CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO—INFORMANT

Heather listened closely for signs of movement from upstairs or the couch as she carefully unplugged her mom’s cellphone from the charger in the kitchen. The screen illuminated with a virtual number keyboard, waiting for the PIN. She sent a tiny bit of energy to her index finger, and lowered it to the first key.

It registered.

She uttered a soft buzz of relief. With some internet sleuthing and practice on her tablet, she had figured out how to get the capacitive touch screen to respond. She typed out the rest of her mom’s password—gleaned from years of co-piloting in the car looking up directions, fielding ETA or grocery request logistics texts to her dad.

Nervously, she pulled up contacts, scrolling down the list, looking for a name, hoping Su hadn’t hidden it.

“What are you doing?”

Heather startled and whipped around.

“Sesame, shhh.” she said, waving at him to quiet down.

He read the gesture to mean sit down, so he sat down crisscross on the floor, gazing up at her inquisitively.

“Close enough,” she said. She headed for the sliding glass door. Sesame wordlessly got up and followed. She’d piqued his interest.

Rain fell in a fine mist. Heather took shelter under the eaves, continuing her search. Sesame sidled up next to her. He reached his robotic hand out from under the shelter, watching the rain collect and drip down his reflective palm.

“There it is,” she said.

Ganymede.

She braced herself and tapped the contact. Anxiety buzzed through her as it rang.

The call connected. The voice was artificially modulated. “Su, hi. Is everything all right?”
 “Is this Ganymede?” Heather asked.

He hesitated. “Who is this?”

“Heather.” She exchanged a meaningful glance with Sesame, hoping he wouldn’t decide this was some kind of infringement and go tell on her. He stayed put, listening. “Is this a good time? I have something really important I wanted to talk to you about.”

“How can I help?”

“Are you familiar with a place called the ICNS?”

He chose his words carefully. “We’ve encountered people with that name on their uniforms. Some kind of special law enforcement group.”

“They’re kids.”

A long pause answered her.

“You haven’t hurt them, have you?” Heather pressed.

“For everyone’s safety, we should continue this conversation off the record,” Ganymede said. “Do your parents know about this phone call?”

“No. They would have tried to stop me.”

“Can you bring them into the loop, please?”

Desperation pulled at her. “Please don’t treat me like a child.”

“I only ask because discussing this in any form is very dangerous,” the voice cloak cast an ominous bent onto everything he said. “It will affect them too, and may carry heavy consequences.”

“But I can’t just do nothing. What if they refuse?”

“Then you have a choice to make.”

The knowledge had been burning at her since James had told her while in the hospital: How there were six kids in the program, how Erika’s abuse was part of Empetrum’s efforts to create superhuman abilities in non-Compatible people. She thought of them, trapped, their bodies and lives taken from them, forced to fight for their own continued imprisonment, protecting the systems that made places like Empetrum possible.

She had just reunited with her family. She knew she needed to try to recover, work on moving forward. But she felt like such a ghost in her own life, and those other kids needed help. And right now, nobody else even knew to fight for them but her and James.

Heather groaned, raising a hand to her head and glaring at the floor. “This sucks.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” he said sympathetically. “At this juncture, ask everyone involved what they’re comfortable with, and give me a call back, and we’ll go from there, okay? I agree this is very important.”

“Okay,” Heather said. “I wish everything weren’t so complicated.”

“Me too.”

She hung up, and tipped her head back against the exterior paneling of the house, gazing up under the eaves in exasperation.

“Ganymede isn’t his real name,” Sesame piped up. “He and the others live in hiding because the government is after them. I don’t think he wants the same for us.”

Heather buzzed a sigh. “Yeah, I figured.”

She went back inside, leaving Sesame to whatever he was doing, and plugged her mom’s phone back into the wall. She felt guilty for going ahead with it, not considering that telling the Conxence about the ICNS might harm her family, or require her to leave them if she put a target on her back as well.

She peeked over the back of the sofa, where James dozed with his hands wrapped up in a heat pack on his chest. Her heat sensor indicated it had cooled off. “Hey, James?”

He grunted, muffled. He didn’t open his eyes.

“Can I heat that back up for you?”

He grunted again, softer.

