Prototype (9 page)

N
obody says a word when I follow Foster into the command center. Leigh and Miles follow close behind. It seems as if the entire room is standing to watch the wall at the far end. Twenty smaller screens are set as one large frame to view the lobby in Burke Enterprises. Surrounding screens show different angles of the same scene, one I cannot believe I am witnessing.

Charles Godfrey.

A very angry Charles Godfrey. I have been on the receiving end of his anger, and it was not a pleasant place. From the moment I met him, the man frightened me. Always glaring, impatient, and distrustful of my methods when dealing with his wife, Ruby. He assumed I was coaching her into playing dumb, when in fact, she was still learning how to be human. I had been the same way, only Declan had far more patience. My ex sat with me every day, teaching me new things until I became the loving wife he wanted.

The memories of those early days brush over me like a frigid breeze. It is hard to believe there was ever a time the idea of Declan caring for me made me warm with love for him.

Noah appears around the side of a nearby desk and shoulders through a grouping of men in front of me. He wears a light gray suit with a striped tie hanging loose at the neck. “Godfrey stormed in a few minutes ago,” he tells me, and glances up at the screen. “He’s demanding to see Burke and trying to force his way past security. They’ve been holding him back and waiting for Burke to arrive.”

“Where’s Declan?” I ask.

“Off grid.”

Which means he is in an area they cannot monitor. He is probably with Dr. Travista plotting their next move against me.

I look up at the screen. For the first time, I notice someone hanging limply in Charles’s hand, but it has to be a lie. It is too unreal. He clings to the upper arm of a thin blond woman. He holds her so tight his knuckles are white. Her free arm drags on the marble floor under her as he shifts around looking for a weak spot in the security line. The chin length, curling strands of her hair hang over her face, but I know who she is.

“Ruby,” I whisper, and move deeper into the room for a better look. Tears burn the backs of my eyes. “She is not moving.”
Move, Ruby. Please move. Whimper. Something.

With each passing second, an invisible constraint around my chest tightens. I knew Charles Godfrey could not be trusted to care for her. And she knew no better. Like me, her mind had been wiped, only she never regained her memories because Dr. Travista murdered her host after he realized the tie binding the host body to the clone. The survival of my original body is the only reason I have the few memories I do.

“Where’s Burke!”
Charles yells at the line of security. The stocky man’s face is red. Thick veins snake across his temples and forehead.

A young man pushes through the line, his soft-edged features impassive, but with piercing eyes focused on Charles. His dark-brown hair is short and teased in a way that makes him look like he just rolled out of bed. His dark beard is trimmed close to the skin and cut tight around the edges.

Someone stops just behind and to the side of me. Noah’s soft musk wafts forward, and I do not have to look back to know it is him.

“Who is he?” I ask.

“Daxton Thomas. He’s an intern working with Burke. He’s also the son of Evan Thomas, the CFO who ran the business in Burke’s absence.”

On-screen, Daxton snaps down the brown jacket of his three-piece suit, then holds up his hands to the man dragging his wife around the lobby.
“Mr. Godfrey, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down. Mr. Burke isn’t in the building at the moment, but if I could get you to come wi—”

“You tell that motherfucker he owes me a new wife! I paid a lot of money for her, and he gave me a faulty product!”

I had hoped it was not true, but now there can be no question. Ruby is dead. Tears coat my eyes and I blink rapidly to force them back. I glance at Noah. “Do you know what happened to her?”

He shakes his head, attention focused on the screen. Then he points and says, “There’s Burke.” He moves forward to the workstation in front of me and leans straight-armed on the desk between two analysts. “I want this recorded from all possible angles,” he orders.

Declan’s security line steps aside to let him pass. I fight to keep from shrinking away from his screen presence: tall, demanding attention, the intensity in the sea of his eyes daring any man to cross him. His perfectly fitted three-piece black suit accentuates the broad line of his shoulders and the V shape of his torso. He stops and straightens his spine, expanding his chest.

“You and Travista did this, didn’t you?”
Charles asks.
“Payback for my disagreement with your traitor wife.”

I take immediate offense. Disagreement? He tried to beat the hell out of me for something I knew nothing about at the time.

“Why don’t we go somewhere private?”
Declan suggests.
“That way you won’t be tempted to break any part of the nondisclosure agreement you signed. Let one of my men take the body off your hands and we’ll discuss your concerns—”

“My concerns? Admit you and Travista sabotaged my wife. Admit you limited her life span to get back at me.”

Declan’s nostrils flare. His fists clench and release. I watch with bated breath as he works to maintain control of his temper. Will he hit him? Throw him from the building? There is no telling how far he will go.

