Vitro (12 page)

Sophie was torn with confusion, unable to decide which was better—the happy lie or the painful truth—but one thing was clear to her—her father wasn’t the one to blame. He’d tried to tell her the truth and she had refused to listen. It was Moira who had lied, Moira who had left, Moira who was growing designer slaves and selling them to the highest bidder.
She looked long and hard at her mother, a woman whom she was only just beginning to truly know, and she hoped— desperately—that she could find some way to redeem her.
They both jumped when a knock rattled the door. Moira froze, whispered “Be Lux!” and then snatched a clipboard off the desk as she called out, “Who’s that?”
The door burst open and Strauss strode in, her eyes suspicious. “There you are! What are you doing?”
Immediately Sophie let herself glaze over. Her mother was perched on the edge of the desk as if she’d been there all along. She gave Strauss an irritated look. “I’m going over a quick psych evaluation with Lux. What’s wrong?”
“I heard there was an incident with Andreyev.”
“I already settled that,” Moira said calmly, scrawling with great concentration what Sophie could see were meaningless loops on her clipboard.
Strauss looked more closely at Sophie. “Why are you in here? Shouldn’t she be in physical therapy?”
“She should be in here, taking her psych eval!” Moira retorted. “And now you’re distressing her.”
Sophie blinked at her mother, then winced and tightened her hands around the armrests, trying to look distressed.
“Well, don’t take all day about it,” Strauss said, still studying Sophie through narrow eyes. “I can only keep Andreyev entertained for so long.”
When she’d left, Sophie let out a long relieved sigh. Moira shook her head grimly and set down the clipboard. “She’s not stupid. This is bad, so bad.” She gave Sophie a solemn look. “It’s only a matter of time before she figures out who you really are.”
“So what if she does?”
“Sophie. If she does—she may take it in her head that you’re more of a liability than you’re worth.”
It took Sophie a moment to interpret what that meant.
When she realized what Moira was saying, her spine tingled as if ice had been dropped down the back of her shirt. “She wouldn’t!”
“Never underestimate her, Sophie.” Moira’s eyes went distant, as if she were looking backward into the past. “You wouldn’t be the first threat Strauss has had eliminated.”

The moment the boys hit Jim, something terrible and powerful had snapped inside of her, and she lost all control. She did not understand it and she did not like it but she could not stop it. It was as if the entire world stopped existing except for one all-consuming command roaring inside her head: protect Jim.

Then her body took over and left her behind: it whirled and danced and moved with a speed that made her thoughts spin.

The words took over, pushing her aside and moving her hands, her feet.
Kick. And her body followed. She spun and threw out a leg and her foot slammed into the stomach of the one who had hit Jim.
Punch the other one. Her fist plowed into his jaw.
Still not down. Kick him. A sharp upward kick between his legs. He gasped and doubled over, but still remained on his feet.
Bring him down. She snapped her head against his and he fell at last, groaning and writhing.
Now the girl. The girl was the leader. She had to be stopped. Lux dropped onto her hands as her legs swung in a wide arc, knocking the girl’s feet from under her.
Now eliminate the threat.
Lux leaped forward, barely registering what she was even doing. She looked down and saw her hands around the girl’s throat. The girl’s eyes were wide. She was trying to breathe but Lux would not let her. She tightened her grip. Eliminate the threat.
But . . . Deep, deep in her mind, Lux whimpered. I am hurting her.
Yes! Eliminate the threat!
She could not stop. The words were too powerful. There was a voice inside her brain that was not her own and it commanded her body. She watched as her hands tightened, tightened, tightened. The girl twisted. Struggled. Made raspy throat noises.
“Lux!”
Jim’s voice was dim and distant.
Her eyes fixed on the girl. She felt a throbbing in her temples and in her wrists. Suddenly she wanted it to stop—all of it—the hurting and the struggling and the voice in her head
that kept saying Eliminate the threat eliminate the threat eliminate the threat but she could not turn it off.

