Hex (16 page)

“Two and a half years,” he told her with resignation.
“
I think my immune system is becoming resistant to the drugs they keep testing on me. A lot of the others died from the course of injections.”

“If you've been here that long you must have seen Rachel brought in,” Ali said and Luciel sighed.

“I don't notice everyone,” he said. “It's only recently I've been trying to meet new inmates, and I don't always realize when they're bringing in someone new. Besides there could be other floors full of us. Believe me, Ali, if I knew anything about your friend I'd tell you.”

“I know,” Ali said, trusting him absolutely. Luciel was trying hard to help her find Rachel. Since their search of the corridors was proving impossible, he took her to meet other people who might know when the girl had been brought in and if she was still there.

The first person he took her to find was, he explained, difficult to deal with. But he had been at the lab nearly as long as Luciel and might know something about Rachel. Thomas's initial reaction to Ali's presence was not positive.

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly, when Luciel knocked at the open door of his room. He was a stocky teenager, at least as old as Ali, built like a wrestler. But he didn't stand up to greet them, watching suspiciously from where he sat on his bed. His thick, muscular frame was concealed by what appeared to be body armor strapped to his arms and legs. Smooth white metal enclosed his shins and ankles in a viselike grip, similar devices were attached to his forearms and wrists, two more ringed his torso and encircled his neck. He looked almost robotic, so thoroughly encased in metal. Thomas saw her looking and glared.

“What are you staring at?” he demanded and got to his feet. His movements were heavy and ponderous and there was a mechanical purr from the devices strapped to his legs.

“Calm down, Tom,” Luciel said placatingly. “Ali's only just arrived. She's trying to find a friend of hers, a little girl.” He spoke quickly, as if to avert sudden violence, and the ferocious expression on Thomas's face gradually smoothed out.

“Don't stare at me,” he told Ali, who flushed, retreating a little behind Luciel.

“Sorry,” she mumbled uncomfortably.

“Just wait till they start taking you apart,” Thomas told her roughly. “You won't be looking so cool then.” He clenched a fist, enclosed in a metal mesh, and electronics hummed audibly. “I
hate
that noise,” he told her fiercely. “I try to lie still at night so I won't have to hear it. They've made it so I don't even want to move anymore, but when they come to check on me I have to. They take me up in the elevator and make me walk round a room while they watch me. Do you know what that feels like?”

“I'm sorry,” Ali said again, but couldn't quell the flood of bitterness emanating from Tom.

“I used to play basketball at school,” he told her. “I was gonna be a professional. Not much chance of that now, is there?”

“I was going to be a scientist,” Luciel said quietly and Ali shivered.

“I wanted to be a holovid director,” she said, realizing that, even if she did escape from the lab, that would never happen now.

They all stood still, looking at each other. Thomas was the first to break the silence.

“What was that you were saying earlier?” he asked Luciel.

“Oh.” Luciel came back to earth abruptly. “Ali's looking for a friend, a girl named Rachel. She was captured by the CPS about a year and a half ago. We were hoping you might remember someone like that coming into the lab.”

“What does she look like?” Tom asked and Ali tried to visualize the picture Wraith had shown her.

“Dark brown hair in a short bob, brown eyes, light brown skin, a big smile,” she recited.

“If she was brought here she wouldn't be smiling long,” Tom said and then shook his head. “No, I don't remember her. But wasn't it about then that they were doing memory experiments?” He looked at Luciel rather than at Ali and the other boy's eyes clouded.

“It might have been,” he said. “I find it hard to keep track of time sometimes.”

“What were the memory experiments?” Ali asked, with an ominous feeling.

“They only went on for a couple of months,” Tom told her. “They were abandoned because almost everyone who was experimented on died.” Ali blanched and Luciel shot a warning look at Thomas, taking up the narrative himself.

