by Stacey Kade
There was a significant pause on Jacobs’s end. “What can I do for you, Zane?” His tone was cool, curious, but not unduly so. As if that would fool me anymore.
I leaned my head against my knees. “I think Ariane’s in trouble.”
“What happened?” he asked sharply, all pretense of casualness gone.
And with bile rising in my throat, I told him everything, finding my mom, how she’d been tricked into working for Laughlin, and meeting the hybrids. How they were supposedly controlled, Ariane’s plan to free them—or as much of it as I knew—and how Ford had broken loose, which meant Ariane was stuck pretending to be Ford.
“So, she’s in Laughlin’s facility now, you say,” Dr. Jacobs said. His voice had taken on a peculiar echo. He’d probably put me on speakerphone so someone else could hear.
I didn’t care. Now that I’d done it, now that I’d crossed this line, I wanted him to do whatever needed to be done to get Ariane out of there.
“Pretending to be Ford, yes,” I said.
“And the other one,” he said with disdain, “this Ford—”
“She was here at Linwood Academy, but she’s gone now.”
“Where?” This was an unfamiliar male voice. One of the spectators in Dr. Jacobs’s office. Perhaps the new head of security now that Mark Tucker was no longer around.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Zane—” Dr. Jacobs began.
I cut him off before he could give me whatever litany of excuses he had prepared. “She has my old phone,” I said. “She put the battery in. She’s going to make a call, if she hasn’t already.” I had no idea who Ford would be calling, but regardless, it was a stupid move, using my phone. Unless, of course, she wanted people (GTX, Laughlin, God only knew who else) to chase after her. But I couldn’t figure out why that would be.
There was a flurry of unidentifiable activity on the other end. I pictured black-clad GTX retrieval teams loading up with weapons and pouring out the door.
“So, if we can track her down, you’re suggesting we attempt a trade?” Dr. Jacobs asked.
“No,” I snapped. “I’m suggesting a hostage exchange, since neither one of them has any choice in the matter, thanks to you and your douche bag friends.”
I grimaced, remembering belatedly that I was, in fact, sort of, in a twisted way, asking him for a favor. “And my brother, you’ll let him go too,” I added, though it lacked the force and conviction of my earlier outburst.
Another long pause. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Dr. Jacobs said carefully. “But if there’s a situation involving Quinn, I’d be happy to look into it.”
Bastard.
Someone in the background murmured then, and there was a loud rustling noise. Covering the speaker so I couldn’t hear, perhaps?
“Stay where you are, Zane,” he said a moment later, his voice sharp with tension and more than a hint of eagerness. “We’ll have someone there in forty-five minutes. Less, perhaps.”
Greasy relief welled up at his reassurance, and I hated myself even more.
“Or my betrayal is free?” I laughed bitterly.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Dr. Jacobs said with a calm certainty. “She doesn’t belong out there in the world. It’s too dangerous.”
“For you or for her?” I asked wearily. I wanted to cry, but everything in me felt dried up and empty.
“I know you think I’m a cruel man,” he said, “but I’m just trying to protect—”
I hung up before I could hear the end of that lie. It was the same one I was telling myself.
Ariane would rather die than go back to GTX. I knew that. She’d told me as much.
But I couldn’t just let that happen. Alive and in a cage was better than dead. To me, at least.
So because of my weakness, I’d taken away her choice, making me no better than Dr. Jacobs.
Just as she’d said.
UNDER OTHER CIRCUMSTANCES, I MIGHT have been fascinated—and horrified—by the differences in life at Laughlin’s facility. I’d never imagined that anything could make me look upon my experiences at GTX with something that vaguely resembled fondness.
From what I could tell, Ford and the others had very little by way of possessions, beyond strategy manuals, weapon instructions, and books like The Art of War. There was a stack of magazines on a table to the side of their cubbies, but they all seemed to date from the last year, starting probably right around the time Dr. Laughlin had decided they needed to be “humanized.” Maybe Carter’s iPad served the purpose of additional entertainment/acclimation to human culture, but I was willing to bet that he’d acquired that technology only upon starting at Linwood. And neither Ford nor Nixon seemed to have one—by their choice or Laughlin’s, I wasn’t sure.
