by Sean Platt
Now here’s why I’m leaving you this message. And here’s why I’m doing it secretly, so Papa doesn’t know.
I didn’t hear everything Papa told you. He was pacing as he talked. But I know he wants you with us, hiding and waiting to spring into action as a strategic helper, I guess, like an ace in the hole.
Papa, to his credit, knows it won’t work. Neven’s information bomb is in the cloud, set to release unless he stops it, and if all things were equal and we held Neven down and threatened to blow his brains out, I doubt we’d be able to convince him to stop it.
But Papa thinks we have to try that plan anyway because otherwise, we’re just letting it happen. He might have other ideas. I don’t know. I only know that none of them will work. Whereas I think my plan, the one we need to keep secret, even from Papa, will.
I want to make a deal with Neven, Sophie. That’s the part I need you there to play when the time is right. Papa won’t like my deal, but I need you to trust me. I need you to go along with whatever I say and do. My mind is working quadruple-time, maybe more, and believe me, this is the best option. Played right, it will work. Maybe not ideally, but well enough. When the time comes, if Papa tries to stop me or argue or even fight me, I need you to take my side. Do whatever you can to back me up and keep the situation from falling apart if Papa starts blustering. I can’t tell you the details. Just trust me.
Do as Papa says. Follow his instructions, but keep your ears open and your Doodad on vibrate if you have it. At some point, I’ll call for you — by shouting, or maybe there’s a way to use a Doodad if we can get a signal. That’s when you’ll come in. Then, together, we need to let Neven scan us. Let him see how I respond to you and how you respond to me. He needs to believe me, and seeing it as completely as he needs to requires your presence. It’s only a scan, and I’ll handle the rest.
As long as Neven can see and scan us, he’ll believe me. And as long as he believes me, he’ll stop this. As long as you stick with me and do what I say, I think this might all have a happy ending after all.
I have to go. I have to put Papa’s Doodad back before he knows it’s gone, and I’ll be lucky if your voicemail or whatever this is took that long-ass message. But if it’s still going, listen to this most of all:
I don’t know what will happen next. So much is uncertain. But if … well, if anything goes wrong or anything changes, just know that you’ve changed me for the better. Even if it doesn’t seem that way, that’s what it is. Better.
You made me who I am.
Without you, Sophie, I’m nothing.
Be there. Listen for my call. Trust me, and it’ll all be okay.
I love you, Sophie. See you soon.
Chapter 59
To Have Faith
They sat in the car, the road two simple dirt ruts with a strip of grass down the center, flanked by tall pines. Papa slapped his Doodad with the heel of his palm, muttering.
“What?” Ephraim asked.
“This thing. There’s something wrong with it.”
“You said it was working earlier.”
“It was. It’s on and off. Sometimes it’ll let me make calls. Sometimes it won’t. Let me see yours.”
Ephraim handed him his Doodad. Papa tapped the screen, and the original Doodad hummed in his hand.
“See? You can call me.” More buttons, more humming, this time from the other Doodad. “And I can call you, for the moment. But sometimes it won’t call at all, and there have been a few times lately where it’s lost voice, like I’m talking and the other person can’t hear me or vice versa.”
“Who were you trying to call just now?” Ephraim asked.
“Sophie.”
“And you couldn’t reach her?”
Papa shook his head.
“Maybe she’s just not near it or can’t answer.”
Papa’s face looked troubled. “I think Neven did something to it. Or to me.”
“What do you mean, ‘to you’?”
“Maybe that lancet injected something instead of just drawing my blood. A drop of the right reagent would shift my chemistry enough that my Doodad wouldn’t recognize me, or at least be confused.” Papa slapped the Doodad. “I can’t reach her. Can’t even get the message box now.”
“What’s the number for the message box?”
Papa shook his head. “Your Doodad isn’t authorized to access the box.”
“Then let me try.”
But then he tried, Ephraim got nothing, too. “No service.” He looked back at Papa.
“Neven will have jammers,” Papa explained.
