CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR—MOVING TARGET        

When Erika came to, her first thought was that this was all just an elaborate fever dream, a neurotic coping mechanism that was easier to live in rather than face the questions of how she was supposed to keep living on without her mother.

In this state, she didn’t have to be strong for her family, to be the protective sister, the sturdy oldest daughter, because she was here, at Empetrum, warped out of control. The timing was too convenient, too ridiculously awful to be real.

She lay on her stomach, supported by pillows. Her arms were pulled back and upward, suspended in three points each by what felt like cloth slings. However, it took her a moment to realize that her actual arms, the ones she was born with, were tucked up close to her face among the pillows. An IV clung to one of them.

Slowly, she drew her hands into loose fists. Looming above, out of her field of vision, two other appendages responded the same way, and she wished in that moment that she was just imagining all of this.

She was back in the hospital room in which she’d weathered gene therapy. From somewhere in the corner off to her left, she heard a shift of fabric and paper, the sound of someone setting aside a book and standing up from a chair. Carefully, she lifted her head up enough to turn it the other way to see who it was.

It was Yeun, naturally.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, coming nearer.

“Does it matter?” Erika mumbled wearily. Her whole body ached. “How long was I out?” 

“About a day and a half,” he said. “The activation was harder on you than expected. Nothing some extra electrolytes and a lot of sleep couldn’t fix, though.”

Erika tried to move the gargantuan limbs off her back. They responded, swinging gently in their slings. They ached too. “Why are they still there? What happened?”

“Your body wouldn’t take them back,” Yeun said. “Despite my best efforts.”

A month ago, Erika would have gone weak at the knees at such a statement. Now that the die were cast, she felt surprisingly indifferent. She started thinking about where she could get them amputated when she got out of here. She decided to write it on her hand or something before the mindwipe so she wouldn’t have to do the same brainwork twice.

“Guess your experiment’s done, then,” she said, expecting to be disappointed. “Time for my exit interview.”

Yeun shook his head, dismally. For a fleeting moment, it almost seemed like maybe he was beginning to want her released too, but Erika knew better.

“There’s still a lot to learn from your accessory arms,” he said. “This technology is new, so there’s a lot we can’t take for granted. I need to see how developed the nervous tissue is, whether or not your body will accept them longer term, or how they handle muscle building or healing. We may still be able to get them to reabsorb, in time. I’m getting a lab partner soon, who’s extremely good at this sort of thing, so that day may be sooner than later.”

Erika just stared at him, eyebrows lowered. She sighed and settled in as he left her view to check on her IV setup. “You’re never going to let me go, are you? I bet your boss won’t allow it. Because of that gene therapy, I’m as good as Compatible now.” From the corner of her eye, she could see the other arms, hanging. They reminded her of the articulated skeletons of sea creatures strung up in museums. “Maybe you won’t recruit me to be a soldier, but I’m no different than that kid whose DNA you mixed with mine. There is no end to my usefulness to you, and you’ve already invested all these resources into corrupting my genetic code, so you’ll only keep pushing this experiment out further and further until either you kill me or I escape.”

A heavy silence answered her. She hesitated, thinking maybe he’d slipped out while she was talking. “Yeun?”

She couldn’t see him far over on her other side, but when he spoke up, it didn’t sound like he’d moved at all. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he said. “And I’m not going to keep you here forever, either.”

+

James spent the next handful of evenings in the sizable shell of the scanner, working at strange angles or utilizing a portable crane to mount larger, heavier pieces onto the frame, like the translucent panel on the underside of the lid. He was constructing the machine directly inside the wing of his lab furnished for high electrical output.

Benson never asked James to justify any of his activities, nor submit any formal requests to move forward. He didn’t worry James would waste resources or bring something dangerous into existence, never asked James to consider how his efforts could be abused. He only asked how he could help push it forward.

Empetrum seemed to suit his goals and pacing better. He thought maybe he should transfer fully from Larkspur.

His back ached as he craned his arms down inside the body of the scanner, and he let his mind wander to help drown out the sensation. He had analyzed O.R.T-1’s sensory abilities before leaving Larkspur that night, and he’d found Sesame was emitting some sort of electromagnetic field across his surface area. James had traced it to the neural network, possibly an electrical extension to represent the peripheral nervous system. He was excited to tell Heather.

He wished he could tell her about the clinical prototype too. He was eager to see how the neural network would handle the human brain, though as the reality of clinical trials sank in, he was beginning to understand Richard’s misgivings—however hurtful they still were. He found himself worrying no one would be willing to undergo the transfer.