“Lux, stop!” Jim yelled.
And she let go.
The voice, the words, eliminate the threat: it shut off and disappeared and the girl threw her aside.
Lux lay in the sand in a sprawl and trembled. Jim was talking to the others; they were running away. She hardly noticed. She stared at her hands and rocked back and forth. Hurts hurts hurts hurts, which did not compute because there was no pain. Then why did she hurt? Her heart hurt and her head hurt and her hands.
What am I?
The thought punched her mind the way her fist had punched the boys, leaving her gasping.
What am I?
I am Vitro beta model—
No. That was not the answer she wanted. She wanted more. She wanted—she wanted—There was no word for it. Her mind was blank. She was missing something so very important but she did not know what it was. She had found that the longer she stared at something, the more she knew about it. She could stare at a tree and know more and more about how it worked—roots below the ground and sunlight on the leaves and it begins with a seed. The ocean held fish and dolphins and microorganisms and it covered 71 percent of the earth’s surface. But when she stared at herself, at her hands, at her sandy legs, at the ends of her hair, nothing came into her mind. She was blank, a wordless being. She could look anywhere around her and know what she saw but when it came to herself . . . She was a hole in the universe.
Suddenly she felt as if there were hands around her throat and she reached up—but there was nothing there. Yet still she felt a panic in her throat, in her chest. She bent over, pressed her forehead against her knees, wrapped her arms around her legs and held them tight.
What am I?
This time, her brain made no reply at all. She sat silent and empty. Listening for words that never came, for an explanation that did not exist. I am I am I am I am . . . Blank.
Hollow.
Empty.
Then at last, slowly, softly, a word bubbled up from the bottom of her mind.
Afraid.
I am afraid.

The room was small and simple, like any number of hotel rooms, with a twin bed and a flimsy dresser. Impersonal prints of seashells and beach scenes hung on the wall, perhaps left over from Halcyon Cove’s resort days. It was on a hall of similarly furnished bedrooms occupied by, she reckoned, the Vitros. She heard them and the doctors throughout the day, walking past and talking in low voices. After digging through the dresser, she found a pair of khaki shorts, underclothes, and a white tank top that fit her perfectly. They must have been put there in anticipation of Lux. She couldn’t find any socks, but the small closet produced a pair of brand new white Keds, the sort she’d worn in first grade and which, she remembered with a start, Jim had stolen once and doodled all over with a Sharpie.

She was certain now that he must have left. If the plane were still grounded, wouldn’t he have turned up at some point, looking for a phone or for Sophie? She was surprised at the disappointment she felt at the thought. Though she was glad he was gone and safe, something inside her stretched out its hand, seeking to stop him, bring him back, but it was too late. Why didn’t I bring him with me? Would he have come, if she’d asked? But she knew that the pain she’d have felt if anything had happened to him would far outweigh the loneliness she felt now.

When she was tired of pacing, Sophie flopped onto the bed or stared at the ceiling or hovered at the window; it looked out over a span of grass that ended abruptly in a steep bluff; beyond it lay the endless sea. She was gazing out the window when she heard voices from the hall. These were different than the ones she had been hearing all day—louder, angrier, and younger.

She crept to the door and pressed her ear to it. The voices were unfamiliar. She reached for the doorknob, her fingers hovering over it indecisively. She wanted to see who it was but she didn’t want to give herself away. So she bit her lip and tried to overhear the conversation.

“We’re not telling Nicky anything,” a girl said. “I can handle it. He’s not in charge of us! He thinks he is but he’s not.”
“I’m just saying,” a boy replied, “that he’s gonna want to know what we saw.”
“And what, exactly, did you see?” That was Nicholas. He must have surprised them, because Sophie heard a moment of silence from the others. “Mary, Mary, so contrary,” Nicholas sang. “What don’t you want me to know?”
“We found the pilot,” Mary grumbled.
