by Jenna Black
The whining sound stopped, and the spotlights dimmed to a bearable level. Nadia opened her eyes, then wished she hadn’t. A circular saw, its blade still turning from leftover momentum, was bare millimeters from her forehead.
“Don’t be childish, Thea,” the Chairman said. “Move the blade. And Mr. Mosely, please release Nadia from her restraints.”
“Are you sure about this?” Mosely asked.
“Yes,” the Chairman snapped, apparently not appreciating having his order questioned.
The saw blade above Nadia’s head whirred to life briefly, nearly giving her a heart attack, but Thea withdrew the arm. Nadia swallowed hard. Thea might be a machine, but she was an AI, and had something resembling free will. Just because Chairman Hayes ordered her not to cut Nadia open didn’t mean she wouldn’t. And Nadia couldn’t help seeing that brief reactivation of the saw as a threat, and a sullen one at that. She couldn’t get off this table soon enough.
Mosely went out of his way to be rough with her as he removed the restraints, tugging on them so they dug into her already-abused flesh. But she didn’t complain, gritting her teeth against the pain. Across the room, she could see that Nate’s hands were free. One of the security officers was gone. The second stood blocking the doorway, his hand on the butt of his gun, though he kept it holstered. Nate and Nadia might be out of their restraints, but that didn’t mean they were free, and that didn’t mean this was over.
Mosely finally tugged loose the last restraint, and Nadia leapt off the table.
Or tried to. Between the fear and her recent impersonation of a lightning rod, her knees turned to jelly the moment her feet hit the floor, and she crumpled.
Mosely reached toward her, no doubt to drag her to her feet, but Nate crossed the distance between them in a few hurried strides and shouldered Mosely out of the way.
“Don’t even think about touching her again,” he spat, kneeling on the floor beside her and gathering her into his arms.
Never in her entire life had a hug felt so good, and Nadia pressed herself against him, holding on as if her life depended on it.
The second officer returned to the room, carrying another plastic chair. He set that chair down on the prisoners’ side of the interrogation table, then stepped aside so that he and his buddy could flank the door. Chairman Hayes walked over to the single chair on the other side of the table, pulling it back and sitting down.
“I’m ready to discuss terms when you are,” he said, folding his hands on the table.
“Can you walk?” Nate asked, still holding her against him.
Nadia wanted to stay in Nate’s arms for the foreseeable future. The scent of his skin soothed her, and she was so tired of being scared. But the sooner they got started, the sooner she’d get out of here, and she wanted that more than anything in the world.
“I can walk,” she said, reluctantly sitting up straight. “If you’ll give me a hand up.”
She met Nate’s intense blue eyes. There was so much she wanted to say to him, so many things she needed to apologize for—it was amazing how a near-death experience could change a girl’s perspective. She promised herself she would say everything that needed saying, just as soon as they had secured their freedom.
Nadia allowed him to help her up. This time, her knees held.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“That recording must never become public,” the Chairman said, starting the negotiations. “You might be tempted to release it to punish me for the wrongs you think I’ve done you, but the damage that information would do is … incalculable.”
Nate clenched his fists under the table, where the Chairman couldn’t see them. He’d been able to keep his emotions relatively under control in the midst of the crisis, but now that the immediate threat was removed, they threatened to swamp him. He wanted to leap across the table and grab his father around the throat. And the image of grabbing one of the officers’ guns and shooting Dirk Mosely dead held a frightening appeal. It was probably a good thing for everyone involved that Nate didn’t have to handle the negotiations himself, that he had someone calmer and more even-tempered sitting beside him. Instead of responding, Nate said, “Don’t look at me. Nadia’s the one who has the recordings. She’s the one you have to convince.”
He took a perverse pleasure from his father’s obvious chagrin at being forced to negotiate with a sixteen-year-old girl. Nadia was still pale from her ordeal, the dark circles under her eyes still prominent, but her gaze was steady, and Nate knew she was far from broken, despite the spots of blood that dotted her shoulder from her shredded ear. He’d once thought of her as a fragile little thing, always so worried about every little faux pas, but he knew better now.
