Velkan stares blankly up at me from the gurney as Dr. Petrop wheels him inside. I will him with everything in my being not to say anything in his drugged up state that will incriminate us. I can’t tell if he’s so out of it that he doesn’t recognize me, or if the glazed look on his face is a ploy to protect me. I clutch his files in a death grip until Dr. Petrop snatches them out of my hands and slaps them down on the desk in front of Dr. Worister. He jumps in his chair and blinks rapidly.
“Pull his case up on the screen,” Dr. Petrop says. She produces a scope from the pocket of her scrubs and peers through it into Velkan’s eyes. She meticulously checks each eye a second time before pocketing the instrument and snapping her fingers at me. “Wheel the gurney over to the scanner.”
Dr. Worister rises from behind the desk, one hand lifted in protest. “The CortexImager must be recalibrated before each new subject is scanned, otherwise it could skew the results.”
Dr. Petrop spins around, a dangerous glint in her eyes, but I notice a subtle tremor in her hand. “You should have handled that by now. You knew we had a subject scheduled for this afternoon.”
“It is normally done immediately before a scan,” he replies.
“That would be now!” Dr. Petrop growls.
Dr. Worister frowns as he trips back to the CortexImager and adjusts a few dials with his sinewy hands. I almost feel sorry for him, but I can’t go that far. No one in here deserves my sympathy. They are all part of Preeminence in one way or another.
Dr. Petrop seats herself behind the computer screen and taps impatiently with her foot until the recalibration is complete. “Commence scan,” she says.
Dr. Worister flicks a switch on the CortexImager, and a faint whirring fills the room. My heart sinks like a rock and it’s all I can do not to collapse in tears. There’s only one way this can go down. Velkan’s readout will trigger an anomaly and the CortexImager will register his IQ far above the threshold needed to keep him out of the protein extraction program. If Ayma can’t crack the security around Preeminence’s core in the next hour or two, I’m going to have to try something drastic to save Velkan that almost certainly holds little to no hope of success. But I’d rather die with him than escape without him.
I keep a close, but discreet eye on Dr. Petrop’s face as she studies the screen in front of her. Her expression doesn’t change, but the hunter in me doesn’t miss the faint flicker of her nostrils, followed by the flush of blood to her face, and the twitching pulse in her temple that tells me her heart rate is elevated.
She stares at the screen for a long time—scarcely believing what she’s seeing, no doubt. I toy with the wild idea of lunging at her and taking her out before she issues Velkan’s death sentence. She’s lithe, but petite. I could choke her to death with the strength in my hands and the determination in my heart, but then what? Military robots would be swarming all over the room in seconds, and Velkan and I would both be dead anyway. Minutes tick by and the atmosphere in the room grows more strained.
Dr. Worister clears his throat and peers at Dr. Petrop. “Is there a problem? Do I need to recalibrate the CortexImager again?”
“No, the readings are conclusive.” Dr. Petrop pushes her chair out from the desk with a screech that rakes across my frayed nerves. “The subject’s IQ is below par for protein extraction.”
23
Dr. Worister draws his wayward white brows together. “Disappointing, but I admit, I expected as much. It’s been years since we’ve found a prodigy hiding out on the collective.”
“Indeed,” Dr. Petrop says coldly.
I fix my gaze on a spot on the high-gloss white wall above Dr. Petrop’s head, trying to steady my breathing. I can’t meet her calculating eyes. She knows. She lied about Velkan’s test results. But why? Is this another attempt to discredit Dr. Worister? Or does she plan to conduct some other covert research on Velkan?
“I’ll assign the subject to the next transfer back to the collective.” Dr. Worister gets to his feet with a grunt.
“No!” Dr. Petrop drums her fingernails on the desk and fixes a peculiar look on me. “Assign him to our department. I want to observe him a little longer. And I may be needing a replacement auxiliary in the near future.” She arches a confrontational brow at me. “You might want to record that, or it could be considered a dereliction of duty.”
