The Veritas Project

by C. F. E. Black

  “Who have we here?” The man’s chin tilts up, several folds of skin opening up. His voice resounds, thick and heavy.

  “My name is V.” Be calm.

  A look of curiosity sweeps over his features as he steps toward me. “V … it is nice to meet you. I am M.”

  The big man’s hand swallows mine. He holds my hand longer than I feel is necessary, but I do not attempt to pull out of his grip. Clenching my teeth, I endure his close stare as effortlessly as I can manage, my heart banging around in my chest like a lunatic with a tambourine. Finally, he frees my hand, which is now covered in a light film of sweat from his palm.

  “Adrian, check that chip for me, will you?” M’s great frame rotates like a globe and he ambles back to his seat before the screens. When he sits, the chair beneath him hisses as if in protest.

  A man’s hand starts reaching into my back pants’ pocket. Whoa there! I hop aside, glaring at the gunman groping me. “Hey!”

  He half grins and steps closer. “The coin, sweetheart.”

  He starts to reach again, but I slap his hand away.

  “Here!” I dig it out of my pocket and hand it over.

  “Feisty one, eh?”

  “Ty, did you even bother checking the chip yourself?” M’s voice, laced with disgust now, carries over the back of his head. Whatever is on those screens trumps my own insignificant existence.

  The boy, who has pressed nearly flat against the wall, perks up. “No, sir. I thought you would want to do it.”

  “Tsk, tsk. Must I remind you—again—of your duties?” Large fingers slide around on a panel glowing on the desk in front of M’s chair.

  “No, sir.” Ty’s voice is deeper in here, like he’s trying to make up for something.

  “Then you may go.” A flick of the wrist.

  “Come on,” Ty whispers to me. He steps toward the door.

  “Not her, Tyson.”

  The gunman beside the door jerks his head at Ty and rips the door open. With a motion of the gun’s muzzle, Ty starts walking. Soon, it is just the gunmen, M, and me.

  The only sounds are the humming of the many machines and the creaking of M’s chair. The gunman beside me stands statue-still, eyes fixed on nothing, gun angled toward the ground. His finger, I notice, is poised near the trigger.

  My mouth aches when I try to swallow, dry throat clamping together.

  “Sir—”

  “Do not speak to M unless he addresses you.” I’d almost forgotten about the gunman on the stool behind us, silent as he’d been. Looking at him now, his slouching posture and cradled gun are nearly more intimidating than the statue man beside me. How can you relax with a weapon like that in your arms?

  “Chip’s fine, sir,” reports the man by the door. He’d stuck it in a tiny contraption, which now flashes green.

  M nods, continues swiping away at his touchpad and glancing up at his screens.

  Thoughts of Julius and Marcus flood my mind as I glance absently around the room, waiting. What is happening to them now? Is Julius on his way to have his mind wiped? Have they stopped torturing Marcus?

  I stand there, gazing around the room, obeying orders to be silent. Obeying orders again so soon? The idea sickens me, but I can’t argue with two machine guns. After five, seven, ten minutes, I start to fidget. Pru’s head busted open. Julius captured. Marcus beaten. All my fault. To whom much is given, much is expected. What about from whom much is taken? What is expected of that person?

  Every ache takes a turn vying for my attention as the minutes creep. My stomach stopped aching for food as I sprinted from the restaurant, but it’s starting to think about it again. My feet are tired, my eyes are tired, and my brain is tired.

  My brain! How could I have missed thinking about this? For a few minutes, I relish the fact that my thoughts are not being pumped to a computer and recorded. Hopefully. But how will I know? They haven’t found me yet, which means they can’t see what I’m seeing right now. I’ll have to trust that. Have to trust Julius’ jamming signal.

  I can finally think without the Director listening in.

  But a look at the guard by the door and the man sitting in front of the screens tells me I’m nowhere close to free.

  “Tell me, V, what is on your mind?” The man, M, finally breaks the silence and spins to face me in his chair.

  A little startled at the sudden question, I gape at him for a moment. “Nothing, sir.”

  “Do you expect me to believe that? Then you are not as interesting as I’d hoped.”

  “I am thinking about the fact that I am trapped in here.”

