Blight Page 22

  Lally rinses my hair, works some sort of peppermint-smelling cream into it, and then rinses it again. My scalp tingles, but in a nice way. She takes me to one of the plush barber chairs and turns me over to Margit. My mother sits on a corner bench, checking something on her wrist com. She looks up as I enter.

  “Better?” she says.

  “Yes,” I say. “Thank you.”

  Margit runs her fingers through my wet hair, letting it fall back around my shoulders. “You like to keep it long?” she asks.

  I start to nod and then stop myself. “Yes.” I like to be able to pull it up off my neck when I’m patrolling. Except now there’s nothing to patrol.

  “But not too long,” my mother adds. “We don’t want her to look like a shirk queen.”

  She and Margit laugh, and I make myself smile, but my chest feels full of stones. Shirk queen? So, my mother calls them that, too. I didn’t expect that. I thought she was better, more refined.

  Margit paints pieces of my hair with sharp-smelling gel, then wraps them in foil. She asks me about what I want to study and what I do for fun, but I don’t have answers for either of those things, so she chats with my mother instead.

  “Does Isabel have a new favorite animal this week?”

  “Ugh.” My mother leans back against the cushions. “She’s trying to convince me to let her breed mice so we don’t have to requisition them for Rene, but I told her I’d rather fill out all the paperwork in the world than chance a bunch of rodents running loose in the apartment.”

  I peek out from underneath the mass of foil. “Who’s Rene?”

  “Your sister’s Burmese python.” My mother rubs her forehead, and then looks up suddenly. “I hope you don’t mind snakes. She’s supposed to keep him in his cage, but you know Isabel.”

  I nod. Even though I’ve only just met Isabel, I think I know what she means. I decide not to tell her that my experience with snakes is limited to killing copperheads and relocating black rat snakes with a shovel. Or coughing them up in my dreams.

  “Honestly, I keep telling her she’d have a much easier time if she took an interest in robotics or gene manipulation. There aren’t that many positions available working with animals, unless she wants to work with the canine guard units.” My mother says this like it’s a bad thing, a failure.

  “She’ll come around,” Margit says.

  Lally reappears, trailed by a girl around my age with streaks of cherry red in her straight black hair.

  “I thought we could give Miki a chance to practice applying a face mask.” She looks at my mother. “If that’s all right with you, ma’am.”

  “Of course.” My mother waves a hand. “We might as well while the dye sets. Right, Tempest?”

  “Right,” I say, even as I grip the chair arms. Why do they want to make a mask of my face? There is no part of this that is not weird.

  Miki stands by my side, stirring a green mixture in a bowl.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  “Avocado, oatmeal, yogurt,” she answers. “Don’t worry, it’s all natural.”

  “Yogurt?” I draw back. She’s going to put food on my face? I cut my eyes to my mother. This can’t be right. But she’s deep in conversation with Margit, both of them turned away.

  “Hold still.” Miki daubs the light green paste onto my forehead and then down around my eyes.

  “Shouldn’t . . . shouldn’t someone be eating that?” I glance at the bowl.

  Miki laughs and sticks out her tongue. “Yuck! I guess you could, but who’d want to?”

  I frown. “We never did this kind of thing at my compound.”

  “Ugh, I know.” Miki smears the paste down my nose. “After I earn my contract, I want to spend some time going around to the compounds and teaching beauty and relaxation techniques. Those assignments are so stressful—and the sun damage your skin is getting!”

  I swallow. “Have you heard anything from the compounds?” I ask. “Did the firebreaks work?”

  “Firebreaks?” She steps back. “You mean the forest fire to the north?”

  “Tempest!” my mother says sharply, then softens her tone. “Let Miki do her work.”