She gently pulled on it, and he woke up with a long inhale—a human startup sound. Confused, but compliant, he let the heat pack slip away from his hands. He rubbed at his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Heather wrapped up the heat pack on her way to the microwave.

“Ugh,” he said.

“Are you coherent right now? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Mmm I think so…” his voice was slow and grainy with sleep. “Give it a try.”

“I want to tell the Conxence about the ICNS,” Heather said. While the microwave hummed across the room, she positioned herself off the end of the sofa so he could see her. “I tried a few minutes ago, but Ganymede wants to see what everyone else thinks before moving forward.”

James stared at her. His golden irises had finally stopped glowing that caustic, urgent yellow from his episode much earlier that morning. His very short hair stuck up at odd angles, and his sweatshirt hung askew from his bony frame, while most of him lay shrouded under the stuffed blanket taking over the couch. She read lucidity in his gaze, hoped it was accurate.

“Oh,” he said finally, glancing away. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too.”

“Ganymede says it’s dangerous to talk about it,” she said, as he slowly levered himself to a sitting position, wincing.

He nodded. “I’ll be in much bigger trouble if it gets out I told anyone, especially the Conxence. Anyone who knows about it could be in danger too.”

“But they’re already clashing with the kids at the ICNS. They’re having to treat them like enemy soldiers.”

James tipped his head aside, slowly massaging a point where his neck met his shoulders. “When I was still at Empetrum, the head of the ICNS floated the idea of a part time teaching job. I’ve been wondering if that’s still on the table.”

It was Heather’s turn to stare. “You would really go back there?”

“Something’s going to come to a head. I just really feel like I need to be there when it does.” He avoided her gaze. “I can’t explain it.”

“But…you can barely even walk right now.” Not to mention his even more debilitating symptoms, which Q-13 flareups only exacerbated.

“I know I sound delusional, but it gives me something to live for right now,” he said.

“I get that,” Heather said, softly.

The microwave beeped, startling them both.

As she moved to retrieve the heat pack, James said, “I’ve been thinking about building you an organic-passing body too.”

She paused at the microwave. It surprised her how much his quiet statement felt like a knife pointed at her back. The reminder that despite his decimated body, he was still there—the James that never stopped, who struggled to face any version of himself that wasn’t useful, that stumbled after a compulsion to keep his dangerous mind busy.

She gently tugged on the handle of the microwave. She pulled out the heated sack of flax seed and checked the temperature. She couldn’t feel the warmth in her hands.

“If you want nothing else to do with me after this, that’s okay. I’ll leave,” he said it neutrally, at her heavy silence. “I know you don’t need my help.”

Sorrow stirred in her chest. Some moments, James felt like a hand to hold while they made sense of the devastation. Others, he felt like another accident waiting to happen. The thought of him leaving for good was painful to consider, like losing a family member.

“I just…wasn’t ready to hear that yet from you, I guess,” she said finally. She crossed the room, and handed him the heat pack. “It sounds like a lot of work, and really expensive. Who else will you have to sell your soul to?”

“Nobody, hopefully.”

“Are you really going to try to get a job at the ICNS?”

He shrugged, his gaze far away as he carefully wrapped the compress around his hands. He closed his eyes in an expression of relief at the heat. “I was involved in exposing Empetrum and destroying its research facility, so I don’t think they’ll consider it anyway.”

“Or they’ll try to trap you again. You can’t safely use the Q-13, and they’ll be more than prepared to counter it if you manage it.”

“As a milestone prototype, I’ll be under surveillance soon no matter what I do. Might as well make it on my own terms.” He looked up at her. “I would like to talk to the Conxence about the ICNS. We have to do it before that window closes.”

+

James was determined to be coherent when the Conxence arrived at the Knight’s doorstep. He willed his body to behave, knowing he was powerless to control the sudden crashes and flareups.

He used to rely on adrenaline to perform well even when sick, but after Empetrum, stress lit him up like a match covered in gasoline.