Sophie pressed a hand to her mouth as her stomach tightened. He’s still on the island? What joy she might have felt at the knowledge that Jim was still nearby paled in comparison to the twinge of alarm in her gut. Why is he still here? What happened?
“And?” Nicholas asked, his voice so low that Sophie barely caught it.
“He has Lux.”
A moment of silence, then, “You don’t say? Well, that explains a lot. Did she wake up?”
“Look at Wyatt’s eye and you tell me.”
“God! She did that? Already?”
“He got the plane into the water somehow. Anyway, he’s stuck until the tide goes down, unless he finds the boat.”
“He won’t find it.”
“Where have you been, Nicky? We looked everywhere for you.”
“Oh, you know. Around. Go on, get out of here. I’ll let you know when I need you.”
“You’re not our boss.”
“Shut up, Mary. Whose plan is this? Whose idea was it? Go.”
Shuffling footsteps told Sophie that they’d gone, but just when she started to turn away from the door, the knob began to turn. She sprang back as the door opened and Nicholas walked in.
“There you are,” he said cheerily, shutting the door behind him. “Been looking for you.”
She backed up until she was pressed against the wall beside the window, watching him through slitted eyes. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Your pilot’s made a mess,” Nicholas said with a grimace. He shook his hair back from his face, then tucked it behind his ears, which gave him an elfin look. “Don’t pretend you don’t know it. You heard us out there.”
She folded her arms and glared. “I know it was you who hit me last night. Why?”
He looked offended. “It wasn’t me!”
“It had to be you! Anyone else would have reported me to Strauss or my mom.”
“Anyone except Mary.”
“The girl in the hallway?” She pointed at the door.
“Yes,” he sighed. “She’s crazy. In fact . . .” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “She and her friends, Jay and Wyatt, they’re all psychopaths, you know. Certifiable. They’re the Vitros who went wrong. The experiments that went bad.”
Sophie digested this, then narrowed her eyes. “Mary hit me on the head?”
“I found her standing over you. She’d used an old Bunsen burner. Must have hurt. Oh, sit down, Sophie. You’re all cagey and mean. It doesn’t help your looks.”
Smoldering, Sophie sat on the edge of the bed, her arms still folded. “Why did she knock me out?”
“I told you. She’s a psychopath.”
“And what are you?”
He met her gaze steadily, his face serious. He hooked a foot around the chair by the dresser and slid it in front of the door, then sat, his fingers dancing on his knees. “I’m the first Vitro. The oldest one. That’s the truth. That’s who I am. When I found Mary standing over you I sent her away and made her swear to say nothing about you. You wouldn’t wake up and I didn’t know what to do, so I hid you with the other Vitros, thought they’d never look there, that you’d blend in. But then Lux went missing and they went searching and then they found you and . . . it all spun out of control.”
So he had been the one to put her in the gown. She reddened and folded her arms over her stomach, suddenly wishing he would just go away. “But it was more than just a bump on the head. I was drugged—I know I was. I felt it. When I tried to wake up I just fell back under, as if you wanted me to stay asleep. And where are my clothes?”
“Ugh. Details. Boring.” He leaned forward, his feet bouncing and his eyes bright. “So what do you think of Skin Island? The Vitros? Your mother? Come on, tell me—I’m dying to hear your impression.”
She felt as if she were playing tennis without a racket, and his words ricocheted around her and bounced back to him without her ever managing to get a handle on the conversation. He made her dizzy. “Nicholas. Why did you send me that e-mail? I know it was you—it had to be you. You knew to meet me at the airstrip yesterday, and you knew the message was supposedly from my mom. But why? Why do you want me here?”
His face darkened and he leaned back, crossing his left ankle over his right knee, his foot still bouncing. “All right, fine. I wanted your help.”
“My help?” She hadn’t expected that. She uncrossed her arms. “To do what?”
