False Hearts (False Hearts #1)(14)

It wasn’t long before others expressed interest in our abilities, though our background was kept largely under wraps. Tila found a tutor for her art, and I found a mentor to further my education in engineering. Tila grew sick of it all a lot sooner than I did, leaving her mentor in order to do her own art without plugging into the Zealscape. I stayed, and I did well.

After I finished my education, I never touched a Chair again. I hate the feeling of information trickling into my brain. It’s like it fills my skull with noise and pushes out who I am. I always woke up after a night of downloading information as tired as when I’d gone to bed, muttering facts to myself as I made coffee. Perhaps it was harder for us because of our high retention rate, or the fact that Zeal is not as pleasurable for us as for others. In any case, I prefer to learn things the way the brain was meant to absorb them.

The Chair by itself is fairly antiquated. As of a few years ago, most people can download information directly into their brain, with extra implants in the hippocampus and frontal cortex. They don’t have that in Zeal lounges, but it’s the inevitable next step. Neither Tila nor I have those extra implants, and I’m glad they haven’t asked me to get them. I’d rather have the Chair.

“You have your room to store your things, but I’m afraid you’ll be sleeping here, most of the time,” Nazarin says. “Come on, let’s go have some coffee. I’ll help fill you in on what you can expect over the next few weeks.”

Finally. Oloyu hadn’t gone into a lot of detail about the day-in day-out plans of being undercover. He didn’t know.

He makes the coffee—well, orders it from the replicator—and sets the makings on the table. I’ve been in his presence over half an hour and I still have no idea what to think of him.

“So. We don’t have long to train you,” he begins. “Tila works at the Verve lounge a few times a week. We know where she goes and what her shifts are, and we do know how she communicates with them. We can tell them you’re ill, which means you can miss one, maybe two shifts, but after that they’ll expect you back. I can’t have the luxury, so I’ll still be working my usual night shifts while you brainload.”

“Verve … lounge?” I ask.

“That’s what she does for them and how she rose so fast through their ranks.” He seems frustrated that I’m confused. “Surely Oloyu told you about Verve?”

“Some. That it’s different from Zeal, and they need lucid dreamers to mine it. I didn’t realize that I’d have to do it so soon. Or that there were lounges for it.”

“By the time that happens, you’ll be trained and know what to do.” His words are so confident I allow myself to believe them, at least a little.

“OK,” he continues. “Today, you’ll be contacting people with your cover story, and we’re going to switch your VeriChip to your sister’s. Once that happens, you’ll contact your friends to tell them her cover story, and then you’ll be able to contact the Ratel. We’ll also start your training. It’ll be physical, hand-to-hand combat, and weapons, and as much information as you can retain. I’m here every step of the way, and any questions you have, you can ask me.”

Despite his harsh features and his scars, his eyes are warm. It steadies me a little more.

“How long have you been undercover?” I ask.

“A little over two years.”

That’s a long time. If he’s deep undercover, that means he might not have been able to contact his close friends and family, and even if he could, he’d have to lie to them day in and day out about what he was really doing with his time.

Like Tila lied to me. And how long will I be doing this? A few days, weeks, months? Years?

I push the thought away, but a worse one follows in its place. “Have you … met my sister?”

“I have. Not often, but we were at some of the same parties, and I saw her in passing if I dropped off deliveries at the Verve warehouse.”

A strange thought. I feel strangely exposed. “What about … the fact we don’t look alike?”

“Visiting a flesh parlor will be one of the last steps.”

I touch my face. Like everyone else, I’ve been to flesh parlors and erased a line here, a dimple there. I’ve never done anything drastic, but I’ll have to change my hair, my nose and my cheekbones. Not much, but enough that I won’t recognize myself so easily in the mirror. Enough that I’ll look like Tila again. “Can I change it back … after?”

“There’s no reason you can’t.”

I’m not reassured. I stare at the dregs of my coffee, counting my steady heartbeats.

“Do you feel ready for the first step?” he asks gently.

I look up, pressing my lips together. “Sooner we start, the sooner it’s over with.”

He gives me a smile, and it transforms his face. His eyes light up, and they crinkle around the corners. I can almost forget the scars hiding beneath the buzz cut of his hair, and the smile puts me a bit more at ease, despite the strangeness of this day.

He gives me my script but leaves me alone to make the calls, saying he’s only a ping away if I need him. I thank him, glad he won’t be hovering.

One by one, I go through my few friends and colleagues. I’m only amending the story of my life a little—or what was going to be the story of my life, before all this happened. I’m to say I’m going to China earlier than I planned, and Tila’s coming with me. Once I change my implant, I’ll phone Tila’s friends. It’ll be my first undercover role: to convince them that I am my sister. I shiver at the thought.