"It turned out alright."
"Only because Diomedes saved our asses! I can't do my job if you don't let me. It's all I'm saying."
Marc set the bug down and moved to the A.I.'s console. It put his back to Michael. Marc's voice was quiet when he next spoke. "I didn't think I could make it to the car without being seen. It looked too open. I thought it was better to stay and try to help than risk getting shot in the back." He gave a laugh that sounded forced. "I mean, shot in the back? How useless would that have been, right?"
He might have a point. "And if you thought you could've made it?"
Marc looked around at him for a moment before returning his attention to the screen. "Holes, confirm backup of the Diomedes audio."
"Confirmed, Mr. Triton."
"With full encryption?"
"Yes, Mr. Triton, as you requested the first time."
Marc nodded. He turned around again, facing Michael, arms crossed. "So what do you say we change the subject? Did you have a plan when you told Diomedes the ones who hired him were after us?"
"Ah." Michael frowned. "That." He'd asked himself the same question on the way back. "Shot in the dark, really. I guess I was hoping he'd say who hired him in an effort to verify what I was saying." He rubbed his forehead with a grimace. Okay, so they'd both made mistakes. "Didn't really work all that good, did it?"
Marc shrugged. "He didn't seem terribly willing to do anything but demand information from us. It was worth a shot. Though it means we'll have to stick with the story if we need to talk to him again."
"Yeah, I know." Next time he'd come up with something better, assuming there was a next time. They still had no clue who hired Diomedes.
"On the bright side, he didn't kill us." Marc laughed nervously and turned back to the computer. "Anyone who can stay brave with a gun at their back is. . . Well, it's no mean feat."
Michael checked another window. He hadn't felt brave at the time. He'd tried to imagine beforehand how he was going to react to his old mentor's threats and anger. As it turned out, he couldn't recall having felt more intimidated—not only by all Diomedes directed at him, but the responsibility of everything he was supposed to accomplish despite it.
But there'd been anger, too—anger at Diomedes's threats, and anger from their shared past that Michael hadn't truly known he was carrying until that moment. He'd seized on that anger to help him keep a strong face through the intimidation, despite how he felt under the surface.
Yet even so, what had he accomplished? Without Marc's bug, they'd have gotten nothing, and Diomedes was the one to save them from the freelancers. The bug didn't bother him so much; that was just part of Marc's job. What stung was the irony that he'd still wound up dependant on his old mentor.
He'd have to do better.
Captain Brittan's signal came through twenty minutes later. "Hello again, gentlemen."
Marc gave a greeting for them both. "That was fast. Has the Council heard the recording already, or. . .?"
She shook her head. "Not all of them from what I'm told, but things have gotten more urgent. They're calling the three of us into conference."
Michael flushed. Called before the Council? "Is there a problem?"
Abigail frowned. "I don't yet know the details, but something's happened at Omicron."
CHAPTER 29
Ondrea kept vigil before Gideon's observation window. His eyes remained closed. Monitors and medical equipment surrounded the bed where he lay, thankfully unrestrained. Beneath him, a sheet covered the metal clamps on the bed designed to hold down the body they'd given him—a "last resort" that would be used on her brother only over her dead body.
She eyed the clock on the wall behind him. Soon the tests would be complete and she would be staring at the image of his mind reflected in CAT scans and NCA indicator results, trying to find the flaws in the miracle they had achieved and the cause behind his reported collapse. She had a few more minutes of waiting at best. Until then, he was simply her brother, lying unconscious on a lab bed while she worried.
What would he say to her when he woke? Was it worth the risk of trying to convince him that he'd simply passed out again, or had he realized she'd used the stunner? She fingered the device in her pocket. It could go a long way toward persuading him to stay in the lab if he believed her, but a discovered lie could do much more damage. And hadn't she lied to him enough already? If there was some subconscious vestige of mistrust lurking there. . .
