The Veritas Project

by C. F. E. Black

  Copyright © 2021 by C. F. E. Black

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Damonza.

  For Will

  To my readers:

  Download the companion novella, The Transfer, for free at www.cfeblack.com.

  Praise for The Veritas Project

  Fresh, offbeat, and timely, The Veritas Project yanks readers into a futuristic society where stakes are high and thoughts belong to the masses. Led by a bold heroine, the book explores what it means to be human—to love, hope, and think for oneself. C. F. E. Black stuns with her smart, science fiction debut, perfect for fans of Divergent and Black Mirror.

  - Caroline George, author of Dearest Josephine

  Written in a language that could go down instantly as a classic, this is a debut author to keep an eye on. She has given us much, and much is to be expected in her future works indeed.

  - Hope Bolinger, author of Blaze

  C. F. E. Black’s debut novel hooked me from the very first chapter. The world she has created is intriguing, and the twists are delightfully unexpected.

  - Krista McGee, author of The Anomaly Series

  With a mind-bending storyworld and compelling characters, this debut novel reads like the work of a seasoned storyteller. An exceptional plot that will pull you through the pages to an ending you’d never expect, The Veritas Project is destined to be the book you finish at midnight because you just can’t put it down.

  - Rachelle Rea Cobb, author of Follow the Dawn

  Contents

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Part II

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Part III

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Part One

  One

  My fingertips tingle, as always, at the end of the mental exchange. The syringe-like cable extracts from my neck, leaving a sharp itch just for a moment. When the metal hood slides back, exposing my shaved head, the chill of the streaming room nips at my skull. I rub the back of my neck before sitting up, my fingers brushing the smooth scars that mark the sensors behind my ears. With a groan, I lurch my chest upward, reeling with the memories that have just been dumped into my mind.

  In the greenish light, the others in the room also start to reenter the here and now. Marcus is still down, his chest convulsing. From across the circle of reclining chairs, the sound of vomit sucking into a chute proves that, even after so many years, I’m not the only one who still struggles with this exchange. Prudentia, stone-faced and beautiful, is already standing. She’s borderline machine, that one.

  As I stand, I try to ignore the spinning in my head. Pru eyes me gripping the side of my chair for support. Marcus is rising, his arms boasting grooves and bulges as he pushes himself up. He sees me staring, and for just a moment longer, I wait to look away.

  All sixteen of us are standing now. Dr. Yamaguchi says in her hypnotic voice, “To whom much is given—”

  As one, we say, “—much is expected.”

  The following morning I hear a name called inside my ear. Valeria the Fifth to Lab Two. Valeria the Fifth to Lab Two. My brain still jumbled from yesterday’s stream, I sit a few seconds before remembering that’s my name.

  From his seat beside me on the couch in our domus living room, Marcus rolls his neck and stretches, like a player about to take the field. All the Fives are getting our lab assignments now. He looks back at me but something in my expression makes him stop. His hand darts to my shoulder, then retracts, cautious as a cat’s paw, as he blinks his blue eyes at the camera behind my head.

  “V, you coming?”

  My nickname, a letter and not a number, feels like that first burst of a hot shower. I nod, invigorated by his use of my name. Sharing thoughts with fifteen other people sometimes makes me forget which one I am, which name is mine, whose hands are attached to my wrists, whose face looks back at me from the mirror. We stream thoughts for progress and we stream thoughts for punishment. Thought sharing is our reward and our chastisement because it is both exciting and terrifying, especially depending on how long it lasts. That’s the way the Director likes it.

  Sensing my confusion, Marcus whispers, “Let’s meet later, our pod. For now: narrow face, full lips, olive skin, ripped.” He smiles at this, and I want more. More of his voice describing me like I’m some great beauty.

  I am Valeria the Fifth, I tell myself, fairly certain. Just V actually; V the letter, not the number. Marcus seems to know this. For some reason, he never gets as confused as I do.

  Julius the Fifth, the boy with orange hair and a look of perpetual surprise, bustles past us as he and the rest of our Order begin to move toward our new labs.

  “Off to build us a better body?” Julius asks, his sarcasm knifing its way into my small dilemma.

  “Yeah.” Standing, I snap into our usual banter. “Go play with your zeroes and ones. They can’t touch what I’m doing. I’m erasing humanity’s flaws.” I flick a wrist at the air like this is trivial. Talking about my research helps me feel more like me.

  Today, the Fifth Order collectively turned sixteen. Today, we have reached a new level of independence in our research. Now our research bears our name—the Roman numeral five—which is the number assigned to each of us. We’re all members of the Fifth Order, and since we share a brain, I guess sharing a name just makes sense.

