Prologue
“Who is she? What is she?”
“. . . no anger, no tears, no laughter. No expression whatsoever. It’s unnatural, I tell you.”
“Will it bite? I hear those things aren’t safe . . .”
Low voices hum around me, blending with the kitchen’s ventilator. Why the ten men and eight women around me whisper, I do not know. But then humans often act irrational. Cutting a one-inch square from the meat in front of me, I chew twenty times and swallow.
“Doesn’t understand or doesn’t care? She does everything she’s told.”
“Maybe they programmed her to respond only to commands. They can program those things, can’t they?”
Program. Interesting choice, but not altogether inapplicable. My mind has data files and follows commands. I chew my next inch-square bite of meat twenty times. But trained is probably more accurate. As a genetic experiment, I cannot have information directly inputted like a machine.
“. . .Scientist Faye and Morgan violated the law, so their services will be permanently terminated.”
“Lower your voice.”
“Why? I doubt it hears, much less understands what termination means.”
I flip through my data files. Termination: A noun, related to the verb terminate, meaning “to bring to an end.” I place my last bite of meat into my mouth.
“What will happen to her?”
“More evil than she deserves, all done in the name of justice, I fear.”
Cryptic words. I fold my hands and stare at the white wall in front of me. When words become cryptic, listening further becomes pointless because the words deviate so far from their original definitions. I let my mind-surface slip into automatic—there is little incoming information worth filing anyway—and I retreat behind the wall separating the surface from my inner consciousness.
Wrapped in black silence, I settle on the floor. There is much to analyze away from external distraction: Deviations from routine. Anomalies in behavior. New variables for my equations.
As I finish categorizing and prioritizing, a line pushes through the mind wall: there’s a shift in the external. I set aside my work and re-enter my mind-surface.
The people in the kitchen are stiff, and all watch the door from the main part of the house. It hums and begins to slide down. I turn my head.
Coldness penetrates my mind—and the air temperature has nothing to do with it.
Next Page