by Rebecca Rode
Maybe it was better that the door was locked. I obviously wasn’t ready. I gave the door one last look and turned to go.
“Miss Hawking,” a deep voice said, making me jump. “I’ve just given you access. Draw closer to the door, and it should open.”
I looked around, breath suspended in my chest. No cameras, no speakers. That meant . . . someone had talked to me through my implant. Not just anyone, either. Director Virgil. How long had he been watching me stand here, fighting off my memories? And how had he hacked into my implant speakers?
Feeling my cheeks warm, I moved closer. Half a second later, there was a loud click and the door nudged open. The moment I stepped inside, the inside lights came on.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be in shortly.” A tiny click, and he was gone.
I shuddered. This couldn’t be legal. Surely Director Virgil was breaking all kinds of privacy laws by hacking into my brain. Besides that tiny click, there’d been no warning whatsoever. He could have listened to every conversation I’d had today.
The warmth in my cheeks was something else now. Dad would hear about this. Well, when he was ready to speak to me again.
In the meantime, I took in my surroundings. The lab looked exactly as it had before, identical to every other room here. White, boring, blah. The far window’s brilliant blue reflecting the outside bay was the only color—real glass, not the green-tinted safety kind. The usual table stood in the room’s center, though it looked smaller in scale than Mom’s. The only differences were a fire extinguisher bracketed to the wall and the ceiling sprinklers. I didn’t exactly blame Virgil for the new safety obsession.
There was also no bag hanging from the hook near the door. I’d given her that bag for her birthday. We’d never see it again.
I leaned against the wall, drawing in a series of long, slow breaths to control the emotions churning inside me and grateful I hadn’t eaten lunch yet.
Mom thought in numbers, explained things using properties and atoms, and felt most at home in her crisp, blue uniform. I could almost sense her here, like a presence in the darkness only I could feel. I imagined her standing at that table, taking notes while hunched over a jumble of chemicals, her too-large goggles slipping down her petite nose and making her eyes look huge.
Her safety goggles hadn’t done much to protect her that day.
It was Dad who’d come to school to tell me. I could still see every inch of the officiator’s office, how my chest felt like it had exploded right along with the lab. This lab.
“You were the lab’s leading scientist,” I said, my voice stabbing the silence. “You should have been more careful.” The room didn’t answer.
Footsteps in the hallway.
I turned just in time to see Director Virgil open the door. He looked as disheveled as when I’d seen him a year ago. His gray eyebrows were messy and round, hovering over his eyes like two overgrown bushes. It made his balding head look even more strange gleaming in the bright lights overhead. Only a ring of hair remained, extending from ear to ear.
“I hoped you’d find this place.” He gestured to the room. “We finished rebuilding this part of the wing just last month. I think we got it right. What do you think?”
I ignored the question. “How did you talk to me just now?”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Ah. I bet that was startling. I sometimes forget that our newest candidates have never experienced that before. Our security protocols get triggered when a person’s implant location breeches a protected area, which enables us to communicate with the trespasser in an audible manner temporarily. Now, since it’s obvious this lab is of interest to you, and in memory of your mother, I’ve issued a permanent implant authorization that allows you to come and go as you please. Any other candidate arriving at this door will receive a warning to return to their authorized wing.”
I eyed him. “Thank you, but that doesn’t answer my question. How exactly did you hack into my internal speakers?”
“I wouldn’t call it ‘hacking,’ exactly. All implants had the ability to deliver emergency messages from the beginning. It was initially intended for children who can’t read, as a security precaution. But your father believed internal audio messages raised privacy concerns, so he made it illegal. Now all messages are delivered with text unless the user authorizes a call.”
A decision I agreed with. “Then why use it here?”
“Private company. Upon signing the contract yesterday, you authorized your implant to be monitored. But don’t worry. We aren’t allowed to view a person’s implant feed visually, for example, nor see their personal files. The ability to speak to you was only activated once you entered this protected area. When you return to the graduate wing, that ability will be automatically blocked once again.”
His face looked genuine, but my gut still crawled. “I think my dad should know about this anyway.”
“He does. You should also know that the policy wasn’t initiated here until after your mother died. Believe me, I wish I’d implemented it sooner. If I’d kept a closer watch on her, perhaps she’d still be with us.” He motioned to the room. “This lab will remain empty for an entire year in memory of your mother. Enjoy it. It’s my greatest desire that you feel at home here.”
Somehow I doubted it was his greatest desire. “All due respect, sir, I can’t feel at home if I’m worried about being spied on.”
The briefest of pauses. “Here, I can promise you privacy. If you wander into other unauthorized wings, you’ll be subject to the same security as the others. Your father would never forgive me if something happened to you while under my care.”
That much was true, I grudgingly admitted. Dad would never forgive Virgil for last year’s explosion. The man was already fighting to keep his lab afloat. He wouldn’t risk losing another Hawking and giving my father ammunition, privacy issues or not.
