The Rule of Luck, page 22
“What are you doing up, sweetie? You should be asleep.”
Monique rubbed at the clone’s mouth with the back of her hand, attempting to wipe away the stain. The clone flinched, then ambled back into the room, squealing the whole way. As Monique stepped farther into the darkened room, more lights came on, creating a path to follow.
I hovered in the doorway, afraid to fully commit. The room looked like a playroom. Large and airy, yet windowless, I saw workstations, child-sized desks, toys stacked on shelving units, and brightly colored interactive displays on the walls.
“What is this place?” I called out. Monique had disappeared down one of the hallways branching off the playroom.
“The nursery,” she said once back in view.
“And the…girls live here?”
“Live. Learn. Play. Train. Everything. It’s a wonderful setup and TransWorld provides everything we need. I wouldn’t be where I am without their generosity. They’ve been tremendously supportive of my research. It’s one of the best-funded programs in the corporation.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming,” I offered. There was something in her voice. I had a sense she wanted, no needed, to unburden herself to someone.
“Sometimes they’re shortsighted. The results I’ve uncovered…They could do so much more with the luck gene if they looked beyond the obvious. Further, my findings are their property so I’m unable to publish. No one knows about the work I’m doing. If they did, there would be no limit to the offers, the money, the opportunities. Sometimes it’s stifling here.”
She sat in one of the small chairs and stretched her legs. Feeling like I had no choice but to join her, I hunkered down in my skintight, shimmering minidress and tried not to feel self-conscious. I had bigger things to worry about.
“I approached the Tsarist Consortium first, years ago. They’ve done things with gene modification that shook the world so I thought they would be interested in my research. They were, but not as I’d hoped. They said there was no practical application for luck. In fact, they felt it best to remove luck from the equation. It was too random and unpredictable. But I knew if I could determine the rules and an element of predictability, I could ensure its reliability in any scenario.”
“And did you?”
Monique smiled. “I did. Luck will always work to preserve itself, forever putting itself in a situation to its best advantage. After all, look at you.”
My eyes narrowed. “Look at me how?”
She laughed softly, as if I was an idiot. In this case, I suspected I was. “You’ve fallen in with the Tsarist Consortium, under the watchful eye of Alexei Petriv.”
“How is that an advantage?”
“I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that he’s one of the finest specimens on the planet. Genetically, he’s perfect. I suspect he’s never been sick a day in his life.”
“You make it sound like you want to dissect him.”
“Do I?” She laughed at that as if I’d said something particularly amusing. “Yes, in some ways, I supposed I do. My point is you alone have his attention. There is no better place for you to feel secure. He’s handsome, rich, powerful, and has no women of significance in his life. If he isn’t enamored of you already, he will be, and vice versa. The luck gene will see to it.”
“You make it sound like we’re trapped,” I answered, appalled.
“You’re not looking at it properly. If you remove religious bias from the equation, everyone is brought together through random chance and coincidence—except you. In your case, events work in your favor. Things may not go as you want, but they will always be in your best interest. You have an advantage over everyone. Or rather, anyone with the luck gene has the advantage.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t focus on this right now. “What about the other rules?”
“If you believe the cause is just or sincerely believe what you’re doing is in another’s best interest, you can short-circuit your own luck on another’s behalf, even at the cost of your own life.”
“So I can give away my luck?”
“Yes, though it can require some indoctrination,” she agreed. “This is the element TransWorld has focused on. The clones believe they’re doing valuable work on the corporation’s behalf. They can be difficult to train, but I’ve discovered how to dull their egos and superimpose TransWorld’s agenda. It was one of the most significant challenges I faced since finding the initial gene, but it appears be working.”
“Let me guess: the impaired mental development?”
“Correct, although it’s more complex than that. The clones’ personalities are subverted and their mental capacity limited with a few modest DNA tweaks. Then, we begin service training, making them understand the value of their own lives and the need to protect all things TransWorld. We’ve found that subjects aged five to ten have the highest rates of success. Older, and their personalities begin to express themselves, leading to violence and self-destruction. Too young, and the training hasn’t taken a firm hold.”
