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  “First,” Samuel-299 said, “I’d like to point out that the decision to exclude the subject—​Jack—​from the ceremonies and rites of passage for the Gen-310s, a decision I never thought was the best course of action, has not improved the situation. I’d like to ask the Council to allow him to apprentice with me. We agreed to it before, and nothing’s changed.”

  “No one is denying you’ve done well with the subject, Samuel,” Nyla-298 said smoothly. Althea enjoyed hearing an older version of her friend Nyla-313’s voice, gentle but direct, and always poised. “But he’s caused too many problems. I’m worried about the effect he’ll have on the 310 generation. We know what happened to Inga-296. That was a direct result of her work with him.”

  “That was ten years ago,” Samuel said.

  A Viktor leaned forward. “Samuel, even you have to admit he’s emotionally unstable. After what happened in Copan last year, I seriously think we should revisit termination. We need to move forward with another subject. Better yet, why not terminate the project altogether? I don’t think it’s even necessary.”

  The Nyla spoke again. “The project has provided us with valuable DNA. And this thing he does, the music, perhaps that’s something we can use. Our spectral analysis shows there are number properties in the sounds he makes. The Kates, as mathematicians, may benefit if we isolate that particular gene and integrate it into the next Gen.”

  “Please.” Carson puffed out his cheeks. “I for one am not comfortable integrating the defective genes of an asthmatic human with violent tendencies. It’s time to end it, as we should have ten years ago.”

  “And to be fair,” the Viktor said, “his intelligence hasn’t made anything easier.”

  “Intelligence,” Carson-292 scoffed. “I’d hardly call what we’ve seen intelligence. He has no impulse control. He’s violent.”

  “That’s not true, Carson,” Samuel said. “Listen, this project represents decades of work. We can still learn from it.”

  Carson-292 leaned forward, punctuating his words with a finger thumping the table. “We have other avenues—”

  “Avenues that have already failed us,” Samuel said, looking around at the rest of the table. “All of us, we started this project for a reason. We simply cannot continue copying the exact same genetic material over and over again. The samples are degrading. I know you don’t all see it, but we’re losing something. Something Jack might help us get back.”

  “Something?” Carson said. “You can’t even articulate what that something might be. Show me a DNA sequence, a genetic marker, anything! I’m done talking about something.”

  “He’s talking about that music nonsense Nyla brought up,” Inga said. “It offers us nothing. Even you, Samuel, can’t explain what that’s supposed to be.”

  “It’s more than that,” Samuel said. “Carson, you’re so quick to dismiss our human ancestry, but part of who we are is undeniably human. I’m worried we don’t understand how important that part is, and as a result, it will disappear before we’ve even realized it’s gone. I know how some of you feel about Jack, but let’s not let a personal issue color our thinking on the matter.”

  “Personal issue?” Carson-292 exploded. “That boy is unstable! Carson-312 has a scar, on his face. Do you realize the damage it’s caused, having a deformity that makes him so distinct from his brothers?”

  An image entered Althea’s mind. She pictured the boy on top of Carson, tears streaming down his face and his body bunched into an angry coil, more primitive than anything she’d ever seen.

  “Oh, please,” Samuel said. “It’s barely noticeable, a scratch above his eye.” He gestured around the table. “Hassan-295’s nose is different since he fell from a tree when we were nine, and Mei-298’s got the scar on her chin from tripping on the dorm steps. This is nothing.”

  “It’s the way he got it,” Carson said. “He was attacked, in his own school, by a human who has no more self-control than a chimp.”

  “Did you ever consider it was the isolation itself that caused his violent behavior? That his hostility toward us is a result of the segregation we imposed on him, are still imposing on him? Let him truly be a part of the community. There’s a Pairing Ceremony tonight, if he can’t have an apprenticeship, let him participate in that at least.”

  Althea’s hands froze in their note taking. Let him participate in the Pairing? Would the Council actually consider such a thing?

  “Samuel,” Inga said firmly, “the Pairings are for the nine models, with ten siblings each. How would that even work?”

