It sounds a bit contradictory, but that’s where I am. “Yes,” I say.
He leans back, tipping his chair again, like he’s enjoying himself. “What if I told you your brain’s just another organ, like your heart? It’s a lot more complicated, but it’s still just tissue and connections. It can be damaged or repaired. A drunk man is mentally compromised, but we don’t say he’s a different person. How much, or rather, how little of your brain still has to be yours for you to still be you?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “The thinking part, I guess.”
“So you’re definitely still you even though we mined out some of your dreams,” he says.
Obviously, I think at first, but I don’t say it, because, really, I’m not exactly the same. The mining changes me. I’m more irritable and suspicious, and that’s just on the surface. I’m not going to tell him this, though. I’m not sure I owe him any honesty in this conversation. “What’s your point?” I say. “If you’re trying to persuade me about something or justify something, just tell me.”
He lands his chair flat and runs his palms slowly down the knees of his trousers.
“If we replace someone’s dying brain bit by bit, so the new pieces have a chance to learn from the old pieces before they’re gone, that person will be the same as he was before. That’s what I’m trying to say. He’ll be the same person.”
It sounds completely unnatural, yet I see what he means. “Same person, but with a new brain,” I say.
He nods. “That’s how we can get around time. To immortality. We’ll gradually replace the old brain with the new brain. The consciousness is seamless, the whole time, and it can go on forever.”
He looks happier than I’ve seen him yet.
“But that’s not what you’re doing here,” I point out. “You’re putting my dreams in someone else’s body. You want an invading mind to take over a host body. That’s not the same at all.”
“Not yet,” he agrees. “But if we can do one thing, maybe we can do the other, too, in time.”
A faint tingle stirs again in the back of my mind. It’s fainter than the first time I felt it, but still clear.
“Did you seed something into me?” I ask.
“No. We wouldn’t dare,” he says. “It would be disastrous, like poisoning the only well.”
“Berg used to seed ideas into me at Forge.”
“That was before he knew better,” he says. “We’d never do that now.”
“I can’t believe he’s letting you mine me. I thought he wanted to do it himself.”
“He does, but he can’t get away from Forge at the moment, and we had a deal. He’s given very strict protocols for how to handle you, though. He sends his greetings.”
I scoff out a laugh. “I’m sure he does. What about Ian?” I ask. “Have you told him I’m here?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He plucks absently at his chin. “He’s busy. He’s a busy boy.”
“Tell Ian I’m here,” I say. “Tell him I want to see him.”
“You’ll only use him like before,” Whistler says.
“Maybe he wants to be used.”
Whistler smiles easily and crosses his arms, tilting back. He nods toward the pill in the cup. “I like having you here,” he says. “The others say I’m foolish to think you’ll join us of your own free will, but anything’s possible, right? You’re a smart girl.”
Not that kind of smart, I think.
I stare at the little paper cup with the pill again, and deep, caustic rage builds inside me. I refuse to be a captive again. I am not going to waste away here indefinitely, entertaining Whistler whenever he wants to have a philosophical conversation and waiting for Berg to show up and destroy me once and for all.
Whistler’s only one man. He’s strong, and I’m worn down, but he’s not expecting anything from me. He’s also still tipped back on his chair, with all the arrogant confidence of a troll.
Before he can guess my intentions, I dive for the leg of his chair and jerk it savagely up. He and the chair topple backward and his head hits the wall with a nasty crunch. I wince as he slips to the floor and lies still. Before I can be shocked at what I’ve done, I pick his earpiece out of his ear and grab his helmet from the table.
Then I’m out of my cell, running lightly down the hallway, thrilled and terrified to go find my sister.
16
THE FISH OF THE DEEP
STILL RUNNING, I pull Whistler’s helmet on and tighten the strap under my chin. As I turn the first corner, I find a basic hallway with doors on either side, and I pause to wipe Whistler’s earpiece along my sleeve and slip it into my own ear. I notch up the volume, but I don’t hear any voices.
Darting cautiously along the hall, I glance first into a small room with couches, desks, and a TV. It’s vacant for now. I pass a kitchen area, a workout room, and a library. A narrow room lined with tall, glowing incubators makes me pause. When I don’t see anybody, I can’t resist stepping inside. The incubators’ shelves are filled with little, clear, covered dishes. Each one is labeled with a name and a number, and inside, mysterious, viscous substances seem to be growing. Some catch the light or glow faintly. Others flicker.
So many. I stare in wonder. These have to be the dreams, disembodied. Canned. A faint tingle stirs in the back of my mind.
A ticking noise from nearby makes me jump, and I hurry back to the hall. Around the next corner, I see the doors to the operating room ahead, and I tread as softly as possible. My earpiece is still silent, and I take that as a sign that Whistler isn’t missed yet.
Quietly, carefully, I peek into the operating room. Jules, Anna, and Kiri are working over a dreamer, a person too short to be my sister, and the other four tables are empty. My mind flares with curiosity at the sight, and my eyes dilate wide, making everything too bright. I have to squint, but part of me is mesmerized, taking in each detail: the helmet on the dreamer, the angle of Anna’s wrist as she inserts a syringe behind the dreamer’s ear, Kiri’s calm expression as she focuses on the computer screen. Part of me cranes forward, craving more, and at the same time, I’m afraid that they’ll see me. I shrink back from the doorway, and as I cut off my view of the mining operation, my own, normal alertness snaps back in place.
I need to go! I can’t dawdle.
I hurry swiftly down the last stretch of hallway, and when I reach the archway to the vault, I’m startled to find a hint of natural light is coming in from above, mixing with the blue glow of the sleep shells. It must be day outside, far above. The opening of the oculus is gray now instead of pitch black, and the stone of the dome ceiling looks harder and colder than ever. I step softly through the arch, trying to see toward the area of the room where my sister’s sleep shell was before, and immediately, that curious hyperawareness flares again. It widens and spreads into a hum along my veins, like an extra layer of urgency jacking up my heart rate.
Above the nearest sleep shell, a red light goes on.
Oh, no, I think.