He leaped from the chair to the bed in one swift move, sitting beside her before she could get away. He took her hands in his and met her eyes steadily, his gaze suddenly desperate. “I think you know.”
She tilted her head, studying him as if he were an optical illusion presenting one image until she blinked, and suddenly he was something else. “You’re not like the other Vitros. They’re all . . . puppets, weak and mindless. But not you. Why is that?”
“Does it matter? I’m not imprinted on anyone, thank God.” He turned over, propped on one elbow. He picked at a loose thread on the comforter. “I’ve been trapped on this island my entire life and I spend my days cleaning up after the doctors, scrubbing toilets, mopping floors, reorganizing their sock drawers if they ask. It’s not a life, Sophie. But they’ll never let me leave. Ever. Think of that! I know what’s out there, in the rest of the world, but I’m not allowed to ever see it. I want to see cities, Sophie Crue! I want to go to a movie theater and order popcorn and I want a driver’s license. I just . . .” He bent over, his hands knotted over the back of his head so that his hair hung like a black curtain around his face. “I just want to be free. I want to get away, and to do that, I need your help. You were the only person I knew outside the island, because of Moira. She talks about you sometimes, you know.” He looked up at her. “You have no idea what it’s like to be trapped your whole life, to be looked at as if you’re a monster even when you’ve done nothing wrong. The only escape I’ve had is in my mind. Every time this place closed in on me, when I felt like I was suffocating, I thought about you, about how free you were and what you must be doing.”
“What do you want from me?” she asked softly.
“At first, I just wanted to meet you,” he confessed. “I just wanted to meet you, to know for myself that you were truly real. God, I know it sounds weird—but you were like my imaginary friend, you know? Ever since I was little, you were this image in my head . . .” His fingers strayed to hers, then stopped as if he were afraid to touch her. “You were my escape.”
She stared at him, her chest suddenly hurting, trying to imagine what his life was like. Seventeen years of frustration must be roiling behind his eyes. She turned around fully, her legs bent beneath her, to gauge from his expression whether or not he was telling the truth. He looked at her more earnest than she’d seen him yet.
“I need your help,” he said.
“Really?” she asked, still suspicious, not wanting to be taken in. “It’s that simple?”
“And that complicated.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that from the beginning?”
“Would you have taken my word for it, if I’d told you the moment you landed that your mom was manufacturing slaves?”
She sighed. “You might have tried, at least.”
“Either way. Now you know the truth. Now you can help me.” He stood up and breezed to the bed, sat beside her. “Please, Sophie.”
“By helping you escape? You want to leave with us in the plane? Then why did you go through all the trouble of lying to me, bringing me all the way here? Jim could have flown off by then and you’d have missed your chance.”
He shrugged and rolled onto his back. “I saw how he looked at you. He wasn’t going anywhere, not without you.”
Sophie reddened. “So . . . what? You were going to give me a tour of the place and then try to convince Jim to fly you away into the sunset?”
“Something like that,” he said. “But then Jim, brilliant Jim, steals Lux thinking she was you and now Moira’s on alert and soon the others will be too, once they discover that you’re a fake and Lux has imprinted on a no-account idiot—bleh.” He grimaced in disgust. “Messy. So here we are.”
“How many of you are there? Non-imprinted Vitros, I mean?”
“Oh, just us four. But that’s not important now. What is important is that we hurry and leave the island, before Strauss finds out you’re here.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
“The Corpus helicopter is parked on the other side of this building. We don’t know if your pilot’s plane will fly—not after he mangled it up. All we need is a chopper pilot.”
“Jim?”
“Lux.”
“What?”
“She’s a bodyguard model,” he said patiently. “All the bodyguard models come preprogrammed with the ability to operate every vehicle under the sun. I’d say let’s take Clive but this way you’ll have an extra incentive—you get to save both me and your twin.”
“My twin,” Sophie echoed in a hollow tone.
“Yes, your twin. What did you think we all were? Clones?” He shook his head and looked at her as if she’d suggested he was an alien.
