“Did Dr. Carlhagen ever tell you about the Anti-Transfer Rejection pills he provides to Progenitors after they transfer? You might want to ask Dante about that before you waste more time in Dr. Carlhagen’s service.”
Ashala snapped, “Enough of that whispering! Plain Face, return to the line.”
Wilcox marched to his spot with his usual military precision.
Though disgusted by the idea of being sold, she thrilled at the prospect that Wilcox might win. Because then she would finally be taken to Dr. Carlhagen, and Livy. Any idea she’d had of finding her way there independently was gone. If she had to go to Dr. Carlhagen as a prisoner, so be it. What she would do when she got there . . . she didn’t know. She had no plan. As usual.
“The bidding will begin at fifteen million dollars,” Ashala said.
Five hands went up.
44
Wise of You to Primp
Clawing her way to consciousness, Maxine Bentilius sat up in her bed, gasping for air. She had dreamed she was drowning, and no matter how hard she swam for the surface, a hand held her down.
Dr. Carlhagen’s hand.
The man himself slept next to her, his perfect face slack with peaceful slumber. She eased from the blankets, scooped up her robe. She made it to the bedroom door before he came awake.
“Where you going?” he asked.
“Shower.” She didn’t wait for his assent before slipping from his quarters, padding down the hall, and going into hers. She was tempted to drag furniture in front of the door. Anything to keep Dr. Carlhagen out.
She wanted to kill him. But she couldn’t escape one problematic consequence: Dr. Carlhagen was the only source for her ATR pills. And knowing him, he didn’t have the formula written on a slip of paper in his office. It was possible Lazarus knew about it, but there was no way Maxine was going to ask. Because if Lazarus didn’t know about it, that was another piece of leverage she could retain for herself once she regained control of the Scion program.
So she would not kill Dr. Carlhagen. Not yet.
First things first. She still had to move Livy to the transfer machine. And that posed a fair amount of risk. If Dr. Carlhagen discovered her collusion with Lazarus, it would be her neck under the blade.
The image made her shiver. She went into the small kitchenette attached to her quarters. She found a long, slender knife. The blade was serrated, and the tip was sharp. Perfect for slicing meat.
She carried the knife to the bathroom, took a fast shower, then dressed in trousers and a blouse with loose sleeves. She didn’t want anything binding her arms and shoulders in case she was required to do some stabbing. The terry cloth belt from her bathrobe worked nicely to cinch the blade to the side of her calf. Her pant leg covered it. She studied herself in the mirror and was satisfied that Dr. Carlhagen wouldn’t notice the slight bulge in the fabric created by the knife.
“That blade will be useless against my drones,” Lazarus said.
She wasn’t surprised that the AI had been watching her preparations. And of course it had drawn the wrong conclusion. But rather than correct Lazarus, she said, “Then you have nothing to worry about.”
Had Lazarus slipped up just now, using the plural “drones?” Or was he warning her that she was not only overmatched by his terrifying machine, but that he had them in numbers? It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to attack Lazarus. She knew when to be obedient.
She attended to her hair and applied a few artful dabs of makeup to mask the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her political career had taught her that 75% of power was looking powerful. She wasn’t about to give Lazarus, Dr. Carlhagen, Livy, or anyone else on this earth the slightest edge in this game.
“Wise of you to primp,” Lazarus said. “If you are to retain Dr. Carlhagen’s interest at all when his favored clone arrives, you will have to continue to make such efforts.”
Maxine’s face went hot with jealousy. She hated Dr. Carlhagen, but that didn’t mean his lust for Jacqueline Buchanan’s clone didn’t sting. If he weren’t so drug-addled, he would see the advantage in partnering with her.
“How soon will Livy be ready for transfer?” she asked.
Lazarus surprised her by answering. “Two hours. And you needn’t concern yourself about Dr. Carlhagen discovering you moving the child. I’ll keep him distracted.”
Maxine was full of nervous energy. She wanted to act. Now.
Two hours might as well be two centuries.