And to make it worse, where I’d been left to my own devices except when being tested, creating an illusion of free will, their schedule was strictly regimented.
Exactly ten minutes after our return from school, Nixon and Carter had begun to change clothes, and I had to scramble to follow suit, careful to keep my back—and the GTX tattoo on it—against the wall. There was no privacy. And no room allowed for my hesitation. Clearly, this was their usual postschool routine.
For precisely one hour, Nixon, Carter, and I ran on treadmills in a smaller room down the hall. Then there was another hour of battle simulation in a different room, one equipped with a large projector and screen, technology that was evidently intended to allow us to run through “real” scenarios. It mostly involved ducking and covering behind simulated corners and using our abilities to strip mock humans of weapons before they could fire on us. Once I got the hang of it, I did well enough to keep up, but I had no idea how Ford normally fared. I hoped that, if she was the reigning champ, anyone monitoring would think Ford was just having an off day.
After that, three-minute showers in the completely exposed bathroom unit in their quarters. (I’d kept my gaze glued to the tile wall to avoid seeing Carter and Nixon, and I’d worn my workout T-shirt in to keep my GTX mark covered. It didn’t matter if Ford didn’t usually do that; I’d had no choice.)
It was now 5:47 P.M., and we were sitting down at the small table in their room with meal trays filled with some unidentifiable paste, brought in during our absence.
I was exhausted but jittery with adrenaline. Because this was it, the moment of—well, not truth, but massive deception. According to Ford, Dr. David Laughlin visited during their dinner every night. At 5:45. Knowledge of that visit and its timing was integral to our plan.
Which was actually very simple. Laughlin and Jacobs—and maybe Emerson St. John too, though who knew?—were all so busy trying to eavesdrop on one another and plant spies in the other organizations, we were going to use that against them.
I was here as Ford. And Ford, as me, would use Zane’s phone to make a call. It didn’t matter to whom. Just so the call registered with whatever cell tower was nearby. Dr. Jacobs was surely monitoring the phone and would mobilize to track “me” down. But Laughlin, with his informants in place within GTX, would also likely hear about the call almost immediately afterward. And he’d be unable to resist the temptation—or so I hoped—to gather up his men and snatch “me” out from his careless competitor’s nose, especially since “I” was so close, practically in his backyard. Thus providing a substantial distraction that would focus everyone’s attention elsewhere and allow me enough time/freedom to get into Laughlin’s office and back out, undetected.
There were only two tricky parts to this equation. Ford had to lead them on a merry chase but not actually get caught. If she did, this would likely end in a stalemate, which would not help us. Plus, I needed Ford to be back at the school by tomorrow morning so I could hand off the Quorosene and we could switch back, without anyone the wiser. Then they could disappear at the first opportunity available for the three of them and I could vanish with Zane. At least until we knew for sure that the trials had been canceled.
But Dr. Laughlin was now two minutes late.
It took everything I had to keep my leg from jouncing beneath the table. I wanted to ask Carter if it was normal for him to be late, but I couldn’t, of course.
It didn’t matter, though. Given what I’d seen of their clockwork schedule, I suspected a two-minute discrepancy was significant. In the back of my head, a voice screamed, “CAUGHT!” over and over again.
Had Ford accidentally started her distraction too soon? The timing on this plan had to be precise, a fact I’d emphasized repeatedly, much to her annoyance. But she’d seemed to understand. Or so I’d thought.
Against my will, I glanced up at the case in the hall bearing her name. Who knew what she was thinking or what she would do with that kind of threat hanging over her head? The niggling possibility that she’d simply walked away, taking my money and ID, wouldn’t leave me alone. Although that wouldn’t explain Dr. Laughlin’s tardiness.
I shifted restlessly in my seat before I could stop myself.