James thought of his body as simply a vessel that enabled him to do his work. If his were dying, he’d gladly make the jump. His father was most likely the same way, but he understood others had different philosophies about the body’s worth and purpose.

He debated calling his parents to fill them in, and perhaps glean a status update. A part of him considered visiting them.

James pulled his arms back from the depths of the scanner and swapped the wrench in his hand for a pair of needlenose pliers. No, he was too busy now.

If he ended up remembering to call them, he decided he would refrain from mentioning his project until it was ready. He wanted to leave no room for doubt when he finally pitched the possibility to his father.

+

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE—DISCONNECT         

By the following Friday, everything was constructed, connected, and functional, and James had begun busying himself with the mechanical replacement body for the first human trial. Now came the time to begin looking for a willing volunteer. He didn’t even know where to begin that phase.

There was no way hospitals would give him access, and he wanted to keep O.R.T. far under the public radar for now.

Perhaps Benson had connections.

Constructing the body was therapeutic busywork, and having regained some extra headspace, James began to wonder about Empetrum’s other projects. He figured he’d ask as soon as the second prototype was truly finished. He especially wanted to know what Yeun, a fellow bioroboticist and a friendly, informal presence, was working on.

As he packed up to leave Larkspur for the weekend, he received a text from Benson:

Good evening. Please let me know when you arrive tonight. I’d like to see how your project is coming along.

“Bye, James!” Heather chimed as she and her father crossed his office door, headed for the stairs.

For once, Heather was excited to leave. They were taking a trip to the beach that weekend.

“Have a good weekend,” James called after them. He typed a quick reply to his other employer: Sure thing. I’m leaving Larkspur now.

When James arrived, he called Benson, and soon, he was scanning his badge to his personal lab. “I’m still working on the mechanical body replacement,” James explained, showing the director into his lab. “But besides that, everything’s finished.”

Benson studied the robot pushed to one side of the counter. Currently, the android was merely an incomplete torso with half a head and a hole in its chest. James pulled a case off a shelf next to the unfinished android and carefully opened it up to reveal the neural network, cradled in anti-static foam. Benson leaned forward to get a better view as James brought over the power core. He admired both without touching, cognizant of the need for electrical grounding prior to handling such devices.

“You always manage to exceed my already lofty expectations, Dr. Siles,” he said, glancing at him. “And the scanner?”

James eagerly led him into the high voltage electrical lab. A smile spread across the director’s face as they neared the machine at the back of the room.

James undid the thick clamps running along the edge of the scanner’s domed lid. He gripped both the handles and pulled it open, revealing the neural transfer devices resting in the sleek depression in the scanner’s lower half. Dormant lights dotted the concave underside of the lid.

James stepped over the tangle of cords snaking away from the machinery, and after plugging two of the main ports into the high-voltage sockets, he returned to the scanner and flipped up a small compartment on the nearest end, depressing the button inside.

The lights in the scanner pulsed to life, and Benson squinted in their sudden intensity. Lights on the neural transfer devices flickered as well, waiting for something to read. The machine emitted a gentle, expectant hum.

“So, everything is functional?” Benson said

“I tested everything I could without transferring myself,” James said, looking at the ready machine with fondness and anticipation. “—that being the DNA targeting system and the mass-to-energy conversion.” He lay a hand on the helmet-like contraption inside the scanner. “—as well as the neural transfer devices. Everything worked beautifully. I was able to improve almost everything from the prototype, which had already worked pretty well in its own right.”

“Indeed.” Benson said. “How’s your little test subject doing?”

“Better than I had expected. Thriving beyond his former potential, actually.” Just two months before, James had been wondering about the very plausibility of O.R.T. But now the project had become mature and tangible, impossibility finally blooming into imminent technological revolution.

“Wonderful,” Benson said with a good-natured smile. “We can start human trials as soon as possible. Say, this weekend, maybe?”

“I was actually just going to ask you about—” James halted as the full meaning of the director’s words took hold. “—this weekend? That soon?”
 “Of course. I can have someone by tomorrow evening at the latest,” Benson replied.

James stared at him blankly, dread knotting his insides. “You haven’t—I mean, nobody outside the Bureau’s jurisdiction knows about this project, right? It’s far too sensitive to get too many people involved this early…”

Benson kindly held up a hand. “No outsiders. Certainly no public involvement. The Bureau has kept this quiet even from the higher ups. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the details.”

“I don’t mean to sound paranoid,” James said. “But…who will the candidate be?”

