Two years ago, Nova was the centre of our family.
It was difficult to put my sister into words. Most people had one distinguishing feature: the thing that others tended to notice first. With me, it was usually my blue eyes, or the way I could rack my brain for every word someone had ever said said to me. Orla had the type of striking dark-skinned beauty that turned heads on the street. Verity had the tall, slim stature of a supermodel.
Nova, on the other hand, wasn't so easy.
There were so many things to notice about her, even in passing, that anybody would struggle to pick just one. Her hair was a mane of tousled red waves, and the right lighting could set the colour on fire. Most modified kids were designed with unblemished skin, but my parents had gone all out on her freckles, dotting them all over her face. She went overboard on gold jewellery – bangles, rings and huge earrings had her jangling when she walked, which meant she could never sneak up on anybody.
And all that came from a glance. When you got to know her, there were just more quirks to learn. She could talk your ear off about old Buddhist traditions, tell you an elaborate story behind any of her rings, laugh until her stomach ached at the worst joke in the world. She could capture you with a smile, and let you go with the same thing.
There were no words big enough to describe her. She was just... Nova, and that in itself was the only explanation.
Until the side effects started showing. Then, Nova became much harder to define.
Even as a kid, she'd never had the longest fuse. Temper tantrums happened on a daily basis for eighteen years, usually stemming from the simple fact that Nova hadn't got her own way. In our teen years, disagreements with my parents ended in various acts of rebellion, ranging from staying out all night to that neck tattoo. Of course, that was the type of thing that could be overlooked. Just normal teenage behaviour. Stuff she'd grow out of.
But what happened next definitely wasn't.
We noticed it in the months leading up to her disappearance. A few standard rows over dinner had culminated in more anger than ever, which left Nova looking close to throwing something across the table. Then, my mother noticed her eyes, and she was being pinned to the floor before any of us had time to realise it.
"Harry!" Mum had shrieked, fighting to keep Nova's shoulders against the carpet. "Look at her! Her eyes!"
"Are you mental?" Nova screamed. "Let me go!"
My dad was out of his seat like a shot, kneeling beside the two of them. I wondered if I should've done the same, but pure shock had frozen me into position. My sister being manhandled by our parents was not a sight I'd ever thought I would see, and it was much more frightening than I could've anticipated.
They looked at each other over Nova's squirming figure, exchanging a glance I couldn't quite see.
"What do we do?" my mother asked, a note of pure panic in her voice.
It was the question I desperately wanted to hear the answer to. Unfortunately, this was also the moment they seemed to remember I was still in the room, and both heads snapped in my direction at once. The look on my dad's face told me not to argue before I even tried. "Astrid," he said, in a low voice, "could you finish your dinner upstairs, please?"
And that was all I got to see. At the time, I couldn't work out what was going on, or what exactly in Nova's eyes had caused so much panic. I wasn't given another opportunity to ask. My mum went out to fetch contacts the next morning, and from then on, I never saw her without them. As far as that problem was concerned, they were on top of things.
If only that had been the end of it.
The final argument was the worst. The restrictions they'd placed on my sister were driving her crazy, and it wasn't safe to hold that kind of anger in somebody so flammable. I would never forget the look on her face right before she lunged for my mother; even without an exceptional memory, it was the type of thing that would be burned into my head for the rest of my life. My dad had stepped in to break them up, but not before she'd got the first punch in – and Mum had drawn her head back with blood dripping from her nose.
It happened to Nova. And, two years later, it looked like I might be following her lead.
The realisation was preventing me from sleeping. I'd been lying beneath the covers for at least three hours, tossing and turning so much the covers were falling halfway off the bed. Projected into the air above my bedside table, the time was now past three a.m., but I couldn't have felt more awake if I tried.
I couldn't come to terms with what had happened. As if the disastrous interview wasn't enough to keep me up, this had been thrown into the mix. The memories kept replaying over and over, like some kind of twisted movie inside my head. Was I really going down the same path as Nova? The side effects were her downfall, what had ripped her from this family in the first place. What if, two years down the line, my parents had adopted the same indifferent stance regarding my disappearance in their newly childless home?
I hadn't eaten in hours, but I felt sick to my stomach. Venturing downstairs for dinner had not been a viable option; it felt too much like wandering back into a warzone. Remaining shut up in my room was worth the hunger now clawing at my insides.
Resigning myself to the fact I wasn't getting any sleep tonight, I sat upright, clicking once to turn on the TV at the foot of my bed. The screen came to life in the wall, its luminous glow lighting up the entire room. Three in the morning was hardly primetime scheduling, even with thousands of channels, so there wasn't much to choose from. Channel Six was offering a re-run of the earlier news – any other time, I would've skipped past, but right then it captured my attention.
The man centred onscreen had grey hair and thick eyebrows; I didn't recognise him, but he was captioned as Max Snowdon, New London's Officer of Public Health. It was the banner running underneath him that caught my eye.
