Lira gives a self-satisfied smirk. “Preeminence processes subjective observations and physiological reactions and pits them against mechanical reasoning data delivered by computerized recording devices in order to learn how to better mimic living cognitive functions.”
“So an application like Preeminence only grows more brilliant over time,” I say.
“We have no reason to fear old age and the deterioration of the brain any more,” Lira says. “With Preeminence in control, Mhakerta’s ability to build upon knowledge is exponential.”
She delivers the words like a speech gone stale. I stare at her for a moment, trying to read something in her expression that conveys an underlying distaste for Preeminence, but if it’s there, I can’t pick up on it.
The second floor comprises the scientists’ private living quarters and a communal sitting area and library. Housekeeping robots are busy changing linens in deft moves that defy the living eye. I watch mesmerized for several minutes, until Lira jabs me in the ribs. “Don’t fall in love with them. We auxiliaries do our own laundry. This way.”
The next floor up houses the auxiliaries’ rooms, furnished more economically, but a welcome step up from the collective—private bedrooms, shared bathrooms, med station, laundry room and a communal area with comfortable seating. After a quick walkthrough, Lira hands me a set of scrubs identical to hers and sends me into my room to change. I take the opportunity to stash the extra guard’s uniform I brought with me under the bed before Lira shepherds me back to the elevachute and up to the top floor. “This is the research floor, presided over by Preeminence itself,” she says with a curve of her lips as the door slides open revealing a glass skywalk.
My pulse quickens. “So the server room is here?” I ask.
“There are servers on each level of the building, but the central server is located here.” She lowers her voice and adds. “You won’t be given an audience with Preeminence, no matter who you know, or what strings you pulled to get here.”
Before I can respond she turns on her heel, marches along the skywalk and leads me down a long hallway.
I hurry after her as she gestures to the various doors that line the corridor as we go by. “Dr. Petrop, Head of Research, Dr. Indiva, protein retrieval specialist, Dr. Worister, CortexImaging.”
I pucker my brow. “So is this where—”
“This is not the processing plant, if that’s what you’re asking,” Lira says, a tinge of weariness in her tone. I can’t tell if she’s weary of me and my questions, or if the pained note in her voice came at the mention of the processing plant. “The proteins are extracted and replicated in the building below us,” she continues.
She peers down through a window in the hallway at the rectangular concrete building where Velkan lies unconscious and alone. Pain sears through me again as the overwhelming fear that something terrible will happen to him seizes me. I need to find a way to contact Ayma and make sure she was able to alter his test results.
“Is there a bathroom nearby?” I ask Lira.
She doesn’t turn around, her gaze firmly fixed on the processing plant. “Second door on your left.”
“I’ll be just a minute.” I push open the door to a sterile bathroom, slip into the closest stall and activate my MicroComm. “Ayma,” I whisper, “did you alter the test results?”
“Yes, I tried contacting Velkan to let him know, but he’s not responding.”
“He’s heavily sedated,” I say. “It could be a while before he regains consciousness, but at least you’ve bought me some time to come up with a plan to get him out of there.”
“Did you find out anything useful?” Ayma asks.
“Not yet. Some disgruntled auxiliary is showing me around. I’ll meet the department I’ve been assigned to this afternoon. Speaking of disgruntled auxiliaries, I gotta go before she comes looking for me.”
I slip back out into the corridor and pull up short. Several scientists in ivory-colored scrubs are engaged in conversation with Lira by the window.
“There she is now,” Lira says, nodding in my direction.
I smooth down my new uniform self-consciously and join them.
“This is Dr. Petrop, your new boss, and the head of research here at NeuroOne,” Lira announces.
Unsure of the appropriate greeting, I give a quick bow.
Dr. Petrop frowns at me. “I don’t understand these random rotations. Just when I’ve trained an auxiliary, they’re reassigned, and some novice is sent to take their place.”
I have nothing to say in response that won’t trigger a slew of questions, so I remain tight-lipped and try my best to look apologetic. Dr. Petrop dismisses me with an irritated nod. “Report for duty this afternoon.”
