Luca (11 page)

“What about the wind?” The woman glances at the line of girls along the opposite wall. “Doesn’t it blow radioactive dust in from the outside?”

“During the past two generations, cesium levels from the Accident have dropped to less than a quarter of the original measurements. We constantly monitor radiation.” Cat glances at her slate. “It’s all very safe. As long as you stay inside the fence.” She moves across the courtyard, gently guiding the woman as she walks to the wall where the girls wait. “The only toxic materials are the girls’ brain tissues. But that’s not a worry. As long as you stay outside their minds.”

“Pardon me?” The woman looks up and down the line of girls.

Cat laughs. “I’m sorry. Just a figure of speech. You’re quite safe.”

The woman casts another glance in the direction of the girls, lined up, hands behind their backs. Silent in their clean shirts.

Luca senses the woman’s fear.

The other girls must sense it, too. Luca hears their voices rise in chaos inside her mind.

The visitor follows Cat closer to the line.

Luca’s eyes narrow to concentrate on their words. And their thoughts.

“Your reports got our attention, both in Tokyo and Beijing.” The woman turns to Cat.

“That was my intent.”

“How can they be alive with such high radiation levels inside their skulls?” The woman takes half a step back. “We looked at the scans you sent. Are you certain your conclusions are correct? New structures of neurons?”

“Our methods are unorthodox. That much is true.” Cat cradles the slate in her arm. “But it’s yielding results. As you can see.”

The woman flexes the muscles in her jaw. “All I see is a line of pathetic girls born in a toxic wasteland, over-radiated and undernourished. Abandoned by their parents. Acute schizophrenia running rampant. Barely human.”

“But we are treating them, just as the government requested.” Cat’s upper body stiffens. “We’ve seen measurable improvement in symptoms.”

“They no longer hear voices?” The woman raises an eyebrow.

“When we started the program, the girls were entirely intractable. Out of control. In a state of constant auditory stimulation. It was pure chaos.” Cat steps closer to the line of girls and reaches out to a silent one, raising her chin and staring into her eyes. "Yes, they were hearing voices. But more than that, it was almost as if they were communicating with . . . each other. Anything alive.”

“What do you mean?”

“The children claimed to hear thoughts in the form of words or music. From the trees. From flowers. Animals outside the perimeter. Insects. Even the workers here at the Institution.”

The woman walks to Cat’s side. “And now?”

“Of course, it was all just hallucination on a massive scale. Schizophrenic chaos. But, as you can see, they are calm now. Quiet. The symptoms are almost gone. With a few stubborn exceptions.” Her eyes scan down the line to Luca, lingering for an instant. "There is no doubt. With more treatment, we will be able to introduce them back into general society.”

“This treatment,” the woman says. “How does it work?”

“We administer negative physical stimuli when the symptoms manifest and keep them on a carefully monitored, low-calorie diet.”

“In other words, you beat and starve them?” The woman turns to meet Cat’s gaze, eyes narrowing. “That is exactly what has our Minister of Foreign Affairs worried. We Chinese have been in Tokyo for less than a generation. If any of this were to leak to the Mesh, it wouldn’t play well. As you know, our government is extremely sensitive to outside criticism. The political ramifications could be—”

“No, it’s not like that,” Cat says. “We gently reinforce the fact that the voices aren’t real. We teach them behaviors and strategies to avoid engagement and dialogue. Give them tools to ignore the sounds in their heads. Make the voices themselves distasteful. With persistent treatment, the voices eventually go away.”

And when they refuse to listen, yes, we beat them without mercy.

Luca’s eyes jump open at the sound of Cat’s voice in her mind.

“What about the low-calorie diet? These girls look like starving pigeons. How is that helping?”

“Hunger keeps them focused. We feed them enough to keep them healthy, but not enough to interfere with the treatments.”

When they’re starving, they don’t have the energy to resist or even think.

The woman fumbles with a jax in her pocket. “We don’t have much time, so let’s jump to the bottom line. Why should the central government continue to fund your program? Many other needs press upon us. Too many mouths to feed in this country of yours.” Her gaze wanders to the waiting transport.

