The door led to a stairwell that took her up to the underground parking garage. It was mostly deserted, but Laleh guided her on a winding path to avoid security camera hot spots, then up a spiral vehicle ramp. At the top, Laleh remotely unlocked a service-access door that let Con out onto a loading dock. Maybe she should have felt more relief at stepping outside. After all, she was now officially a person, at least by Palingenesis’s self-serving definition, and not some laboratory experiment scheduled for deletion. But it was hard to feel victorious—her head throbbed, her hands seemed to have a mind of their own, and her lungs burned from climbing the flight of stairs. Not to mention the vivid hallucination. She’d wait until she was safely home to start celebrating her escape.
A wall of summertime humidity hit her on the other side of the door. Her LFD said it was mid-June, which rationally she knew it must be, but that felt wrong, nonetheless. Her memory clung to the belief that it had to be December since it had been December when she got up this morning.
Reconciling the year and a half that had passed since was not proving an easy sell. In any event, she had definitely missed the Weathervane gigs. She hoped Kala understood. Then it occurred to her that her original hadn’t missed the show. The original would have gone after the refresh eighteen months ago. But since that had happened outside the scope of the refresh, Con had no memory of it. Thoughts like that were going to make her lose her mind. What else had she missed in the last eighteen months?
Laleh directed her to a backpack hidden behind a dumpster. Inside were a box of protein shakes and five different bottles of pills.
The pills will help manage the transition, Laleh typed. It’ll mask some of the side effects until you acclimate. Go ahead and take one of each now.
Acclimate to what? Con replied.
Being alive.
That brought Con to a halt. She stared at those two words. Being alive? What does that mean?
Sorry. What Palingenesis does is incredibly complex and delicate. Like any transplant, there is the risk of rejection. Except, in this case, it’s a neurological and psychological rejection.
What kind of pills are these?
Mood stabilizers. An antipsychotic. The others manage the neurological adaptation.
AN ANTIPSYCHOTIC!? Con typed. She definitely didn’t remember that from the brochure. Though it might explain her hallucination in the vault.
I know how it sounds, but Palingenesis has a very prescribed regimen for transitioning a clone into the world. And we just skipped all of it. The pills are part of that process, and hopefully they will get you over the hump. I wish I had more time to explain, but you have to keep moving.
Why are you helping me?
There was a pause long enough that Con wondered if their connection had been broken.
Because this is my fault. After ninety days, it was my responsibility to put a hold on your account. Honestly, I thought I had.
What’s going to happen to you? Con asked.
They put me on administrative leave, pending a review. I’m supposed to write up a report, but they’re going to fire me tomorrow. I would. Helping you will just speed up the process.
Thank you, Con typed. I mean it.
Hopefully you still mean it in a few days. Oh, and take it easy on solid food at first. Your digestive tract will take time to adjust. There’s also a series of probiotics in the backpack for you to take.
I will.
Be careful out there. Palingenesis won’t let this go just because you’re out. They have too much riding on it.
What are they going to do? I thought they couldn’t delete me now?
Probably not. But I wouldn’t bet my life on how far they’re willing to go to protect their interests. If it were me, I’d let as many people as possible know I was alive. Anonymity is not your friend right now.
It was good advice. Con thanked Laleh a third time and closed the message window. Then she shouldered the backpack and started for home, eager to put some distance between herself and Palingenesis.
CHAPTER SIX
Con lived in Takoma, a neighborhood in the northeast corner of the city on the Maryland line. The fastest way home was the Metro. Unfortunately, the way to the nearest Metro stop led straight past Palingenesis’s front entrance. She didn’t relish the prospect of dealing with the protesters again, not after the day she’d had; however, until her walking improved, she didn’t think she should risk taking the scenic route. But when she turned the corner, everything was peaceful. The protesters had called it a night, and only a handful of righteous stalwarts kept a silent vigil. One lonely holdout rested a handmade sign on his shoulder. It read: “Clones ≠ Human.” Succinct at least. She gave him a bitter thumbs-up, but it must have been too late for sarcasm because he smiled, grateful for her support.