Benson looked at him, thinking it over. “Probably unwise of me to answer further questions at this point. Getting into classified stuff here.”

“But they’ll be willing, right? Informed and consented?”

“Of course.”

James had a really bad feeling about it. But Benson had been so supportive. He couldn’t continue O.R.T. without Empetrum.

“Oh wait,” Benson suddenly brightened, as if remembering something. “I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? The replacement body isn’t ready, yet. Forgive me.”

James nodded, trying to swallow his anxiety.

“You’re understandably nervous about this. You’re about to revolutionize our world,” Benson said.

“It’s natural to feel afraid.”

James nodded again. Was that what he was feeling? Fear of moving forward? His father didn’t have time for him to stall after coming this far. “I just would like to know who the volunteer is,” he fumbled. “So I can at least make the replacement look somewhat like them.”

“I thought you were on a time crunch?” Benson said. “This is to help your father?”

“Yes—but,” James cut himself off. “Did the Bureau tell you that?”

Benson shrugged. “It came up. It’s why I made sure to reach out to you as soon as I could.”

James looked at his machine, his mind racing. He felt sick. The Bureau had no business knowing about his personal life. Did Richard tell Dhar? It was probably Eve.

“Did someone seriously report me?” James asked, incredulous. “When?”

“I don’t know,” Benson said. “Dhar didn’t take it as an issue. We just want to see you reach your full potential. From where I’m standing, Larkspur seems to be committed to misunderstanding you and your vision. To holding you back.”

James crossed his arms, staring at the floor. “I’ll see if I can finish up enough of the android tomorrow. Can we do the trial on Sunday?”

Benson smiled. “Of course.”

+

James worked on the android late into the night, running on sheer nerves. When he finally stopped to get some sleep, he couldn’t manage it. He lay awake staring at the ceiling in the dark, his mind replaying his conversation over and over again with Benson in his lab.

Benson was probably right. James was just afraid of moving into a step he knew he couldn’t rescind once taken.

He got up early to resume work. He had to be as ready as possible for whomever Benson brought in to experience James’ machine.

Shame haunted him, even as he tried to bury it in work, berating himself for feeling so torn. O.R.T. was somewhat macabre by nature, and James preferred to ignore his own mortality as much as he could. On some level, he lived in constant fear of death, driven by a a need to move, to create.

This project would put him in the room with death constantly. He had to learn to face it.
Benson didn’t seem scared of it.

He also tried to ignore the burn of anger at his Larkspur colleagues’ betrayal. He wondered if he should confront Eve about it, knowing that would put him on even thinner ice. She and Richard had probably already guessed he was continuing O.R.T. behind their backs.

He had done nothing wrong. They didn’t understand him and never would. Heather tried, but she was just a kid. She didn’t know any better, and soon Richard would turn her against him too.

Sunday morning, James managed to bring the android to a tolerable level of completion. It had eyes set into a metal face, with seams affording a decent amount of expression. The cranial panels opened easily, and a highly reinforced and padded frame sat inside waiting for the neural network.

The torso was reasonably finished, power core and diagnostic sensors installed—just needed some extra fine tuning and a polymer shell. Its legs and arms were functional, but barebones. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable of bodies to wake up in, but it would have to do for now.

He didn’t want to let Benson and the volunteer down. He didn’t know what the volunteer’s situation was—how much time they had left, or whether they had just died and James was racing decomposition. He had to come through for the people who believed in him and his project.
Millions of questions coursed through his mind as he returned to his lab later in the day to set up for the trial. Would the volunteer be there alone? Would their family attend? The world was going to change that day.

Yeun came to visit and help him set up a station for his computer, and to prepare the machine. James confessed he was anxious, but Yeun offered a pep talk. He said he couldn’t stay to watch the trial, but hoped James would tell him how it went later.

And then the time had come. The machine hummed gently as it waited on standby. The piecemeal android lay dormant on a gurney perpendicular, wires feeding from the scanner into the neural network in its head. James checked all the wires repeatedly, and booted up the programs.

The door opened, and a couple guards with a medical gurney entered, followed by Benson. On the gurney lay a middle-aged man in hospital pajamas, who seemed to be asleep. He was breathing. James looked for signs of disease, but couldn’t tell just by looking at him.

“This is Joseph,” Benson said, as James stepped away from his computer to follow them to the scanner.

“Hello, Joseph,” James said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Thank you for doing this. I promise you’ll come through just fine.”

“He can’t hear you,” Benson said. “He’s been on hospice for a while, hasn’t been conscious for a couple of days now.”