  Samuel made an obvious effort to soften his tone. “Well, why couldn’t it? We continue the ceremony when a model loses a sibling, don’t we? Inga-296 wanted to give him a human environment, but what he needs is for us to allow him to be one of us. He has no brothers, and the Gen-310s have never really accepted him. We haven’t been fair to him. Even the animals in the jungle have families.”

  Carson-292 laughed. “Then let him live in the jungle. The thought of him taking part in the Pairing turns my stomach.”

  “Samuel,” Nyla said kindly, “I think you’re too close to the subject to be objective. The next time we discuss this, we’ll have one of your brothers stand in for the Samuels.”

  “You think I can’t represent the Samuels?” Samuel said, struck.

  “Not in this instance, no.” She looked around the table. The Council members all joined hands, and Althea felt the threads of intricate thought weave through them as they eased the tensions and communed on their decision.

  “Good,” the Nyla said as their linked hands dropped. She closed the agenda. “There’s too much resistance to him participating in the Pairing, but he may have an apprenticeship. It must be in the clinic, and only with you, Samuel. The others don’t want to work with him.”

  Althea had never witnessed such a conflict among the older generations. She’d always thought by the time a cohort was thirty or forty, they’d gotten over their squabbling and differences. And to see such argument at a Council meeting, where they were supposed to be acting in everyone’s best interest, being mature and rational . . . Why, they’re no better than the rest of us, she thought. Her sisters, with their disagreements about which pattern of new dress to sew, the bickering with the Kates, a Carson trying to push others around, a Hassan getting petulant about the inflexible Ingas. Althea unexpectedly felt the decades of her life stretch before her, taking part in the same arguments and conflicts over and over again. Except with each decade, the stakes would be raised. It wouldn’t be about dresses and ceremonies anymore; it’d be about important scientific experiments, food resources, and the embryo tanks. She’d been so pleased to choose her recorder apprenticeship. It was a privilege to sit in on Council meetings and hear important decisions being made. But this fighting hadn’t been what she expected.

  That was exactly why the Pairing tonight was so important, she realized. If they couldn’t get along at a Pairing Ceremony, how were they going to learn to work together when decisions were more critical? Althea resolved to have a better attitude than she’d had for the past few days. She would Pair with a Carson, just like her sisters, and everything would be smoothed over, paving the way for the future ahead.

  Althea caught her breath that night when she saw the Commons fully decorated for the Pairing Ceremony. Last month had been the Altheas’ turn to host, and Althea had to admit that the Meis were better at it. They’d obviously put such care into everything. Lights hung like fireflies from the flowering trees in twinkling paper baskets, and the colored rocks glowed around the perimeter of the kapok. Fig and cherry trees dipped pendulously over tables overflowing with food.

  There was the usual colorful rice cooked in banana leaves, each different hue representing the nine models. There were carved pineapple cups filled with jewels of corn in red, blue, and purple, and peppers modified to sparkle like gems in the lamplight. Avocadoes, molded to look like large-eyed spider monkeys, filled mango-wood basins. Under the dir
ection of the Meis, the Hassans had put together a table of desserts; oil cakes covered in sugared violets, glitter-dusted breads that the little seven-year-old Gen-320s grabbed as they ran past, and jelly candies with almonds suspended inside. They’d even made flavored red ices in glass bowls, an obvious appeal to the Ingas in their red robes, whom the Hassans seemed to be hoping for tonight. It wasn’t too likely, though, from the way the Ingas laughed and rolled their eyes at one another. They’d already decided on the Viktors, Althea had heard, now that they knew the Altheas were choosing Carsons.

  Althea took a crystal cup from the table and tasted the drink made from melons and ginger. It was sweet, and as she held it, the drink changed color like a chameleon to match her yellow robe. All the sisters’ Pairing robes were in their traditional colors. Tonight the Altheas’ were seeded with pearls and sewn with gold thread, and their hair, in trembling curls across their shoulders, shone with tiny gold charms. When her sisters separated, they spread like glimmering sunlight into the throng of girls that had converged on the Commons.

  The boys wore their cotton robes in their designated colors, crisscrossed with matching leather belts that wound from their waists to their shoulders. The Viktors were in teal, the Carsons in purple, the Hassans in orange, and the Samuels in a deep navy blue. The Meis had wrapped their braids in scarves flecked with copper; the Kates, in green, wore jade earrings; and the Altheas draped knit yellow shawls over their shoulders.