I fumble with my CipherSync and rattle off a rough approximation of what she said, squirming under her caustic gaze. My heartbeat booms in my ears, almost drowning out my words. Velkan is safe, for now. But I need to watch my back. I’ve only been here a couple of hours and Dr. Petrop’s already threatening to replace me. If she discovers the truth about me, she won’t hesitate to send me to the processing plant for protein extraction.
Dr. Petrop gathers up Velkan’s files and gets to her feet. “He’ll need a uniform. Check with housekeeping. And something to reverse the effects of that sedative. Take him to the med station in your housing unit.” She gives a dismissive wave before sweeping out of the room in what I’m quickly learning is her usual manner when she’s irked, which is most of the time.
I throw Dr. Worister a hesitant glance, unsure if he’s supposed to accompany me.
He pushes the gurney out from the CortexImager and over to me. “Take him downstairs. I’ll handle the administrative details and send down his schedule and ID as soon as they’re ready.”
Half sick with excitement, I grasp hold of the gurney and push it out into the hallway, not daring to look down at Velkan in case I lose it completely. My mind churns with all the possibilities. My instincts tell me to make a run for it and try to steal a transport vehicle now that Velkan is within my grasp, but I can hear Buir’s voice in my head telling me we’ll never make it out of NeuroOne without a better plan, and she’s right, of course. The wheels of the gurney click like the ominous flick of a robot’s wrist as I push it down the corridor and inside the elevachute under the watchful gaze of the cameras feeding into Preeminence’s voracious neural network.
The doors seal shut with a gentle whoosh and I let out a shaky breath. Still, I don’t dare speak, half-afraid that every word I utter in this place is being recorded. When I build up the courage to look down at Velkan, his eyes are closed. “Velkan,” I whisper. “Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” he whispers back, a smile tugging at his full lips. I press a hand to my mouth and gulp back a sob. I want so badly to lean down and kiss him and feel his strong arms wrap around me. But that would only seal our fate. “We need to get out of here,” I say under my breath. “It’s too dangerous to stay here any longer. Dr. Petrop is up to something. I don’t know what she plans to do with you.”
Velkan turns his head to the side and mutters into the sheet. “We can’t leave yet. We haven’t had a chance to find out anything.”
I lean over him pretending to adjust his pillow. “Ayma can’t find a way past the security nexus around Preeminence’s core. Unless she can hack it, she’ll never be able to access the personnel records and figure out who our parents are. And we can’t exactly go around asking every scientist here if they participated in The Expulsion Project.”
“Give her another twenty-four hours,” Velkan says. “You saw what they’re doing to people in the processing plant. If our parents are here, I’m not leaving them behind.”
The doors to the elevachute retract and I wheel Velkan out and down the corridor to the communal housing area. Several auxiliaries mill around on the couches, chatting and playing card games. They eye us with mild curiosity.
“Can someone point me to the med station?” I ask.
“Second door on the left,” a sandy-haired auxiliary says. “What happened? Accident on the job?”
“Something like that,” I call over my shoulder as I wheel Velkan toward the med station.
Inside, a robot nurse approaches us and latches onto the end of the gurney with a steel grip. “Dr. Petrop’s transfer?”
“Um, yes.” I eye the robot with
trepidation.
“Take a seat.” The robot nurse wrenches the gurney around and wheels it off before I have time to protest.
“Wait!” I try to follow the gurney but two robot sentries bar the way. “Patients only beyond this point,” one of them says, its metallic voice echoing around the tile foyer. A shudder runs across my shoulders. How did I miss those sentries when I walked in a moment ago?
The robot nurse wheels Velkan around the corner. Reluctantly, I sink into a leather couch by the entry to wait. I’m decidedly uncomfortable letting Velkan out of my sight again, but there’s nothing I can do other than follow protocol.
After what seems like an eternity, the robot nurse returns, this time with Velkan walking at her side. My breath catches in my throat. The bandage is gone from his head and his rich chocolate eyes look bright and alert.
I jump up and almost hug him before I catch myself. “Um … do you need any assistance?” I ask, trying to strike a professional tone.
