I woke to first light, still tired, the hint of a half-forgotten dream teasing me. I’d dreamed of letters, black on a white paper, that were too large to read. Like I was seeing them under a magnifying glass. Fuzzy edges of type. The fibers of the paper mashed together. Too close to read. Too close to understand. I’d tried to zoom out, to shift my head back, or to adjust a lever that would somehow bring the letters into focus. I’d called for Mur to help, but the message, if any, had remained blurred.
For days I’d dragged myself around — since I’d drawn that woman’s portrait in the commons. I would fall asleep early, then wake before morning, sweating, dizzy, and hungry, but still exhausted. Only drawing set me free — gave me strength, energy. Running was the next best thing.
I made myself rise with the sun, forcing one foot in front of the other. Outside, the morning air smelled of rich earth, although the heat of the day would soon burn the sweetness into festering damp. I sprinted out into the forest, my bare feet thudding the dirt trail, jarring me with each step. The spiky evergreens were an emerald blur. The earth was firm under my feet. The trees swayed peacefully. If only I could outrun this pressure inside my chest. If only the wild forest could tame my fears.
Every day I’d waited for Purity to accuse me, to attack me with questions. That woman must have reported me. Was Purity watching? Would they confuse me with skidge? I felt eyes on me wherever I went.
I couldn’t have healed that woman. It was impossible. Jonah had convinced me that I’d imagined her sunspots, but later, alone, I knew I had just let him persuade me. I’d seen it. The sunspots were there, and then they were gone. I was almost too scared to draw again.
I picked up my pace. The wind rushed over my body as if I were flying far from Dawn, from Purity, from everyone. If Purity were going to investigate me, they’d have to catch me first.
The run made me breathless, left my head still spinning. I sprinted out of the forest too fast and back onto the streets of Dawn. Back to cruel reality. My heart pounded faster. The trim grass parallel to the street was wet with dew. I slowed my pace. My shoes would have had a better grip, but bare feet on the earth helped me feel solid.
As I jogged past boring, identical housing units, an ache in my side forced me to slow even more. My mouth tasted sour and my breath came in gasps. I was weaker than a slug.
I stopped running as I neared my own unit with its bushes forced into annoying, neat shapes by Mother. Birds chirped and twittered across the street in the forest. Soon the heat of the day would silence them. Pacing around on the small patch of grass, I willed my heart to slow and my legs to stop trembling. If only running could end this weakness — and the feeling that Purity might come for me at any moment.
Come on, I thought. You know you’re pure.
My last medical scan — could it have had some strange affect on me? Had I become skidge without knowing it? No, that was impossible.
Yet an image stuck in my mind, like a nagging voice: the woman’s healed hands and neck. How could I explain them?
I bent at the waist and stretched the back of my legs. Painful but good. I held the stretch and tried to breathe evenly.
The grass was sparse by the pines near me where the fallen needles had destroyed almost all life. But poking through the brown layer of needles were green sprigs of lifewort. Determined things.
At least I’d discovered a new sketching technique. Drawing intuitively, with my eyes closed. Exciting. Intriguing. Mur had something to do with that, and I did want to try it again, as long as nothing strange happened.
I finished stretching and headed in, my rubbery legs protesting every movement.
It was no cooler inside. As I shut the door, I could hear the announcer for the New North Report. From the hall I saw Dad in the front room, short and squat on the couch, a slate in hand. He was watching the large display screen while reading and making notes, the sunlight reflecting off the rounded sheen of his head.
“Hey, Dad.”
He glanced at me. Crumbs littered the table in front of him. “Lenni, did you get your assignment done on the colonization of Mars? And what about your robotics work? How’s that coming?”
“Fine. Everything’s fine.” He didn’t ask about me, just my Academy work.
“Keeping up, are you? Good. You know, I used to run for ninety minutes before dawn.”
“So you’ve told me.” Not that anyone could tell, from your paunch.
“Sorry, I guess you knew that.” He regarded me with a quizzical look. “Did you change something? You look different somehow….”
“Not much new.” Just sucked dry, drained, and left in the sun too long. Nothing to worry about, I wanted to say. Oh, yeah, Dad, and Purity’s about to take me in.
Then the screen changed and distracted him.
“I have always argued that genetic engineering denies the natural order of things,” said a male voice from the New North Report. “Someday we’ll deeply regret it. Because the more we select for a particular trait, the more we counter-select other traits. And we can’t measure this relationship. This is the case with life weed.”
Dad snorted. “Lifewort,” he corrected.
I wiped my feet, leaving brown smears on the mat to infuriate Mother. A petty satisfaction, but well worth it.
“Lifeweed was created by Dawn’s own GrowTech to survive its enemies by using natural mechanisms,” continued the voice.
