Marcus squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting the shot that would end it all. «Bye, Papa. Tell Mama I love her.»
«Marcus! What’s happening!»
Tavik’s continued laughter began to grate on his ears.
“You look so funny standing there waiting to be shot,” Tavik said. He fought to get his laughter under control. “Look, I meant what I said. It’s over. My fucking head hurts too much to deal with all this right now. And this ammo costs too much to waste on you.” He glanced around to where Zoya lay on the floor. “She has what I need. I’ll get her some help. You get the hell out of here. I don’t ever want to see your fat face again, got it? Oh, and you tell that crazy father of yours to leave me alone. Tell him I gave you your life.”
«Marcus!» Javier was practically screaming.
«I’m still here,» he mentally whispered. «Somehow…»
A hand pressed to the back of his head, Tavik weaved over to where Bunny’s body lay on the dais. He bent down and snatched the card from Bunny’s slot. “What the fuck is this?” He turned to look at Marcus, held up the overlong slot card. “This isn’t normal. How can a card do that?”
Marcus shook his head. He had no idea what had happened. How could data on a card do what had happened to Bunny? He wondered if he could push his luck with the gangster. “Please…uh, Tavik. I’ll leave, just like you said. Take whatever you want, but please let me take Zoya to a hospital. She needs help.”
As he glared at Marcus, Tavik’s jaw clenched and released, clenched and released. When he finally responded, it was in a deadly whisper. “She’s my girl. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are. One more word out of you and I’m gonna blow your fucking head off.” He pointed a finger at Marcus. “Remember about your father. He messes with me again, I swear I’ll hunt you down and make your death slow and painful.”
Marcus caught movement from the corner of his eye and saw Zoya using both hands to shove herself to a sitting position. He longed to run to her, but Tavik didn’t sound like he was joking. Her eyes met his, and Marcus prayed that she would understand that he had no choice. He took a step back, stumbled against an overturned chair, and lurched around it toward the exit door. «Papa, can you get a car, a taxi, anything?»
«Yes. Got to get you out of there, immediately. Back to the apartment. Back home to Phoenix. Your friend shouldn’t be feeling much pain now, at least. Leave her be.»
«Yeah.» Marcus nodded, tears welling up in his eyes.
Tavik waited until the fat American had gone before turning his attention back to Zoya. She sat with her back against one of the plastic chairs, one hand cradling her neck and the other cupping the left side of her jaw. Her eyes burned into his with a venom he felt was completely unfair.
He stuck the shard pistol into its holster and knelt down near her. “That bastard. Look what he did to you.” Tavik pushed Zoya’s hands down and carefully brushed his fingers along her swollen and bruised jaw line. “If he isn’t dead, I’ll kill him myself, I swear to God.”
Zoya struggled to breathe. He eyes were bloodshot and no longer met Tavik’s, but were instead darting around as if trying to find something to focus on. Spittle blasted from her lips as she vainly attempted to say something.
“Shhh, don’t try to talk,” Tavik whispered. “I’ll get you to a hospital.” He reached to the side of her head, fumbling for the tiny button that would eject the card from her slot. “You don’t need this now.”
Something slammed hard into Tavik’s left ear, knocking him to the carpet. Waves of pain radiated from his ringing ear. He thought that the fat American must have returned and blindsided him, but when he opened his eyes it was Zoya standing over him, one leg bent at the knee, her foot aimed squarely at Tavik’s face. Before he even had a chance to scream out a protest, the foot whipped downward and smashed his head into the carpet. Only the carpet’s thickness kept him from blacking out.
“You fucker!” came a terrible shriek. The strangest thought occurred to Tavik, that he had never heard Zoya curse before. He opened his eyes in time to see the foot come crashing down again.
Moscow
Sunday, June 8, 2138
9:32 p.m. MSK
The whole universe was pain. Pounding, pulsating, blinding pain beat at his mind and body in ways he never could have imagined in his craziest dreams. Through the pain there was only one bit of knowledge for him to latch onto and desperately cradle — I am Dr. Artyom Vladimirovich Grachev. Repeating this single fact like a mantra was all that kept him sane.
He tried to say it aloud—I am Dr. Artyom Vladimirovich Grachev—but his mouth wouldn’t work. Through the whirlwind of pain, he narrowed his concentration to his mouth alone. It felt all wrong. Besides the pain in his gums, his teeth, his tongue, and any other part of himself that he turned his attention to, it all felt wrong. His jaw felt enormous. He tongue was so thick it filled his cavernous mouth, making it difficult to breathe. His teeth felt jumbled and clenched together in a manner completely unfamiliar to Tyoma.
The repetition of his name suddenly reminded him of another mantra he felt he had recently been repeating—When you wake, it may be in a new body. Thinking this brought back more memories. He was a scientist. The mantra was something he practiced each time he lay down for a mind recording. Could it be…?
No. It’s not possible. This body doesn’t feel like mine at all, even at a younger age. And I’d be in a crèche with lots of tubes sticking out of me. Tyoma tried to open his eyes, but they felt as if they had been welded shut. He focused on his right hand, tried to open and shut it, and found that it too felt all wrong. His hands had always been slender and agile, while this hand felt as meaty and thick as his alien tongue.
“Urgh.” The sound came from his mouth as he breathed out, yet the rumble was much too deep to be his own voice. What the hell has happened to me?
It struck him that the pain had lessened, if only a little. The worst was his head, where it felt as if someone were bludgeoning him with a mallet. He would never say that the pain was bearable, yet it was slowly receding.
Images flashed through his mind of chimps in the lab where they conducted the tests. When they writhed in their cages, was this what they were going through? He’d always known the testing had to be painful, though of course it was necessary if science were to advance, but was it truly this horrific?
There were faint sounds, voices, somewhere nearby but he couldn’t concentrate enough on them to understand anything.
He tried his eyes again, and this time with great effort he managed to open them. Painful light made him squeeze them shut again. He spent what felt like hours but was probably only minutes blinking shallowly to allow his eyes to adjust to the light. When he could keep his eyes open at last, everything was blurry. He saw colors and vague shapes, but he had no idea what he was seeing.
The pain had receded further, except for the pounding headache. He tried to lift an arm, felt it twitch and jerk several times before he managed to bring it up and drop the hand down onto his face. Not his hand. The hand. Because this hand felt about twice the size of his own. The process of lifting the arm taught him another lesson about this body. Despite the weakness he felt through the waves of pain, this body was also very strong. Many times stronger than he had ever been during his life.
With great effort, Tyoma lifted the hand from his face and stared at it. The hand was absolutely not his. It was the hand of a giant, calloused and hard where his own hands had always been pale and soft.