“Maybe that’s wrong with your Doodad. Maybe we should go back down the road and try again.” He nodded at the dashboard clock. “There’s time.”
“It won’t make a difference,” Papa said. “We can’t reach her; she’d have to call us. We’ll just have to trust her.”
“It’s not a matter of trust. It’s—”
“No,” Papa said, his voice clipped. “There are two hours on the clock. I feel like I’m missing something, and it’s getting stronger the closer we come to the cabin.”
Ephraim had had the same thought. Right now, the world was terrified. You couldn’t watch the news without seeing crackpot theories gone mainstream, B-rolled with footage of the Altruance incident. Most of the clones themselves had been detained, and that move had given Neven the world’s biggest mic and cranked his speakers to eleven. Whatever he did next, the world would hear Neven loud and clear, and be instantly ready to act.
“She’ll be there. That’s good enough,” Papa said. “She’s smart, and she’s had training. Neven will be alone because he doesn’t have anyone left. That’s three to one. We can’t get hung up on micromanaging her. I gave Sophie the coordinates. I described the cabin’s layout and where she can probably hide. Confirming now would only be answering to our insecurity. It’s now or never. We have to go.”
Ephraim watched Papa’s profile, listened to him try to convince himself. Because under Papa’s plan, Sophie’s presence wasn’t likely to make any difference. As far as he knew, this was one step above a suicide run, with Neven holding every ace, only slightly more likely to yield a happy ending than staying home and doing nothing.
Ephraim’s plan was better, and Sophie staying hidden was far less necessary.
“I’m missing something,” Papa muttered, his hand on the wheel, driving himself for a change. The engine was running, but his foot was on the brake. He was acting like a man torn; he needed them to move, and yet he was stubbornly refusing to move them. “I know I am.”
Papa looked over. Cool blue eyes tipped with worry.
“I can’t shake the feeling that we’re bringing Neven exactly what he needs, just like when you brought him Hershel’s mind in the Quarry. Just like you brought him death, so he could escape to the Domain and prove himself immortal.” Papa nodded at Ephraim. “He needs you to do this, you know.”
“I know. But if we let him do it without me …”
“If only I were a religious man.” Papa released the brake and the car rolled forward, bringing the small cabin on the lake cabin into view around the bend. The door opened and Neven stepped onto the porch.
“You don’t have to be religious to have faith” Ephraim said.
Chapter 60
Another Body to the Count
Sophie crept through the tall grass, staying low.
She had no idea if there were cameras or if someone might see her, but Papa had said that Neven was almost certainly alone. Unless he was looking out windows or spending his world-domination time staring at monitors, Neven wasn’t likely to see her. Unless he had smart cameras that would sound an alarm when they saw motion, maybe even ID her face and tell Neven who was lurking in the bushes.
Come on, Sophie. Don’t chicken out now.
But she needed a last-minute blast of reassurance.
Sophie reached for the Doodad and was about to connect to her message box, but there wasn’t any service. D
id Neven have a jammer, or was she just out too damn far?
You’re procrastinating. Papa and Ephraim need you.
Sophie forced herself forward. There was a clearing around the building, and that meant no more cover until she was pressed against its outside wall. The brush was overgrown, and so far she’d managed to feign evasion by crawling in the dirt. But Sophie wasn’t fooling anyone. Especially herself.
She was an idiot. She’d forgotten something obvious.
You should have a gun. How the hell are you going to be of any use without a gun?
Sophie’s hand went to her waist as if some part of her expected a magical holster to have appeared. But it was as empty as the small of her back.
That was fine. It had to be. Sophie was lucky to be free, luckier to have a Doodad even if it was a brick. She was lucky that Papa had left her accounts to rent a car, and that the false identity provided by The Change was holding up. She’d gotten lucky when she’d stopped, luckier when she’d ditched her first ride and rented a new one. Lucky, in the words of core Change teachings: To be where I am, to be myself, and to be alive with a mind that’s free.
