Catalyst

  Tom began shaking all over. Denial blanked out his brain. “You’re lying. Dad would never do that. He hates Vengerov. He’d never met him before—”

  But his throat closed up, and he found himself thinking of Neil and Vengerov over the roulette wheel.

  Vengerov, smiling at Neil.

  “You two know each other?” Tom asked them.

  “No,” Neil said.

  And after a moment, taking his cue from Neil, “No.” But Vengerov’s smile widened, because they were sharing a lie and that gave him leverage.

  His dad, so begrudgingly wagering his money on roulette, but doing it because Vengerov had told him. Because Vengerov had just gone along with his lie about not knowing him . . .

  His dad, who feared no one, wearing a look of horror on his face like some nightmare was coming true.

  Tom’s stomach gave a heave like he was going to be sick. He was only vaguely aware of his nails digging into his palms where he was clenching his fists. “This isn’t true. You’re lying.”

  Dalton rocked up to his knees, his eyes gleaming and vindictive. Blood dripped from his nose. “Your mother was psychotic. She suffered from severe delusions. Your father got her pregnant and tried to make it work because of you, but he found out about her problems soon enough. He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t take it. He wanted her off his hands. I was a junior executive at Obsidian Corp. I stood there over his shoulder when he signed away medical custody of her. Medical custody of you, too. It was a package deal, Tom.”

  “No.” It was all Tom could say.

  “Your father wanted his life back, and Mr. Vengerov was glad to have a chance at two new subjects. We hadn’t been able to run a test group in the continental United States since the debacle with the American soldiers, and this time, he’d get a range of ages. People society wouldn’t miss. You were young enough, he wanted to use you as a pristine subject. You had the same defects in your brain that she did, so he had you fixed first—ordered you to undergo a neural graft, some computer-stimulated brain tissue to give you a frontal lobe of normal mass.”

  Tom’s heart pounded so hard it vibrated in his ears.

  NO. Neil wouldn’t give him up. Not him.

  “Your mother wasn’t young enough, of course,” Dalton said, heaving himself to his feet, dabbing his sleeve at his nose. “Her brain started to reject the neural processor. Like all the other adults, she began having massive seizures. Mr. Vengerov had full medical custody of her, so he took the same approach we did with all the subjects in that test group. He started having different areas of her brain removed to see how much neural tissue was needed to stop the seizures, and retain some basic functionality.”

  Tom threw a horrified look at Delilah, with her empty face, her empty eyes.

  “In her case, she lost the entire frontal lobe, though she could still talk and accept commands thanks to the processor,” Dalton said, as though that wasn’t ghastly, as though that wasn’t robbing someone of everything that made them human. Tom couldn’t comprehend it. He felt like he was in a nightmare. “Your father saw her again, and he had a crisis of conscience. So he snatched you out of the hospital before you got a processor of your own, and paid someone to wipe all your medical records. Mr. Vengerov could have stopped it. He could have forced your father to follow through on the contract they signed, but he very generously let him renege. You should be grateful to him.”

  “To Vengerov?” Tom spat. “He butchered her!”

  “But he helped you. He’s the only reason you didn’t grow up to be like your mother. If not for that neural graft, your brain would be very different today.”

  Tom looked inward, seeing Neil that day by the roulette table again. Seeing the horror on Neil’s face when Vengerov appeared in front of them. The man who knew the secret he’d hidden from Tom all these years. The man who knew he’d wanted to be rid of Tom, who knew he’d gotten rid of Tom’s mother.

  It had perplexed Tom at the time. Neil never feared anyone. And he still hadn’t feared Vengerov. He’d feared Tom learning the truth.

  Tom pressed his hands to his head. No. No, no, no . . . He was only half aware of Dalton pulling himself upright, pressing the sleeve of his suit to his bleeding nose. Of Delilah walking up and rubbing Dalton’s shoulders very mechanically.

  Dalton straightened his cuff links. “Your old man was at the end of his rope already, keeping her out of messes, trying to look out for you. He lost everything once you came into the picture. His luck, his mobility, his sobriety, and most everything he had in medical care for one or the other of you.”