Heather helped him type out everything he felt prudent to share with the rebellion—to make sure they got all the necessary information if the brain fog pushed him nonverbal before their arrival. He would have liked to type it himself, but the pain and weakness in his hands rendered them nearly unusable for fine motor skills. The option of voice-to-text instead fell prey to brain fog and concentration issues. Heather already knew a lot of the basics of their upcoming meeting, so she was able to fill in the blanks off of skeletal outlines as needed.

Reclining on the couch watching her type on the laptop for him, he grappled with a growing sense of rage and despair to be trapped in this poisoned body. It felt like he had indeed died at Empetrum, if this was what he was reduced to.

Maybe he would never be strong enough to live on his own, or face the ICNS, or even pick up a pencil. The thought had occurred to him many times over the last few days that maybe he was better off transferred into a robotic body as well. But it was impossible. He was the only one that could rebuild that machine, and it filled him with shame and self-hatred to even consider it, wishing for a way back.

This couldn’t be his life now.

Despite angst and tears and regular breaks, they got the information down, and several hours later, the crunch of tires on gravel bloomed in the driveway.

Sesame was out the door immediately. He forgot to close it while he stood at the top of the porch steps, eagerly waiting for the newcomers to get out of the car.

Parked on the couch, James hunched his shoulders at the breeze wafting through the open door.

Anxiety stirred like bruises under his skin. Prior to Empetrum, he would already have a mask up—professional, smart, and capable. But now it was like the wires to any light he had left had been severed.

“Hi!” Sesame said, as two men came up the porch steps.

“Hello,” the older of the two said jovially, shaking the robot’s eager hand like old friends. “Staying out of trouble?”

“I got a library card!”
 “Did you, now?”

Richard and Su met them at the door. James hazarded a glance up behind the back of the couch, where Heather hung back. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, feet on the floor.

He had been briefed on identities enough to recognize the people who stood in the doorway as Noran Kaczmarek, the head of the militarized side of the Conxence, and Ganymede, whom the Knights suspected was leadership in some capacity but had never managed to confirm. He wore a baseball cap, and a mask over the lower half of his face.

“First thing we need to do is stow phones and any company devices out of earshot,” Kaczmarek said.

Richard and Su nodded, and moved to comply. Su switched on the electric kettle on her way past the kitchen.

“It’s nice to finally meet,” Kaczmarek said, looking at James and Heather in turn. “You kids have been through hell.”

Heather slowly rounded the couch and sat next to James, her body language closed. Now that the emergency of James’ hospital stay was wearing off, she had confessed she was uncomfortable being seen in her current form.

“Thank you for helping us,” Heather said.

“And thank you for talking to us today,” Ganymede added. “We’ll do everything in our power to keep this information under wraps.”

James carefully massaged his aching hands. “If anything happens, make sure the data trail only comes back to me. I don’t want anything else falling on the Knights.”

That earned him a glance from Heather.

Su brought James tea, offered their guests coffee, which they politely declined, and then they set about discussing Empetrum and the ICNS. James refrained from divulging any information that wasn’t need-to-know—such as the recruits’ names or appearances. The Conxence compared notes with what they had already gleaned from them in the field, and what Erika had told them.

He described the basic functioning of the technology, and how the kids at the ICNS had all probably been recruited against their will. He also admitted he was thinking about approaching the ICNS for a job.

Richard and Su stared at him, shocked. He realized he’d forgotten to discuss that with them.

“The head of the ICNS had offered the possibility of a part-time teaching position, in case I needed an occasional change of scenery from Empetrum,” James said. His face felt warm.

“Benson declined for me, but I’m curious if the offer still stands.”

Kaczmarek flashed a wry smile. “Trying to poach personnel from Benson, eh? Smells like politics.”

James shrugged. “I don’t even have their contact information, so I’d probably have to approach the Bureau about that.”

“Eve and I are in the process of getting some form of restitution approved,” Richard said, glancing at Heather. “The Bureau wants to pay for development of an organic passing body.”

“To pay us off, you mean,” Heather said bitterly. “Make this all go away.”

“Maybe.”

“If there are strings attached, I’m not taking it,” Heather said.

James fidgeted. Dhar had proven himself sympathetic so far, putting Benson on probation, but that still seemed too good to be true. “You should take it,” he said.

“And let them claim legal right to my body because they paid for it?”

