Replica rt-1

by Jenna Black

  Nadia nodded and took the box back, trying not to think about all the million ways this could go wrong.

  “Obviously,” Dante continued, “it’s best if you can stick it to his skin somewhere. But it would be easier and safer to stick it to his jacket and hope he keeps wearing it until he gives the Chairman his daily update.”

  Nadia nodded again. She could find some excuse to grab hold of Mosely’s jacket, surely. Maybe in the course of an impassioned plea to release her from her obligations.

  I can do this, she told herself, hoping to make herself believe it.

  “And what do you want me to tell him?” she asked aloud. “How much truth is too much?”

  “Tell him about getting the tracker and the stupid note,” Bishop said. “The idea that you’ve heard from me will give him a real hard-on.”

  “Hey!” Nate said, giving Bishop’s foot a light kick. “Watch your mouth around Nadia.”

  Nadia rolled her eyes. Bishop had tamed the gutter mouth that came with living in the Basement, but this was far from the first time he’d let something coarse slip out, and it wasn’t exactly shocking.

  “It’ll make him drool,” Bishop continued smoothly. “Maybe it’ll even make him think I might contact you again so he might think you make good bait.”

  Nadia supposed that was meant to be comforting. There would always be more threats Mosely could raise, more ways he could keep her under his thumb. But she couldn’t allow herself to think about consequences.

  “All right. I’ll tell him that. I might also suggest that you’re going to want to warn Nate about me, give him hope that he might be able to intercept you if you do.”

  “Well,” Dante said, slapping his hands on his thighs. “That’s settled.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late and I should get you two back if we’re done here.”

  “We’re not quite done,” Bishop said. “Nate, when I told you what we heard on the night of the reception, I said that Mosely and the Chairman were talking about someone named Thea. I thought maybe you might have recognized that name.”

  Nate nodded grimly. “I do.”

  “Who is she?”

  Nate let out a deep breath. “I need you all to promise me that this information won’t leave the van, at least not for now. If I answer your question, I’ll be spilling state secrets.”

  “State secrets that might help the resistance?” Dante asked with an eager gleam in his eyes.

  “And this conversation is now officially over,” Nate said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “You want a ride home?” Dante countered. “Or would you rather walk?”

  “Don’t be an asshole,” Bishop said. “No one’s walking.” He turned to Nate. “I guarantee it won’t leave this van. Tell me who Thea is.”

  But Nate shook his head. “I trust you, even though I probably shouldn’t, but I don’t trust him.” He jerked his chin toward Dante. Nadia wasn’t sure if this was a sign that Nate was finally being cautious enough, or if it was just further evidence that he didn’t like Dante.

  “I outrank him,” Bishop said, giving Dante a meaningful look, “and I say he’s not going to run his mouth to anyone.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t feel like sharing secrets with him.”

  “You trusted me enough to get in a van with me and let me take you to the Basement without any proof I was taking you to Bishop,” Dante pointed out. “I’m one of the good guys here.”

  Nadia believed him, or at least believed he believed what he was saying. But she didn’t know enough about the resistance or anyone who was in it to be convinced they were really the good guys. She’d studied enough history to know that even revolutionaries with good intentions often ended up doing terrible things. She couldn’t blame Nate for being reluctant to talk around him.

  “Then why don’t you prove you’re a good guy?” she challenged before Nate said something to escalate the hostility. “Don’t insist Nate tell his secrets to someone he’s known less than twelve hours.”

  The chagrin on Dante’s face said he didn’t like it, but he reluctantly exited the van, slamming the doors behind him more vigorously than necessary.

  Nate stared at the doors through which Dante had exited with a look of distaste.

  “That guy’s a total dick.”

  “Watch your mouth around the lady,” Bishop said mildly, and Nate responded by flipping him the bird.

  “So who is Thea?” Nadia prompted, her curiosity rampaging. She didn’t know anyone named Thea, couldn’t think of anyone in the upper echelons of Paxco named Thea, so she couldn’t help wondering how state secrets could be involved.

  Nate hesitated. “Promise me you won’t tell Dante. This is just between the three of us.”

  “I promise,” Nadia said without hesitation. Bishop was slower to agree, but he eventually nodded his acceptance.

  “All right,” Nate said. “Thea isn’t a ‘who,’ it’s a ‘what.’ It’s the name of the AI that invented Replicas.”

  There had long been rumors that the Replica technology was beyond the scope of human invention. As soon as Paxco had unveiled its miraculous technology, every state and nation in the world had rushed to try to duplicate it, and no one had come close. Religious fanatics claimed it was the work of the devil and a sign of the End of Days. The nuttiest of the conspiracy theorists suggested that the government of Paxco had made a pact with aliens. But the most reputable scientists had posited that perhaps in its research into biomedical engineering, Paxco had created a true AI, an artificial intelligence. Something that started out as a product of mankind’s devising but had since grown into something more, something other. Something with the capacity to understand the human brain and body in a way that humans themselves could not.

  “So it’s true,” Nadia whispered. “There really is an AI.”