GrowTech. The reporter was talking about Dad’s company. I eased into the room so I could see the screen better. A stern man with graying hair was talking. Dad was frowning.
“But what it means for humans is that it’s impossible to kill. It’s taking over our natural spaces and choking our farms. How can we rid ourselves of this invasive, unwelcome plant?”
“You have no vision, Hubert.” Dad narrowed his eyes at the screen.
“You know him?” I plopped onto the couch.
“Sure, he’s my nemesis, and a voice for Purity.” He squeezed my hand to tell me to be quiet.
A woman appeared in a field overrun with lifewort. “Lifeweed, originally called lifewort by the company that created it, can be processed into an oil used to make biodegradable plastics. However, it was nicknamed lifeweed by its detractors once it was proven to be invasive. This seemingly useful plant is now damaging crops, parks, and entire ecosystems.”
“Is that true?” I thought of the patch under the pines, where nothing else would grow. I wouldn’t want lifewort to take over, but I admired it.
“Lies. All lies. Hubert is behind it.”
Hubert flashed onto the screen again. “We prohibit any gen-eng of humans that would permanently alter the gene pool. So how can we allow a company to modify plant or animal DNA? It’s an act of controlling the future, obliterating life as we know it. Like humans, DNA modifications of plants and animals should be limited to repair, rather than subject to permanent enhancement. GrowTech should be forced to cease all research in this area and provide the funds to clean up this mess.”
“What’s the difference between carefully bred plants and genetic engineering?” Dad snorted again. “You notice they didn’t ask my opinion.”
“If we don’t watch out,” Hubert continued, “GrowTech will begin experimenting on humans next. Then we’ll be no better off than the Beyond. Isn’t that why we support our Purity communities — to escape the chaos of two-headed babies and designer viruses? We can’t pass the negative effects of our experimentation onto future generations. We have to stay pure.”
“Oh, please.” Dad wiped a hand over his face.
This guy is a fanatic, I thought, and he’s after Dad. I glanced at my father, wondering how he put up with this.
A news anchor appeared behind a circular desk. “In other news, the latest massive solar grid, which was expected to be operational by December, was sabotaged last night. No group has come forward to claim responsibility, and officials expect the new power allowances to be delayed until next summer.”
I groaned. “Not another power shortage!” I had only a little time for sketching as it was.
“As if Hubert isn’t enough,” Dad’s voice was gruff, “now Dawn will have to justify its power requirements.”
Then Dad must have caught the pained look on my face because he said, “Dawn will purchase more power allowances. We’ll get through it, somehow.”
Dad had often told me why he and Mother had applied to come to Dawn, long before I was born. Violent climate changes had made the cooler temperatures of the north attractive. Mother had wanted a pure community without bizarre, half-human genetic creations running about. And the Purity settlements had promised support for GrowTech as well as a stable energy supply. If only that were true.
He squeezed my hand again, this time as a comfort.
I squeezed back. Dad was a maniac workaholic who wanted me to match his frantic schedule, but he cared.
A Purity ad had begun babbling on the display screen. “The Genetic Purity Council protects you and your family from the horrors of this world every day.” A picture appeared of a malformed beast attacking a young boy, reminding me of that creepy transgenic in the commons that had gone for my toes. “Help Purity grow by donating generously to the settlement expansion campaign.” The screen showed happy settlers building new housing units. “Together we’ll forge the future with a pure human race. Purity — Committed to Tomorrow.”
“Screen off.” Dad stood abruptly, knocking his slate onto the rug. The screen went blank. “I’ve got to go.” Dad grunted as he leaned over to pick up his slate. When he had straightened, his face was red and puffy. “You can imagine the day I have ahead of me. I’m sure Purity will be investigating GrowTech, yet again.” He shuffled out of the room. “Take care of yourself,” he said from the hall. “You’re looking tired today.”
If only that were it. With a knot of worry in my stomach, I walked down the long hall to the kitchen. Power shortages and Purity propaganda — I could do without either. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that Purity, or someone else, was watching me.
From the front of our unit, Dad called, “Lenni? Your mother wants to see you this morning. Be sure you talk to her.” The front door slammed.
Of course she did. She was unavoidable.
The footsteps of Mother and Elyle echoed from the stairs. Mother insisted on scrutinizing me each morning, and was always waiting for me after the Academy. If I dodged her, she’d trail me to school. I couldn’t begin to understand why. I just tried to endure it.
In the kitchen, I prepared two sliced apples sprinkled with cinnamon, toast with Nutrio spread, and orange juice. I eyed the energy consumption gauge beside the sink, watching the numbers slowly blink higher and higher. As if we’d ever have enough. I carried my tray into the sunroom.
