Andreyev, and that’s the important thing.”
“Please,” he replied, a soft Russian accent curling around the edges of his speech, “call me Constantin. Or Connie.”
A tight smile danced across Moira’s face. “Thank you, Connie. Now, do you have any questions for us?”
“I have a question,” said the woman in white. She also stepped forward. Her brown hair was cut boyishly short, but that did nothing to soften the angularity of her features. Hers was a face you could cut yourself on. She regarded Sophie through half-lidded eyes, as if she were bored or dismally unimpressed.
“Of course, Victoria.” Moira’s voice came out soft and ended in a whisper.
Sophie looked curiously at her mother. She’s afraid of this woman. She could feel her strength returning, and sensed that if she were to speak up, her voice wouldn’t betray her again. But she didn’t. Instead, she stayed still and silent, watching to see what would happen.
The first thing, the most important thing—her mother seemed entirely well and whole. Whatever her emergency was or had been, it didn’t seem to affect her physically, not, at least, in any way that Sophie could tell. She didn’t seem to be held against her will. She seemed . . . fine. Perfectly fine.
Sophie felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. I don’t know the whole story, she thought. I have to give her the benefit of the doubt. But she felt used. Betrayed. Bewildered. It didn’t make sense, none of it. Why am I here? What is this about? Looking at her mother standing so composed, she almost sensed that Moira Crue had no idea that her daughter was on the island.
Had Nicholas told her?
Where was Nicholas?
And who had hit her on the head?
She had a feeling she knew the answer, and it only made her more nauseated. He tricked me. It had to be true. There was no other explanation. Somehow, Nicholas had known she was coming. He’d met her at the airstrip and lied about being sent by Moira when he’d probably had no intention of taking Sophie to her mother at all. But . . . why? What was his game? How did he factor into all of this?
She needed to know what Skin Island was, certain that that would answer half her questions at least. Her mother’s life’s work, Nicholas’s part in it, the mysterious emergency, the other Sophie . . . it all came down to the secrets in this room. I can play along a little longer. She had no idea what this Lux was supposed to be or why she looked like Sophie, but apparently she couldn’t talk. Or walk. That was pretty simple to stick to. Just shut up and listen, Sophie told herself. They’re bound to spill a few answers.
She’d been so lost in her own head that she’d missed what the woman—Victoria—had to say, and she struggled to catch up while trying to look as uninterested as possible. Her mother was speaking.
“The bond won’t be evident until she’s able to speak and function. But we’ve never had a case in which the imprinting failed.”
“If she has only just, for all intents and purposes, been born—how is it that within a day she will be able to speak and walk?” asked Andreyev.
“To answer that, I must back up a little. I’ll start at the beginning, though I’m sure you read all of this in the dossier Victoria gave you. Still, it’s a lot to take in, and I want to be sure we’re clear.” She drew a deep breath. “The Vitros are the result of a groundbreaking neurotechnology we call the Imprima Code, and the chip on which it is contained.” She held up a vial, and Sophie recognized it as one of the vials she’d seen in the freezer consoles the night before.
Moira went on. “We take embryos left over from in vitro procedures—there are millions of them all over the world, tiny cellular clusters of potential—and we raise them, well, in vitro—in glass—and plant the computer chip at just the right moment of embryonic brain growth. The brain grows over and around it, and we monitor it very closely every day. Once
“Please,” he replied, a soft Russian accent curling around the edges of his speech, “call me Constantin. Or Connie.”
A tight smile danced across Moira’s face. “Thank you, Connie. Now, do you have any questions for us?”
“I have a question,” said the woman in white. She also stepped forward. Her brown hair was cut boyishly short, but that did nothing to soften the angularity of her features. Hers was a face you could cut yourself on. She regarded Sophie through half-lidded eyes, as if she were bored or dismally unimpressed.
“Of course, Victoria.” Moira’s voice came out soft and ended in a whisper.
Sophie looked curiously at her mother. She’s afraid of this woman. She could feel her strength returning, and sensed that if she were to speak up, her voice wouldn’t betray her again. But she didn’t. Instead, she stayed still and silent, watching to see what would happen.
The first thing, the most important thing—her mother seemed entirely well and whole. Whatever her emergency was or had been, it didn’t seem to affect her physically, not, at least, in any way that Sophie could tell. She didn’t seem to be held against her will. She seemed . . . fine. Perfectly fine.
Sophie felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. I don’t know the whole story, she thought. I have to give her the benefit of the doubt. But she felt used. Betrayed. Bewildered. It didn’t make sense, none of it. Why am I here? What is this about? Looking at her mother standing so composed, she almost sensed that Moira Crue had no idea that her daughter was on the island.
Had Nicholas told her?
Where was Nicholas?
And who had hit her on the head?
She had a feeling she knew the answer, and it only made her more nauseated. He tricked me. It had to be true. There was no other explanation. Somehow, Nicholas had known she was coming. He’d met her at the airstrip and lied about being sent by Moira when he’d probably had no intention of taking Sophie to her mother at all. But . . . why? What was his game? How did he factor into all of this?
She needed to know what Skin Island was, certain that that would answer half her questions at least. Her mother’s life’s work, Nicholas’s part in it, the mysterious emergency, the other Sophie . . . it all came down to the secrets in this room. I can play along a little longer. She had no idea what this Lux was supposed to be or why she looked like Sophie, but apparently she couldn’t talk. Or walk. That was pretty simple to stick to. Just shut up and listen, Sophie told herself. They’re bound to spill a few answers.
She’d been so lost in her own head that she’d missed what the woman—Victoria—had to say, and she struggled to catch up while trying to look as uninterested as possible. Her mother was speaking.
“The bond won’t be evident until she’s able to speak and function. But we’ve never had a case in which the imprinting failed.”
“If she has only just, for all intents and purposes, been born—how is it that within a day she will be able to speak and walk?” asked Andreyev.
“To answer that, I must back up a little. I’ll start at the beginning, though I’m sure you read all of this in the dossier Victoria gave you. Still, it’s a lot to take in, and I want to be sure we’re clear.” She drew a deep breath. “The Vitros are the result of a groundbreaking neurotechnology we call the Imprima Code, and the chip on which it is contained.” She held up a vial, and Sophie recognized it as one of the vials she’d seen in the freezer consoles the night before.
Moira went on. “We take embryos left over from in vitro procedures—there are millions of them all over the world, tiny cellular clusters of potential—and we raise them, well, in vitro—in glass—and plant the computer chip at just the right moment of embryonic brain growth. The brain grows over and around it, and we monitor it very closely every day. Once
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