  Nate nodded. “I don’t know a whole lot about it.” He made a wry face. “I’m not considered responsible enough to be let into the true inner circle. All I really know is that it exists, and that it’s located somewhere below ground under the Fortress.”

  “I don’t get it,” Bishop said. “What’s the big secret? Lots of people are already convinced there has to be an AI behind the technology, so why hide it?”

  “My understanding is that we don’t want anyone to know anything for sure. If other scientists knew for sure that it took an AI to invent the Replicas, they’d focus their energies—and their research grants—that way, and they might eventually create another AI that’s capable of doing the same thing.”

  “Uh-huh,” Bishop said, sounding completely unconvinced.

  Nate shrugged. “My father explained the reasoning a lot better than I did. It made sense—it really did.”

  Nadia had no doubt that it had. The Chairman was an impressive speaker, able to justify his actions to the public in such a way that there never seemed to be any huge outcry over what Nadia saw as injustices. Though perhaps the existence of the resistance movement proved that he wasn’t convincing everyone, at least not anymore.

  “It’s a camouflage,” Nadia said.

  “Huh?” Nate asked, looking at her in puzzlement.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder, “but your father wouldn’t share a sensitive state secret with you if his life depended on it.”

  Nate jerked back as if slapped. “Just how exactly am I supposed to take that that isn’t the wrong way?”

  “You’ve gone out of your way to paint yourself as an irresponsible playboy,” she said. “Don’t be offended at the thought that your father might treat you like one.”

  It looked for a moment like he was going to argue, but he thought better of it and settled into resentful silence.

  “He told you about Thea’s existence and told you it was a big state secret so you’d feel like he told you something important and you wouldn’t ask any more questions. But there’s a lot more to it than that. Something about Thea that he doesn’
t want anyone to know.”

  “Something you overheard him talking to Mosely about,” Bishop put in. “Something big enough that he’d rather kill you than take the risk you might tell anyone what you heard.”

  The corners of Nate’s eyes tightened at the reminder. “And whatever it is, we’re going to have to figure it out.”

  “Let’s not worry about that now,” Bishop said. “The thing we have to do now is get Nadia out of this mess before Mosely gets drastic with her. Everything else can come later.”

  Nadia wondered if Nate could read between the lines as well as she could. For the moment, she guessed he was too distracted to notice, but she felt sure from the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice that Bishop was humoring him. Allowing Nate to believe that he would somehow be involved in solving the mystery of Thea. That there was a “we” beyond their current mission. But even though they were all on the same side for now, Nadia knew that she and Nate represented exactly the kind of establishment the resistance planned to fight against. When the crisis was over, the resistance would be through with them—and Bishop would very likely break Nate’s heart.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Nadia was brushing her teeth the next morning when she heard a commotion outside. The sound of raised voices reached her even through her closed bedroom and bathroom doors. She spit out her toothpaste and hurriedly pulled on the slacks and blouse she’d picked out for the day, her nerves buzzing with foreboding. It could be just Mrs. Reeves yelling at one of the maids, but even Mrs. Reeves’s tantrums weren’t usually quite so loud.

  As she stepped out of the bathroom, Nadia realized it couldn’t be Mrs. Reeves, because there was at least one male voice yelling, too. It sounded like her father. But Gerald Lake never yelled—he left such theatrics to his wife. Nadia’s palms started to sweat, and her heart fluttered in her chest as she heard the heavy tread of many feet tromping down the hallway, coming closer and closer. Her stomach bottomed out when she heard crying and recognized her mother’s tearful voice calling her name. She had a brief thought of diving under her bed to hide, or trying to lock herself in her closet, but that would be as undignified as it would be futile.

  There wasn’t time to prepare the little transmitter to plant on Mosely, nor was there time to dispose of it, since it was still stuck in the pocket of the catsuit, which she’d hidden at the back of her closet. Probably just having that little transmitter in her possession was enough to help fuel any accusations of treason or espionage Mosely wanted to throw her way.

  Panic bubbled and boiled in her stomach, but Nadia kept it at bay as she moved over to her bedside and casually picked up the earrings she had laid there last night when she’d taken them off before her trip to the Basement. Her hands shook only a little as she slid one through the hole in her ear and her bedroom door burst open. She used her fingernail to flip the switch on the earring to transmit and wished the signal were going to an actual person who might be able to help her now, rather than avenge her later.

  “I’ll be with you in one moment,” she said, her voice sounding much calmer than she felt as she inserted the other earring. She picked up a black velvet headband she had discarded on the nightstand, just to make sure her calm donning of the earrings didn’t bring any special attention to them.

  “Nadia Lake,” a deep voice intoned, “you are under arrest for conspiracy and suspicion of treason.”

  Settling the headband on her head, Nadia raised her chin and turned around.

  In her doorway stood two armed security officers, glowering at her. Both had their hands on their firearms, though at least they weren’t pointing them at her. Behind them stood Dirk Mosely, and behind him stood two more security officers who spread their arms to keep Nadia’s mother and father from entering the room. Nadia’s throat closed up to see her mother’s face awash with tears, her eyes red and her nose running. Esmeralda Lake never cried.

