Luca (6 page)

Qaara nods.

“You might say I’ve become an unwilling expert on the Krebs Cycle. It’s vital to my existence. Life and death, really. That tends to focus one's attention.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Simple. It’s the cellular engine. A gift of evolution. How our bodies convert carbohydrates, proteins and fats into carbon dioxide, water and energy. When it stops working, we die.” Mercer leans back in the chair and laughs with abandon.

“I know about the Krebs Cycle, but I still don’t understand what you mean about citric acid.”

“My Krebs Cycle doesn’t work without a constant flow of citric acid. If I don’t munch on lemons all day, I get sick. It's the price of the imperfect genetic engineering work done on my genes. A nearly fatal flaw that has turned me into something of a sourpuss.” He takes another bite of the lemon and chews, eyes on the floating molecule. “Your genetic engineering was done much later than mine. You’re closer to physical perfection. But you still pay an awful price.”

“I still don’t under—”

“I’ve seen your files, the personality scans. The psychoanalytic assays.” Mercer takes another bite of the lemon. “You carry a heavy load. Your father refuses to allow you the luxury of failure. He poured everything into you, and now he expects a return on his investment: nothing less than perfection.” Mercer holds up the last piece of lemon and appraises it like one might a diamond. “Overall, I got a better deal than you did. A bit of damage to my body but less damage to my soul.”

Qaara keeps her eyes on the floor. Everything Mercer says is true.

“Now, about this pesky molecule you’ve been working on for the last half year.” Mercer pops the last piece of lemon into his mouth and licks his lips. “I’ve seen your dedication and the nearly impossible energy you’ve poured into the solution, which, I take it, still eludes you.”

It occurs to Qaara that she has stopped breathing. She lifts her head and fills her lungs. “It might help if you could give me more background, some context for . . .
this
.” Her hands reach out to the floating hologram.

“You’ve read my mind.” Mercer moves across the office, pulls a chair out from under a table and walks it back, dropping into it and motioning for Qaara to sit beside him. “I’ve held off for the last six months because I didn’t think you needed to know. But now I see I’ve been mistaken. Have a seat here beside me so we can talk. I’ll tell you
everything
.”

She paces in front of the window. “I prefer to stand, if you don’t mind. I do my best thinking on my feet. Keeps my brain moving.” She glances at Mercer from the corner of her eye.

“I have so much to tell you, Qaara.”

A tremble runs down her spine like a row of falling dominoes. “I’m anxious to hear it.”

“Good. I thought you might be. Now, about those lights.” Mercer pulls a pair of glacier glasses out of his pocket, round titanium frames with neon blue lenses like bottomless mirrors. There’s the sound of gentle suction as they seal around his eyes. “My less-than-perfect genmods left me with severe sensitivity to light. Another unfortunate defect. I’m forced to bathe my eyes in darkness. I sometimes forget how alone I am in that.”

In the ceiling, panels of soft radiance come on.

“Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“People think I’m evil, always working in the dark.” Mercer chuckles. “I hope to show you it’s not true.”

Qaara remains standing, hands clasped behind her back, careful to keep a distance. “I’m all ears.” She stares at the dark hair combed and pasted to Mercer's head, like plastic.

He produces a clear glass cube from his pocket. “This contains all I know about the molecule. Only a handful of people are familiar with parts of what I’m about to show you, but I’ve been careful to give no one the full picture. It’s been extraordinarily difficult keeping it secret all these years. Certain measures have regrettably been forced upon me. People have died. I’m not proud of that. But I can’t afford to let the secret out. Much too risky. Until now. I trust you, but just the same, you should assume everything I’m going to reveal is covered by the company’s confidentiality agreement that you signed six months ago. It's imperative you keep all of this to yourself.” His head turns to the side, presenting the profile of a perfectly chiseled nose, mirror-covered eyes focusing on the open door.

“Understood.” Qaara picks her slate off a nearby desk and taps the surface as she tries to remember signing a confidentiality agreement. Not that it matters. She knows better than to cross Mercer.
People have died.
Surprising that Mercer would confirm the rumors. The door panel slides shut without a sound. She inhales to still her surging pulse.

“Do I have your word you’ll cooperate?”