“We’re keeping an eye on that,” Richard said. “We would make it at Larkspur, make sure nobody but us and the Larkspur team are in charge of every part of the process.”

“They may lessen terms for you if I give myself up.”

“James,” Su groaned.

“Heather has a life ahead of her,” James insisted, defensive. “The chance to fix things, move forward. But I don’t know how much time I have left.” His voice hitched, wavering hopelessly. “If I’m sick and useless under government surveillance, or sick and useless in the outside world, what does it fucking matter?”

“You’re not—” Heather started.

He cut her off, “All I do is lie around passed out or too messed up to contribute anything. And I don’t know if that will ever change. I just…” He deflated, sitting back with a heavy sigh. “I want to make this worth something.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to be an inside informant if you manage to pull it off,” Kaczmarek said.

James shook his head. “I can’t ask you to go easy on them. But if we’re lucky, maybe we can help them from our respective positions.”

“We’d like that,” Ganymede said.

+

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE—MEETINGS 

Heather wished her first trip to the national capital were under different circumstances. Even covered head-to-toe, a surgical mask over her face and a short wig under the pulled up hood of her sweatshirt, she felt incredibly exposed as her family drove deeper into the city’s heart, where the Federal Bureau of Science and Innovation resided.

Dhar was ready to talk reparations, and she had to keep an eye on her family.

She kept her face bowed, watching her legs kick at her long skirt as she walked between her parents through the parking garage, her mother’s hand steady on her back. On Richard’s other side, James walked with his mobility aid, bundled up in winter clothing. The early October weather was mild, but still too cold for the persistent chill he suffered. They’d tried to persuade him to video call into the meeting instead of making the journey, but he dug his heels in.

She was having serious misgivings about letting him approach the ICNS.

As they made their way up to the sleek reception desk, Heather ventured a look in James’ direction. His gaze was lowered to his hands, fingerless compression gloves supporting his grip on the handles of his walker, his lips a hard line.

The receptionist took them back to a small meeting room. Heather kept her face down and turned away from anyone they passed in the hallway. They were asked to take a seat at the glass table, and left alone with the promise that Dhar would be in shortly.

Eve was already there.

James balked. Eve had watched unethical practices almost destroy Larkspur once, not to mention threaten her career by mere association. She had tried to warn him, and in searching for Heather, she had had to endure her own skeletons being dragged to the surface. She had witnessed firsthand all James had put her friends through.

She stood up from the table.

“Eve, I’m so sorry for everything,” James said, his voice shaking as she drew nearer. “I should have listened to you.”

She wrapped her arms around him, producing a wheezy squeak of surprise. Faltering, he lifted his arms to return the embrace.

“I’m sorry about Empetrum,” Eve said, softly.

Over her shoulder, Heather watched James’ face waver. He bit his lip, trying to keep it together, but crumbled anyway. He shut his eyes tightly, and lowered his forehead to her shoulder.
Eve hugged Heather too. “We’ll make them pay through the nose for this,” Eve said.

As they took a seat at the conference table, Heather thought she would be sandwiched between her parents, but then Su motioned for James to sit next to Heather, bookended protectively by the Knights. James sheepishly obeyed.

Heather wanted to reach out, to squeeze his arm, offer something encouraging, but cold, breathless anxiety pulled through her circuits in a steady, cycling stream. He was generally uncomfortable with touch, anyway, unless he was a complete emotional wreck. She didn’t know where on that spectrum he was at the moment.

She pulled down her hood, removed the wig and surgical mask, and laid them on the table. She straightened her shoulders.

She was tempted all the time to join the Conxence, where she could be a direct help. She had mentioned it to Kaczmarek and Ganymede during their meeting, to the dismay of her parents, but the Conxence had turned her down.

“You have work to do here first,” Kaczmarek had said.

“Money’s not going to fix anything,” she muttered to James, waiting for Dhar to enter. If he was anything like Benson in appearance or demeanor, she fully intended to stand up and drag James out the door with her.

James nodded slowly. He worked a thumb into the tissues of his other palm, staring at the door and breathing carefully. “But an organic passing body will help you.”

