Unfinished, Page 3

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  Quinn lay awake long after lights-out. He worried about Lexa all alone in the dark, scared and not knowing where she was. Sometimes he had nightmares about his first few days in the prep room-he woke up in a cold sweat, wishing he had a mother like that girl who had come to visit two of the geneticists. The kid had cut her hand on the sharp edge of an open computer casing and had started to cry. She was almost Quinn's age, but she cried a lot when the blood welled up on her palm. Her mother had raced over to cuddle her before fixing the cut.

  Maybe that's what Doc Mendal meant about humans reacting badly to trauma. Quinn wouldn't have cried about a cut hand. Still, he couldn't help but feel just a little envious of the girl. Of course, after that incident, Miss Maren had banned children from visiting the lab.

  Unless they lived here.

  He sighed in the dark. The sound was thin and sad. Lately, he'd begun to wonder what his point was-why had he been created? The K600s were very near human in every way, so why did the scientists make him? Why create a K700 that was more than human, only to treat him like he was an object, a thing. Miss Maren, when she wasn't in a bad mood, would cluck over him and tell him he had a grand purpose. A destiny. But did artificials have those? To him, it sounded like a fancy word for being told what to do with his life.

  A loud rap at his door made Quinn jump. He barely had time to sit up before Piers, the security lead at the lab, strode inside, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him into the corridor.

  "Ms. DeGaul said you upset the new asset today, beanpole." Piers's hand clamped hard onto his neck. "She said they told you not to contaminate the area, but you tried to touch little Lexie, anyway. You disobeyed."

  Quinn's knees shook inside his thin pajama pants. Piers's eyes had that wicked gleam, the one that spelled trouble. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know what I was doing. I just thought-"

  "Save it for her."

  Oh, no. Piers was taking him to see Miss Maren. That only served to spike his fear to painful levels; his bladder felt too full and his lungs felt too empty. Piers was a slender man, but powerful, all wiry muscle, with a love of hurting small things. They trotted down the hall at an awful pace. Quinn had a hard time keeping up, so Piers gripped his biceps to drag him whenever he slowed. By the time they arrived outside of Miss Maren's office, downstairs near the labs, his bare toes were stubbed and his fingers had gone numb from Piers's grasp.

  "Now you listen," the man growled. "You answer her questions honestly or we'll know. And you know what happens when you lie about lying."

  Quinn shuddered. Yes, he knew. The roundish scar on his back from the heated metal pipe was a permanent reminder that he couldn't keep secrets. "I'll tell the truth."

  "You better." Piers turned and rapped on the door.

  Following Miss Maren's muffled "Come in," Piers laid his palm on the scanner, and the door slid open. The office was becoming familiar, Quinn thought, with its priceless wood and velvet furniture and the high-tech vid panel behind her desk. And its familiarity was a bad, bad thing.

  "Quinn, come here." Her voice was cool, but he heard the little bit of glee in her tone.

  He swallowed hard and went into the office. Piers shut the door behind him, leaving Quinn alone with Miss Maren. He glanced at the cameras in the corner of the room. Not alone, really. Somebody was always watching, which meant if he misbehaved, a dozen security guards-both artificial and human-and Piers could be here in an instant to bash his head in.

  He'd seen that happen to one of the service artificials, once. She'd taken a swing at Miss Maren with a vase for calling her a "bolt," which was an ugly word for artificial human. Before Quinn could skitter out of the way, the K600's brains were splattered on the carpet. He'd vomited later, but at the time, all he could think was how those brains looked like curds of cheese flying from the servant's skull.

  "Please sit."

  Now he was really scared-she never said please. Miss Maren was smiling, and as he sat in the chair on the other side of her desk, she pushed the candy jar his way. He didn't know what she wanted, but he knew he couldn't refuse the candy. He took a small piece of taffy and held it in his fist.

  "Dr. Martine tells me that Lexa is coming online remarkably well. Does that match your assessment?"

  What did she want? How should he answer? A bead of sweat dripped from the nape of his neck and slid between his shoulder blades. "I, um, she seems proficient in communications?"

  There, that was bland enough. Wasn't it? Oh, please let that be right.

  Miss Maren leaned back in her chair. For such a tiny lady, the chair made her look powerful and important. Kind of like a throne. Quinn blinked rapidly to clear that thought out of his head before he dreamed up a crown and scepter and started laughing at the picture his mind made.

  "Of course she is-we made her and we're very good. What I'm asking is if she seems?different somehow."

  Different? "She's a girl," he blurted out. "That makes her different, right?"

  Miss Maren rolled her eyes. "Never mind. But hear me well. You will not touch her again, not until she's out of processing. Am I clear?"

  He nodded.

  "I can't hear you," she said, her voice going as cold and hard as the stainless steel table in the procedure room. "Am I clear?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Perfectly," he squeaked.

  "Very well. Just to be sure, though?" She pushed a button on the underside of her desk. Piers entered a few seconds later. "Take this young man down to the basement and make sure he understands his new orders."

  Quinn's overfull bladder threatened to release when Piers smiled down at him. "Will do. He won't forget after we've finished."