Finally, he steps close to Charles and towers over him.
“If I wanted to do something as childish as what you’re implying, I would have had Ruby disposed of the second you laid a hand on my wife.”

His tone is cool and even. Underneath it, even I feel the warning that lies there. He is still angry over the attack. For a moment, I glow with pleasure. That is, until I remember that Declan is
not
my husband and what he is doing to me makes him certifiable.

Charles grits his teeth.
“You really are a stupid fuck. I know what was happening to her. You want to screw with me?”
He drops Ruby’s limp body at Declan’s feet. Declan barely lowers his chin to acknowledge her.
“You better hope you can salvage what’s left, or I’m taking you for everything you’ve got. This company and all its assets will be mine.”

Noah starts shouting orders again. “Somebody find me Dr. Toro and Dr. Malcolm.”

On-screen, Declan jostles Ruby up and off the floor. He hands her to Daxton, who sinks under the weight, grimaces, then rolls her into the arms of the nearest security officer.

“Mr. Thomas,”
Declan says to Daxton, keeping his gaze level on Charles.
“Why don’t you show Mr. Godfrey to my office? I’m going to see Arthur. Let’s see what we can do to rectify this tragedy.”

In other words, let us see if we can grow him a new wife by tomorrow. How very diplomatic.

The security officer leaves with Ruby’s body. No one takes a second to look back, not even Charles Godfrey. I am alone in this grief.

Sonya’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “What happened?”

Noah turns from the desk and walks over to where the two doctors have stopped beside me. I have already taken an unconscious step away from them. Dr. Malcolm smiles up at me and waves but returns his attention to Noah the second he starts speaking.

I do not listen to the recounting but instead look back at the screens. The interior of Burke Enterprises is slowly clearing out. Declan and Charles have already disappeared. The semicircular security desk is now visible, with its five officers manning the station.

Someone resets the larger screen back to multiple small screens, but every video is set to watch the same scene from multiple angles. In one, Daxton Thomas stands off to the side with a phone pressed to his ear. He was supposed to be escorting Charles Godfrey upstairs, but it appears he has forced that job on someone else.

“Emma?”

Noah’s voice snaps me out of my trance. I blink and return my attention to the room, where he and the two doctors stare at me. “Yes?”

“I asked if you remember what Godfrey said about Ruby just before threatening to take the company.”

I think back to that moment and replay the conversation in my mind, then repeat it aloud. “He said, ‘You really are a stupid fuck. I know what was happening to her. You want to screw with me?’ Then he made the threat. Does that mean something to you?”

Sonya does not let him respond. “If he knew something was going on, we could watch some of their home footage—”

“There is none,” Noah says. “Godfrey declined the security months ago.”

I feel the burn of a stare and find Dr. Malcolm gaping up at me. I flinch in surprise. “Is something the matter?”

My question draws the others’ attention.

Dr. Malcolm says, “You have an eidetic memory, don’t you?”

“A what?”

He busies himself with digging in a pocket, then the other, shifting quickly between them a few times before settling on one. “Total recall,” he says. “I bet if we look back, those were Mr. Godfrey’s exact words.” He pulls out a palm tablet and begins thumbing the tiny keyboard across the bottom.

“Are you keeping notes about me?” I ask. After our talk this morning, I cannot believe he is so quick to take advantage. Maybe I should have been more specific. “Dr. Malcolm—”

“Emma,” Sonya cuts in, hand raised to stop me, “he’s keeping a record of details that may help us.”

Noah takes the computer from Dr. Malcolm, shoves the device back in the doctor’s coat pocket, and looks directly at Sonya. The muscles in his jaw flex. “We talked about this.” He looks at Dr. Malcolm. “And Emma has always been able to recall details perfectly, so this won’t help you in the slightest.”

Dr. Malcolm’s eyes brighten and he bounces a few times on the balls of his feet. “But, you see, it does. Nobody knows the full extent of transference from host to duplicate. Are certain traits learned or genetic? Emma’s memories aren’t there, but it’s as if everything else about her works on automatic. Muscle memory where there shouldn’t be because her new body is, well . . .
new.
She fights as if she’s done it her entire life. She handles weapons with above-average proficiency.” He grins at me and reaches out to pat my arm. “Nice job in that simulation, by the way.” He turns back to Noah in the span of an eyeblink. “If I’m right, she has complete sensory recall, which—”

“I’ve heard enough,” Noah says, and I could not be more grateful. It is as if every word Dr. Malcolm uses siphons the air from my lungs. “I won’t ask you to respect Emma’s privacy again. Can you find out how Ruby Godfrey died or not?” he asks Sonya.