  I sit uneasy in my skin as the paste dries. Forest fire. Why doesn’t my mother want me talking about it what it really is? Is that why no one is afraid, no one is panicking, trying to leave the city? They think it’s only a forest fire? I glance at my mother, bent over her com cuff, frowning. How much more does she know? Will the firebreak be enough to stop the blight, or will it keep spreading? Will the seeds Alder and I brought make a difference? Or will we never be able to plant again where the blight has blown through?

  I need to find Alder. Not only to make sure he’s okay. I need to talk to him, work out what’s real and what’s not. Our time together is starting to feel like a distant nightmare, a hallucination. How could all of that have been real, and this too?

  After the paste has been washed off, after the foils are removed and my hair clipped and blown straight, my mother and I stand in the elevator.

  “You shouldn’t talk about the blight, Tempest,” she says.

  “Why not?”

  She presses her lips into a thin line. “We don’t want to alarm the general population when there’s no need. The situation will be under control soon enough. Your actions have seen to that. It’s best to let everyone keep living their lives without fear.”

  I stare at myself in the mirrored surface of the elevator doors. A stranger looks back at me. Her skin is smooth and clear, and her hair hangs to her collar-bone in layers, with subtle caramel streaks running through it. She looks beautiful. She looks like she belongs to the city, as if her father didn’t kidnap her and she grew up in a picture-perfect world with everything she ever needed. But she doesn’t look like me. I didn’t think it would bother me to see all the frizzy curls gone from my hair, but there’s something unnerving about it. I feel like some part of me is gone, replaced by an illusion. Can I be this girl? Or at least, can I wear her mask long enough to find out the truth?

  .20.

  DANDELION

  TARAXACUM OFFICINALE

  On the third morning in my new home, my mother walks into the sunroom wearing a white lab coat over her yellow chiffon blouse and tailored skirt.

  “I thought I might go into work for a few hours today.” She adjusts her sleeves and checks her wrist com. “Will you be all right here?”

  “Can I go with you?” I fold my hands on the glass tabletop. I need information, and I won’t get it here. There’s a tablet in every room of the apartment, but they access only AgraStar’s preapproved sites—gossip about singing-competition winners and new restaurants opening, games like that one Isabel was playing, updates on the “forest fire.” I need internal files, security records.

  “Oh, Tempest. I don’t know.” My mother frowns. “Wouldn’t you be bored?”

  “No.” I look down at my hands and then up at her. Will she buy this? “I like to be busy. And now, you know, I have all these opportunities I didn’t before, yeah?”

  “Of course.” Her voice softens. “You can do anything you want now.”

  “I was thinking, I want to see what it’s like to work in R and D. I want to help figure out how to end the blight,” I say.

  My mother sighs. “I understand you’re concerned, but I keep telling you, you don’t need to worry about the blight anymore.”

  “The next problem, then,” I say. “Like, what if one of our rivals decides to weaponize their herbicides?”

  She stares at me, expressionless. “I doubt anyone would risk it. Anyone who did that would void their trade agreements with the other company-states.”

  Stupid, stupid, Tempest. Why did I say that? I can’t push her, even if every time she tells me not to worry about the blight, it makes me more certain it’s creeping closer. The only way I’m going to find out the truth about anything is if I get out of this apartment, out from under her watchful eye.

  “We got to l
earn some science in school, before I signed up for perimeter defense. I liked it. I always wished I could’ve learned more,” I lie. And now for the knife twist. “Do you think it’s too late for me?”

  Her face crumples. “Of course not, m’ija.” She tucks a newly dyed piece of hair behind my ear. “But just a quick tour, okay? I have a few things to attend to today.”

  “Thank you!” I smile and make sure to crinkle up the corners of my eyes so it seems more genuine. A small pang of guilt tugs at my stomach, but I push it away. I need to find out where Alder is. I need to know what’s really happening with the blight. And if no one will tell me, I’ll have to find out on my own.

  My mother and I stop in the R&D reception area. Behind the receptionist, the wall plays footage of a cheery farmer leaning against a combine, and then a young scientist staring intently at something in a beaker. “At AgraStar Conglomerate, we are always pushing the bounds of innovation,” a man’s voice narrates.