  While Althea sipped her drink and admired the transformed lawn of the Commons, Nyla-313 skipped over to her. The Nylas’ color was silver, and Nyla-313 wore a gray robe with silver trim that skimmed the top of her silver sandals, and bracelets on her arms that jingled as she held out a bowl of turquoise-tinted strawberries.

  “They’re beautiful!” Althea said.

  “Try one.” Nyla tilted the bowl toward her.

  Althea eyed her friend. “It’s not going to start squirming, is it?”

  “That happened once,” Nyla said, tipping her mouth down. “And it still tasted good.”

  Althea bit into the strawberry. The juice dripped onto her lips. “It tastes like sugar and . . . What is that?”

  “Chocolate.” Nyla beamed. “I spliced them with cocoa beans.”

  “How has no one thought of that before?”

  “They did, actually. It’s just been years since anyone’s done it. I found the sequence in the botany logs. I added the color myself. It’s from the flowers on the fiddlewood trees by the river.”

  “Well, it’s brilliant. It might be my favorite thing you ever made.”

  All ten generations crowded the Commons, from the children weaving in and out of the crowd, unconcerned with the history and solemnity of the ceremony, to the Gen-230s seated in carved chairs, their Pairing days behind them. The other Gens each had their own monthly Pairings, but tonight was the Gen-310s’, and after everyone had eaten and chatted, the Meis lined up the 310 boys in the circle of stones and shooed the other generations into a larger circle around them to watch.

  At first, ushered by the Meis, the girls entered the center of the Commons single-file. Each of the four sets of sisters linked hands in a circle, as did the four sets of boys outside the border of lighted rocks. Althea took a breath. She looked into the sky, up at the numberless stars, and then closed her eyes. A warm breeze lifted her hair from her forehead, and the air smelled of hyacinths and lemons. She reached out in her mind, feeling the presence of her sisters as an immense current drawing her into a deep, warm liquid. It picked her up, and she gave herself to it so it spun farther, not just to her sisters anymore but to all of Vispera, gathered now in one place. In a quick, exhilarating wave, her thoughts and feelings seemed to amplify and then whirl out again like eddies in the bubbling Blue River.

  With the clear ring of a bell struck by a Mei, the models dropped hands. The connection receded, and Althea exhaled softly, feeling the swift race of her blood and the sheen of sweat on her brow. This feeling, she thought, of connection with the community—​with her sisters, her Gen, and all of Vispera—​was why they held any of their ceremonies. Everyone talked so much about the traditions and history of the Pairing Ceremony, the Binding Ceremony, and then the final Yielding Ceremony, the one that gave a peaceful end to the oldest, hundred-year-old generation, allowing the community to celebrate the birth of the new generation from the tanks. But really, all the ceremonies centered on that one moment when they joined hands and everyone felt a surge of emotion swelling within them. Any disagreement, any confusion, it all fell away. They understood each other, and in their understanding, they became one. How could the Council even think of including the human in this sacred tradition? He couldn’t commune. At best he’d be a nuisance, a distraction to their ritual; at worst he’d be a wall separating them. There was no question, it’d be a disaster.

  As the girls fanned out and the Meis separated from the larger group, the sisters’ colors mingled and they began the dance that preceded the Pairing. The Commons was silent except for the shuffling sound of the girls’ feet and the hum of insects in the trees.

  The Altheas’ dancing was practiced and steady. Althea held the eyes of her sisters and the encircled boys while she concentrated, silently counting steps, remembering when to turn, when to spin, when to sweep her foot in a slow kick, trying to time it just right with her sisters. The evening glowed with candlelight, and Althea could hear the ripples of Blue River through the trees.

  The wooden bowl in the center of the dance overflowed with silken ribbons. The Meis plucked ribbons from the bowl and handed them to the girl whose color had been chosen, determining the order of the Pairing and which sisters got first pick.