Because I need the money to pay off my luxury condo on the Izu Peninsula. Not to mention Maui.

“We are producing results.” Cat lifts her slate. “These are not the only children in Japan who suffer the severe effects of radiation poisoning. Thousands of them wander the streets, orphaned or abandoned. Many end up in camps or overstrained mental institutions. They swell the ranks of the homeless, and chaos follows in their wake. They are a plague on society. The problem is only growing. We are on the verge of finding a solution. You need what we have to offer. Surely you know this.”

“The more I see,” the woman scans the courtyard, “the more I think you’re bluffing. But I’m no expert. Just a cog in the machine, sent here to decide whether to pull the plug on you.”

“Regardless of whether you agree with our results or our methods, you have seen the brain scans, I presume.” Cat swipes a finger across her slate. A holo jumps out of it. “This is from one of our star subjects. Her brain clearly demonstrates the new neuronal structures I mentioned in my report. All the girls have them, but none as pronounced as this.”

The woman draws closer. “What is her name?”

“Luca.”

“Strange. How did she end up with an Italian boy’s name?”

“According to the files, her father was half Italian.”

“Is she here?”

“Yes,” Cat says. “Right over there.” She walks down the line, bringing the woman with her and stopping in front of Luca.

The holo floats in the air above the slate, a rotating image of a multicolored human brain. The faint outline of a narrow spiral, six inches long, appears imbedded in the tissue.

“We’re all familiar with the
revolutionary new organ
, as you call it.”

“I was the first to identify it and publish my results.”

“It is interesting, but I doubt it will get you the Mao Prize you covet.” The woman reaches into the holo as if to touch the spiral. “Now that we know what to look for, variations of it have been found in other children suffering from schizophrenia. But experts disagree as to its function. Or whether it even has a function. At most, it’s a genetic mutation stimulated by excessive exposure to radiation in utero. Perhaps no more than an anomaly.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” Cat’s gaze moves back to Luca. "It’s more than a simple genetic mutation. Or an anomaly.”

“What do you mean?”

Cat points at the structure in the holo. “It acts as a radiation sink, drawing poisons out of the tissues of the body.”

“Yes, we know.”

“The spiral seems to
want
more radiation, taking it from the air. Sometimes I wonder if it’s alive on its own. Our scans indicate that neurons within the spiral are most active when the subjects are experiencing auditory hallucinations.”

“Hearing voices?”

“Yes.” Cat takes a step closer to Luca. “And this girl is our prime specimen. The one with the most active spiral.” Cat runs her fingers through Luca’s long hair.

“So, she still hears voices? Perhaps your treatments are not as effective as you have represented.”

“She hears the voices, but it’s painful. She will learn not to respond.”

“Why do your work here, in the heart of an international toxic dump?”

“Because these girls can’t be moved. No other institution will accept them with the perceived radiation risk in their brain tissues. Dead or alive, they are pariahs in a country with a mortal fear of toxins. We are the only ones that can take care of them and study them. The only ones that can unlock the secrets inside their heads. For the good of all.”

“And that is why we must continue to fund your Institution?” The woman nods her head as if answering her own question, turns and walks toward the transport across the courtyard, casting a backward glance. “I will present your arguments to the Minister in Beijing. She will make the final decision.”

Cat walks quickly alongside the woman. “What do you think she will say?”

“Depends on her mood, which isn’t often good. Be prepared to shut down the entire project.”

“And what will happen to the children?”

The woman stops and turns. “Are you really so concerned about the children? Open their cells and abandon them to the wild they came from. Back into the Death Grid. Tell the world they escaped.”

“How could you even suggest such a thing?”

“I’ve been monitoring your accounts. The monthly siphoning of funds. That’s the real reason the children are starving. You've worked hard to hide it. Even taught me a few tricks. Being from the Mainland, I’m used to it, but it pains me to see some of our comrades in Japan have acquired the same tastes. The real question is, what will happen to your mansion in the Izu Peninsula when they come to arrest you for embezzlement of state funds? To borrow an old Chinese proverb, we must kill a few chickens now and then to scare the monkeys, mustn’t we? I’m sure you understand.” She smiles and walks back to the transport.