“Not without access to her remains, but based on what Charles Godfrey suggested, it could be a defect. Not that we’ll get a chance to find out.” Her dark eyes focus on me. “It’s not like I have another clone to look at.”

I stiffen and curl my fingers into fists. I cannot believe she is resorting to guilt tactics.

Noah snaps his fingers in Sonya’s face to get her attention. “If Godfrey says he saw what was happening, you can watch Lydia Farris. The Farrises have security monitoring their property.”

“I’d rather have Ruby’s body,” she says. Her clinical tone turns my stomach. Ruby was a human. A mother. My friend. “We have people with pull at the medical examiner’s office. If we intercept the transport—”

“You will never see her,” I say. When they look at me, I add, “We are Dr. Travista’s children. He would never let Ruby end up in the hands of someone else. He brought her into this world, and he will control how she leaves it.” For this, at least, I am glad. I do not want Sonya using Ruby as she would use me or anyone else she came into contact with.

Sonya looks skeptical. “There are procedures that have to be followed. Laws against—”

“Laws that protect humans. You forget who you are dealing with.” My throat feels tight, and I cannot take how they look at me any longer. “Anyway. I should let you finish this discussion in private.”

Noah releases a long sigh. “I’ll walk you out.”

Sonya’s eyes narrow at him. “She knows the way.”

There is no need for words as he lengthens his spine and rolls his shoulders back. The tide of his reaction is a silent, encompassing fog. Sonya folds her arms across her chest, completely unaffected. She cocks her head pointedly at him, then looks directly at me.

Dr. Malcolm clears his throat, his bright, friendly smile faltering. He bounces on his toes and lets loose a stiff chuckle. He leans toward the middle of our perimeter and singsongs, “
Awk-ward.
”

I have to get out of here. Tentatively, I face Noah. “Will you let me know if you figure out what happened to Ruby?”

He starts to nod, but Sonya releases a derisive laugh and rolls her eyes. “As if you care,” she mutters under her breath.

Heat swirls in my face and chest. Swiping the palm tablet from Dr. Malcolm’s pocket, I place it in his startled hands. “Take this note down. Clones run on the same human emotion as everyone else.” To Sonya, I add, “Ruby was my friend. Not even you can take that from me.”

T
oday’s top story has shocked the world,”
the newsman says from behind his large desk. Behind him in the floating holo-vid is a picture of Ruby. She laughs at the camera, the gold flecks in her eyes sparkling. Her long curls are folded into a loose braid over one shoulder.
“Ruby Godfrey, the Original Clone, was declared dead this afternoon. No word yet on the cause of death, but Declan Burke is expected to make a statement later today.”

 • • • 

I lie on a holographic beach, eyes closed to a sun, desperate for the surrounding solitude to take me away from recent events. But my heart hurts for Ruby and her child. I wish it hurt for Charles, too, but I know better than to believe him a grieving husband. Even if I had not seen his reaction with my own eyes, I know he did not value his wife the way he should have.

I am also bothered by Charles’s words. They meant nothing to me until Noah pointed them out. One sentence in particular:
I know what was happening to her.
What could have been happening to her that would make him automatically believe her death was caused by a defect in the cloning process?

Dr. Travista’s image fills my mind. I can see his office, with heavy books and nice woods and warm red colors. How he faced me in his chair, saying,
You’re perfect,
with a considerable amount of pride in his tone. Little did I know at the time what he truly meant by this: a perfect re-creation with endless possibilities. More than he bargained for.

A cold shiver forces me to a sitting position. I blink at the holographic waves that a high tide has brought closer. The water recedes from under my feet and leaves behind white foam bubbles that sizzle and burst. A gray pebble gleams wetly under the sunshine, half-buried in the compact sand. Not unlike me, both free and captive in a place seemingly peaceful. But even a tide can drag a person down and steal her last breath.

What sort of tide took Ruby? Charles? Or is he right about her body failing her? Will mine fail, too?

You’re perfect,
Dr. Travista’s voice tells me.

Am I? Are any of us?

I do not know, but I feel the need to see Ruby again.

A seagull struts through the computer tablet beside me just as I reach for it. I wake the screen to the long list of holograms. I noticed earlier they are merely a single file in the larger network. I tap out of the screen and take a few wrong turns inside the network but eventually find myself staring at a list of names. At the top, Burke Enterprises. I tap into the file and then into the lobby feed.

Because the tablet is set to holographic mode, the entire room transforms into the same lobby I watched from the command center a few hours ago. I stand in my surprise and jump when a tall, lanky man walks right through me to get to the security desk. I know I am not really in the room and that no one can see me, but it feels as though this is real. I even catch myself watching doorways for Declan to arrive and catch me.

