The Eve Illusion

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The Eve Illusion Page 18

by Giovanna Fletcher


  ‘Go on, Turner, don’t leave it there,’ Wells says, giving me the floor.

  Me and my big mouth.

  How can I help Hartman but keep my cover? Eve must remain my priority. Our loyalty must be to her, always.

  ‘Bram and Eve would never forgive themselves if they knew what you were going through … for them. This is not what they are fighting for, Hartman, and you’ve served them better than anyone ever would.’ My words are sincere. He’s been through enough. More than even he knows.

  ‘But if the time has come to put yourself first, know that they will not blame you for doing so,’ I say, trying to ease the burden he must be feeling.

  Wells raises an eyebrow in agreement, obviously missing the true motivation behind my words. I don’t wish to help him: I wish to help Hartman.

  ‘Whatever … you are doing to me, it will never be enough to make me betray my friends,’ he rasps, still thinking he’s bound by his invisible restraints.

  ‘Very well.’ Wells sighs. ‘REST.’

  The moment Wells speaks the command Hartman freezes. Totally motionless. It’s like looking at a perfect statue of him.

  ‘He cannot hear or see us for the moment,’ Wells explains. ‘I have paused all neurons running to and from his synapses. He is essentially frozen in time until I say otherwise.’

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small holo-pad. He taps it and a three-dimensional image appears above it, floating in his palm.

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask, unsure if I really want to know the answer.

  ‘How do you torture a Projectant?’ He returns my question with his own.

  I shrug.

  ‘Information,’ he says matter-of-factly. ‘Now we are dealing with a mind, we have more tools at our disposal. We are not restricted to showing images or implanting memories. Using all the information from the pilots, I can have Hartman experience the event in real time from every vantage point simultaneously.’

  I stare at him, trying to pass off my disgust as confusion.

  ‘Imagine being able to feel the sensation of hearing all of Beethoven’s nine symphonies simultaneously.’

  ‘Or four deaths,’ I reply.

  He nods.

  This is unethical madness and I cannot bear to be part of torturing this lost soul again. I have to do something.

  There is a sudden thud.

  Wells turns to the frosted-glass wall where the silhouette of a soldier is tapping it with the butt of his rifle.

  ‘Hold this,’ Wells says, handing me the holo-pad. He places his hand on the cell wall and, at his request, the door appears.

  ‘Sir, he’s here,’ the security guard says urgently.

  ‘Now?’ Wells fires furiously.

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ve had him detained and –’

  ‘Not here.’ Wells cuts him off, obviously wanting to keep this information secret. ‘I’ll see him, now.’

  Wells turns back to me. ‘Turner, we’re not done. I won’t be long,’ he says, and places his hand on the other side of the frosted-glass wall. The door reseals instantly, trapping me inside.

  ‘Wait!’ I scream. ‘Dr Wells!’

  I see his dark shadow disappear, flanked by his two soldiers.

  I’m alone.

  I turn back to the motionless body floating in the middle of the cell and a chill runs down my back. Trapped with the thoughts of a man I killed.

  I look at the holo-pad in my hand. No use tampering with it: Wells would know.

  If only I could speak to Hartman, help him understand what the hell is going on. Or maybe he could help me understand, I don’t know.

  Could I do it? Un-pause him?

  What would the command be?

  ‘Unfreeze,’ I bark.

  Nothing.

  ‘Un-pause,’ I try, but again nothing. Hartman is totally still.

  What would Wells use? I think back over the commands so far.

  ‘Wake up!’ Nope. I guess he’s already awake. But something else that would humanize him, perhaps. Something to give a Projectant a sense of authenticity?

  ‘Hartman, breathe,’ I say.

  His head snaps to me, standing where Wells was a few moments ago. His chest starts rising and falling rapidly.

  ‘How did you do that? Where’s Wells?’ he asks, and I realize he would have perceived Wells to disappear in the blink of an eye.

  ‘He’s gone for a moment, Hartman. I’ll try to explain everything but I need you to listen and to trust me. We don’t have much time.’

