CHAPTER NINE—FAILSAFE 

“Your midterm grades should have come out by now. Why haven’t we received them?”
James opened the door to his residence hall. Regardless of his already advanced credit count, the university refused to let him upgrade his living arrangements because he was still a minor.
He halted in the stairwell. “Because I asked registrar not to release them to you.”
“Why?”
“Because I want it that way.”
“You can’t do that.”
“My grades are fine, Dad,” James said. “I’m trying to take accountability for myself. I thought you’d appreciate that.”
“Your performance will slip without oversight.”
“That’s what I have professors for.”
“Is the registrar office still open?”
“I won’t slip!”
“You need to go straight over there and change this.”
James steeled himself. “No.”
His father didn’t skip a beat.“If you remove your mother and I from your academics, we’ll withdraw your financial support. Good luck getting loans at your age.”
 James stiffened. “You can’t do that!” Another student came down the stairwell and James avoided his gaze. James started up the stairs, readjusting his grip on his phone.“Dad, you can’t do that.”
“I’m heading out to the bank right now.”
“I’ll get another job, then!”
“With your double Bachelor’s track?”
 “I can do it.” He was already tutoring ten hours a week, but that wasn’t enough to fully support himself.
“You’re willing to compromise the quality of your education for an upstart bit of pride? You’ll exhaust yourself. You won’t go to graduate school like we’d all hoped, and you’ll be forced into a menial line of work and waste your talents for years at best.”
“That won’t happen.” James said, his conviction forced.
Through the phone, James thought he heard the sound of the elevator of the apartment building where his parents lived, and he froze just as he entered the hallway of his own residential floor.
“It’ll be a load off our shoulders, I guess,” Jonathan sighed. James couldn’t speak. In that moment, wary dislike of his father gave way to full blown hatred.
“Last chance, James.”
“Fine!” James spun around and tore the door open again. His voice cracked, “I’ll go down there. You win.”

~

Erika didn’t sleep most of the night. Morning came and the dimmed artificial lights of her cell brightened to normal strength. She watched the clock, hungry, bored, and cross. 

A meal never arrived. 

She was beginning to consider figuring out how to summon Yeun when guards arrived and took her down the hall to some kind of examination room. The guard told her to sit down on the examination table, so she did. The door closed and he positioned himself in front of it, arms folded across his chest, waiting.

The silence was deafening. She’d been drowning in silence since she got here.

Finally, Yeun arrived, slipping into the room with a quiet greeting.

“Got a busy day for you,” he said. “Ready to extract some stem cells.” 

Erika stared at the floor, her brow tight. “For what?” 

“For culturing,” he said.

“Why?” 

He opened up the cabinet under a small sink in the corner, pulling out a hospital gown and a shower cap, both a depressing shade of light blue. He placed them on the counter. “Change into these. It’s a simple bone marrow extraction. We’ll put you under, and have you in and out before you know it.” 

Erika looked up at him. He was already on his way out.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” he said. He beckoned to the guard to follow, and they left Erika alone. 

Her attention went immediately to the sink, wondering if it held anything of use, knowing he wouldn’t have left her unsupervised if that were the case. She glanced up at the security camera in the ceiling.

What would she have found that would have been useful enough, anyway? A scalpel? Empetrum guards had tranquilizers. She’d seen enough guards in the last few days to start recognizing the rectangular infuser strapped to the back of their belts, near the handgun. 

Maybe Yeun was testing her. Better to keep playing along for now. Either way, she didn’t want to go under anesthesia right after making Yeun angry.

She still had time.

Slowly, she stood up, wrinkled her nose at the gown and shower cap, and turned her back on the camera to get dressed.

+

James’ cell phone buzzed fitfully from the coffee table.

Grudgingly, he extricated himself from a sea of open moving boxes and picked his way across the apartment. He froze when he read the caller ID.

“What do you want?” he muttered darkly. He stared at the screen until the vibrating ceased.

If they really wanted to make contact, they could leave a message. They could communicate on his terms. He’d managed to ice them out before, but maybe he’d have to actually block them this time.

His phone began to vibrate again, and again the familiar name and number glared from the screen.

But they had been silent for a year. Something told him this was out of character.

He groaned loudly, tapped the answer button and brought it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, James?” a woman’s voice sounded formally from the other line.

“Yes.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Yes it has.”

“How have you been?”

“I’m fine, Mom. Everything’s good.”

“Your father and I haven’t heard from you in a long time.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy with work.”

She sighed. “Don’t worry about lining up your excuses, I just wanted to fill you in on what’s happened.”

Foreboding prickled on the back of James’ neck. “What’s happened?”

“Well, your dad hasn’t been feeling well for a while, so we went in to the doctor to check it out.”

Her voice snapped, almost angry. “He has pancreatic cancer.”

James’ face went cold. “Cancer?” Pancreatic was a bad one. Low survival rate.

“It’s not responding well to treatment,” her tone wavered slightly before she curbed it.

James swallowed, his throat dry. “How long have you known?”

“Several months.”

“Several months?” he demanded. “Why on earth didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Why did you cut us off for an entire year?” she demanded back.

James winced. Silence hung heavy after the crack of his mother’s whip-like voice. He didn’t know how to conjure a reasonable answer to that. He didn’t owe them an explanation.

Did he?

“We didn’t think it worth calling your attention from the clandestine matters of your life,” she added, curtly. Catherine Siles often chose her words carefully, but sharpened abruptly when disturbed. “We were dealing with it.”

James thought he heard his father say something in the background about leaving him alone about his job.

“I would have wanted to know immediately, Mom,” James said, injured. “Even if you were dealing with it.”

“Do you want to talk to your father?”

James opened his mouth to refuse, but thought better of it. Talking to his father only brought trouble—but it could be the last time he heard his voice. If James had any sort of heart, he could tolerate it, at least.

“Yes,” he said finally, bracing himself for the worst.

“Okay,” came the reply. The phone switched hands.

“Hello, James,” Jonathan Siles’ voice, normally crisp and direct, sounded haggard.

“Hi, Dad,” James said. He suddenly felt exhausted. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine. Don’t worry about me, okay? I want you to concentrate on your career. You’ve worked hard for this, and I don’t want to get in the way.” He paused. “I know you usually refuse to talk about it, but are you happy there?”

“Yes.” James fidgeted. “I am.”

“Good. So, James—” his father hesitated, pained. “I don’t know how much longer I have, so I think it’s appropriate to tell you now. All this time in the hospital has given me time to reflect. To, um, to come to terms with some things.” Again, he faltered. Very unlike him. “And I just want to get this off my chest. I wished you could have been here these harrowing months. I know I’m to blame for your absence.”

They should have called earlier.

“I thought I was doing what was best for you. I went too far. I’m sorry.”

James’ eyes widened. An apology? Jonathan Siles was apologizing? His father always had a highly practical reason for everything. Yes, maybe he was apologizing, but not just from the goodness of his heart. This was a goodbye.

“I drove you away,” his father said. “I’ve understood this for a long time, but I was too proud to admit it. Or to do anything about it.” His voice wavered, and James felt his body begin to tremble.

“Don’t feel obligated to let me back into your life. I just wanted to let you know I finally understand.”

“Jonathan,” James heard his mother say. “You don’t mean that.”

James swallowed with difficulty. “Thanks,” he managed, hoarsely.

“So, like I said, don’t worry about me,” Jonathan went on, resolute. “Work hard instead, as you always have.”

“How long do the doctors think?”

“Six months maybe.”

“I see.”

Silence closed in on both lines. James couldn’t bring himself to say anything else. A single phone call couldn’t wipe away the scars, but his parents’ impossible stubbornness had been breached.

There might finally be hope of repair.

But he might not have the opportunity with his father.

“Well…I guess that’s all. I should let you go now,” Jonathan said finally.

“Okay,” James said, his voice very quiet. “Take care, Dad.”

“Take care. I’m really proud of you.”

“Thanks.” James had always ached to hear his father say that. Growing up, everything James did was to earn his parents’ approval. And here his father had uttered it. That phrase. Finally. The supposed culmination of everything James had ever strived for, the highest honor he could ever earn. And James should have been happy, relieved.

But he felt cold, thwarted, void. Like the bar had simply been lowered because time had run out.

James let his father hang up, then slowly returned his cellphone to the table. He got to his feet.

James had finally managed to smother the past in his work. He’d started to think he wouldn’t have to worry about his parents anymore. He hadn’t considered what would happen if he actually lost them. He had foolishly assumed everything would hold true until he was ready to return on his own terms, measured in decades rather than months.

He raked a shaking hand through his hair as he began to pace.

And it had only been a year. James just wanted to explore life separate from his frigid, controlling parents, but his father had found a way to get back to him in a way James couldn’t ignore. Of course, his father’s cancer probably wasn’t a ploy to regain influence over his life, but it certainly felt plausible.

Time limit or not, James wasn’t prepared to associate with them. If he tried now, he would make things worse. But he couldn’t bear to lose the chance.

He felt sick. There had to be something he could do, but he was an engineer, not an oncologist.
And six months was only an estimate.