Discipline, she told herself. This is the time for discipline. This day was shaping up to be a stressful one. And dangerous, no matter what Lazarus said. She had washed herself, dressed herself, and armed herself. It was only sensible to also feed herself.
Despite having no appetite, she made herself breakfast.
The eggs tasted like ash, but she gritted her teeth and swallowed every bite. When she was done, she checked the time. One hour and 45 minutes to go.
45
Surrounded by Liars
Dr. Carlhagen sat at his office desk, a fresh bottle of andleprixen set before him. The cap was off, the foil seal torn away, the cotton batting pulled out and discarded. All that remained inside were the pills.
The medicine had become a problem. He’d known it for a while, but with so many disruptions in his life he hadn’t had the time or will to deal with it. Today was no different. Still, a shiver of fear stopped him from taking a couple tablets. For as much as he craved the warm calm the pills provided, he was terrified by the side effects. Paranoia was the worst of them.
Lazarus had been acting funny recently. Dr. Carlhagen was certain it was a figment of his imagination. He had grown Lazarus himself, cultivated the artificial intelligence from the moment of its inception. Lazarus was the finest, most controlled AI Dr. Carlhagen had ever created.
Even so, he was having trouble convincing himself that his fears were merely paranoia.
Dr. Carlhagen was a doctor. He understood the andleprixen and his dependency upon it. Reason swayed him toward the paranoia diagnosis. His instincts pointed the other way. Could he trust his instincts?
It had been ten hours since his last dose. He hadn’t gone this long without a pill since he had been held captive by the Scions on St. Vitus. It was consuming all of his will to delay the first pill of the day.
There is no question about whether he would take one or not. He would. Andleprixen was not the type of drug one could quit cold turkey. The withdrawal could kill him. No. He would have to wean himself off slowly, with a well thought out plan. It would take weeks, perhaps months. And it would hurt. And that wasn’t the type of undertaking he could commit to given his current circumstances.
“Lazarus, show me a view of the Eastern shore,” he said to the air. The pixel wall shifted from a plain amber glow to a perfect view of the St. Lazarus coast. The breeze started. The scent of the island wafted to Dr. Carlhagen’s nose. He felt like he was looking out over the actual vista.
So why was his instinct screaming at him with worry and mistrust? He positioned himself centimeters from the wall. The pixel paint was of such high resolution his mind was still convinced he was looking out over the actual scenery and not at a video display. A pelican soared on the wind over the shoreline, turned to sea, then dove into the waves. It surfaced, then flapped its way free of the water and returned to land, fish in its mouth.
“Call Wilcox.”
“Yes, sir.”
Five minutes passed.
“Captain Wilcox is not answering.”
Another stab of suspicion. How hard was it for that man to track down one teenage girl? Maybe Wilcox’s story to this point had been just that: a story. Maybe Wilcox had captured Jacey already. Maybe he had decided to keep her for himself.
Carlhagen discovered he’d returned to his desk. He held the bottle of andleprixen in his hand. He dumped out two tablets.
He swallowed them. He felt the effects before it was chemically possible. That’s how powerful the mind was. That’s how deceitful
the mind was.
“I’m surrounded by liars,” he said. “Maxine, Wilcox, Jacey, all of them.”
It had been so his entire life. The whole world was made up of liars. Cheats. Wasn’t that why he had to intercede? Wasn’t that why he had instituted Protocol One, the ATR scheme?
None of the Progenitors deserved their Scions. They were all degenerates.
“Lazarus, where is Maxine?”
“Resting in her room,” Lazarus said in his weird monotone. Dr. Carlhagen had enjoyed the AI’s barely human nature before. Now it chilled him. Once this crisis was over, he would spend more time pruning and nurturing the AI, file down some of its sharper edges. He lamented the loss of Mr. Justin. The man had been a schemer, but he had been an excellent butler and companion.
Now the medicine was truly taking effect. His heart rate was dropping. Yes, the tension was easing from his shoulders. Good.
“Keep trying to reach Wilcox.”