  28

  Michael

  How do you tell someone you killed them?

  ‘I feel strange. Confused,’ Hartman says.

  ‘Yes, you will,’ I say, as calmly as I can, ‘I’m sure you’ll be feeling many side effects.’

  ‘Side effects?’ He looks at me.

  A shiver runs down my spine.

  How is he not real? The projection is perfect.

  ‘Hartman,’ I say, preparing him and myself, ‘Wells has done something to you that is … hard to explain. This will be difficult for you to comprehend, but it’s important you know the truth.’

  ‘Try me. The week I’m having, nothing is going to surprise me,’ he says, spitting on the floor. I follow the glob of saliva as the pad projects its trajectory on to the floor of the cell.

  Incredible.

  ‘Well?’

  Okay, I’ve got to do this.

  ‘You’re dead,’ I say.

  Just like that. Blunt. Honest.

  ‘And I killed you,’ I add.

  Hartman blinks at me.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Is this a joke?’

  ‘I wish it was. You were being tortured.’

  ‘Was?’ He coughs.

  ‘Well, yes, you still are, but … it’s different now. I felt the most humane thing to do, the kindest thing for you, was to end it.’

  ‘You either don’t know the definition of killing someone or you did a terrible job because I’m still here!’ he says, looking down at himself.

  ‘Yes, that’s the second part of this riddle, Hartman. You are here, but not physically. I’m just a guard so I don’t know the science but this is your mind talking. Your body is just one of those Projectants.’

  Hartman’s skin tightens around his face at the mention of the word. He stares down at his hands. His feet. His body. ‘Impossible. You’re mistaken.’

  I say nothing and let him have a moment to study himself.

  ‘Where are the cuffs?’ he asks, realizing he’s not being restrained.

  ‘They were on your body, your real body,’ I explain, stepping closer to him, hoping to show some sincerity in my eyes.

  ‘Come closer,’ he says quickly, a little panic in his voice. He raises his hand towards my face and I instinctively back away.

  He keeps his hand there and looks at me.

  I step forward and offer my hand in return.

  He takes it in a handshake.

  ‘You’re full of shit.’ He sighs, relieved. ‘I feel. I feel you. You had me going for a second, though. Is this one of Wells’s new tactics? You’ll have to try harder.’

  ‘Look now,’ I tell him, and he looks down as I squeeze the fuzz of energy until my hand disappears within his, passing straight through the projection of what should be solid.

  He chokes on the air. Gagging. Retching. Heaving.

  ‘Whoa, okay, calm, stay calm,’ I say, as he collapses to the floor. ‘I know it’s difficult. I don’t understand the first thing about this shit!’ His image flickers and distorts as though his mind is turning on itself.

  ‘How … how … can this be … possible?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ I say. ‘When you died he had someone come up and … I dunno … scan your head or something. He’s got a whole secret place he’s built within the Dome, and whatever they got from your brain they took there. The next thing I know you’re back in front of me as if nothing happened.’

  Hartman sits and takes
a few deep breaths to calm himself. ‘I can still feel it … the air … in my lungs,’ he says, as he brings his hands up in front of his face to study them. He sees the light-pad he’s sitting on. ‘Is that it?’ he asks.

  ‘That’s some sort of projection thing, I guess,’ I reply.

  ‘He had us test these with Holly a while back.’ He sighs. ‘Portable tiles capable of manipulating light waves. He’d planned to redesign the whole Tower with these, allowing Holly or any of his projections access to anywhere they please.’

  ‘Why didn’t he?’ I ask, as he runs his finger over the edge of his light source.

  ‘I guess Silva vetoed it. It was unnecessary. The Holly projectors were sufficient for what Eve required.’

  ‘I guess Eve isn’t Wells’s priority any more.’

  ‘I’m not sure she ever was,’ Hartman replies, his lip quivering. ‘So what’s he doing in this new place you mentioned?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t know yet but I have a man who can help.’

  ‘And you trust him?’

  ‘He’s my brother.’

  ‘And you trust him?’ he repeats.