With a growl of exasperation, James leaned his forehead against the wall.

It was impossible, but he couldn’t accept impossible. That’s what his parents had drilled into him. Brilliance wasn’t allowed to be at a loss. He just had to think. Identify the problem and string together a solution with the options at hand. It had always worked for him in the past.

The issue: His father was dying—or rather, his father’s body was dying.

So, then the objective would be to slow it down or reverse it. Keep it from dying. Keep his father from leaving.

He tapped his forehead a few times on the wall, scanning through his knowledge of anything remotely useful. He paused and straightened up as his search suddenly landed on an idea. He skirted the wall to his office, grabbing a stray piece of printer paper from the mass on his desk. With the first writing utensil his hand contacted, he began a crude diagram, more of the concept than how it would actually work.

What if he could get his father out of the failing body, into one that wasn’t dying? A sloppy fix, James supposed, but sturdy.

Full body replacement was simply a step up from prosthetics. He didn’t know if an organic-to-mechanical swap was even possible. He would have to do quite a bit of research to gauge its feasibility, but in his mind, it was more a matter of how.

It helped to have an extensive background in the biological sciences at his disposal. How appropriate that Jonathan Siles’ incessant focus on neuroscience in James’ studies would one day save his life. James would have laughed at the irony, if he didn’t have such a lump in his throat.

James would show his father he deserved his acceptance. Not because Jonathan was dying, but because James would prove once and for all that he had lived up to everything his parents had obsessively pushed him to be. Objectively. Undeniably. He could simultaneously save a life and change the world.

In fervent inspiration, James scrawled two words over the disjointed sketches:

Organorobotic Transference.

+

CHAPTER TEN—REBOOT

A towering fence herded the original Larkspur facility into a restricted unit. Despite the barrier plastered with forbidding signs, the construct beyond seemed friendly enough.

The cracked asphalt of the parking lot stood mostly empty, its generous size in stark contrast with James’ memory of the modest slab of concrete and steel barn that had graced the former facility. As he parked in a space along the front of the weathered building next to Richard’s car, an unexpected wave of nerves cramped in his stomach.

It was eerie, to have returned to Larkspur’s birthplace. As James got out of his car, contemplating the front entrance stripped of all identification, it felt as if the building itself had tried to forget.

But it was mainly anxiety of a different source that held a tight rein on the edges of his mind. The majority of his attention clung to organorobotic transference, and he had devoted every spare moment to research since conceiving the idea. But while he had dug up a huge volume of data in the last thirty-six hours, he still hadn’t managed to piece together anything decisive, and having to go back to Larkspur and set up the lab felt like so much wasted time.

But maybe the busywork would be good for him, a chance for the mountains of peer reviewed material he’d burned through to settle into something useful in moving his newest hyperfixation forward.

The air conditioning gusted him with icy air as he stepped into the lobby. He lingered by the door, letting his gaze wander. Across the room, Addie and Chelo chatted with the security guards as they received their badges. A wide staircase at the right side of the lobby led up to a partially open second level. Wide paneled windows stretched across the whole front of the building. A wan, impressed smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. It would be nice to be above ground.

“Morning Jim!” An arm seized his head, and James uttered a surprised squawk.

“Morning, Greg,” James grunted, attempting to pry him off with one hand. The other, he hoped, wasn’t spilling his coffee. Greg’s arm held fast, unyielding as a spring clamp.

A door opened across the lobby. “Good morning!” Eve’s cheerful voice boomed. Richard walked beside the former director, having emerged from the lab beyond. “I feel like I haven’t seen you people in ages. How are you all? Settling in well?”

“Yes ma’am,” Greg beamed. He finally released his squirming colleague. “I’m so ready to start building stuff again.”

“Seconded,” James muttered, attempting to smooth down what forever looked like bedhead, which Greg’s antics had only exacerbated.

“Oh stop, it doesn’t look any different,” Greg said. James shot him a look.

Richard cleared his throat, “I’d like to start today with a short meeting to discuss a few changes to security protocols, but after that, it’s up to you. Today, the main objective is setup, doing whatever we need to do to get ready to start work tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds great,” Chelo said.

Addie nodded, modestly. Rumor had it she had almost quit Larkspur instead of making the voyage with them. Robotics jobs at her level of expertise with good pay and stable hours were hard to come by back east, and she and her husband were hoping to start a family soon. Dhar had even issued pay raises and extra vacation time to incentivize them all to continue with the company.

For James, moving for work was a no-brainer. Work was his life. Having attachments outside of it sounded too complicated.

An added plus, while most of the tech companies he had come across were working on vanity projects—cell phone gadgetry, space tourism for billionaires, AI for the heck of it, police robots—Larkspur seemed to be in the business of developing technologies that might actually help people.

He hoped they would resume the generator project soon, but construction safety and disaster rescue droids were a worthy distraction while the trauma wore off.

“Good.” Richard surveyed his colleagues, relieved to see them in good spirits. “Let’s get to work.”

+

The engineers spent the majority of the morning exploring the labs, taking inventory, setting up their offices on the top floor, and calibrating the equipment downstairs.

As Richard and Eve systematically imported the digital information from the Bureau’s database onto the computer in the director’s office, Richard asked, “Do you miss the old days of Larkspur?”

He fidgeted with the status bar on the monitor, waiting for her response. Perhaps this wasn’t a conversation he should have started.

But he still felt so guilty uprooting his family. Heather especially. He didn’t fully understand her preoccupation with his job beyond that, but this felt like a path to repair.

“I guess so.” Across the room, Eve opened one of several boxes and pulled out academic hardcovers to populate the bookcase. “There were more of us, covering a wider field of expertise. The general public could schedule appointments to come visit and see what we were up to.” She breathed a soft sigh. “It was really lively.”

Larkspur had already been operating underground for nearly a decade by the time Richard had entered the scene. Eve had disclosed the basics of what had happened, but not much else. What the other co-founder had done wasn’t relevant after all that time, she had said, and Richard hadn’t thought it appropriate to pry.

“Do you think there’s a chance we can get back to that someday?” Richard asked.

“I don’t know. My original vision for Larkspur was half research, half education.” She paused, staring intently at the book in her hands. “But it just wasn’t meant to be, perhaps.” She pushed the book into place and lifted another from the box. “I get fulfillment in that other half elsewhere now. It’s been twenty years.”

Eve had once been the director, but after passing it off to Richard, she had split her time back east between Larkspur and the local university in Dunesborough as an adjunct professor. She was over retirement age, but she liked to keep busy. Her wife was trying to convince her to retire properly, and only consented to moving after so many years because Jida was originally from the northwest, and wanted to spend her golden years on the windy, rocky coast.

He hadn’t expected Eve to be there that morning to help unpack, but maybe she was dodging her own pressures at home.

“Still, I’ve been thinking,” Richard said. “What if we took this opportunity to move toward that direction, as Dhar mentioned?”

Eve hesitated. She stood up with a soft grunt. “I don’t know, Rich. If we try it and it doesn’t go well—” She faltered. “There’d be no way to take it back. In light of current events, it might be safer to lie low a bit longer and feel things out.”

“Well, I mean we wouldn’t immediately be launching a marketing campaign or anything.” Richard offered a smile. “But what if we used our obligatory resurfacing to cautiously begin restoring Larkspur to its former glory? Maybe we could even start pulling out of our government contracts, go private.”
 “‘Former glory’ feels sticky.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Shrugging off the government is a tempting proposition.”

Richard added to the download queue and swiveled his chair around so he could fully face his colleague. “Heather asked me if she could visit Larkspur.”

“Heather wants to visit?” Eve raised her eyebrows, surprised.

Richard nodded. “Very badly. She made sure I didn’t forget about it before I left this morning.”

Eve considered her friend’s words, her expression soft.

Finally, she smiled, apprehensively, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Why not?”

+

James brought his project journal to the lamplight.

He booted up his desktop computer and accessed the extensive list of online academic databases he had subscriptions to, gearing up for another full night of research and planning. Most of his notes on this proposition were digital to accommodate the sheer volume of it. The journal was reserved for brainstorming tangents.

How could he safely transfer the entire essence of a human being into a different body?

The physical aspect of emotions, memories, and personality were thought to mostly reside in the brain and central nervous system. He had heard of stories where organ recipients took on subtle yet specific personality traits of the donor after the transplant. No official studies had been conducted on this as far as he could find. Central nervous system should be enough of a target.

James flipped to pages he had filled on previous research binges, reviewing what he had gathered and where it had left him.

He intended to transform the physical neural pathways and electrochemical signaling networks into purely electrical ones, which could be downloaded into a highly specialized mainframe. But the concept of spirit nagged at him. He couldn’t yet think of a way to make sure the transfer of consciousness wasn’t a mere copy of the transferee’s identity.

It had to be a transplant, not a clone.

James had never been religious, so the concept of spirit sounded more like millions of years of evolutionary instinct and environmental cross-wiring, but he had gone down a few rabbit holes in his time about paranormal phenomena. The science was still in its infancy, but existing empirical data suggested it had something to do with electromagnetic energy or quantum theory.

