The Chimera Vector (7 page)

Adamicz nodded. ‘Your memories are accessible across both psyches, but each has different interpretation. Your neopsyche is programmed to believe certain ideology so you will agree to undertake black operations that Special Forces soldier with morals and conscience might not have stomach for. Your memories are false. They mimic what you are really doing, but they are false. False but morally acceptable. The soldiers you killed in Iran were not soldiers—you know this, yes?’

Sophia smiled weakly. He was trying to screw with her. ‘And how exactly do
you
know this?’

‘Because I am one who programmed you.’

Her smile broke into a scowl. ‘Bullshit. The video is fake.’

Adamicz took two deliberate steps back. ‘Mix sand with cider and wool with wine.’

Sophia’s face flushed hot.

‘The man behind me,’ Adamicz said. ‘He is the soldier who was pursuing you in Iran.’

Adamicz was right. How had she not noticed this before? The former Blue Beret standing at her ten o’clock was the Citroën driver. Iranian Special Forces. She was sure she’d killed him, but here he stood.

She moved nimbly across the rug towards him. He aimed his rifle at her chest.

‘And welcome Queen Alice with ninety times nine,’ Adamicz said.

Sophia was holding the soldier’s own knife, unsheathed, just inches from his neck. She blinked. He wasn’t who she’d thought he was.

‘Mistaken identity?’ Adamicz said, and nodded, mostly in agreement with himself.

Something thin and shiny caught Sophia’s attention, on the floor beside her. The soldier’s rifle. She’d disarmed him and taken his knife. She could barely remember doing it. She pulled back. The soldier did the same, terrified.

‘I suppose you thought that was funny, setting your Pavlova dog on me,’ he said to Adamicz. His accent was Australian.

Adamicz remained focused on Sophia as he replied. ‘Pavlovian. It’s Pavlovian dog. And I no longer require your services. Thank you kindly for your time.’

The soldier didn’t go near his stripped rifle. He looked up at the other men on the balcony. ‘We’re out!’ he yelled. ‘Leave them to slice each other up.’

Sophia watched the other soldiers disappear from the balcony. She inspected the knife in her hand.

She glared at Adamicz. ‘What did you do?’

‘I switched you back to your neopsyche, activated the Ares parapsyche and gave you order to kill the former Blue Beret,’ he said in his heavily accented English.

‘Activated the what?’

‘The Ares parapsyche is responsible for assassination. If I had not stopped you when I did, the rifle would not be only thing in pieces.’

She glared at him. ‘And with five highly trained soldiers ready to cut me down, I would have ended up in pieces too.’

He nodded. ‘Lucky I stop you.’

Her hands balled into fists. ‘You’re lying! You’re trying to trick me into defecting to your side!’

Adamicz smiled. ‘Do you even know what my side is, Sophia?’

She opened her mouth to reply, but she had nothing to say.

***

Sophia was six years old. The strange men had put wires on her head, the ones that hurt. Her arms had gone fizzy. They placed an earphone in her left ear, but it didn’t seem to be working because all that came out was a funny noise. They injected something into her arm. It made her feel weird. Above her, a fluorescent light buzzed angrily. Two men stood at her feet, their faces smudged in the dim light.

‘You are loyal to the government,’ said a man with a very tired voice.

She could hear him only with her right ear. Her heart was beating really fast.

‘What are you doing to me?’

She couldn’t stop her body from shaking. She screamed. The wires were making it hurt again. Then it stopped. She tried to catch her breath. She trembled. She couldn’t stop it. The light was paralyzing her.

‘You are loyal to the government,’ the tired man said.

She could barely breathe. ‘Yes.’

‘And because you are loyal to the government, you will do anything in the name of freedom and liberty to serve the government.’

‘What do you mean?’

The wires made her hurt again. She tried to move her arms and legs to escape the pain, but they’d strapped her to the table.

‘You will do anything in the name of freedom and liberty.’

‘Please, stop it! I’ll do anything!’

She shut her eyes. The hurt came back. She’d never felt anything like it. She just wanted it to be over. Tears squeezed from between her scrunched eyelids.

‘You will do anything to protect the government. Do you understand?’