Ondrea left the thought unfinished and wished that she could have convinced him to come back on his own. With more time, perhaps she could have, but the guards outside had forced her to put Gideon's personal safety first. How much her brother trusted her was moot if she lost him again. All the same, she disliked the bargain.
The door slid open and Beck invaded her solitude.
"Well?" she asked.
"You asked me to let you know when they got the results of the tests?"
She scowled on a long exhale, still facing Gideon through the glass. "What part of 'Well?' did you have trouble with, Beck?"
"Ah, sorry, I thought you might—uh, well anyway the CAT scans came back normal. Long story short, the brain itself is still in good shape yet. Dr. Hamilton's in lab seven if you need a more detailed description."
"Still in good shape yet?"
"I'm only repeating what he told me. I can call him if—"
She turned around, silencing him. "Not yet. What about the rest of the tests?"
He pointed. "Should be at your station. I had a look, but, you're the expert there."
Something was wrong. It was plain in his tone. She moved to the terminal and hoped his typical lack of confidence was more legitimate than usual, but she saw the problem the moment she looked at the data. "Are you talking about the neuronal synoptic flux, or is there something else?"
"It's looking a bit unstable, isn't it?"
"Just a bit." Somewhat more than a bit, actually. Her stomach tightened and she tried not to jump to conclusions. "Run a diagnostic on the implant. Maybe it's damaged."
"I already did. Next screen there? It checked out fine."
"Then run another!"
"Ah, okay, but— Yeah, I can do that." He moved to carry it out. "But, if it's not the implant?"
"Then we've got a problem," she said, looking at the data. Problem was an understatement. If it wasn't the implant, what they had equated to a time bomb set in Gideon's mind. Ondrea searched the numbers for an indication of just how long they'd have.
Beck busied himself at his own station before finally asking, "So how do we fix it? If it's not the implant, I mean?"
Numbers danced before her eyes and in her mind to form a shadowed picture. "The engram sets are in conflict. The stress of maintaining both of them is causing degradations." She sighed. "But he shouldn't be having this problem so soon."
"So that brain's a horse with two fat guys on it."
She smacked a hand on the tabletop. "That's my brother, Beck."
"Right, sorry." He turned away.
"The only way to fix this is to eliminate one of the engram sets before we lose both." She said it more to think aloud, trying to lead herself toward finding another option. She already knew which set Marquand would abandon; of the two, one was more vital to the project. But the other made him her brother. She looked up from the screen. "Beck, not a word of this to anyone before I tell you, you understand?"
He blinked, hesitating. "Ondrea, if this is going to jeopardize the project, they're going to want—"
"It's not going to jeopardize the project, Beck. You don't even know what the project is. I've seen their timetable. The degradation won't be an issue before the project's complete. That leaves plenty of time to fix it once it's over."
Beck bit his lip, considering in a way she didn't like. Ondrea walked over to him. "You said it yourself, Beck. I'm the expert on this. You go telling Tseng and the others and they're going to panic. They're going to act prematurely and do whatever they think
it takes to safeguard their little project, even if it means wiping out my brother." She leaned down to whisper in his ear. "And if that happens, Beck, I'll see to it that not only can you kiss your career goodbye, but you'll need to grow some balls for real because there won't be enough left of the originals to fill a bottle cap."
She waited for the threat to sink in, remaining where she was as Beck sat stunned.
"Well," he finally managed, "I didn't mean— I mean it's not like it's something we'd have to. . ."
"Beck."
"Sure, no, we can keep it quiet. I mean, if you know their timetable and it's not going to be a problem 'till they're finished with him?"
She patted his shoulder. "I know more of the big picture. You have to trust my judgment on this. It'll be alright." Ondrea returned to her screen as Beck muttered something acquiescent she didn't quite catch.
For the next while, she continued to delve into the data. She hid a sigh of relief when she found that what she'd just told Beck was likely accurate. Though there were no perfect indicators, no ticking digital readout, probability was on her side. If the project could be completed fast enough, she'd have enough time to save Gideon's mind afterward.
