I am smarter than all these people. I try it out, but the thought doesn’t carry as much weight as it used to. We were taught to believe we were smarter, better. But in my head, there’s another voice, one that’s grown louder of late. Mistake, failure, ignorant. That’s what I am. Genetic engineering didn’t omit my capacity to mess up.
Walking down the darkening streets, with no idea where I’m headed, the guilt begins to mount. First Marcus. Then Julius. And there’s the man in the SUV, Mr. Hicks. Now Ty and Prudentia. Pru. Memories come of her laughing, of her looking at Ty, of her holding his hand. She’d found something good out here, and now she’s who knows where, stripped of that, too.
Everyone who gets mixed up with me gets beaten, tortured, or sentenced to death. Will they kill Pru? Will they manipulate her sensors?
The streets offer no answers. Only space and darkness to think. Dripping ads waterfall down the infinite buildings, selling things I either can’t afford or don’t need. Among them, I recognize Center science: drugs for happiness, drugs for sleep, drugs that promise they can make you experience life more. Some of the drugs are from Marcus’ lab. I wonder what sort of drugs he will pioneer in his lifetime, caged in that place.
My research, all my life’s work, will spill down the side of one of these buildings soon enough, promising endless youth. I was so proud of my discovery. But in two months, I’ve seen so much. Now, I’m not even sure what my research will add to the world but more vanity and a larger gap between the ones who an afford Center science and those who cannot.
For the little girl in the park afraid to play at night, what good will my research do? I’ve broken all the rules I should have followed. I’ve hurt everyone I’ve ever cared about. Somehow the mantra of the Center swings into my mind: To whom much is given, much is expected.
So much for that. Then, as if to mock me, a brain flash comes on. In the middle of the empty sidewalk, I spread my feet, readying my body for the wave of memories. My blood collects in my abdomen, then the rush of thoughts begins. Images of the Center gardens, our domus, and Dr. Yamaguchi, flicker through my open eyes. All so normal, all so familiar. Then it is over. The memories could have been any of ours. As my mind returns to itself, the blood flushes back to my extremities, making them tingle. I look around me, confused at first at why I’m not standing somewhere in the Center. Oh yeah. That is not my home now. I am not an Order member anymore.
I might have messed up a lot, but I’m free now. Well, still trapped by my ever-collecting sensors, but freer than I was. At least there’s that.
I made the Center out to be some horrible torture lab—which it was, I have to remind myself—but the outside world is no less cruel. In or out, what’s really the difference? At least inside the Center, I had Marcus.
I nearly slap myself. Forget him!
I’m not the same person anymore. He wouldn’t even know me now. And even though it hurts to admit it, the truth that Marcus wouldn’t recognize the V that exists now, I know now that I recognize her. I don’t need Marcus anymore to remind me who I am.
Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, my mouth falls open. Even though I still have my sensors collecting my thoughts, I now, always and without fear, recognize the girl in the mirror.
Do I like what I see? Gnawing behind my need to feel justified for what I’ve done is the sickening reality that maybe I’m not what I wanted to be.
How do we become what we should be? What if I never do?
After a half hour musing on my misfortunes, I notice a man walking into the road from a side street up ahead. This road doesn’t get as many pedestrians, though a steady stream of cars whizzes by as always. A quick square of light and the man slips inside a building. Curious, I decide to see what it is these people do besides shop and eat and feed on media.
The heavy metal door opens smoothly. Inside, a thin hallway leads directly to a silver door stamped with the words Streamline Impressions. Another one? Ty said his father has offices around the city. I wonder how many there are. I open the door, feeling both at home and utterly lost, considering I still don’t know what the cover company called Streamline even does. Tonight, I’ll find out. The same scent of orchids softens the room, the same warm grey tones. Light, stiff carpet absorbs the sounds of my steps.