“I don’t trust you,” she whispered, her gaze caught in his as if hypnotized. He was close enough to kiss. He could dominate a room and make her head spin, and his sudden vulnerability confused her. I barely know this boy. She had to remind herself of that when he ran his fingers down her arms, leaving goose bumps in his wake.
“But I’m trusting you,” he said softly, as serious as she’d ever seen him. “Your mother did this to me, Sophie. Made me what I am, trapped me on this island, stole every chance I might have had at a normal life. She took the world from me. Will you give it back? You have a chance to make things right. To stand where she fell and atone for her mistake. Please.” His voice broke suddenly, and he looked down, drawing a deep, trembling breath. “Please help me, Sophie. I need you.” He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek, and as much as she wanted to pull away, she froze. Guilt crept over her like a shadow, laying its heavy cloak around her shoulders.
“Jim has to come too,” she said. “I won’t leave him behind.”
He sighed and dropped his hand. “Fine. Your stupid pilot can come too.”
“What do we do first?”
“I’ll go lift the chopper keys off the Corpus pilot, then find Jim and Lux. Meet me out front. And stay low.”
She didn’t like it, but she had to consider that this might be her only chance to escape. If Jim hadn’t been able to fix the plane, and if Corpus really was as dangerous as everyone seemed to think they were, she might regret not taking this opportunity.
“This better work,” she warned.
“Sophie, Sophie.” He grinned. “It couldn’t possibly go wrong.”

Nicholas left first, telling her to wait an hour before meeting him so that he’d have a chance to get the helicopter key, as well as Lux and Jim. She waited in a state of nerves, pacing the room, wondering if she should have insisted on going with him. When a knock sounded on the door, she jumped nearly out of her skin, then froze and stared at the door as if it had grown teeth. Then, tentatively, she crossed the room and cracked it open.

“Sophie, it’s me,” whispered her mother, and Sophie let her in, her pulse hammering.
“I can’t find Lux anywhere. You’re going to have to keep acting the part,” said Moira. Her face was damp with perspiration, making a few curls cling to her forehead and neck. She looked as stressed as Sophie felt. “I can’t keep making excuses, and Strauss is eager for you to spend more time with Andreyev.”
“But . . . but I don’t know enough. I was lucky to make this far.”
“I’ll be right beside you. I’ll distract them as much as I can.”
Sophie grappled for a way to get out of this. If she was stuck in a room with Strauss and Andreyev all day, there was no way she could meet Nicholas, Jim, and Lux at the helicopter.
She ground her teeth together. Should I tell her? Her mind raced. Would Moira help them escape? She seemed to want Sophie off the island—but would she let her take Lux? A day ago, Sophie would have thought that surely Moira would help her, but after what she had seen, she no longer knew what to expect from her mother. If she told her where Lux was, maybe her mom would be distracted enough in going after her that Sophie could slip away . . . or maybe, just maybe, she would help them. How can I know if she’s still trustworthy if I don’t have at least a little faith in her? she thought, trying to swallow her rising panic. This isn’t a plan—it’s a swan dive into shallow water. “I know where she is,” she said, watching Moira closely, trying to gauge from her reaction whether or not she could trust her with their plan.
“What?” Moira’s eyes shot wide. “Where?”
“She’s with Jim.”
“Jim?”
Sophie sighed, letting this truth slip through her fingers. “Jim Julien. Remember him?”
Moira’s brow crinkled. “Steve and Elaina’s boy?” “He’s the pilot who brought me here.”
“Little James Julien . . .” Her mother’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You told me he dropped you off and then left.”
Sophie grimaced. She had mentioned that, because she’d thought it was true. “Well . . . he didn’t. He’s still here. Nicholas saw him with Lux.”
“Nicky’s a part of all this?” Moira pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned. “Not good. Not good at all.”
“I told you I’d met him.”