If the project could be completed fast enough.
To do that, she would need Gideon's cooperation. Gazing again through the window at where her brother lay in the body they'd given him, Ondrea searched for a way to make him listen.
"Gid?" Ondrea touched her brother's shoulder gingerly. "Can you hear me?"
His eyes snapped open and flashed around the room before settling on her. "Where am I?"
"It's okay, Gid. You're okay." She squeezed his hand, artificial or not, and held the warmth there.
"I'm back at Marquand, aren't I?" he breathed. Even knowing him as she did, Ondrea couldn't tell if he was being cautious, or just indifferent.
"Yes. You're safe." She waited a moment as he stared at the ceiling. "What's the last thing you remember?"
He stared awhile longer. "You promised to tell me everything if I came with you. I wanted to know more first. And then, I wake up here." He turned to face her.
"It's better that you're here, Gid." She smiled apologetically. "I know I keep saying this, but you still need to heal. And they've patched up your wound."
"But how did I get here, Ondrea?"
"I brought you back with me." She took a deep breath and hoped he truly didn't remember. "You passed out again, right in my arms. I—don't like thinking about what might have happened if I hadn't been there. Please, Gid, just say you'll stay here and rest until you're completely healed, okay?" She pleaded there silently and shamelessly, but he left the question unanswered and turned away again.
"What did you do with Caitlin and her friend?"
"We didn't do anything with them. After they helped get you into the floater, we left them there. They're still at her house, I suppose."
Monitors beeped softly as she waited for his response. It was a while in coming.
"Why don't I trust you, Ondrea?" It would have hurt her less to hear if it were just an accusation rather than the lament he made it.
"They're just fine, Gid, I promise."
"I mean about everything."
She gave his hand another squeeze that made him glance down at it. "I don't know. Maybe I should have told you everything sooner. I just didn't know how you'd react. I didn't want to put too much on you at once. And I think this feeling you're having might be tied to why you're passing out. Now that you're back in treatment, it should pass, with time." It was only a half-truth, and she couldn't confirm her suspicions at the cause until the other engrams were removed, but she gave him a smile. "I guess I just told you to trust me that you should trust me, didn't I?" He didn't return the smile, though her brother's smiles had been rare even before he'd been shot. "Gid, I wish you would look at me."
He did as she asked. "You asked me to stay until I'm healed. Do I have a choice?"
It was her turn to look away. "Gid, when we. . . lost Isaac," she started, treading gingerly on a subject Gideon had never dealt with well, "and you did what you felt you had to, I trusted you then. I supported you. I helped you. Everything I designed for you, it was to keep you safe. I didn't fully understand it, but I trusted you. You have to trust my judgment like that now."
"Then I don't have a choice."
"About finishing your treatment? Yes, you do have a choice. You can stay, finish the treatment, and live, or— Gid, I don't know what will happen exactly if you leave, but I don't—I don't know that you'd survive it."
"Tell me the odds."
"The odds?" She stared at him, horrified. "Of you dying? How can you ask me that? If Isaac asked you about odds the night he got kidnapped and you knew it was likely, would you have even answered that, or would you have begged him not to go out?"
His voice hardened. "I didn't know, Ondrea. How could I have? How could I have stopped something I didn't know would happen?"
"I know, Gid." He'd said similar things before, and she braced herself for an anguished outburst.
It didn't come. "I wasn't the one who killed him," was all he said.
"Well this time I do know, and I'm not going to sit here quoting numbers and odds at you. If you don't trust me enough to believe when I say you need to stay here a while longer. . ." Anger boiled up inside her. "Damn it, Gid, don't risk your life when you don't have to! I won't let you, not this time!"