  “Oh, that sounds delightfully horrifying.” Julius grins, showing all his perfect teeth. He scurries off before I can come up with a retort.

  “While you’re making the world more self-obsessed,” Marcus chides, “I’ll be saving it from the next epidemic.” He blinks his icy blue eyes—always so bright and clear—as a smile spreads across his face.

  I cannot watch this smile without returning one, as I do now. “Okay. I’ll let you know how publication feels.”

  We’re all proud of our research, and for good reason. It is changing the world, after all. At least, we’re told it is, and we all believe it. It’s not like we get to see much of the world to really know for sure. Without waiting for a remark, I spin and head out the door into the long, white hallway.

  Lab Two is downstairs, bottom floor, the floor given entirely to the speedy evolution of our planet. Level One: Genetics. It is an appropriate place for genetics research, I think, as it is the foundation of everything else, all other levels, and the reason we are all here. Marcus will be on the fourth floor by now. As I walk through the elevator bay, I glance at the panels beside the mirrored doors. My eyes read Level Four, knowing Marcus is there. Level Four: Vaccines. The word sounds so vile.

  “Valeria V is here,” I announce as I enter the cold, inv
igorating air of the lab. A shiver of excitement ripples down into my belly. This is where Valeria belongs. I am the only Five assigned to this lab. Later, I’ll stream all of this excitement to Marcus. He could tell I needed another one, another stream with him. I think of my day the way he will see it, in images and impressions and feelings, like the feeling I have right now that I’ve just been jolted to life with a defibrillator.

  “Valeria V,” someone says from nearby. A thick-armed girl strides over to meet me. “Welcome to Lab Two.” Her hand is colder than the air. “My name is Crecentia III. I will be your lead as you get acquainted here.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I feel better than this woman already. I am smarter, prettier. They keep getting better at us. “I’m glad to finally be here.”

  She smiles under hard eyes. “I bet you are. I remember sixteen. It was an exciting time. Back then, the gen lab had just okayed the mass production of bioindividual cell repair serum, you know, the wound repair stuff the military has been cooing about ever since.” She says this like she is the one who invented it.

  “Today, we’ll start you out with the basics. Here is your workstation.” Crecentia waves a hand at a sterile table equipped with a t-screen. “You’ve been working on a new epi-tag sequence for youthful skin, am I right?” She looks at me with a hint of something like derision. The older Orders are always condescending. They think they know so much more than we do because they’ve been streaming longer, researching longer. I think about saying that I am smarter than she is, but I don’t. “I didn’t read your report,” she continues. “Forgive me, I’ve been too busy with my own research. I am part of the—”

  “Brain stem team, I know.” I flash a smile that I hope looks genuine, though I doubt it.

  The round-faced woman nods. “I see they do teach you some of the important stuff! My team is about to complete our first—”

  “Successful stroke-resistant brain stem.” I clear my throat. “I did read your report.”

  Her eyes widen for a half second. “Yes! That is correct. I will show you later. It really is spectacular.” Now she’s in it. “But let me leave you to your work. You’ll see all of your research from your classes has been uploaded. Most of the time we start with 3D models, computer simulations, and the like, as you know. You’ll get your hands on the real stuff soon enough. You have all day to play now! To whom much is given, after all!” Without waiting for me to finish the sentence, she turns and marches off toward her brain stem.

  “Indeed,” I whisper, eager to begin, eager to play, eager to prove myself. Prove me. I am good at this; I am good at this. Just Valeria. And that is important, I tell myself. A smile builds as I swipe my wristband through the t-screen to begin. Before me, the rotating image of a chalice surrounded by two curved helixes materializes as the t-screen comes to life. When the Center’s symbol fades, all around me my research rises: webs of double-helixes and strands of letters that I have etched into a pattern in my mind. The letters are my language. I read them the way I read my wristband, which vibrates now to let me know it’s logging my hours.

  My first project is skin with epigenetically never-silenced collagen production. It never ages. It is beautiful.

  But it doesn’t exist yet. It will, though, I tell myself. With the promise of eternal youth, the money pours in from the donors. I glance up at the camera above me. Eyes are always watching. No telling how many outsiders ever tune in to watch a teenager tinkering on a double helix. But the world must have its rights—the right to watch me as I work.

  The right to hate me, too, for being better than they are.

  I tap on a notepad icon that contains my latest research ideas.

  Here, I can begin to build memories that I know are only mine. Here, I will make my contribution to the world.

  “Playtime.”

  Marcus and I meet up a few minutes before seven o’clock. We have just enough time to stream and get back to the Caf for dinner. There are his frozen eyes holding so much newness they might crack and spill forth the living water within.

  “I take it you had fun in the vac lab today?”