  Tom found himself staring numbly at Delilah’s hands, massaging Dalton’s shoulders.

  “So you see now, sport, why you’ve been very ungrateful to me over the years. I’ve been far more generous than your father, taking care of your mother even after the experiments were over and she was of no more use to the company. I took her custody totally upon myself. She’s as happy as anyone in her situation could be.”

  “Why did you do that?” Tom’s voice scraped his throat.

  Dalton blinked. “Look at her. She’s exquisite. It would be such a shame.”

  Tom looked at his mother—a beautiful woman who’d had any capacity for independent thought or mastery of self removed, replaced by a programmable computer.

  The perfect toy for a sleazy executive who had everything. A guy who now wanted to pat himself on the back for his total control over the empty shell.

  Tom’s anger was gone, extinguished. Replaced only by a terrible emptiness. He’d destroyed his dad’s life. His father and Joseph Vengerov had destroyed his mom’s. The least guilty party to it all was, sickeningly enough, Dalton Prestwick. He’d just kept as his favorite toy the woman others had torn apart.

  Dalton was looking at Delilah again, wearing that same self-important smile Tom remembered. He found himself staring at them, suddenly back on that awful day in the Beringer Club when Hayden pinned him down and jammed the neural wire into his neck, and Dalton smoked his cigar. Smiling. Smiling. His voice was in Tom’s ears.

  “You always call me Dalton. It betrays a lack of respect. From now on, it’ll be Mr. Prestwick.”

  “Come on, son. Did you really think I was giving you a choice here? Did you really?”

  “You’ll be let go. You’ll be released very soon. And you’ll be a much better boy when you are.”

  And all Tom could think of was his mother waiting at Dalton’s apartment even back then, his prized possession with her own neural processor, and no wonder Dalton thought he could take anything he wanted without consequences and just overwrite someone’s will. He’d been doing it to Tom’s mom for years.

  Other people were merely things to him. He had no respect for them. And Tom suddenly was desperate to make him sorry, desperate to inflict upon him what he’d done to his mom. What he’d done to Tom.

  Tom’s thoughts strayed to the Austere-grade processor on the desk, just resting in that vial, ready for administration. He moved over to it, only distantly aware of Dalton telling him, “I think it’s time you left, champ.”

  “Not yet.”

  Tom’s hand shook when he withdrew the vial containing several billion nanomachines, all primed and ready for an oral dose. Dalton’s voice floating over his head as he blustered for Tom to leave now or he’d call the cops on him. All Tom could think of was Dalton’s desperate sucking up to Vengerov, his smug smile, the smell of his cigar that day and how truly he deserved this.

  “Hey Dalton,” Tom heard himself say, “ever wonder what it’s like to be reprogrammed?”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  IT WASN’T HARD forcing Dalton to swallow. Tom clamped his nose until he gave in. Now as Dalton frantically called Joseph Vengerov, pleading with him for some way to be rid of his brand-new Austere-grade neural processor,
Tom stepped into his mom’s room and rooted out a bag, trying to figure out what she needed.

  Clothes, shoes, socks . . . what else?

  He didn’t know where he’d take her. Hide her. There had to be some way to remove the programs in her head. He heard Dalton’s voice, hysterical over the conferencer.

  “I’ve tried making myself throw up—”

  “Oh, that’s no use. They’re designed to enter the bloodstream and implant themselves in your cerebral cortex as soon as they enter your system.”

  Hatred rippled through Tom at the sound of Joseph Vengerov’s controlled tones drifting from the conferencer.

  “We’d have to take apart your entire brain to remove them. You do trust my technology, don’t you, Dalton?”

  “Of—of course, but—”

  “Good. Then you know the processor won’t harm you at all. Try to calm yourself and focus on the benefits of a neural processor. This incident doesn’t need to be a setback. In fact, I believe now is the time for me to endorse your rise to greater heights. I do have such confidence in you. I believe you would make an excellent replacement for Diamond MacThane as chief executive officer at Dominion Agra.”