“They linked up a group of kids to a computer database,” he said, “with electrodes so they couldn't disengage themselves, and ran it twenty-four hours a day.” He thought for a second. “I think the idea was to find out how much information a Hex could hold in their head, since a lot of us have eidetic memories.”

“What happened?” Ali managed to ask, finding her voice again.

“Most people did die, I'm afraid,” Luciel admitted, more gently than his friend had. “But two or three are still around—one of them might be able to tell you if Rachel was on the project.”

“You're kidding yourself,” Tom told him, raising his voice a little to cover the drone of machinery as he moved back to his bed. “None of those flakes will be telling you anything.”

“Why not?” Ali asked. Luciel wouldn't look at her and she turned back to Tom.

“They're complete null-brainers,” he said callously. “Esther sits in her room dribbling and playing with her food, Mikhail's covered in more machinery than I am, and Revenge has to be strapped to her bed with restraints because otherwise she tries to claw your eyes out.” He paused to see how his words had affected Ali and seemed satisfied with her expression because he continued: “None of them'll tell you anything because they won't tolerate anyone anywhere near 'em, and even if they were willing to, their brains are too fritzed to remember what happened yesterday, let alone the name of some girl who might not even have been sent here in the first place.”

“I'm sorry, Ali,” Luciel said softly. “Tom's right. If Rachel was part of those experiments, she's lucky to be dead.”

Kez had a feeling of
déjà vu as the skimmer coasted along the last bridge and came to rest near the spur of walkway that led to the Countess's center of operations, where she traded information and abilities. Kez moved to unfasten his seat belt but Wraith forestalled him.

“Wait,” he said. “Someone should stay and guard the skimmer. We need this stuff.”

“OK,” Kez said, trying hard not to remember what had been the outcome of his last attempt at watching a vehicle for Wraith. “But what can I do if someone does try to steal it?”

“Don't confront them,” Raven said. “They won't be able to unlock the doors anyway.” She got out of the driver's seat and Wraith followed her example. Sitting in the front of the vehicle, Kez felt a little abandoned as they set off toward the building together. But, before they were completely out of sight, Raven turned and waved. Wraith, in what appeared to be a demonstration of trust, didn't look back at all.

•  •  •

This time Wraith wasn't challenged as he approached the building. When he entered, it looked like it hadn't changed at all since his last visit. However, only one of the two guards from last time, the woman, stood in front of the door which led upstairs.

“Names and business,” she demanded, although her eyes showed recognition as she glanced at Wraith.

“Wraith and Raven,” the ganger said, addressing the vidcom screen on the wall beside the guard. “The Countess knows my business already.”

“You may come up,” the voice spoke out of the wall unit. “Leave your weapons behind.”

“OK,” Wraith agreed, obediently handing over his laser pistol and one of his knives. The guard accepted them and turned expectantly to Raven.

“No,” Raven told her and the guard shifted her grip on the combat rifle she carried.

“Do you have some reason for objecting?” the Countess asked from the vidcom, although the screen was still blacked out.

“Just caution,” Raven told her, with a shrug. “If I have to disarm, I'd rather stay down here.”

“In some cases I am willing to make exceptions,” the Countess said dryly, “and I am willing to make one for you. But any trouble and you won't know what hit you.”

“I scan,” Raven said, slipping into the gangland argot that seemed to overtake her in the slums.

“Go ahead,” the guard said, with a sour look at Raven, stepping aside for them to pass by.

Wraith was curious to see how his sister would react to the disorienting stairway with its mirror shielding, and noticed her expression of distaste as she ascended beside him. She walked as slowly and carefully as he did, disliking the loss of balance that the multiple reflections engendered.

“Effective, isn't it?” he said, and she gave him a sideways glance.

“Narcissistic,” she said. “But I'd like to know what's behind it. Shielding like this could conceal anything, motion sensors, monitors, transmitters, maybe a few explosives just in case.” Her cold smile was multiplied in every direction. “It seems as if you've found a good contact, though.”