  “Astute conclusion! And how do you feel about that?”

  “Natural.” It’s what I’m used to, after all.

  His face tilts. “That is an interesting answer.”

  He raises a hand, about to speak again, but just then something grabs his attention on a nearby screen. I turn to look too. Prudentia has just woken up. But her body writhes in what is an obvious brain flash. They are often strongest just after waking. She curls into her stomach, rocking, moaning. In a moment, it is over; her legs stretch out, her arms go limp by her sides. From where I’m standing, I can’t tell if her eyes are open. Someone is standing beside her. Ty.

  A motor clicks on, and cool air starts to blow across my cheeks.

  “That was unusual.” M is still staring at the screen, watching Pru. Then, his gaze turns back to me. His face is more distinct now that my eyes have fully adjusted. A furrow between his brows makes him look eternally angry. Deep-set eyes hide in the shadows from his jutting brow. A protruding chin bolstered by stairs of flesh completes the look of sublime power that rests on this man. “Three Order members escape from the Center, a first in the Center’s impeccable history,” he states. “Then, as if by magic, two of them wander into my hands. Fortune has smiled on M today!” He lifts two massive fists.

  Something occurs to me, something I must know. “Are you connected with the Center?”

  A hiss escapes his lips. “For a smart girl, you really know nothing about the world.” At this, I frown. I’ve heard that before. “No,” he places his hands flat on his knees. “You could say I am disconnected from that place. And that—” he leans forward “—is the problem.”

  I stare at him, unsure how to respond.

  He continues. “I have two assumptions about you: Either you are here to kill me with some weapon hidden in that well-formed body of yours or you stumbled upon that coin by accident. For your sake, I hope it is the latter.”

  “I found the coin, yes,” I blurt. “I had no idea what it was when I took it.”

  M’s eyes brighten. “Took it? Oh, so we have a thief on our hands!”

  “No, I—sir—”

  A thick chortle rumbles out of the man. “Do not apologize! In the Center, theft may be penalized, but here, that is a good thing. You see, as it turns out, I am a thief myself. A thief of information, chiefly, but a thief nonetheless. And you, my dear, are proof that I am not, as so many believe, omniscient.”

  Who is this guy? All I do is stare.

  The colossus stands. “Yes, but I must know something.” He moves toward me, then behind us, churning up my insides with the heat and smell of his close body. Then suddenly, hands the size of dinner plates begin to massage my shoulders. Ripping, crunching, burning, and release. I melt under his iron fingers.

  “That’s better now. Your shoulders are as tight as two-by-fours.” Then, suddenly, his fingers dig so deeply into my shoulders that I cry out in pain. “There now,” he whispers as the fingers release their grip on my shoulders, but clamp like claws around my skull. His hands are so large that his fingers straddle my eyes and nearly touch over my nose.

  Before my body can start to buck, he jerks my chin down and his thumb grazes across the sensors behind my ears, invisible to anyone not looking for them.

  “Ah … there they are. Thought sensors. Fascinating science.” He holds my head captive, not like the Director, but a much more ph
ysical captivity, as he examines my skull. “Funny thing.” He releases my head, circles around to face me, a large grin spreading across his face. “Of the two groups most eager to get their hands on that right there—” he points to the side of my head, as if I’m some object, as if my head is some object “—M gets the gold.” He claps his hands, startling me. “It seems your red-headed friend has, in fact, very little to offer the Reds.”

  “The Reds?” I ask, puzzled.

  M barks out a laugh. “Oh, the genius knows so little!” He’s enjoying this mockery. “Hector, explain to her who has her ginger friend.”

  The gunman crosses his arms. “The Reds, or Rips, are a gang out here. They wanted to get their hands on you three because they want the tech to read people’s thoughts. They think they can set up some sort of mind control among their members.”

  I scowl, angry that anyone thinks sensors and mind reading are up for grabs like the rest of Center science. “Julius ripped his sensors out. They can’t get anything from him.”

  M nods. “It appears so. They leaked that little bit of information on an unsecure t-screen. I’m afraid if they have no use for him that they may dispose of him.”

  My stomach flips. “Dispose!” I glance at the gunman named Hector. “What can we do?”