“If I may ask,” James said. “What’s the cause?”

“Cancer,” Benson said. “Neither he nor his family offered many details.”

“Consent was given?” James asked, opening the lid to the scanner.

“Yes,” Benson said. “We have all the paperwork, if you’d like to see it.”

James’ heart pounded hard. “That’s okay. I believe you.”

The guards helped him lift Joseph into the scanner. As they did, James noticed a gaping hole through the middle cartilage of Joseph’s right ear, cut out with the inner edges scarred over. He froze.

“What is it, Dr. Siles?” Benson asked from a respectable distance behind.

James hardly dared speak, horror soaking through his body. “H—he has a tag.”

James normally didn’t follow politics very closely. He was aware of advancing government overreach, but in researching living arrangements on the west coast, he’d fallen down a couple online rabbit holes about safety bulletins and Conxence activity in the capital city.

Forums warned it was easier than ever to get arrested on grounds of political dissent. People detained under these circumstances were often marked by law enforcement—they cut out a large portion of cartilage from auricle of the right ear with a bladed clamp. After tagging, police released some detainees, but depending on activities and affiliations, others disappeared completely. People were increasingly afraid to associate with those that had been tagged.

James had thought it was more internet conspiracy than truth until that moment. Empetrum was affiliated with the government. He suddenly had a morbid guess for what Benson’s source of “volunteers” was.

“Tag?” Benson strolled up to have a look. “Hm. Well, someone’s personal affairs are none of my business. We can’t deny someone care because of their political affiliations can we?”

“Where did he come from? Did he actually volunteer?” James said, his heart in his throat. “You have to tell me the truth.”

Benson turned to face him, unbothered. “You’re overreacting.”

James moved to unplug the wires from the android’s head with trembling hands. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this. Is he even sick?” He could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth, but the creeping sense of off-ness that had permeated the last couple of days had burst open into an intense, animal need to escape.

“Heavy accusations there, Dr. Siles.” Benson watched him push the android away from the machine and move to his computer setup to start unplugging and deconstructing it.

“Please send him back to wherever you got him,” James said shakily. “If you won’t tell me—”

“Death row,” Benson said. James halted, stunned. “Sure, he’s tagged, but he’s in the system for arson. Killed three people. Don’t know if that was Conxence motivated or not. Sounds like he went rogue to me, if it matters to you.”

James stared, trying to piece Benson’s words together, choking on indecision. He made it sound like Joseph was dangerous. Giving someone dangerous a robotic body. But James had also been about to end someone’s organic life without their consent. Had “Joseph” consented?

“He’s as good as dead anyway,” Benson said. “His execution date’s coming up. You’re in the pursuit of saving people, right?”

James pulled his laptop from the table and hugged it to his chest, backing toward the door. “This is why Empetrum is a secret, isn’t it…Does the Bureau know you do this?” He couldn’t even use the term, could hardly think it.

Empetrum used human test subjects.

“Of course,” Benson said, waiting for the implications to sink in.

“But this is—profoundly unethical.”

“Reality is complex,” Benson said. “If we stopped to avoid crushing every ethical flower, no progress would ever be made. It’s misguided to try. We’re only partial to humanity because it’s our own species, and for our ends it’s more efficient, more humane, not to waste time with other animals.” He gestured to the man in the scanner. “Empetrum sources criminals, James, scheduled to be euthanized anyway. Many of them, we’re able to mindwipe and rehabilitate when we’re done. They get a second chance.”

“‘Many of them,’” James could hardly speak. “What do you use them for?”

“I’m not confident you’re ready for that information.”

James took another step toward the door, eyeing the guards, afraid they would try to stop him, wondering if they were ex-death row inmates themselves, in a new kind of prison. “You’re right. I’m not.” They couldn’t work the machine without him. “I don’t think I should be here.”

If James abandoned Empetrum, O.R.T. would fail or be dangerously delayed. He would have wasted months of work, his father would be left to die without a failsafe. But if James stayed, Benson would twist him, little by little, to accept monstrosity as well.

Not to mention, he hardly dared to imagine what new, horrible avenues Benson’s federal affiliations would push O.R.T. into. He could create a whole robotic army off the cognitive scan of a single zealot.

Fuck.

Richard was right. James had to cull this project before it really hurt someone.

Biting back the emotion rising in his throat, James turned away from his machine, from Benson, from his would-be test subject.

“I’m happy to give you some time to think about this,” Benson said.