Cat turns back to the line of girls. The hard soles of her carbon shoes click crisply on the concrete. Passing close to the girls, her fingers stretch out to brush their faces. She stops in front of Luca.

“Look at me,” Cat says.

Luca stares forward.

Cat slaps Luca’s face, drawing blood with her fingernails. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To get away from the Institution. From me. To escape into the world. You may just get your wish.” Cat walks to the open door on the opposite end of the courtyard, her thoughts booming in Luca’s head.

Time to leave. Destroy the records. Empty the accounts. Let them all die.

Zero emerges from the door and walks to Cat, head lowered. “What did the officials from Tokyo say?”

“There will be no additional funding,” Cat says.

“What does that mean?” Zero frowns. “Am I out of a job?”

“Tomorrow you’re out of a job.” Cat walks away. “Today you still work for me. Help me gather my things. I’m leaving within the hour.” Her gaze sweeps along the line of girls. “Put them back in their cages. I leave them in your hands. Do whatever you want.”

14

DESTROYER OF WORLDS

Mercer turns from the wall to face Qaara.

“You don’t know anything about this data sniffer, do you?” Mercer spits a couple of lemon seeds out the corner of his mouth.

“Nothing.” Qaara doesn’t make eye contact. “The office is swept for snoops every morning. I have no idea where it came from.”

“What about this guy? Look familiar?” As Mercer lifts his jax, a holo jumps above it with a headshot of a man. “He’s an employee of Genesis Corporation. Or was. One of the guys in blue overalls. A mere sweeper from the Fringe. Came in from the Zone ten years ago. Zero upgrades. Multicolored eyes. A real genetic freak. Ring any bells?”

“No . . . wait a minute.” Qaara sees an image in her mind of a man leaning against the door, chatting with her earlier in the day. Something about a coffee stain on the floor. And she doesn’t drink coffee.

“What?”

“He came by earlier today.” Qaara remembers the tight footballer’s body. The biceps. One eye blue. One eye brown. “To clean a stain on the carpet. Told me his name was Jedd.”

“Jedd Dexter,” Mercer says. “Part of our Fringe employment campaign. A leg up for the less fortunate. A brilliant PR move. But not to worry. He won't bother you anymore. He’s dead by now.”

Qaara looks up, unable to suppress the horror she feels, face locked in a grimace. “Dead?”

“Absolutely.” Mercer stares at the image of the disembodied head rotating above his jax. “My people are good at what they do. They just sent visual confirmation. See for yourself." He brushes the side of the jax with his finger. “Here’s what’s left of his house."

A full color holo of a burning pit stands out in contrast to the neighboring buildings.

Qaara can tell with one glance it’s in the Fringe. “But isn’t that—”

“Illegal?”

Her gut fills with revulsion for Mercer. Words tumble out. “I was thinking more along the lines of . . .
murder
.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t use such a harsh word. It’s nothing more than payback. It’s only murder if the police come after you, and I can assure you they won’t. No one cares about the Fringe. I’ve seen Mesh-films on the people who live there, if you can call them that. Back alley bio-grafts run amok. Women warriors that blur the line between human and beast. Chemlabs on every corner hawking homemade mind-narcs. Horrifying and disgusting. A world you and I will never be a part of, thankfully.” Mercer turns to leave. “I’ve given you a lot to digest. Take your time. Go over the materials on the memory cube. Get some rest. Our flight leaves in twelve hours. My men will stay outside your office to . . . protect you from any more mischief. See you in the morning.”

Mercer walks out the door and shuts it.

Qaara sinks into her chair, still stunned by Jedd’s murder, her gaze fixed on the multicolored molecule floating in the holo.

She knew that Mercer was capable of treachery. And then he’d boasted about accidental deaths. But now she had seen it for herself. A deliberate murder.

Why had Jedd planted the micro-cam in her office? Did he know about the Cloud? Was he trying to protect her? Or harm her?

One thing’s for sure. Mercer has plans for her. She’s just another toy in his collection. The more she thinks about it, nothing has changed. She’s always been his prisoner. Ever since she arrived at Genesis Corporation.

She wants to fight back.