“Of course, Doctor.”
46
Cowardly Cat
Only two bidders remained. The snarling dog and the plain white mask concealing Captain Wilcox’s mean face. The two men stood side-by-side, postures tense. The other three bidders had been removed from the chamber, having failed to match the pace of the bidding. They were, Jacey presumed, on their way home, frustrated and disappointed not to possess her.
The silence in the chamber was heavy. The scavs stood all around, faces intent, obviously excited at the prospect of the huge inflow of money to their tribe. The dollar figures Ashala was calling even made Meow Meow gape.
“Do I have $87 million?” Ashala said. “$87 million for the clone of Jacqueline Buchanan. That’s virtually giving her away, if you ask me.”
Wilcox currently held the top bid at $85 million. Dog had been slower and slower to raise his offer since the bidding had passed the $80 million mark. But Ashala was patient, determined to squeeze every last cent from the winner.
Jacey didn’t know what to make of Dog. He had inspected her in the most cursory manner, as if he wasn’t that interested in her appearance and health. Now he was pressing a finger to his ear, causing the mask to lift away slightly. Jacey saw a sliver of white whiskers, but nothing else. He cocked his head, as if listening. Jacey wondered if he was taking instructions from someone else through an earpiece.
He raised his hand. “$87 million.”
Before Ashala could call a higher number, Wilcox said, “$88 million.”
He had been doing this since the beginning, boldly raising the bid the moment he’d been outbid. Of course, he had Dr. Carlhagen’s vast resources at his disposal. Wilcox was not going to lose.
Jacey’s stomach roiled with an odd mix of eagerness and dread. She just wanted it over so she could go wherever Dr. Carlhagen was and meet her fate. And hopefully find the chance to take the old bastard down.
Dog turned to regard Wilcox’s weird, blank mask. Wilcox did not return the stare.
“A question, Ashala,” Dog said. “My sponsor has struck a deal with one of the other bidders to pool our cash. Would you allow Cat to join me?”
Ashala held silent for ten agonizing seconds before stating, “I’ll allow it. But it is up to you to decide how you will share the carbo between you if you win.”
“Understood,” said Dog.
The door at the back of the chamber opened, and the man with the cat mask came back out. There was a slight spring in his step, revealing a sick excitement at the renewed prospect of owning Jacey. Or, at least, part of her.
“Will you cut me in half, then?” Jacey said to Cat and Dog. “It makes no difference to me. I’ve got one of these for each of you.” She held up her middle fingers in a gesture Meow Meow had taught her.
The room erupted in laughter. Even Ashala grinned.
“I object,” Wilcox said, cutting into the mirth. “There was no mention of bidders pooling their resources at the beginning of this auction.”
Ashala said simply, “I have $88 million, do I hear $100 million?”
The crowd gasped at the huge leap. Cat and Dog conferred a moment. Dog raised his hand to accept the bid.
For the first time during the proceedings, Captain Wilcox paused. His eerie mask pointed first at Jacey, then at Cat.
“Do I have $110 million?” Ashala asked Wilcox.
He gave the slightest nod.
Ashala continued to up the bid in increments of $10 million. Cat and Dog no longer conferred. And now Dog was fastest to up the bid, and Wilcox grew ever slower.
The minutes crawled by, and Wilcox became more and more agitated. Jacey sensed he was well past whatever dollar amount Dr. Carlhagen had allotted for her purchase. After at least ten minutes of silence, Dog grew impatient and barked at Wilcox, “Come on, man. Bid or bow out!”
Ashala stood. “I have $165 million. Going once. Going twice . . .” Ashala leaned forward and looked at Wilcox, waiting. But for nothing. Wilcox simply turned and left the chamber. “Sold for $165 million to Dog and Cat.”
The two winners relaxed and shook hands. Dog bowed to Ashala. “I would like to have a private audience with my property. Will you make a room available to us? Perhaps bring refreshments?”
Ashala allowed a smile. “As soon as we confirm the transfer of funds to our accounts, we will turn over your property.”