James paused at the door. “I’m resigning.” It hurt to speak. “Thank you for your interest in my work, and for this opportunity, but I can’t continue like this. I’m sorry I wasted both of our time.”

Richard and Eve’s reluctance to let him develop O.R.T. had stymied his progress and hurt his pride, but he had come to rely on Richard’s quiet empathy and Eve’s ethical commitments. It wasn’t about not making waves, James realized, but about being careful to create positive ones. About solving more problems than he created. Maximize good, minimize harm.

The cracks his activities at Empetrum had already made in his relationship with Larkspur were on the verge of collapsing into a full rift, shattering everything he realized he still wanted. Maybe it wasn’t too late to save it.

Lesson learned. No one had to know.

Benson motioned to the guards, who put “Joseph” back on the gurney and wheeled him out. James shifted out of their way, spooked. Benson moved toward him.

“Before you go to Larkspur tomorrow,” Benson said. “Be sure to keep everything you’ve seen and heard here to yourself.” James felt rooted in place. “I’ll know if you try anything. Your role at Empetrum is vital. It would be a shame if that were to change.”

James forced himself to meet his gaze. The taller of the two, James had to look down, but in that moment, James felt smaller than a child.

Benson’s gray eyes were steady and intense. “Do you understand?”

James stared at him, his throat extremely dry. He managed a nod.

Benson’s face softened with a pleasant smile, and he continued on ahead to the door, taking his leave. “Good. We’ll pick this up again tomorrow evening.”

James shook his head, dazed. “I’m resigning, Dr. Benson. I won’t be there.”

The director paused at the door. “Fight it if you want,” he said. “But we both know there’s no going back for you. You want this too much.”

James watched him go, his forehead cold and breathing disturbed. Only after Benson was long gone, did James unplug everything, pull the robot’s neural network and power core, and gather up anything he could think of that could be used to revive the transfer machine without him. He abandoned everything else in his lab and hurried to his apartment on campus, where he hastily repacked his suitcase and stowed everything, including Sesame, in his car.

At any moment, he expected guards to apprehend him, but they all just watched him from their posts. As far as the rest of the facility was concerned, the evening’s events were only business as usual.

He left his Empetrum facility access badge and apartment key in the unit.

James spent the long drive back to Worthing emotionally destroyed. Benson had talked him up, offered unwavering confidence, happy to cultivate his reckless ambitions instead of shying away like Richard and Eve had.

And James had been caught in the spell.

He was ashamed to realize how easy it was for him to start turning his back on Larkspur. For several weeks now, he had known his loyalty was shifting, but he hadn’t cared. He had conflated their hesitance about his dangerous ideas with total rejection, and he had let himself reject them in turn.

Benson’s words still stung as James pulled up to his apartment in Worthing. There’s no going back for you.

Empetrum was just a biotech company. Benson couldn’t force him to do anything, yet James still felt like he was marked.

Evening sunlight spilled into James’ empty apartment in Worthing, casting a long shadow across the floor as he paused in the doorway, Sesame’s box heavy in his hands. The scents of woodwork and paint had since overtaken those of human habitation in the silent, stagnant air. He had returned very seldom to his dwelling over the last month, and the abandoned feeling of it burned his throat.

His eyes locked on something on the kitchen table. Leaving Sesame and his other effects crowded around an end table by the door, he warily ventured toward the object, his heart pounding in his ears. It was a pager of some kind. Under the small rectangular device lay a note, neatly handwritten:

You’ll be needing this soon.

James took the pager in his shaking hands and turned to glance at his hushed surroundings. This certainly wasn’t legal. James exhaled heavily, and dropped into one of the chairs at the table.

No matter what tactics Benson used to try to intimidate him, James resolved to resist. Even if Benson was watching his every move, he debated simply pretending nothing had happened and hoping for the best. Either way, O.R.T. was dead.

The weight of James’ guilt and fear sat so heavy in his chest that he barely had room for breath, for grief that his precious failsafe—this project on which he had hung so many hopes—would likely never move another step forward. He knew there was a way to develop it ethically, but only people like Benson would support him.

There’s no going back for you.

Maybe Benson would pull strings and get Richard to fire him, or try to get him blacklisted so he had to choose between his career or Empetrum. Benson had already proved himself incredibly manipulative, and James had a terrible feeling he would be stubborn as well.
J

ames spent half the night overturning his entire apartment, looking for surveillance devices. His search turned up fruitless, and he lay awake the other half of the night worrying about it.

He had work at Larkspur the next morning. He should have called out sick, but because he had never called out sick in his life, and he feared Benson would out him to his colleagues the first chance he got, James went.