Carter, catching my gaze, shook his head. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to tell me to hold still or not to worry. Either way, it wasn’t helping. I felt like a mouse with my teeth sunk into a suspiciously convenient piece of cheese, waiting only for the sudden rush of air and the crack of a metal bar on my neck.
A dull ache in my stomach started, and I was pretty sure it was only partially due to the protein paste I was forcing myself to choke down.
When Dr. Laughlin finally bustled through the open doorway, his lab coat flapping behind him, it startled me. I’d already grown used to looking up to find the hallway empty.
David Laughlin was, I realized with distaste, both younger and more attractive than the grainy photographs Zane and I had found online. His cheekbones had hollows beneath them in that fashionable manner, and his hair was highlighted with auburn streaks that were not the work of nature. Beneath his lab coat, which looked more like a fashion accessory, he wore an expensive-looking shirt with heavy cuff links and suit pants with a precise crease down the front. He was every bit the public persona he’d presented to the newspapers and other media organizations.
Two assistants—beautiful women in dark, tailored suits—trailed after him, tablet computers in hand, as if he might drop a word here or there and they would need to record it to ensure that it wasn’t lost to history.
It took everything I had to maintain what I hoped to be a relaxed but attentive expression. It would have been no problem for me to pretend in GTX with Dr. Jacobs. I was used to that. But here, in unfamiliar surroundings with unpredictable strangers, I could feel myself tensing up.
“Good evening, children!” he said, in a cultured British accent. I’d known he wasn’t American, but it was still startling to hear him. It reminded me, once again, how big this conspiracy was, how many people were involved. It wasn’t just my small hometown in Wisconsin.
He clapped his hands together with a sound like a shot. “How was your day?”
Carter, the designated spokesperson, gave the same answer before. “Within acceptable parameters, sir.”
Without warning or even so much as a response to Carter, Laughlin turned to me.
“I understand you made a new friend at school today. A human. Would you care to explain that to me?” he inquired, the casual lift of his brow making it seem as though this was a matter of simple curiosity rather than the start of my undoing.
My breath caught in my chest. Crap. The nosy teacher who’d caught Zane and me sneaking in. Ford hanging out with a regular student, without Nixon or Carter in sight, would definitely have struck him as strange, and he must have reported me to someone here. Probably as ordered.
I waited, praying for one of the bookend assistants to look up wide-eyed from her tablet and tug at Dr. Laughlin’s sleeve, or for lights to flash and alarms to sound. Something to indicate that Ford was following through on her part of our arrangement.
But nothing happened. And the seconds ticking by between Laughlin’s question and my lack of an answer were creating a gap that would soon be impossible to cross.
Across the table, Carter’s knuckles went white where he clutched his spoon, and even Nixon’s posture seemed stiffer than usual.
I needed to do something right now.
I took a breath and did my best to channel Ford. “You know the teachers there. Always eager to create reports on us that will generate your favor. And your money.” The heavy disdain in my voice, I realized, was probably a little more Rachel Jacobs than Ford’s more flat affect, but here was hoping Laughlin wouldn’t notice.
A troubled frown creased Dr. Laughlin’s otherwise unlined forehead.
No, no, no. Don’t frown. Don’t question. I am Ford, who else would I be? I sent the thoughts at Laughlin, though I knew he couldn’t hear me.
“Of course. I suspected as much. That is unfortunate, though. I was hoping that Mara’s immersion therapy was beginning to work. Carter here is looking like a better and better choice for the trials.” He tilted his head sideways, watching for my reaction.
I stared at him, much as I imagined Ford would have, letting the unexpressed hate shine through my eyes behind the otherwise impassive mask of my face. That wasn’t hard for me.
Laughlin nodded appreciatively. “That will serve you well, assuming I allow you to live.”
He wasn’t worried or fearful. Nor did he seem to have any doubt in his control over us. Say what you will, Dr. Jacobs had always had a cautious and healthy respect for what I was capable of.
