Stray (7 page)

“This is trouble,” Benjamin says, glancing at me, his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “More trouble than you need, my friend.”

Their familiarity makes me uncomfortable; who is this man with concern and exasperation in his voice?

“It is what it is,” Jamie says.

“Does Ethan know?” Benjamin nods towards the kitchen.

Lifting his head, Jamie whispers, “It’s got nothing to do with Ethan.”

Benjamin glances at me again. “I hope not.”

They turn as Miriam and I finally reach the bottom of the stairs. When Davis comes from the living room, it’s hard not to flinch against his signal.

My jaw is stiff but my voice is steady. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“If you had been paying attention when we first arrived you would have heard, this is not an Extraction,” Benjamin says.

“Isn’t it?”

“This is bullshit,” Davis says.

Benjamin ignores him. “Counsellor Tesla is waiting for you in the kitchen.”

The name sinks in. Tesla. Ethan Tesla. The head of the Deactivation Program Jamie was in. Is in? It makes me think of Helena and my fear screws deeper. Why would
he
come for me? I remember the hushed voice of the Warden while I hid in a cupboard in the Gallaghers’ conservatory, trying to mask my signal with Jamie’s last time Affinity passed through the area. I remember her warning Jamie about the fluctuations in his reading and how Tesla would be unhappy. Is that what this is about? They’ve figured out the situation between Jamie and me? But if the Warden came through again, why didn’t we feel her probing signal in the bandwidth? It doesn’t make sense.

“There’s been a directive from the Executive.” Jamie does not touch me and keeps his face expressionless. “You’ve got a two-week reprieve.”

“She’s a runner,” Davis says, under his breath.

“I don’t understand. I thought you were here for me.”

Davis grips his baton. “We are.”

“Yes,” Jamie says. “We’ve all seen your glowing stick.”

Davis juts his jaw. “Give me an excuse, Richie Rich.”

“Enough.” Benjamin steps between them, like it isn’t the first time he’s heard them argue. “We follow protocol. Now, please, they are waiting for you.” He nods me towards the kitchen and I walk like I’m on the moon, slow, cumbersome, strangely detached from gravity, struggling to comprehend what feels like a miraculous stay of execution.
Aiden. Aiden
. My head soars in space, signals crash around me then I stumble against the bookcase. Three hands catch me. Miriam and Jamie, his touch potent and alive with electricity. The third hand pulls back. The startled intake of breath belongs to Benjamin. I picture the exchange of looks between them and know he’s sensed the link between Jamie and me.

“What the hell was that thing set to?” Jamie releases me to Miriam’s hold.

“Why?” Davis says. “You want some?”

“Give it a rest,” Benjamin says.

“I’m fine. It’s just all the signals.”

From the hall, I see them side-on, Tesla and the woman, two strangers sitting at the dining table. They rise to their feet and wait. Their signals are distinct, the notes behind them harder to read than Benjamin and Davis, but the addition to the clamour in the bandwidth overwhelms me and I lean heavily on Miriam’s arm as she leads me to the chair at the head of the table. Tesla’s gaze lingers on Miriam’s face with the same intense appraisal that unnerved me on the stairs, then he turns to me, his mouth a hard line. “What is this?” Tesla glares at the men over my shoulder. “She should be recovered by now. What was the baton set to?”

Davis clears his throat. “Maximum, sir.”

Miriam and Jamie produce noises of disgust and Benjamin sighs.

“Maximum,” Tesla says, his accent all sharp edges. “For a teenage girl half your weight?”

“She ran, sir. Maximum’s protocol for runners.”

“I’m okay.” I hold my head. “It’s the static. The signals.”

Tesla and the woman stare at me.

He fits the mould of a tall, chiselled Affinity agent. Not the pristine airbrushed look of Benjamin or Davis but a brooding, weathered, the-battles-I’ve-seen look. Dark hair, heavy stubble, sultry mouth, eyes almost black. Maybe fortyish – hot for an old guy. Dressed like Benjamin and Davis, his jacket and pants sport a complicated array of zippered pockets, epaulets and buckles. Multiple hiding places for high-tech weapons? His frown appears permanent.