A thin-nosed woman sits behind the desk wearing a broad smile that has clearly been enhanced by science. There are three other people sitting in soft, high-back chairs around the room. They all look pleasantly brain dead, staring at nothing, small smile parting their lips. This is creepy.
“How may I help you?”
I shake my head, unsure what to say.
“Ever been to Streamline Impressions before?” At her question, I shake my head again. Never been a customer here anyway. “Oh, delightful!” She presses her palms together piously. “Let me get our beginner’s package for you. Just a moment.” She reaches for something, hands it over the smooth metal desk. “Here you go.” A small, silver envelope. “Take this to room twenty-three, down the hall to the left. There will be someone there to assist you. Pleasure serving you this evening.”
“What is this?” I hold up the envelope.
The woman at the desk looks momentarily confused, then her memorized smile returns. “It’s the beginner’s package, free of charge, as always! Enjoy!”
Okay then. Let’s see what M’s cover company is.
Room twenty-three, marked with silver numerals, waits with door ajar. I push the door open, scanning. A young man in scrubs stands beside a reclining chair. His scalp is tattooed to look like fish scales. Beside the chair is an IV stand and a t-screen. This room looks eerily like the detention rooms in the basement of the Center.
The man offers me a smile, his more genuine than the woman’s out front, but tempered with something besides kindness. “Welcome to Streamline Impressions. We are here to make your dreams come true. May I see your envelope?”
I step in to hand him the envelope, still mostly curious about what he plans to do. M runs this place, so what is there to fear? I can just leave if this gets any weirder. He slips his fingers—also tattooed with scales—under the paper and pulls out a small card. He turns, slips the card into a slot at the base of the t-screen. A memory card.
Suddenly, I know what this place is. But how?
“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think I need any dreams coming true tonight. Thank you.” I turn to leave. As I do, the door to the small room clicks shut. You’re kidding. I try the handle, locked. “You can’t trap me in here,” I snarl over my shoulder, jamming the handle again and again.
“Just try it. You won’t be sorry.” The man is beside me now, scaly fingers reaching toward me. As his arm extends, from under the sleeve of his scrubs peeks a red armband.
Red! He sees me eyeing his color.
“Let me out!”
“I’m a civilized human being. Just because you’re that little snitch who saved Ty doesn’t mean I’m going to slit your throat while you’re out.” He cracks a slithery smile. “We have a lot of people freak out right before going in the first time. It doesn’t hurt at all, and you’ll feel so much better when it’s over.”
“Yeah, because you’ll pump false memories into my head! I’ll keep all the guilt and anger and sadness in my brain if it means keeping my memories to myself. I’ve had enough of that!” I point to the chair. The streaming chair.
Oh, Marcus! I think, oddly, of him. His brain is probably so altered now that I wouldn’t recognize it in a stream if I were linked only to him. But this, this is nothing like streaming with Marcus. This is criminal. This is Center stuff. Uploading programmed memories into people’s brain—memories not even made by a real human being—just to make their boring lives seem better? I start banging on the door with my fists.
“I do not want to have to hoist your body onto the chair, so if you could just help me out and have a seat?” The man holds up a syringe so I can see it.
Panic. Anger. My teeth rip holes in my
cheeks and lips, the pain distracting me from what’s happening. Think! I did this to myself. I came here, waltzed right in. I let out a gurgling scream. What’s the point in trying to fix this crazy world? For the first time, I am glad I no longer do research for the Center. Blast it all! All my work! Let this world rot!
I swing as the syringe descends, knowing my fighting skills will not save me. My punch misses, catching nothing but air. But then he misses, too. The needle point swooshes past me.
Every ounce of energy within me lashes out. I scream, launching for the man’s hand. The syringe flings out of his grip, clinks to the floor by the wall. Savage with anger and guilt and fear, I tackle the astonished Red to the ground. Jerking and flailing with all my might, I hit him a few times, but then my shoulders roll on to the tile, wrists slamming down by my head. No! He’s on top of me now, knees pinning me. In his eyes, hatred.