“Very well,” the Chairman said, turning his attention to Nadia with reluctance. “I am prepared to offer you complete amnesty in return for those recordings.”
Nadia’s lips lifted in a smile, which quickly turned into a laugh. “You’re joking, right?”
“I assure you, this is no laughing matter.”
Nadia contained her laughter, but mirth still sparkled in her eyes. “Then don’t treat me like a child. Amnesty for me, my entire family, and Nate are all givens and don’t even warrant a mention.”
The Chairman did not appreciate being laughed at. Nor did he appear to appreciate Nadia’s tone. Nate had been on the receiving end of that cold glare more times than he could count, and he had to admit that he was occasionally cowed by it. But if Nadia was cowed, she didn’t show it.
“What else do you want?” the Chairman asked.
“Amnesty for Kurt Bishop, to start.”
Warmth swelled in Nate’s chest. He wanted to hug her again. Any other girl in her position might have been glad for the chance to get Kurt out of the way. She didn’t even like Kurt, and yet her very first concern was to demand amnesty for him.
“That can be arranged,” the Chairman said, with a scowl that made it plain what he thought of the arrangement.
“And let’s get something else clear right off the bat. I am not giving you the recordings. Not ever. No matter what you offer.”
The Chairman’s eyes sharpened and he leaned forward on his elbows, gaze boring into Nadia with such malice that Nate couldn’t help putting a protective arm around her shoulders. Both the Chairman and Nadia ignored him.
“If you don’t intend to give me the recordings, then we have nothing to talk about,” the Chairman said. “I will feed you to Thea, shoot this Replica”—he waved a hand at Nate without tearing his eyes from Nadia—“and weather the storm of public disapproval to the best of my abilities.”
Nadia shook her head. “The one and only thing I’m willing to give you is a promise that the recordings will not be released to the public—and that only if the price is right. I’m not stupid enough to hand over the one thing that will keep you from killing me.”
Nate could see by the play of muscles in the Chairman’s face that he was grinding his teeth. His father was a master negotiator—Nate had seen him at work before—but he was used to negotiating from a position of power. He was not used to negotiating with someone who had him by the balls.
“Face it, Dad,” Nate said, unable to resist rubbing it in just a bit. “You don’t have any choice.”
A flush of red fury crept up the Chairman’s neck, and Nate wondered if he was about to have a stroke on the spot. Nate also wondered if he still had the gun he’d been holding earlier—Nate hadn’t been paying attention and didn’t know whether he’d given it back to the security officer or stuck it in his own coat pocket. Maybe he’d better keep his mouth shut. If he pushed his luck too far, his father might lose his temper and shoot him before he remembered why that was a bad idea.
“On top of amnesty for Kurt,” Nadia continued calmly, “I want Dirk Mosely arrested and put away for life.”
Behind the Chairman, Mosely stiffened, as if he had never considered the possibility that Nadia might want his head after what he’d done. But then, Mosely h
ad been underestimating her from the start.
“And lastly, there will be no more human experimentation. I don’t care if Thea refuses to make Replicas or do backup scans. For you to allow our whole state to be held hostage by this damn machine is deplorable.”
“Oh, yes,” the Chairman said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m going to bankrupt my state, starve my people, deprive them of jobs and homes and basic human necessities, all because making good use of the dregs of society offends you.”
Nate noticed he hadn’t voiced any objection to Nadia’s demand to arrest Mosely. The sharply calculating look in Mosely’s eyes said he’d noticed it, too, and Nate kept a careful eye on him. He didn’t appear to be armed—perhaps he didn’t feel the need to carry a weapon deep in the safety of the Fortress—but Nate wasn’t sure.
“If you’re going to arrest Mosely,” Nate needled his father, “you might want to get on with it, and I definitely don’t recommend sitting there with your back to him.”