The room was full of rich green leaves, the fragrance of flowers, and the undercurrent of rot. Mother and Elyle were there — Mother in oversized glasses that magnified her eyes. Of course, she didn’t need glasses. Anyone could get lens implants, but doctors made her nervous — ever since they’d hauled her to a medical unit during a prolonged crisis. She’d howled and tried to get back home, but they’d called it a breakdown and kept her longer. It’d been the easiest six months of my life, except for the visits.
I sat at the table and took a large crunchy bite of toast.
“Morning.” Elyle nodded a friendly hello.
I tried to smile back with my mouth full. “Morning,” I mumbled through my food.
Elyle padded across the room to shut a window from the heat of the day. She moved with the grace of a cat, even though she was a few years older than Mother. The smell of lavender always clung to her.
“You’re a delicate girl, Lenni. Please, eat like one.” Mother was using tiny shears to prune her plants.
The tangy spread turned sour in my mouth. How could she make anything grow?
“Can’t you even say good morning before you tell me what to do?” I took another bite.
“I’m only trying to help,” Mother said, using her lecturing voice. “You’re capable of so much. You need to do your best, always.”
“I’m just eating toast!”
Mother’s hand, holding the shears, began to shake. Great. Now, I’d done it.
Elyle studied the two of us. She came to stand behind my chair and smoothed my hair. I looked up at her. Her eyes flickered like tiger’s -eye gems — brown at the edges moving into a shining gold. Let it go, her expression said.
I tried to calm down. Breathe. Be like Elyle. Nothing Mother did could upset her.
“Mara,” Elyle spoke to Mother, her tone gentle, “should I fix you an elixir?”
When I was a baby, Elyle was hired as my nursemaid, but now she cared more for Mother than for me. Elyle was her shadow. Always there, always nurturing. How could Elyle stand her?
“Oh, Elyle, you’re so good to me.” Mother sat heavily in a chair, dropped the shears into her lap, then put a fat hand to her forehead. “Lemon and licorice, please.”
Elyle headed for the kitchen. I made myself swallow my anger along with my food. I tried not to glare at the bucket of daffodils that Mother had forced to flower out of season. Mother fanned herself with her hand and breathed in rapid bursts. The air was tight between us.
Minutes later, Elyle returned with the elixir, and Mother drank in slow, full gulps.
“Elyle, I owe you my life, as always.”
“I would accept no such gift.” Elyle smiled.
I bit into a cinnamon apple, but the intense smell of the elixir overpowered its sweetness. My nose twitched. I watched Mother power back the elixir.
“Now, Lenni, we have something to discuss,” Mother began when she’d recovered. “The Academy has informed me that you did not attend classes on Saturday.”
I hardened into stone, my hand clasped in a fist around my napkin. I needed an explanation, fast.
“Don’t try to give me any excuses.”
How did she know what I was thinking?
“Perhaps you need Elyle to help you find your way to the Academy?”
I cringed, although I was surprised she wouldn’t want to do it herself.
“Now, do you want to tell me where you were instead of school?”
“Well, uh…”
“We’re trying to do our best for you.” For a moment, Mother’s eyes saddened, her eyebrows knotted. “After your disappointing performance last year…”
“My assessment was excellent!” I looked at Elyle, expecting her to help.
“Now, Mara…” Elyle began.
“… and your strange preoccupation with art…” Mother pronounced art with a hard, sharp T. “I can’t trust you to know what’s good for you.”
Why did I get her for a mother? I couldn’t wait for Elyle to smooth this over.
I stood, pushing my chair back so hard that it toppled over with a satisfying crash. “If I did tell you where I was, would you even try to understand?” I yelled, facing Mother down, with only the gray of the table between us. “No. You want to control my life. No friends. No fun. Nothing but the Academy.”
“It’s for your own good, Lenni,” Mother’s voice cracked. “If only you knew the sacrifices I’ve made for you. If only you…”
“That’s enough, Mara.” Elyle’s voice held a warning.
Mother stopped, stunned. As if she’d said too much.
“You’re not the only one who’s made sacrifices!” I shouted.
Elyle shushed me. Her back to Mother, she mouthed, “Keep her calm.”
Keep Mother calm, the doctor had said, but who cared about me? Still. I bit my tongue, remembering her last episode. It could get worse.
“You seem a bit pale, Mara,” Elyle continued. “Do you need to lie down?”
“What?” Mother mumbled. “Yes, I am lightheaded today.”
“Let me help you to your room.” Elyle helped Mother up and guided her around the table, then sagged as she began to support most of Mother’s weight.
I threw my napkin on the table and stomped past them, feeling invaded, controlled. I was missing some vital ingredient that would satisfy Mother — get her off my back. Never enough. Never pleased. No matter what I did, it was wrong. So why bother? I would do what I wanted, when I wanted. She could order me around, but she wasn’t in charge.