She strides off down the hallway, her black bun screwed into a tight knot at the base of her head, a posse of scientists at her heels. I take a ragged breath. For some unknown reason, she took an instant dislike to me. Then again, maybe it’s just that everyone around here is unfriendly. Lira didn’t warm up to me either. I grimace. It’s not the kind of work environment that would bring out the best in people. I can’t imagine the things they are forced to do in the processing plant, and I don’t want to know.
Lira’s lip curls into a lazy sneer. “You didn’t make a very good first impression.”
I try not to look like I want to rip her head off. “That looks dangerously close to a smile on your face,” I say in a syrupy voice. “We wouldn’t want you showing an emotion now, would we? After all, they’re superfluous.”
Lira glares at me, her nostrils twitching with rage. “This concludes your orientation,” she snips.
“Thank you, you’ve been extremely helpful. I’ll just wait here for my new boss to return,” I say, secretly hoping I can do some snooping and find the server room before Dr. Petrop returns.
Lira wheels around and stomps off down the hallway.
I wait until she is out of sight and then walk to the door marked CortexImaging and try the handle. Unlocked! I push it open, almost jumping out of my skin when an elderly white-haired doctor with sunken cheeks turns toward me. A faint frown traverses his forehead. “Are you here for testing?” he asks. “I wasn’t expecting the subject until after lunch.” He glances at the screen on his desk. “And I thought it was a male.”
“Uh, no. I’m the new auxiliary assigned to Dr. Petrop. I’m just familiarizing myself with the department.”
“I see.” The old man gets to his feet. “I would offer to show you around, but I’m just about to head downstairs for lunch.”
“The subject,” I blurt out. “Is he from the collective?”
“I believe so. He was pulled from the general worker population after a preliminary blood test revealed a higher IQ than is permitted for collective workers.” He waves a liver-spotted hand dismissively at me. “The result is inconclusive. The collective probably botched it again.” His eyes dart to a large scanner at the back of the room. “The CortexImager will give us an accurate reading.”
My heart thunders in my chest. Ayma managed to alter the results, but if they’re going to retest Velkan again so soon, I don’t even have until tonight to get him out of here.
The doctor waits politely by the door for me to exit his office. I nod to him in passing, hoping he can’t hear my heart pattering mercilessly behind my ribs. I make a show of averting my eyes all the while memorizing the awkward movements of his arthritic fingers while he keys a code into the digital lock pad.
As soon as he enters the elevachute, I slip into the bathroom and activate my MicroComm. “Ayma, can you rig the cameras in CortexImaging for ten minutes?”
“Affirmative. The place is yours.”
I race back to the office and punch in the code on the lock pad. The door pings open and I slip inside the room. I throw a harried glance around. The nameplate on the disheveled desk that sits at an angle facing the door reads Dr. Worister. I make my way back to the CortexImager and stare at it. What can I do in ten minutes to
render it inoperable? Machines are Velkan’s specialty, I know next to nothing about how they operate, and I don’t have any tools to take it apart with.
I give it the once over, searching for a small but important part that I might be able to remove with my bare hands. I settle for the rubber nozzle at the end of the scanner. If I remove it, maybe I can damage the lens underneath. I start to loosen the nozzle, but a rattling sound at the door startles me.
I jump back from the CortexImager and spin around just as Dr. Petrop flings open the door.
22
I don’t even have the presence of mind to wipe the look of horror at being caught red-handed from my face. Frozen with fear, I wait for Dr. Petrop to activate some hidden alarm that will conjure up dozens of robots to invade the room and arrest me, pinning my arms with their powerful metal claws. Or maybe that’s not how it will go down at all. Maybe I’ll simply be obliterated where I stand, turning into a puddle of waste that they will wash out through a lab drain.
“What are you doing in here?” Dr. Petrop’s voice is low and controlled but the tremulous note in her tone puzzles me. Like she’s more afraid of finding me in here than I am at being caught in the act of sabotaging the CortexImager.
