He said he was like me, only better.
But better how?
Stronger? Faster? Smarter? More beautiful?
Possibly.
But there’s one thing for certain that Alixter would consider an improvement over me. According to him, I had only one fault.
My ability to rebel.
To think for myself. To feel and emote and question.
To fall in love.
“How much have you been told?” My voice is shaky. Uncertain. Terrified.
He cocks his head in an inquisitive manner.
I rephrase. “What did Alixter tell you about me?”
He appears to find frivolity in the question. “Everything.”
“Everything?”
“I have been given high-level clearance to Diotech intelligence, including a detailed report of your defective creation as well as Dr. Havin Rio’s duplicity in abetting your escape.”
A reminder of Rio and his attempt to help me is like another punch in the face. And in the stomach. And in the heart. I fight back a wince.
“So you know,” I croak, “how you were created? How we were created?”
He blinks. The movement is so perfunctory I swear I can hear a faint clack every time his eyelids touch. “Yes. Perfected DNA sequences synthetically engineered to create a superior, enhanced specimen of human.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?” I cry out, feeling cold and weak and empty. Not anything like a superior, enhanced human.
“Why would that bother me?”
The frustration flushes my cheeks. Clenches my stomach. Heats my blood. “That you were made against your will?! That you have no family? No friends? No life outside the one Diotech designed for you?”
“Will?” he repeats, putting a curious spin on the word, as though he doesn’t understand its meaning.
“Yes! Against your will. As in, you weren’t consulted in the matter. You were never given a choice. Your life is not your own.”
“My life is to serve Dr. Jans Alixter and protect the Diotech agenda. That is my only purpose.”
His chilling delivery of this line is all I need to hear. I have my answer. He does know everything. But he’s been programmed not to question it. He’s been programmed not to care.
He wasn’t lied to as I was.
He wasn’t given false information, false memories, a false childhood.
For him, it was never necessary.
Alixter accomplished precisely what he wanted to accomplish. He figured out how to create the perfect soldier. One who doesn’t question. Who doesn’t resist. Who doesn’t run away.
Kaelen is exactly what I was supposed to be …
A human machine. Someone whose brain has been so severely modified that he won’t think for himself.
That he can’t think for himself.
“How many are there?” I ask. I need to know what I’m dealing with. What I’m up against. When he doesn’t respond I put the question another way. “How many more of you—of us—did Alixter create?”
A lifetime passes. Seasons change outside. A hundred lunar cycles complete. And then finally, he answers. “As of now … we are the only two.”
I feel something inside me release. The first good news I’ve heard in a long time.
However, I can’t help but catch his choice of words. As of now …
The implication makes me shiver. But I try to push it aside. I can’t get distracted by what Alixter has in store. I have to focus on my own plan. My own mission. I’m still determined to fulfill it.
I push myself to my feet, puff out my chest, try to command respect. Fear. Anything.
“Give me my locket back,” I say sternly, eyeing the collar of his shirt, which has been stretched to the side once again during our scuffle, revealing the slim silver chain underneath.
“No,” he says simply.
I have to admit, I didn’t expect my demand to work. Especially now that it’s already been proved I can’t outrun him or outfight him. But I had to at least try.
I mash my teeth together and try to keep myself from charging him again. “I have to go back,” I tell him, the anger quickly thawing from my voice. Melting into desperation. “You can have access to any part of my brain, whatever memories you want, just please, let me save Zen first.”
“That’s not how this is going to work.” The callousness in his tone brings my rage barreling back in a heartbeat.
“Hey!” I shout from across the room. “I’m the one with the information you need. I think that entitles me to decide how this is going to work.”
“That’s not entirely accurate.”
I scowl. “What’s not?”
“You’re not the only one with useful information.”
A lump grows heavy and sour in my stomach. “What do you mean?”