’s my sister. I want to see her.”
“I understand that, really I do. But I’m concerned that there will be a repeat of last night.”
“There won’t be. I won’t use her name or say anything that will remind her who she is. I promise.” And I mean it as I say it—for now. But the more I think about it, the more I wonder how it can be the right way to treat anybody—denying that who they really are ever existed?
“Cepta still thinks we should give it some time, until the memory of the incident has faded. Otherwise seeing you may trigger it again.”
“But—”
“I know you are impatient to see her. But we must consider what is best for Callie.”
And I remember Beatriz locked in the quiet room for Cepta’s experiment, and I find it hard to trust Cepta—to believe that she’d put Callie before her own interests.
And what is she interested in more than anything else? Xander.
“Yes, I understand Callie must come first, and I agree. But—”
“Patience.” He grins. “I have none, so why should you? But that is as it will be for now. In the meantime—there are things to do, to study. To think about. Come.”
I follow him to the library, and he leaves me at the door. Elena and Beatriz are inside already, and he asks me privately not to tell them about Callie for now. Then he goes.
“Where’ve you been? What’s wrong, Shay?” Beatriz asks me instantly.
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
“Nothing I’m going to tell you about, then. Come on: distract me. Tell me what you’re doing.”
Beatriz smiles. “We’re going to leave soon to go a few miles away and see if we can still reach joining tonight. And if that works, then go a bit farther, then a bit farther.” She’s excited.
“Yes. Fascinating, isn’t it?” Elena says—she is too. “I wonder what it will be like if it works. Will everything in between you and us link together as well?”
Nobody knows, and despite everything else, I’m curious and excited to try it too.
They leave soon after, along with some others from Community who know the way to the farm they will ultimately travel to, and who will walk with them. I’m sad to see them go—especially Beatriz. But I try to hide it from her.
I wander through the library shelves, wanting something—anything—to distract me. Something random…molecular genetics? And now I’m remembering how I fiddled genes that code for the curly hair protein in my hair to make it straight.
And there I was saying to Xander that I wasn’t sure if we should change ourselves, even assuming that we could—and yet I’ve already done it. Is this change to my hair a permanent one, or as it grows will it revert? If it is permanent, does that mean that if I had any children, they’d inherit the straight hair gene from me, not curly? If that is so—well, I’ve already evolved to suit myself.
Intrigued, I hunt through one tome, another. I’ve always found genetics fascinating, and it’s so much more complicated than they taught us in biology at school. Most things aren’t simply coded for by one gene. It’s not just one gene that makes somebody tall, for example; there are a number of genes that interact, and they’re all influenced by what happens to the person in their environment as they grow, like what sort of nutrition they have. And most—if not all—complex traits are like this.
And despite not wanting to think seriously about anything right now, I get drawn back to my questions. Why are some people immune? Everyone else who is exposed gets sick, and most die, but why do a very few of them survive the illness? Are the answers to both questions in their genes?
Maybe there is something programmed in their genes that makes survivors survive. Maybe if we looked at our DNA and compared it to everyone else, we could find what it is.
I’m so engrossed that I ignore sounds of movement around me, people coming and going, until finally there is a throat-clearing sound. I look up; it’s Persey, my guide from the other day.
She smiles. “I didn’t want to interrupt. You looked so intent.”
“That’s okay. What is it?”
“It’s dinnertime.”
That’s when I notice everyone else has left.
We walk there together. “Are we late?” I ask.
“Almost. But we aren’t likely to be last.”
“That’ll be Cepta.”
Her eyes widen. “Yes,” she whispers, as if it is scandalous to notice.
Thinking of Cepta makes me nervous: I haven’t seen her since last night when Xander and I left her with Callie. Has she stayed with her all day? She wasn’t happy with me then. But edging out the nerves is excitement: wanting to join again tonight and see what happens.
When we get to the door, it is easy to see that there are fewer of us here tonight, by a quarter or so: did that many leave with Beatriz and Elena? And there are a few extra empty chairs at the head table too. When we walk in, Xander motions for Persey to come with me and join us there. She’s thrilled; at Xander’s urging, she sits next to him, and I sit next to Persey.