  ‘With my life. I already owe it to him. His loyalty is with Eve,’ I say.

  ‘Yet he works for the EPO.’

  ‘So did you,’ I fire back.

  He nods in acceptance.

  ‘Do you think there’s more of …’ I pause, unsure how to finish the question.

  ‘More what? Things like me?’ he asks, waving at the pad of white he’s sitting on.

  ‘People. Not things, Hartman,’ I correct. ‘If there are more Projectants, or whatever you call them, down there, then he’s messing with people’s lives.’

  ‘You have to find Bram before Wells does,’ Hartman commands.

  ‘Where?’ I ask.

  He pauses.

  I can see every part of what’s left of him trying to resist giving away his friends.

  ‘Hartman, there’s no time to doubt me now,’ I say.

  He looks at the light-pad once more and sighs his artificial breath.

  ‘They have a place. It’s hidden in the old city under the flood. It’s …’

  ‘SLEEP,’ Wells commands from the open glass wall behind me and Hartman’s image disappears instantly into the light-pad.

  ‘No!’ I scream.

  Wells stares at me.

  ‘He was about to tell me, sir,’ I say honestly, leaving out the part that I had no intention of revealing that information to Wells.

  ‘No need. Circumstances have changed and that information has now been given to us from a reliable source on the outside.’

  ‘Who?’ I ask, desperate to know who gave them up.

  ‘One of their own,’ Wells says, bending down and removing Hartman’s clear disc from the pad and placing it inside the leather pouch alongside Squad H.

  A small part of me finds comfort in that he’s at least with his fellow pilots in some way.

  ‘Ready your team, Turner. Today is the day Eve returns home,’ he says, then leaves me in the empty cell.

  29

  Eve

  ‘Time to wake up,’ he whispers in my ear, his hot breath tickling my neck.

  I roll over, my fingers running through his hair. My arms reach around his neck and pull him towards me. ‘I’m awake,’ I croak, as our lips cushion together.

  He pulls away, softly chuckles. ‘We need to go,’ he says. ‘Come on, before everyone else wakes up. Unless you don’t want to go out any more?’ he teases.

  ‘Our date!’ I sing, scrambling out of the bed and throwing on my clothes – a variety of black garments to keep me hidden in the shadows.

  ‘Wear this,’ he says, chucking a heavy woollen coat in my direction. Also black.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You’ll thank me.’ He looks in the bag he’s carrying, then starts patting his pockets and searching the floor around him, making sure he has everything we might need.

  I reluctantly push my arms into the coat’s sleeves, trying not to gag at the stench of the fabric. Being down here in the Deep, it’s hard to remember the last time I smelled something nice and inviting.

  When we’re dressed and Bram has checked the contents of his bag once more, we leave the room, being as quiet as possible while walking along the corridors and past rooms containing sleeping Freevers. It’s eerily quiet, considering there are so many of us living down here. We make it to the capsule unseen. To my surprise, Saunders isn’t here, but Bram is unfazed as he locks us in and starts pulling levers. We barely talk as it travels skywards and delivers us outside.

  It’s cold, but in the thick of night I take a moment to stand in the dark, my eyes closed as I breathe in the fresh air and marvel at how different it feels as it travels down my throat and hits my lungs. I wonder if I’ll ever stand outside like this without feeling euphoric. I hope not.

  ‘Come on,’ Bram hisses from somewhere below.

  I snap out of the moment. I look down to the water and see him sitting in a rubber boat. Taking his hand, I climb in, grabbing on to the side and crouching low – careful not to wobble it too much.

  I grab the blanket by my feet and wrap it around my shoulders and head. I’m hidden, but I can still see what’s going on.

  With one push, we’re drifting down the river. Bram guides us in the right direction with the oars, bouncing us away from other vessels and pulling the boat through the water with long strokes, helping us to pick up speed. When we can no longer see the opening we’ve come from, he starts the engine.

  In the darkness it’s impossible to see the murky brown of the water. Instead, as it reflects its surroundings, it feels almost magical. Others might see the towering buildings, shattered glass and derelict structures as threatening, but to me they’re fascinating.