Gideon dropped his eyes to where both her hands clenched his in a white-knuckled grip. She relaxed the grip just a little but continued to glare until he met her gaze once more. She expected to see the mistrust again, or at least his usual stubborn defiance, yet she found only more confusion and, lurking beneath that, fear. She forced herself not to soften. For his own good, no matter what, she had to make him stay.
Through the confusion, Gideon surfaced. "I want you to tell me what's been done to me. You said I was still human."
"I was telling the truth. You are. Do you remember what you told me when you had your limbs replaced with cybernetics?"
He scowled. "You keep asking what I remember."
"Sorry, figure of speech. But you said they were just tools. That your body wasn't what made you you."
"How much more did you replace?"
She swallowed. "Nearly everything. We had to. Your skin, nearly all your organs, are synthetic. But your brain, that's real."
"Caitlin said I was shot in the head. Why is the only place I was shot still intact and my body gone?"
Caitlin again. "You trust that woman a lot, don't you?"
"I don't know. She seems to care what happens to me for some reason."
"So do I, you know." And I'm the one you grew up with. She pushed away her frustration and searched for the right thing to tell him. "Gid, your body, what Marquand did— You know I told you that they want you to work for them a little when you've recovered. To help recoup their costs. It's part of why you've got the upgrades that you do. They gave you the things you'd need to help them."
"Without my consent."
"It was that or let you die! I did what I had to do. And you said yourself it was just a tool."
Gideon jumped to his feet, stripping off the monitor connections. "You've made me into a slave, Ondrea!"
"Gid, you're not a slave! We're indebted to them, yes, but you're not a slave!"
"We? They didn't force you into service!"
"Yes, they damned well did! They saved you! They kept me from losing another brother. We're both in their debt. Do you think I'd put you in this situation if there were any other way? You can't tell me you wouldn't have done the exact same thing for Isaac if you could have!"
Gideon looked away without answering.
"You're not a slave," she said. "Once you're healed, they'll let you leave the building. You'll still have to do the job, but you won't be chained to a wall or anything like that."
He faced her again. "Once I'm healed."
"Yes." She fisted her hand u
ntil her nails pressed into her palm. "But they need to know you're still going to do it, or they won't continue your treatment."
"And after that, I will be done with them. Is that true?"
She hid her fist behind her back and squeezed tighter. "Yes. They'll likely offer you a steady position, but you only need to do the one job, and you're done."
"Good. Then I will be done."
"It might be a good idea to hold off deciding on that. It could be a good offer, you never know."
He watched her. She fought to keep the unease from her face. "There are things you still haven't told me," he said. "You said you'd tell me everything."
She swallowed. "What do you want to know?"
"How much do you know of the man who shot me? And what's really causing my blackouts? I want to know about this experimental procedure that you couldn't talk about in front of the others."
Ondrea had spent half her night thinking of how she would answer those questions. She hesitated only a moment, to take a seat in a chair across from the lab bed.
"Diomedes," she began. "I only know what I learned about him from your recordings I found, so I think you probably know more about him than I do. I was more concerned with making you better than trying to find the one who did it." She paused and then, aware he might take the anxiety in her voice for a sign of the lie it was, added, "I hope you can forgive me for that, Gid."
His response told her nothing. "And the rest?" He touched the back of his head. "How is it that he shot me here and one of the few things Marquand let me keep is my brain?"
It was the second time he'd asked. Again she hesitated, knowing that even the piece of the truth she'd thought to tell him might upset him. She reached down into herself to find her courage, and began.
A brief while later, Ondrea was staring across a desk at Julius Tseng. The fact that she'd be telling him news he wanted to hear made her no less eager to be out of his office. The haze of self-satisfied superiority that typically surrounded him had grown stronger since he'd forced the armed team on her to find Gideon. If she hadn't needed him to authorize the floater so he could reach her brother so quickly, she wouldn't have told Tseng about it until Gideon was safely back. That she had to galled her, and made him doubly superior.
A Memory in the Black (The New Aeneid Cycle) Page 21
