by Nadia Afifi
It was D’Arcy who led her to this place. When Amira mentioned, omitting the essentials, that Rozene’s memories included an illuminated, abandoned ship, D’Arcy knew the ship in question. The stevedores all knew of the one ship in the old dockyards that was inhabited, and they all kept their distance.
“Something strange going on there, according to Dad,” D’Arcy had said. Amira had promised not to go wandering around looking for it. As the lights from the street disappeared deeper into the shipyard, Amira hoped she wouldn’t regret her lie.
Moving swiftly and silently around the rusted skeleton of a narrow passenger boat, she reached the main pier, where she found the docked remains of a sizable cruise ship, the same one displayed in the hologram in Rozene’s ward. Streams of lights hung from the top and sides of the ship, the only source of illumination in the shipyard. Lights also glowed from the ship’s interior. The crisp smell of salt water mingled with the odor of stale trash.
Amira stood before the pier and noted another camera at the base of the gangway. Though she felt a rising sense of dread at the ship’s quiet entrance, she needed answers.
“Who’s there?” a muffled voice barked, causing Amira to jolt and nearly slide off the pier. She spun around to find no one.
“What do you want?” the voice called out again, and Amira saw a metallic bullhorn fixed unsteadily on the rail of the walkway.
She caught her breath.
“I’m here to see Hadrian,” she said clearly. “I…need some information. For a mutual friend.”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Amelia Sandoval. I work in Aldwych, in the Soma complex, with someone who lived here once.”
There was a pause, and a deeper, calmer voice replied.
“Come on in.”
The entrance hall of the cruise ship was a shadow of what it must have been in its prime when it traversed ports across the Pacific. The carpeting and wallpaper had been stripped, making every footstep echo and ricochet off the high ceilings. Wires ran along the flayed concrete walls. The lights on the central chandelier had been replaced with green bulbs that gave the expansive room a sickly hue.
A cluster of teenagers, some of whom appeared as young as thirteen, gathered at the far end of the room while others peered down from the mezzanine. More children flooded the upper levels, running and shouting raucously along the walkways above them. A pair of boys on the lower level spun around in circles with flailing arms under the unmistakable influence of Elysium, their distant expressions ecstatic. Elysium was a popular drug in the cities, so Amira was not surprised to discover its popularity among compound escapees, who found it a gentler substitute for Chimyra.
Amira pulled her hoodie down and approached the other end of the room, where the small group hovered around an archaic computer. Several faces turned to her in curiosity.
“I’m looking for Hadrian Jones,” she said.
A man emerged from the crowd, the only visible adult on the ship besides Amira. He flashed a ghoulish smile at Amira and dipped in a mocking bow. Lean and of medium height, his muscled arms were lined with three-dimensional tattoos and tribal scars. His eyeballs were tattooed as well with yellow irises, the black pupils unnaturally large and glowing with the predatory luminescence of an animal at hunt. In retrospect, Amira realized that his red eyes during their first encounter were caused by heavy contact lenses designed to conceal his eye markings.
Amira felt a wave of pity for Rozene. Could she truly consider this man to be her closest friend?
“That would be me,” Hadrian Jones replied with a thicker version of the accent he greeted her with in the Riverfront. “Welcome to my humble little boat, Amelia.”
More teenagers gathered to watch the scene unfold, some leaning over the rails on the mezzanine’s upper level. Though his demeanor was jovial, Amira sensed that he had not expected her to trace him to this ship, an unlikely home for a NASH agent.
With that advantage in mind, Amira decided to be direct.
“I’m here to talk about Rozene Hull,” she said, her voice low but controlled. “I need to learn about her time on the Trinity Compound.”
Hadrian rolled his head back melodramatically, throwing his hands up in the air as though inquiring of the heavens.
“She gave you lot her real name – her real name! Something isn’t rigged right in that brain of hers.”
“What is this place?” Amira asked, unable to contain the question any longer. “Do you live here?”