“Yes, well, I’ve been looking for him too, but it’s impossible to find that boy when he doesn’t want to be found. Where is the Julien boy? And how in God’s name did he come to acquire Lux? Oh.” The blood drained from her face. “Did she wake up? Sophie, did she imprint?” Her nails dug into Sophie’s shoulders.
“Ow! Mom! I don’t know—I guess so!”
Moira dropped her hands. “I have to find her. But still, we can fix this.” She pounded a fist into her open palm repeatedly, as if trying to drum an idea out of her skin. “I can use one of the other unwoken Vitros to imprint on Andreyev after you’re safely out of the way. And Jim! We can blame all of this on Jim, say he landed here accidentally and wandered into the building . . . yes. He woke Lux and tried to leave, but she followed him. You never need come into this. Of course, if Jim’s brought into this he’ll tell them about you, so it’s better if he’s . . . ah,” she glanced at Sophie, “not in a position to tell them.”
“You’d kill him,” Sophie said disbelievingly, “to keep his mouth shut.”
Her mother squared her shoulders defiantly. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“Well, screw that. Maybe I don’t want your kind of protection.” So much for trust. Even if Moira did agree to help her and Lux escape, she wasn’t sure she could even accept her help. Kill Jim to protect me? Hell no.
“Sophie! I’m your mother.”
Sophie hesitated, held in place by her mother’s fierce protective look. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to give in and let her mom take care of it, to have her mom hold her and tell her everything would be fine and that she’d fix everything. But I can’t. I’ve seen the kind of world she creates, and I can’t be a part of it. And besides, I could never let her hurt Jim.
“At any rate, you have to make an appearance to Strauss and Andreyev, at least for a little while. Come on. I’ll try to get away to find Lux, but really, at this point I’m more worried about keeping you safe and getting you off this island. The best way to do that is to keep Strauss mollified for a few more hours to give me time to sort this mess out.”
Because she could think of no other way to avoid it, Sophie acceded. She followed Moira through the building, her eyes watching every exit wistfully as she contemplating simply making a run for it. But unless Nicholas, Jim, and Lux were waiting at the helicopter and ready to go, her dash would be in vain. Her mother might let her go, but she doubted Strauss would simply stand by and wave them off.
They found Strauss in some kind of break room with a counter cluttered with coffee makers and packets of sugar and upholstered chairs arranged around a central table. One wall was comprised of a mural depicting a mosaic sunset, and Strauss sat framed by red and orange rays of asymmetrical tiles, like a model in a Mucha painting. Dr. Michalski and Dr. Rogers sat on either side of her, both of them leaning toward her; from the look of things, the three of them had been in conversation. Dr. Hashimoto was cleaning the coffee pot in a sink, and when she saw Moira and Sophie in the doorway her cheeks turned red.
“Victoria,” said Moira evenly, “I brought her, as you asked. Where is Andreyev?”
“I sent him outside to play for a bit,” Strauss replied, her voice oil over glass.
Moira’s gaze flickered to the doctors on either side of Strauss; Dr. Michalski was looking away, his lips pursed, while Dr. Rogers returned her gaze challengingly. “What’s going on here?” she asked.
“Funny,” Strauss replied, “I was going to ask you the same question.”
Moira’s hand flinched, as if she were going to take Sophie’s hand, but then she thrust it into her pocket. Her pale face belied her steady tone. “What on earth do you mean?”
“What I mean, Moira, is that your associates here have been informing me of some . . . what did you call them, Dr. Rogers?”
He cleared his throat. “Irregularities.”
“Ah. Of course. Apparently there have been some irregularities with your Vitro.” Her gaze shifted to Sophie, who could feel the coldness of it on her skin. “Irregularities of which you have failed to apprise me. Please, Dr. Michalski, will you tell Moira the interesting theory which you just told me?”
Dr. Michalski looked as if he’d rather wrestle a shark, but he swallowed and nodded. “It’s just that . . . her muscle development, her complexion, even her fingernails . . .”