  “CEO? Me?” Dalton squeaked.

  “But of course. Without the Roache brothers to throw their weight around, I don’t anticipate anyone contesting the influence I plan to apply on Dominion’s chief shareholders. And if they resist me . . .”

  “If they do, then what?” Dalton said, breathless.

  “Then I wouldn’t be surprised if the ghost in the machine attacked the company’s next shareholder meeting.”

  Tom halted in place, hearing that.

  “Or perhaps slew the entire executive board in one fell swoop. After the company’s antics these last two centuries, there will be a world of dry eyes. I doubt there will be many scratching their heads, wondering why a terrorist targeted Dominion Agra’s owners in particular for vigilante justice.”

  There was a stunned silence. Tom stood there frozen in the next room, in disbelief. Was Vengerov implying what he thought he was?

  “I’d say your ascent is virtually guaranteed,” Vengerov told Dalton.

  “Mr. Vengerov, I . . . Mr. Vengerov.” Tom inched forward to see Dalton’s eagerly nodding head, his grin. His sputters of gratitude were pathetic. “I won’t let you down, sir. This is excellent news. It’s wonderful.” He was silent a moment. “Perhaps we can talk about this more when I can come in and you deactivate this Austere-grade processor?”

  A pause, and then Vengerov’s silky voice: “Why would I ever do that?”

  “You—you said you have great faith in me. That’s why you want me to lead Dominion, isn’t it? You trust me.”

  “Yes. I trust you,” Vengerov purred. “You have my processor in your head. I have no reason to doubt you ever again.”

  For a moment, Tom took in the sight of Dalton’s smile fading when he realized he’d finally won the power he’d always sought—at the expense of his mastery over himself.

  “Is the boy still there?”

  Tom tensed.

  “I think so,” Dalton whispered.

  “We’re almost there. Delay his departure.”

  Goose bumps pricked up over Tom’s spine. He thrust aside the stuff he’d gathered for his mom, because he could buy her stuff anywhere. He raced over to her where she was standing by the door, grabbed her arm. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked tonelessly.

  “Elsewhere.”

  Tom heard Dalton’s footsteps beat up behind them, and whirled around to face him. He raised a fist like he was going to punch him, and Dalton yelped and stumbled back a step reflexively. Tom felt a flash of certainty he wasn’t going to stop them.

  “Stay back,” Tom told her.

  “You won’t get out of here,” Dalton told him. “As soon as you breached the perimeter alarm, he told me he was going to see you.”

  And there could be no good reason for it. Vengerov obviously knew Tom had found out the truth about his mother—and didn’t intend to let him walk away with the knowledge. Tom wasn’t leaving her here for them.

  “If you come after me, I’ll kill you,” he warned Dalton. He grabbed his mother’s arm and pulled her out with him.

  ON THE ELEVATOR down, he tried net-sending Vik, Wyatt, Yuri, Blackburn, anyone.

  Error: Frequency unavailable. Message not sent.

  Tom wasn’t sure how Blackburn’s neural link worked, but he tried shouting at the air, “Lieutenant Blackburn, WHERE ARE YOU?”

  Nothing.

  The neural link was a one-way connection, and obviously at this moment, Blackburn wasn’t peeking in.

  Vengerov had to be close enough to jam his wireless signal. Tom’s mind raced, trying to figure out why Vengerov was coming here, what he wanted with him. Tom wasn’t going to wait. He’d hook in and find some machines to use to defend himself if he had to. He was just pressing his remote access node into his brain stem port when the doors slid open, and a swarm of security guards poured in. “You! Freeze!”

  Tom slammed his fist into the nearest guard, and kicked him away, shoving the other men back as well. He was only vaguely aware of a faint clatter as he jolted back into the elevator and hit the button to close the door, his brain racing.

  Tom’s hand flew back to his neural access port, and he realized with a spring of shock in his stomach that they’d knocked the remote access node out of his hand—that it was in the lobby. He couldn’t hook into any machines and bring them here.