“Yes,” he answers with a measure of thinly disguised levity in his voice that lets me know he doesn’t need my assistance at all, but that he would very much like to an excuse to wrap his hand in mine.
I extend an arm for him to lean on and nod my thanks to the robot nurse before escorting him out of the med station.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, keeping my eyes forward.
“Better.”
“Did they test your blood in the collective?” I whisper.
Velkan nods. “The suit made them suspicious. I told them I found it out foraging, but they took blood samples from me anyway. I’m not sure what else they did to me after that, but my head was pounding for a while.”
I throw a glance up at the deep-purplish bruise on his temple. “My guess is that they took a brain protein sample.”
“So why am I not soup already?” he mutters.
“I can’t answer that,” I say with a shrug. “I’m almost certain Dr. Petrop knows your real IQ. Unless the CortexImager malfunctioned, she lied about your test results. But I don’t trust her. I’m not sure if she has some more insidious plan for you, or if she’s using you as a pawn to pin this error on Dr. Worister. She wants him out of the department for some reason.”
Velkan frowns. “We need to start looking for our parents. We may not have much time here.”
“First, let’s find you a uniform,” I say. “If we end up having to make a run for it, you’ll get a whole lot further dressed as an auxiliary than in that ridiculous med gown.”
I ask directions to housekeeping and within minutes Velkan is issued a new uniform. His color has returned to normal, and dressed in his new ivory-colored scrubs, he makes a striking figure. I can’t help noticing several heads turn in his direction as we head back out to the communal area.
“Trattora!” an icy voice calls out behind me. I whirl around to see Lira marching purposefully toward us. She runs an unashamedly admiring eye over Velkan before latching a CipherSync on his wrist and pressing an ID tag to his chest. “Another recruit to the research floor. And you two know each other. What a lucky coincidence!” She arches a brow at me and lowers her voice to a husky threat. “I know you circumvented the proper channels. I don’t know how you did it, but I intend to find out.” Her eyes linger on Velkan and she moves her lips to his ears. “I’d like to know how a subject earmarked for protein extraction ends up working for the head of research. Your room number is K-017 if you want to invite me over and tell me about it sometime.”
She flashes Velkan a brilliant smile before sashaying off down the hallway.
Velkan turns to me. “Do you know her?”
I grimace. “She conducted my orientation, and she resented every minute of it. She wanted my job. She had it in for me from the moment I arrived. We need to watch out for her.”
Velkan gives a nonchalant shrug. “If she’s not a scientist, she carries no weight here.”
“I hope you’re right,” I say. “Because between her and Dr. Petrop, my tenure here is shaky at best.”
Velkan studies a message flashing across the CipherSync on his wrist. “Dr. Worister wants to see me upstairs.”
He’s barely finished speaking before the same message flashes onto my CipherSync.
“We’d better go.” I pull Velkan toward the elevachute. “If he’s looking for me, I’ve no doubt Dr. Petrop is too.”
“Ah, there you are.” Dr. Worister rises from his desk when he sees us. “Dr. Petrop asked me to show you both the protein extraction process over at the plant.”
My face must be relaying the shock I feel because Dr. Worister furrows his wrinkled brow. “Is there a problem?”
“I … no, not at all,” I reply.
“The processing plant is truly a remarkable entity,” Dr. Worister says. “Everything we do there to enhance Preeminence’s cognitive functioning ultimately advances our knowledge base for future generations.”
I want to open my mouth and scream at him. What about this generation? What about the families you’re tearing apart, the lives that are being destroyed for a despot application? And what about us; the children of The Expulsion Project? Instead, I force a pleasant expression on my face. “I’m eager to learn more about the process.”
Dr. Worister brightens at that and gestures toward the door. “After you.”
My stomach churns when we enter the processing plant for a second time. The sentry robot scans our IDs with its orbital laser and we proceed down the same unnaturally quiet corridor I pushed Velkan’s gurney along earlier this morning.
