But why keep it from me?
“We founded the program during the Great Patriotic War, when Hitler betrayed our treaty and invaded. Stalin demanded that we never be caught off guard in such a way again. Your parents’ team was already renowned for their work in genetics, studying an unusual mutation that had been found in cross-sections of the Soviet population … including … themselves.”
“You meant that my—my parents were…”
Kruzenko purses her lips. “Your mother knew her gift for what it was—foresight, premonition. A bit like Larissa. But it also gave her painful headaches, and she wanted to isolate the cause. The research had already caught the Red Army’s attention before the war, then when it began, Stalin approached her about military uses for the people with this mutation.”
“But what about my father?” At some point, I sank into a chair; I feel as if I’m sinking still.
“He worked in the biology department, but when your mother collected samples from the other university students, he showed the markers. Turned out he had some latent remote viewing powers. Your mother convinced him to join her team.” She closes her eyes as a quaver works its way into her voice. “When the war started, all able-bodied psychics worked in their own military unit under Rostov and myself. Afterward, we decided to continue the program for espionage purposes, and your parents were to conduct further research, including, ah, how shall I put this?” She smiles with the pained look of someone about to cry. “Including how the ability passed on to subsequent generations.”
A program. A genetic program. We are silver foxes, being stripped of our teeth and claws. “A breeding program, you mean.”
“Not precisely, but yes, it was … encouraged.” She purses her lips. “Misha’s and Masha’s parents met through the program as well, and there have been others—”
“Just tell me.” I’m bloated with all the emotions I want to feel, but I’m afraid of settling into my own skin. Afraid they’ll drown me, swallow me whole. I hover within myself just like I hover over an object whose memories scare me. “My parents were really in love, weren’t they? My birth wasn’t an…” The word lodges in my throat. Experiment.
Kruzenko smiles for real this time. “Of course they were. If you could have seen them together, during the war…” She sighs. “But they did grow troubled after your brother’s birth. He bore some of the genetic markers, but other mutations that pointed toward a different disorder. There’s no guarantee of psychic ability at birth, you see. One can’t be certain until age nine or so.”
“So they knew what I was when I was nine. But…”
I stop myself, that thought chewing at me like acid. But I didn’t start experiencing my powers until I was about twelve. No. There’s something else missing, something Kruzenko isn’t telling me.
“What happened to the program, then?” I ask. “You make it sound like Stalin recruited dozens.”
“Just over a hundred, actually. But the Great Patriotic War was a very messy thing, you see. Only a few dozen survived. And of those—some could not cope with various aspects of their condition. Some took their own lives, others lost their hold on reality. Some, like your parents, could not cope with the requirements of the program itself, and had to be…” She shrugs. “Dealt with accordingly.”
“Is that why my parents went into hiding?” I ask. “You were threatening them to come back?”
“Rostov approached them about it, yes. The program is so small now, and yet the threat we face from the Americans is so great. We are continuing to search for wildlings, naturally, but we were shrinking every year. Now that your mother has returned to us, however, she has restarted her research.”
“You’re monsters. All of you.” I am shaking; it’s the only outlet for all this emotion humming inside me.
She smiles at me, unfazed. “And always we need new test subjects, too. We encourage the fraternization, by the way—that is why Larissa and Ivan were never a problem to me.” She arches one brow. “I suspect you have a fondness for Valentin. He would not be my choice for you, personally, but if it will produce results—”
I can’t disconnect anymore. The dam bursts; my rage is drowning me.
“You crazy bitch. You monster—treating us like your laboratory rats.” My heart hammers frantically in my chest. I stand up and lunge over the desk, hands reaching for her throat. “I swear, I will kill you before I let you use me like some show pony to be bred—”