The door opened, and Heather stiffened as Vihaan Dhar, a middle-aged man with a black mustache and soft, concerned eyes entered. He paused as his gaze met hers, traveled to James, then to Richard, Su, and Eve with an air of sorrow.

Performative, Heather thought venomously.

“Good morning,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from them. He folded his organic hands on the table. Heather squeezed her gloved, robotic ones together in her lap underneath it.

“Let me just say again how sorry I am for what happened,” Dhar said. “I knew Empetrum was under some pressure, but I didn’t realize how dangerously unhinged Benson had become. I thought what I was arranging when I recommended you to him, Siles, was a simple prospect. A chance to let you thrive in your unique expertise and make the higher-ups happy…He led me to believe the transition went smoothly, that you had parted with Larkspur on good terms.” He looked at James, whose narrow, stained face was stony, his golden eyes sad. “You should have been allowed to resign from Empetrum with respect. None of this should have ever happened. But, now that it has, I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to try to offer excuses. I want to help ease some of the effects, if at all possible. No special conditions attached. Richard, Eve, and I have been discussing reparations.”

Heather stared him down, trying to detect any insincerity. Any hint of Benson in him. Words were cheap.

He looked at Richard and Eve. “Have you put a proposal together?”

Richard slid a folder to him across the table. “Eighteen months of full dedication of Larkspur’s resources, and funding of two organic passing bodies. One for Heather, the other for Sesame, who helped us.”

Heather cringed inwardly. She didn’t want the Bureau knowing about Sesame, but it had already come out. Benson knew about Sesame, so Dhar knew too.

Sesame was elated about the prospect of an organic passing body. He wanted full body thermal and mechanoreceptors immediately.

Dhar flipped open the folder, skimming the numbers. “Done.”

“Mr. Dhar,” James said. “I have another request I’d like to make.”

“Yes?”
 “How much influence do you have with the ICNS?”

Dhar paused, wary. “The ICNS is further under the military umbrella, but the Bureau essentially supplies the technology that keeps it running. Why?”

Heather could feel James trembling. Under the table, she reached for one of his hands and squeezed it. His hand tightened in hers.

“When I was with Empetrum,” James said, “the facility coordinator, Varnet, offered me a teaching position if I was ever interested. I wanted to take her up on it.”

Dhar’s eyebrows lowered in confusion. He searched James’ haggard face for a moment. “Why would you want to go back after all this? Empetrum scientists operate there too, you know. Varnet knows what happened between you and Benson.”

“I feel responsible for the Compatible recruits.”

“They aren’t your responsibility.”

“They’ve entered the field after only a single year of training,” James pursued. “I know I’m not the only one expecting things to come to a head with the Conxence in the next several months.” He forced his posture straight, and for a moment, he appeared whole. “When that happens, those kids will need someone on the inside looking out for them.”

“They already have caretakers,” Dhar said. “Good ones, too. James, you have to distance yourself from all this. Let yourself heal, and move on with your life. None of this is your concern anymore.”

“Don’t I get to decide that?” James gestured to himself with both stained hands. Dhar’s gaze didn’t flinch, bearing witness to the price he and Heather had paid for merely brushing up against the land mine of someone else’s power struggles. “This is something I need to do.” He stared Dhar straight in the face. “If you bar this avenue, I’ll find another one.”

Heather hoped the implication of that was clear to Dhar. Judging by the latter’s expression, staring back at James, it was: If he stood between James and the ICNS, the Conxence was about to gain one very dangerous new member. Or the military would have to do something to silence him, and the fires Dhar was attempting to pacify would keep burning.

Dhar narrowed his eyes, exasperated. “You understand Varnet’s probably changed her mind, and I don’t have the ability to just give you a position there. Benson and Hill will do everything they can to block you, and you’re on everyone’s radars as a threat. You’ll be in danger if you’re not careful, whether or not you get what you want.”

“I understand.”

“Please, just move on from this. You’ve suffered enough.”

“I can’t.”

Dhar stared at him, hope waning. Finally, he sighed. “Well, if this is truly something you feel you need to do, I can at least set up a meeting. You bring the expertise of an Empetrum scientist with the ethic of Larkspur, which may interest her. And she’s the one who’ll have the final say, depending on her personal opinion of Empetrum’s recent activities.”

