Deprecated

by Michael Karr

  “You never exactly made it easy for me to love you,” said Grayson, his tone subdued.

  The fire in his father’s eyes died away, replaced by…sadness? “I guess that’s one of the reasons I loved your mother so much,” he said softly. “She loved me, despite the fact that I am not easy to love. But if you think that incessantly pushing you to test the limits of your abilities was for lack of love, then you are unequivocally mistaken.”

  “Yes, father. I’m afraid I must have mistaken the act of trying to have me killed for something other than love. Thank you for that clarification. I see now how much of an idiot I’ve been.”

  His father ignored his sarcasm. “There’s an old story that people of faith used to tell. I don’t draw the same conclusion as they, but it will illustrate my point just as well.”

  “A story?” Grayson asked. Was his father actually going to moralize right now? Apparently, he was. For he continued talking without pausing.

  “There are various versions of the story. But the basic idea is that there was a drawbridge operator, whose job it was to ensure that at certain times each day, the drawbridge was lowered so that the passenger train could cross the river. One day, the operator took his young son with him to work. At one point during the day, the son was playing under the bridge and managed to get himself trapped in the mechanical gears of the bridge. The father struggled to free his son. Soon he heard the whistle of an approaching train. If he did not lower the bridge, the people aboard would plunge into the river below, and die. Yet, if he lowered the bridge, his son would be crushed to death by the gears.” His father paused for a moment, then asked, “If you were the operator—the father—what would you do? Save your only son, or save the lives of hundreds of people who blindly put their trust in you?”

  Grayson blinked. So, this was what kept his father going? What assuaged his guilty conscience at night? The predicament was disturbing. How could anyone answer that?

  “I’ll tell you what the man did,” his father continued without waiting for Grayson to answer. “He had mercy on the people on the train. The people heading home to all of their loved ones. He sacrificed his own son to save so many others. He exchanged all the potential heartache, tears, and anguish of complete strangers for his own.”

  “You’re not God, father,” Grayson said. “It’s not your job to save everyone. Plus, in that story, the father didn’t have an alternative to killing his son or letting the people die. You do. You’re choosing to kill me—your son.”

  “Do I have a choice? If people discover what I’ve done there will be mutiny. Everything we’ve built up will crumble and fall. I cannot let that happen, Son. Don’t you see?”

  A gust of wind struck them from the west. An icy winter wind. Yet it did not chill him half as much as his father’s words. His father truly saw himself as some kind of savior for the human race.

  “This is better than watching The Godfather,” Serghei’s voice hissed in his ear. Grayson almost jumped in surprise. “You’re dad’s Vito Corleone, and you’re Michael. Classic. Anyway, I’m deploying Grant.”

  Perfect timing. Serghei’s pet rat would be there in a few minutes. In the meantime, he just needed to keep his father talking. However disturbing that might be.

  “No,” Grayson replied. “You don’t just want to save the people of this city. Not for any altruistic reasons. You just want to restore what you lost. Desolation took from you your dream of a world filled with your PNU, with Enhanced people. A world transformed—and you the creator of it. You would have been famous, wealthy beyond imagination. But that will never happen. Not in our lifetime. Maybe in a century from now.”

  His father shook his head, and his jaw tightened. Again, his gaze fixed on the headstone.

  “It was never about fame or money. You don’t know me, if that’s what you believe. I wanted to prove to everyone that they were wrong. Since the inception of my research into the PNUs there have been critics, naysayers, even opponents. I fought with the board of directors for years to fund the research at Steele Corp. My own company didn’t believe in the PNUs. They wanted to stick to developing new nanomaterials and nanochemicals.

  “I was forced to fund the research and development myself. And all the while, the nanoscience community laughed on. Their skepticism, their taunts—they only fueled my desired to prove them all wrong. Even now, some on the Advisory Board think we ought to halt further development. A waste of resources, they claim. But they are wrong. We need the PNUs more than ever before.

  “A single PNU-enhanced mechanical engineer can do the work of ten regular engineers, performing calculations, discovering design issues, and building blueprints faster than ever. Doctors can perform operations better than any robot ever could. The examples go on and on.”

  “And yet it hasn’t saved us from all starving to death,” Grayson replied. “You know, if all you wanted was to tighten rationing, Deprecate a few of the Unenhanced, and kill me, you could have found an easier way to do it. You didn’t have to hatch an elaborate, circuitous plot that involved killing off your own Regulation Chief, and other important members of the Alliance. That’s what I still don’t fully understand.”

  “If you poked your head out of your hole once in a while, and looked around at what’s going on, you might have figured it out on your own. Most of the Enhanced who met their untimely death, were reporting symptoms that were going to make it difficult for me to continue our PNU research.”

  “Symptoms?”

  “Dementia is the main one. Type-2 diabetes another. We have evidence which suggests—for some users—the PNU can cause the development of these diseases. I have a group working to remedy this issue. Still, it will be several years before we have a cure and can broadly distribute a patch.”

  “And so you killed off anyone exhibiting these problems so that no one would have evidence to condemn your PNU. How merciful of you to end their lives like that for them.”