  Althea continued the dance while girls were handed their ribbons. The first girls picked didn’t take the Carsons, since by now everyone knew the politics of the Altheas’ choice. Then Althea-313’s ribbon was drawn, and she danced gracefully over to Carson-319 and took his hand. She wrapped her yellow ribbon around his wrist and through his fingers until she came to the end, where it dangled from his thumb. He smiled when she took his hand and led him to a spot outside the circle, which was dwindling now, as were the ribbons in the bowl. And it was done. The Altheas had chosen the Carsons.

  Althea watched each sister as, one by one, her yellow ribbon was selected and she walked away with a Carson. All the Ingas sat outside the circle with the Viktors, the Nylas chose the Hassans, while the Kates were with the Samuels.

  A hand touched Althea’s in the midst of the dance. It was a Mei presenting Althea with her ribbon. The girl looped the satin over Althea’s wrist, and she felt the silky slip of it tickle her skin.

  The older Altheas all nodded their approval. The oldest Altheas, the Gen-230s, tapped their feet while watching the dance. Their faces were barely wrinkled. Any one of them could have been mistaken for an Althea thirty years younger, even though in three years their generation would have their Yielding Ceremony and they’d be gone forever. In eighty years, Althea and her sisters would be like them, finishing their lives and guiding the next generations. It seemed impossibly far away to Althea, and she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. Though she already knew when looking into the face of the ninety-seven-year-old Altheas, quietly watching the ceremony, exactly what she herself would look like when she was old. During the Pairing, she could look around the Commons and see the rows of Althea generations, see her own face age decade by decade. But that didn’t make it any more real. What was it like for the older generations, to see their own faces and bodies, forever young, dancing before them?

  Beginning the next phase of the dance, Althea slowly unwound the ribbon from her wrist. The Mei walked away from her, back to the bowl to pull another ribbon. All her sisters sat with a Carson under the kapok tree. Still dancing in the silence, Althea turned to the last Carson. It was Carson-312. He stood with two Hassans to his left, though a Nyla was already dancing toward one of them.

  Althea approached Carson-312. She could see the begin
nings of a good-natured smile on his face, expectant and pleasant. She could tell he understood what the Altheas were doing, and he appreciated the gesture. They were willing to let bygones be bygones, and why shouldn’t they be? After all, overlooking the Carsons at Pairing had all been a misunderstanding. There had been some ugliness recently, but that was the human’s fault, not Carson’s. Previous Althea generations had never had a problem with Carsons. Why should hers be any different?

  While she danced, Althea’s eyes wandered to the scar that puckered Carson-312’s left eyebrow. It didn’t hurt his features, really. The Carsons had fine, straight noses, and their hair curled nicely around their ears. Carson-312’s expression remained unchanged, still mild and friendly, but Althea felt a sudden, sweeping vertigo. She faltered in the steps of her dance as his smile distorted into a cold, menacing smirk. She knew it was all in her mind, but what she saw in that very moment was one young boy standing over another, flicking pebbles.

  Mere steps away from Carson-312, Althea spun right, swaying to regain her balance at the abrupt shift. With barely enough thought to make a decision, she stopped and her feet flattened to the ground in front of Hassan-318. When she took his hand, voices murmured around her, and panic rushed through her chest. She refused to look around, however, especially at Carson-312, and instead she held Hassan-318’s eyes as she wrapped her ribbon around his hand and through his fingers until the end dangled from his thumb.

  That evening, Althea couldn’t concentrate. The newly formed pairs had all dispersed to the rows of glowing tents erected on the outskirts of town. The Meis had chosen an elaborate décor of gold-fringed rugs, piles of pillows embroidered with roses, jasmine-scented candles in glass cups, and brilliant flowers in orange and red. The walls of the tents were crimson trimmed in gold, and fashioned with a netted skylight, letting cool air flow into the small space. Despite all the distractions and amusements that were supposed to accompany a Pairing night, Althea felt sick. She’d ruined the Pairing, taking a Hassan from the Nylas, and leaving a Carson to Pair with someone other than an Althea. The sisters and brothers wouldn’t share the same experience of the Pairing now, and it would cause all kinds of disruptions. The older Altheas would be upset, and the Carsons would be angry. Althea and her sisters would have to come up with some new way to make it up to them.