Replica

family—including your little niece and nephew of whom I’ve heard you’re so fond—can have monthly backups for the rest of your lives. You need never fear losing any of the people you love to preventable causes.” His cold, hard gaze shifted to Nate. “I’ll even throw in a backup for your lover.”

Nate froze. He wanted to maintain a poker face, but hiding his emotions had never been one of his best skills, and he could feel the blood draining from his face, giving him away.

The Chairman smiled, and if Nate hadn’t known better, he might even have thought there was a hint of fatherly affection in that smile.

“Did you honestly think I didn’t know about your … attachment to Bishop?”

Nate swallowed hard, wanting to deny it. The horror of “reprogramming” loomed large in his mind, as did the danger to Kurt. But denying it when his father so obviously knew the truth might make him seem weak, and it would be pointless anyway. Nate stiffened his spine.

“I honestly thought you didn’t know. I figured I’d be in reprogramming if you did.”

The Chairman dismissed that with a wave. “I don’t give a damn who you sleep with, as long as you’re discreet about it and don’t tarnish the family name. Any backups made of Bishop will have to be done in secret, and if we ever have to animate a Replica, that would have to be done in secret, too. But this is the only way a man of his low background could ever hope to have such security.”

Nate had to admit, the idea was tempting. He’d spent this last week terrified that he was going to lose Kurt, that Kurt would be killed because of his association with Nate. Now, he had a legitimate chance to protect him.

But of course it wasn’t Kurt who would be protected if he had backups made. The Kurt Nate knew today could still die; it was just that Nate wouldn’t have to suffer his loss. Just like his father had been able to kill him to prevent Thea’s secrets getting out without actually having to suffer the loss of his son and heir.

Beside him, Nadia turned to stare at the table she’d been strapped to, at the mass of nasty instruments that hovered over it. All the lights had dimmed, though Nate had a sense that the AI was still present, silently listening in on their conversation. Waiting to see what her fate would be.

He imagined lying on a table, sliding feetfirst into the claustrophobic white tunnel of Thea’s backup scanner, naked, helpless, and trusting as she took her readings and measurements. He’d been through the process more times than he could count, and it had never bothered him before. But before, he didn’t know she liked to vivisect human beings for a hobby. She might not be human, but she did at least mimic some human behavior patterns, like the blackmail she used to coerce the Chairman into bringing her victims to examine. Might she also be capable of holding grudges? And just how far had she gotten in her research into the mind-body connection? Enough that she could manipulate Replicas to her liking?

He and Nadia shared a look, and he could tell she was thinking the same thing he was: they couldn’t trust her. Wordlessly, he shook his head, and Nadia understood that he was rejecting the offer. She reached over and took his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“It’s a generous offer,” she said, but if she was trying to sugarcoat the refusal she might as well not have bothered. “But I’m afraid my terms haven’t changed. That thing”—she jerked her hand toward the table of implements—“is an abomination, and there’s absolutely nothing that can justify its use.”

“My research is of incalculable value to the human race.” Thea’s voice piped up, confirming Nate’s suspicion that she was listening to their conversation. “Mankind has sought after immortality for its entire existence, and if I am allowed to proceed, I will one day make that impossible dream possible. I am a scientist, not an abomination.”

If Thea were human, Nate would say she was offended by the accusation. Was an AI capable of being offended?

“What you’re doing is wrong,” Nadia countered. “Killing human beings in the name of research is wrong, no matter what the hoped-for end result is.”

The Chairman sighed. “If you’re going to enter into an ethics debate with Thea, we’ll be here all day. Believe me, I’ve had this conversation with her before, many times.”

Nate laughed. “You talking about ethics? If you’re Thea’s teacher, then no wonder she’s confused.”

“I am not confused,” Thea retorted, and this time Nate was sure the machine was actually offended. “Humans like to say that the ends do not justify the means, but they do not really believe that. They say it because they believe it should be true, but their actions say otherwise. I do not adhere to the human practice of saying one thing while meaning another.”

“So you cut people open and eventually kill them all for the good of mankind,” Nadia said. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“I will make mankind immortal.”

“And why do you care if mankind is immortal?”

Nate raised an eyebrow, curious to hear Thea’s answer. He wasn’t sure it was possible to fathom the reasoning of a nonhuman intelligence, but it was certainly a good question.

Silence reigned in the room. Either Thea was taking a very long time to think about the answer to Nadia’s question, or she was disinclined to answer it. Which led Nate to reach a rather disturbing conclusion of his own.

Why would a machine like Thea care if mankind was immortal? She obviously wasn’t defending the sanctity of human life. And if she was anything like most humans he knew, there was at least a kernel of self-interest at the bottom of her motivations.

Nate turned to regard the Chairman’s suddenly impassive face, and the answer came to him in a flash.

“You don’t care if mankind is immortal,” he said, his voice seeming to echo, thanks to the tension in the room. “You just want to make sure the Chairman is.”

The Chairman, who protected and fed and cherished her. The Chairman, who had proven himself willing to cave to her blackmail. The Chairman, who championed the Replica technology—and by extension Thea herself— against those who already thought it was immoral. Without a ruthless champion like the Chairman to protect her, would Thea have already been shut down by an angry mob? Like the one that had camped out in front of Headquarters? Nate had been stunned by their hate at the time, but now he was beginning to sympathize with them a lot more.

Thea didn’t answer Nate’s accusation.

“Shut down the experiments,” Nadia said. “Arrest Dirk Mosely. Give Bishop amnesty. That’s what I want for keeping the recordings from going public.”

The Chairman shook his head. “I can’t do that. Not unless you can convince Thea to keep making backups and animating Replicas even without her research subjects.”

“I will agree to those terms, if that is what the Chairman wishes,” Thea said, and that was when Nate—and, by the looks of her, Nadia as well—realized there was a fatal flaw in their demands.

“So you will stop your experiments and content yourself with doing backup scans and making Replicas?” Nadia said.

“I will. If that is what the Chairman requires of me.”

Nadia’s shoulders slumped, and she shook her head. “Everyone here who believes her, raise your hand,” she muttered under her breath.

“Even if she’s telling the truth, there’s no way we can be sure the experiments stop,” Nate said. “Even if we come to the Fortress for a daily inspection, we can’t be sure she hasn’t just moved her operation elsewhere—with or without the Chairman’s consent.”

“This is ridiculous,” the Chairman said. “I will give you amnesty for everyone involved, and I will give you access to Thea for backups and Replicas. It’s a more than generous offer. There’s no reason you should be so intent on tearing down all of Paxco.”

Nadia shook her head. “I’m intent on doing the right thing. I’ve stated my terms. If we have to shut Thea down entirely to be sure she abides by those terms, then so be it.”

“Shut her down? Are you mad?”

Nadia sat back in her chair and folded her arms, a picture of implacability. “Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.”