That didn’t change her being scared shitless or keep her heart from pounding like the Philharmonic in her skull.
Sophie moved up, closer to the building. Imagined seeing herself from the outside. She must look like a rat. Who did Miss Sophie Norris think she was fooling? She had no weapon. What was she supposed to do — leap onto Neven’s back from behind and … what?
Admit it, girl. You don’t have a clue what you’re doing. The only thing you’re adding to this situation is an audience. Another body to the count.
Sophie squashed her doubts. With the feeling of ripping off a Band-Aid, she rose and sprinted across the clearing. Ten seconds later she was low again, this time with her back to the wall near a utility box, breath leaving her body in heaves.
Sophie looked around. Nobody was coming for her. There was no indication that anyone had seen or heard her. She peeked up, saw nothing accessible, then moved around the corner until she was stymied.
The absurdity intruded, and she squashed it. She was already here for better or for worse, so fuck you, doubts. The time for second-guessing was gone. If this was to be the hour of pointless action, so be it. Movement equaled momentum, and there’d never been too many hands — or eyes — on a situation that needed them.
Unless you make yourself a liability. Unless you get in the way and turn what might have been a fragile affair between Ephraim, Papa, and Neven into a debacle.
Sophie clenched her jaw. Listened to her pounding heart until it finally fell quiet, like a mother’s withering stare. Screw the voice. Screw the doubts. They’d hold no power over her.
I am in charge of my thoughts and my fear, she told herself. Then, a chestnut from Change meetings: My mind is as free as I allow it to be.
Sophie looked over at a ladder that apparently went to the second story. She wasn’t sure where she should be and hadn’t figured out where Ephraim and Neven and Papa would end up, but the ladder was a fair start. She could find windows up there. Sneak in through a door. Prowl around without a weapon, waiting to get in the way.
No. My mind is as free as I allow it to be.
Sophie climbed.
Chapter 61
To Change the World
Neven welcomed them with a smile. The expression seemed pasted on his face, like a visage distorted by special effects; somehow wrong in a way the eye couldn’t discern, but unsettling to the mind.
“It’s been too long,” Neven said.
“I told you to call me if you needed me,” Papa said. “I practically begged.”
Neven looked away from Papa as they entered the living room. It was dusty and disorderly — furniture covered in drop cloths and reeking of mildew.
“I meant the place,” Neven said. “I always liked it here, even though you thought I acted like I was too good for it. I was a kid, Timothy. And kids put up walls. I’d had a tough time. These days, I’m better.”
Ephraim watched Neven’s eyes. He didn’t look better at all.
“I went on a little nostalgia tour before you got here. The same sheets are on the bed in my old room upstairs — cleaned, I hope, but back where I saw them last. I found one of my old comics in a stack of stuff on the dresser. Guess I left it here by accident.”
“You were never good at keeping track of details. It’s why I always said you were sloppy.”
Papa’s eyes were hard, but Neven didn’t nibble. He was holding all the cards and knew it. Neven wasn’t a hot-headed teenager anymore. He was willing to let Papa get his few digs because he had so many arrows in his quiver.
“I was sloppy when it served me.”
“How could it serve you, the son of a scientist?”
Neven’s smile widened. “You’d never think someone as ‘sloppy’ as dumb old Neven could sneak out at night. You always took that bedroom on the first floor and kept your door open. The floorboards creaked, and you’re a light sleeper. But that old TV aerial is just outside the bathroom window upstairs, and it makes a great ladder for kids who want to smoke weed with their friends.”
“You never had any friends here.”
“That’s right. Just like I’m afraid of heights. Just like the window in the bathroom is painted shut and can’t be opened.” Neven’s smile dissolved like sugar in water. “I’m not the only one who’s failed to notice details, Timothy. Let’s get comfortable, shall we?”
Neven gestured to his right, toward a large squared-off arch into the next room, braced by thick logs that Ephraim guessed were more ornamental than structural. Beyond that was a smaller living room. Moving toward it, Ephraim saw that it was a parlor lined with bookshelves and a lone window. The drop cloths had been removed. Ephraim guessed Neven had used the brass rug-beater in the corner to slap the dust from the pair of couches.
