Page 27 of Scion

She starts inputting a series of numbers. A long one. “Is it a way to emotionally detach yourself, do you think?”

I shrug at her back. “It’s just what I do.”

“But only since Oceanus.”

Before I can ask how the hell she knew that, there’s a magnetic snick and the door opens.

I follow her through into the pristine, clinical white of a lab.

I slow to a halt, staring around as the door hisses shut again behind me. Definitely a lab. There are tables with test tubes, glass-fronted fridges with test tubes, centrifuges with test tubes. Other stuff too, but a hell of a lot of test tubes. “And this is…”

“Home.” She moves down the aisle with enough unconscious confidence to back up her claim.

“Themis housing rules have changed since I was here last.”

She chuckles. “This place isn’t exactly on-net.”

“You don’t say.” I frown around. Some of the equipment against the wall is big. Advanced-looking. A couple of the machines are at least three metres wide and stretch from floor to roof. Their digiglass outputs are covered in complex chemical notations. “So if this is home, I believe you owe me some answers.”

Old Woman nods. “Alright. My full name is Jasa de Alwes. I know you hate names, but—”

“De Alwes?” I repeat.

“Oh, good. You’ve heard of me.” Oddly dry, though it’s hard to figure out why through my shock.

“The geneticist.” I say it a little dumbly, though I have no doubt she’s exactly who I think she is.

“Yes.”

“Who came up with Ichor. Who created biosecurity.” Who is pretty much single-handedly responsible for the existence of my job.

She smiles sunnily.

“But you’re dead.” Jasa de Alwes died almost fifteen years ago. One of the first commercial targets of Ten-O-Ten. It was a landmark moment. I remember the celebrations when the news came out.

“Evidently not.”

I recover enough to shut my mouth and not say anything else stupid. Jasa de Alwes. Damn. The freaks in her EMP ring make a lot more sense now; she’s the one who pioneered the methods to create the original models. After creating the first lifers, of course.

“A lot of people want you dead.” I shake my head, absently brushing my fingers along a row of empty test tubes. “Ooh, a lot of people want you dead.” Her obsessive secrecy makes sense now. If Atti had identified her voice and told the Keres she was still alive… damn. The bounty they could raise.

Then a whole bunch of other factors fall into place, and I groan.

“The Keres are the ones after you, aren’t they.” It’s not a question. “They sent the canary.”

She spins a centrifuge cheerfully. “Told you I’d give you answers.”

I glower. “These are bad answers.”

She shrugs.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to refactor. “You’re taking a hell of a risk, telling me this.” She continues to have the file over me, I suppose, but still. That keeps her alive eleven more days. And the Keres are going to be pissed if I keep protecting her.

“True. But there’s more.”

I groan. “Yeah. Listening.”

“What do you know about my ‘death’?”