“And outstanding recommendations,” the man added, nodding encouragingly at her. “Including one from Dr. Mercer himself.”
“But your strong suit,” the woman continued, “seems to be neuroscience, including holomentic interpretation, dream analysis and old-fashioned therapy. Your coursework suggests this is also where your true interests lie, multi-talented as you are. Very interesting, especially for a young woman with your…unusual background.”
As she feared, the compound reared its ubiquitous head again. The woman paused, waiting for a response, but Amira was well versed in deflecting the topic. After months of planning for this moment, an offhand remark would not unseat her.
“It’s an exciting line of study, and a rewarding one,” Amira said. “We know the body so well, but the mind is something we’re still just beginning to scratch the surface of.”
“The community you came from is known for its interest in manipulating the minds of its followers,” the woman said with shrewd eyes, scanning through a file on the desk’s monitor. “Hallucinogenic drugs, forced mental conditioning, ideas of unified thought and action. Has that factored into your decision to specialize in holomentic reading?”
“Only in showing me the difference between science and manipulation,” Amira said quickly. “The place I came from uses lesser technology to control others. I want to help people suffering from past trauma and study consciousness without bias. I want to help people control their own minds, especially where past trauma has made that challenging.”
“Hmm. And where would you ultimately like to take those skills?”
Amira pulled herself upright in her seat. “One of the space stations,” she said. “The Carthage or Volta, perhaps, or maybe even the Osiris station someday.”
The woman snorted audibly. The man raised his eyebrows.
“The Osiris station?” he said. “Ambitious!”
“Quite,” the woman said drily. “Very ambitious, especially for a young woman of twenty-five with only seven years of higher education. You are talented, of course. You’ve been through a lot and have a very compelling history, which never hurts in this atypical climate we find ourselves in. But to do research on one of the stations, especially the Osiris, is reserved for the seasoned and the true elite. Only the best in the world go into space, no matter how they score at Placement.”
Amira nodded. The words stung, but she suspected the woman was not being purposefully harsh – the Academy had never assigned someone so young to the stations. The Volta station’s chief scientist, Victor Zhang, was producing some of his best research at one hundred and forty-six years, and his advanced age was not an anomaly. And it was foolish to mention the Osiris – its notorious secrecy had inflated its myth in the public consciousness, inspiring wild theories about the station’s purpose. An interest in the Osiris may have suggested a speculative mind, not a serious, inquiring one. Regret gnawed at the corners of her thoughts.
The man, reading her expression, chimed in. “But an excellent long-term goal. With the right inclinations and a willingness to work, you can do anything, and I truly believe that. If you—”
“After careful review by the board,” the woman continued, “we have found an assignment for you that we believe will truly benefit all. You will remain here in Westport, so you can continue your classes part time, and avoid the usual break that throws so many of your promising colleagues back.”
Amira stared at her, making eye contact for the first time in the room. “Here in Greater Westport?”
“Yes,” the woman said with a wry smile. “You’ll like this as well – it’s with a little project underway at the Mendel-Soma building in the Aldwych district. You want to join the elite and push boundaries. The Pandora initiative has a special effort underway to do just that. A small team of geneticists experimenting with embryonic replication technology. No doubt you’ve heard of it?”
Amira’s heart sank. She held the woman’s gaze, silent as her heart pounded at the base of her throat. Of course she had heard of it. Everyone had. It was all over the news, debated in coffee shops, the focus of the media from every possible volatile angle. The last thing Amira wanted.
The woman waited for an answer, brows slightly arched. Amira smothered her disappointment and lifted her chin, plastering cool acceptance over a practiced smile. “Pandora. The Cloning Division.”
* * *
“You must be very excited,” the man with the koala hair said, trailing after Amira on short, waddling legs. “I’m Perkins, by the way.”
She managed a smile. “I am.”
They crossed the winding stairs that led from the Dunning Academy of New Science’s main complex to the courtyard, a spacious quadrangle overtaken by lounging students and exotic plants. Amira moved as though the wind were carrying her, dragging her where it pleased. Under the deceptively bright Westport sky, the Osiris space station felt further from her grasp than ever. Before reaching the world above the world, she would have to survive the political minefield of Aldwych. Her lie during her Placement exam would not be her last. She forced herself to keep smiling.
“Ah, what a wonderful coincidence!” Perkins waved excitedly at a tall man in a white lab coat. “Dr. Barlow, yes? Do you have a minute? This is M. Amira Valdez, one of our best and brightest, and the newest member of your group. Amira, this is Tony Barlow, one of the doctors on the Pandora project.”
“Nice to meet you.” Barlow nodded distractedly in her direction.
“A very talented student,” Perkins continued. “Brilliant at holomentic reading. She will be providing some much-needed psychiatric support that I believe Dr. Singh herself had requested.”
“I may have heard something to that effect,” Barlow said.
He paused, and Amira realized that he was staring directly at her right hand. She closed her scarred palm reflexively and returned his gaze. His expression was difficult to read, but she was clearly being viewed with new interest.
“Which Holy Community did you come to us from?” Barlow asked.
“Ah, yes,” Perkins said before she could answer. “What a story! To escape from that awful place in the desert and end up here. Barely a possession to her name when she arrived, Dr. Mercer told me.”
“Children of the New Covenant,” Amira replied, careful to keep her voice neutral.
“I watched a Stream documentary on them,” Perkins said. “Fascinating. The New Covenants are a more diverse lot than the Trinity and Remnant Faithfuls, are they not?”
Amira glared with eyes like dark razors and Perkins snapped into silence. She turned away guiltily from the genial man’s crestfallen face.