Stryker

 

 

I’m lying on my bed, thinking back through my conversation with the Darwinians. It’s something Bjorn and I always do at the end of every exercise, to critique what I did well and what I need to work on. One of Bjorn’s tactics in a contentious negotiation is to throw them off by beginning with an inflammatory statement, so I tried it on the Darwinians.

“You know you’re losing Lake, don’t you?”

Sarah breaks into a coughing fit, the white-bearded man examines his nails, and Richard taps his fingers on the conference table. The only one who appears unaffected is the man in the gray-blue suit who recruited me. One thing is clear; he’s not an underling. The question is: who is really in charge?

“The situation is under control,” Richard says.

He’s the suck-up, not the boss.

Bjorn instructed me to build tension but remain calm. I need to keep my tone civil and not take out that guy’s windpipe. No more violence. “It’s not only Lake’s memory problem. There are times when she’s not acting like herself.”

The two men at the table exchange glances. After the bearded one nods, Richard says, “We always suspected there might be leakage between the dream sessions and a Nobel’s awake-life.”

First goal met: Get them to admit to something I didn’t know. But his impassive attitude about what’s happening to Lake makes me want to knock out his teeth. I fight down my anger. “How are you going to deal with this situation?”

“Deborah is closely monitoring the girl,” he says.

“Her name is Lake.”

Sarah says, “You’re the inaugural class. Of course we expected some unforeseen events.”

“The inaugural class, ma’am? Are you sure you want to stick with that statement?”

“It’s neither productive nor appropriate for you to suggest we aren’t being forthcoming,” the bearded man scolds, as if I’m a little boy.

I clench my fists under the table. “Certainly it would be most beneficial for there to be trust between us.”

He nods.

“On that note, you never told me your name,” I say.

He sits up straighter. “Dr. Price.”

The fact that he feels he needs to hide behind his credentials is telling. “Doctor Price, if I came across as suggesting you weren’t forthcoming, then I apologize. Let me ask it another way.” I glare at the obviously dying Sarah. “Ma’am, are you sure you want to stick with your fabricated story that we’re the inaugural class?”

Dr. Price says, “I don’t see the relevance of your question.”

“The relevance is that you’ve got a room full of unconscious kids on the third floor of this wing.”

Sarah starts wheezing and pulls an inhaler out of her pocket. Dr. Price closes his eyes as if not wanting to face the truth.

“I knew those two were up to something,” Richard mutters.

Even the guy in the gray-blue suit looks surprised.

“The subjects in the restricted wing were involved in a different Program,” Richard explains.

“Marty is part of ours, and he’s up there, too. So, in the interest of trust and your earnest dedication to being forthcoming, may I respectfully ask, what the hell is going on?”

Dr. Price leans back and steeples his fingers. “We are not at liberty to discuss the condition of our subjects.”

The man in the gray-blue suit clears his throat and Dr. Price shoots him an annoyed look.

Interesting.

Dr. Price smooths his beard. “Yes, there have been others. Other Nobels.” The words seem to crawl out of his mouth. “The earlier attempts at merging were nearly successful. With the age adjustment, additional protocols, and more thorough vetting, your group is susceptible to a much lower level of risk.”

“I’m feeling so relieved.” Sorry, Bjorn. I know sarcasm is rarely productive. Time to change the focus away from Lake, for now. “What’s your plan to help Marty?”

“Keep him stable until he reasserts his consciousness,” Richard answers.

Lake and Orfyn told me what was in Cecil’s notes, and according to him there is no guarantee Marty will win his battle with Angus. But I’m holding back what I know until I see how much they’ll freely tell me. And more importantly, what they won’t.

“In the remote case that Marty doesn’t wake up, is there a Plan B?” I lean back in the leather chair as if I’m merely curious and this isn’t a life-or-death conversation.

The three Darwinians look at each other as if waiting to see who will be the first to speak.

Dr. Price finally speaks up. “We’ll cross that bridge if it becomes necessary.”

“I imagine those kids up there have been unconscious for a while. How long are you going to wait before trying to unmerge them?”

Richard puts on a confused look. He could use a lesson or three from Bjorn. “I don’t understand where—”

The man in the gray-blue suit holds up his hand. “Drop it. He knows.”