“I heard about what you did tonight, girly,” he growls through clenched teeth. My thrashing does little to budge him. “On my way in, I got a snap of your face. We’re all looking for you, you know. Even if you got out of here, it wouldn’t be long.” A drop of drool lands on my eyebrow. He’s a slobbering dog about to devour his meat.
His face is close enough to spit on, so I try it. Most of it just lands back on my chin. My captor calls me something I’ve never heard before, but the word feels like a slap.
“You’re pretty. I see what Axe was talking about. Ty should be dead right now, pretty girl. Maybe he is.” The man sneers.
I renew my efforts to buck him off.
“Hold on there, Bronco.” He stretches his body out, holding me now with only two knees and a forearm, and grabs for the syringe. In that moment, I punch my freed fist into his ribs, numbing my hand. He laughs. “Nice try.”
I scream again as the syringe descends.
Twenty-Seven
Why do I always lose? Always fail? The Director, of all people, comes to mind. He told me once that all my genes were designed to make me exactly who I am. All my personality flaws, all my weaknesses. Planned from the beginning. Why bother trying to overcome what someone else has made me to be?
The Director just wanted to erase me. Figured it’d be easier that way. I’m defective, after all. Couldn’t fix me by overhauling my brain, so he just sent me away, silently.
These thoughts bring me back to the present. Where am I? I open my eyes and see an IV stand next to me. Not the Center again! But I’m on the floor. Weird. My shoulders ache. Something is beeping. Streamline Impressions hovers in the center of the dormant t-screen.
I remember now. The scaly man shot me with a sedative. He said he’d heard about what I did and that all the Reds were looking for me. I think he’d wanted to kill me, too. Like the Director. Like everyone, apparently. But, for some reason, I’m still lying here on the floor and the scaly man is nowhere in sight. As I sit up, my mouth leaks a small moan laced with a toxic stench. Eck.
I stand up, slowly, and make my way out of room twenty-three. In the waiting room, the desk is vacated. Two new people sit staring into space, just as fried as the ones I saw on my way in. I walk up to one of them, wave my hand in front of her face. Her eyes travel in the direction of my hand, but then get lost.
“Who are you?” I ask, snapping my fingers by her ear.
She looks up at me, vacant grin on her face. “Today I think I’m that model, Capri What’s-her-name.” A small giggle. “Isn’t it great?”
A shudder runs down my spine. Get me out of here. I jog down the plush corridor until I see the exit sign above the door.
Still night, I see, as I step onto the sparsely occupied street. The metal door closes silently behind me. Now what? My eyes follow a bus as it trundles past. On the side of the bus, an advertisement for gene therapy catches my attention. It promises to give you the body you’ve always wanted. Not sure if that’s actually what it can do, but I guess the customers don’t know that. Money can buy anything, they say, and they believe it.
I feel a fuzzy vibration on my wrist. My hand slides out of my pocket and I glance at the incoming call.
“Ty!” I don’t bother containing the excitement in my voice. He’s okay!
“No, it isn’t Ty,” says Tommy, one of M’s armed guards.
“Tommy?”
“Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”
“But—”
“Stay there.”
“Is Ty all right?” But the call is already dead.
What if I don’t want to stay where I am? I start walking. Memories of my first morning outside the Center flood my head. Bruised, sore, and parched. Being on our own in the city hasn’t worked out all that well for us. I thought meeting M had changed that.
But M, turns out, runs a streaming company. I wanted to see Center science at work in the real world, to think our research was helping people. But the last thing I want is for that kind of Center science to infect the world. Maybe that’s why he’s so obsessed with pilfering information from the Center’s firewalled database. So he can improve his streaming company.
Tommy arrives in less than five minutes. He rolls down the window and calls from the curb for me to get in. Even though I don’t trust M anymore, I can’t run away, not in this city out for blood, not yet. And I can’t abandon Pru. Again. So I climb in the silver sedan and we speed off into traffic. A gun perches on Tommy’s belt. It’s smaller than his normal one, but I’m glad to see it, just in case some of those Reds turn up.