  He nods, his splintering smile wreaking havoc in my gut. He and I clip off underneath a doorway stamped with words so common I don’t read them anymore.

  As we approach the milky white door of the nearest streaming pod, Marcus’ excitement overflows and he begins, “Today in lab I had—”

  “Hush,” I say with a small smile. Talking about what we will stream is pointless. It will all be said soon and without the chaff of words.

  Only when I am with Marcus does the opaque white door before me not freeze my insides. Only with him am I not afraid of what happens behind this door. Streaming with Marcus is the one thing that feels like it belongs to me, even more than my research, which could be deleted at the touch of a button. Marcus cannot be deleted from my mind, nor I from his. And that makes me feel like, at least to him, I exist as an individual.

  That is why we do this, after all. To remind us—most often just me—who we really are. Especially after a punishing day of deluge in the box—a day spent hooked up to fifteen other minds crashing simultaneously into my own—I need a grounder. I need this.

  The thunder in his chest when he looks at me.

  Thunder that, somehow, I create, not just another Five.

  The handles in this place are always cold. I grasp the smooth metal and slide the chamber door open. Dark walls, sixteen reclining chairs. My skin prickles automatically, though I’ve done this so many times I cannot count. Streaming with Marcus is always different: solidifying, not diffusing, like the other streams. I slide the door shut, flip the occupied switch. A green light fills the room, washing away his features in a pale slime.

  I climb into a chair and lean back, watching him do the same beside me. Our smiles are hidden by the green light. My head touches the hard, curved surface, my fingers activating the t-screen above me. My name lights up before my eyes. Valeria V. I select the appropriate entry: Single Simultaneous Stream. I enter Marcus’ name. He’s finished now, too.

  “Ready?” he asks from a few feet away.

  Ready as I’ll ever be to step out of my head and into his. Like when you miss the last step in the dark. “Yep.” I close my eyes, feeling the metal slide up and around my skull, clicking indistinctly as it stops above my eyebrows. Then the microcable leeches onto the back of my neck, as noticeable as a syringe. And it begins.

  My body lurches, flicks, and settles. The brain always responds like a castle defending itself. Motion. Light. Sound. Cold. The memories come. More distinct now. Hot water. Petri dish. Valeria’s face. Lab Eight. Much is expected. Self-destructing virus. Workstation. Laelia III’s gloved hand. His day flashes by like a dream, all at once, in crystal clear focus, as if I’m living these hours just as he did. All the images, all the words, and more importantly, all the emotions flood my mind. Streams—only this kind, only with him—are exhilarating.

  As the syringe exits my neck, I begin to collect myself. With only one other, streaming is much easier. With sixteen of us, it’s like trying to find my way out of a crowded hall of mirrors, only I’m not sure which reflection is my own.

  “I don’t know how you like that stuff,” I groan, swinging my feet to the floor. His green face spins into view.

  “At least our work is altruistic,” he teases.

  We wait, not standing just yet. The brain takes a few seconds to catch up.

  “Crecentia seems like a real block,” he says as he finally stands.

  “Yeah. I don’t think I’ll be needing her much.”

  “Of course you won’t.” His teeth look funny in the green light. “You’re going to be published before they know what’s happened.”

  As I blush, I’m grateful for the green. I rise, reminding myself not to say the stupid streaming mantra out of habit. “Thanks, I think I’m good for now.” Seeing me from his mind, with all the warmth and energy Valeria brings to him—I bring to him—tells me I am not ju
st anyone. Before he arrived, Valeria was a drop of peroxide in water, unidentifiable from the rest, as they planned. But now, like a dye, someone notices me, and though I shouldn’t want to stand out, shouldn’t want to break the Codex that has kept me safe and made me strong, nothing can bleach this feeling out of me. “Till next time, anyway.”

  Marcus turns to me with an apologetic scowl. “Maybe there shouldn’t be a next time, V.”

  Startled, I stare up at him in the dim light. “Why not? Even with new labs and all, I’m sure I’ll still need it. You know I’ll get boxed again. You too. It’s bound to happen.” The box is our punishment. Not enough hours in the lab? Boxed. Too many hours in the lab and not enough sleep? Boxed. Affection that goes beyond friendly competitiveness? Boxed.

  It’s not so much a box as a small, square room with a single streaming chair in it. Bleach. That’s what the box is supposed to be to us. Wash out all the stained memories, hang us out to dry. Never really used to bother me that much before I met Marcus, before I felt noticed for being me.

  He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and we should work on that. We keep breaking the rules like we have been and we’ll end up just like him.”

  My feet become suddenly interesting. “Why bring that up now?”

  “He’s gone, in case you forgot. Brain wiped.”