Constance (Constance #1)(10)

“Where is Dr. Qiao?” she croaked. Not pretty, but progress.

The female tech looked at her partner questioningly.

He explained, “Qiao used to work here. Left before you hired on.”

The female tech made an alarmed face. “How far back does this one go?”

“Eighteen months.”

“No,” the female tech said. “That’s not possible.”

“That’s what her time stamp says.”

“That’s insane. Who authorized this?”

“The process is automated,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, but there are safety checks in place.”

“Well, someone screwed up,” he agreed. “Royally.”

Con hated being talked about like she wasn’t even there. “Hello,” she said. “Hello!”

The two techs fell silent.

“Would one of you explain what the hell is going on? What did you do to . . . ? Why can’t . . .” She stuttered over her next word like a hiccup. “. . . move? Where’s Dr. Qiao?” They’d said he’d left the company, but she must have misunderstood.

The male tech glanced at his partner before answering. “Dr. Qiao doesn’t work here anymore.”

“What are you talking about? . . . saw him this morning. Where is he?” Con demanded.

“He took a job in California.”

“In the last six hours?” Her voice growing stronger by the word. Maybe she wasn’t completely screwed.

“Nine months ago,” he said, almost apologetically.

The hairs on Con’s shoulders stood up. Ironically, the first sensation she’d felt below the neck since waking. They really had fried her. That was the only explanation. She looked around, taking in her surroundings. This wasn’t the recovery suite. It looked like a surgical theater—white and immaculate. Machines and monitors everywhere. They’d fried her, and then they’d moved her here. Con tried to sit up, but her body still wasn’t taking requests. Her fingers and toes began to tingle painfully as if all her limbs had fallen asleep and blood was beginning to flow back into them. Panic took hold of her. Alarms on the monitors began to squawk.

“She’s going to stroke out,” the female tech said.

“Miss D’Arcy? Miss D’Arcy! You have to try and calm down,” the male tech told her.

“What did you do to . . . ?” Con stuttered again, unable to finish the sentence. It felt like a scratch in one of Gamma Jol’s old records.

“Everything’s going to be okay. But you have to calm down and breathe. Can you do that for me?”

“What did you do?” she repeated. “How did you mess up a simple refresh?”

The male tech cleared his throat, but his partner cut him off. “Don’t. We’re not supposed to be the ones.”

“Well, where’s the counselor?” he said. “Someone should be here already. She needs to know what’s going on. It’s cruel.”

“Yeah, but not us. It’s a huge break in protocol.”

“She’s at eighteen months. I’d say protocol’s already broken, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re going to get us both fired.”

“I’ll tell them it was all me, okay?” He looked Con in the eye until she met his gaze. “Miss D’Arcy, this isn’t an upload. It’s your download. Welcome back.”

Con stared at him uncomprehendingly. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the words, but she was slow to make sense of what he was telling her. Or maybe it was that she didn’t want to accept it, because she recoiled angrily.

“No,” Con said. “No, there’s been a mistake.” They thought she was a clone. That was insane. She needed to tell them there’d been some kind of mix-up. Some kind of clerical error. She hadn’t died. She was only here for a routine upload. She was right here. She was the original, not a clone. She was Con D’Arcy. The Con D’Arcy. This was a mistake.

“No mistake,” he said. “I promise.”

“No, listen to . . . It’s a—”

The doors to the surgical theater were flung open by a white woman in a conservative gray suit. Both lab techs took a deferential step back.

“Dr. Fenton,” they greeted her in unison.

Dr. Fenton ordered them out of the lab with a snap of her fingers; they fled without a word. Con let her head roll to the side so she could get a better look. The doctor was thin as a railroad spike and appeared to be constructed entirely of right angles. In her late fifties, she had a gaunt, unforgiving face that looked like it had been buffeted by the constant inadequacy of everyone around her. Three grim-faced doctors and a young assistant slunk in after her like beaten dogs.

“Why is it awake?” Fenton asked.

Con’s left hand curled into a fist. She didn’t think she and this Dr. Fenton were going to be friends.

“The download started automatically,” said a tall Indian doctor. A sheen of nervous sweat coated his forehead. He looked around for confirmation from his colleagues, who offered none.

“I know how a download works, Dr. Pranav,” Fenton snapped. “Why did it start automatically? Why wasn’t this account locked out?”

“I don’t know, Dr. Fenton. It just wasn’t done.”