“What about them?” Moira said lightly. Too lightly.
It was Dr. Rogers who answered, rolling his eyes at his hesitant colleague. “This isn’t Lux, is it, Moira? Which means she can only be—”
“All right!” This time, Moira did grab Sophie’s hand. Her voice hissed through her teeth. “I can explain.”
Very slowly, Strauss unwound the tea bag from her finger and dropped it into a trash receptacle. She then set the mug on the counter, matched up the fingertips of her hands, and finally lifted her eyes to Sophie. You wouldn’t be the first threat Strauss has had eliminated, her mother’s voice echoed in her head. Sophie swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
“Michalski, Rogers,” Strauss said evenly, and though her voice betrayed no emotion, it nonetheless made the hairs on Sophie’s arms stand on end. “Leave us.” They scrambled out, followed by Dr. Hashimoto.
“Victoria, let me—” Moira began, but Strauss cut her off with a flick of her hand.
“I’m speaking with the girl. Sophie, is it?” Strauss said, not even looking at Moira. “Tell me everything.”
Sophie felt as if she were filled with helium she was so light-headed. She looked at Moira, who nodded. “I wanted to see my mom, so I paid someone to fly me here. I was curious about Skin Island and wanted to see it for myself. I . . . I fell asleep in one of the rooms and I guess someone mistook me for Lux. When I woke up and saw all of you, I just went along with it.”
“Hm.” Strauss pulled out a chair and sat, her hands perched primly on the edge of the table. “Why are you lying to me, Sophie?”
“What? I’m not!” She heard Moira make a soft sound behind her, like a strangled warning, but she shook her head stubbornly. “That’s the whole story. I swear.”
“Who brought you here?”
“Just a pilot. But he’s gone now, back to Guam.” Her mother glanced at her, her lips twitching, but she said nothing.
Strauss sniffed. “Dobbs, take your men and head north to the airstrip.” Sophie turned; she hadn’t even heard the guards arrive. One of the doctors must have gone to alert them. “If you find a plane, it means the pilot is here somewhere. Find him and kill him.”
“No!” Sophie cried. “Please—he isn’t part of this!”
The guards ran off, their boots squeaking on the tile. Strauss’s calmness was deadly. “Moira, where is Lux? The real Lux?”
Her mother stepped forward. “I’m working on that. She’s on the island, I know that much. Nicholas might be able to help us, if I can just find him.”
“Your incompetence astounds me. How did the girl find this place, anyway?”
“I’m not stupid,” Sophie said. “I went to Guam and asked around.”
“You can’t keep this place hidden from the entire world,” said Moira.
“I can damn well try,” said Strauss. “But you are the one who should be outraged right now, not me. This project was conceived by my father—I just inherited it. I’ll do what I must to make it successful, but if it fails, the failure is yours and not mine.”
“We can fix this. Yes, Sophie is here, but no irreparable damage has been done. We have other Vitros we can show Andreyev.”
“Ah. Andreyev.” Strauss leaned back. “He will not be amused by this, Moira. If he withdraws his support—”
“He won’t,” Moira snapped. “This is just a misunderstanding. The Vitros are no less viable than they were yesterday. He’ll see that.”
“For your sake,” said Strauss, “I should hope so. Take this girl and hold her somewhere. I want her locked away until this is cleared up.”
“She’s no threat to us. She’s my daughter.”
Strauss tilted her head forward; her glare could cut diamond. “Now, Moira.”
Moira stiffened, then reached out and took Sophie by the arm. “I’ll take care of it.”
“See that she is contained.”
“I will.”
Strauss nodded and gave Sophie a brief, disdainful look. “If I find out any part of your story is false, or that you’ve left out anything, I’ll have you shot. Are we clear?”
“That’s a bit dramatic,” said Moira through clenched teeth.
“I understand,” Sophie whispered, and her mother marched her away.