  The large man links his fingers on his equatorial waist. “We? What an odd thought. What makes you think I owe you or him anything?”

  My shoulders have gone stiff as timber again. Rage causes my eyelashes to flutter. All I wanted was to get out of the Center and find someone to remove my sensors. For some reason I figured it would be easier than this. After all, every problem I’ve ever faced before was solvable. But Pru is draped across some stranger’s desk with a blood-loss headache, and Julius is—apparently—awaiting his death at the hands of some deranged gang who think they can just manipulate mind control with thought sensors!

  “What do I have to do, sir?” My eyes lock onto the large man, my jaw flexing.

  Instead of answering, M unlatches his fingers, tilts his head, and considers me for several uncomfortable minutes. “I’ve been watching you ever since that wreck on the freeway. I have eyes and ears all over town—more than anyone knows. I knew of your escape as soon as the Center put out the message and started hunting you three. Funny thing is, I didn’t expect it to be this easy. To have you just walk into my office and volunteer your services.”

  “My services? Sir, I need to help my friend.”

  He smiles and shakes his head so rapidly his cheeks wiggle. “No, no. You see, I can help poor Julius. I can snap my fingers and retrieve him. But I won’t do so without something from you in return. So, if you want to help your friend, you will help me. I am, after all, a business man.”

  I just want to make sure Julius is safe. Then I want to leave this place. To get some food. To sleep. “What can I do for you people out here? In the Center, we were at least helping you all with the research we produced. Out here, we’re useless to you.”

  “Oh no, my dear.” M’s voice is arsenic. “You are quite useful to me.”

  Eighteen

  A half hour later, Ty arrives to escort me from M’s lair. We worm back through the labyrinth of cubicle walls.

  “Must have impressed him.” Ty’s voice is quiet again, but I can tell he is annoyed.

  “He says he can get Julius back if I help him.”

  Ty chokes on a laugh. When he recovers, he says, “No doubt. M’s not one for handing out freebies. What else did you talk about?”

  “He asked me things about where I’m from, things I had never thought about before.” Like does each Order member transmit thoughts to a separate computer, or do we all just dump our thoughts into one massive airdrive? I told him it all goes into one large, underground drive, but individual minds can be accessed by our names, the way the Director used to access only my thoughts.

  “But M never directly told me why he wanted this information,” I say, hoping for some answer from Ty.

  He glances at me. “M never gives away more than he has to.”

  I give him a puzzled look.

  Ty stops, pulls out a coin identical to the one I stole from the Director’s office. It shimmers in the direct light from overhead. “None of these has ever failed.” He flicks it up, watches it spin, catches it. “Until yours.” He pockets his coin. “There’s a lot more to that little coin than meets the eye. The one you brought in today went silent nearly a year ago. We thought it’d been destroyed. It happens sometimes. Car runs over it. Operative smashes it to save his own life. Or tosses it in the toilet.”

  I can feel the sneer of confusion tugging at my upper lip. Operative?

  Ty continues. “Anyway, your coin popped up on the monitor yesterday. Turns out, there’d been some sort of firewall keeping it from transmitting while it was in the Center.”

  “And?” I say, dissatisfied with his murky explanation.

  “And,” he keeps walking, “M has wanted access to that place for years. That’s one reason he planted the coin on a Center employee in the first place. But the coin didn’t work, didn’t transmit a darn thing from inside those walls. You, on the other hand, might just be able to give him what he wants.”

  On that note, Ty turns the corner and I follow. Then I’m looking at Pru, leaning back against the desk that was recently her bed.

  “Feeling better?”

  She nods once. “Ty says you cleaned me up. Stole wound repair serum for me.”

  I nod once in return. She glances at the floor, unaccustomed to being in my debt.

  A beat passes.

  Ty darts his eyes back and forth between us a few times, underscoring the awkwardness. “Come with me. M’s going to get a safe place for you to stay, but until then, you can crash at my place. I’ll find somewhere else to go.”

  Pru holds up a hand. “Wait. What about Julius?” She glares at me. “We can’t just leave him with those people.” Ty must have told her about the Reds.

  Ty shakes his head, hand on his chin. “Not sure what we’re supposed to do about it tonight.”