“Would you like anything to drink?” Neven asked as Papa and Ephraim reluctantly sat.
“You brought drinks?”
“No. I was just wondering if you wanted anything.” Neven sat on the couch opposite Ephraim and Papa, crossing his legs and settling back.
“What is this about, Neven?” Papa finally said into the silence. “Why do you want us here?”
“I don’t know, Timmy. Why don’t you tell me?”
Papa looked uncomfortable — unusual for the powerful man. Neven, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease. Papa would have to dance at Neven’s command. They had an hour and a half before Neven’s information dropped to millions of amateur clone-builders, and the worst outcome Neven could expect from this was a less-ideal version of exactly what he wanted.
“Your 2.0 clones are flawed,” Papa said.
Neven nodded. “Hard to get more obvious than that.”
“They’re mentally unstable. It’s not just conditioning that will eventually destroy them all. There’s something fundamentally wrong in their firing patterns.”
“You’re just reading my findings back to me, Timothy.”
“Is this a quiz?”
“Just curious to see if you understand, or if you’re only able to parrot. But yes, my clone of Hershel bothered me from the start. He was cold. I thought it was because I’d tried to change his primary purpose at the last minute. Originally, his matrix drove him to establish the superiority of clones over humans, same as me.”
“Sloppy again,” Papa said. “A good scientist starts with a hypothesis, not a preconception. And not a grudge.”
Neven continued, ignoring Papa.
“I tried to change Hershel’s purpose when I heard that you, Ephraim, were back in the wild — a loose end in need of trimming. But that’s not what happened with Hershel; sociopathy was baked into his matrix. Maybe it was a fault with the Quarry’s process, or maybe it was a fault with mine. He made a convincing Hershel Wood, down to the memory. An exact copy, except not exact.”
“Because you had to tweak him,” Ephraim said, “t
o make him do your bidding.”
“Not just that. Find Hershel now and ask him if that’s how it is. I have an answer if he doesn’t give one. He’s unresponsive, rogue — the opposite of ‘doing my bidding.’ No, the tweaks that caused Hershel to become the cold son of a bitch he’s become were my father’s. Tweaks I’ve improved, to make them that much better than their mothers and fathers.”
Ephraim gave a tiny, smirking laugh. He’d read Neven’s research, too — and thanks to his newly expanded mind, he understood it better than Papa.
“But you don’t know which tweak to fix, do you?”
“I used to think writing computer code was hard, but genetic coding is so much more complex. It’s a live system. Even when I’ve tried to hardwire changes, the host sometimes erases them, correcting what it sees as an error. Epigenetics makes the environment a huge factor, and that means that only some of what I think I’ve written as improvements for my clones gets expressed and becomes a viable trait. Add the Quarry, and it makes things even more complex. The mind-body connection is a real thing. I’ve seen a Quarry mind influence genes, and I’ve seen genes influence thoughts and memory. The only reason I’m not like them, I think, is because my first life was that of a clone, but raised from birth like any natural baby. But even that’s just a guess.
“What you don’t know, because I didn’t include it in what I left you back at the Domain, is that I asked a clone named Kilik to find Wood at a vulnerable moment and conduct a scan for me. It confirms what I’d already decided, and you just brilliantly deduced. My Tomorrow Clones, the ones you call ‘2.0,’ are doomed. They’ll fail. They’ll go insane. And that means the experiment I had in mind is, to use your words, Timothy, ‘sloppy science.’ My father’s legacy deserves more. And that—” Neven tipped his head toward Ephraim. “—is why you are here.”
“I’m not even 2.0,” Ephraim said, stalling for time. Something creaked upstairs. His new senses were cranked all the way up; every detail of every moment was branded on his cortex. Something had flashed past the window not long ago. Was it a bird? Or Sophie, moving into place as Papa requested?