I filed the information away, determined to pick it apart later. For now, I had Director Virgil exactly where I wanted him. “I need to know exactly what happened that night. You didn’t tell us much.”
The director let his gaze sweep the room, taking in its contents like a fellow observer. “We still know less than I’d like. If only Andreah had come to me for help. I would have supplied her with the test subjects she needed. She must have been so confident in her experiment she downloaded the update herself to see if it worked. It didn’t.”
I stared at him. He hadn’t told us this part before. Everyone made it sound like it was some freak chemical accident.
“But wait,” I said, still trying to piece it together. “How can a neurotech experiment create an explosion big enough to topple half a wing? It involves wires and electrodes, not explosives.”
He turned to face me, his expression sad. “That question has kept me up many nights since. We found no residue of explosive chemicals or powders and no manual detonation devices. Even our best experts have been unable to determine the cause.”
I examined him for a long time, but there was truth in the man’s eyes. He seemed almost as frustrated with the lack of answers as I was.
“She obviously believed in her research, and that’s all we need to know.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. “I’m truly sorry. If it’s any comfort, we’ve revamped security tenfold since then. Nothing like that will ever happen again.”
I just nodded.
He hesitated. “There’s something else we need to discuss, Miss Hawking. It’s something of a delicate matter.”
“More delicate than a scientist blowing herself up?” I asked bitterly.
He looked up at the ceiling as if reconsidering, then leveled his gaze at me. “I can’t tell you how pleased we were that you accepted the invitation to come. Truly. It was a pleasant surprise, and we look forward to mending any resentment between myself and your honored family.”
Translation: He hadn’t really wanted me to come.
“I suppose I wanted something different from life,”
I said carefully, unsure where this was going.
“A familiar cause. My parents wanted me to become a plumber. Obviously, I chose a different path, just as you have. I can imagine your father wasn’t too pleased. It must have been hard to go against his wishes for your future.”
“Not really.” A lie, but this man didn’t deserve the truth.
“I see.” His fatherly act slipped, the irritation behind his words evident. “Well, you’re an adult now, so let me speak frankly. The press coverage surrounding your Declaration was remarkable. We’ve received several rather generous donations since you arrived. The public’s eye is upon you, Miss Hawking. They want you to succeed. The problem is, your test results today were far from promising.”
I stiffened. It was clear where this conversation was headed.
“Your talents may lie in other areas. Public relations, for one. I have a proposal for you in that regard. But if you’d prefer to remain in the scientific track, you’re welcome to take the test again.”
I wanted to laugh at that. The meaning was clear—this was no simple proposal. It was pure and undefiled blackmail. Reject his offer and I would be demoted and slandered to the press before I learned anything about Mom and her disaster of a project. Director Virgil pretended to be a compassionate man, but I couldn’t forget for a moment who he was. “I’m listening.”
“We’re holding a broadcast announcement regarding our latest update. It will be remarkably unlike previous updates, and we are rather proud of it. I’d like you to be the one to announce it to the world.”
I frowned. More cameras. “Broadcasts aren’t exactly my thing.”
“Your script will be written for you. All you have to do is read the words aloud. Since this announcement is intended for the general public, there will be little science involved. We’ll give you an office and the position permanently. You can spend the rest of your life away from your more scientifically-inclined peers in the other wings.”
I imagined a life of forced isolation and grimaced. I didn’t have many friends, true, but that didn’t mean I had no desire to make them. Besides, I hadn’t come here to spend my life in an office, especially if it meant limited access to the rest of the building. “What if I prefer to finish Training Week before I decide?”
He looked surprised at the request. “Agree to make this announcement, and I suppose we could allow you to attend Training Week as if nothing has changed. I’ll ensure your results hover somewhere in the middle of the standings to avoid angering the press. At the end of the week, however, I’ll need a decision. Your results will have to change drastically by then if you want to make lab assistant.”
My temples throbbed with the beginning of a headache. I had no desire to play his games right now. “When is the announcement?”
“Three days from today. You’ll be among the first to boast involvement with this exciting project. I’m sure your father will be very proud.” Another patronizing smile.
Right. The father who wasn’t likely to check in anytime soon. “I want to see the speech beforehand.”
“I’ll send it the night before so you can practice. I know you distrust me, Miss Hawking, but you and I want the same thing. We value our freedom. This isn’t the type of decision I usually offer candidates.”
My frown deepened at that. Was this freedom? Because it sure didn’t feel like it. Kole had once called it exchanging one prison for another. And this man—my mom’s former boss—held the key.
I’m a Hawking, and I will do what’s required. If reading some stupid script was the cost of solving Mom’s mystery, I didn’t have much choice.
“Fine. I’m in.”
“Excellent.” He inclined his head and hurried for the door. Then he turned back to me. “You may not see your place in the world yet, Miss Hawking, but I do. Your future will be a grand one.”
Eleven
Kole
The next day was the first I enjoyed since my arrival. Fitness testing day.