As yet another night grew long, James burned through pages of information, skimming abstracts before consuming many of the scientific journal articles in more detail, picking through e-books and pilfering their sources. He made notes on whatever seemed interesting, and the integrity level of each study.

As far as supporting research for full body transplants and organic-to-electrical neural conversion, source material careened in and out of respectability.

Supposing spirit existed—perhaps as a sort of electromagnetic equivalent to DNA methylation—it was connected to the body as long as the latter was alive and functional. Doctors frequently brought people back from death in emergency surgery. It only required timely repair or re-stimulation of the failed biological component.

If the artificial cognitive network closely resembled the organic one, and had a powerful electromagnetic snare, perhaps the alleged metaphysical components could be tricked to accept and integrate with the mechanical body.

Then the question would be where to tether the snare. Was the essential life force restricted to a specific area? The primary center James could think of was the brain, whose functionality afforded consciousness, connecting an individual to the rest of the world.

But the whole body was innervated. And every cell possessed a form of life.

He sounded completely unhinged.

He turned his gaze to his hand. Pensively, he closed it into a tight fist, concentrating on the sensation of his muscles straining and contracting before opening it again. Staggering in number, each alive itself, but all somehow linked to form cohesive, cooperative tissues, as if they weren’t really individual at all. Did he need to extract the life from each cell, or could he safely focus on the nervous system alone?

He sighed, resting his head in his hands, his brain muddled from lack of sleep and too much conjecture. He straightened up, stretching his shoulders. His back popped, hunched over his desk for too long.

Beyond conversion questions, information accommodation of a mechanical medium was another key hurdle. The new neural container would have to be able to mimic the capacity of the human brain. The organic brain could make an unlimited amount of new connections and shortcuts and reroutes, operating in chemical gradients and electrical impulses. Reproducing it mechanically came with high risk of processing overload. Perhaps photonics was the way forward there.

As the night marched on toward morning, he browsed the online research databases for modern developments in mechanical and electrical engineering. He located some promising articles about memory function, networking programs, and artificial intelligence. The articles added to the ever-growing collection on his computer.

James hardly noticed as the rising sun slowly diluted the darkness from the sky. He pushed the keyboard aside and spread out his notes, setting to work consolidating the main points and their supporting information. After a week of obsessive sleep deprivation, he was finally getting somewhere. He had yet to straighten out a few hitches in the project, but he had enough information for a proposal, at least. He couldn’t wait any longer.

He lifted the page with the abstract up in front of his face and turned so that the cool light of the early sunrise glowed behind it. Relief and inspiration washed through him as he lay the page down, stood up from his desk, and crossed the room to the window.

He ran a hand over his tired eyes and smiled down at the busying street below. He’d get a power nap in before work, and then he’d pitch the idea to Richard as soon as he arrived at Larkspur.

Whatever it took, James resolved to make impossibility reality. And if medical science failed and his father wasn’t willing to accept premature death, he would be ready with a revolutionary failsafe.

+

CHAPTER ELEVEN—PITCH  

James arrived at the facility early, pulling up to the building shortly after Richard.

Heather ventured a polite wave as James got out of his car, and he lifted a hand in return, recalling the brief meeting the day before for the purpose of sanctioning Heather’s visit. He hoped she enjoyed herself, but stayed enough out of his way.

They weren’t traveling companions anymore. James had work to do.

“Good morning, James.” Richard smiled as he shouldered his bag. “You’re here early.”

“Restless night,” James said as he held the door open for the director and his daughter.

He wished he could present his project immediately, idly insert it into conversation instead of making a frontal assault. The urgency sat heavy in his chest, but he intended to tamper with things people typically left alone. He couldn’t take any step in this process lightly.

Not to mention, he wasn’t sure where Richard stood on the subject.

Heather’s awed gaze swept over the lobby and landed on the stairs. “Are your offices up there?”

“Yes,” Richard replied. Heather walked with such a spring in her step that James expected her to twirl a few times on her way to the staircase. Richard glanced at him and smiled, a tender, fatherly expression James had seen hints of before, but never with such clarity on the director’s face.

Richard admired his daughter. For her curiosity and excitement. For learning and exploring. For existing.

James readjusted his grip on his briefcase.

Heather started up the stairs. “Can I make coffee for everyone?”

“Sure.” Richard smiled. “Thanks. Everything should be upstairs to the right. You remember how to use a coffee maker?”

“Of course,” she said. “I make Mom’s every day before school.”

At the top of the stairs, she swung around the railing and made for the counter at the other end of the kitchenette. She spun around. “James, do you want a cup too?”

“Yeah, thanks,” James said haltingly. He would soon welcome the caffeine, if it would even help at this point of exhaustion. “Hey, Richard? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course.” Richard strolled down the hallway, opening his office door to the left. “What’s on your mind?”

James took a steadying breath as he closed the door behind them and ventured toward Richard’s desk. The director’s belongings only sparsely decorated the larger, updated office. There was too much air. James felt exposed.

He set his briefcase in a nearby chair and pulled out the notes he had consolidated earlier that morning. “I’ve come up with an idea for a new project.”

“Another one?” Richard set his bag down by the wall. Picture frames fringed his desk. He settled into his chair with an accommodating smile. “Let’s hear it.”

With a thrill of hope and nerves, James scanned the front page of his notes, deciding which angle to take. He looked up. “I think I’ve devised a potential method to save people with terminal medical conditions. It’s still somewhat theoretical right now, but it’s shaping up to be very promising.”

He handed Richard his notes.

“Medical field, huh?” Richard said quietly, looking over the first page. “‘Organorobotic Transference?’”

“Yes.” James’ neck hurt. He must have slept on it wrong. “I believe there’s a very plausible method of transferring a human being out of their failing body into a replacement one.”
Richard moved the top page to the back. “And this replacement would be…”

“Mechanical, of course.”

“Completely mechanical?” Richard’s careful tone failed to convey the approval James needed.

“How?”
 “I plan to design an electrical network that will work just like the human brain,” James spoke quickly and talked with his hands, more so than usual. “Including its ability to make unlimited connections. The network will house a program that will basically download an individual’s consciousness, so that everything will be the same as if they were in their old body, but simply in a different medium. And the mass from the failing body can be converted to energy to power the replacement so it’s an efficient process with little to no cleanup.” James took a sorely-needed breath.

“How do you plan to build this electrical network?” Richard said. “And how will the consciousness be transferred, exactly? Will it require destroying the organic brain?”
 “I haven’t quite worked everything out yet.” James idly kneaded the complaint in his neck. “Like I said, this is still in its early stages.”

“It does seem a little far-fetched,” Richard said carefully.

“This could really help people.”

“Have you thought about how this could be abused?”

“I suppose a few could try to use it to immortalize themselves. But certainly, the benefits would outweigh the dangers.”

“If successful, technology like this would introduce a whole new facet to society, with infinite possibilities for unforeseen consequences,” Richard said. “Could it be controlled?”

“If we can manage to keep it in the medical sector, I believe it could,” James replied. Richard was just being pessimistic. He barreled on before Richard could stop him. “But we can tackle the political questions later in development, long before societal introduction.”
Richard studied him for a moment. “Were you hoping for this to take top priority?”

“No,” James lied. Of course he wanted to devote all his time and attention to this, but he needed to accept that his prior obligations with Larkspur took precedence. He had to be flexible to increase his chances. “It would be more of a personal project, and I could work on it almost exclusively in my free time, if necessary. I understand we have a lot of work here to catch up on.”

He cringed inwardly.

What was he saying? With his personal deadlines, that was suicide.

A long silence followed, and James didn’t like the look on Richard’s face.

“I don’t know, James,” Richard said finally. “I’ll admit I’m not very comfortable with something like this. It seems too dangerous. Too much can go wrong…”

“I’ll work out every detail and make sure there are absolutely no problems before ever considering it for clinical trials.”

The doubt didn’t leave Richard’s soft countenance. He narrowed his eyes indecisively as he continued to flip through the papers. “Without transplanting the physical brain, won’t the ‘transferred consciousness’ just be a copy?”

“Potentially,” James said, a pit in his stomach. “Technically. But if the physical brain dies with a terminal patient, and the neural network is identical, functionally, it is a legitimate continuation of a person.”

Richard looked at him, brows tight.

“It won’t have full validity until clinical trials, but for those who have no other fallback and are willing to try, think of the benefits,” James said. “Cancer patients, children with fatal genetic diseases…They would get to live a full life, free of pain after their bodies fail.”

Richard exhaled slowly, considering James’ written notes. “Let’s ask Eve what she thinks about it.”

That wasn’t a no. “Okay,” James said, backing toward the door. “Thank you, Richard. I’ll check if she’s here.”

James felt sick to have to take this up with Eve, whose approval was even less likely. Still, he had to try.

Eve had arrived, but her input was predictably negative. “I’m sorry, James, I can’t promote this.”

Now James could panic. “But it could be invaluable to—”

“I know your heart’s in the right place,” Eve cut him off. “But it really doesn’t sit well with me. Nothing good can come of something like this.”