“I hope so,” Wraith replied as they reached the top of the stairs and the mirrored wall slid away.

The Countess was waiting for them, watching with interest as they entered. Raven's dark eyes flickered over the screens and terminals that filled the room before coming to rest on the woman herself with the intensity that often alarmed people. The Countess returned her gaze speculatively.

“You must be a technician as well as a hacker, if you could guess all that about my shielding,” she said. “Is that why you wouldn't give up your weapons?”

“Good guess,” Raven replied, with a grin. “I'm not biting.”

“I don't like customized weaponry,” the Countess told her matter-of-factly. “Always lets you down when you really need it. Makes me think it's a bad idea to tinker with it.”

“I don't tinker,” Raven said in annoyance, stung into a rejoinder. The Countess's expression brightened and Raven narrowed her eyes in response, disliking the way she was being manipulated.

“Your transport's ready, Wraith,” the Countess continued. “I'll have it brought into the building. I've got muscle for you as well but the main question is where you want to take them. You originally contacted me to locate your sister's adoptive parents and you claimed then you weren't planning a retrieval. Since I ascertained the whereabouts of the Hollis family, you have bought some heavy artillery and now you want muscle as well. I doubt that you are intending to break into the Hollises' apartment with quite that much firepower.”

“Rachel wasn't at the apartment,” Wraith admitted cautiously, keeping an eye on Raven. “I want to retrieve her from the place she is now.”

“Which is?” The Countess waited, her stance making it clear that no further business could be done without an answer.

“A laboratory run by the CPS,” Raven said suddenly.

“Then she's a Hex,” the Countess stated definitively.

“It would appear so,” Raven agreed, not entirely willing to concede the point.

“And what about you?” the Countess asked. “Your brother told me on our first meeting that you were a hacker. Are you a Hex as well?”

“If I was I would hardly admit it,” Raven pointed out.

“I imagine not,” the Countess agreed. “And it would be bad for business if my clients lost faith in my discretion.” She waited for Raven's nod of assent before continuing. “However, this development does entail that your backup is equally discreet. That means a higher fee and I can't guarantee they'll agree to this kind of work. Not all of my contacts would be sanguine about breaking into a CPS facility to rescue a Hex.”

•  •  •

Ali was lying on the hard hospital bed trying to think. Ever since she had parted from Luciel she had been trying to work out what to do and how Rachel's death would affect the group. But her mind had been a confusion of impressions and ideas, and thinking was difficult in the abattoir-like laboratory. She felt almost able to see the mutilated children behind the walls in the rooms on her corridor, the other corridors on that floor, and all the others who had ever occupied the laboratory, no matter how briefly.

On the small table lay the remains of the food tray that had been brought to her late that afternoon. Two uniformed operatives had wheeled trolleys down the hallway, ordering children out of their rooms to collect their trays. A scientist, following behind, had adjusted the intravenous feeding-tubes of those confined to their beds. Ali had accepted her tray obediently, but hadn't been able to stomach more than a few mouthfuls of the tasteless substances that passed for food.

With a sigh, Ali sat up. She was getting nowhere trying to work this out on her own. Cautiously, almost furtively she moved to the door of her room on silent bare feet. There was no one outside. She shut the door, wishing there was some way to cover the see-through opening, and returned to the bed. This time she lay on her stomach so no one looking in would be able to see her face. Then, hoping that this would work, she whispered:

“Raven?”

There was no answer. Ali felt like crying. Digging her nails hard into the palms of her hands, using the pain to block out her despair, she tried again. It was almost like praying, she thought hysterically, as she whispered Raven's name into the silence of her room. Trying to contact someone who might not be listening.

“Raven, can you hear me?” Ali was losing hope. “Raven, if you're there, please answer me . . . please . . .”

“I can hear you. What's happening?”
a cool voice answered and Ali felt almost numb with relief.

“I need to talk to you,” she said quickly. “A lot's happened.”