Constance (Constance #1)(43)

“When we created the company, I agreed that Abigail would retain final and absolute say on when, and if, her work would be released. It had its drawbacks, but at the end of the day, there was only one Abigail Stickling. From the moment Fenton replaced me as CEO, she went to war with Abigail for control of the research and development labs. She explored every recourse at her disposal to get her hands on the vast treasure trove of intellectual property that Abigail was developing. Nothing worked. When Abigail died, Brooke Fenton marched into the research lab like Hannibal crossing the Alps. And do you know what she found? Absolutely nothing. Abigail had erased everything. Years of research gone. It set Palingenesis back a decade or more. At the time, I thought Abigail was simply too egocentric to leave anything behind that might allow others to follow in her footsteps, to succeed where she had failed. It would have been a very Abigail thing to do.”

“But now you’re not so sure.”

“Now I wonder if any of that’s true. Was Abigail’s research really erased, or was that also part of Brooke’s cover-up? Maybe I’m wrong, but I find it more plausible than the notion that Abigail committed suicide and that eighteen months later her niece was revived despite being fifteen months past the medical lockout deadline. And that the same steward who ostensibly mishandled the lockout in the first place was the very same one who helped sneak you out of the vault.”

“You think Laleh Askari was involved?” Con said, thinking back for any hint that Laleh had been lying to her. She hated the idea.

“Well, I’d like to ask her that very question, except she seems to have disappeared.”

“So you think Brooke Fenton faked the destruction of Abigail’s research and is using my consciousness to steal it from Palingenesis?” Con said, trying to wrap her mind around the idea.

“Yes, I do. But not even the CEO could walk out of Palingenesis with that kind of intellectual property. It’s absolutely impossible. She would need a courier. One that had no idea she was even carrying anything of value.”

“So you want to make an upload of my consciousness.”

“Yes, although to do that we would need access to a Palingenesis clinic, which I can no longer get. What I’d like to do is to take a scan of your head. I have an expert who should be able to tell us whether I’m correct or if my imagination has gotten the better of me. It will take a few days to analyze. In the meantime, you are welcome to remain here as my guest.”

“I have a counteroffer.”

“Yes, I thought that you might,” Gaddis said. “Let’s hear it.”

“I want a car and enough money to last me a week or two.”

“You want to go to Virginia, don’t you? Despite the danger, despite the risks, you’re prepared to drive down there.”

“Yeah, is that stupid?”

“Depends who you ask. Would you tell me why?”

She hesitated to say what was on her mind, knowing how foolish it would sound. “It’s hard to explain, but . . . I want to know what happened to her. My original. In the last eighteen months. Like, I need to know.”

“Of course you do.” Gaddis nodded, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Is it weird how curious I am about her life?” Con asked. “These missing eighteen months? I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“It would be strange if you could.”

“Really?”

“Very much so. It’s common to all the clones I’ve talked with over the last few years. However little lag they experience, there is always this gnawing sense of being incomplete.”

“Yes!” Con said, sitting up sharply. She’d been struggling to put a word to what she’d been feeling. Incompleteness. That part of her was missing. Again, she felt relief knowing that she wasn’t the only one. “Did it happen to you?”

“I was obsessed,” Vernon answered.

“That’s how I feel.”

“My last refresh was right before we left for Paris. I felt this desperate need to know everything that happened between Cynthia and I. Down to the last detail. Where we went, what we did. Was she happy? I hired private investigators to retrace our movements. Had them speak to hotel and restaurant staffs. Anyone we interacted with. I pored over our text messages to try and gauge our mood. Cynthia was a great photographer, so there was a treasure trove of photos and videos. I looked at everything. Reconstructed the entire trip.”

“And did it help?” Con asked.

“Yes and no. I mean, nothing was ever going to be enough, but in the end, I learned enough to feel at peace. I knew that Cynthia had a wonderful trip and that our life together ended on a high note. That helped me to move on.”

“I’m sorry,” Con said, thinking about the last memories of her life before—waking up on the morning after Christmas, visiting Zhi. A year and a half ago now, yet to her, it was only three days ago.

“I can’t imagine how it must be for you,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I was only missing two weeks. You are missing a year and a half. And an incredibly eventful year and a half at that—you fell in love, moved, and got married. So many important milestones in your life.”

“Is it? My life, I mean,” she asked, giving voice to a question that had begun to gnaw at her.