The table felt cold against her skin. Her arms were covered in goose bumps. ‘Yes.’

‘We don’t believe you.’

The wires hurt again. She wanted to die. Anything to make it stop.

‘Yes!’ she yelled. ‘I’ll do anything to protect the government!’

The tired man leaned over her, his nose wrinkling in disgust. ‘Tell us again.’

‘I’ll do anything!’ Breathe. ‘To protect!’ Breathe. ‘The government!’ she screamed.

She opened her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. The walls were liquefying around her.

The tired man said, ‘You are one with the government. It commands you. It pours through you. You respond unquestioningly to its will. You are a valuable and integral cog in a vast and powerful machine. A machine that keeps civilization from the brink of destruction.’

Cracks began to appear in his face.

‘We’re going to take a break, Sophia. And then we’re going to break you into tiny little pieces.’

A split ran through his right eye, down his neck. He checked his watch.

‘Shall we continue in, say, fifteen minutes?’ He grinned.

She watched his left eye slide down his cheek. Was she going crazy? This had to be a dream. Everything she saw looked weird. His eye slipped onto his neck, but he didn’t seem to notice. He turned and followed the other man out of the room. The door melted behind them.

Sophia felt cold metal in her palm. She looked down. Her hand looked about ten years older. Her grip on the pistol was comforting.

Other trainees stood either side of her, holding identical pistols. They each faced a quivering naked body with a black bag over its head. The bodies looked no more than fifteen or sixteen. Same age as her.

‘The cowards you see before you are failures,’ Denton said. He was standing behind her and the other trainees. ‘They are not entitled to sympathy. They are not entitled to forgiveness. They are not entitled to charity. They, like you, knew the consequences of failure.’ He paced behind them. She could feel his gaze weighing on her. ‘And yet they still chose to fail. They ask you to take mercy on them and bring an end to their dishonor. If you do as they ask, you will graduate as qualified operatives.’

Some of the trainees were already taking aim at their targets. Sophia looked at her target. A young woman, not much different to herself. Her ribs pressed against her skin with every snatched breath.

One of the trainees beside her opened fire. A double tap to the head. Sophia heard a body crumple onto tarpaulin.

Fingers curling around the grip, Sophia raised her pistol until she had a bead on her target. The girl’s ribs were becoming more visible with each breath, as if she had somehow sensed Sophia’s intention.

‘Their failure is your success!’ Denton shouted.

Her forefinger curled behind the trigger guard. The target’s ribs were almost ready to burst from her chest.

Another trainee opened fire. And another.

Sophia pressed lightly on the trigger with the pad of her forefinger. The girl’s legs trembled. On the tarpaulin, Sophia saw a small pool of straw-colored liquid. The girl’s fear tasted bitter in the back of her throat.

She closed her eyes. The girl was not human.

Sophia could do things to her she would never do to another human.

Like splash her brains over the tarpaulin.

***

When she opened her eyes, her target was gone. She was back in the library, under the watchful eye of Adamicz.

‘What were the men doing?’ she said. ‘The static, the needle, the light buzzing in my face.’

‘Fluorescent strobe light, yes?’ Adamicz said. ‘With monoatomic gold filament. It is hypnotic opener.’

‘Opener for what?’ Sophia yelled.

‘For hypnotic suggestion. First step is to implant your loyalty. Then I enter picture, to program you completely.’

‘I killed an operative,’ she said. ‘She died. And I was allowed to live.’

Adamicz said nothing.

Why was she even telling him this? His silence sparked a deep-seated rage.

‘Say something!’ she yelled.

Her voice boomed through the library, bouncing back at her. Her lower lip trembled. She bit it, held it between her teeth until it tasted sour.

‘You hesitate that day,’ he said. ‘I had no choice but to scrub hesitation from records. Just to keep you in project.’

‘Stop it!’ she yelled again, turning away from him. ‘I don’t want to hear any more of your lies!’

She heard him say, ‘The exquisite corpse will drink finest wine.’

For a moment, she was certain nothing had happened. But when she looked down, she was shocked to find that same knife in her hand again. This time, it was inches from her neck. Blood ran from her hand, down her arm.

Her last thread of certainty drained from her like a viscous liquid. The piece of glass fell from her hand. She felt nothing.