“Guilty as charged,” Hadrian said cheerily. “When I’m not causing trouble in NASH or pestering drunk Academy brats, I’m here with my many, many children. My home is their refuge, as long as they want it.”
“Is Hadrian Jones your real name?”
“Does it sound like a real fucking name? Do I look like a fucking Jones?”
Laughter echoed through the room. A young girl in her underwear sat on a large crate against the wall, her bare feet dangling back and forth like a child’s on a swing. She tilted her head and giggled loudly, triggering a second wave of taunts from the observers.
Hadrian moved closer to Amira. His wolf-like eyes narrowed as he peered into her face. Unwilling to give ground, Amira stepped sideways and Hadrian mirrored her, the two circling one another slowly.
“You don’t look like you were one of mine,” he said in a low, thoughtful voice.
“So, these are compound children who escaped,” Amira said as a way of deflection. “Why are they all here? There are charities and state resources in Westport for refugees.”
More scattered laughter.
“Some go there for sure,” Hadrian replied. “They learn better before long how the system works, and find their way here on my little yacht, where they get real help.”
“It worked for me,” Amira said, realizing at once that it was a half-truth. Dr. Mercer, not the state, had discovered her and seen her potential.
“Nice for you,” Hadrian sneered.
“But you’re ISP! This must be illegal.”
“And I’m shaking in my little boots,” Hadrian replied merrily. “Let’s just say I’ve been in law enforcement long enough, love. I’ve watched them fuck up time after time and found a better way. So I got me this little ship, rigged it up with the best security apparatus an ISP badge can buy – or borrow, steal, whatever – and the kids started coming. They pass the word on to new kids from the compounds, and they all jump at the chance to be here.”
“Why is that?”
“Why, love? They get protection from the old life and a perfect little gateway into the new world. They’re with their own people to start, so they live with folk who understand them. They can acclimate to city life here.”
One of the kids on Elysium had started pulling off his clothes, tripping over his pants in the process and falling to the ground, his expression still rapt.
Amira raised her voice. “There have to be better places for them. Places where they aren’t half-naked and high.”
“I’m an altruist, simply performing a necessary service to help Westport’s most vulnerable residents,” he retorted with a smile. “But you didn’t answer the question, love – why didn’t you end up on my ship?”
“Why would I?”
He let out a low, delighted cackle.
“Do you think old Hadrian was born yesterday, love?” he asked. “Do you think I can’t spot a compound girl when I see one? You can try to hide it all you want, and you may fool some of them out there, but not Hadrian Jones. You know, I didn’t even know you were a compounder when I met you by the river? There was no file that told me, but I saw it the minute I looked at your pretty little face. You all have that same look – the same fucking haunted look, no matter what you’re doing, like you’re waiting at any moment for something to come out of the shadows.”
In a sudden motion, Hadrian lunged
forward.
Amira jerked back, nearly losing her balance.
He laughed again, the throaty rasps echoing across the walls. Many others laughed as well, but the mood of the room was shifting from bemused curiosity into something more assertive, even hostile, and Amira could sense the crowd’s growing impatience with their intruder.
“I didn’t come here to talk about myself,” Amira said. “Rozene is in trouble.”
A sullen-faced boy came forward, listening intently over Hadrian’s shoulder.
“What’s wrong with Rozene?” he asked in a quiet voice.
Amira opened her mouth to speak but fell silent under the boy’s sad, stern eyes, unsure of how to articulate the cloning subject’s precarious situation.
Her mind is unraveling. She’s dying.
“I warned her,” Hadrian said. “She didn’t listen – the labcoats must have made a deal with our Rozene, just like they did with Nina and Jessica, rest their souls. Something she couldn’t say no to. Always getting crazy ideas in her head, too; she wants to be part of something big. But she’s in deep now. A bit like you, eh? You must think you’re better than our poor Rozene.”