“Isn’t saving lives good?” James asked, his voice taut.

Eve was shaking her head. “Better leave things as they are this time.”
 “But we’re scientists! Isn’t our whole purpose in life to make things better?” James insisted anxiously. “To not leave things as they are?”

“Yes, but we’re not looking for ways to cheat death, or to play God,” Eve struggled. She paused, collecting her thoughts. “I understand your logic, and I commend your good intentions, but I just don’t think it’s possible. The science is dodgy at best, and the ethical ramifications of both research and implementation are a minefield.”

“I can make it work.” James insisted. He could use dead tissue for testing, a few live mice at most, then very careful implementation into clinical trials. The public wouldn’t know about it until the whole project was stabilized for medical use. Where was the detriment?

He looked at Richard for some kind of support, but Richard didn’t say anything. James wouldn’t be able to honor the director’s decision if he didn’t let him pursue this. It meant far too much.

But he knew he wouldn’t get far without resources.
 “Please,” James pleaded. “At least let me try. Nothing bad will come of it. I promise.”

“It’s a little early to start up new projects, and this one sounds expensive,” Richard said, indecisive.

“I want to say yes, James, but I just—I can’t comfortably allocate Larkspur resources for it.”

James fought to calm the distress rising in his chest. “What if you didn’t? What if I just used the equipment here, but used my own resources to acquire supplies? If I can make a miniaturized prototype and prove it’s perfectly safe, would you change your mind?”

Richard hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Why this? Why now?”

James froze. They wouldn’t understand. “I just thought this has the potential to do a lot of good,” he stammered. “And I wanted to get started as soon as possible.”

Richard studied him, unconvinced. “What do you think, Eve?”

Eve sighed. “I’d prefer you forget about this, James. Concentrate on some of your other projects. But, Richard, you’re the director. It’s not my call.”

Richard turned to look out the window. Heavy silence closed in on the room as he thought it over.

James fidgeted with his tie, afraid to breathe.

A knock sounded at the door, making everyone jump. Heather stuck her head in. “Hey, coffee’s ready.”

“Thanks, Heather,” Richard said, flashing a grateful smile.

Fortunately, Heather detected the tension and didn’t ask any questions before returning Eve’s friendly wave and closing the door.

James’ gaze shifted between them as the director continued to deliberate, and the former director waited for his verdict. Finally, Richard sighed and offered Eve an apologetic expression. “I’ll allow that proposal, James.” He faced his young colleague. “I won’t forbid you from pursuing it on your own time with your own resources, and I’ll even go as far as to grant you access to the equipment here at the facility. If it works as you say it will, then we’ll talk about this again.”

James didn’t dare glance Eve’s direction. “Thank you so much, Richard.” He turned to leave. “You have nothing to be concerned about—”

A restraining hand landed on his shoulder, surprising him. Pulling back, James twisted around and found himself staring straight through Eve’s glasses into her serious brown eyes.

“Be careful,” she ordered softly.

James wasn’t sure what to make of her uncharacteristically grave demeanor. He cracked an uneasy smile. “I’ll take every precaution.”

James detached himself from his colleague as unassumingly as possible and escaped into the hallway. Leaning against the wall, he raised his face to the ceiling and closed his eyes, allowing himself a sigh of relief. His colleagues remained behind the closed door, and James didn’t feel like eavesdropping.

Out in the kitchenette, Heather handed him a mug without comment. Despite the curiosity burning in her face, she didn’t pry.

“Is this creamer fair game?” She retrieved a container from the fridge and held it up.

“I’m fine with it like this,” James said quietly. “Thank you.” He didn’t usually drink his coffee black, but this morning, the bitterness seemed appropriate.

His heart still beat too hard behind his ribs. James filled his mouth with coffee, focusing on the sharp taste. He had come so close to having to go against Richard. His colleagues didn’t like his project, but James had received permission regardless.

So he would pursue it. He would save his father if it came to that, and he would do it guiltlessly, despite their anxieties. He would show them all how possible, how necessary it was.

Heather studied his demeanor. “Does it taste okay?”

James nodded and took another draught, a thin, relieved smile brightening his features.

+

A subterranean pulse shattered the rural quiet. Like the lag time between injury and pain, a single sleeping field nestled among a dark landscape of identical plots erupted in a fountain of flaming debris.

The giant, smoldering crater, lanced with the twisted remains of the building beneath, caused a great deal of commotion until the head of the local police received a phone call from a man named Vihaan Dhar.

No one knew the facility existed. Perhaps no one would have ever found out.

+

CHAPTER ONE—LARKSPUR

An hour past midnight, Heather Knight heard her dad’s car in the driveway.

She jolted up from the couch and climbed on her knees, shoving the curtains back and peering out the window behind it. The car sat in front of the garage for several long moments. Then the engine turned off, and the silhouette of her father sat in darkness.

Long night just got longer, read the last text her mom had received from him two hours ago. Don’t wait up.

But Su-Wei had, and Heather had woken up to see light from the living room still seeping under her door, so even though it was a school night, she had waited too.

“Is it him?” Su-Wei asked from the adjacent couch, nervous.

“Yeah, he’s just sitting there.” She stared, eyes narrowed. She perked up. “No, wait, he’s getting out.”

He wandered up the walk, idly favoring his shoulder. The porch lights caught the edge of his glasses, glinting off a jagged crack in the lens and flooding a bloody, bruising scrape on his face.

Heather pitched back, nearly catching her foot in the cushions and falling off the sofa in her haste to get to the door. She unlocked the bolt and threw it open. “Dad, what happened?”

“Uh…” Richard Knight ran a hand through his short black hair. Stray pieces of dirt and grass fluttered to the floor. He stepped into the house, tried to put his keys in his pocket, but he kept missing. He squeezed them in his hand instead. Tightly. “Su, can we talk in the bedroom?”

Su glanced from him to Heather, whose shock gave way to dismay. Su gave him an apprehensive nod.

Richard sidestepped his daughter and ducked into the hallway, leaving Heather standing by the door, aghast and betrayed.

As soon as the door closed, the muffled voices started up. Heather hung by the door, anger burning within her, warring with herself.

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” she muttered to the empty entryway.

Finally, she crept forward. She tucked herself into the nearby doorway of her bedroom and leaned against the frame, close enough to barely make out what her parents were saying.

“Please just tell me what happened,” her mother said.

“Larkspur exploded…” Richard said, his voice hoarse. “Can you believe that?” He was further from the door. She heard the faucet turn on in their bathroom.

“Exploded?” Su gasped. “How?”

“Something happened with our generator prototype. We didn’t get a chance to figure out what before we had to evacuate.”

“Everyone got out safely?”

“Yeah. Just a few scrapes.”

“Scrapes from what?”

“Flying debris, but it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. Look at that wound on your face. Your glasses! You mean you were that close to the explosion? Was there radiation involved?”

“I wasn’t that close—”

“I swear to god, Richard, stop downplaying this.”

“Well what am I supposed to do?” Richard cried. “Be brutally honest? Worry you even more?”

“Yes, dammit!”

“Why?”

“Because it happened to you!”

Heather held her breath, her whole body tense. Her heart pounded so hard she worried it would give her away.

Her parents never fought. Her mom swore when provoked, but Heather couldn’t remember ever seeing her dad upset. He never showed that part of himself.

Sick to her stomach, Heather stepped away from the doorframe. As she turned, she heard Su say, almost too quietly for her to make out, “Heather will piece this together by herself at this rate, and I don’t want her taking this into her owns hands. I think our time’s run out.”

“I’ll tell her tonight.”

“She can do with a promise tonight. Give yourself time to gather your nerves, at least.”

“I’m not sure I have that kind of time. Either we double down or pop the lid. It’ll be all over the news by morning.”

“Fuck.”

She heard movement behind the door, and Heather hastily took that as her cue to head back up the hallway and pretend she wasn’t a brazen eavesdropper. She couldn’t believe what was happening.

They were finally going to tell her.

+

James Siles stuck his hand into the darkness of his apartment, clumsily searching for the light switch.

Every muscle in his body hurt.

He thrust the door shut with his foot and kicked off his shoes. He smelled like smoke and earth. He was starting to feel the scrapes and bruises too, now that the rush and panic were wearing off. His hip especially smarted.

He had never been good at running.

James dropped his gaunt frame onto the couch with a grunt and frowned up at the ceiling fan, watching its sluggish revolutions as he gently kneaded the pain in his upper arm.

His work was gone. His equipment, prototypes, the better portion of his most recent projects that had yet to undergo routine backups…. The sketchbook he kept with him at all times had perished as well, along with his laptop, which he had babied and upgraded and enhanced since the first day of graduate school.

Everything. Burned and buried.

James stretched his arms behind his head, wincing at the sharp tweak from the affronted limb.

The matter-to-energy conversion generator had been electrochemically stable, and supplying ample, clean power to the entire underground building. That night was supposed to be the final vigil to see if their efforts to smooth minor snags in the design would hold true. It would have revolutionized the future of electrical infrastructure, had it survived.