“What happened back there?” I ask, curious why I woke up alone.
Tommy keeps his eyes on the road, driving manually tonight. “Your little stunt caused quite a stir. Lucky for you, your chain brain saved you tonight. Julius realized you’d bolted, so he tracked you from your live feed. We watched you go into Streamline and saw that Red try to stick you. Sent Daph in from the back to help you out.”
“Daph?”
“Daphney. She works for M. She was on duty in the back—sort of like the place you’ve seen at the mall. Every Streamline office has one. The front is just M’s cover.”
Rage rises and I blurt, “About that. What exactly does M think he’s doing with Streamline Impressions?” The nightmare of seeing the streaming chair again raises the hair on my arms.
A sigh. “You think it’s wrong of him?” Tommy eyes me briefly. “Sure, the humanists call it chain braining, but it’s not like that. Streaming helps people out here.”
“Helps!” I croak, incredulous.
Tommy offers a stiff, unhappy chuckle. “People want more than just one limited mind, so they start doing hardcore drugs just to get out of their own heads. M saw an opportunity to help people cope. He took the technology of streaming and opened up facilities that allowed people to come stream for fun. They can go anywhere, do anything in a stream. Drugs are nothing compared to streaming. He freed so many people from addictions. Drug sales have actually plummeted in the past five years thanks to him.”
Thinking of the zombies I saw in the waiting room at Streamline tells me M just created a different addiction. “Have you ever been there? Done it?”
Tommy shakes his head.
“Don’t ever try it.”
“Something about a needle in my neck I just can’t get over.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Good thing Daph got to you before that Red did anything tonight.” The car peels around another corner, taking us into a part of the city I’ve never seen. Downtown. The colors and the pace and the people amplify—the entire sidewalk a ribbon of gliding, glowing heads.
A puff of air hisses through my lips. “Seems like I’ve always got to be saved by someone. And Pru and Julius, too. We’re helpless out here. I hate being helpless.”
Tommy wheels us into a parking deck, the lights of the city swallowed by concrete. “You better be ready to do whatever M says if you want to see your friend again. That Red you saw in there is just one of hundreds in this city. They’ve got your friend, but M says they haven’t done too much damage yet. They somehow know he�
��s watching them. That’s the only reason she’s still alive.”
Her live feed! “Looks like our chain brain saved her, too, then,” I say with a smirk. I watch for Tommy’s reaction, but he just turns the wheel, wheels screeching on the smooth pavement as we drive directly toward the elevator. “What happened to the Red?”
“Daph took care of him.”
“Took care of him? You mean he’s dead?” Another person harmed because of me? In the Center, I envied life out here.
“You’d be dead right now if Daph hadn’t popped a few holes in him.”
I hate this place! “Why is killing people always the solution out here?”
“It works.”
“But there’s got to be another way!”
Ignoring this, he continues, driving right onto the wide elevator. The door closes behind the car, and we begin riding up, floors flashing past us in the windows.
“It’s just the way it is out here. Shoot or be shot.”
“Lovely.” Maybe I should have just obeyed the rules in the Center. Never would have been kicked out that way. Never would have known this world was so messed up. Ignorance, it turns out, really is bliss. That realization shakes something deep inside me. My entire life, knowledge has been king. The more you know, the better you are. Hence the streaming and the research and the libraries. We had purpose, and it came from all that we knew. These people don’t have access to knowledge. And look at them.
But, in the Center, there was a lot we didn’t know about life out here. And now that I know it, I wish I didn’t.
Marcus, I wonder what you knew about the world before you came to the Center. Did you know it was like this? I’d always thought that Marcus had been the free one. The one who’d ended up caged like the rest of us Order members when he transferred in. Now I’m not so sure. We were caged, yes, but we were safe.
The Veritas Project Page 21
