the subject reaches nine months of gestation, we can begin transferring data to the chip. Then, when we wake the subject—”
“They already know their ABCs and 123s,” Andreyev finished.
“Oh, much more than that. Basic motor functions, a rudimentary knowledge of math and history. The chip is brilliant, an extremely valuable technology in and of itself. Why, the opportunities afforded us by the chip, even without the imprint technology, is enough to—”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Victoria. “Explain to Mr. Andreyev the imprint technology. That is, after all, what he is here to see.” She extended a tight smile to the Russian that made her face look as if it were made of Saran wrap.
“Yes,” Moira said, a bit faintly. “Of course. The imprint technology is what makes the Vitros so . . . interesting. I developed it myself.”
“And we are very pleased with your work,” said Victoria, and she and Moira’s eyes met in a glacial lock. They looked like rival cheerleaders vying for the spot at the top of the pyramid, only instead of lipstick and pompoms these cheerleaders had P.h.D.’s and secret laboratories to play with.
“How long has she been sleeping?” Andreyev steepled his index fingers and pressed them to his lips as he leaned back in his chair, regarding Sophie from beneath a low brow.
“Seventeen years,” said Moira. “That’s the only way this works. We can’t wake them until we are ready for them to bond with someone. You have to be the very first person they see, and then they’ll never imprint on anyone else. This is Lux’s first impression of the world, and because you are the first one she has seen, you have become the center of her world.”
“Well,” said Andreyev, his frown deepening. “But why? How does it work?”
Victoria’s eyes flitted to Moira.
“Ah,” said Sophie’s mother patiently. “Many species of animals are born with the instinct to imprint. Ducks are a prime example. A newly hatched duckling imprints on the first thing it sees, whether that’s its mother, a human being, or in some cases even an inanimate object like a shoe or a duck decoy. It will follow that first impression—the imprintee—in order to learn how to function. How to forage for food, how to court, how to migrate. Even humans have this instinct to a lesser extent. It’s the reason a baby can identify its mother apart from other people.” She stepped toward Sophie and slowly ran her fingers over a lock of her hair; it was all Sophie could do not to flinch. “The chip isolates this imprinting instinct in the brain and amplifies it exponentially. In essence, it creates a deep, psychological need in the subject, a need to imprint, to mold itself around the mind and will of another. It creates a hole in the subject’s psyche that is filled by the first person that the subject sees upon waking for the first time.” She fell silent for a moment, her eyes studying Sophie with a slight tension around their corners. Then she turned to Andreyev. “The moment Lux awoke, her chip activated, and all that information—the ABCs and 123s, as you call them, as well as her motor functions, her memory, every cognitive process in her brain—it all clicked into place with you at its center.”
Andreyev swallowed. “I did read the files, of course. I didn’t think . . .” He stopped and cleared his throat, looking very unsettled. “I didn’t realize . . .”
“It’s a lot to take in,” Victoria said crisply. “We know that.”
“Yes.” His voice was hoarse. He looked as if he wanted to be as far from Sophie—Lux—as possible.
“Her will is bound to yours. She will obey any command you give her,” Moira went on, a bit vengefully. “She has no will of her own, no sense of self. Her identity is wholly formed around yours.”
“I understand.” Andreyev’s eyes shifted around the room. His left hand, which rested on his knee, opened and closed convulsively. “It’s just . . . she looks so young, so
“They already know their ABCs and 123s,” Andreyev finished.
“Oh, much more than that. Basic motor functions, a rudimentary knowledge of math and history. The chip is brilliant, an extremely valuable technology in and of itself. Why, the opportunities afforded us by the chip, even without the imprint technology, is enough to—”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Victoria. “Explain to Mr. Andreyev the imprint technology. That is, after all, what he is here to see.” She extended a tight smile to the Russian that made her face look as if it were made of Saran wrap.
“Yes,” Moira said, a bit faintly. “Of course. The imprint technology is what makes the Vitros so . . . interesting. I developed it myself.”
“And we are very pleased with your work,” said Victoria, and she and Moira’s eyes met in a glacial lock. They looked like rival cheerleaders vying for the spot at the top of the pyramid, only instead of lipstick and pompoms these cheerleaders had P.h.D.’s and secret laboratories to play with.
“How long has she been sleeping?” Andreyev steepled his index fingers and pressed them to his lips as he leaned back in his chair, regarding Sophie from beneath a low brow.
“Seventeen years,” said Moira. “That’s the only way this works. We can’t wake them until we are ready for them to bond with someone. You have to be the very first person they see, and then they’ll never imprint on anyone else. This is Lux’s first impression of the world, and because you are the first one she has seen, you have become the center of her world.”
“Well,” said Andreyev, his frown deepening. “But why? How does it work?”
Victoria’s eyes flitted to Moira.
“Ah,” said Sophie’s mother patiently. “Many species of animals are born with the instinct to imprint. Ducks are a prime example. A newly hatched duckling imprints on the first thing it sees, whether that’s its mother, a human being, or in some cases even an inanimate object like a shoe or a duck decoy. It will follow that first impression—the imprintee—in order to learn how to function. How to forage for food, how to court, how to migrate. Even humans have this instinct to a lesser extent. It’s the reason a baby can identify its mother apart from other people.” She stepped toward Sophie and slowly ran her fingers over a lock of her hair; it was all Sophie could do not to flinch. “The chip isolates this imprinting instinct in the brain and amplifies it exponentially. In essence, it creates a deep, psychological need in the subject, a need to imprint, to mold itself around the mind and will of another. It creates a hole in the subject’s psyche that is filled by the first person that the subject sees upon waking for the first time.” She fell silent for a moment, her eyes studying Sophie with a slight tension around their corners. Then she turned to Andreyev. “The moment Lux awoke, her chip activated, and all that information—the ABCs and 123s, as you call them, as well as her motor functions, her memory, every cognitive process in her brain—it all clicked into place with you at its center.”
Andreyev swallowed. “I did read the files, of course. I didn’t think . . .” He stopped and cleared his throat, looking very unsettled. “I didn’t realize . . .”
“It’s a lot to take in,” Victoria said crisply. “We know that.”
“Yes.” His voice was hoarse. He looked as if he wanted to be as far from Sophie—Lux—as possible.
“Her will is bound to yours. She will obey any command you give her,” Moira went on, a bit vengefully. “She has no will of her own, no sense of self. Her identity is wholly formed around yours.”
“I understand.” Andreyev’s eyes shifted around the room. His left hand, which rested on his knee, opened and closed convulsively. “It’s just . . . she looks so young, so
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