Authors: Kat Ross
“Who was that?” I ask when she returns to the kitchen.
“An old friend,” she says. “He used to be deputy director of biosciences at the Helix. He lives in Nu London now. He’s retired but he still has contacts here.”
“Well?” I lean forward in my chair. “What did he say? Has he heard of Nix?”
She hesitates. “He said we should check out the biosciences division.”
“What’s in there?”
“He didn’t say, not exactly.”
“But what?”
“Jan, we have much bigger problems right now. And I don’t want to get your hopes up.”
Get my hopes up? I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Too late, Mom. Please tell me what he said. Please.”
My mother sighs. “He implied that you were correct in your belief that there are human experiments going on. He also suspects that some of the subjects. . . well, that some of the subjects were taken captive on the surface. In the same operation that brought you back to us.”
I can’t speak. Is it possible?
Even if it’s true, they don’t have Will. Because he wasn’t taken captive. He was killed. Right in front of me. But my pulse starts racing nonetheless.
“Do you have access to the whole building?”
“Well, no. The Helix is enormous. I work in Agrosciences. Different division completely.”
“So could you find out if something like that was going on?”
“Jan, this is crazy.” She looks at the clock. “And I have to get to the lab in less than an hour.”
“Listen to me, Mom. I need you to follow up. Somehow, find a way. Don’t get in trouble, but just poke around a little. There have to be records somewhere. And about Will. He’s dark blonde, five-ten, a year older than me. Blue-grey eyes.”
She hesitates. I can see this whole thing scares her. She’s not stupid.
“Look, if there’s something going on, something they want kept secret, maybe we can use it as leverage. We’ll have something to offer if they want to make a deal tomorrow.”
My mother considers this, then nods reluctantly. “OK, I’ll see what I can do. Get some rest. There’s quiche in the fridge, you just have to warm it up. I’ll call Abel when I get to work. See if he’s heard anything more. He’ll be here at 9 sharp tomorrow morning. We’ll wait it out together. Put on a united front.”
I hug her and promise to eat something and then lie down in my room, but all I do when I get there is pace like a caged animal. I can’t decide which is worse, that Will’s really dead, or that he’s alive and having unspeakable things done to him. Not to mention the others.
It’s been nearly three months.
Fear and rage and despair mingle together until I feel like I’m losing my mind. I replay his death again and again, looking for something I missed. Some loophole. I picture the soldier standing over him, weapon pointed down. What kind of weapon? Black and bulky. A laser weapon. Could it have been set for a non-lethal outcome?
The evac team carried me away before I saw the body. I just assumed.
I wander over to the window and sure enough, there’s a car parked at the end of the drive. Two dark silhouettes inside. They’re not bothering to be subtle anymore.
Seeing them out there calms me down for some reason. It’s like getting an actual glimpse of the monster in the closet. Knowing it’s real and not just a figment of your imagination. I spend an hour fantasizing about creeping on my belly up to the car with a garrote in one hand and a Bowie knife in the other. When that gets old, I take a shower and dress in jeans and a dark sweater, leaving my hair down for the first time in weeks. Then I go to my father’s gun cabinet. It’s locked, but I’ve known where he hides the key since I was nine. Right toe of a pair of dusty dress shoes on the top shelf of the closet.
My father loves antique weapons, claims they’re more reliable than the high-tech laser stuff. I’m sure Quinn would agree. I choose a Smith & Wesson revolver, which holds less ammo but won’t jam like the automatics.
Twilight comes, and the car leaves, is replaced by another of identical make and model.
I’m sitting on my bed with the gun in the back of my pants, chewing on my fingernails for some nutrition, when the door opens and my mom looks in.
My heart literally stops beating for a second.
Then she nods. “I think they have him,” she says.
I can see that my mother is deeply shaken. She rarely drinks, but now she’s nursing a double shot of bourbon on the rocks. The living room is dark, so I go around turning on all the lamps and closing the shutters.
“Tell me,” I say, putting the gun on a side table and curling up next to her on the couch. She glances at it and raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment.
“I couldn’t get in there, they’ve restricted my access.” She smiles grimly. “All the data from the entire Helix is backed up automatically on the central server though. It took some digging, but I managed to open a few files. They’ve been mapping his genome, him and about twenty others. I think they’re looking for mutations that would help humans adapt better to life on the surface. I can’t imagine they’ll find anything in a single generation, it’s far too quick for any substantial genetic changes.”
“What does that entail? Mapping someone’s genome?”
“Mostly a lot of blood work. DNA swabs.”
I’m flooded with relief so intense it makes me feel sick. “That’s all?”
She doesn’t answer right away, and the fear comes rushing back. “No, that’s not all,” she says finally.
“What then?”
“They’ve begun testing a variety of drugs and hot agents.”
“What do you mean, hot agents?”
“Infectious pathogens.”
I try to keep my voice calm. “Is Will one of the subjects?”
“Honey, I’m not even a hundred percent sure it’s him. The physical description fits. There’s no names, just numbers. Most are adults. There’s two teens. The intake forms are dated the same day you came home.”
“OK. So what exactly are they testing on him? Or infecting him with?”
“I think he’s in Group B. Number eleven. Let’s see. They’re getting. . .” She opens a file on her work tablet.
“Is it a drug called AVZ, or QPT?”
“QPT,” she says, looking up in surprise. “How did you know?”
“They’re also testing it on toads. It was in the report I accessed. I think it’s some kind of antipsychotic. Or maybe it causes psychosis. Whatever, it made them even more violent.”
“Project Nix.”
“Yes.”
My mother puts her bourbon on the table. “I’m making some calls. This needs to be shut down immediately.”
She starts to get up and I put my hand on her arm. “Just think about it for a minute, OK? Someone’s protecting this project, someone important. Military or military connected, if they’re getting subjects from the surface. There’s an entire clandestine substation devoted to it. You’re not going to shut them down with a phone call. What you are going to do is put them on high alert.”
And then I’ll never get him out, I think, although I don’t say it, not yet.
“Well, I can’t sit here and do nothing. It’s beyond unethical.” She looks angry, which I take as a good sign.
“I don’t plan on doing nothing. But we have to consider all the angles first. I think you need to get back on the phone with your friend and find out what else he knows. Maybe he can help.” I flick the blades of a porcelain windmill with one finger and watch them spin, a blue and white blur. “We don’t have a lot of options here, Mom.”
“I know. I just. . .” She trails off.
“What’s his name?
“Rafiq. Rafiq Al-Fulan.”
“How come you never mentioned him before?”
She takes a mouthful of bourbon and tilts her head back on the couch. “I guess you could say we had a bit of a falling out. This was a year or so before you were born. Allegations surfaced that he mismanaged some key projects. Not from me, but I was aware of the problem. The brass forced him into early retirement and he opted to leave Raven Rock and return to Nu London. His wife had. . . passed away. I guess he saw no reason to remain here.”
“So how does he know what’s happening?”
“Like I said, Rafiq is still well-connected, on both sides of Novatlantis. A few years ago he got back in touch with me. Said he’d recently recovered from a long illness and was reaching out to people in his past that he cared about, before it was too late. We hadn’t spoken in ages, but it was good to hear his voice. He was one of my mentors.” She swirls the amber liquid pensively. “Since then we’ve spoken once or twice a year. Rafiq has his flaws, god knows, but he’s a loyal friend. And utterly discreet. He’d never share information if I asked him not to, and he has no fondness for Raven Rock nor the Council.”
Something doesn’t quite fit, and it bothers me. I don’t like ciphers. I’m the type that needs to know why. If I were on a jury, I couldn’t convict someone without a plausible motive, even though it’s not a legal requirement.
“So how come if he knows about the human trials, he hasn’t blown the whistle on them? You’d think it’s the perfect revenge for someone with an axe to grind,” I say.
My mother gives me a flat stare. “I don’t know. How come you’re asking me all these questions? I feel like I’m being interrogated. Let’s not forget that
you’re
the one who–” She cuts off abruptly and takes a deep breath. “Look, I don’t want to fight about it. What Rafiq said doesn’t matter anyway, we’re being sidetracked. They’re coming tomorrow, Jan, to the house, for God’s sake, do you understand what that means? If they want to arrest you, I can’t stop them.” The alcohol must be kicking in because my mom’s peppy optimism about a “united front” is crumbling in the face of reality, and she’s not bothering to hide it anymore. “It doesn’t matter if we have ten lawyers. You’re a threat to public security and that means you have no rights anymore.” She raises a hand to her forehead. It’s trembling.