“I think someone’s trying to hurt her on purpose,” Amira said carefully, avoiding mention of Rozene’s tampered memory. “I don’t know who yet, but my job on the project is to search her mind, and I’m getting clues that something suspicious is going on. And if that’s the case, then the other two deaths may not have been accidents.”
The room went completely silent.
Hadrian paced, his rough features frozen in a mask of contemplation. Behind those unnatural eyes, Amira could see him processing this new revelation, rethinking his next approach. She gestured him outside, away from the small army of curious children, and he followed.
Cool air hit her the moment she left the ship, bringing with it the sharp stench of seawater and rust. Outside on the gangway, they faced each other.
“So, what is it you’re hoping to get from me, love?”
“You know things about the Trinity Compound. And about Rozene’s time there.”
“Of course.”
“And you want to know more about Pandora, for your own ISP reasons.”
“She remembered!” He pointed at her, tone mocking.
She ignored his reproach and said, “You might be able to help me piece things together. I have recordings from Rozene’s dreams where I need some gaps filled in. Tell me what you know about the Trinity Compound, so I can help revive her memory.”
“Our little compound girl here is a smuggler as well as a sneak,” Hadrian said with a subtle smile. “Got permission to carry that footage out of Aldwych, did you?”
“I have stills,” Amira continued, ignoring the legal implications, her pulse pounding at her neck. “Stills of an Unveiling ceremony at the Trinity Compound. I’ll need you to identify three men for me and tell me what’s important about them.”
“And what’s in it for me?” Hadrian asked.
“New information about Pandora.”
“You already gave me that,” he replied with a knowing gleam in his eye. “You’ve confirmed some of Hadrian’s long-standing suspicions, love. What else?”
“It could save Rozene.”
“Do I look like little Rozene to you?” Hadrian asked, his voice suddenly adopting a softer, more menacing quality. “I asked what was in it for me?”
“I – it would—”
“Nothing!”
“What do you want then?”
“Love, if I’m going to help you out, I’ll need something in return. Payment in kind.”
It was Amira’s turn to laugh.
“I’m an Academy student on subsidy,” she said. “I have no money.”
“It’s not money I need,” Hadrian said, his smile widening. “Here’s what you’ll do for me before I help with whatever this memory is and look at your little home movie. There’s a new drug somewhere in the Soma building. I mean brand new, still being tested, not even on the black market. Called Tiresia. You’re going to find it and get it for me. All of it. And then I’ll tell you what I know.”
“That’s impossible,” Amira stated flatly. “They would know if one test tube was missing, and I can’t just walk through any part of the Soma. There’s no way for me to get it out.”
“That’s my price,” Hadrian replied indifferently. “You’re a resourceful girl, or you wouldn’t be where you are now. You’ll figure it out.”
Amira shook her head in a quick motion, as though trying to shake herself out of a dream.
“What is Tiresia?” she asked. “What does it do?”
“Never you mind about that, love. I want it, is all you need to know. It won’t be labeled as Tiresia, mind, but you’ll know it because it’ll be the only thing in the Soma stores that’s unlabeled. Packed in a small box. Won’t look like much, but it’s plenty, I’ve been told.”
“Even if I manage to get it, how do I know that I can trust you to keep your end of the deal? There are no guarantees that you’ll know who the three are, or that you won’t simply lie about it.”
In a sudden motion, Hadrian grabbed Amira by the wrist and brought his face close to hers, his breath warm with the scent of burnt tobacco.
“You can’t trust me, love, but you also know you can’t trust your labcoat friends in Aldwych,” he hissed. “You haven’t told anyone there about this memory business, have you? Not the good Dr. Singh, not even your friends, right?”
When she didn’t respond, he chuckled softly and shook his head.
“You’re stepping into the wolves’ den, Amira Valdez,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t even know how deep you are yet. Even I don’t tangle with the Trinity Compound, or anyone at Aldwych who’s keeping their secrets.”