James nodded.

“I don’t know how much of a chance you got to interact with Varnet,” Dhar went on, fidgeting with the folder on the table, “but I’ll give you some advice: She values candor, and she can always tell if you’re lying. If you do somehow manage to convince her, be careful. She is very good at identifying what people want, what they can’t bear to lose, and making that useful for her. She will have terms, and if you want in with the ICNS, you’ll have to agree to them. I just want you to be prepared for that. I really hope you’re able to walk away from this one.”

Heather glanced aside, watching James’ face in her peripheral vision. Her heat sensor clicked on, and in the secondary visual feed, James lit up beside her in representative color. The black in his skin was the coldest parts of him, pulling colder with his mounting anxiety. She squeezed his hand again, supportive. Though she feared he would soon stray too far away for her to protect him.

“I understand,” James said. “Thank you.”

+

Richard drove James to an agreed rendezvous point in the capital, where Varnet had sent an ominous black sedan to meet them. Heather insisted on coming too.

James had wanted to drive himself. He knew where the ICNS was, and his belongings—including his car—had since turned up at a storage facility in Worthing. But moving in a car made him dizzy, and his Q-13 blunted reflexes were still too slow to drive safely.

He stared at the sedan, waiting for him. The splintering ache of his altered physiology throbbed down his arms and through his jaw and left cheekbone. He pulled a slow breath in through his nose and exhaled. It didn’t really help.

He opened the car door and got out. The driver’s side door of the other car opened as well and a man in a suit appeared.

Richard popped the trunk, and helped him unfold his walker. He gently took James’ arm, staring into his eyes, worry written into every line on his face. Supposedly, James was just going to talk to Varnet, but they didn’t know what was coming next—if they’d ever see him again.

“Good luck,” Richard said. James nodded, nervous.

Heather hugged him, burying her face in his sweater. He wore a couple of them under his jacket.

“Come back to us,” she said.

James hugged her back. “See you soon.”

Together, they faced the black car, Heather holding onto the sleeve of his jacket. James felt his heartbeat in his chest, radiating out through his scars. He glanced at Heather, who held his gaze.

He gripped the handles of his walker and Heather finally let him go as he strode forward.
He willed himself not to panic, even as he felt like he was limping straight to his death. He felt the Knights’ gazes on his back, but didn’t turn around.

The driver smiled as he reached conversational range.

“Good morning, Dr. Siles,” he said, holding out his hand. “May I stow that for you?”

James swallowed and nodded. Once he was safely braced on the car, the chauffeur opened the door to the backseat for him. James cast one more glance at the Knights, who held each other, trying to burn that image into his memory, and then painstakingly tucked himself into the black leather seat.

“Nervous?” the chauffeur glanced in the rearview mirror once he returned.

James hugged himself and looked out the window. “You could say that.”

“We’ll have you back with your friends within the hour, as scheduled,” the chauffeur said. He switched on the radio, where smooth jazz droned softly into the backseat. “Music okay?”

James nodded.

His hand on his heart and pain pulsing through his scars, James watched the scenery as Varnet’s chauffeur took him over the bridge, through the capital’s downtown financial district, and out to the concrete plains dotted with hushed warehouses and dormant equipment of the industrial shipping district.

Then he saw the familiar fence, a tall chain-link monstrosity covered in opaque sheets to obscure any curious eyes. The building reared up behind it, tall and wide, all the windows treated with a reflective surface.

The car wound through security checkpoints, and the driver only had to reveal his face before security let him through. James felt sicker and sicker as they advanced into the parking lot, and the chauffeur delivered him—mobility aid, PTSD and all—to the lobby.

He kneaded his hands as he waited, his breathing disturbed. The receptionist discreetly paged Varnet, then mostly ignored him. He could feel his eyes starting to glow—an unsettling warmth in the vitreous humor—and he didn’t know how to get his body to overlook how much danger he knew he was in, how foolhardy and idiotic this quest was.

What did he really think he was going to accomplish with all this? If he ever saw Benson again, he expected to just die on the spot.

The door at the back of the lobby opened, revealing Anusha Varnet, the coordinator and warden of the ICNS. James fixed his layers of sweaters, wishing he didn’t look as terrified and frail as he knew he did in that moment.