By contrast, Laughlin was so certain that their need for the Quorosene protected him, he took chances that were foolish to say the least. Then again, he had no way of knowing that one of his hybrids had been replaced by an undomesticated substitute. Killing him now would mean blowing my cover—probably trapping the three of us in here forever or getting us “eliminated”—so it was a no-go.
But still…
I watched as he seated himself on the table, dipped his finger in Nixon’s remaining protein paste, and placed it in his mouth, making a face at the taste.
“That is bloody awful, isn’t it?” he said with laugh, wiping his hand on Nixon’s sleeve. The assistants gave a polite titter, Laughlin’s devoted audience. “Have to try it every once in a while to remind myself.”
Nixon, for his part, was unmoved and unreadable as ever. But he was in there, in his head. He wasn’t an empty vessel. He’d squeezed my hand in the car.
The arrogance of that man. Beneath the table, I curled my hands into fists, feeling my fingernails bite into my palms. I wanted badly to show Laughlin exactly how weak and breakable he really was.
But that wouldn’t solve our problem. Not yet, anyway.
Dr. Laughlin stayed for several more minutes, asking Carter questions and pointedly ignoring me. I suspected that tactic was designed to make me, Ford, worry about my fate. But instead, it simply pissed me off. Made me even more determined to see him fall.
His whole visit lasted less than ten minutes. Then he left, as suddenly as he’d arrived, his coat flapping behind him and the two assistants trailing.
Watching him walk away, I felt hope draining out of me, like a cup with a leak. He’d arrived late, but he’d arrived, with seemingly no agitation or concern at events that might have occurred just before his visit. And while he’d been here, there’d been no sign whatsoever of Ford’s planned distraction.
I swallowed hard, my mouth gritty with paste and panic. Zane had been right.
Now what?
Now what? Now what? Now what? The phrase pounded in my head like a drumbeat as Nixon, Carter, and I pushed away from the table and returned to our bunks.
Carter attempted to make contact in Morse code again.
“She’s loyal. We are one. She would no more betray us than she would cut off her own arm.…”
Maybe it was just me, but his tapping sounded more desperate than before. And I couldn’t help thinking again about a mouse caught in a trap. Some of them were known to chew off limbs to escape.
I tuned out the rest of whatever Carter was saying. I needed to think.
My heart was a panicked animal trapped behind my ribs, trying to beat its way free.
Don’t panic. Breathe. Staring up at the smooth green plastic over my head, I concentrated on my inhales and exhales until a measure of calm descended.
I had two choices. One, if I could pass the night without being detected as a counterfeit, I could get back to Linwood tomorrow and sneak out. Through the bathroom window, perhaps. It would be more difficult without Ford to take her place again and with the guards watching.
But what good would that do? Ford might be gone, but the competition was still on. Laughlin would simply send Carter in her place. And God only knew what he would do to Nixon as punishment.
Dr. Jacobs would still be looking for me. And Dr. Laughlin would have a serious grudge, once he figured out what we’d done. Or rather, what we’d attempted before Ford broke ranks.
What hope did I have of avoiding them both forever? I was willing to bet that even if GTX had to forfeit the trials to Laughlin Integrated—no, especially if they had to forfeit—Dr. Jacobs would continue to look for me.
My second option, my only true choice, was to get the trials canceled, as planned.
I felt my heart flutter with anxiety again, but I ignored it, forcing myself to calculate.
My biggest advantage: I was inside Laughlin’s facility, undetected. For the moment. It was, as I’d told Zane, a one-time opportunity.
Ford’s distraction had been intended only to cause confusion and pull focus away from Nixon, Carter, and me long enough for me to slip deeper into the facility.
I didn’t have that luxury anymore. But maybe I didn’t need it. I knew from Mara that Ford and the others had previously used loopholes in Laughlin’s commands to slip outside the facility and stalk Mara. For example, Laughlin may have told Ford to go to her quarters, but he didn’t say stay. Or how long to stay, even. She just couldn’t leave permanently. And rather than punishing her for finding these gaps, he’d seemed amused by them, if Mara’s telling of it was in any way accurate. He’d altered their orders at some point, obviously, because the stalking had stopped.