Moira went on. “We take embryos left over from in vitro procedures—there are millions of them all over the world, tiny cellular clusters of potential—and we raise them, well, in vitro—in glass—and plant the computer chip at just the right moment of embryonic brain growth. The brain grows over and around it, and we monitor it very closely every day. Once the subject reaches nine months of gestation, we can begin transferring data to the chip. Then, when we wake the subject—”
“They already know their ABCs and 123s,” Andreyev finished.
“Oh, much more than that. Basic motor functions, a rudimentary knowledge of math and history. The chip is brilliant, an extremely valuable technology in and of itself. Why, the opportunities afforded us by the chip, even without the imprint technology, is enough to—”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Victoria. “Explain to Mr. Andreyev the imprint technology. That is, after all, what he is here to see.” She extended a tight smile to the Russian that made her face look as if it were made of Saran wrap.
“Yes,” Moira said, a bit faintly. “Of course. The imprint technology is what makes the Vitros so . . . interesting. I developed it myself.”
“And we are very pleased with your work,” said Victoria, and she and Moira’s eyes met in a glacial lock. They looked like rival cheerleaders vying for the spot at the top of the pyramid, only instead of lipstick and pompoms these cheerleaders had P.h.D.’s and secret laboratories to play with.
“How long has she been sleeping?” Andreyev steepled his index fingers and pressed them to his lips as he leaned back in his chair, regarding Sophie from beneath a low brow.
“Seventeen years,” said Moira. “That’s the only way this works. We can’t wake them until we are ready for them to bond with someone. You have to be the very first person they see, and then they’ll never imprint on anyone else. This is Lux’s first impression of the world, and because you are the first one she has seen, you have become the center of her world.”
“Well,” said Andreyev, his frown deepening. “But why? How does it work?”
Victoria’s eyes flitted to Moira.
“Ah,” said Sophie’s mother patiently. “Many species of animals are born with the instinct to imprint. Ducks are a prime example. A newly hatched duckling imprints on the first thing it sees, whether that’s its mother, a human being, or in some cases even an inanimate object like a shoe or a duck decoy. It will follow that first impression—the imprintee—in order to learn how to function. How to forage for food, how to court, how to migrate. Even humans have this instinct to a lesser extent. It’s the reason a baby can identify its mother apart from other people.” She stepped toward Sophie and slowly ran her fingers over a lock of her hair; it was all Sophie could do not to flinch. “The chip isolates this imprinting instinct in the brain and amplifies it exponentially. In essence, it creates a deep, psychological need in the subject, a need to imprint, to mold itself around the mind and will of another. It creates a hole in the subject’s psyche that is filled by the first person that the subject sees upon waking for the first time.” She fell silent for a moment, her eyes studying Sophie with a slight tension around their corners. Then she turned to Andreyev. “The moment Lux awoke, her chip activated, and all that information—the ABCs and 123s, as you call them, as well as her motor functions, her memory, every cognitive process in her brain—it all clicked into place with you at its center.”
Andreyev swallowed. “I did read the files, of course. I didn’t think . . .” He stopped and cleared his throat, looking very unsettled. “I didn’t realize . . .”
“It’s a lot to take in,” Victoria said crisply. “We know that.”
“Yes.” His voice was hoarse. He looked as if he wanted to be as far from Sophie—Lux—as possible.
“Her will is bound to yours. She will obey any command you give her,” Moira went on, a bit vengefully. “She has no will of her own, no sense of self. Her identity is wholly formed around yours.”
“I understand.” Andreyev’s eyes shifted around the room. His left hand, which rested on his knee, opened and closed convulsively. “It’s just . . . she looks so young, so innocent.”
“Of course, that’s part of the charm of the Vitros,” Victoria said, too brightly, as if she were trying to counter the somber depression that had settled over the room, gathering like shadows in the corners. “They are aesthetically pleasing, as well. Surely you see the possibilities? And you read the section about the various classes, I hope?”
“Yes. . . . Well, parts of it.”
“Moira?”
Moira gave a grunt of affirmation. “The classes, yes. By specially designing the code on each Vitro’s chip, we have been able to create a diverse range of specializations. Lux, for example, is what we call a Class Three Bodyguard. She may not look the part, but that is by design. Her chip is supplied with the kinetic and mental resources that will keep her on constant defensive mode. If you are ever threatened, she will intervene on your behalf to defend you against all threats. The only thing that would stop her from protecting you would be a command given by you.”
“And the other classes,” said Andreyev. “They all exist?”
“Of course. We have a prototype Vitro for each category. Lux is, of course, the eighth successfully imprinted Vitro to be born on Skin Island.”
“Only the eighth?” He frowned. “I thought there were more than that.”
“Well. There are four others—early subjects. They didn’t . . . They weren’t successful. However, of the eight—any of whom we can demonstrate for you—we have another bodyguard. We have three domestics, programmed in cooking, housekeeping, and such duties. We have three intelligence models, who specialize in research, memory, translation, and information processing.”
“And of course, these are only the classes we have already produced,” Victoria added. “But the possibilities are limitless: soldiers, nannies, pilots, whatever you can think of, we can manufacture.”
“It’s a limitless new world,” said Moira softly, her gaze traveling to Sophie but not quite meeting her eyes. “And we are only just beginning to explore it.”
Sophie felt bile rise in her throat. So this was Skin Island. This was the Great Secret Thing that had lurked between her and her mother for so long. Her blood pounded angrily through her veins; she had never felt such deep, total revulsion. It’s a hideous new world. And you are its architect.
THIRTEEN JIM
“Sophie?” Jim scrambled to his knees and crawled to her. “Hey, you okay?”
Her eyes were stretched wide and fastened on him. She said nothing, only looked at him with such intensity that the hair on his neck rose on end. The sea was reflected in her turquoise eyes.“Hey,” he said, softer, “what happened to you, huh?”
She sat with her legs bent to one side, her hands clutching the sand. Her feet and legs were bare; the hospital gown she wore fluttered in the wind, hugging her slim frame. He hesitantly reached out, cupped her shoulders in his palms, and studied her face. The relief he’d felt when she’d opened her eyes was fading away, back into concern.
“Did you find your mom? Did Nicholas do this to you? Sophie?” He hadn’t forgotten that the other kids were still hunting for them, and he scanned the beach and the trees for any sign of them. “We have to get out of here. We have to swim . . .” But as he said it, he realized it was impossible. The tide was at its highest, and he could almost see the current between the islands ripping the water. They would never be able to cross it, especially not with Sophie in this condition.
He turned back to her, trying to hide his panic. “Okay. Okay, listen. When you left with Nicholas, he had a boat. Do you remember where he left it?”