I’ve now learned who makes the decisions. “Do you mind telling me your name?” I ask.

“How did you learn of our work to unmerge a consciousness?” the head honcho asks, still keeping secrets.

I don’t see any harm in revealing this one thing. I hope it makes them think twice before lying to me again. “Bjorn.”

Dr. Price’s calm exterior cracks. “Why on earth would he work against us?”

Maybe because you merged him against his will? And, the fact that Price sees this as us-against-them only confirms what I’ve been worried about. Tactic at this point in the negotiation process: Assume, don’t ask. “Then we’re in agreement. If Marty doesn’t wake within forty-eight hours, you’ll begin the unmerging process so you can insert Angus into Bat’s program.”

“I cannot condone the ludicrous idea of putting Angus Doyle into a machine,” Sarah says, dabbing her forehead with a handkerchief.

Richard nods. “Removing his consciousness from a living host is impossible, unless the life of the host is in danger, which of course would threaten the Mentor as well.”

So now we’re hosts. That one word puts their motivations into perspective. I spent the drive back here working through scenarios to make them agree to the unmerging procedure. The problem is, the Darwinians have the power to lock us up, or worse. They could just let Alex and Lake deteriorate until they end up like Marty and allow those unconscious kids to wither away. They need a better solution, and I have one.

If I do what I need to do, I’m putting my own life at risk. I’m not worried about Bjorn taking over my body—he’s not that kind of person—but just because I’m feeling fine now doesn’t mean I’ll remain healthy.

I still have to do it. Time to make up for my past.

“You need a success,” I state.

“I’m certain we’ll soon have one,” Richard says.

I shift to face the person really in charge. “What if I help recruit the people you need?”

My first reaction was to find a way to shut this place down. But I still believe in the Darwinians’ mission, and I’d be denying other sixteen-year-olds the same opportunity I had. The change that needs to happen is they’ll sign on knowing they can unmerge if there are problems. And I need to alter the Darwinian’s stance that our lives are secondary to the Mentors. In order to accomplish all that, I need more control.

“Go on,” Head Honcho says.

“Bjorn and I are the ultimate success story. Not only are we compatible and accomplishing what we set out to do, we’ve been exploring concepts that go beyond our original goals.”

“What concepts?” Richard asks, uneasily.

“Ways to expand the Mentors’ experience so they have a more fulfilling second life. They’re getting bored in there.” I point to my head. “And a bored person is unpredictable. You want Bjorn and me to keep working on this, believe me.”

“You never told Cecil about any of this,” Richard accuses.

“As you’re well aware, that’s the problem with your current model. You don’t know what’s really happening in our dreams.” I shrug. “I can help with that. I can also be the face of your success, to both potential Nobels and Mentors.”

“Won’t that get in the way of your work with Bjorn?” Dr. Price asks.

“Bjorn has agreed to limit my sleep so I’ll have more time in the day to be your recruiter.”

Head Honcho says, “Are you suggesting that if we liberate Marty from the experiment, you’ll do this?”

“Alex, too,” I say. “And whoever else wants to unmerge.” I’m thinking of Lake. I’ll need all of my persuasive skills to convince her to even consider it.

Number Two strokes his beard. “We would consider Alex if his symptoms don’t improve.”

“I have one condition.”

Richard says, “You’re hardly in the position to—”

“Let him speak,” Head Honcho commands.

“I assume you’re the Board of Directors. I want a seat at the table.”

“You’re a child,” Sarah says.

“I had three million followers who assumed I was an adult. I also have the consciousness of a Machiavellian genius in my head to guide me.”

“And if we don’t move forward with your proposal?” Head Honcho asks.

“Then you’re back to where you are now: a room full of failures, and no way to save the Nobel or Mentor when problems arise. How many kids are you going to churn through before you can no longer face yourself in the mirror?”

Sarah glares at me, and Richard brushes off a piece of lint from his jacket lapel.

Dr. Price gestures to the door. “We’ll get back to you.”

“We can make this work,” I say, rising.

Thinking through it all, I’d give myself a B+ for my performance. I lost a few points because I didn’t learn the name of the man in the gray-blue suit.