Hansen clomped forward and wrapped his huge hand around Jacey’s elbow. He steered her to the back of the room, through a door and down a short hallway. With a final grunt of contempt, he shoved her into a smaller chamber. Stone walls, musty and damp. It was barely large enough to hold the dining table and mismatched chairs crowding the floor. There was no food, but a pitcher of water sat on one edge of the table, condensation dripping down its sides. Jacey grasped the pitcher by the handle and drank directly from it.
She plopped into a chair and put her face in her hands. And then she shot up and went to the door. It opened at her touch. The hallway beyond was plugged by Hansen’s body. He turned to glower at her.
She backed into the room and shut the door. There was no lock needed when a brute like Hansen was on duty.
The ceiling was hard stone. Jacey suspected the whole compound was underground. An air vent high on one wall was the only other exit from the room. It was too small for her to squeeze into, even if she could reach it.
She gave the table a tentative tug to see if she could flip it. Maybe she could yank off one of the legs for club. But the table was solid wood. She could barely budge it. The legs were attached by thick metal brackets held in place by heavy bolts.
The chairs then. She’d smash one to splinters and—
The door opened, and three people stepped in. None of them were who she expected.
She set the chair down.
The first to enter was Meow Meow. Her face was downcast, worried. The second was Dante, smiling broadly, eyes gleaming. “Fun times, eh, Jacey?”
The third was the woman Jacey had seen before, a colorful scarf wrapped around her face revealing only her eyes. Her fabrics were rich, flowy, and exotic. Jacey noticed the woman’s hands were trembling. As their eyes locked, the woman faltered, pressed a palm to her chest before coming closer. She stood a meter from Jacey, just staring and breathing so hard the scarf sucked in at her nose and mouth then billowed out on her exhalations. She was Jacey’s height, slender. The eyes suggested a woman a couple decades older than Jacey.
“It’s like seeing a ghost,” the woman said, taking a tentative step toward Jacey. The voice was familiar, but Jacey couldn’t place it. “I’m sorry we had to buy you.”
“Who’s ‘we’? Two cowards in masks bought me, and I’m sure neither of them was you. You’re too short.”
Dante raised a hand. “Cowardly Cat, at your service.”
The woman shivered. “Dog was my representative. I couldn’t bear to participate in such a barbaric exchange.”
Meow Meow was still looking at the floor.
Hands shaking, the woman unwrapped her scarf an
d let it drape around her shoulders. “My name is Olivia Montgomery. I guess I’m your daughter, in an odd sort of way.”
Dante laughed. Meow Meow moaned.
Jacey’s world tilted, and this time it did not stop. It turned entirely upside down. Good became bad. Light became blackness.
The woman standing in front of her was instantly recognizable. Jacey had seen Ollie Montgomery on SNN, roaming the Tent City of Kansas and complaining that funding for the refugees there had been cut.
But now Jacey could finally see the woman’s face, and there could be no doubt who she was. What she was. Ollie Montgomery was the Progenitor of the nine-year-old Dolphin Livy.
47
Like the Axis of a Globe
“Stand. Stand. Stand.”
The monotone shouting burst into Humphrey’s awareness as the searing pain in his muscles faded. He opened his eyes and discovered grass towering over him. He pressed his hands to the turf and pressed his body up. His vision swam as a wave of nausea took him. His gut convulsed, but he produced no more than a few hard gags.
He became aware of a drone floating near his head. “Stand. Stand. Stand.”
“I’m working on it,” he said. He got one foot under himself, then the other. He stood unsteadily, then bent double, lightheaded. Off to his right, Leslie and Kirk stood shoulder to shoulder, faces pale, eyes intent. Whatever had happened to Humphrey had not happened to them.
“Are you okay?” Leslie asked.
Humphrey wanted to say something sarcastic, but he simply didn’t have the energy. He answered by forcing himself upright and stumbling toward her. His feet caught in the grass and he nearly fell. Kirk and Leslie caught his arms and held him up. All around them the drones were commanding him to stand.
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