James had been calculating and recalculating the variables, but nothing about that night was adding up. The generator wasn’t supposed to be explosive. The failure of the thermoregulatory system on its own was extremely unlikely, and under normal circumstances, the generator would have simply shorted itself out. Maybe a few lightbulbs and subsidiary circuits would have been blown out in the process, but certainly not anything near the annihilation of a twenty thousand square foot facility.

The cooling system had to have been sabotaged, he thought, along with a volatile foreign contaminant introduced to the generator’s sensitive core. He had no proof, of course, but he knew it. What else could it have been?

Larkspur didn’t seem to him the type of company to attract enemies. As part of his work contract, he had to keep details about his clandestine workplace to himself, but that was just protocol.

Nothing about the organization or the other engineers had raised any red flags. James certainly hadn’t worked there long enough to hear any dark secrets about why the lab was so far removed from the public eye—or why it was literally underground. He hadn’t thought it important before.

Maybe Eve could lend some insight, as soon as Richard got a hold of her. James knew her as one of the engineering team, but she had co-founded Larkspur many years before, and had even been the director before Richard. If anyone knew if Larkspur was under fire, it would be her.

James dragged himself to his feet and stalked to the small kitchen to brew some tea. Listening to the kettle creak as it heated on the stovetop, he massaged his temple and contemplated the assortment of boxes in the small cabinet nearby.

Definitely peppermint.

+

CHAPTER TWO—ILLUMINATION

Heather sat at the empty kitchen table with her legs propped on the opposite chair, waiting for her parents to reemerge. She wanted to hope, but she also braced herself to demand an explanation when they decided to hold on to their secrets after all. It seemed inevitable.

She didn’t feel sorry for eavesdropping. Over the years, she had tried both pestering them for answers and respecting their privacy, trying to be understanding of their reasons for keeping it from her—to prove she was mature and trustworthy enough. Nothing worked.

Heather was fifteen now. She could handle whatever her parents were trying to keep from her, but obviously, they were stubborn and determined to shelter her. Tonight, more than ever, she had a right to know. Wasn’t she a part of this family too?

She didn’t look up as the door to her parents’ bedroom opened down the hallway.

“Okay, Heather,” Richard sighed, pulling out the chair across from her. She rescinded her legs, and her dad eased himself into the seat. “Tonight, the secret ends.”

She glanced at her mom, then back to him. “Really?”

Richard nodded. “What happened tonight might end up—changing some things. It’s unfair to keep you in the dark anymore.” He folded his arms on the table. Before Heather could ask what that meant, he continued, “So—to be brief, I’m a mechanical engineer, which I’m sure you’ve already figured out by now.”

Heather bobbed her head in concession. She had long suspected her father’s work had something to do with his love for all things mechanical. There was usually something around the house he was taking apart, or tinkering with. While acting as a chaperone for her fourth-grade field trip to a bread factory, he had inadvertently spent the entire tour plaguing the guide with highly technical questions about the machinery.

“I’m the director of an engineering laboratory called Larkspur,” he said. “Tonight, our latest project—a generator prototype—overloaded somehow, and it destroyed the entire facility. The building was underground, so evacuation was…messy.”

Heather stared at him, eyes wide.

“But everyone was okay.” He held up his palms. “Honest.”

Silence closed in on the kitchen. Richard removed his glasses, fidgeting with the rims.

He used to be a university professor, Heather knew. Shortly after her eighth birthday, he had started working longer hours. They moved into a better neighborhood and her mom left the workforce. He’d accepted a different job, but no one would tell her what it was.

“Why did you wait until something horrible happened to tell me?” she asked.

“Because we had to be sure,” Richard said. “Larkspur has to be kept a secret.”

And because we couldn’t trust you, Heather wanted to add. “Why?”


“Government nondisclosure agreements, mostly. When you’re making new technology, you have to be careful no one steals an idea and patents it first,” he said.

“The whole facility has to be a secret just so you can get a patent?”

Richard hesitated. “No. Something also happened a long time ago in Larkspur’s earlier days that stirred up some trouble. So, for a long time, obscurity has just been an all-around better situation.”

“What did you guys do?” Heather asked.

“It was before my time,” he said. “And it’s not really my story to tell, anyway.”

“But you do know the story…” Heather studied him, watching for how the statement landed. “How bad was it?”

“Please don’t worry about it. It’s all in the past, and had nothing to do with what happened tonight.”

Ambiguity only triggered more questions. His workplace had some kind of past and, tonight, he was put in extreme danger by its sudden destruction. Refusing to elaborate pushed the assumption toward culpability on Richard’s part.

Heather had always trusted he meant well, but now she couldn’t be sure her warm, geeky father was all he professed to be.

“If it’s in the past,” she said, “it really shouldn’t matter if you tell me anymore, should it?”

“I’d be betraying the trust of a friend,” he answered gently, though there was a cornered edge to his voice. “Just as, now, you must honor my trust in keeping my job a secret.”

Heather folded her arms on the table. She knew honoring wishes well. The last seven years had practically suffocated in it. Don’t talk about Dad’s work. Not even about it being a secret. Because it’s important that it stays a secret. No, you can’t know why.

Nothing had changed.

“You know,” she said, frowning at the table, “when you said you were going to tell me about Larkspur, I thought you actually meant it.”

“I do mean it. I don’t like keeping things from you,” he said earnestly. “Don’t you think I wouldn’t love to tell you all about my work if I could? But there are rules, protocol above even my pay grade—”

Heather’s expression only darkened in exasperation.

Richard gave up. He reached under the un-cracked side of his glasses and rubbed his eye with a heavy exhale.

“Heather,” her mom said, rubbing her shoulder, “give your dad some time. He’s been through a lot tonight.”

“I know,” Heather sighed. “Sorry. It’s just…all this makes me feel like I don’t know you.”

“You do know me,” Richard said. “If I get more clearance, I can tell you more. I just really don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. We’ll just have to see, okay?”

Heather’s gaze fell. “Okay.”

After a long silence, Richard stood up, shakily. “Come here…”

Heather dragged herself out of her chair and met him halfway. He wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” she said, hugging him back. It was sinking in that he was lucky to have come home at all.

“Me too,” he said softly. He kissed her head and docked his chin on top. He sighed.

Su joined the embrace.

“Can I stay home from school tomorrow?” Heather asked.

“No, sorry,” both her parents said in imperfect unison.

“We don’t know how fast this will spread,” Su said. “You turning up absent might not be the wisest move we could make right now.”

“No one will notice I’m gone,” Heather muttered. High school hadn’t been good to her so far. She wasn’t at all popular and her one friend from junior high had moved to a different state.

“They will,” Su said. “You normally have such good attendance. It might be too much of a coincidence.”

Heather groaned.

She guessed people noticed when the overachiever of all her classes turned up absent. But overachievers got sick sometimes just like everyone else.

Maybe this really was all so much worse than anyone would ever tell her.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Whatever you need, Dad. If it’ll help.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her again and the hug fragmented. “Now, bedtime for me,” he said with a weak smile, already on his way out of the kitchen. “I’m exhausted.”

+

Word traveled quickly at school, incited by the students whose households watched the early morning news. Homeroom became an impromptu political club and Heather stayed silent. Whatever was going on with her dad, she didn’t want to make it worse. At least not until she could get some kind of angle on it.

“I bet it was a secret headquarters for some government agency,” one of her classmates said, perched on the desk across from her with his feet on the chair. “My dad says President Ferrens is up to something super shady these days. We’re all gonna pay for it soon.”

“Please, Beni,” Laura groaned from the desk beside Heather. “It’s too early in the morning for this.”

“Never too early!” Beni said. “It’s a strain on the economy, and we’re already practically in a dictatorship, mark my words.”

“You’re talking like you’re gonna join the Conxence yourself or something.” Another classmate who’d just arrived cuffed his arm on his way past.

Beni straightened, suddenly. He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! Mason, I’ll bet you anything it was them! Last night.” He swiveled around to face the newcomer, throwing his arms out. “What else could it be?”

Heather glanced at the doorway, but their teacher had yet to appear.

“Conxence?” Laura droned, skeptical. “This far east? Not a chance.”

Heather silently agreed with her. The Conxence—formerly the non-militarized “Conscience Movement”—was established by civilians with the purpose of calling the troubling political climate to accountability. Currently demonized as an uncontrollable rash of vigilantes and terrorists, the Conxence was mainly active in the nation’s capital, at least three time zones west.

“They do like blowing stuff up when they can,” Mason said.

“I’m sure whatever happened last night was just an industrial accident, like the news said.”

“Like the news always tells the truth,” Beni snorted.

“Didn’t you see footage of the site?” asked Mason.

“It was crazy!” Beni grinned at him. He turned it on Laura, who remained unconvinced.

As Beni proceeded to describe the video coverage of the aftermath with as many sound effects as possible, Heather tried to act like her hackles weren’t raising.

A crater, he said. The facility’s demise had made a crater. In a rural area. Small towns, farmlands.

A charred, skeletal, crater.