Cepta isn’t here yet; she’s late again.
She appears at the door last of all and walks in that unhurried way she has, even though everyone is waiting for her.
She pauses at our table, at the new seating arrangement.
“Sit here, next to me,” Xander says; there is an empty seat on his other side. And her hint of annoyance turns to a smile of pleasure.
“Where are those who are not here tonight?” she says.
“Elena and Beatriz have walked several miles toward the farm,” Xander answers. “To experiment with maximum joining distance.”
She raises an eyebrow. “And the others?”
There is the sense of a swift, silent conversation between them now—and an icy glance from Cepta to me. Was this decision made without her input? I try to stifle my smug grin, too late; I need her on my side—to help Callie—and I promise to make myself suck up to her later.
Xander is amused, and I have a flash of insight: did he deliberately exclude Cepta not only from the decision but also from the knowledge of it? It’s like he enjoys keeping her off balance, to see how she’ll react.
But then he takes one of her hands in his, and the ice melts. She smiles and rings the little bell. Dinner begins.
Later, Xander, Cepta, and I, as the survivors, join together first, as always; but this time, instead of linking with those in the room next, we call out beyond for Beatriz and Elena. There is nothing at first, and our thoughts are tinged with disappointment. Isn’t it going to work?
But then a familiar touch finds me: it’s Beatriz. She is very faint to begin with, but then stronger as Elena joins her; as we consolidate the link here with Xander and Cepta, it is strengthened further.
Next, we gather the others. Breathing in, out; in, out; in time, hearts begin to beat in synchrony. All the members of Community—both those here and those with Elena and Beatriz—join together.
And tonight when we stretch out to the trees, insects, animals, birds, we go farther and farther. There is the rush of a river between us and Beatriz’s location—a flash sense of amoebas, water insects, and fish. Animals of the forest that were beyond our reach before join us, stopping still in their tracks, wondering who and what we are.
And it is so far beyond anything experienced by any of us before, it is as if our emotions and joy are swelling with the earth and its riches.
It’s so amazing I almost forget my barriers—and I think I would have, completely, but for a small intrusion, a foreign touch. It’s Cepta. She wants in; she wants to know me—all of me. But she’s shocked I caught her.
No, Cepta; it’s not as easy as that.
She sends a private message to me. I am Speaker. It is my duty to know everyone in this Community, completely, she says, but she’s defensive as she says it. I’m not like everyone else here, she knows.
Perhaps we should check that with Xander?
She withdraws.
I sigh to myself. I’m so not doing well at winning her over.
It feels lonely back in the house I was sharing with Beatriz and Elena. I wander from room to room, and then I pause in Beatriz’s doorway. Eventually I go in and straighten her pillow.
Getting her away from here felt like the right thing to do, but I wasn’t prepared for how much I’d miss her and Elena. Now I’m the only one here who isn’t completely integrated into this place.
Even with Elena and Beatriz, I had to watch what I said—I couldn’t risk letting them know my plans. It’s been so long since I’ve talked with anyone with whom I could completely let my guard down, say what I think—feel what I feel without having to hide it—and I yearn:
For my mum, always; part of me still can’t accept that she’s gone.
For Kai.
But maybe even more, just now, for Iona—my best friend. We could talk complete nonsense or what was most important to us at the same time. I keep wondering what she would make of this place. Is she even still alive? I don’t dare try to find out, in case communications are being tracked and she somehow gets drawn into this.
Even Chamberlain appears to have deserted me.
Now that I think about it, I didn’t sense him when we were joining earlier like I have the other times. I’m worried: I hope they didn’t run out of rabbit in the woods and think a big cat would make a good barbecue.
I close my eyes and reach out: Chamberlain?
I find him and feel a rush of relief. He’s asleep, and now he’s a bit annoyed I’ve woken him. He opens his eyes, lifts his head. He’s on the side of a bed—perhaps he’s found someone who doesn’t toss and turn all night and disturb him, like I do.
A hand strokes him, and he turns his head to have his chin rubbed.
Just before he closes his eyes again, I get a glimpse: dark hair. Blue eyes.
It’s Callie.