+

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX—O.R.T-2         

James lingered down in the lab after hours, alone with his laptop, still fussing with the program for Larkspur’s android’s A.I. protocols. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t stay here. He felt like Benson was watching him at all times, and James just wanted to forget everything and pretend he didn’t even exist.

Heather had inevitably noticed he was out of sorts, but he rebuffed her attempts to figure out what was wrong. He couldn’t drag anyone into this.

After two days of silence from Benson, he was starting to hope that maybe as long as James didn’t tell anyone, Benson would leave him alone.

His cell phone rang, and the name in his caller ID killed that hope. He rejected the call and pushed the phone away from him, cradling his face in his hands.

After a few moments of heavy silence, the screen of his phone lit up again, and the gentle beeping sent even more ice creeping up his spine.

James stared at the pixels.

He raked both hands through his hair, trying to get a hold of himself. He considered getting up, going straight to Richard’s office where the director was finishing reports, and confessing everything. Getting fired from Larkspur could never be worse than whatever Benson had up his sleeves. But he was too afraid to face Richard.

“You’re going to want to pick that up.”

James snapped his head up to see a security guard, blond, toned, a countenance of easy determination. Steven Alder. James’ attention touched first on the Larkspur security guard uniform and then the gun in Alder’s hand.

James’ phone quieted, and James stood up, backing away from both the missed call and the uniform as Alder raised his weapon.

“What are you doing?” James tripped backward over a seat left between the counters as Alder advanced. “Alder what are you doing?”

“The director will call back,” Alder said. “When he does, you will answer your phone.”

The phone on the counter began to ring again. When James didn’t move, Alder angled the gun toward James’ chest. Eyes wide, James reached forward, his whole arm trembling, and took the device from the counter.

Tapping the talk button, he raised it to his ear.

+

Richard typically completed and sent off their weekly report for the Bureau database on Friday, but he hadn’t had time before leaving on vacation for the weekend. So, with Heather’s approval, they were staying later that night to catch up instead.

As Richard typed away at his desk, Heather sat leaning against the wall behind it, reading a paperback.

She yawned as she turned a page. She loved her internship at Larkspur, but it had been a long day.

“How are you doing Heather?” Richard’s voice made her look up. He glanced back at her.

“Tired,” she said. “You?”


Richard smiled. “Same.”

“How far do you have left to go?”

Richard slumped forward, propping his chin on a hand. “Half an hour, I hope.”

Heather pulled her cell phone from her pocket to check the time. 6:03.

“Thanks for hanging in there.”

“No problem.” Heather contemplated breaking out leftovers from lunch that afternoon. She pushed her cellphone into the front pocket of her hoodie. Larkspur had a general collared-shirt-and-slacks dress code, but she had started taking cues from Chelo about bringing something comfortable for the morning and evening commutes.

Richard clicked the electronic mouse and resumed typing. As he consulted some notes on his second monitor, he said, “Hey, why don’t you go bug James? He’ll be more interesting than all this paperwork.”

Heather straightened up. “I thought he already left.”

“I don’t think he did.”

James had been out of sorts the last two days, his fidgety, industrious nature on full anxious overdrive. When she’d asked if he was okay, he’d insisted, pallid and on edge, that he was fine.

Maybe he had received bad news about his dad.

She didn’t know how to ask him about it, but maybe he would appreciate some company, at least.

“You sure you’ll be fine here?” she asked facetiously, lingering at the desk.

Richard smiled, amused. “I’ll make it. You have your phone?”

Heather waved it in confirmation on her way to the door.

“Tell him to go home, would you?” Richard called after her. “That one works too hard.”

Heather twisted around, flashing a smile. “I’ll try.”

+

“Dr. Benson,” James said, his voice flat.

“Good evening,” Benson said calmly. “We haven’t heard from you for a while. I’m beginning to think you really meant what you said about resigning.”

“I did.” James apprehensively watched as Alder moved closer to him. It still killed him to say it. “I was impulsive to dive so deep so quickly. I haven’t told anyone and I don’t plan to. I just need to do things my own way.”

“Your ‘own way’ is a straight shot to stagnation and mediocrity,” Benson said. “I thought you wanted to be somebody in the world of biotechnology. To innovate the future.”

“I do—but—”

“Then explain to me what the problem is.”

James hesitated. Wasn’t it obvious? Was he really overreacting? “T-the human trafficking? Experimenting on people without their consent?”

“I believe it’s just you saying they don’t consent.”