“How does TransWorld use the luck?” I asked. This was the crux of what Petriv wanted to know. If I could uncover that detail, I could end my association with the Consortium and be free of Petriv forever.
“The clones attend all business meetings. They watch the proceedings, but are kept out of sight. They also fly on all shuttles between Earth and Mars, ensuring the flight’s safety. In fact, I believe two of them are on the round-trip back from Mars due to launch in the next few days. No flight will have any life-threatening incident if they’re onboard, thinking good thoughts about its success. It’s a genius way around the paradox of luck, even if it isn’t what I originally intended. I just wish I could do more.”
“What happens to subjects older than ten? How did you discover the optimal age?”
For the first time since she’d appeared beside me, Monique looked uncomfortable. She got up and began to pace. “No research is without setbacks. You can’t expect everything to go as planned or every hypothesis to be proven correct. With the Tsarist Consortium, this would never have happened. They’d already made the genetic leaps I had to discover on my own. I made mistakes and there were some…abominations.”
“Abominations? What does that mean?”
“I know now what I did wrong and how to correct that,” she said instead, ignoring me.
“Tell me about the—”
“If you could just talk to Mr. Petriv and make him understand my work, that’s all I ask.”
Okay, then. So apparently I wasn’t allowed to discuss the abominations. “You expect me to put you in touch with him to see if he’s interested in the clones?”
“No, of course not. They’re TransWorld’s property. I can’t touch them. But I could start again and rebuild.”
“With what?” I asked in growing horror.
She looked at me as if it should have been obvious. “With the two of you. Why do you think the two of you came together in the first place? As I said, luck is seeking to preserve and replicate itself. With your luck and his genetic perfection, I could create gods.” She breathed a sigh and a look of radiant happiness touched her face, making her appear both beautiful and insane. Her earlier irritation disappeared. “Of course, I would have to be allowed to publish. The world needs to know. Publish or perish, after all. I can’t even begin to imagine the resulting benefits to the human race. This”—she waved her hand around the room in a dismissive gesture—“is nothing. I don’t care what happens to this. When I saw you today, I realized the potential I’d missed. You are my daughter. All this effort spent creating what was in front of me the whole time, worried about keeping myself separate from you, or how you might contaminate the lab results…Such a waste of time.”
“Is that why we’ve been blacklisted?”
“Naturally,” she said. “I have One Gov connections who worked on my behalf. We wanted a control group. Without those checks on your family, the whole experiment would have been out of balance.”
I stood up abruptly, knocking over my tiny chair in the process. My mother was a monster and I had to get away before I snapped. “I…I need to go. You’ve given me a lot to consider. I’ll have to…think…about how to present this to Mr. Petriv.”
“So you will tell him? Thank you.” She reached out and for an awkward moment, I thought she might hug me. Instead, she offered a hand. “This is the best thing for all involved—you, me, and the Consortium. You’re making the smartest decision of your life.”
I shook the hand she extended. It was much easier to extricate myself from that than a hug—a fact I found gratifying since I didn’t want to touch her. My gut screamed at me to leave. I agreed. Any longer in her presence and I wasn’t sure what I might do.
“I have to go,” I said again.
Monique looked vaguely off into space, getting that look of CN-net contact. Then she shot me a hard look and almost laughed. “I’m not certain why, but the Director’s on his way up. What an odd coincidence. You’re right, it’s best you leave. We’ll talk later. There’s another elevator around the corner on the other side of this corridor. Use it instead.”
She waved me toward the door. It slid open at my approach; then she all but threw me out into the white hallway. “That way,” she mouthed, pointing right.
In front of me was the elevator we’d used earlier. The overhead readout displayed the ascending floors: 186, 187, 188…I pivoted on my heel and sprinted down the hall. Behind me, I could hear the door to the clones’ room close. I paid it no attention; I had to concentrate on my own escape.