Mercifully, Varnet seemed to overlook it. She smiled. “Siles, good morning. I hope you had a pleasant trip.” She stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. “Let’s talk in my office.”

James obeyed. He tried to memorize the route, in case he had to flee, knowing that if Varnet decided to imprison him, there actually wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.

Entering her office again, it felt like the world tilted, and he had left reality behind. These walls existed in his nightmares and flashbacks. Closed in, examined, controlled.

She motioned to a cushioned chair in front of her desk. “Take a seat.”

James stiffly complied.

“So,” she said, sitting down behind her desk. One of her neat eyebrows arched. “I’m told you want a job?”

“Yes,” James said quietly.

She folded her hands on her desk. “I was surprised when Dhar called to set up this meeting. As I’m sure you’re aware, I know all about your role in Empetrum’s recent ‘accident.’”

James swallowed and nodded.

“Modulator research isn’t cheap, or expedient,” she went on. “But the government is extremely impatient to get its hands on those ready-made Compatibles all the same.” James winced at the term, uttered without a hint of discomfort. “You’ve given Empetrum a lot of recovery work to do, having thrown the biggest wrench possible into our operation to date.” She leaned forward, steepling her fingers. “So tell me, why should I let you anywhere near my recruits?”

James took a breath, and carefully kneaded his hands. He straightened his shoulders, reminded himself to be candid. Varnet wasn’t Benson.

“None of that would have happened if Benson had just let me resign like a regular person,” he said.

“When he briefed you of the situation, I suspect he neglected to mention the part where he killed my friend, a fifteen-year-old kid, requiring me to use my neural transfer machine on her to save her life.”

Varnet tilted her head in concession. “He framed it differently, but I figured that’s how it happened.”

“He was spiraling out of control, which was probably going to burn the ICNS at some point anyway,” James said. “I heard Empetrum is restructuring as a result.”

She studied him, her expression calm and searching. “Dhar says you feel responsible for our Compatibles.”

James’ face reddened. “Yes.”

“You’re acquainted with Erika Hodgson, correct? Benson suspects she was with the Conxence. I don’t like my employees being sympathizers with the very group we’re training our recruits to resist.”

“There is some ethical overlap for me, yes,” James admitted. “But I try to focus on what’s in front of me. I’ve always just wanted to be left to my work.”

“And now your work is meddling.” Varnet smiled wanly, amused. “You’ve only seen the recruits in person once, right? Yet you’re willing to dive back into the system you fought tooth and nail to escape just to provide ‘moral support?’ I’m just not buying it.”

James stared at his hands. He was forever tempted to think of his outward scars as his misdeeds branded into his skin, a testament to his cowardice and failure. But he knew they were a byproduct of his efforts to make things right. The Q-13 was a punishment he had harnessed to free himself and help his friends. The marks were a badge of courage, not of shame.

“Does Benson know about this meeting today?” he asked, preparing to be told to leave, or worse.
Varnet nodded. “He’s livid that you’d even think about coming back.”

“I’m not asking to go back to Empetrum,” James said. “Just the ICNS.”
Varnet paused at that. She raised a hand to her chin and sat back, regarding him. Her eyes flicked to the lower left of James’ gaze, and he knew she was looking at the black stripe.

“Even if you prefer to concentrate on the teaching position,” she mused, “I do like the idea of having my own specialist on board that doesn’t answer to Benson.” She smiled wanly. “You may have guessed already, but Benson and his lot can be hard to work with.”

James cracked a small, tired smile in agreement.

“If I were to hire you,” she went on, “you would answer to me and Victor Gresham, the recruits’ trainer and operation manager. Benson and Hill would have no jurisdiction over you, outside of the scientific side of things, of course.”

“I admit I like the sound of that,” James said quietly.

“How much have you actually worked with modulator technology?” Varnet asked.

“I was up to date on theory and methodology, and had started shadowing Yeun, but hadn’t yet done any major hands-on work.”

“But you do know enough about how it works, how to manage it, guidelines for dosages and procedures, and so on, to be useful?”

“Yes.”

