Tabula Rasa Kristen Lippert Martin by Kristen Lippert-Martin, ePUBator - Minimal offline PDF to ePUB converter for Android Page A
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plan to put a hit on
someone.”
“Even as a personal favor?”
“For someone who has no memory, you have a pretty
good memory.”
“Thanks.”
“How we’ve gone from totally tame corporate espio-
nage, stealing some company’s idea for a new cell phone,
107
to providing support to guys with more high-tech gadgets
than the Navy SEALs—it’s strange. I wish I knew what he
was thinking, why we got involved.”
Pierce takes the flash drive he was holding earlier out of
his pocket. “And then there’s this.”
“What is it?”
“There’s a file on this drive that’s labeled ‘In Case Some-
thing Happens to Me.’ 8-Bit used his standard encryption
on it, which means he knows I’ll hack it eventually. Not
that it’ll be easy, but I’ll get there.”
“Have you tried to open it yet?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m still hoping that nothing’s happened to
him.”
“I wish I had some hope.” I walk to the door of the yurt
and open the flaps. Cold air rushes in. “But there’s no get-
ting back what they took out of my head.”
“Sure there is.”
I whip my head around. “What do you mean?”
“They’re not actually extracting anything. There’s a
small amount of brain tissue damaged during the needle
insertion, but for the most part there is no real injury to
the brain.”
“Are you sure?”
“Like I said, I read through some of the reports. Kind of
got the gist of how things work.”
“They told me that they inject this stuff into my brain
108
that kills off the neurons they’ve isolated. I had all these
CAT scans before they started working on me. I don’t
remember much of that process, though. I guess they erased
that, too. All I know is what they told me.”
“Who are they?”
“This guy named Larry. His real name is Dr. Ladner.
Plus Dr. Buckley.”
Pierce taps on the computer and brings up a grainy pic-
ture of a man with a beard. The picture must have been
snapped while the guy was in motion, but I can still tell
who it is easily enough. Middle-aged Santa Claus.
“That’s Dr. Buckley.”
“Buckley is the name he’s using, is it?”
I give Pierce a confused look.
“He’s the mastermind of the Tabula Rasa project. A very
mysterious man. 8-Bit went to Harvard grad school with
him. His real name is Joseph Purcell Wilson. And he’s
dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yup. Supposedly he was killed four years ago. There
was an obit and everything. A very carefully orchestrated
story about his tragic death in a small aircraft crash. 8-Bit
never believed it. 8-Bit’s got a hang-up because the guy
scored six points higher on his IQ test or something.
Geniuses seem to be the most envious humans alive.”
“Dr. Buckley was supposed to do my surgery this morn-
ing, but it got interrupted.”
“Did it now?”
109
I explain about the power outage.
“What time was that?”
I point to my holey head. “Sorry. Time’s not my best
subject.”
“It’s just weird. Our not-so-friendly crew of mercenar-
ies didn’t cut the power to the main hospital building until
right around the time the storm hit. So, say, early after-
noon.”
I suddenly have an idea that makes me feel momen-
tarily better. “Dr. Buckley’s probably still inside right now.
Maybe it’s him they’re really after. I mean, maybe they
were after me just to get to him. They want to kill all the
patients he was working on as some kind of punishment or
something. She said they were looking for a man.”
“Who is she?”
“Hod —”
I freeze. I hadn’t really thought of this before, but maybe
there’s a chance Hodges is after me—that she hates me—
for a very good reason. Because of what Buckley did to
us. Or specifically to me. Maybe there’s a good reason the
nurses were always so cautious around me.
“That woman we heard on the radio,” I say.
“I’m sure they wish they could get to Buckley, but
someone.”
“Even as a personal favor?”
“For someone who has no memory, you have a pretty
good memory.”
“Thanks.”
“How we’ve gone from totally tame corporate espio-
nage, stealing some company’s idea for a new cell phone,
107
to providing support to guys with more high-tech gadgets
than the Navy SEALs—it’s strange. I wish I knew what he
was thinking, why we got involved.”
Pierce takes the flash drive he was holding earlier out of
his pocket. “And then there’s this.”
“What is it?”
“There’s a file on this drive that’s labeled ‘In Case Some-
thing Happens to Me.’ 8-Bit used his standard encryption
on it, which means he knows I’ll hack it eventually. Not
that it’ll be easy, but I’ll get there.”
“Have you tried to open it yet?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m still hoping that nothing’s happened to
him.”
“I wish I had some hope.” I walk to the door of the yurt
and open the flaps. Cold air rushes in. “But there’s no get-
ting back what they took out of my head.”
“Sure there is.”
I whip my head around. “What do you mean?”
“They’re not actually extracting anything. There’s a
small amount of brain tissue damaged during the needle
insertion, but for the most part there is no real injury to
the brain.”
“Are you sure?”
“Like I said, I read through some of the reports. Kind of
got the gist of how things work.”
“They told me that they inject this stuff into my brain
108
that kills off the neurons they’ve isolated. I had all these
CAT scans before they started working on me. I don’t
remember much of that process, though. I guess they erased
that, too. All I know is what they told me.”
“Who are they?”
“This guy named Larry. His real name is Dr. Ladner.
Plus Dr. Buckley.”
Pierce taps on the computer and brings up a grainy pic-
ture of a man with a beard. The picture must have been
snapped while the guy was in motion, but I can still tell
who it is easily enough. Middle-aged Santa Claus.
“That’s Dr. Buckley.”
“Buckley is the name he’s using, is it?”
I give Pierce a confused look.
“He’s the mastermind of the Tabula Rasa project. A very
mysterious man. 8-Bit went to Harvard grad school with
him. His real name is Joseph Purcell Wilson. And he’s
dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yup. Supposedly he was killed four years ago. There
was an obit and everything. A very carefully orchestrated
story about his tragic death in a small aircraft crash. 8-Bit
never believed it. 8-Bit’s got a hang-up because the guy
scored six points higher on his IQ test or something.
Geniuses seem to be the most envious humans alive.”
“Dr. Buckley was supposed to do my surgery this morn-
ing, but it got interrupted.”
“Did it now?”
109
I explain about the power outage.
“What time was that?”
I point to my holey head. “Sorry. Time’s not my best
subject.”
“It’s just weird. Our not-so-friendly crew of mercenar-
ies didn’t cut the power to the main hospital building until
right around the time the storm hit. So, say, early after-
noon.”
I suddenly have an idea that makes me feel momen-
tarily better. “Dr. Buckley’s probably still inside right now.
Maybe it’s him they’re really after. I mean, maybe they
were after me just to get to him. They want to kill all the
patients he was working on as some kind of punishment or
something. She said they were looking for a man.”
“Who is she?”
“Hod —”
I freeze. I hadn’t really thought of this before, but maybe
there’s a chance Hodges is after me—that she hates me—
for a very good reason. Because of what Buckley did to
us. Or specifically to me. Maybe there’s a good reason the
nurses were always so cautious around me.
“That woman we heard on the radio,” I say.
“I’m sure they wish they could get to Buckley, but
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