Another long hall of white greeted me. I raced its length, my heart pounding in my chest, my gut pushing me to get the hell out as adrenaline flooded my body. I rounded the next corner and found the second elevator. I pressed the call button, horrified to find the overhead display showed it on the ground floor.
I pressed myself against the wall and tried to control my breathing, fighting to keep from taking huge gasping breaths of panic. On the other side of the corridor, I heard the ding of the elevator. Then footsteps: two distinct sets. Then, chatting. Two men, but too far away for me to make out what they said.
My elevator’s overhead display showed it had just cleared the 152nd floor. A few more seconds and it would be there, dinging its arrival and announcing itself. The men continued to talk. Fuck! What was I going to do? The elevator cleared 170. Why didn’t they go in? Why hadn’t Monique done something to distract them? What was she waiting for? Why were they taking so long? Was she testing my luck? Bitch! A look to the elevator. 189. I closed my eyes and prayed to all the deities I knew. Gods, what would happen if I was found out? Would I have my memories wiped and be placed back in my old life in Nairobi with Roy—my handler? Would I even remember Petriv? Or would they hand me over to my mother after she convinced them I was vital raw material for some new experiment?
Just when I’d given up hope, the voices stopped. They were gone, whisked away by Monique. A second later, the elevator dinged its arrival. The door opened, revealing an empty interior. I hurled myself inside, pressing the ground floor, breathing a sigh of relief only when the doors closed behind me.
I’d escaped. Was it the luck gene? How could I even tell? The things Monique had told me were so outrageous, I couldn’t get my head around them. The clones. My mother’s careless cruelty and warped dreams of success. And Petriv…What had I learned about him? Genetic perfection. Had he been created in a genetic stew like the Consortium’s chain-breakers? Did I even want to know? Monique implied we were helplessly drawn to each other. Maybe, but given what had happened today, luck had obviously missed its mark. I ran my fingers through my hair and rubbed my face. It was too much. I needed time to absorb it all.
Ground floor. The elevator doors opened and I raced to the exit, my boot heels clicking on the floor and echoing in the cavernous void. Finally, I swung through the front door, free. I filled my lungs with cool night air, trying not to sob my relief. Monique hadn’t lied. I could come and go from TransWorld with impunity.
It appeared I was in the city’s business district given the neon corporate logos overhead, but with so many massive towers, I couldn’t get my bearings. The streets were quiet, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get into trouble. I knew nothing about Curitiba—where I was, if I was safe, or where I needed to be.
I ducked into the closest building alcove—a dimly lit side entrance of a tiny restaurant, now closed. A single overhead light stood between me and the darkness. I powered up my c-tex. It would reactivate my nav-look and with any luck—no pun intended—Petriv could track me. Presumably, he was already looking. I scrolled through my messages. Yup, there were numerous shims from him, all with increasing urgency and mounting rage if their curtness was any indication.
I hit Reply on the last one, tapping a quick message that I’d finished with Monique, I needed a ride, and he had to come find me because I had no idea where I was. Then I waited for a reply. And waited. Seconds lengthened until a good five minutes passed. Maybe he was too angry to answer? I’d have to save myself.
I stepped from my alcove and scanned the sidewalk. If they had a Y-line like Nairobi, I could call a pod to the nearest launchpad. That seemed my best option, provided both were close. I scrolled through the local transportation system choices, searching for anything reminiscent of the Y-line. As I scrolled, I heard the scrape of a footstep along the sidewalk. I looked up and saw a figure approach. I tensed, prepared to run. Why hadn’t my gut warned me? Things didn’t jump out at me! I always knew when something bad was on the way. Except…
Mr. Pennyworth. I swore out loud as he strolled toward me with that irritating, unhurried gait. He stopped a few feet away, regarding me with frustrating inscrutability. The overhead lights were not kind to his features.
“I’ve been searching for you for several hours,” he said. “You couldn’t be traced until you used your c-tex.”
I checked the time: almost midnight. I’d been offline over three hours. “I had no choice. Monique refused to meet otherwise,” I answered as if we were having a reasonable conversation about mundane things. “I decided it was in everyone’s best interest to give her what she wanted.”