No.

She felt hollow.

Chapter 7

An army of do-it-yourself satellite dishes were angled towards the Super Jesus statue perched high on the mountain above Rio. Six-year-old Jay ducked under a swathe of cables patched into a utility pole. His younger brother, Hélio, had fallen behind again. Jay checked over his shoulder. Hélio was still running heartily to keep up, a small blur alongside the concrete walls and graffiti.

Jay scaled the tin roof and stepped through a broken window. He had found his way inside a recently abandoned hideout before Hélio had even started climbing. Lots of empty rifle shells and racks that a few days ago would have been brimming with cable television equipment. Jay had heard someone had been planning to set themselves up as illegal cable providers—before BOPE, Rio’s Police Special Forces, had raided the place.

A rabbit scurried around a large hole in the floor. Jay ignored it. He saw rabbits all the time, many of them, but they were too disease-ridden to eat. Jay was more interested in finding whatever BOPE might’ve missed. Anything he might be able to sell for money.

Hélio stumbled through the window behind him. Jay ignored him and checked the next room. It was bare except for three empty fireworks cylinders and a dusty bottle of soda.

‘
Nada
,’ Hélio said, kicking a glass bottle.

Jay heard the bottle drop down the hole. A few seconds later, it smashed onto concrete several floors below.

Jay picked up a fireworks cylinder and inspected it. Empty shells fell out and scattered on the floor. But they didn’t sound hollow. He picked one up. It wasn’t empty at all. He was holding a real bullet! And it was a big one too. As thick as his thumb and as long as his whole hand. He picked up the other bullets, one after another.

Hélio called out to him. ‘
Irmão!
’
Brother.

Jay counted thirteen big bullets.

‘
Irmão!
’

Jay wondered if he could sell them to a gang member. How much would he demand for them? He’d have to act tough otherwise they’d try to scam him.

A sharp popping sound made him jump. Fireworks.

The gang used fireworks as a warning when BOPE arrived.

‘
Irmão! BOPE!
’ Hélio screamed.

Then came the cracking sound of bullets. One smashed through a window.

Jay ran back to Hélio. The glass had sprinkled over the floor. Close call. Hélio hadn’t been hit. More bullets cracked past the building. Jay ducked. Where was his brother?

Hélio’s head of matted black hair bobbed just over the edge of the hole. His fingers were clinging to its edge. ‘
Irmão!
’ He was sobbing.

Jay couldn’t move. Fear had riveted him to the spot.

More rounds cracked past.

Hélio’s fingers were white at the tips. He hung there, just his fingers and head visible. Jay could see his eyes. Tears streamed from them.

‘
Ajuda mim!
’
Help me!

The unused bullets slipped from Jay’s hands, scattering across the concrete. His heart was racing. BOPE would be here any moment.

‘
Irmão!
’ Hélio screamed.

Jay’s legs wobbled. He wanted to help, but his body wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t look away.

He shut his eyes.

Every time he had this dream, it always ended the same way. His brother let go of the edge. And he would never get him back.

When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting in a mess hall with over seventy other kids, some a bit younger, some older. Boys and girls. He’d passed all the selection tests in Rio, and then all the entrance tests at the Desecheo Island training facility. And now, he wasn’t sure why he was here, but he secretly hoped that he was sitting with all the successful entrants into the Argus Foundation’s scholarship program.

People in white coats were serving them lunch. Neatly cut sandwich triangles, a small bladder of long-life milk and a choc-chip cookie on a plastic tray. Everyone had the same food, but Jay’s table hadn’t been served yet. There were more people in white coats pacing about, checking kids’ names off their tablets and asking questions.

Sitting opposite Jay was a boy, about his age. A quiet one. He looked a bit nervous. He had a round face, slightly curled brown hair and pinkish cheeks. His skin was paler than Jay’s, but he didn’t look American. He sat with his hands in his lap. All Jay could see above the table was a head and shoulders.

‘Hey, I’m Jay. Do you speak English?’

The boy blinked.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Damiano,’ he said. ‘Uh, Damien.’

‘Damiano.’ Jay grinned. ‘Sounds like a superhero name. What’s your superpower?’