  “Why did you come here?” His father suddenly demanded. “Your remarks are beset with your usual insolence. If you came here in hopes of changing my mind, you’re doing a shoddy job of it.”

  Tell me about it.

  “You expect me to come here and kiss up to you? Come now, Father. I’m not that pathetic. I’m here to tell you the truth. What you’re doing is wrong. But I can see that you’re beyond hope of reason on this matter.”

  Grayson suppressed the urged to steal a glance over his left shoulder. He knew Serghei’s rat would be approaching from that direction, from behind a tree where he’d hid it after Feng dropped him off. Unless, of course, it decided to scurry off in the completely opposite direction. Serghei had spent the last few nights training the rat here at the cemetery. Serghei had assured him Grant would do fine. Grayson didn’t share Serghei’s confidence. If only he’d had had ready access to the labs, he could have programmed the cyborg rodent. Too late now.

  “By the way,” his father said, his tone conversational, “I know that your little girlfriend is in my labs at this very moment. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t be monitoring the security certificate of a stolen PNU? She’ll never get her friend out. Our dutiful Regulation Chief has been spying on her, just as I knew she would do. A squadron of Regulators is already on its way to Steele Tower. I also have a little surprise for her. You can’t win this one, son. It’s over.”

  Rylee? Blast it! He thought his father wouldn’t bother himself with her. Maybe his father was bluffing about the surprise. Trying to fluster him, get him to cooperate. Should he call her off? If she left now, she might get out. She’d hate him because she didn’t save Preston, but she’d be safe. Safe. He could live with himself if—in the end—she was safe. Who was he kidding? Unless he succeeded right now in stopping his father, she’d never be safe.

  Despite his inner turmoil, Grayson didn’t give his father the pleasure of looking shocked or afraid. Fixing his father with a steady gaze, he said, “Unfortunately for you, I inherited your tenacity. I’m far from r
eady to give up.”

  At that moment, one of his father’s bodyguards let out a shout. “What the…”

  Time for the show.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Rylee stepped into one of the elevators and pressed the button for the sixteenth floor. Her heart thundered in her chest with enough force to rival any storm Desolation could dish out. The sixteenth floor. It was Grayson’s best guess as to where Preston might be located in the building. Grayson had emphasized guess. There were eighty floors in Steele Tower. And Preston could literally be on any of them.

  Great plan, Grayson. I hate you so much…

  The elevator doors closed, and Rylee’s stomach bottomed out as the car lurched upwards. Riding in the elevator made her mind flash back to the CA’s party. Instinctively, she placed her hand on the grip of her pistol concealed beneath her jacket. Her pistol. Not Adrianna’s tiny squirt gun. After she’d come home wearing makeup like a tramp, her Grandfather had given her Glock back. She honestly hoped that she wouldn’t need any of those rounds this time. Especially since Preston would be unarmed.

  The elevator chimed, snapping Rylee’s mind back to the task at hand. The display above the doors indicated she had reached the sixteenth floor. A quick scan showed her that no other Elect was waiting on the other side of the elevator doors. Despite her PNU’s reassurance, she kept a firm grip on her pistol.

  When the open doors revealed an empty corridor, she let out a gush of bated breath and she loosened her grip on her pistol. Stepping out of the elevator, she headed left, following Grayson’s directions.

  The sixteenth floor, in addition to numerous offices and simulation labs, contained several testing and observation rooms. That’s what Grayson had called them. The testing rooms were where they put test subjects when they were trying out some new form of PNU. The rooms were secure—just in case something went wrong.

  Right.

  According to Grayson, the testing done with new PNUs was highly confidential, and highly unethical, at best.

  Each testing room was supposed to be adjoined by an observation room, which permitted the scientists to easily watch the test subject, like Serghei stuffing his pet rat in a cage. According to Grayson, the rooms were rarely used, as new PNUs take months—or years—to develop and manufacture. And he wasn’t aware of any scheduled testing anytime soon. So, the rooms should be left alone by any of the normal staff. A perfect place to lock up Preston.

  Rylee strode down the clinically white corridor, walking as quickly as she dared to avoid looking any more conspicuous than she already was.

  At the end of the corridor, a single door barred her way. She grabbed the handle. Immediately, her PNU received another security challenge. Just as instantaneously, her PNU supplied the requested security certificate, and the door clicked open.

  Inside, she was met with a long wall extending in both directions, with gray doors set at even intervals. According to the instructions from Grayson, these were the testing rooms. Even though her PNU granted her access to this part of the building, her PNU’s internal schematic of the building did not show the rooms beyond the gray doors. Just a long, empty corridor labeled as a construction area.

  Someone really didn’t want people snooping around here. Likely, the CA himself knew about everyone who entered here. This thought made the hairs on the nape of her neck stiffen. It also prodded her to move even quicker.

  How many doors were there? Ten? Fifteen? Vaguely, Rylee wondered who the tests subjects were. Unsuspecting Norms? The thought made Rylee’s anger flare.

  Preston. She needed to focus on Preston.

