Deviation (Clone Chronicles #2)(46)

My thoughts are distracted as I follow Titus and Alton deeper inside a labyrinth of halls I didn’t even know existed. The walls are white and softly lit by symmetrical fixtures above. There is carpet underneath my feet, a rich burgundy color that mutes our footsteps. The glass atrium disappears behind us as the hall winds left. We pass numerous closed doors, all unmarked and fitted with swipe pads that I assume must be operated by a key card like the cells at home. I wonder what’s kept in them if it must be locked in a building with no front door.

We make another turn, still navigating the endless hallways. Deitrich stumbles, his neck craned in another direction as his boot catches on the carpet. Titus glares at him before resuming our pace.

A long hall stretches before us. Nothing but locked doors interrupt endless wall space. There is no décor, only red lit signs at the ends of each hallway signaling “A Hall” or “B Hall.” This part looks nothing like the City I lived in. And despite the lack of doors or windows, I don’t feel sealed in. Not like I did when my world consisted of the layers below where my feet fall. There is something modern about these halls, like it’s still a part of the outside world. What lies below doesn’t feel that way.

Titus pauses in front of a door three from the end. We all gather as Alton takes his key card out and swipes it to allow our entry. When the panel clicks, Titus pushes open the door and we all follow him inside. A light comes and then my feet are crossing the threshold and I stop, staring.

The room is large, narrow but extending so far back I can’t make out the opposite wall. Two rows of shallow basins encased in plastic extend the length of the room. They’ve been raised to table height, giving me a clear view inside. Each basin contains a body, all of them unresponsive to the point of lifeless. The basins themselves are filled with a strange blue liquid so that the limbs float eerily on the surface.

None of the bodies are covered in any way. Their skin, white and black and every shade in between, is smooth and translucent. Large tubes run from their mouths to bags of milky liquid hanging at each bedside. Monitors blink red but there is no sound to indicate the readouts that scroll across the screens.

Imitations. Babies. Unborn.

My throat constricts. Why does Titus want me to see this?

I know how it works. The clinical details have been more or less explained to me, but seeing it is different. It’s a stark reminder that I was once in a tub of my own, fed juice that would eventually give me life enough to imitate a soul. But I am not human. I will never be human.

“Raven.”

Titus calls me back. I jerk my head and find him watching me, curiosity and amusement play across his features. “This way,” he says, gesturing to the doorway behind him. Alton and Tamlin hover just on the other side, waiting.

I duck my head to hide my shame and slip past him into the next room.

This one is less a science lab and more a security booth. A bank of smaller monitors sits mounted on the opposite wall. Below them is a desk with several keyboards and what look like corded two-way radios. A man in a black and gray uniform sits at the desk. He is wearing earphones but the moment Titus walks in behind me, he sheds them and springs to his feet. His neck is nonexistent below his massive chin as he nods at Titus. The buttons on his shirt strain against his gut but then he sucks in and the fabric loosens a little.

“Evening, sir,” the man says. He checks his watch. “Or, er, morning.”

“Silverton,” Titus greets the man. “Have a seat. Anything exciting to report?”

“No, sir. Everything’s tight.” The man returns to his rolling chair, sliding it sideways so that Titus can stand beside him while they both examine the grainy monitors.

I edge forward, trying to identify what’s on the monitors. They are dark and grainy and nothing seems to be moving. The sound coming from them is nothing more than an annoying hum. I shuffle closer. A voice mutters something unintelligible through the speakers.

I still.

Overlying the humming is a collective intake and exhale of breathing, slow and steady and rhythmic. The grainy images begin to take shape and I realize it’s not a cheap monitor with bad imagining and muffled sound. It’s a dark room—the sleeping room—and the humming is the pipes that I haven’t heard in so long, I can hardly remember their white noise sound. These monitors watch the City. They watch my friends. They used to watch me.

My eyes swing over to a red digital clock at the edge of the desk. It’s almost morning by Twig City standards. Will I get to see Lonnie? Or Ida? Is this why Titus brought me here?

“What about Project D? Any movement?” Titus asks.

“None, sir,” Silverton says. He points at another darkened monitor and I wonder how knows the difference between them all. “The same as when you left yesterday.”

“And the new batch of products was dosed on schedule?”

“Yes, sir. Without a hitch. You know I run a tight ship.”

“I expect nothing less. We’ll need to begin the waking process within a couple of weeks. I can’t afford to be put off schedule on this one. They’ll need to be moved into population as soon as they’re able.”

“You got it. I’ll make sure everyone knows it during the next team meeting.”

“We’re going to take a walk. I want to show my daughter the recycle bin.”

A muscle underneath Silverton’s right eye twitches. Something like anxiety coils in my stomach. “Yes, sir. Let me know if you need anything,” Silverton says. His features have smoothed out again. If he thinks it’s odd for me to be here, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he doesn’t look at me once the entire time. I wonder what his eyes would reveal if he did.