One that had almost claimed her dad’s life.
 Heather should have thought to watch the news that morning—but she had barely caught the bus. And maybe her dad wouldn’t have let her near the TV or internet anyway. She resented more than ever that her parents wouldn’t let her have a smart phone until she was seventeen. She could be facing a full lockdown when she returned home that afternoon.

She started making plans to spend her lunch hour in the library at one of the computers. Maybe it was good she was at school, where her dad couldn’t interfere.

Still, if Larkspur was tied up in the government, that first confused local news story would be all the information to get out.

Heather fidgeted with the edge of her sea green hairband. She opened her notebook and tried to look busy.

Did her parents think they were protecting her by pushing her to the margins and rejecting her from a key part of their world? Especially now, when she had no idea what they were dealing with and had no ability to prepare. Was the Conxence after her dad?

He’d probably never tell her if they were.

+

CHAPTER THREE—FRICTION

A short stack of printed pages slapped down on the table in front of James, over top of where he sketched cartoon robots on loose paper. The eight-year-old halted and picked up the foreign pages, reading over the impossibly long title. “What’s this?”
“Scholarly journal article,” his father said, planting himself at the table across from James with a mug of black coffee.
The boy perused the excruciatingly small print. “What’s it for?”
 “It’s a primary document. I’ve told you about them,” came the curt reply. “You remember what they are, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“I mean yes,” James amended. He rattled off a definition, “A primary document is a report from research someone did themselves.”
His father nodded, reclining back with an air of indifference. “Very good. We’re going to go over one of these every day.”
Dread pricked at James’ insides. “Why?”
“Because you need to learn about my field. And you need intellectual stimulation worthy of your gifts.”
James flipped a page over and scanned the thick, unintelligible columns. Even the graphs of the results made no sense to him. “What is—” He paused as he silently tried to sound out the word, “Ace-till-cho-line?”
“It’s pronounced ‘uh-seetul-koh-leen,’” his father snapped. “Acetylcholine is a neurotransmitter.”
“Oh.” James had heard about neurotransmitters.
“It seems we have our work cut out for us,” his father sighed, looking at his watch. He stood, washed the rest of his coffee down the sink, and strode to the door. He donned his coat and shouldered his black briefcase.“We’ll go through that when I get back. Concentrate on your studies today.”
“Yes, sir.” James watched him go, then got up and pulled the schoolwork list off the refrigerator. Words overwhelmed the strip of paper, as usual. Luckily, his mother had written this one.
She had better handwriting.

~

James sat pinned between the wall and the conference table, distant and disillusioned.

“Now, let’s sort all this out, then.” Vihaan Dhar, a middle-aged history professor type, with sturdy posture and a well-kept black mustache, let his gaze wander around the table. “What happened?”

The engineers exchanged uncertain glances, seated across from Dhar, Richard, and Eve.

Dhar’s attention rested squarely on James. “Siles, care to start us off? Since you were most directly involved?”

“I’d love to,” James sighed. The particulars of the event had kept him awake most of the night.

“With as much detail as you can,” Eve added, pushing her square glasses higher on the bridge of her nose.

Evangeline Fabienne Pérez Delva was an anomaly in every circle she entered. Large-boned and athletic in her seventies, she and her wife were nutrition buffs and avid hikers, and while she was something of a giant in the tech world thirty years running, she actively thumbed her nose at what she called the “shiny corporate bullshit” that often went with the territory. She was a brilliant civil engineer, with a rare talent for both science and people.

The first time James had ever seen her was when she gave a guest lecture at his university, easygoing and extroverted in an auditorium full of unkempt, socially terrified engineering students. She’d had a thick cloud of STEM majors around her the whole weekend.

James had just about died when Larkspur accepted his internship application two years ago, an arrangement that had since turned into a permanent position. But he would never admit that to Eve.

James laced his fingers together on the table, wondering if they were discussing a fireable offense that morning. “Okay…Well, I went in the generator room to make the last checkup of the night, and I noticed the room was warmer than it was supposed to be. I only had time to pull up the status screen for the generator and thermoregulatory system and see it had frozen up before the alarms activated.”

“What time was this?” Dhar asked.

“10:46pm.” Every feature of that glitched screen sat etched in his memory.

“So there were no prior warnings that something was malfunctioning?” Eve asked.

“Everything was fine when I’d checked it just an hour before, and none of the sensors went off,” Addie Matthews spoke up to James’ left. He had worked with her for the entirety of his time at Larkspur, and still knew little about her personal life. Though once, he heard her mention that she grew up in an ultra right-wing religious cult and seemed to have since renounced it.

“The cooling system had been damaged somehow,” James said. “The pipes were too quiet. And the automatic failsafe should have easily triggered at the temperature the core hit. I didn’t get a chance to check if it had been disconnected.”

“So, you think the safeguard had been manually deactivated?” Eve asked.

“I don’t know how, but yes,” James said. “I tried to flood the system with the emergency water valve, but even that wheel was jammed.” He gestured to Richard. “That’s when Richard found me and made me leave it.”

Richard glanced at him.

James couldn’t meet his gaze. Never in his life would he have expected his superior to have to all but drag him off the machinery platform. James should have had more maturity, more self-restraint, even though he hadn’t realized this particular evacuation was a matter of life or death.

“I’m told you think it’s sabotage,” Eve said.

James felt like a bullseye as all attentions trained on him again. “Nothing about the generator’s design or the limits of its safeguards suggested it would behave the way it did.” He pushed aside a memory of the unresponsive valve under his desperate hands, alarms screaming in his ears, Richard’s voice failing to clear the din. “Someone had to have tampered with it. Blocked the pressure outlets, fed it an unstable source material for conversion. Something.”

“Could there have been a problem with the irrigated water supply?” Eve asked.

“Still waiting to hear back on that,” said Dhar. He looked around the table. “And where were the rest of you while this was going on?”

Greg Harper, a tree of a person with a heavily freckled face and an overbearing personality to match, spoke up, “We were all in the main lab working up blueprints for that android project commissioned last week. It was James’ turn to check the generator, so he stepped away for a bit.”

“How long was he gone?”

“A few minutes?”

“Did any of you see anything out of place before this point?”

“No,” Chelo Fernandez said. An alumnus from James’ alma mater, her direct demeanor and formidable creative prowess greatly intimidated him during his internship, but she had gradually earned his trust with positive reinforcement and offerings of mandarin oranges. She glanced around at her colleagues. “It was just the five of us out there, wasn’t it? Nobody was on security duty?”

“The last shift of the night had ended over half an hour before,” said Addie, reaching behind her head to gather her long blonde braid and pull it over one shoulder. She cracked a thwarted smile. “I would suggest we check the video surveillance recordings for anything suspicious, but of course we can’t.”

“And our remote backups of the footage from that night don’t show anything out of the ordinary,” Richard said.

“Seriously?” James said. His mind turned immediately to video tampering, but it would take particular skill or very high access to edit the user log as well. He guessed even Richard didn’t have that kind of clearance.

“Larkspur doesn’t have any enemies, does it?” Richard glanced at Eve. James perked up.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Eve replied. “Most everyone who still remembers Larkspur thought we went under almost twenty years ago.”

“This is the worst sort of thing to happen if we wanted to stay behind the scenes,” Greg mused.

“The whole county is buzzing. I agree it seems out of left field, but we have no apparent perpetrator. James, are you absolutely sure it wasn’t just an accident, because it’s perfectly fine if—”

“It wasn’t an accident,” James said. “We’re smarter than that.”

“Mistakes can be made by any of us,” Greg said. “Even you.”

James bristled. “I didn’t do anything to it.”
 “We didn’t say you did,” Richard said gently, pushing up on the bridge of his broken glasses. “We just have to consider every possibility.”

“You can safely consider that possibility a dead end,” James said, avoiding looking too long at Richard’s glasses.

“But you do actually believe it was sabotage?” Greg pressed. “Despite a deafening lack of evidence?”

James threw up his hands.

After a beat of charged silence, Dhar checked his phone and pushed his chair back. “Well, I’ve received word about where we’ll set up shop next. I’ve had my administrative assistant making phone calls and looking into the Bureau’s assets still invested in this little engineering lab of ours. Seems like the outlook is promising. Talk amongst yourselves until I get back.” He paused at the door. “I know you’re all shaken by this, but let’s try to work together, all right?”

Richard studied the friction between James and Greg in concern. Chelo and Addie exchanged a glance. James crossed his arms and Eve sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Thanks, Greg,” James muttered as soon as the door closed behind Dhar. “I can always count on you to make me look bad in front of the head of the Bureau.”

“You’re the one who got defensive,” Greg said, failing nonchalance. “I haven’t gotten a rise out of you like that in quite a while. Is there something you aren’t telling us?”

James frowned at him from the corner of his eye. “Like how I’m aware that, since I largely designed that monitoring system, this makes it my fault? And that there’s no way to recover the technology to get some sort of readout of what exactly happened to it?”

“You said it, not me,” Greg retorted over Chelo and Addie’s heads.