  “Turn around and put your hands behind your head,” one of the security officers barked as he approached her, brandishing a pair of handcuffs.

  Nadia didn’t see any point in resisting, so she did as she was ordered. The officer shoved her facedown onto her bed anyway, putting his knee in her back as he wrenched her arms behind her to slap the handcuffs on. Nadia clenched her teeth to keep from crying out. The officer yanked her to her feet, and his partners forced her parents back so he could drag her, stumbling, out of the room. Mosely watched dispassionately, turning a deaf ear to her parents’ repeated attempts to plead with him.

  “Mom, Dad, I’ll be all right,” she choked out, though she didn’t believe it any more than they did.

  The servants had gathered in the hallway outside, watching in varying degrees of dismay as the officers marched Nadia between them, each holding one of her arms. She was not being quietly spirited away for questioning, and news of her arrest was no doubt spreading even now. Even if Mosely was using this as nothing more than a scare tactic and immediately released her, her reputation would never survive. No matter what the outcome, today marked the end of the life she’d been bred and raised for, and the future was a horrifying unknown.

  The public humiliation continued as Nadia was perp-walked through the lobby of the Lake Towers while people stood and stared. A couple of them openly took photographs of the procession. Nadia saw Mosely notice one of the photographers and then pointedly look away. He obviously wanted this spectacle to be as public as possible. Nadia wanted to kill him for it, for putting her family through all the added horror of the publicity. As if her being arrested weren’t bad enough.

  There were several cars with flashing lights waiting for her at the front door, as well as a van with no windows in the back. A pair of hard wooden benches were bolted against the wall, and the sides of the van were peppered with O-rings at varying heights. Nadia was unceremoniously tossed into the van, then dragged to a bench. Her handcuffs were then attached to an O-ring behind her, high enough to strain her shoulders and force her to bend forward as shackles were put on her ankles and then attached to another O-ring. All of this was done while the doors were still open and a crowd gathered outside. Nadia was sure even more photographs were being taken. At least she wasn’t crying, though she didn’t think the lack of tears had anything to do with bravery on her part. Everything seemed too unreal to be true. Too unreal to cry about or panic over. But that numb sense of unreality wouldn’t last for long, and the worst was yet to come.

  The four security officers who had escorted her all joined her in the van—they must have thought she was a dangerous criminal indeed to need four hulking guards to contain her—and the doors slammed shut.

  * * *

  Nadia wasn’t sure where she was being taken, except that it was somewhere she didn’t want to go. Maybe to the security station, where she could maintain at least a faint hope that Mosely would release her after scaring her half to death, but she suspected Riker’s Island was more likely. She tried to keep herself alert for any clues, like the distinctive sound of tires on a bridge, but it was hard to concentrate when panic kept swelling in her chest.

  “Where are you taking me?” she tried asking the security officers, but none even acknowledged that she had spoken.

  The drive seemed to last forever. Nadia’s back ached from the unnatural position she was forced to sit in, and every sharp turn or deep pothole the van hit was torture on her strained arms and shoulders. Fear was her constant companion, and her mind kept frantically searching for a way out. But there was no way out, not from here. She was trapped and helpless. She would be questioned, probably even tortured. She wished she believed she could bravely endure whatever was to come without breaking, without betraying Nate and Bishop and Dante, but she doubted her own courage.

  Eventually, the van came to a stop, and Nadia was dragged out of the van and hustled through a door. Her one brief glimpse of the outside before she was shoved through the door showed that she was in a room that resembled an airplane hangar and that the van had entered thr
ough a tunnel. She guessed that tunnel was a secret entrance to Riker’s Island, a way the security forces could bring in prisoners of special importance, like her.

  Once inside, she was led through several sets of key-coded security doors. The officers forced her to turn around whenever they entered their passcodes, and Nadia felt a bubble of hysterical laughter wanting to rise from her chest. Who did they think she was? Some kind of superspy who could free herself from her chains, disable her four escorts, and make a run for freedom after having memorized their passcodes? She was just a kid, caught up in something way over her head.

  The room the guards eventually propelled Nadia into did not look promising.

  One half was laid out like the standard security interrogation room: a metal table, bolted to the floor, with a rail to which the unfortunate detainee could be chained; a couple of flimsy, uncomfortable plastic chairs; and a one-way mirror along one wall. It was the other half of the room that caused a new wave of terror to crash over Nadia’s head.

  The other half of the room featured a table of gleaming surgical steel, bristling with restraints. The table sat at a slight angle just past horizontal, and there were grooves along its edges. Nadia didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help following those grooves and that angle with her eyes and seeing how they led to a drain in the tile floor. In her mind’s eyes, she saw a river of blood being pulled by gravity, channeled by those grooves, flowing to the edge of the table and forming a waterfall straight into that drain.

  Above the table lurked something that looked a bit like a dentist’s instrument panel, only about ten times as big, with ten times as many attachments. Needles and saws and drills and blades of varying shapes and sizes. All of them coiled and waiting. Nestled among those attachments were a variety of instrument panels and darkened monitors.