But those are thoughts. M0ther is watching her no more now than before she was halfskin. Or can she just feel it now? Is she more sensitive? Are her senses becoming…more?
The halfskin threshold was arbitrary, really. It was determined by the authorities. They said it was illegal to be 50%. Jamie had been 49.9% for last several months, a mere 0.1% from the trash heap. She and Charlie had done plenty of biomite booster seeds, but nothing she’d ever done had exhilarated her quite like the ones Nix put in her.
Why should everything feel so alive again?
She no longer wants to crawl out of her skin. Instead, she sits quietly. The air is sweet and crisp, the world no longer dirty and threatening. The metallic tang of char has melted away, leaving a clean, pure scent in her head, where reality is perfect just the way it is.
Nix’s special blend of biomites had greeted her with a lover’s gentle touch.
She slept until Tennessee. They stop at a rest area and stretch their legs. Jamie looks around like the acid trip is just beginning. The magic feels…beautiful.
She rides the wave into Kentucky where the rolling hills give way to long stretches of unbending Indiana Interstate. She watches the corn fields run alongside the car, the long rows forming an endless array of legs that reach the horizon where silos gleam.
They cross into Illinois unceremoniously. The skies turn gray, but the terrain remains flat as the highway. Billboards race past in empty fields. Nix stares ahead, hands clamped on the wheel—a posture he’d maintained for most of the trip. It’s dark when they enter Chicago. The buildings are speckled with lights and the pavement is black.
Nix wipes his palms on his pants, the wheel sweaty. He gets off I-90 and enters the city. He turns onto Adams Street, heading toward Lake Michigan, where the streets are wide and the buildings are tall. Ridges of muscle bulge along his jaws, his teeth grinding back and forth. He keeps his eyes locked ahead until they approach a corner bank that’s a massive tower of black glass.
The car slows.
He looks up the reflective walls that reach into the night. The car behind them honks, but he doesn’t speed up. Jamie knows what’s in there. She knows what he’s thinking. The moment he seeded her in the bedroom, he began searching for the pill. The new strain of biomites buzzed inside her, integrating with her nervous system, consuming clay. His thoughts crept through her like tendrils in search of gold. She could sense his invisible touch chatter inside her.
And the pill spilled its secrets.
She doesn’t know how long it took him to do it. The transition into halfskin is hazy and euphoric. She barely remembers sneaking down to the car.
But she remembers what the pill said.
Nix doesn’t say anything as they pass the bank. He resumes his grip on the steering wheel like she wouldn’t notice his lapse into catatonic longing. They find a hotel near the lake. He tries to be a gentleman and get two rooms, but Jamie insists they sleep in the same room.
Because she knows the pill’s secrets, too. And she knows what he’s thinking.
***
Before the sun rises, Nix slides from the hotel bed and carries his shoes. His feet are silent on the carpet. His bag is already packed and waiting. He holds the door handle. Slowly exhaling, he turns it.
“You’re not going without me.” The lamp turns on. Jamie’s hair is spread over the pillow.
“The car’s all yours, Jamie. There’s a stack of cash next to the keys.”
“We had a deal, you bastard.”
He drifts back into the room. “Look, I’m sorry I got you into this, but you’re not coming with me.”
“Like hell.”
She tosses the covers off. Her t-shirt barely covers her white panties as she throws her legs over the side. Nix turns his head, but not as quickly as he should have. Already, she emanates the biomite glow—an unspoken beauty that possesses mothers-to-be and freshly seeded halfskins. It’s not like she wasn’t an attractive young woman before, but now that the edge of her charred state is flushed out, she dazzles.
“I know everything.” She pulls her hair into a ponytail, her t-shirt pulled tight across her chest. “I know where you’re going. I know all the known fabricators have been shut down except the one inside that bank. I know this is probably your last chance, so here’s what’s going to happen.
“I’m going to shower. When I’m done, you’ll shower. We’ll get some breakfast. After that, we’ll go shopping for clothes, something nice. We can’t go in there looking like halfskin junkies. We won’t get within a mile of that place if we do.”
She digs through the balled up clothes in her bag.
“Once we’re clean, full, and beautiful, we’ll go inside to make a deposit. You’ll bring that special vial of yours, the one with the quantum nixes, and make them an offer they can’t refuse.”
“This isn’t going to work.”
“Nix, don’t be negative. We need each other for this to work.”
“Jamie, I don’t need you.”
“Yes, you do.” She throws her bag on the bed. “You need me to not shit on your plans. Because if you leave me, I’ll go into that bank and make a mess. When I’m done blowing your cover, those tight-assed bankers will roll your ass into the street.”
She maintains a poker face, daring him to call.
“You’re halfskin now, Jamie. You’ve got to be careful.”
She holds an elastic band between her lips while retying her ponytail. “I’m going to take a long shower now. The bank doesn’t open for three hours. Get comfortable.”
She closes the bathroom door. The water begins running.
He thought, long before he decided to offer her the nixes, that peace would help her let go of Charlie’s memory, that she’d realize she didn’t need him. He didn’t want to bring her to Chicago. Maybe he should have parted ways earlier, left her in a hotel outside Louisville with money.