  I guess that’s hardly surprising because I wasn’t here to see their world crumble and fall apart. To me, this is a place to marvel at. To the people down here, it’s their reality, their past, their lives.

  ‘Move to the right,’ Bram whispers, leaning over me and grabbing hold of a piece of sodden fabric hanging from above. ‘Hold on.’

  The boat screeches and jolts as it collides with a wall.

  ‘Sorry,’ Bram says, tying us securely to the building we bumped into.

  I look up at the skyscraper towering above us. Floodlights from surrounding buildings bounce off its glass panels, highlighting its uniqueness. It’s not rectangular, or made of the same grey material as others I’ve seen. Nor does it look like it was thrown up as a matter of urgency. Time and care were taken over its spectacular design, with glass shards protruding into the sky.

  ‘Watch yourself,’ Bram says, climbing on to a platform and leaning back to help me out.

  I take his hand and step up to join him, then follow him through the huge hole in the side of the building. Back on steady ground, Bram marches through the tall room we’ve arrived in. I’m not so quick to move. Instead I try to absorb it all. People must’ve worked here, I think, as I take in the rows of desks and chairs that would once have been occupied by hundreds of employees.

  I’m drawn to a photograph hanging beside one station. Four faces beam back at me: a man, a woman and two children – boys, of course. Which one used to stand on this spot? Were they a close family? Did they live long, happy lives? I wonder what happened to them. I pocket the photo and drag myself away. If Bram weren’t here, I would be going through every cupboard to unlock more details of a life I know nothing about. Next time, I think, as I jog towards Bram, who is waiting for me.

  ‘Let’s take our time with this,’ he says, when I arrive, nodding at a huge staircase.

  All I see is the challenge. I haven’t done much by way of fitness down in the Deep. This is the most appealing sight I’ve seen in a while.

  ‘And we’re going all the way to the top?’ I question.

  ‘Yep.’ He nods.

  ‘Race you!’ I shout, running to the first step, grabbing the handrail and leaping
up the rest.

  ‘That’s not fair,’ snorts Bram from below. Within seconds I hear his heavy boots collide with the floor.

  Laughter echoes around the stairwell as we set off. There’s the thrill of being chased and of wanting to win. And I do. Desperately.

  My body responds well to the sudden exertion, but becomes heavy the further up I go. I push through, not wanting to stop, enjoying the opportunity to feel my muscles being put to work.

  When I reach the top my legs are burning and my heart is beating so forcefully in my chest that I fear it might actually pop out. I win but don’t have enough air in my lungs to declare it. I hunch over to catch my breath, delighted with what my body has achieved.

  ‘Worth it?’ Bram asks, annoyingly sounding less breathless.

  ‘Amazing.’ I chuckle.

  ‘That’s not what I’m talking about.’

  With my hand still on my chest, I pull myself up. My jaw drops as my eyes widen. A view. A spot where I can take in the city – and it’s all around me: I can pace the entire floor for a complete, uninterrupted view of Central.

  ‘Wait. Is it real?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  I press my hands and forehead against the cool glass. Life. Real life. An unedited view of Central in all its murky, wet, broken glory. The brilliant city, with the gargantuan Tower right in the middle. It might demand attention, but the beauty is in its surroundings.

  ‘I wonder what I would’ve made of all this if they’d allowed me to see it. I still would’ve loved it,’ I say, with certainty. ‘What were they so scared of?’

  ‘I used to think they just wanted to show you an idyllic world. Their Utopia,’ Bram says, coming to stand next to me. ‘If you were happy and content there, you were less likely to ask questions. But it wasn’t only about keeping you in. It was there to keep others out.’

  I gasp as a fiery light shines across Bram’s face, and illuminates the rest of the space around us. I shield my eyes and look to see the sun rising in the distance. A thin sliver of sky on the horizon is glowing a dazzling orange, lighting the bottom of the stormy clouds hovering over Central, which are threatening to burst and splutter.

 

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