I let my heartbeat settle before turning the tablet to voice command. “Computer, play current footage from marker thirteen hundred hours, sixteen minutes.”

The live feed pauses and, in only a second, resets the room to the time I requested. The lobby is brighter than it had been in real time due to the time difference. The abrupt cacophony of voices startles me. Charles is yelling at Declan again.

“Mute sound.”

The abrupt silence leaves me with a ringing in my ears and the hollow sound of my breathing. I walk around the projected men, heart pounding, and pause in front of my ex. He glares over my head. I had forgotten how much taller he is. I lay my hands on his chest, then let them fall through his image with a silent curse. After all this time, and after all he has done, I cannot stop myself from falling into familiar patterns.

Ruby’s body appears under my feet. Arm lying across her chest. One leg bent awkwardly under her. “Computer, pause footage.”

I step back and kneel beside her. Wide eyes stare up at me. I once loved their light brown color with flecks of gold and green, but the life in them is gone now. She looks otherwise peaceful despite being dragged and tossed and talked about as if she were a dysfunctional product. She looks
human.

I wish I could hold her the way someone should hold her. With care. With love. I wish I could give her a proper good-bye. I wish I could shield her from the ogling men in the room. But it is far too late.

“Computer, resume footage.” I stand and watch the feed continue. There is nothing to discover about Ruby’s death in this little bit of video. No clue as to what Charles Godfrey could have been referring to.

What did he know?

Declan lifts Ruby off the floor and passes her to Daxton. I am about to stop the video altogether, but Daxton passes Ruby to a security officer and I recall how he ignored Declan’s directive and ended up in a corner of the lobby on the phone.

I find myself strangely drawn to this man, who cannot be much younger than I am. The unwavering compliant front he airs for Declan drops the second he turns his back. Before, Daxton was like the rest of them. The way he looked up to Declan, the eager-to-please employee. But now, with no one looking on but me, he releases the unadulterated abhorrence in his blue eyes and has my rapt attention.

“Unmute sound,” I say, and a flood of clicking footsteps and the hum of conversation fill the room.

Daxton tucks one hand deep in his pocket and lifts a phone to his ear while strolling to an empty part of the lobby.
“Charles Godfrey just dropped his dead clone off in the lobby.”

 • • • 

Miles slides the gestural interface gloves on, his usual comical expression serious while he listens to me recount Daxton’s phone conversation. He brought us back to room GI4 once I explained I needed his help with another search.

“Can you find out who he was talking to?” I ask after my long explanation.

That perpetual smile finally breaks free, and he spreads his arms wide. “Of course, Wade. You came to the right place.” He pulls a blue stream of light from the clear table and assembles a group of computer windows in the air before him. The surrounding walls darken to a midnight-blue glow. “That is, of course, if he was talking to someone in our network.”

“At the very least, trace the call. I want to know who he was talking to.”

He pushes the floating windows to the outside of the perimeter, encasing us on the circular dais. “So bossy,” he says, but winks. “I dig it, though. It’s hot.”

I rub my eyes. I had not meant to sound bossy, but I am still in shock over what I heard from Daxton’s side of the conversation.

I stand near the table and out of the way to watch Miles work. With his arms raised and moving, lines of muscle flex from biceps to wrist. Even his shoulders, hidden under a black T-shirt, contract with every move. It occurs to me that if not for the messed-up nature of my life lately, I might have pursued Miles. Or at least allowed him to pursue me. He is tall, thin but sinuously carved in muscle, and funny. He is also more than boyishly cute. He is handsome in a way I doubt any woman could help but admire.

“Did I really dislike you before?” I ask him.

He glances at me, and there is amusement rather than surprise on his face at my odd question. “Without a doubt.” His hands resume their search through the windows. “We dated a really long time ago. We were barely nineteen and I had too much energy to settle into one relationship.”

“By ‘too much energy’ I assume you mean you cheated.”

A grin peels across his face as he jabs a finger at a window. “And like the bastard I was, didn’t even regret it. For what it’s worth, I do now.” He looks at me and jerks his head at the screen in front of him. “Come take a look. I think I found something.”

I move up and settle beside him. He smells nice. Spicy. He taps into a few more screens until the outer area of Declan’s office appears in the window to my left. The walls are silver with thick and thin black lines weaving around one another, designed to look like a computer chip. A young, sandy-haired man sits behind a mahogany desk, feet kicked up and crossed.

I gasp. “He called Declan’s assistant?”