“You have my guarantee of secrecy. My office is swept for sniffers and listening devices every morning. Standard procedure. I’ve been here all day, so I know it’s clean. Don't worry. We are perfectly alone.”

“I like that.” Mercer stares ahead. “I like that very much. It’s nice to know I can trust you to keep quiet. It’s been too long since I could trust anyone. But there are certain other obligations that come with knowing what I am about to show you.”

“Obligations?”

“Nothing to worry about.” He fingers the glass cube and seems to stare through it. “You’re already in deep on this project. Nothing wrong with going a little deeper. Pop that in your holo machine. Let’s see what comes out.” He tosses the cube on a long, slow arc through the air.

Qaara catches it in one hand and walks to a round sphere on a table to her right. With the touch of a finger, a square hole opens in the middle. She drops in the cube, and with a warm hum, it gets pulled into the interior.

She looks into empty air at the center of the room, waiting for the hologram to appear.

A three-dimensional view of a rocky plain hangs between her and Mercer. Low mountains rise in the distance.

“Transvaal, South Africa.” Mercer leans forward. “Thirty years ago. I was five, and Genesis Corporation was a medium-sized mining company run by my father. They were doing a survey for diamond-rich deposits, drilling in some of the oldest known rock layers in the world.”

“How old?” Qaara says.

“I knew you would ask. But, then again, that’s one of the things I like about you. You’re thorough.” The blue mirrors on Mercer’s face point squarely at the holo, hiding his eyes. “This location was dated at 3.5 billion years, only one billion years short of the age of the Earth.”

Qaara has the feeling Mercer is staring at her instead of the holo. She takes a long, slow inhale. “What did they find in the rock? Something
unusual
, I assume.”

“Your instincts are right on. It’s a great story.” Mercer relaxes into the chair as if he savors the sound of his own voice. “On this particular day, the drill bit got stuck at 500 meters. As my father tells it, it just stopped and wouldn’t budge.”

Qaara drops her hands into her lab coat pockets, faking an appearance of relaxation. “Based on what I’ve heard, that’s not unusual.” Her mind races to uncover the direction the conversation is going and why Mercer is even talking about it. “Drill bits get stuck all the time.”

“Not when they’re tipped with nanotwined cubic boron nitride. NTCBN. I’m sure you’re familiar with it. The hardest substance in the universe, or so we thought. Cuts through diamond like it’s wet clay.”

Qaara nods. “I studied its molecular structure as an undergraduate at—”

“Yes, of course.” Mercer’s head floats up from the holo and drifts to the side. “My father had them pull up the line and look at the drill bit. Standard procedure.” He stops talking, as if waiting for Qaara to ask the obvious question.

She exhales and obliges. “What did they find?”

“The bit was bent and broken, snapped in two. It had come up against something harder, buried in the Earth’s crust in 3.5 billion-year-old rock.” Mercer's hand fishes inside his black suit jacket and pulls out a narco-pipe. “Do you mind?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before bringing the tube to his lips and inhaling deeply. “It keeps me calm and engaged.”

Qaara says nothing, eyeing Mercer’s reflection in the window.

He relaxes deeper into the chair. “So they tried to drill through it, again and again. This went on for three days.” Another long drag on the pipe. “In the end, they broke twenty drill bits. Each one cost a million IMUs. Not cheap, even back then.”

“So what did they do?” Qaara speaks without turning. “Give up?”

Mercer laughs. “You never met my father, did you? He
never
gave up. Even when he should have. The most stubborn man alive. No, after they broke all their drill bits, my father had to know what was harder than the NTCBN. So he had them dig a mine shaft, two meters in diameter, all the way down to the point of impact. Through five hundred meters of bedrock.” He sucks on the narco-pipe. “Now, would you like to know what they found?”

Qaara nods, not sure why Mercer is playing this game.

“They followed the drill line all the way down and found it bending to the side, out of alignment, almost like whatever was down there
wanted
to be found.”

Qaara’s eyebrows rise and wrinkle her smooth forehead. “What exactly did they find?”

“This.” Mercer’s hand reaches into his pocket and carefully scoops out a black lump the size of his fist, balanced on his palm.

“What is it?”

Mercer allows the hint of a smile. “That
is
the ultimate question, isn’t it? Would you like a look?” He tosses it through the air to Qaara.