I give a two-fingered salute, trying desperately to keep my hand from shaking. “Dr. Worister saw me standing outside your office, he told me to wait in here.” The words sound like the hastily-constructed lie they are even as they leave my lips, and I can tell she’s not buying a word of it.
Instead of challenging me, she frowns and throws a quick glance over her shoulder into the hallway. She’s clearly flustered, but why? I’m the one who should be quaking in my boots, but she’s acting like she’s afraid of something too.
“I … didn’t expect you back from lunch so soon,” I continue in an apologetic tone. “Or I would have waited by your office.”
“I skipped lunch,” she says brusquely. "We’ve been having issues with the CortexImager. I came back to diagnose the problem before the subject arrives this afternoon.”
My heart surges up my throat in a tidal wave of dread as Dr. Petrop walks over to the CortexImager. She leans over it and inspects it from one end to the other, running expert fingers over the cold steel arm that houses the lens. Any second now she’s going to see that the nozzle is loose and she’ll realize what I was doing in here.
“Ah, yes,” she announces, almost gleefully. “A faulty nozzle, see?” She demonstrates by wiggling the loose nozzle back and forth.
I stare at her at a loss for words. Is she toying with me? Waiting for me to confess so she has a reason to get rid of me? Apparently, she doesn’t expect a response because she rambles on, her words almost running over each other. “Make a note of it. Be sure to include dereliction of maintenance in your report, and mention that I inspected the equipment and diagnosed the problem at—let me see, what time is it?” She peers at the timekeeper on the wall. “Twelve-twenty-two. Got all that?”
“Yes, Dr. Petrop,” I squeak out, my face schooled back to neutral even though my brain is doing somersaults trying to figure out what she is playing at. I didn’t have time to sabotage the CortexImager—and a loose nozzle is not enough to make it inoperable. Was she lying about the CortexImager malfunctioning?
Dr. Petrop looks at me sharply. “You have been issued with a CipherSync, haven’t you?”
“Of course.” I snap into action and swiftly set about recording the incident, including the troubleshooting procedure and time of day. When I’m done, Dr. Petrop nods her approval.
“Call requisitions and order up a new nozzle right away. We need that CortexImager to be functioning properly before the subject arrives.”
While I put in the order on my CipherSync, Dr. Petrop paces, her face a mask of concentration, almost as though she’s wrestling with some decision. She unscrews the nozzle and studies it from every angle before tossing it in the trash. “Furthermore, I’m citing Dr. Worister for gross negligence. Include that addendum to your report.” Her voice carves through the air like a knife. I bow my head to hide the guilty flush creeping over my face. It wasn’t my intention to get Dr. Worister in trouble. Even though he’s evidently been brainwashed by Preeminence propaganda, he’s a kindly soul, more misguided than diabolical.
A few minutes later, he returns from lunch as I’m finishing up my report. He barely gives me a cursory glance before turning to Dr. Petrop. “Everything in order, I trust?”
“It is now,” she retorts. “It appears the CortexImager was not properly maintained. I had to order up a new part. My auxiliary made a note of the infraction.”
Dr. Worister pales when a courier robot appears at the door holding a replacement nozzle. He runs a gnarled hand through the feathery fluff on his head. “I don’t understand. Everything was in perfect working order when I left for lunch.”
Dr. Petrop scans the delivery with her CipherSync and nods to the courier robot. It walks back to the CortexImager and sets about installing the new nozzle with tools which are extensions of its fingers.
“Furthermore,” Dr. Petrop continues, pinning an accusatory stare on Dr. Worister. “I will personally oversee the retesting procedure this afternoon. We’ve already had one inconclusive result on the subject in question, we can’t afford another sloppy assessment.”
Dr. Worister blinks, his wrinkled lids paper thin over his milky eyes. “But, that’s my area of—”
“Perhaps,” Dr. Petrop continues, pronouncing every syllable like she’s issuing a threat, “it would be prudent to consider the fact that my assistance in this matter is sparing you a placement reassessment.”
