“Why does she want to delete me?” Con asked.
“Because you have eighteen months of lag. That’s so far outside our safe range, we don’t even have reliable data for it. The board is concerned that if they discharge you, and you become”—Laleh paused, searching for a diplomatic way to say it—“unreliable, it’ll be a public-relations nightmare. Palingenesis can’t afford to give anti-cloning advocates any more ammunition.”
That was a lot of information to absorb all at once, but Con knew Laleh was right. In the early days of Palingenesis, there had been incidents of clones experiencing psychotic breaks. A tragic standoff with the Chicago police had ended in a clone murdering his entire family before turning the gun on himself. Right up until the end, he’d insisted that he’d only negotiate with David Lyons. The police tried and failed to convince him that he was, in fact, David Lyons. Critics still pointed to the “Chicago Massacre” as proof of the necessity for a federal moratorium on cloning. Palingenesis had worked tirelessly in the years since to reassure the public that such anomalies were behind them. If the company decided Con put that effort at risk, it would go to any lengths to protect its interests.
Laleh continued, “As long as you remain on premises, you’re not a person. Do you understand? They can delete you and write it up any way they want. No one would ever know you’d been revived at all.”
Con shivered. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. This might be a mistake. The board could be right. I’ll be honest, the chances that you won’t have serious psychological issues are low.”
“How low?”
Laleh glanced away. “I don’t know. Palingenesis has run simulations for lag over twelve months, but it’s purely theoretical. We know that as lag increases, it stresses the body’s ability to accept a download. That’s why we lock clients out after only ninety days, and you’re at eighteen months without a refresh.”
“What’s the laggiest download that’s been attempted?”
“You’re it. By a mile, and there’s no way to know for certain how it will affect you.” Laleh hesitated. “Look, if you want, I’ll put you back under. It’ll be peaceful. No pain, I promise. But I figure you deserve to make that call for yourself.”
Maybe if she’d had a better grasp of what waited for her, how hard it would be out there, Con would have climbed back onto the examination table and let Laleh reconnect the IVs. But despite how heavily her depression had worn on her of late, she’d never considered suicide. She wasn’t ready to start now.
“Nah, I’ve already got my shoes on,” Con said, hoping she sounded braver than she felt.
Laleh smiled, co-conspirators now. “Follow me, then.”
She led Con out into a long, windowless hallway. It was slow going, and Con trailed a hand along the wall to help keep her balance. Walking felt more complex than she remembered, and she had to focus on each leg separately to complete a single step. Despite the bright lights and high ceiling, she sensed that they were deep underground. They passed a series of vault-like doors numbered “W1” through “W8” and stopped at a deserted nurses’ station.
“Where is everyone?” Con asked.
“Sleeping,” Laleh said. “Alarms wake the overnight staff if there’s a problem. Don’t worry, I deactivated yours.”
“How’s the security?”
“In the client wing, it’s intense but outward facing.”
Con gave her a questioning look.
“Designed to keep people out, not in,” Laleh explained. “We’ve had some attempted breakins by Children of Adam and other nutjobs. They want video of our inactive clones for their propaganda campaign. No one’s ever broken out before, though, so we have that going for us.”
The echo of boots snapped them both to attention. Security guards making their rounds and coming this way, by the sound of it. Laleh cursed under her breath and cast around for a place to hide. The nurses’ station was too small, and there wasn’t time to make it to the next junction in the corridor. Laleh dragged Con back the way they’d come.
The footfalls grew louder. There was no chance they’d be able to retreat all the way to the surgical suite—not with Con waddling like a drunk penguin. Laleh pulled up at the vault numbered “W7,” swiped her ID badge, inputted her biometrics, and then slapped the door when it didn’t swing open quickly enough.