DESIGNER KIDS, it exclaimed in huge text. THE CITY'S DARK SECRET?
It was hardly the news report to settle my mind, but I couldn't resist swiping the volume up anyway.
"What exactly do you think is so worrying about the Eva Kelly case?" the reporter was asking. "We all know there's been growing unrest among the public, but what's really going on?"
"Well, Zed, I think the public are right to be worried." Max Snowdon's voice was totally level. There was no doubt he'd been trained intensively in public speaking; every word out of his mouth sounded like an opinion not to be challenged. "Some of the findings from the case have been incredibly concerning. The mounting evidence of Ms. Kelly's distorted DNA is only adding fuel to some of the wilder claims out there. We know this city is at the forefront of genetic research, and what these findings are hinting at is that it has been proven possible to modify the human genome."
The camera flicked back to the reporter. "And do you think this modification may have had something to do with the circumstances of Ms. Kelly's death?"
"It's impossible to say for certain," he said. "Many of the reports flying around at the minute are entirely unconfirmed, so it isn't wise to believe everything you hear. However, it hasn't yet been ruled out that the illegal modifications performed on Ms. Kelly resulted in irreversible psychological damage. In this context, the suicide is not entirely unexplained."
"But how would that be possible?" the reporter pressed. "If the modification had been intended to enhance athletic ability, why might it affect the brain in this way?"
"This is all speculation, of course." Max Snowdon's expression betrayed no emotion, but I got the strange feeling he was enjoying the exposure perhaps more than he should've. Publicity was so difficult to come by in the city, and maybe none of it could be taken for granted. "We don't yet know the type of process that contributed to Ms. Kelly. However, due to the illegality of it, research may have been rushed and appropriate measures not taken to reduce risks. With something as intricate and complex as human DNA, how can anyone be entirely sure interference will not have more widespread side effects?"
The camera left his face, panning back to the reporter. "Thank you for your insight, Mr Snowdon. You've certainly given us food for thought tonight."
"It's my pleasure," he said. "I just wish we could've met in more positive circumstances."
The reporter nodded. "News reports of this story have not been well-received across the city. Protests began outside City Hall at approximately noon this afternoon, and one-hundred extra police officers were drafted in to maintain control. Take a look at this footage."
They disappeared from the screen then, along with the studio backdrop. I recognised the street immediately; it was the far end of City Walk, the long stretch of road that gave way to the intricately pillared building housing all government officials. One of the main landmarks was the giant statue outside: a bronze immortalisation of the city's most famous man, Kristopher Holland. The camera didn't linger, but I was sure I'd noticed splatters of red across the statue, leaving me to wonder whether vandals had already descended. Barriers lined the entrance to keep the crowd at bay; then, like metal wasn't enough, a line of security guards formed a second obstacle. Even in my room, the roar of the crowd was obtrusive, and I had to hastily swipe the volume down to keep it from waking my parents.
"Scenes of unrest remained outside City Hall for many hours this afternoon," the voiceover said, as the camera panned the crowd. Several signs and banners were visible above the heads of the mass; the words I could make out went along the lines of STOP MODIFICATION and DON'T QUESTION NATURE. "Three people were arrested when the crowd began to get violent. An official statement was given at six p.m. by Max Snowdon, shown here."
When the camera returned to the front of the building, leaving the statue just out of shot, the same man was in view. This time, however, he stood in front of a glass podium at the top of the steps, and a microphone amplified his voice above the roar of the crowd.
"Recent news has called into question the regulation of genetic research in the city." His words sent a slight hush falling across the mob. "For the last fifty years, New London has been at the forefront of this field, and institutions across the city have taken pride in pushing the boundaries of what science is capable of."
He paused, looking out across the crowd, where the angry unrest seemed to have temporarily subsided. Somehow, his few words were more powerful than the hundred police officers already present.
I noticed then the rest of his presentation: not just the podium, but the figures who'd emerged behind him, standing upright like a silent backup. The tallest of the lot was young – he couldn't have been much older than me, and looked kind of out of place amongst all the grey hair. Though his face was obscured by thick, square-framed glasses, it wasn't enough to hide the resemblance; his dark hair and square jaw were unmistakable descendants of Mr Snowdon himself.
Maybe having his family present was part of the image, like showing solidarity in his political belief. Still, whatever it was, I couldn't quite forget about the boy standing behind him.
"The development and patent of the CRISPR/Cas9 gene editing system is one of the city's greatest achievements," Max Snowdon continued. He sounded louder now, like somebody had turned up his microphone. "For this, the entire world owes the late Kristopher Holland a great debt. Without his restoration of the food supply, many of us would not be standing here today. The technique was developed by BioPlus laboratories for this purpose, and this purpose only."
A murmuring rippled through the crowd; his words were evoking more discussion than intended. I watched him shift a little on the spot, leaning closer to the microphone.