She would’ve found the bank on her own. Where else did she have to go?
Nix sits on the bed and waits for the shower.
46
The centrifuge hums.
It’s a third set of Paul’s blood samples. The results of the first analysis were clearly contaminated. She drew another sample from his arm later that day and that was consistent with the first. The third test…that will be the decisive one.
She hopes her work has just been sloppy.
The whirring of the machine tempts her to lay her head on the bench and close her eyes, just for a few minutes. She pulls the biomite tubes from the rack, instead, and begins to catalog them. Each of them is an experimental strain. Years ago, she had planned on replacing her and Nix’s biomites with a new strain because, eventually, M0ther would solve their current biomites.
Now, she just doesn’t care.
There was no need for new strains that communicated via quantum mechanics, utilizing entangled protons instead of the current frequency of technology. These nixes would put mankind out of M0ther’s reach for generations.
Several of her samples are missing volume. She hadn’t noticed until comparing them with Paul’s blood samples. Either her work had gotten sloppy—which she still held out hope for—or Nix had taken them.
Of course he did.
He seeded Jamie with one of the new strains, which, in theory, would allow him to read the pill. It’s likely he discovered the location of a fabricator, in which case he stole Paul’s car to find it. She had hoped the pill would be obsolete, that M0ther’s voracious pace would close them all down before that happened.
Somehow she feels responsible for nixes and the countless halfskins that have resulted despite having nothing to do with releasing them. Still, here she is with a dozen new strains that would revolutionize the industry. If these got out, M0ther would be irrelevant.
Don’t do anything stupid, Nix.
She lays her head down on the vibrating desktop. Hours later, she wakes in silence. The analysis is complete. Mechanically, she goes through the final steps. S
he gets something to eat while the spectral analysis is completed.
The results, however, do not set her stomach at ease. They are, as she expected, exactly the same as the first two. This depressed, sleep-deprived biometric engineer has replicated results three times…and still can’t believe it.
Paul’s biomites are identical to mine!
The frequency code revolves at the same rate as hers, separating into the same number of subroutines that match, nearly perfectly, her algorithm. That algorithm is exactly what keeps her and Nix out of M0ther’s vision, and yet here it is in another man’s blood.
For twenty years she had watched the nixed variations that M0ther was solving, and none of them were like hers. Cali had invented unique, one-of-a-kind nixes. No one in the world has them except Cali and Nix. No one.
No one, goddamnit. NO ONE.
So how can Paul have them? More importantly, why?
Quickly, she looks for another blood sample, the last one she drew from Paul’s arm. She can run one more test, because this can’t be right. The tube, though, fumbles through her fingers, rattles across the bench without breaking.
She restrains herself from clearing off the tabletop, pulling the shelves off the walls and smashing the lab. Her breath hisses between her teeth while she slams her fists on the bench, on the wall, on that goddamn fabricator hiding beneath the tarp.
She turns off the light and leaves the lab.
She needs space to escape the tension, space to free her mind.
On the front porch, she sits on the swing. A breeze gusts across the pasture. The horses are satisfied at the round bail. She doesn’t need to run another test. She can only assume that M0ther knows where she is and, for whatever reason, hasn’t shut her down. Is she taunting her?
Even if Cali could make it all go away, if she injected herself with one of the experimental strains and disappeared from M0ther’s radar, it doesn’t explain why Paul is in the shed. Even if she left him there and moved to another farm, built another tower…what would that get her?
More walls.
And it won’t explain why Paul is here.
47
Another call from Cali.
Nix props his leg on the opposite knee and ignores it. The pant leg hikes above his Mercanti Fiorentini shoe, exposing the black sock—clothing he’s never worn in his life. But in the bank, sunk into the leather chair, he knows Jamie was right.
He takes a deep, cleansing breath, lets it out slowly. The tension, however, remains, despite the lure of the chair’s comfort. It’d do him good to lay his head back, nap for a few minutes. If only he could leap into Dreamland, just for a moment, see ole Shep carry a stick and watch Raine pick low-hanging fruit from the orchard…
A message pings inside his head. He immediately dumps it. There’s nothing his sister can say to change his mind. Years ago, she refused to fabricate Raine. Now she’s destroyed Dreamland. Whatever she has to say can wait. When he’s finished, she can tell him with Raine sitting by his side.
Won’t that be a treat?
Nix bounces his fingers tips, surveying the grand lobby: the shiny floor and polished surfaces. The tellers speak in quiet tones, smile at the patient customers. To the right are the glass-walled offices, bankers working closely with important clients.
Jamie leafs through a Business Today magazine, chewing gum with her lips locked. Her stocking cap is back in the room. Now her hair falls over her ears. Perhaps it’s the color of the sweater that makes her eyes look greener.
Nix has transfigured into the old man again.
An hour later, a woman crosses the lobby, a gold nameplate on the lapel of her business suit. Her red lipstick glows.
“Mr. Griffin will see you now,” Jalen says.
