Mason chuckles at me quietly.
I scan the large room, taking it all in. It’s nothing compared to the main lab in Virginia, but it’s impressive anyway. There are two workstations, both with the same mini computers and massive monitors as the one in the office upstairs. There’s the PCR machine, used to amplify DNA, which looks like a fax machine crossed with a mini-fridge. There are spinners and shakers and rotators and the Homogenizer, aka the tissue blender. There’s a hot plate, and dry ice; a water bath and a scale. And, of course, there are dozens of squeaking rats.
All of the Disciples have assignments, but not many of them need labs like ours in their homes. Duties range from monitoring other countries for breakthroughs similar to Revive to controlling the program’s technology to managing relocation and surveillance. Agents in the big lab focus on advancing Revive—testing new iterations—while agents like Mason and Cassie make sure those who got the original version are functioning normally. Inside the program, my guardians’ job is to conduct ongoing testing and analysis on the bus kids; to the rest of the world, Mason is a psychologist and Cassie is a stay-at-home mom.
As always, I’m impressed by the pop-up, state-of-the-art lab in an otherwise pedestrian basement.
“You guys are making good progress,” I say.
“Thanks,” Mason says, smiling. “The space is larger than the one in Michigan, so that’s helpful.”
“Yeah,” I say, giving it another look. Then my eyes fall back on Mason. “Well, my room’s done,” I say. “I feel like going out.”
Mason raises his eyebrows, surprised. “What do you need?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “I want to get a library card. See if Omaha has any good shoe stores. Maybe catch a movie. I need to do something to get acclimated. I start school tomorrow, and I know nothing about this town.”
Mason tilts his head slightly, considering it. “Okay,” he says, standing and wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’ll take you.”
Cassie shoots him a look: Mason leaving means she’ll have to finish setting up the lab alone.
“Let’s all go,” Mason says to her. “Daisy’s right. It’ll be good for us to get to know Omaha, too.”
Cassie stares for a few seconds, then relents. Mason is, after all, her boss.
“At least let me change first,” she says.
An hour later, I’m standing in the middle of the desert wondering how it would feel to be stranded without water.
“Think Revive would work if I died of dehydration?” I ask Cassie quietly, staring up at the shell of the Desert Dome at the Omaha Zoo.
“I think so, yes,” Cassie says without taking her eyes off of a cactus. “We’ve done dehydration testing on the rats. Seventy-two percent success.”
“That’s better than asphyxiation,” I say.
“And drowning,” Mason adds.
Thinking of water reminds me of an exhibit I want to see.
“I’m going to the aquarium,” I say.
“Meet us at the front gate at three,” Mason says before turning and heading toward the bat exhibit. Cassie seems stuck to the cactus, so I walk toward the underwater experience alone.
>I tap my finger on the screen to read her message.
Megan: You didn’t post…. Everything okay?
Under the pseudonyms Flower Girl and Fabulous, Megan and I coauthor a blog called Anything Autopsy, where we dissect music, books, fashion, food, and whatever else we feel like. The format is she said/she said style—or she said/he-she said, since Megan is transgender—and if one of us doesn’t post, it’s not as cool.
I type back:
Daisy: Sorry, we had to move.
There’s a pause, and I imagine Megan’s black-lined eyes bugging out of her head. The thought makes me laugh out loud.
Megan: Again???!!!???
“Unfortunately,” I say aloud, even though she can’t hear me. Then I type: