Chapter 54
Ver

The moment I am off the opioid drip, the police arrange a conversation with Aryl, me, and several others.

They question us in a hospital boardroom. Medical diagrams plaster the walls. Before, I might have studied the posters of the lymphatic system and the bones of the foot with interest. Today I recoil at the images of hollowed-out humans. The room flickers before my eyes.

Hands, arms, legs . . . They flew at me! Grabbing, punching, kicking.

I wait for the memories to subside. I open my eyes, cautiously. The boardroom is full. The people here are also a nightmare reborn.

First, Pauling Yuan, dressed in an impeccable black suit. True to his executive status, he sits at the head of the table. If he is relishing our impending downfall, he does not show it: his narrow face is solemn, sorrowful. Maybe guilty. But even if he shows remorse, I will never forgive him.

Polished-looking people who must be ExSapiens employees surround him, all with equally grave expressions. They dress like him. They straighten their spines like him. Looking at the ExSapiens crowd, I almost think I see clones protecting their creator. Genetic cloning of human individuals is illegal, but duplicating your DNA and injecting it into an egg cell is not the only way to copy yourself. Yuan makes that obvious here.

Ford reclines in his chair, looking bored. But the rhythmic tap-tap-tapping of his foot betrays his anxiety. He probably never thought he would have to face the law like this.

Kricket sits across the table from Ford, his habitual smirk giving nothing away. But he twirls a strand of hair from his ponytail around his finger—a sure indication that he is thinking hard.

Jaha sits farther down the table, looking at no one in particular. There are bruises on her face and an unhealthy blue tint to her skin. Otherwise, she seems to be unhurt.

Nurses have wheeled Aryl and me in and left our chairs parked close together. Close enough that I can take her hand if I need to.

“Where do I start?” says Detective Xenon, who is sitting next to Detective Card at the table’s far end. “If I were to split up the charges against Ver Yun and Aryl Fielding and assign them to separate people, they could fill a whole prison bloc in the Sandbag.”

Aiyo, this man! His tone is as smug as ever.

“For both of you: evasion of justice, aggravated assault, controlled-substances theft, trespassing on no fewer than three pieces of private property,” Xenon reads off his flexitab. “And the one we’re all here to discuss: premeditated murder.”

I do simple addition in my head. The non-murder charges alone will land me in prison for at least ten years. More than long enough for RCD to kill me, if the other inmates do not get to me first.

“Do you have anything to say for yourselves?” Xenon asks, his satisfaction palpable. “Or shall I just—”

“We do,” Aryl says. “Give me my flexitab back. The burner. I know you have it.”

Xenon snorts. “According to protocol, we can’t return personal devices to suspects until they’re cleared of crimes.”

“What protocol are you reading?” Detective Card says. When Xenon frowns at her, she adds, “The protocol allows supervised access to personal devices when they may contain evidence.” She turns to me and Aryl, saying, “We have our AIs independently review personal-device contents and lock them so that nothing can be added or deleted. We try to be as objective as possible, you see. Not let donations from suspects bias us.”

Xenon looks as if he wants to smack her. “Miranda—”

“Yes, Roderick, I know about the direct deposit into your account from an unnamed benefactor,” Card snaps as the room breaks into whispers. She must be referring to the “donation” that was supposed to fund Cal’s autopsy!

Pauling Yuan’s eyes flash. “Careful there,” he says softly.

Staring down Yuan, Card reaches into her nylon bag and retrieves both of our burner flexitabs. Our original ones too. She slides mine across the table and tosses Aryl’s to her.

Why is she helping us? I remember when she said, I swear on all our lives, justice will be done. Apparently she meant it.

Her face grim, Aryl swipes on her flexitab’s screen. She holds the device at arm’s length as Yuan’s recorded voice emanates from it.

. . . I had every right to monitor what Cal was doing with the funds I funneled into his lab. And admittedly, I was curious . . .

To think these could have been the last words I ever heard!

Detective Xenon pinches the bridge of his nose and scrolls through files on his own flexitab, ignoring the recording as best he can. Detective Card listens closely, her right eyebrow twitching.

Yuan’s face is a mask, his expression giving nothing away. His associates’ eyes dart between the police and Yuan, waiting for instructions from their boss.

I give Aryl a huge, adoring smile. Genius! With the tap of a finger back in the factory, she has saved us both.

When the recording ends, Detective Card tucks her green hair behind one ear and leans forward, eyes fixed on Yuan. “This is quite a turn,” she says softly. “What do you have to say, sir?”

“It’s doctored,” Yuan says, shrugging. “I never said those things. Do you know how easily one can fake a voice? The sound quality is terrible—how can anyone be sure it’s me?”

“My flexitab was hidden under my sleeve,” Aryl says.

Yuan laughs. “My dear, this isn’t the first time someone has impersonated me. It’s more common than you think. I commend your efforts, though.”

Detective Xenon looks down at the table. As if it has become his whole world. Jaha studies her hands, jaw clenched. Ford’s knuckles are white as he digs one fist into the table. And Kricket . . . Kricket is shivering, his foot jerking about on the floor.

“I’ve been falsely accused, yet again, of a crime I did not commit.” Yuan sounds bored. “My business has faced false accusations of fraud, lacing our medicines with illegal substances, and worker abuse. I’m not surprised to be slandered again. I’m only sad that these two girls have stooped so low as to claim I would want to take the life of Calyx Eppi, a promising scientist and one of my close friends.”

“We wouldn’t have picked you to accuse if it weren’t true,” Aryl says. “Considering how likely it is that we’d lose.”

Detective Card drums her fingers on the table as Detective Xenon watches her, scowling. “How do you explain the injuries sustained by these two apprentices in your factory?” she asks Yuan.

“Trespassing in a manufacturing center and playing with dangerous equipment has consequences,” Yuan says. “They should have the sense to know that.”

His words are smooth, but beads of sweat drip down his forehead in vertical lines. His skin looks like a barcode: wet, dry, wet, dry.

“They hacked into our system and found out when I would be inspecting the factory, then attacked me there. Miss Yun injected my bodyguard with ketamine when he tried to stop her from attacking my employees. You have to understand, she’s not as weak as she wants us to think.”

A hot blue flame ignites inside me. I nearly stand up, wanting to fight back, but Aryl clutches my hand: Don’t.

“If what you say is true, then Yun and Fielding went through a lot to frame you,” Detective Card says. “Their injuries were nearly fatal. Moreover, you had a reason to want Calyx Eppi gone and the resources to kill him. I think you tried to frame these two girls, and you nearly succeeded.”

“Don’t let your emotions interfere with your judgment,” Yuan says.

But across the table, Kricket is shaking his head. Yuan shoots him a warning glance, but Kricket speaks anyway. “I see two ways this could end for me,” he says, “and I prefer the version where I tell the truth and get a lighter sentence.”

“Go on,” Card says, leaning in, her flexitab and stylus at the ready.

Kricket clasps his hands together. When he speaks, his voice is flat and steady.

“Pauling Yuan murdered Calyx Eppi. And he asked me to help.”