“If Dad was here. . .” I say.
“He couldn’t stop them either.”
I want to go to her, put my arms around her, but my body feels frozen, like I’m at the bottom of a crevasse with tons of rock and ice pressing down on me. All our years apart have taken a toll. We’ve been pretending that nothing’s changed between us, but of course it has. Or maybe I’m the one who changed.
“How clean is the phone?” I say.
A general’s wife, my mother doesn’t have to ask what I mean. All our communications operate on TTE, through-the-earth technology. It was developed in the late twentieth century to talk with trapped miners. Low-frequency radio waves relayed by a network of transceivers. The Information Affairs Board keeps tabs on all transmissions, from texts and intranet posts to face-time chats.
“Very clean. Rafiq is obsessive about encryption. We have a system worked out.”
“I need to talk to him, Mom. I need to hear his voice.”
“Jansin, we need to call the authorities.”
“They are the authorities,” I shout, and immediately feel bad when she flinches. “Look, how long have they been pumping this drug into Will?”
“A week now,” she answers quietly.
“And what do you think they’ll do when he’s not useful anymore? When he goes insane, or has a heart attack, or even doesn’t react at all? Or maybe they’ll just move on and inject him with a killer virus.” I sit down at the other end of the couch and hug an embroidered pillow that says
Jingle all the way
. “Please, just let me talk to Rafiq.”
She sighs. “You’re such a stubborn one. I know, you think you can get in there somehow. Fine, he’ll tell you it’s impossible. Maybe you’ll believe him, if you don’t believe me.”
She dials a long string of numbers and hands me the phone. It rings so long I’m about to hang up when a cultured, upper-crusty voice comes on the line.
“Hello?”
“Dr Al-Fulan?”
“You’re not Tamiko.” He sounds wary.
“This is her daughter. Jansin Nordqvist. Can we go to video?”
“I’d rather not.”
“OK. Can you hold on a sec?”
I smile sweetly at my mother and take the phone through the sliding glass doors that open onto the gardens. She frowns but lets me go.
“Are you there?” I whisper, moving away from the house. It’s twilight and the air is perfumed with the spicy scent of hibiscus.
“What can I do for you, Jansin?”
I take a deep breath. Just say it. “I need to get into the Helix. And I think you’re the only person who can help me do that.”
There’s a long pause.
“I watched you on TV,” he says. “That was admirable. And very foolish. Which describes you best, I wonder?”
“Mostly the second part,” I say. My mother is watching me through the picture window, her face unreadable.
Rafiq chuckles, but there’s sadness in it. “I’ve made foolish choices too. Out of love. And I’d make them again. Can you honestly say the same? I won’t get involved unless I know you’re fully committed. The consequences are too costly. For both of us.”
“I’m fully committed,” I say without hesitation. “What they’re doing is wrong, sir. I know it seems crazy that I think I can stop it. But you have to trust me. If I can just get inside. . . I think I can do some damage.”
“I’m familiar with your history,” he says. “You’ll have to get yourself in. That’s the easy part. I can help you with the hard part.”
“Getting out?” I guess.
“Exactly.” He sounds pleased, like I’m proving to be an especially bright student.
“So you think it’s possible?”
“Anything is possible, with the right information.”
“I don’t want to involve my mom,” I say. “She has no idea what I’m planning.”
Now Rafiq does laugh. “I wouldn’t underestimate Tamiko. She’s not a fool. But don’t worry. I would never endanger your mother. She – and you, by extension – are like family to me. So I wouldn’t propose anything as crude as you borrowing her identification badge, if that’s what you’re thinking. It wouldn’t work anyway. I have something else in mind.”
“Good,” I say. “Thank you so much, sir.”
“I’m going to tell you some things now. What you do with them is entirely your business. However, you can consider this a favor I may ask you to repay someday. Now, do you need to write down what I say? I won’t be repeating it.”
“I can remember.”