“It seems she wanted a large number of things.”
I looked back to the TransWorld tower and shivered, feeling hollowed out and haunted. I hugged myself, realizing how terrified I’d been now that I was safe. I let out a shuddering breath and swiped at tears I hadn’t known I’d shed. “She does. She wants more than I can give.”
“I’ve been sent to retrieve you. You can discuss the details when we return to the hotel.”
I nodded, continuing the ruse this was a civilized conversation. “Is he angry?”
We both knew who I meant. “Livid. That’s why I’m here. He didn’t trust himself with you. He doesn’t like when those working for him defy his orders.”
His orders? Well, Mr. Pennyworth was right; I worked for the man. But still…His orders? “Must be my night for unpleasant chats.” I squared my shoulders and tried to prepare myself for whatever came next. I shot Mr. Pennyworth a look. “Your boss is a fickle bastard. He doesn’t make it easy to know where you stand with him.”
“Perhaps you bring out the worst in him.”
I cast another glance up at the TransWorld tower. “And maybe I’m just a pawn everyone wants to manipulate until they win the game. Maybe I don’t really matter to anyone at all.” I sighed and shook myself. “Alright, let’s go back to the hotel and get the firing squad over with.”
I spent the ride staring moodily out the window. Beside me, Mr. Pennyworth was as still and silent as death. Once at the hotel, he took my arm in a firm grip, yanked me from the limo, and handed me over to two chain-breakers.
“My contract here is finished. They will escort you upstairs.”
“Hanging out with me must be very lucrative.” I couldn’t help getting in a dig. “I hope Petriv pays you well to keep hauling my ass in and out of trouble.”
Not even so much as an eye twitch from him. “You have no idea. Good luck, Ms. Sevigny.”
I smirked. I couldn’t help it, even if it was false bravado. “Didn’t you know? All my luck’s good. I’ll have Petriv eating out of my hand in no time.”
“That is something I would enjoy seeing.” He sauntered down the street, out of sight.
As for me, I was escorted into the hotel to face Alexei Petriv’s displeasure.
Chapter Sixteen
The elevator took us to the penthouse. It required specific AI permission, meaning I couldn’t have come up even if I’d wanted to. With a chain-breaker on either side, I felt like a prisoner. Did they think after one visit with my mother I’d flipped over to TransWorld? Was that the reason for the heavy-handed treatment? Or was it a reflection of Petriv’s anger?
The elevator doors opened and we stepped into a massive foyer the likes of which I’d never seen in a hotel room. I took in the checkerboard-tiled floor, the massive chandelier, the gold-leaf walls, and the ornate marble table in the center of it all with an arrangement of white lilies and tulips so large, I couldn’t see around it. Apparently this was what endless gold notes got you.
One of the security guards took my arm and ushered me inside. My anxiety kicked up another notch and my heart beat with enough force to feel like it might actually leave my chest. I tried to calm down. I wasn’t a prisoner. I had valuable information Petriv would find useful. I knew the real problem: I didn’t want to face him. He’d left me an unstable mess. I wanted—and didn’t want—to see him. Further, given what Monique had said, was it even safe for us to be around each other?
We entered a sitting room. My suite had the same, but not on such an intimidating scale. This room had a lush cream carpet, floor-to-ceiling windows, several chandeliers to match the one in the foyer, and endless arrangements of furniture. People were scattered about, talking quietly. Oksana. Her husband, Vadim. Other security detail given the suits and uniformity of their appearance. Also, possibly other Tsarist Consortium members—three people I’d never seen before. Interestingly, no Petriv. I looked at the newcomers. Each appeared to be in their mid-twenties to early thirties, but I caught that hard look around the eyes and knew some weren’t as young as they appeared. Again, I recalled Monique’s words—the Tsarist Consortium had perfected genetic manipulation long ago. I thought of Konstantin and Grigori and knew she was right. I also knew how badly she must want to be where I stood right now.