The woman doesn’t fit the mould. Small, oval-faced, older than Tesla, pushing fifty? Softer in frame and features but with a pinched expression of scepticism and impatience about the eyes. She wears a woollen skirt, cream blouse and suede jacket, like a professional academic, elbow patches and all. She’s definitely the odd one out.

“You sense our signals?” the woman asks, searching, avid. “Beyond a basic awareness? Distinct signals?”

“Yes,” I say, unsure if that’s what she wants to hear. “But it’s hard to focus. I can’t think straight.”

Tesla lifts his hand. “Mr Nelson, Davis, wait in the van.”

“If she’s not coming in, then she will at least need to be Marked and Neutralised,” Benjamin says.

“I am aware of that, Mr Nelson, but the Executive has requested a prelim and it is preferable to do that while the Asset is conscious.”

“We’ll prep for procedure.” Benjamin pulls a small black object from his pocket. It looks like a marble cut in half. He places it on the table. “Insurance.”

“Right,” Jamie says, nodding at the black half-moon disc. “Nothing says trust like the threat of Neural Paralysis.”

Benjamin smiles. “Protocol, my friend.”

Marked. Neutralised. Neural Paralysis
.

I lean away from the disc.

The men walk to the front door. Davis mutters, “This is bullshit,” again and the door snaps shut.

The difference is immediate. The bandwidth quietens, pressure lifts from my head, constriction from my chest and I exhale.

“I am Tesla,” he begins, brusque and succinct as he takes his seat. “My colleague, Felicity Allen.” Jamie moves to the far end of the table, as though trying to keep as much distance between us as possible. Miriam takes a seat on my left, resting her hand on my arm.

“Under normal circumstances,” he says, “an Asset Liaison would explain that we are an organisation with an interest in your welfare. Generally, this would take place in the back of a van while muscle relaxants made you immobile, but this is not an Extraction and it seems you already know who we are.”

What does he expect me to say? Thank you? “I – I get to stay? I ran.”

“The reprieve is not a reward for good behaviour; it is simply the Executive’s agenda. Everybody runs. Survival instinct. Denial. An assertion of free will. It is natural and expected, even in the rare cases of those who understand what is happening to them. Mr Gallagher was optimistic in his assessment of you. We were optimistic in believing him. No newly triggered Asset wishes to accept his or her fate.”

It doesn’t sit right, Tesla’s speech, like I’m being let off too easily and it’s not a relief. He wants something and I doubt it has anything to do with my personal happiness.

“I am not a Liaison. My work is in Deactivation but given your company perhaps that is something you already know.” His head swivels slowly towards Jamie and the pressure in my chest builds again. Active agents aren’t supposed to “fraternise” and Jamie was a part of Tesla’s program. Two strikes against us. But how much does Tesla know or suspect? Jamie keeps his face impassive, meeting Tesla’s gaze.

“Your Electro-Telepathic Radiation,” Tesla continues, returning his attention to me, “was picked up last night during a sweep by the district Warden. Her alert indicated an unmarked Asset producing an uncommonly strong signal in this location. The strength of your ETR and your connection to a trusted Asset makes you a promising subject for Early Detection Studies.”

Do I imagine the weight he puts on
trusted
? I’m panicked for Miriam, for Jamie, for all our secrets. I can barely keep up with the names, the jargon, the details. It’s almost as dizzying as a room full of crossed signals. I look at Jamie but he won’t look back. I don’t know what to think or what to say and blurt, “I didn’t sense the Warden–”

Miriam digs her thumbnail into my arm.

My stomach plunges and I shut my mouth.

The woman, Felicity, leans forwards. “If you had never felt it before, you would not recognise it.”

“Right. Of course. That makes sense.”

Miriam’s thumbnail warns me again and I bite hard on the inside of my cheek for control. Have I given us away? Miriam and Jamie broke all kinds of rules hiding me from the Warden during her last sweep of the district. Was it all going to come out now? If it does, will it change their minds about letting me stay? I can’t lose my reprieve; it’s my last chance to do something for Aiden.

Tesla pulls a phone from his pocket. “Sit still.” He holds it up, composing me in the shot. The camera clicks. He holds the phone closer to my face, near my right eye. Another click. He sits back and taps the screen, casual, familiar gestures. “Facial recognition. Retina scan,” he says, like it explains things. He opens another app and holds the phone between us on the table. “Right thumb. Press the screen.” Click. My thumbprint, captured in micro-detail.