We spent the morning lifting weights and stretching in the lab’s private gym, a section of rooms with high ceilings and harsh lighting. Why these people cared how far over my toes I could reach was beyond me, but it was such a relief after yesterday’s exam’s I didn’t care.
The day’s events also meant new workout uniforms—a loose black shirt with the usual gold stripe across the chest, a pair of soft shorts, and lab-issued running shoes that weren’t half bad.
Finally, the judges arrived for our assigned aerobic testing. They began calling graduates over to the track. I continued my stretches, itching to finally get my running rhythm going again.
A man with an enormous forehead and even larger double chin called my name. I trotted out and listened to his instructions. A quick warm-up and then a series of sprints. They’d receive all the information they needed from my implant readings.
I frowned at that. “Don’t you need my permission to look those up?”
He just smirked. “No.”
Right. The contract. I shook my head, headed to the track’s inner lane, and started off at a slow jog.
Minutes later, I found my stride. The sprints Forehead Guy had asked for grew progressively longer and closer together, but I found myself smiling each time I passed him. Maybe my stay here wouldn’t be so mind-numbing after all.
I reached the finish line of the final sprint, but instead of motioning me over, the proctor waved me on. “Two more laps, 80 percent speed!”
Distance, then. Finally, my kind of workout. I shot him a thumbs-up and focused on breathing and regulating my stride. Dane could make demands of my time, but this—this was the one thing that truly belonged to me.
Footsteps pounded behind me to the right. I looked over my shoulder to see Legacy Hawking running in the second lane. Her eyes met mine and held them for several seconds. Then a mischievous smile crossed her face. I knew exactly what it meant.
The race had begun.
I increased my speed just as she did. After a minute, my lungs demanded more air, and I obliged, keeping my breaths even. No Hawking would hear me panting.
She remained at my flank, but I sensed that was to conserve energy and not from a lack of speed. In fact, our pace matched nearly stride for stride. If she wanted the inside, she’d have to fall back and run behind me. I felt a glimmer of satisfaction at the thought of this particular girl staring helplessly at my back.
When we reached the straightaway, something caught fire inside Legacy because she dug in and started gaining ground. She ran right beside me now, her expression incredibly focused, eyes narrowed in determination. Every inch of her body propelled her forward. She had almost perfect form and barely looked winded.
I refused to be impressed. The Hawkings likely had personal trainers on salary. She would have a gym much like this in her house. This was nothing but a daily workout for her.
Her eyes flicked to mine and held them once again. Then she winked.
Oh, it was on.
My chest burned now, but I stubbornly pushed the pain to the back of my mind. I would not lose to Legacy Hawking.
I managed to hold a slight lead around the turn, but we were stride for stride at the straightaway. My proctor stepped forward and shouted, “One more lap!” as I passed.
This was a faster pace than I usually ran. It wasn’t exactly conducive to sidewalk exercise. I’d sprinted around town a few times at night, but that required slowing around corners to watch for speeding transports.
To my relief, Legacy’s breathing grew more labored around the first turn. Finally. I imagined her drifting to the outside and halting for a break, feigning some kind of injury. Or better yet, praising me as the victor.
She suddenly fell back.
I looked over my right shoulder to make sure she was okay. Big mistake. The next second, she reappeared to my left. She’d dodged behind me to take the inside and shorter route.
I wanted to be angry, but my exhausted mind was too fixated on how powerful her strides w
ere as we reached the back straightaway. There was something far too captivating about the flush in her cheeks and the way her eyes shone, her long dark ponytail swinging behind her.
I shook my head to clear it. Obviously my brain needed more oxygen.
As we rounded the back turn, a shout arose from the waiting candidates. They’d seen the battle and taken sides.
“Go, Shadows!” a girl called as we passed.
A voice I recognized as Lars’s shouted a suggestive comment at Legacy. She pressed her lips together, the only indication she’d heard. Imagining how it would feel to plant a fist in my roommate’s face fueled another burst of speed, and I drew even with her once more.
My proctor stepped onto the track, signaling me to stop. But Legacy didn’t slow down as we crossed the finish line and rounded into another turn. We weren’t done yet.
This was a record-breaking time for me. I knew it in my burning thighs and gasping breaths. Never before had I sprinted at top speed for so long. Legacy’s cheeks, now a furious red, betrayed the same. This was no longer about skill and practice. There would be a victor and a loser, and neither of us were okay with the latter—Legacy because victory was her birthright, and I because losing was mine.
The thought shot me forward by half a stride. I threw my entire body into every movement, imagining myself a blade parting the very air itself. Legacy growled. Like a wild animal, she lunged forward to overtake the lost distance and plunged into an entirely new level of speed.
We reached the last turn. My chest felt ready to shut down, the air I so desperately needed refusing to enter my lungs. Black claws crept along the edges of my vision. The shouting of our audience swelled until I couldn’t distinguish one voice from another.
Legacy was a full stride ahead now, barely within arm’s reach. I wouldn’t catch her. Not because she was faster but because she was simply fresher. It wasn’t a fair contest. Nothing about our comparative lives was fair.