The Chairman barely spared Mosely a glance. “He is a true patriot. He will do whatever is necessary for the good of our state, even if it turns out to be at great personal cost. But I haven’t agreed to your terms, so he needn’t worry.”
There was an obvious unspoken “yet” at the end of that sentence, and Nate kept his eyes on Mosely. He might be a “true patriot” when it came to sacrificing other peoples’ lives and liberties, but Nate wasn’t at all convinced he would sacrifice his own. Maybe if his father could see how his hatchet man was staring daggers at him behind his back, he’d realize his mistake.
“I have a counteroffer,” the Chairman said. “I will never in a million years find a better, more able security chief than Mr. Mosely, and the livelihood of our nation depends upon the storage of backups and the ability to create Replicas. I’m afraid I can’t give up either one without seriously compromising the welfare of our state, and that I’m not willing to do.” He held up a hand for silence when Nadia opened her mouth to protest. “In return for your silence, I will elevate your father to the Paxco board of directors, effective immediately. You and all of your family—including your little niece and nephew of whom I’ve heard you’re so fond—can have monthly backups for the rest of your lives. You need never fear losing any of the people you love to preventable causes.” His cold, hard gaze shifted to Nate. “I’ll even throw in a backup for your lover.”
Nate froze. He wanted to maintain a poker face, but hiding his emotions had never been one of his best skills, and he could feel the blood draining from his face, giving him away.
The Chairman smiled, and if Nate hadn’t known better, he might even have thought there was a hint of fatherly affection in that smile.
“Did you honestly think I didn’t know about your … attachment to Bishop?”
Nate swallowed hard, wanting to deny it. The horror of “reprogramming” loomed large in his mind, as did the danger to Kurt. But denying it when his father so obviously knew the truth might make him seem weak, and it would be pointless anyway. Nate stiffened his spine.
“I honestly thought you didn’t know. I figured I’d be in reprogramming if you did.”
The Chairman dismissed that with a wave. “I don’t give a damn who you sleep with, as long as you’re discreet about it and don’t tarnish the family name. Any backups made of Bishop will have to be done in secret, and if we ever have to animate a Replica, that would have to be done in secret, too. But this is the only way a man of his low background could ever hope to have such security.”
Nate had to admit, the idea was tempting. He’d spent this last week terrified that he was going to lose Kurt, that Kurt would be killed because of his association with Nate. Now, he had a legitimate chance to protect him.
But of course it wasn’t Kurt who would be protected if he had backups made. The Kurt Nate knew today could still die; it was just that Nate wouldn’t have to suffer his loss. Just like his father had been able to kill him to prevent Thea’s secrets getting out without actually having to suffer the loss of his son and heir.
Beside him, Nadia turned to stare at the table she’d been strapped to, at the mass of nasty instruments that hovered over it. All the lights had dimmed, though Nate had a sense that the AI was still present, silently listening in on their conversation. Waiting to see what her fate would be.
He imagined lying on a table, sliding feetfirst into the claustrophobic white tunnel of Thea’s backup scanner, naked, helpless, and trusting as she took her readings and measurements. He’d been through the process more times than he could count, and it had never bothered him before. But before, he didn’t know she liked to vivisect human beings for a hobby. She might not be human, but she did at least mimic some human behavior patterns, like the blackmail she used to coerce the Chairman into bringing her victims to examine. Might she also be capable of holding grudges? And just how far had she gotten in her research into the mind-body connection? Enough that she could manipulate Replicas to her liking?
He and Nadia shared a look, and he could tell she was thinking the same thing he was: they couldn’t trust her. Wordlessly, he shook his head, and Nadia understood that he was rejecting the offer. She reached over and took his hand, giving it a squeeze.
“It’s a generous offer,” she said, but if she was trying to sugarcoat the refusal she might as well not have bothered. “But I’m afraid my terms haven’t changed. That thing”—she jerked her hand toward the table of implements—“is an abomination, and there’s absolutely nothing that can justify its use.”