With a brief nod and eyes narrowly focused, Miles pauses the feed. He sets to work inputting instructions on a second window. A moment later, the lobby of Burke Enterprises appears. He lines up the times to match and hits play on both feeds.

The phone beeps in the office and Armand lifts it free of its cradle.
“Declan Burke’s office,”
he says in a chipper, professional tone that belies his laid-back posture.

I look at Daxton, one hand tucked in a pocket as he repeats the side I already heard.
“Charles Godfrey just dropped his dead clone off in the lobby.”

Armand drops his feet to the floor.
“What happened to her?”

“I don’t know. Crazy bastard probably dosed her up. He’s blaming Burke. Threatened to take the company in a lawsuit. Anyway, we can use this to our advantage. Get ahead of the story in the media.”

“Agreed. I can make an anonymous call to the
Times
. Imagine the press Burke will get if the world thinks his missing wife—”

Daxton, glancing furtively around the lobby, cuts in.
“As much as I’d love to put this on her, Burke won’t stop until he figures out it was you, then, by extension, me. No, we start by putting this on the resistance. Once that news settles, we’ll find a way to leak a connection between Emma Burke and Ruby Godfrey. The press will eat that up.

“Lastly, we’ll reveal who the real Original Clone is. How Burke’s been misleading not only the world but three-quarters of his board and tainting his father’s legacy. When all is said and done, the world will know what Emma Burke really is, and who she was. Resistance.”

Armand is nodding, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Brilliant. I’ll make the call to the
Times
. By morning, the world will think the resistance was behind the clone’s death. Will I see you later?”

“Computer, pause feed.” I nod at the frozen men in the room. “What do we know about these guys? Anything useful?”

Miles drifts close to Armand’s hologram window with his arms crossed. “Obviously, you already know this guy. Nothing much more to say about him other than he likes to be in the know of every single detail. Sneaky bastard. Gets in where he can, how he can, and nobody’s the wiser.”

He faces the lobby and Daxton. “This guy . . . nothing. His parents, on the other hand . . . are confidential.”

I am impressed he even knows what the word means. “Confidential meaning you are suddenly opposed to abusing privileges, or confidential meaning you will tell me anyway?”

He snorts a laugh. “Lower the eyebrow, Wade. I’m getting to it.” He swipes a third window closer to him and taps until two personnel files appear. With a sweep of his arms, all other screens slide out of the way. “Meet Evan and Charissa Thomas.”

I briefly met the Thomases at my gallery show last year. They, along with other members of the board, made me feel as if I were under a microscope. Now I understand why. A few of them knew me to be ex-resistance, as well as being the first successful clone. They were waiting for Declan’s pet project to turn traitor. Based on things I heard, I believe Evan Thomas is one of the few who knew everything about me.

While the pictures show younger versions of the couple I met, the names on their files actually say Victoria and Ryan Owens. In the photos, they wear military-issue black. She has a heart-shaped face, soft pink lips, and sleek, dark brown hair. His dark hair lies in soft waves, and gray fans around his temple. His eyes are a beautiful shade of blue.

“I do not understand,” I say, facing Miles.

“Neither did anyone else.” He shrugs. “Or so I hear. We were barely out of diapers when they turned on at least four resistance cells. They’re why those of us low in rank never know the locations of the other hubs.”

“They were double agents?”

He nods. “Lived as loyal members of the resistance for roughly five years. Then things got hot, so they turned over what they knew, and Mr. Thomas got himself a sizable handful of shares in Burke Enterprises. Later, he was appointed to the board and promoted to chief financial officer.

“Mrs. Thomas became the typical American wife. Handed their daughter, Olivia, over to a WTC without so much as a parting tear. She stayed at home to raise their son into the devious little snot you see today.”

A sour tang fills my mouth. “They did that to their own daughter?” I cannot imagine doing this to Adrienne, and I have spent only a handful of hours with her.

“I’d love to say it was hard on them, but the Thomases sold out entire families for shares in a company bent on owning the world. The children who survived were either distributed out to WTCs or adoptive families.”

The idea of someone living among us, planning this very same thing, makes me want to run down the hall, snatch up my daughter, and steal my husband away from his responsibilities. I would take my family to Mexico and live out the rest of my days. But my family looks to Sonya in my stead. She is the mother and, maybe someday, the wife. The only family I have is a mystery. Captured and imprisoned—

“Oh my God,” I whisper. My lungs struggle to maintain a consistent airflow while my head wraps around a sudden realization. “The four cells. This happened around the time my parents were imprisoned for being resistance. Is it possible they were caught in these raids?”

Miles seems to look past me; then his eyes begin to widen. “Holy shit, Wade, you’re right. You may have just figured out where to find your parents.”