“Well, do they?”

“What do you care? They’re felons. They deserve what’s coming to them. They made their own choices in life, yet instead of being senselessly destroyed by a punitive government, they get to help us move our species forward.”

James stared at Alder, trying to keep his cognitive footing. What Benson said made sense to him.

He lived in constant fear of never being good enough. He felt odd and contorted between an idealistic morality Benson had riddled with holes, and a need to feel like his life meant something. He had come too far, worked and suffered too much, for it all to come to nothing.

Maybe Empetrum really was the way forward, but every fiber of his body said no.

“Realistically, I’m arguing with you out of courtesy. It would be better for everyone if you chose this willingly,” Benson continued. “Because whether or not you realized it, Siles, you’ve been handed off. Our shared sponsors want you at Empetrum, and I gave you a chance to integrate on your own terms. Sooner or later, you were going to tell Knight and Delva, and even though you scare them, they would have attempted to fight for you. If their wings were not clipped first, that is.”

James’ mouth fell open, as Benson’s words permeated his ribs like rot. “What?” he whispered.

“The destruction of the facility back in Dunesborough,” Benson said. “Funny that you were so set on it being sabotage, when it was you who sabotaged it.”

James stared, shocked. “But I…I didn’t.”

“Knight held you back, so you ruined this facility too. Set them back yet again, made all of them regret ever associating with you.”

“You can’t do this…”

“We’re not negotiating anymore, I’m afraid,” Benson said, with a lilt in his voice, like he’d grown bored of this whole thing. The mere annihilation of James’ life.

“They’ll never believe that I destroyed our work,” James said, his voice shaking.

“Will they?”

“You can’t make me do anything—” He halted as he heard the line click. “Benson? Do you hear me? I’m not going back to Empetrum!”

Alder stepped forward, and James shifted back in fear, all his bewilderment and anger draining out of him. “Let’s do this quick and easy. Stand over there. Let me do my job, and then we’ll go to Empetrum and do what the director wants.”

Abruptly, James tried to dodge around the side of the counter. Maybe he could make it to his car without sustaining a mortal wound. But his car keys were up in his office. He couldn’t bring the Knights into this. Could he just—run? Could he call the police or were they in on it too?

“Hey—” Alder grabbed James’ arm. He tugged him back and easily twisted his arm behind his back. James struggled but Alder caught and twisted the other arm too. “Cut your losses before you make this any worse. Too many people are banking on your coming through for you to turn out to be a passive, spineless coward.”

“Okay,” James said, his throat tight. “Okay fine! I’ll continue research.” He felt like scum, but he needed to buy time. “Just leave Larkspur alone.”

“Too late for that,” Alder said. “Forgive us for not trusting you.”

“Why are you doing this?” James tried to wrench his arm from Alder’s grip. Alder twisted his arm further. He wrenched it painfully, and James’ cell phone slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. “Larkspur’s trying to do good work! Harming them and destroying my reputation will accomplish nothing.”

“We could have done this quietly,” Alder barked. “But you tried to run. You act on our terms, now.”

The door to the lab opened, and James’ heart leapt into his throat.

“Heather run get out of here!” he shrieked, pulling against Alder’s grip. Pain spiked up into his shoulder.

Heather jumped. “What—”

“Go—” James’ voice cut off abruptly as Alder released his arm, jerked his shoulder up and jabbed the side of his fist into James’ throat.

James choked, clutching his neck and gasping for breath.

“James!” Heather shifted forward. The door closed behind her, sealing them in the soundproof lab.

Alder raised the gun toward her. Heather froze and held up her hands.

“No—” James lurched toward the gun, but Alder quickly deflected him with a kick to the ribs.

James staggered and fell. He tried to get up, but doubled over, folding his arms across his stomach. Stars plagued his vision, his ears ringing.

“Stay where you are,” Alder ordered. “Both of you.” He kept his aim trained on Heather. “Siles, you’ve just ruined everything.” He switched the gun to his non-dominant hand, and pulled a different device from his belt. He pointed it at her. “She’s seen too much.”

“Leave her alone,” James pleaded. “She won’t tell anyone. I’ll go. I’ll go and work and no one will ever have to see me again. Please—”

Alder sighed. “Sorry, kid. This isn’t personal.” He fired the other device at her, and a small metal dart lodged into her arm.

She fell against the door with a gasp, her hand flying to her arm. The door opened a crack and she tried to slip through the space, but then Alder was there. Heather was too frightened to make a sound as he tugged her back into the lab. The door sealed them back inside.