  The young man behind the desk looks up. “Dr. Salcedo! Aren’t you still on family leave?”

  “I am,” she says coolly. “I’ve brought my daughter to tour the facility. Would you set up visitor security status for her?”

  “Of course, ma’am.” He gestures at a scanner built into the counter. “If you’ll place your wrist com here, please, miss.”

  I hold my cuff under the red lights. It chimes softly, and he smiles up at me. “All done.”

  I follow my mother through a bank of turnstiles, stopping to scan my wrist com, and then waiting as she places her eye up to a biometric scanner outside a pair of glass doors. Beyond, tables upon tables of potted seedlings stretch out across a white-walled lab, lit by hanging heat lamps. People in lab coats walk between the rows, stopping to inspect the plants or peer through the microscopes stationed along the sides of the room.

  The doors chime and glide open. A wave of warm air rolls over me, along with the smell of earth and green. I breathe in deep, and instantly, homesickness hits me. Dew on the corn and the first hint of light on the horizon as my shift in the guard tower ends, crickets turning over their song to the birds. Red clay on my boots and the younger children filing by hand in hand on the way to the mess hall . . .

  My mother stops and looks back at me. “Are you all right?”

  I blink myself back to the present. “Yes.” I clear my throat. “I’m fine.”

  “These are the upcoming strains of corn for the next growing season.” My mother waves at the plants spread out before us. “First we run the constructs through a genetic viability simulation module. After that, we test them for soil acidity resistance and success across climatological variation. Then the variants that thrive across multiple parameters are slated for distribution.”

  I stare at her. I know most of those words, but not necessarily when they’re thrown together like that.

  Her face falls, but then she rallies and smiles sheepishly. “I get excited. Would you like to see the herbicide and biological agent resistance lab? Or maybe the genetic modeling center?”

  “Sure.” I wish I’d opted for more schooling instead of guard training. If I keep giving my mother blank looks, she’s going to catch on that it’s not R&D itself that I’m interested in.

  We pass through another set of glass doors that require both my mother’s eye scan and her cuff, and start down a hall lined with framed photographs of cornstalks. A pink-faced, barrel-chested man in a security forces dress uniform stalks toward us.

  “Director Salcedo.” He smiles, and I notice his teeth are unnaturally small and even. “Will I be seeing you at the security forces appreciation gala tonight?”

  “I’m afraid not, Mr. Kurich.” She smiles apologetically and glances at me. “I’m sure you’ve heard I’m taking some leave to attend to family matters.”

  “Yet here you are.” He follows her gaze. “Who’s this you have with you, now? Is that who I think it is?”

  My mother stiffens, almost imperceptibly. “This is my daughter Tempest. Tempest, Mr. Kurich is our director of security forces.”

  “Tempest. I’ve been itching for a word with you,” Mr. Kurich says. “You’re a hard young lady to find. Your mother tells me you’ve been too ill for a little chat.”

  I glance at her. He says “little chat” the same way she said “dealt with.” My skin starts to crawl.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Well, I’m glad to see you up and about.” He smiles again, but there’s a sharpness to it. “Maybe now we can find the time for a conversation.”

  My mother steps between us. “I told you, Mr. Kurich, I don’t believe that will be necessary.”

  His eyes glitter. “I’m the director of security forces. Any potential security matter falls under my direction. That includes Miss Torres.”

  “Miss Salcedo is my daughter.” My mother’s sharpness matches his. “She’s no longer under your command. I’m sure you’ll respect my judgment in this matter.”

  His face reddens. “Of course.” Those teeth again. He looks at me. “I wish you a speedy recovery, Miss Salcedo.”

  He turns to my mother. “I hope you’ll change your mind about tonight, Orelia. Security forces could use your support.” I hear the quid pro quo in his words. It’s not an invitation, it’s a warning.