All too soon, we arrive at the glass exhibits. Dr. Worister waits for us by the first window. “Don’t be perturbed by what you see. These subjects are exceptional cases from our early attempts to fine tune the process. Nowadays, there is very little collateral damage thanks to our latest protein extraction methodology. Once the proteins are replicated, we return them to the subject’s brain tissue. Naturally some subjects handle the process better than others, but most have little to no residual damage to the brain tissue.”
“And what will happen to these damaged subjects?” I ask with barely suppressed anger.
Dr. Worister gives me a disapproving look. “They were all voluntary donors. They are receiving synthetic replacement proteins and will soon be functioning at an acceptable level and released to the collective.”
“What’s an acceptable level?” Velkan asks.
Dr. Worister’s wrinkled lips twitch uncomfortably before he answers. “All subjects are self-reliant when they leave here. That’s the best we can offer them in cases where the brain tissue suffers irreparable damage. As I said, an unfortunate carryover from our early days. Now, let’s take a closer look at our new groundbreaking process.”
He turns and shuffles off down the corridor without waiting for a reply. The eyes of the military robots in front of the exhibits glow red, whirring and focusing in on Velkan and me.
We exchange guarded looks and hurry after Dr. Worister. He leads us past the offices, takes a right and walks up to a metal door marked: Extraction Chambers. Wordlessly, he hands each of us a sterile face mask.
It’s all I can do not to turn and run. I don’t know what to expect inside, and the worst possible images come to mind as Dr. Worister punches a code into the keypad. The door retracts into the wall and Velkan takes a sharp breath. Despite my fear at what awaits us, my eyes dart around taking it all in.
“Stay close to me,” Dr. Worister scolds, ushering us inside. “No talking to scientists on duty. And don’t touch anything.”
The extraction chambers are nothing like the bloody operating room I envisioned. The high-ceilinged white-tiled warehouse is filled with clusters of tubular tanks all linking to a common core. Each tank houses a single floating subject in a blue-tinged liquid with a breathing apparatus attached, a feeding tube entering their stomach, and a drip line leading out of the top of their shaved skull.
The temperature inside the warehouse is frigid, the lighting a muted amber, lending
the atmosphere a haunted vibe, as if some magic lured the subjects away to a mystical world where they float in a liquid dream. But they aren’t dreaming. They’re in a nightmare that is all too real, stripped of every dignity. I stare at the swollen shut eyelids of the female subject in the tube nearest to us. A sob presses against the back of my throat. She could be my mother. Instinctively, I splay a hand to the glass to mirror her hand. Instantly, an electronic alarm blares overhead and the tube lights up, flashing red. I jump back from it, my heart pumping furiously as military robots appear from every corner of the warehouse and swarm toward the flashing tube.
“No touching the tubes,” a bald-headed scientist yells, running up to me. “The temperature must remain precise at all times. Even the heat of your hand is enough to throw off the thermabalancer.” He throws an irritated glance at Dr. Worister. “I don’t recall seeing a training tour on the schedule today.”
“Dr. Petrop authorized it,” Dr. Worister replies. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they don’t touch anything else.”
The bald-headed scientist resets a temperature gauge on the side of the tube and then strides back to his work station, muttering under his breath.
Dr. Worister pulls at his ear nervously. “I warned you not to touch anything.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my heart still racing erratically from the blaring alarm. “It won’t happen again. You can carry on with your tour now.”
“Very well,” Dr. Worister says, looking only partly mollified as he waves a hand at the nearest tube. “As you can see, the subjects experience no discomfort during the procedure. In fact—”
His voice drones on, but I’m not listening anymore. My eyes are firmly fixed on the broad-shouldered scientist hunched over a tray of vials he is carrying across the room.
The face is older, the eyes hooded, and the square jaw looser, but the haggard features are a carbon copy of Phin’s.
24
My heart flutters wildly in my chest. I elbow Velkan in the ribs and tilt my head at the scientist as he walks by. Velkan’s eyes widen slightly and I know he sees the resemblance right away. Could this man be Phin’s father? It hurts to breathe when I think about the implications. Our parents could be working here too.
Girl of Stone (The Expulsion Project Book 2) Page 18