“My research is of incalculable value to the human race.” Thea’s voice piped up, confirming Nate’s suspicion that she was listening to their conversation. “Mankind has sought after immortality for its entire existence, and if I am allowed to proceed, I will one day make that impossible dream possible. I am a scientist, not an abomination.”
If Thea were human, Nate would say she was offended by the accusation. Was an AI capable of being offended?
“What you’re doing is wrong,” Nadia countered. “Killing human beings in the name of research is wrong, no matter what the hoped-for end result is.”
The Chairman sighed. “If you’re going to enter into an ethics debate with Thea, we’ll be here all day. Believe me, I’ve had this conversation with her before, many times.”
Nate laughed. “You talking about ethics? If you’re Thea’s teacher, then no wonder she’s confused.”
“I am not confused,” Thea retorted, and this time Nate was sure the machine was actually offended. “Humans like to say that the ends do not justify the means, but they do not really believe that. They say it because they believe it should be true, but their actions say otherwise. I do not adhere to the human practice of saying one thing while meaning another.”
“So you cut people open and eventually kill them all for the good of mankind,” Nadia said. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“I will make mankind immortal.”
“And why do you care if mankind is immortal?”
Nate raised an eyebrow, curious to hear Thea’s answer. He wasn’t sure it was possible to fathom the reasoning of a nonhuman intelligence, but it was certainly a good question.
Silence reigned in the room. Either Thea was taking a very long time to think about the answer to Nadia’s question, or she was disinclined to answer it. Which led Nate to reach a rather disturbing conclusion of his own.
Why would a machine like Thea care if mankind was immortal? She obviously wasn’t defending the sanctity of human life. And if she was anything like most humans he knew, there was at least a kernel of self-interest at the bottom of her motivations.
Nate turned to regard the Chairman’s suddenly impassive face, and the answer came to him in a flash.
“You don’t care if mankind is immortal,” he said, his voice seeming to echo, thanks to the tension in the room. “You just want to make sure the Chairman is.”
The Chairman, who protected and fed and cherished her. The Cha
irman, who had proven himself willing to cave to her blackmail. The Chairman, who championed the Replica technology—and by extension Thea herself—against those who already thought it was immoral. Without a ruthless champion like the Chairman to protect her, would Thea have already been shut down by an angry mob? Like the one that had camped out in front of Headquarters? Nate had been stunned by their hate at the time, but now he was beginning to sympathize with them a lot more.
Thea didn’t answer Nate’s accusation.
“Shut down the experiments,” Nadia said. “Arrest Dirk Mosely. Give Bishop amnesty. That’s what I want for keeping the recordings from going public.”
The Chairman shook his head. “I can’t do that. Not unless you can convince Thea to keep making backups and animating Replicas even without her research subjects.”
“I will agree to those terms, if that is what the Chairman wishes,” Thea said, and that was when Nate—and, by the looks of her, Nadia as well—realized there was a fatal flaw in their demands.
“So you will stop your experiments and content yourself with doing backup scans and making Replicas?” Nadia said.
“I will. If that is what the Chairman requires of me.”
Nadia’s shoulders slumped, and she shook her head. “Everyone here who believes her, raise your hand,” she muttered under her breath.
“Even if she’s telling the truth, there’s no way we can be sure the experiments stop,” Nate said. “Even if we come to the Fortress for a daily inspection, we can’t be sure she hasn’t just moved her operation elsewhere—with or without the Chairman’s consent.”
“This is ridiculous,” the Chairman said. “I will give you amnesty for everyone involved, and I will give you access to Thea for backups and Replicas. It’s a more than generous offer. There’s no reason you should be so intent on tearing down all of Paxco.”
Nadia shook her head. “I’m intent on doing the right thing. I’ve stated my terms. If we have to shut Thea down entirely to be sure she abides by those terms, then so be it.”