He lifts the satchel that sits on the floor beside him and swings it up onto the table. It isn’t much different from the satchel Jamie wore last night with his Indiana Jones costume. I can’t help looking to him. For what? Reassurance? Solidarity? But still no eye contact. He gives nothing away and it stokes my fear.

Tesla pulls out a small metal canister and extracts a pill-sized capsule, which his large hands unscrew with ease. A tiny needle tip gleams. “A sample of your DNA will let us match your current information with your file in the database.”

“I’m in there?” My mind is chaos. What do they know about me? Miriam swears the Project has no knowledge of her pregnancy, though I can’t begin to imagine how they kept it off-radar. None of my basic information can form any link to Aiden. Surely.

“Of course.” Tesla glances at Miriam. “All eligible relatives of known Assets are monitored.”

Miriam doesn’t look up, her attention fixed on the table, her hand frozen around my arm. Even in the midst of turmoil I feel her signal, but it seems distorted, multiplied in some way, a blend of fear and longing forming an aching minor note, like a lament in the bandwidth.

“Your hand.” He swivels his wrist, a gesture to make the procedure insignificant rather than a transaction in blood that binds me to the Affinity Project for all time.

I hope he won’t notice the way my fingers tremble as I hold out my hand, or the clammy sheen of my skin. He pricks my forefinger. The capsule fills with my blood and he extracts the needle. I suck the living red bead on my fingertip while he caps the needle, plugs it into a small port in the side of his phone and lays it on the table. I cannot take my eyes from the screen, waiting for an alarm to ring out. I’m breathing too fast, too shallow.

“Shortly, Mr Nelson will supply you with a tracker that will allow us to study the early development of your signal over the coming weeks. This is best pre-Orientation while mass exposure to other active signals is low. It allows for the most uncorrupted analysis. Such data is invaluable to my research. However, it is a risk for you and you may refuse, in which case this will become an Extraction and we will take you in for Orientation.”

“A risk?”

The woman, Felicity, intercepts my question with a brief glance at Tesla that borders on disapproval. “Orientation would provide you with immediate training,” she says. “Resources, education and counselling to support your adjustment to your new life, improving your chances of survival with your next Spark. Delaying Orientation, there is a dire risk you may trigger with a new Spark without the advantages of being fully initiated. You have survived your first encounter but it is not a given for your next one.”

I immediately regret asking the question. Will it sound suspicious if I don’t argue for Orientation, like I have an agenda?

“Thank you, Felicity,” Tesla says, a pinch at the corners of his mouth. “That is why we keep Early Detection Studies to a two week period to limit the risk involved. The data provides us with up-to-date insight into the acceleration of the synthetic gene. Perhaps your aunt has explained to you that each generation produces new anomalies. In order to find successful Deactivation pathways we must understand the new strands of the synthesis.”

I nod thoughtfully, like (a) I have a clue what he’s talking about, and (b) I’m giving my choice consideration. “Does it work? Deactivation? Are there really people like us who’ve been cured?”

Tesla exhales and his frown notches in while Felicity looks pleased that I’ve asked. With an abrupt upwards movement, he rises to his feet. At first I think he’s going to stalk out and summon Benjamin, aggravated by impertinent questions. Instead, he pushes his chair in and leans on the back of it, his dark eyes boring into mine. “There is no cure. There is remission. It is a difficult process but eligible subjects who
commit
to the course of treatment may reach remission.”

It takes all my willpower not to look at Jamie.

Tesla turns away from me and paces slowly to the back door, staring out the window into the Border Forest, hands clasped behind his back. “Each new Asset is tested and matched against the database. If two Shields produce an active counter-signal, they may act as Coolers for one another, assisting the process of Deactivation.” His head swivels, presenting the profile of his face only. “Mr Gallagher could explain it to you.”

Clearly he’s not happy with Jamie, but all I can think is
Helena
.

Helena
.

I hate Helena
.

“There could be someone with a signal that counters yours,” he says.

“Counsellor Tesla,” Felicity says. “You ought not to give the girl false hope. The cases are extremely rare.”

He turns his face towards the forest, his broad back straight as a steel rod. “That is why this research is vital. We hope for a breakthrough that will make the process accessible to more of us.”