She sized him up again, and took a piece of paper off her desk James hadn’t noticed. The way the light passed through it, he could see the composition of the text on the page and recognized the configuration as that of his resume. Dhar must have passed that along too.

“How old are you, Siles?”

“Twenty-one,” James said.

She nodded, looking at the page. “Yet you already have a doctorate and two years on-the-job experience with Larkspur. I’m going to tell you up front, I’m not impressed by the ‘boy genius type’ in any capacity. In fact, I see it as a hazard.”

“I understand,” James said. He had come to see it as a hazard too.

“Your feud with Benson aside,” she said, “do you play well with others?”

“When they don’t try to kill me, yes.”

Her lips tightened, thinking. “Contrary to what you may think, we care very much for the wellbeing of our recruits,” she said, returning his resume to her desk. “And we’re not in the practice of enslaving or executing coworkers.” She looked at him. “From what I know of your activities over the last few months, it sounds to me like you’ve been forced to make some tough decisions, and have done everything in your power to face the consequences. I’ve observed you appear to have a network of people who care about you, and Dhar seems to think you’re a good person, someone that might—” She lifted a manicured finger, pausing for emphasis. “—might—be an asset here at the ICNS.”

James stared at her, trying to figure out what that all meant.

“You mean…you’re considering it?” he asked, incredulous.

“Do you have teaching experience?”

“Some,” James stammered. “I tutored physics and digital logic in college.”

“I would need you for science and mathematics,” she said. “Algebra through calculus, physics, and biology. Given your previous vocation, I assume you can handle those?”

“Yes,” James said. He had figured she’d have already made up her mind about him before he’d walked in the door, but the question had been what her opinion of him was. What was he worth to her?

“There is also the question of what to do about this,” Varnet said, motioning to the left side of her face in a curling motion. “The first viable strain of the Q-13. You’re lucky to be alive.”

James glanced down at his hands in lap again. He squeezed them together. “Yeah.”

“And I hear it’s functional, no less.”

“Kind of,” James said, nervous. For a terrible moment, he thought she was going to ask him to show her. “It creates a byproduct that’s poisonous to my body, and it’s a huge metabolic strain. Fully activating it now would probably kill me.”

Varnet nodded thoughtfully. “If I bring you into the ICNS, I would like to continue to monitor its progress. Semi-regular checkups conducted by my own medical staff, with the results passed along to Empetrum. I don’t think you should have any more contact with Benson.”

“Agreed,” James said.

“Benson is only grudgingly letting the ICNS take interest in the Q-13,” she said. “I’m told there was nothing especially miraculous about your physiology prior to infusion, and Benson didn’t lose data in the ‘accident.’ He can finish the Q-13 without you. This would just be a peace offering to Empetrum for my interest in bringing you on.”

“I see.” James had known destroying the facility wouldn’t truly bring Empetrum down, but he was still disappointed it continued to exist. He and Heather had risked their lives for its demise, and it wasn’t enough.

“We have very specific protocols and requirements,” Varnet went on. “We’ll provide that training here. If you want to take a stab at it, make yourself available the first week of December to complete the program. If training goes well and after that trial period you decide this is really something you’re up for, the position’s yours. You would start in January.” She cracked a wry smile.

“Provided you don’t try to destroy the ICNS first.”

“No need to worry about that,” he said, trying to smile back.

Varnet pulled open a drawer and produced a folder, which she extended across her desk. James stood up to take it.

“Here’s the basic information about what your position will entail, the orientation dates, and so on,” she said. “The recruits’ trainer will conduct his own screening during this period.”

James nodded, glancing through the folder.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Varnet said. 
 The most burning questions he had, only time could answer: Was this a massive mistake? Would he be able to be there for the recruits when they needed him? Would this ever be worth anything?

“I’ll—save it for orientation,” he said.

“All right. Well…” She stood up and rounded the desk to shake his hand. “Thank you for meeting with me today. Good luck.”

James tucked the folder under one arm to meet the gesture with the other hand. Stark, unnatural black against brown. He felt weak with relief that the meeting was finally over. “Thank you.”

“I’m very curious to see what comes of this.” She said brightly, showing him to the door. “Let’s hope it works out.”

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