Dax paused, looking at her in solemn consideration. “Did you know that, of everyone on the ship, only Ali and I are qualified to run all the systems?” She stared at him in surprise, although she remembered Ali mentioning that at some point, and he smiled in grim satisfaction. “The companion knows them all because it was programmed into her. And I know them all because . . .” his hand curled into a fist around his fork, “it was programmed into me.”
“Programmed?” she asked hesitantly. “Like brainwashing?”
He breathed in sharply. “Careful who you go around accusing of that sort of thing. Some folks, even on this ship, would be tempted to gut you for suggesting they might be a Dormant.” Lana stared at him in shock, and he sighed. “No, not brainwashing. That would be time consuming and inefficient. Constructs are the recipients of DNA-encoded memory.”
To her surprise, she recognized the term. “Knowledge and skills recorded from some of the Ishivi's most skilled professionals in all fields, then imprinted on the DNA so that those who undertake the procedure are literally born with the abilities of some of the most talented humans who've ever lived.”
It was Dax's turn to look surprised. “Yes, exactly.” He hesitated. “You obviously knew the term before your memory was wiped, since I doubt either of the twins would've been interested in defining it for you. Which is, frankly, shocking, since Ishivi tend to be reclusive and standoffish, and you wouldn't have had many opportunities to learn their secrets unless you lived with them.”
That was troubling for multiple reasons. Lana pushed aside concerns about her own past, for now, focusing on her friend. “If DNA-encoded memory is such an incredible shortcut to knowledge and competence, why don't all Ishivi do it to themselves?”
“Because it has drawbacks, obviously. Ones I'm afraid I can't talk about.” The young man carefully set down his fork, moving his free hand to rest atop the other three clasped together between them. “But let's just say that the Ishivi reap all the benefits of the procedure by forcing their constructs to undergo it, including intense mental conditioning, to make them ideal servants. Similar to how the Captain gets to benefit from the service of Ali.”
Lana mulled this over thoughtfully. “You said you haven't had as long to experience the universe as everyone else,” she said, going back to her original question. “What does that mean?”
He grimaced. “One of the drawbacks. A child's brain can't handle the imprinted knowledge and skills. So for a construct's first couple of years, they're kept comatose in a nutrient vat, muscles stimulated with electrical shocks to prevent atrophy, and their growth accelerated by a factor of ten. Then they're “born” as full adults, barely given time to enjoy the wonders of the universe around them before they're put through the conditioning process and then put to work.”
Lana felt a surge of pity for the young man in front of her. He obviously had his own thoughts and feelings, and yet he'd been callously bred and tinkered with to turn him into essentially a slave, like she'd been before the crew of the Last Stand rescued her.
She freed her hands so she could wrap her arms around him. “How old are you?” she asked quietly.
Dax's rigidly controlled voice held a clear tinge of bitterness when he replied. “In terms of physical development, my body is approximately 24 years in age. But that number's a bit deceptive due to the accelerated growth I endured . . . I've been out of the vat for five years, give or take a month.”
“Five years?” Lana repeated, stunned. No wonder he'd nearly tripped over nothing when she'd called him a five-year-old! She'd somehow been completely right without even knowing.
“As if I'd come into the world a Blank Slate, and have been living that way all this time,” he agreed. A hint of amusement replaced the bitterness in his voice. “I did tell you I understood something of what you're going through, right?”
He fell silent again, and this time she let him, simply holding him as the minutes dragged by. To be honest, she was enjoying just being close to him like this. Emotionally as well as physically, after what he'd shared with her. And he seemed to enjoy it too, because he didn't so much as fidget.
Maybe now was the time to take the chance and sit on his lap? With his walls already so weakened, he might actually show her some surprise.
Before Lana could lose her nerve, she did just that, scooting her legs out from under the table and across his, then shimmying up until she was seated comfortably on his lap, his arms still around her. Or, well, maybe not comfortably: she was wedged in the small space between him and the table, with barely enough room to breathe.
On the other hand, his eyes did get as big as she'd ever seen them, and she definitely noticed a flush rising up his cheeks. Mission accomplished.
Sighing contentedly, she rested her head on his shoulder. “You know,” she murmured, “you were worried telling me all this would make me think differently about you, but if anything it makes me like you even more.”
She felt him lift a hand to tentatively cup her head, almost imperceptibly stroking her hair. “I feel the same way,” he whispered.
Lana wanted nothing more than to kiss him right then and there, but she also didn't want to risk ruining this moment. So she just let him hold her, so peaceful and content she almost could've fallen asleep right there in the galley.
It was the safest she'd felt since waking up on the Last Stand all those weeks ago, just after being rescued from the Fleetfoot. Or in other words, in her whole life.
Finally, after maybe fifteen or so minutes, he reluctantly scooted his chair away from the table and stood, gently depositing her