  Across from him, empty-eyed as a statue, Delilah watched him. There was something so unsettling about her presence here. It occurred to Tom suddenly that he had no idea what was going on in her head. For all he knew, Vengerov was using her to spy on him, to keep his position in his sight.

  “Close your eyes,” Tom ordered her.

  She closed them.

  They arrived on the top floor. If Vengerov was driving toward them, Tom just had to get high enough, out of the range of his jammer. Then he could tell someone at the Spire what was happening. Or better yet, he could summon a drone of his own and defend himself.

  But once he was on the roof, he tried sending the signal again, and roared in frustration when, Error: Frequency unavailable. Message not sent blinked before his eyes.

  Tom let out a breath and turned on his mom, searching her face desperately. “Open your eyes!”

  Her blue eyes popped open again, as clear and empty as a glass of water.

  “There has to be some bit of you still in there. Don’t you remember me at all?”

  “You’re Thomas,” she replied. “My son. You’re a delinquent. You have poor manners and no respect for your elders.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know what Dalton programmed you to think. But what do you think?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Mom, come on. You have to be in there somewhere!”

  She blinked back at him.

  Tom buried his hands in his hair, trying to work out what to do. He couldn’t let Dalton take her back. He couldn’t let this go on. He couldn’t let that bastard keep her here like some slave.

  What if Dalton had been telling the truth about them removing most of her brain? Tom opened his eyes and stared at her, thinking of what would be left in there without a frontal lobe in her brain. Was she still alive, really, if it was just the neural processor keeping her heart beating, her lungs breathing?

  Should he . . .

  Would it be a mercy for him to just hook into her neural processor and deactivate it?

  Tom recoiled from the thought. It was like killing her. He couldn’t do that. He wasn’t sure what to do.

  And then the choice was taken out of his hands.

  A humming filled the air above him, and Tom threw up a hand, squinting against the glare of a searchlight as a helicopter soared down onto the roof with him. Tom stepped in front of her, not sure how he’d keep her from going back to Vengerov and Dalton—but determined to
do so.

  To his profound shock, Joseph Vengerov himself alighted from the helicopter and strolled calmly across the roof toward him, his long black coat rustling in the breeze.

  “Hello, Mr. Raines.”

  “What are you doing here?” Tom demanded, his voice shaking.

  “The better question is, what are you doing here? What could you hope to accomplish, taking her with you?”

  “Stay away from her.” A hot red tide crashed over his brain, battering him from the inside. “You better stay back. After what you did to her, what you did to . . .” To his whole life, really. His entire childhood. To his dad. Everything, everything was the fault of the hateful, grasping oligarch in front of him, a man who had the entire world at his feet and it still wasn’t enough. Tom’s heart was pounding furiously in his ears. If he killed him, it would be for the best. What Vengerov wanted to do to the world was unforgivable.

  “Stop me then.” Vengerov spread his arms. “Go ahead. Attack.”

  Tom wanted to. He was desperate to. But he felt like a cold fist gripped him, held him in place, when he would’ve ripped forward and punched him.

  Of course, the program hard-wired to his neural processor, to all their processors—Joseph Vengerov’s protection from peril at the hands of his own machines.

  Tom gritted his teeth, and he’d never been so livid, he’d never been so ready to cross a line and destroy someone, and there’d never been anyone who deserved it so much. He saw Dalton appear, slipping out of the stairwell, and a surge of helpless rage gripped him. “I’m not letting her go back to you.”

  “You have no choice.” The roving lights of the helicopter flashed over Vengerov’s pale hair, his icy features. “Her fate has already been decided. What did you think to accomplish, stealing her away? Your mother isn’t there anymore. She’s not even human anymore. She has the brain matter of a reptile.”

  “Because of you! You did this!”

  “There were kinks to work out. Your mother provided an invaluable service to humanity.”

  “Like the thousand soldiers you killed in Russia?” Tom hurled at him. “Or Lieutenant Blackburn and the three hundred you killed here?”