  Where would he be? She didn’t want to waste time checking every single room. But what alternative did she have? Start shouting his name in hopes that he would hear? That would be a good way to get everyone’s attention on the entire floor. The rooms beyond the gray doors could very well be soundproof. But this corridor? Doubtful.

  Not wanting to waste time deliberating, she went to the nearest door. Maybe whoever locked up Preston opted for convenience over difficulty of discovery. Opening the door, which again requested her security certificate, she peered inside. The room within was gray. A minor relief to her eyes after the blinding whiteness of the corridors. Furnished with a bed, sofa, table and chairs, the room looked more comfortable than any apartment in the slums.

  “Preston,” she called out softly, even though the room was obviously empty. No reply. She shut the door and moved to the next door to her right. Empty. And the next…nothing. After five more empty rooms, she moved back to search the other half of the hallway.

  With each empty room she found, the franticness of her search increased. What if Preston truly wasn’t in this part of the building, or even in the building at all? Grayson hadn’t suggested anywhere else to search. She opened another door. Empty.

  Three more rooms remained.

  By the last room, she felt positively desperate. Like a starving animal hunting for food. With trembling fingers, she snatched at the door handle and yanked it open, practically shouting Preston’s name across the threshold. No reply came. Her eyes took in the room. Bed, sofa, table, chairs. Empty. Her heart sank into her stomach.

  He wasn’t there. He truly wasn’t there. She turned back around to the corridor, looking around wildly in case she’d missed another door. Missed a sign…something. But there wasn’t anything else. This couldn’t be happening. She needed to find Preston now. There wasn’t time to search every blasted room, office, closet and lab in the entire building. Grayson’s father and his gray suits would be back soon. And she wouldn’t get another chance like this again—ever.

  At that moment a familiar hissing filling her ears, then Serghei’s voice. “I hate to be the bearer of bad tiding, Ry. But you are about to have unwelcome company. I advise you leave. Now.”

  “The CA can’t be back already.”

  “It’s not the CA, sweetheart. Regulators. A whole squadron of them.”

  Rylee cursed. “I can’t leave now. I haven’t found Preston.” Did he just call me sweetheart?

  “This is not a good idea. They know you are there. Find an emergency exit and get out.”

  Rylee bolted for the door connected to the main corridor. Not to leave though. The Regulators would still have to find her in the building. She had a few minutes. She would find Preston, somehow. And then…well she would figure that out once she got to that point.

  The real question remained: where to find Preston. If she were the CA—if she were a twisted, sadistic leader—and wanted to secretly stow someone away, where would she put them?

  Unexpectedly, her PNU informed her of an incoming message. From Grayson? Was he okay? The message, though, didn’t just interrupt her thoughts, force itself into her brain, like Grayson’s messages always did. This was different. Her PNU informed her that the message originated from an anonymous sender.

  Anonymous? What other Elect could possibly be sending her a message? And an anonymous one at that. She recalled Grayson’s warning from the night of his father’s party. He had given her explicit instruction not to accept any unsolicited communications. Now, however…there was no one around. No one who knew she was in the building. Except for the squadron of Regulators. Or possibly the CA himself.

  She continued striding down the hallway, toward the elevators, trying to ignore the message. Willing herself to tell her PNU to reject the message. Every logical part of her told her she should reject it. Grayson’s warning told her she should reject it. Yet something else inside her longed to accept it. Precisely the wrong thing to do.

  Ignoring logic, caution, and common sense, she accepted the message. Instantly, a single word flashed into her mind.

  Eighteen.

  That was it. That was all the message said. Eighteen. And still no indication as to the sender. What did it mean? Perhaps the message had been sent to her erroneously. If Grayson were around, he could likely bore her to death about how and why that was virtually impossible.

  Reac
hing the elevators, she pressed the button to call one of the cars. A second later, a ding sounded, and the doors to her right opened. She dashed inside and went to the panel of buttons. Her hand hovered over the numbers. Which floor? As if pulled by an invisible force, her finger stopped over 18. Without thinking, she jammed her finger into it.

  Eighteen. Floor eighteen. It all made sense. Now she understood the message. Not only that, but she suspected she knew who sent it. The CA himself. This was a trap. A trap that she voluntarily walked right into.

  FORTY

  The elevator car couldn’t move fast enough. Had it been attached to a rocket, it still would have been too slow. Never mind the fact that she was almost certainly being played by the CA, and lured into a trap.

  Scratching the back of her hand furiously, she watched the display above the doors lazily tick off the floors. Had the elevator gotten slower?

  Regulators were already in the building. Her probe was specifically configured to warn her of their presence. Currently, they were still on the main floor of the building. Within minutes, they would have the entire building locked down. All main exits and emergency outlets blocked off. Other Regulators would track her down. She couldn’t hide her presence. Even the elevators checked her security certificate before allowing her to access a floor. They would know precisely where she was going.

  Again, her hand gravitated toward her handgun. This time she unholstered it. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

  Eighteen.

  The elevator chimed, and the doors began to slide open. Even though her probe indicated no one was on the other side of the doors, she couldn’t risk being ambushed. And with Regulation already hunting her in the building, she couldn’t care less if she spooked an unsuspecting lab worker.