More by instinct than intention, her hand darts up and tries to snatch it mid-arc. From all appearances, its surface is rough and wet, like fresh mud. But when it makes contact with her fingers, she can’t
feel
it. All she senses is the resistance of a hard object, like glass covered in oil. It slips through her fingers, and she gropes for it with the other hand. It seems to pass through her skin before falling to the floor with a loud thud. No bounce. It simply hits the floor and sticks like a magnet.

Bending down to retrieve it, she looks up at Mercer. “Sorry. It seems to have slipped through my hands.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not you. This stuff isn’t easy to catch or hold. Like a beautiful woman.” His gaze follows Qaara as she tries and fails to pick the rock up from the floor.

Each time, it slips from her fingers like a live fish.

“Allow me.” Mercer gently scoops up the lump with two hands. “I’ve had years of practice with slippery things. The trick is to get your fingers under it and keep it balanced. Don’t grip it. After a while, you get used to not being able to
feel
it. Just trust that it’s there, in your hand.” As he holds it out in his palm for her to get a closer view, the twin mirrors on his face focus intently on her.

Feeling his stare, she bends forward, and her head goes into the space occupied by the holo. “Looks like a lump of wet coal.” Her eyes meet the neon mirrors, still staring at her. “I’m confused. Why are you showing this to me?”

Mercer takes a step back and sits in the chair behind him. His gaze goes to the holo floating between them. “After my father found this rock, he took it back to the company’s R&D lab for analysis. They confirmed that it was harder than any known substance. It had snapped twenty drill bits and didn’t even leave a mark. It got his attention. He figured that, if he could replicate and manufacture it, it would be worth billions of IMUs. And that would only be the beginning.”

Qaara speaks in a near whisper. “Your father never did figure it out, did he?”

“How did you know?” Mercer shows a hint of a smile.

“I studied materials science at MIT. Nothing has ever been published about what you are describing. If it’s true—” She pauses after making such a bold statement. “It would have been nearly impossible to keep such a monumental discovery a secret.”

Mercer leans back, purses his lips and brings his fingers together in a steeple. “Very perceptive. And completely accurate. My father spent twenty-five years and billions on the project but never discovered what this was made of.” He bounces the lump a couple of times in his hand. The index finger of his other hand strokes its black surface, as if it were alive. “To his dying day, my father dreamed of solving this riddle.” The lenses on his glacier glasses slowly turn transparent. One of his eyebrows rises half a millimeter.

As their eyes meet, Qaara feels a stab of cold move down her spine. She returns to the holo, still showing a barren plain in South Africa. “And so—”

“And so I continued the project after my father’s untimely death.” Mercer’s fingers cradle the black lump. “Three years ago, we made an astounding discovery. Everything fell into place.”

“Discovery?” Qaara takes a step forward. “What sort of discovery?”

Mercer smiles, and heavy footsteps move across the floor outside the door, like a herd of small elephants.

More by instinct than design, Qaara picks the slate off the desk a couple of feet away and runs her finger across its surface. A fisheye view of the outside of the office appears on the clear plastic.

She sees men in black combat gear flanking the door, six on each side. In unison, they raise their pulse rifles and load. The sound of crisp clicks floats through the wall.

“Don’t be alarmed. It’s just a precaution, to protect both of us,” Mercer says. “I’m about to disclose some very sensitive information to you.”

Qaara’s pulse jumps. “About what?”

“About this.” Mercer eyes the dark object in his hand. “Something I learned after my father’s death.” The index finger of his other hand stretches out and taps the side of the rock.

After a pause, there’s a slight humming sound, and a piece of the rock slides open, like a tiny drawer. Inside, Qaara sees a green jewel the shape of a crescent moon.

7

TRIBE

Jedd steps outside into the night air of the Fringe.

His lungs instantly revolt at the chemical stench of reclaimed plastic and recycled carbon. He pulls a soft pink tube from his pocket, finds the opening in the middle and slips it between his teeth so it’s protruding from the corners of his mouth. As his lips close around the filter, he thinks of the dog he had as a kid, back when he was traveling with the Family. It always carried a favorite stick between its teeth, eager to play fetch with anyone who had the time.