Chelo dealt Greg a sharp elbow to the arm. “Stop bickering.”
 “Sorry,” Greg mumbled, shifting away. He massaged his affronted arm, redirecting his attention to the brooding James. “All I’m getting at, Surly, is there’s really no evidence for or against you. I don’t doubt your confidence, or the quality of your work. But accidents do happen, so you can be as adamant as you want but we’ll still never know for sure. At any rate, crying ‘sabotage’ isn’t helping you.”

“So we’re just going to ignore the possibility,” James muttered. “How responsible.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“James…” Addie said softly as Chelo gave Greg another warning expression. “I know what it looks like, but nobody had reason—”

“I collaborated on those designs and signed off on them,” Chelo said. “For all we know this could be my fault.”

“There was nothing wrong with that system.” James leaned forward so he could see her better, his hazel eyes hard and stubborn. “You of all people should be backing me up here.”

Chelo looked at the table.

“Will we receive results of the investigation?” Addie addressed their superiors across the table.

“Yes,” Richard said. “I don’t think they’ll find anything, though.”

James crossed his arms and sat back, morose.

In the ensuing silence, Eve said, “It’s only the first day. Things will start looking up soon.”

Dhar entered with several sheets of paper in hand and said, “Looks like you’ll be moving back to the old facility near Worthing.”

He was met with blank stares.

“Worthing?” Greg said, worried. “Like west coast Worthing?”

“Afraid so,” Dhar said.

“That’s a good facility,” Eve said. “And above ground too, which sounds perfect to me.” She smiled.

“Underground was nice and secretive at first, but now I’m not sure it was such a great idea in the long haul.”

Richard flashed a reserved, lopsided smile of his own. “I’ll admit I agree with you there. Though I think we’re all worried about the distance…”

“It’ll be advantageous to have you back near the Bureau’s main office again.” Dhar handed James copies of the location information, who received them wordlessly, took one sheet, and passed on the rest.

“The original facility’s been closed down for years.” Eve scanned the page. “How much renovation will it need?”

“I’ll have that all taken care of.” Dhar returned to his seat next to her. “How much time will you need to relocate?”
 Again, silence closed in on the narrow room. Worthing was on the opposite side of the country. Over two thousand miles away.

James decided to let the others figure out what they wanted to do. By the end of the week, he’d have already gone through work withdrawal and taken up tinkering with other projects on his kitchen table. He didn’t have anyone else to move but himself. It wasn’t his call.

He didn’t feel like arguing anymore, anyway.

“Heather will be out of school for the summer in about three weeks,” Richard said, thinking. “I’d hate to pull her out that close. Would a month be too long?”

“A month should be fine.” Dhar jotted notes on his phone. “The danger of complete exposure isn’t particularly high. If the Dunesborough Police Department isn’t releasing information—which they have express federal orders not to—people can speculate, but nothing will be able to be traced back to us.” He considered everyone around the table. “Would a month work for the rest of you? We’ll compensate you for moving expenses and any lease breaking fees.”

James nodded. The remaining engineers confirmed, numbly.

“Great.” The head of the Federal Bureau of Science and Innovation swiped into a different app on his phone. “Mark your calendars, then, for Monday, June twenty-fourth as the date to report to the new facility. Let me know if you have any questions.”

The engineers clutched their handouts, exchanging uneasy glances.

“I know it’s a lot to ask of you,” Dhar said. “But I do think this will be a good move. Twenty years is a long time under the table. Maybe after relocating, Larkspur can start expanding again, resurfacing. We’ll shelve the generator for now until we have more information, but with this work safety android project you’re moving into, I think you’ll soon find a lot more resources coming your way, if I have any say in it. I’m pretty partial to this group, to be honest.”

“Thank you, Vihaan,” Eve said.

James stared at the table, pensive. He hadn’t been at Larkspur that long, so he knew nothing about its origins, or what resurfacing meant.

He guessed he would soon find out.
+

CHAPTER FOUR—LOGISTICS

As soon as Heather stepped through the front door, her mother asked her to take a seat in the living room. A bad sign.

At school, she’d tried to access what the news was saying about Larkspur’s demise. Homeroom’s gossip had about summarized it, and by lunch hour, the urgency of the event had been smothered. Just a non-radioactive industrial accident, local police said. A little embarrassing, but nothing to worry about.

A hard knot sat in the pit of her stomach as her parents settled down on the adjacent couch.

“I had a meeting with my coworkers and my boss today,” Richard began quietly. “There’s no way to recover anything from the remains of the facility, and we don’t want to kick up any more dust. It’s looking like it would just be better if we relocate, instead of trying to rebuild.” He adjusted his broken glasses, and met her gaze. “We’ll be moving to a vacant facility outside Worthing, an hour south from the national capital.”

Heather straightened up. “We’re moving to the west coast?”

Richard nodded. “In a month. I’m sorry, Heather.”

“There have to be other labs around here that would work,” Heather pleaded, indignant.

“It would take too much time.”

“Too complicated and expensive, you mean.” Heather snapped. “The government can better cover for you if you’re closer to them, right?”

Richard straightened up. “What? No—I mean, sure Larkspur is federally funded, but it’s just we already own that other facility. There would be no property hunt, no paperwork, no down payments on top of replacing all our equipment—Heather, stop looking at me like that…”
“

Like what?” Heather crossed her arms.

Richard flung a hand at her. “Like I’m…plotting world domination or something.”

“Well how should I know you’re not? Why won’t you tell me what’s really going on?” Her life was here. If they took that, she would have nothing but old secrets and a new barrier of anonymity to suffocate behind. “I’m part of this family too. Why am I the only one that has to be kept in the dark? Like I’d be okay with getting dragged into the fallout when your secrets come back to bite you.”

“Heather—” Su warned.

“Did the Conxence destroy Larkspur?” Heather pressed, her question startling him. “It’s all right. You can tell me. Dad, this isn’t protecting me from anything.”

“You’re not in danger,” he said. “What happened at the lab last night was just an accident. Nothing more.” His tone slowed, as if wanting to make sure she heard and understood every word,

“Heather, my job requires secrecy. That’s why I can’t tell you everything you want to know. No political conspiracies. Please, believe me.”

Heather glanced aside, glaring at the far arm of the couch.

“I know asking you to give up your life here for something I’ve kept from you is incredibly unfair,” Richard went on. “But this is how things are right now, and I need you to trust me that things will be okay. And you know, maybe things will change for the better…”
Heather sank further into the couch, hunching her shoulders, refusing to look at him. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself too.

“We can find a nice house in a quiet area, maybe out in the country,” Su offered, attempting a reassuring smile. “You can choose whatever school you want. What about private school? The west coast is known for its high caliber academics, and we know how bored you’ve been at school this year.”

Heather glanced at her, warily.

Academia she could get behind was tempting. She didn’t have friends anyway. But this wasn’t just about moving away. Dunesborough was what she knew. For so long, Heather had ached to be a part of her parents’ world, but they had refused to let her in. They had created this one for her instead. They couldn’t dangle a new one in front of her face and think she’d instantly grasp for it.

She looked at her dad. He sat still, his eyes tired and melancholy behind the round lenses of his glasses. He was massaging his shoulder.

“You’re sure you’re not in trouble?” Heather asked.

He cracked a wan smile. “Not the kind you think I’m in, apparently. Things are confusing right now, but we’ll make sense of them together.”

“Yeah…” Heather stood up and went to the door. She grabbed her bag and hoisted it over her shoulder. “I have homework I need to get to.”

“Okay,” Richard said, quietly. “We’ll keep you included in the details of the moving process. We’d like your input.”

“Thanks.” Heather stepped dismally into the shadows of the hallway.

She didn’t believe him.

+

The night was far too warm. James opened every window in his apartment, intending to spend most of the night under the largest of the four. Glaring at the broken air conditioner on his way through the living room—its revival waiting for a part in the mail—he planted a box fan in the window next to his desk.

Bombarded by its raucous hum, James set to work on his desktop computer sifting through the files on his backup external hard drive. He was relieved to find he’d kept it up to date with data related to their errant generator. He combed through endless lines of code having to do with the project’s regulation systems and failsafes, searching for typos, faulty logic pathways, anything.

He heaved an exasperated sigh, and cradled his head in his hands. They’d tested and re-tested the system’s integrity before building it to scale and employing it to power the facility. It had been functional in the shorter tests in the two weeks leading up to the night it perished.

He could still picture every detail of Larkspur’s last few minutes. Checkup, rise in temperature, malfunctioning screen…

There was nothing wrong with his and Chelo’s program.

The investigation into the accident had turned up nothing helpful, as expected. Nothing salvageable remained. No trace of an explanation. James knew he was alone in thinking it was anything other than an accident.

Trying to convince them any more would only work against him. Sabotage or not, the facility’s destruction was senseless, and they were already going to increase security just in case.

He wasn’t at Larkspur to defend its interests, anyway. He was only there to create, to manufacture progress.

So, James could let it go, he told himself. He had to. He already had a certain reputation for being overzealous about his work, so he might as well keep that from bleeding into straight up neurosis. He was beginning to doubt himself about the generator, anyway. Gut senses could be wrong. He had too many unresolved feelings about losing his work. That was probably corrupting his ability to reason. Immaturity rearing its head yet again.