"The modification of human DNA remains illegal. Any process that enables the genome of offspring to be altered and carried to term is completely unethical, and will never be permitted under city law. Let me assure you of this: the technology has not and will not be used on humans."
The footage ended there. When the reporter returned to the screen, he'd taken a seat back at his desk without Mr Snowdon. "Government officials continue to assure to public that the circumstances of Eva Kelly's modification will be fully investigated," he told he camera. "Public health officers remain insistent that this is an isolated case, and that it does not reflect anything happening across the rest of the city.
"For those still concerned, a government helpline has been set up and is being displayed across the bottom of the screen now."
It was all I could take watching. My heart was pounding beneath my shirt, and the nausea rising within me once more was enough to have me shut off the TV completely. Still, even silence couldn't erase what I'd already seen.
Things were changing. And no matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise, there wasn't a power in the city strong enough to stop them.
***
The next morning was every bit as painful as expected. The gripping hunger in my stomach had grown too painful to ignore, which was perhaps the only thing that drove me to face my parents again. Thankfully, most of the fragments of yesterday's atmosphere had been cleaned away with the glass, and those left weren't capable of inflicting too much damage.
Both parents were sat in the kitchen over breakfast. The stare I received upon arrival was nothing worse than I had prepared for, and the same went for the curt apologies that only dared to skim the surface. None of us were brave enough to dig deeper, and that was fine by me.
I knew, however, that I would have to keep a hold on my anger from then on. I couldn't risk anything like yesterday happening again. Even without everything else going on, Nova's unwritten disappearance hung over me as its own warning.
It was either a caution or a premonition – if only I could work out which.
At school, the bombardment of questions about the interview came with all the force I anticipated. Most of my classmates were shaken off with vague answers, and I intended to keep the real discussion between Orla and Verity only. However, when I finally got them alone in a corner of the classroom, even this plan disappeared. Whatever extra words I'd been trying to grasp had slipped from my reach, and all I had left was as generic as my religious opinion.
The entire morning slipped past in a daze. Maybe this was of my own accord; I was stumbling from place to place completely numb, my fear of emotion powerful enough to suppress everything else. Feeling anything was a risk.
A risk of losing control. A risk of exposure. A risk of Nova.
Maybe it was just easier to avoid it altogether.
In fact, the first time I felt anything besides crushing fear was sometime after noon, when I slipped into the final year common room just as the lunchtime news was starting. I dropped my bag onto the floor with a thud and collapsed onto one of the sofas, trying to ignore the screen on the wall.
But, once again, a mere few words were enough to draw in my attention like a magnet.
"This morning, ongoing protests outside City Hall were met with a stronger government response."
My stomach dropped, and I couldn't help looking up.
"Public health officer Max Snowdon announced his overnight promotion to a new position. From today, he heads a new government campaign, officially announced this morning as BioNeutral."
He was at the podium again, but the line of press at the front of the crowd meant he was illuminated by persistent camera flashes. The bright white light made it that much harder to look away.
"The BioNeutral organisation aims to put a stop to any incidence of genetic modification," he said, as roars of general assent rippled through the crowd. "Starting from today, we will work tirelessly to ensure this city of scientific advancement will not be exploited for unethical gain.
"Any further accounts of modification will be treated with the utmost severity, and all precautionary investigations will reflect the moral stance of this global city."
When he paused, his gaze wandered somewhere off camera, like he was catching somebody else's eye. "I would also like to introduce you to a committed ambassador of this cause, which will be launching officially today," he said. "My son, Jace Snowdon."
There he was again. I watched as he came into view, replacing his father's position behind the podium, which had since been embellished with a new green logo. In a pressed suit identical to his father's, standing so upright it must've hurt his spine, he was every bit the perfect younger counterpart.
I'd never seen him speak before, but he seemed so at ease on the podium it was like he was the city mayor. "Today, we mark the birth of a campaign reflecting the beliefs of New London," he said. "BioNeutral will not tolerate interference with the genome that has carried our species for millions of years. If you believe this, you stand with us."
He'd barely said anything, and yet the few words were like a spark to gunpowder in the crowd. The roar no longer held the type of angry opposition it had started out with. In front of the camera, several banners had been lifted into the air, flapping in the wind, and it couldn't haven plainer that the protesters were getting what they had asked for.
"BioNeutral," Jace said, in an entirely level tone. "Stand with us, and we will put order back into progress."
Of course, I'd expected change.
And like a gift wrapped up in a patchwork of waving green logos, sealed by the confidence of Jace Snowdon's voice, it had arrived.
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Hi, everyone! It's Friday, which means another upload for you all. I finally got to introduce Jace, who will be playing a much bigger role in this story from here on out (as you might have already guessed from the cast list). The comments so far have been so lovely and always make my entire week, so please keep them coming! I love you all and I'm really enjoying writing this new story.
The picture at the top of the chapter is kind of how I imagine Nova, but of course you can picture her any way you would like.
- Leigh