Her eyes widened. With one comment, her growing suspicion and worst fear was given voice. Could there be a Trinity spy on the Pandora project?
“I see we’re thinking the same thing,” he said. “Now go.”
Her head was spinning. Though Hadrian was noncommittal about his ability to identify the three mysterious figures from the Trinity ceremony, it was clear to Amira that he knew who the three men were, or at least had a highly educated guess. He had also suspected, as she had begun to, that someone on the Pandora project was connected to the Trinity Compound, protecting them. This, however, begged another question. Who on Pandora would do such a thing, and why?
Amira tightened her hoodie around her face as she gingerly slipped through the opening in the shipyard fence. She walked several blocks in the direction of Sullivan’s Wharf. Suddenly, a hand gripped her arm from behind, seemingly materializing from the darkness. She screamed in shock and whipped around to come face to face with Hadrian again.
“What are you doing?” she shouted.
“We need to talk further,” he said, maintaining a firm hold on her wrist. “Somewhere far away from the kiddos.”
As the adrenaline gradually subsided, her terror gave way to anger.
“You scared the shit out of me,” she spat.
“Get used to it,” he said, finally loosening his grip.
Amira massaged her wrist, glaring at him with pointed defiance, but she made no move to fight or run.
“I could scrap our deal and report you straight to ISP,” she said. “Tell them about your little hideaway, if you’re going to attack me in the dark.”
Hadrian lunged forward and threw an arm around Amira’s midsection, reaching furiously into the pockets of her sweatshirt. After a silent minute of breathless struggle, they broke apart, Hadrian triumphantly holding the thin glass disc that stored Rozene’s neural image readings. Property of the Mendel-Soma Complex ran, almost mockingly, across the disc cover. He patted his jacket pocket lightly where the disc now lay, revealing the faint outline of an electromagn
etic gun in the process.
“And now we’re even,” he continued. “We’ve both got something on each other. So, let’s talk.”
* * *
The Three Sirens Tavern was typical of the many bars around the dockyards – dank and noisy. Its patrons were sailors, stevedores and other workers who profited, however narrowly, from the many ships that passed through greater Westport. It was approaching midnight; a sizable crowd remained, night shifters in need of a drink before the dark walk home. A man with a guitar sang at the end of the bar, his voice drowned out by the louder chorus of drunken chatter that echoed off the musty walls.
Amira and Hadrian sat facing one another in a small cul-de-sac in the far corner of the pub, quiet enough to converse comfortably but loud enough not to be overheard. Away from the audience of the ship, Hadrian lost much of his theatrical showmanship, but he still drew curious looks for his flamboyant appearance. He took a swig from his bottle. Amira had not touched hers. Exhausted and nauseous, she needed her faculties for the impending confrontation, one she could not afford to lose.
“You don’t want your drink?” Hadrian asked, eyebrows raised mockingly.
“I’m not in a drinking mood, seeing how I’m being blackmailed,” Amira replied, her voice tart. Despite her reluctance, she reached for the bottle, but kept her lips closed as she mimicked a long drink.
“That’s the best time to be in a drinking state,” he said gleefully, before his tone became serious. “It’s in your best interest to cooperate with me, love. You don’t realize it yet, Amira Valdez, but I’m the best ally you could have right now.”
In a swift motion, her hands darted toward his jacket pocket and emerged with his copper-toned badge. She traced the text with her fingers – Hadrian Wolfe, NASH Investigator. It sounded like the name of one of the Saturday morning cartoons she watched at the compound and she laughed aloud.
“So what do I call you?” she asked abruptly. “Are you Hadrian Jones, like I heard in Rozene’s thoughts? Or Wolfe, like your badge says?”
“Hell, maybe I’m neither and my real name’s Captain Crunch. You can call me whatever you like, but on the ship, just call me Hadrian. The kids, they know what I do but I don’t tell them more than they need to know, you know?”