But, painfully, accepting it also meant accepting his colleagues still wondered if it was his fault.

And wondering what Eve and Richard must think of him in that light made James sick to his stomach.

+

Heather knew this was a peacemaking gesture.

She peered out the car window at the yellow, two-story house and the looming cherry trees. While she appreciated the prospect of meeting one of her dad’s colleagues, the arrangement still felt patronizing.

A large white storage pod blocked the driveway at the edge of the verdant yard.

“Are you sure about this?” Heather asked as Richard killed the engine. “This seems like a breach of code to me.”

“Eve and Jida are excited to see you.” Richard opened the door.

Heather sighed and got out of the car.

“So she’s your colleague?” she muttered, following her parents up the driveway, past the pod, and to the top of the porch steps.

“Yes.”

“Is she the ‘friend’ you’re protecting?”

“Heather…” Richard rang the doorbell. “Just forget about that, please.”

Heather’s lips tightened. Richard couldn’t tell her about the past, yet she was meeting his coworker—who didn’t even live all that far away from them. Her dad had offered Eve’s name, but when Heather asked about other people he worked with, he had brushed aside the question with another excuse. So what was different about Eve, she wondered.

She was beginning to think her dad was making all this up as he went along.

The door opened to reveal an older woman with broad shoulders, very short coiled hair, and square glasses, whom Heather presumed to be the colleague.

“Hello there, Knights!” she greeted. Her warm, husky voice sounded like it came straight from an old radio show. A petite woman wearing roomy overalls and a bright pink shirt appeared in the doorway beside her. Eve extended a hand. “Nice to see you again, Su.”

As Su shook it, Eve’s smile rested on Heather. “Hey Heather, how’s it going? You were only this tall when I last saw you!” She held her hand to knee height. “Do you remember us? I’m Eve, and this is Jida.”

Heather nodded and put on a smile. She had to have been taller than Eve’s gesture. She vaguely recognized their faces. She might have been eight years old when she met them, but at the time, she had just thought they were acquaintances or professors from where her dad used to work.

Eve threw an arm across the other woman’s shoulders as Jida extended a hand. She had a surprisingly firm handshake. “Great to see you again too, Heather. My, aren’t you grown up! How old are you now?”

“Fifteen,” Heather said.

“Wow,” she looked at Heather’s parents. “Growing up so fast.” She pushed her hands into the pockets of her overalls, glancing back into the house. “Thanks for coming over. We can definitely use the extra elbow grease.”

“Our pleasure,” Richard said brightly, as she waved them inside.
Heather’s gaze wandered the emptied walls. She almost tripped over a pile of boxes stacked in the living room.

“Careful there,” Eve reached out to catch her if she fell, but Heather stopped with her balance intact.

Jida headed toward a sunny doorway at the back of the house. “I’ve been packing up the kitchen, if Su and Heather want to help me with that.” She glanced at her spouse. “Did you and Richard want to start hauling furniture to the pod?”

“Yes ma’am,” Eve said. Richard nodded, and Heather wordlessly followed her mom through the city of boxes to the kitchen, pulling the top half of her thick, curly hair back into a tiny puff of ponytail.

Richard and Eve launched into figuring out how to haul the furniture outside and efficiently stack it in the pod. Heather helped Jida and Su wrap dishes in newspaper, pack them into boxes and label them. Richard and Eve filtered in and out of the main room, having jumped to a completely different subject every time Heather saw them from the doorway.

She was taping up a box when they came back in for the eighth time.

“I guess the others are leaving too, in a few days,” Eve said. She and Richard disappeared down the hallway. “Haven’t heard much from James, though.”

Heather strained to hear, trying to keep the tape in her hands as soundless as possible. Her mom was talking with Jida, which made the engineers’ conversation in the other room even more difficult to make out.

“I talked to him yesterday,” Richard said. “He hasn’t started packing yet.”

Eve scoffed. “That so?”

A thump interrupted their conversation.

“Watch that corner—” Eve said.

Heather pushed a box aside and pulled another in front of her.

“So Heather,” Jida spoke up, making Heather jump. “Your mom tells me you’re finishing the ninth grade?”

Heather nodded, still listening for further mention of James or others, but they weren’t talking much anymore.

“How are you liking high school so far?”

“It’s okay.” Heather took a plate from a stack on the table and wrapped it in newspaper.
She wanted to ask Jida about Larkspur’s past, but Su was there. And Eve was near her dad. Heather didn’t dare broach the subject with her parents within earshot.

But as she continued packing and talking with Eve and Jida, an idea took shape. An idea her dad wouldn’t like, but one she decided to pursue anyway.
+

CHAPTER FIVE—ROGUE 

Erika Hodgson had been trekking along an unmarked logging road for miles now. The hills between the valley and the coast held a deeply reverent place in her heart, the dark green and mossy brown of the flora, the misty hush that cradled every inch of the cold, soft soil. 

So soon after her mother’s passing, more than ever, she needed this place to be her refuge. But to learn the government’s rumored gestating ground for human weaponry research lived here too, her grief twisted into a sharp black knot in her chest and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

Empetrum. 44º15’01” N 123º49’28”W

The name and coordinates were all the Conxence knew so far. Infuriatingly, it was all the information the head and second-in-command were content with for the time being. 

“Your energies are better spent here,” the former had said. Kaczmarek wasn’t a mean person, but his bluntness was often frustrating. He had everything mapped out. When he looked at her, she felt as if he were looking into her brain and trying to map her out too. “There are probably dozens of similar labs hidden around. No sense stomping off into the woods after one federal stain with so little information. ” 

“The facility’s got to be highly secure,” the second-in-command added, soft and earnest. Derek was a young man but an old soul, who had succeeded to his mother’s position in their ragtag resistance movement upon her abduction by the state. “It’s too much of a risk. We should wait, concentrate on more pressing concerns until we have more information.”

“Drop it,” Kaczmarek said. “You’re not combat trained, and it’s a conflict of interest besides.”

“I know this is important to you, but just give it time,” Derek said, trying to smooth it over. He was always trying to smooth everything over. “I’m sure it will show up again, and we’ll be better prepared to deal with it.”

Kaczmarek was a control freak and Derek was a worrywart, Erika thought with a huff as she trudged on. With pressure tightening, no one was sure what they were up against, what was festering under the surface. Any new development could be too late. The sheer possibility that human weaponry was becoming a variable was outrageous, and they couldn’t deny the government would keep its secrets unless someone dug them up.

Erika stepped around a large puddle in the road. The frogs were out, chirping in the saturated stillness. The air smelled so good here. She double checked her GPS. She was on track, moving closer. Soon she would have to take it much slower, leave the path and skirt a circle around the spot, moving slowly forward until she caught a glimpse.

At the very least, she needed to see what this abomination of a facility looked like.

+

Night had long since fallen by the time Erika got her first glance of Empetrum. 

A tall, chain-link fence wrapped the perimeter in a grid punctuated by narrow brick pillars. Snarls of barbed wire stretched across the top, and the light of the waxing moon glinted off thick, ugly shards of glass set into the tops of the pillars.

Signs severely warning off trespassers dotted the fence, as if the barrier weren’t already sinister enough.

Beyond the fence lurked more trees, with no man-made sounds to disturb them. She could see no signs of installation except for a single distant light, winking in and out as the wind stirred the foliage. After skirting the fence for a while, hoping the facility was visible at some point, she came upon something even better—a fallen tree, smashed straight through a portion of the fence from a recent storm. The supports on one side had snapped free of their toothy pillar, just wide enough for her to squeeze through.

Coyotes yipped and cried, miles away. Erika pulled the cuffs of her jacket closer and stood still, listening, watching.

Another half a mile of uninhabited land and beyond another fence, at the back of an open concrete courtyard, lay the facility: a stoic bulk of brick and steel with tall, thin windows. Accessory buildings hunched in the eerie darkness beyond, still and silent, peppered with illumination from the inhabited rooms within. Crouched close to the barrier, she watched the figures of guards patrolling the grounds. Monstrous flood lights stood dark and waiting, perched on top of thick poles planted throughout the courtyard.

A sudden light from the side blinded her as a voice barked, “Hey! You there!” 

Erika took off.

Footsteps pounded behind her. Two sets: one closer, one farther. The angry beam of a flashlight shone dead on her as she dodged between the thinner trees in the section, making a beeline for the breach in the fence. Her lungs were strong, the trees crowded close together beyond the fence. If she could just slip through…

She heard a pop, and something sharp embedded itself in the meat of her shoulder. She gasped, but she had no time to check for a wound. 

One moment she was close to freedom, her gaze locked and determined, thinking maybe she wouldn’t tell anyone about this—especially not the Conxence. The next, her legs were buckling and she collided with dirt. Ferns and sticks whipped her face on the way down.

The guards caught up. A beam of light pointed in her face. Erika grasped fistfuls of leaves and mossy ground, trying to get her limbs to move, to drag herself forward, but her body wouldn’t respond. Her eyes lost focus. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears.

The earth pressed damp and cold against her face as she succumbed.

+