  To Pru, I say, “M says he has eyes and ears all over the city. He’s going to get Julius back if we help him.”

  In unison, Ty and Pru repeat, “We?”

  I look between them, then only at Pru. “I’m sorry. I figured you wouldn’t mind. For Julius’ sake.”

  Ty spits out a laugh. “Right. Just do Dad a favor and get your friend back. No problem.”

  “Dad?” I ask, shocked. Pru doesn’t look surprised; he must have told her this too. “Aren’t children supposed to look like their biological parents?” That was the way things happened for thousands of years before Order members came along.

  “I look more like my mom. But thanks for being the hundredth person to point that out.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Anyway, it’s not like M has time to just help two random gen-eng that fall at his doorstep.” I recoil at the insult. “Sorry,” he adds, looking at Pru, not me. “V’s right. If you want M’s help, you’ll have to give him something in return. That’s the only way he works.” He lifts two hands. “Trust me, I know.”

  “Fine, then,” Pru says, eyeing me. “What have you signed us up for?”

  Ty pauses too, as if curious about what his father wants from us.

  “It sounded easy enough.” But the look on Ty’s face chills my spine. I look at Ty, knowing he’s the one who will need the explanation. “Pru and I both have thought sensors. I told your father that we also have Julius’ tablet, which, for now, is the only thing reading our sensors. His tablet acts like the brain files—the computer program that stores our thoughts—back at the Center, and anyone with that tablet can essentially see through our eyes.” Understanding dawns on Ty’s smooth face. “So, our brains are going to act like cameras for him.” Now I look at Pru. “All we have to do is go to some place, watch some guy while M watches through our sensors.”

  Pru crosses her arms. “That’s it?”

  I nod. “Letti
ng someone else into my brain like that doesn’t exactly sound like a ‘that’s it’ kind of deal to me, but yes, that’s all we have to do.”

  Ty cracks his knuckles. “Did he say who he wants you two to spy on?”

  “Yes,” I answer. “Some person actually named Boast. Boast Garner.”

  Ty’s last knuckle pops as punctuation. “I see.” He looks over at Pru, and for some reason, he appears concerned, even though we’re gen-eng and he just met us. “I agree. It’s not exactly a ‘that’s it’ kind of deal. Boast Garner is a suspected felon.”

  At our semi-glazed looks, he adds, “Felon means criminal. The worst kind. Surely you know that? He’s suspected of murdering two gen-eng last week.”

  Pru and I exchange a glance. M wants us to spy on a gen-eng murderer?

  “You realize we’re genetically engineered, right?” I ask, turning a hateful sneer on Ty. “Maybe he wants that guy to murder us too.”

  “M is a lot of things, but he’s not a gen-eng hater like a lot of people out here.” He crosses his arms. “He, uh,” Ty looks at his feet, shifts his weight. “He and my mother used some gen-sel on me.”

  “Gen-sel?” I ask.

  Pru answers, “Genetic selection.” She stabs me with a look that says she can’t believe I didn’t know the term. But gen-eng is the term I’ve always heard. Perhaps gen-sel is the more politically correct term.

  “You are genetically engineered?” I blurt, entertained by this new information. I know babies are often pruned to be free of genetic diseases and other society-defined “undesirable” traits, but the ethical line stops there. The Center is the first place to engineer better humans, humans like me and Pru and Julius, who can handle the brain power of sixteen minds in one.

  “Some families with enough money can find loopholes in the gene law that allow them to construct physically beautiful babies,” Pru explains, as if everyone knows this.

  Ty nods, a little reluctantly. “Yes. M thought if he paid my mother for that treatment that she’d stick around.”

  Suddenly, a small heat rises in my cheeks. I can see that I’ve deeply offended this boy, a boy I don’t even know but who has helped us find safety in this whirlwind city. The butter smooth skin on his perfectly proportioned face splotches now with his own humiliation. He has borne the brunt of insults, I can see it in his blazing eyes. He’s also borne something worse, some hurt that lingers in the corners of his mouth, tugging them down. A hurt that, I think, has something to do with that word he used: mother. A word I’ve never understood, can never understand.