  “I’ll try,” my mother says stiffly.

  Kurich nods and stalks away. We watch him disappear through the doors. My mother lets out a breath.

  “What was that about?” I ask.

  “Nothing. Office politics. Nothing for you to worry about.”

  I want to reach out and squeeze her arm, tell her thank you. I’m not sure exactly what she just did, but she did it for me, and it cost her something.

  But before I can open my mouth, she pastes a smile back on her face. “Shall we continue?”

  We reach the end of the hall and enter a room full of softly humming screens. A young man with thick, wavy, black hair is hunched next to one of them, tapping and zooming in on a series of colorful bars stacked one on top of the other.

  “Dr. Mitra,” my mother says.

  He swivels in his chair. His eyes widen, and he shoots to his feet. “Director Salcedo.” He wipes his hands on his lab coat. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I’m showing my daughter the facility.” She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Tempest, this is Dr. Mitra. He’s one of the best geneticists in our modeling division.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Salcedo.” He holds out his hand, and I notice he’s decorated his com cuff with several layers of fruit and vegetable stickers, like the ones I used to peel off my apples at breakfast each morning.

  “Just Tempest.” I shake his hand and then quickly look at the floor. He’s distractingly handsome, with buttery brown skin and long eyelashes.

  “Hello, Just Tempest.” He winks at me.

  I shove my hands in my pockets, unsure of what to do with them and glad I managed to find a pair of pants to wear, even if they are the color of honeyed cream and likely to stain if I do more than sit around the apartment.

  “I thought you could run us through the analysis you’re conducting on the seed sample Tempest brought in from the field,” my mother says.

  “Of course.” He turns back to his screen, excitement surging in his voice as he pulls up a different set of multicolored bars. “It’s an incredibly rare genotype. All the models show excellently low risk ratios if we insert this portion of coding into next year’s corn strains.” He points to a cluster of yellow hash marks on one of the bars.

  “You’ve saved next year’s harvest, Tempest,” my mother says quietly.

  “What about . . .” I look between the two of them. “What about the other plants? The trees and things? And the people?”

  They exchange a look.

  “Corn production is the first priority,” Dr. Mitra says hesitantly. “Then we’ll look at the citrus crop and other fruit products. As for people, I don’t know what we can do, aside from vacate the affected are
as.”

  My mother nods. “We’ve already sent out evacuation orders to all AgraStar compounds within a hundred-mile radius of the detonation site. Everyone is safe. They’ve been relocated farther south or west.”

  “But what about the scavengers?” I frown. “Has anyone warned them?”

  “They’re on the land illegally.” My mother’s voice hardens. “We can hardly be held responsible for them, even if we knew how to get in touch with them in the first place.”

  “But they could die,” I say. “If the firebreaks don’t hold, if they breathe in the blight. And even if they do run, everything around them is dead for several hundred miles. They’ll starve.” Alder said some of the scavenger camps might get word through the Latebra Congress and reach safety, but not all of them.

  “I won’t shed any tears over a few shirks,” my mother murmurs.

  I suck in a breath. That could have been me. I could have been one of them.

  Dr. Mitra looks uncomfortable. “I’m sure they’ll see the evacuations in progress and put two and two together.”

  My mother’s wrist com spits out an urgent, four-note tone. She glances down and furrows her brow. “Hmph. I need to . . . excuse me.” She turns and starts to walk away, then stops. “Oh, Tempest . . . Dr. Mitra, could Tempest stay here with you for fifteen, twenty minutes?”

  “Of course.” He nods. “I can show her my genetic duplication research.”

  My mother makes a face. “Maybe not that.”

  “Oh.” His shoulders stiffen. “Of course. Maybe transgenics, then.”

  “Excellent.” She gives him a brief smile and disappears.

  “Do you really think they’ll survive?” I ask.

  Dr. Mitra shrugs. “They might. But we have to take care of ourselves before we can help anyone else, and we still have a long way to go.”