James stood up with difficulty, bracing a hand on the nearby counter for support.

Alder guided Heather around so his back was to the door, blocking the exit. Only then did he release her. She stumbled back toward the other exit near James. He reached out to catch her, and she fell heavily into his arms, her face ashen and confused, her eyes unfocused. He had hoped to try to run, to lead her to safety, but she swiftly lost consciousness.

“What was in that?” James asked, his voice shaking.

“Something lethal,” Alder said gravely. “Untraceable.”

“What?” James gasped. Tears filled his eyes. He couldn’t breathe. “But she’s just a kid.” He slowly sank to the floor with Heather’s body, his voice waning as his strength drained out of him. “She had nothing to do with this…Is there an antidote?” He couldn’t wrap his mind around what had just happened. How things had escalated so quickly.

Alder shook his head.

“Let me save her,” James said. He pressed two fingers to her jugular, feeling for a heartbeat. It was slow, weakening.

Alder began an exasperated sigh, but James cut him off with rage, “Benson wants a transferee, right? I’ll do it tonight. Let me save her!”

Alder stared at the pile of them, annoyed. “Fine, but she won’t leave Empetrum.” He rounded the counter and picked up James’ cracked cellphone from the floor. “Get what you need together. I’m knocking Knight out upstairs and then we’re finishing up here and leaving.”

“Don’t kill him too—” James gasped.

“I won’t. Relax,” Alder grunted. “Don’t leave this lab until I come back.” He paused at the door. “I’ve locked all the exits. I’ll know if you try anything, and I don’t think I have to remind you what’s at stake.”

James watched him go, pain and fear and self-hatred pulsing through his body while he sat on the cold floor with his victim.

His victim.

James had brought this evil here.

He felt for her pulse again. He couldn’t find it.

No one would try to rescue James from Empetrum after this, even if they came for Heather. Benson was getting exactly what he wanted.

“I am so sorry,” James whispered, brokenly. He gently laid her down and stood up, brushing at tears as he moved to comply with Alder’s orders. The words dripped hollowly from his lips like a leaky faucet. “I’m so sorry…”

Within minutes, Alder returned. At gunpoint, he directed James to gather what he needed for the impending transfer. He originally wanted James to stab Larkspur’s android through the face for the engineers to find, but James managed to convince him to let him take it for Heather’s new vessel.

He couldn’t stomach the idea of letting her wake up in the one he had hastily constructed for Benson’s deadlines.

Then, he went back in for Heather. He didn’t have much time before her neural integrity began to break down.

The facility stood dark and watchful as he transported her through the lobby and out the front doors, his arms locked under hers and her feet dragging on the floor. She was still warm, but her heart had stopped. Through the haze of frantic calculation, lining up how he was going to outfit and run the machine before their time ran out, he searched for some human feeling other than a swiftly growing numbness, but it had burnt out. Incinerated in the sheer horror of this moment.

Alder helped him get her into the back seat of James’ car, and James carefully looped the middle seatbelt around her. They packed bags of ice around her head. In bleak, heavy resignation, he closed the door.

Finally, Alder walked him back inside the facility, and turned the surveillance system back on so it could record James destroying key members of the equipment room while Alder stood watchfully in the doorway. Alder had told him to make it convincing, or they were leaving Heather there.

Maybe Alder was lying to him, and she was just sedated in a particularly convincing way, like in a spy movie. Maybe she would wake up before he had to transfer her. He could buy some time, try to strike a deal. Keep her safe from Benson.

As Alder drove him away from Larkspur, up into the hills, further and further from civilization, James clung desperately to that small hope.

+

Heather became aware of dark and silence. Occasional lights burst across her vision—flashing, forking like lightning, and flickering away. She tried to remember how she’d gotten there. She remembered being afraid.

Suddenly, light burst in, rooted into her face and ripped down the length of her body.

Her chest seized up. She couldn’t breathe. Her back arched and eyes snapped open wide. She saw the outside contour of some kind of machine, barely out of view. Wires crowded the edges of her vision. She was screaming, but it was odd. Strangled, buzzing. Her ears didn’t register it properly, cutting in and out like a mistuning microphone.

Her head was open. Arcs of fire pulsed down her limbs.

James stood behind a computer setup across the room, hands clasped anxiously under his nose, next to a man with narrow glasses.

She waited, blankly, in those few delirious seconds, for her throat to unlock, for air to fill her lungs.

But it never did.

Darkness rushed out from behind her eyes and dragged her under.

+