They follow her to one of the glass rooms where a swollen man sits behind a mahogany desk. Nix expected to meet somewhere more private with someone less brutish. Jalen closes the door behind them. Mr. Griffin gestures to chairs. He folds his hands on the desk, the beefy fingers interlacing like knuckled hotdogs.
“How can I help you?” His pupils dilate.
Facial recognition has been activated. With Jamie, he’ll see the truth—a girl pronounced dead at the Seattle warehouse, now sitting in front of him. No hiding that. A computer hums somewhere beneath the desk.
“We asked for Mr. Connick,” Jamie says.
“He’s a busy man. I’m sure I can help you.”
Nix gently keeps her from standing. You don’t just walk in and ask for the fabricator. “It’s all right,” Nix says. “We’d like to make a deposit.”
“The tellers can help you with that. Anything else?”
“Trust, Mr. Griffin. I’d like to deposit trust. It’s essential that I trust you and your institution.”
The linebacker-turned-banker has yet to move anything besides his eyes. His entwined hands rest like a wrecking ball while the computer chatters. His pupils rapidly shift, data streaming into his internal vision. He’s looking for the same thing as Nix. Trust.
“What kind of deposit?” he says.
“A very large transfer.”
“More specific, please.”
Nix pushes a piece of paper across the desk. Inside, there’s a number equal to the trust fee required to access the fabricator. All of this Nix learned from the pill. Mr. Griffin flicks a glance at the paper. He says nothing.
“Not enough?” Jamie leans forward.
Again, Nix puts his hand on her arm.
Mr. Griffin stares at Jamie without blinking. This is what Nix was afraid of. She was found dead in the warehouse and now she’s sitting in front of him. There wasn’t time to rewrite her history. It was better to come clean, let them see the truth. After all, very few come inquiring about a fabricator without a murky past.
The computer goes quiet.
“We’ve been through a lot,” Nix adds. “It would mean a lot if we could deposit something today. That’s all we’re asking. I believe it’ll be worth your time.”
Mr. Griffin turns his hard stare on Nix, eyes that could break rocks. It’s unlikely he does much banking. The silence stretches out. Jamie begins to fidget.
The door opens.
“Jalen will escort you to a deposit box,” he says. “She’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
The woman stands to the side with a pleasant smile. Nix stands without bothering to shake hands. They cross the spotless lobby, the feeling of Mr. Griffin’s glare following them. Nix avoids looking for any one of the numerous cameras spying on them.
There’s no need for paperwork. No signatures or promises. Everything has been visually captured.
Jalen takes them down a sterile hallway. Only the sound of her heels bounce off the walls. They enter a pristine vault with walls of metal drawers, each emblazoned with a number.
She pulls open 204. “Will this be enough?”
“Yes.”
“Very good. I will leave you long enough to make your deposit. When you’re finished, I will ensure the drawer is locked. Rest assured, your deposit is secure with us. If everything is in order and appears satisfactory, you will hear from Mr. Griffin in three days. Do you have any questions?”
“No.”
“I’ll be right outside.”
Jalen provides a parting smile. Nix waits until she’s completely outside. He places a small envelope inside the box, the contents thumping on the metal plate.
“What if they just take it?” Jamie asks.
“I’ve made arrangements.”
He slides the box closed, exhales slowly. But what if it’s not enough? What else do I have to bargain?
Jamie hooks her arms around his. “That’s it?”
“For now.”
“Let’s grab some lunch, then.”
“A nap will do.”
He’s aching to visit Dreamland, even if he’s lost at sea.
48
Ninety-eight.
Ninety-nine.
One hundred.
Paul collapses on the floor, sweat on his forehead. He ventures outside the shed to relieve himself, and not very far, at that. The eight-by-ten-foot building has become a cell. Plates and cups are stacked in the corner; newspapers litter the cot.
He sits against the doorjamb to enjoy the breeze cutting through the trees. From this angle he can see the house. The lights are off, which means Cali’s in the basement. The track marks inside his arm are witness to her determination.
Days have gone by. The cot Cali brought out got him off the floor. The worst part isn’t the boredom or the circuit board’s constant buzzing. It’s the questions. Exercising helps blot them out, but he can’t fill all the idle time and, inevitably, the questions slip through. Whose body is back at the warehouse? Whose body is inside this utility shed?
His body aches when he pushes it; it shivers at night. Hunger gnaws and thirst beckons. If that was his body—his original shell—back at the warehouse, what does it matter if nothing feels different?
Paul steps on the cot and reaches for the rafters. He does pull-ups until it burns and sit-ups until he’s about to puke. Back and forth, he goes, until there’s nothing left. Not even thoughts.
Eventually, he falls asleep with a question.
Who am I?
***
The circuit board is breaking.
Paul rolls over. His eyes adjust. Cali is holding a small cube, her finger hooked through the wire handle. It’s a fuse.
The green lights are dead. The board is silent.
She pulled the fuse.
“What’re you doing?” he says.
She doesn’t answer, just walks out.
Paul sits on the cot, staring. The silence is pleasurable. The buzzing echoes in his head. He steps out of the shed. Cali is nearly to the house, the dogs at her side. The sky is blue with wispy clouds that feel closer, as if there’s no barrier between him and the heavens.
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