She turns and storms out of the room before Dr. Worister can respond.
The courier robot straightens up. “All issues resolved. A full diagnostic has been performed. No further fault codes indicated.”
Dr. Worister nods. “Dismissed.”
The courier robot exits the room in a few mechanical strides.
Unsure what to do, I wait in place until Dr. Worister addresses me with a heavy sigh. “I believe your assignment is with Dr. Petrop, not me.”
I salute and exit the room on shaking legs, reeling from everything that just happened. What exactly is Dr. Petrop up to? She knew I was lying about why I was in Dr. Worister’s office, but she didn’t call me on it. She seemed more fixated on trying to discredit Dr. Worister.
It will be several minutes before she comes looking for me, if at all. She seems to have forgotten that I’m her new auxiliary, or maybe she’s ignoring the fact and hoping I get reassigned back to the collective. I take the opportunity to slip back into the bathroom and switch on my MicroComm. “Ayma, they’re bringing Velkan over here for retesting this afternoon,” I whisper, unable to keep the note of desperation out of my voice. “Have you made any progress on penetrating Preeminence?”
Ayma sighs heavily. “Not yet. I ran through every backdoor possibility. I exploited the server and created several different encrypted tunnels through the neural network, but the security nexus around Preeminence’s core is elaborate.”
“Keep trying,” I say. “We’re running out of time to save Velkan. I tried to sabotage the CortexImager they use to test the subjects, but I was interrupted before I could finish. Did you touch base with Rennan?”
“Yes, Phin passed on your message about the escapee.”
My gut tightens. The catch in her voice tells me she’s hiding something. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry, Trattora. Rennan said your friend never showed up. He even crept up to the transport vehicle to look for her. There was only one guard, a male.”
My chest tightens with a sickening feeling. I watched Solina walk off in the direction of the foraging transport. She wouldn’t have backed out at the last minute. Something must have went wrong. I grit my teeth in frustration. Maybe the guard we knocked out and tied up regained consciousness and turned Solina in before the foraging party left. A trickle of sweat runs down the back of my neck. I’m responsible for
whatever happens to her. I’m the one who pushed her to try and escape.
A scratchy breath tears at my throat. As terrible as I feel, I can’t fold now. I need to figure out some way to save Velkan and escape from NeuroOne. My mind races. If Velkan’s still drugged, he won’t be able to walk on his own, let alone run. I’ll have to steal a transport vehicle. This mission is becoming more impossible by the minute.
The door to the bathroom swings open and Dr. Indiva, the protein retrieval specialist, gives me a deferential glance as she strides past me. I hurry back out and deactivate my MicroComm before traipsing down the corridor to Dr. Petrop’s office.
“Gather up those files,” she barks at me when I appear in the doorway. She doesn’t even look up at me, and she doesn’t seem surprised to see me, or annoyed that I didn’t follow her directly out of Dr. Worister’s office. It’s as if she’s trying to ignore the whole incident. She’s an enigma, and I need to tread carefully around her. If she’s willing to cite Dr. Worister for dereliction of duty based on a loose nozzle, it wouldn’t take much for her to recommend my immediate transfer back to the collective, and I can’t let that happen. I need to be here with Velkan.
I pick up the files she indicated and follow her out of her office and back down to CortexImaging. Every muscle tenses when I see the gurney parked outside in the corridor. Blood drains from my head when Velkan’s eyes pop open and meet mine. The hall spins around me and for one terrible moment I think I’m going to keel over and succumb to the all-consuming fear gripping me that this might be the last time I ever see Velkan alive, or at least in a state that merits being alive. I can’t even tell him what I want to tell him, or squeeze his shoulder and reassure him that everything’s going to be all right. It would be a lie anyway. Nothing’s going to be all right after Dr. Petrop retests him.
Girl of Stone (The Expulsion Project Book 2) Page 17
