The City Boxset

Chapter 3-2

Grace smiled politely at the joke. “And you’re certain the lab is bio-sealed.”

“Yes. Our system has never failed us. Because the organs are so fragile, you see, a reliable system is paramount to our success. Without it, we’d be out of business in a month. See for yourself.”

The doctor led them down a long aisle with metal tables positioned on either side. Each rectangular slab was divided into eight equal-sized squares, and in the square quadrants lay clear sacks with colorless organs inside.

The tubes and fluids gave the organs a buoyancy. But to Grace, they looked like strange sea creatures. All jelly sacks and tentacles.

She suspected Heron knew what animal she was thinking of but didn’t want to ask him. No doubt his own mother would have had him learn every animal. And more about plants, light, wind, and water than she herself would ever know.

All the things I’ll never teach Kaiden.

Grace coughed to clear her constricting throat.

Dr. Cyrah rested her hand on the shining table, and its color changed. The entire surface was a sensor, Grace realized, monitoring the organs’ condition and progress through their sack-like membranes.

Dr. Cyrah licked her lips and said, “Fifty-eight employees watch these organs in lab fourteen day and night. Even when there are no human eyes on them, a hundred computers relentlessly record every temperature shift, drop in salinity, tissue deterioration, and so forth. Anything that could possibly change in these little environments is automatically corrected or reported to ensure that the organs are not compromised.”

“Yes,” Heron said, nodding. “Imagine what would happen if an organ was unavailable because of some lab malfunction. Angry customers don’t make for good business!”

Dr. Cyrah glared at him.

Grace had seen the commercials while she recuperated in the hospital. They were horrible, actually. Viscosity seemed to revel in the weakness of the human body, reminding viewers that limbs, organs, or even eyes could be torn from their sockets at any time and what will you do if Viscosity isn’t there for you?

Choose Viscosity. Secure your future.

“Fortunately, the organs taken were from storage. There are no active requests for any that were lost. Assuming our consumers remain healthy for the next sixty days, we remain confident that we can replace the organs before they are needed. We can replace and grow any biological tissue here. Your skin, for example.”

Grace looked up and met the scientist’s dancing eyes. The woman reached out and traced the air above Grace’s right cheek, first up to her temple and then down her throat, continuing until she reached Grace’s navel. She was implying that burn covered her chest, her breast, and part of her stomach on that side.

It did. But how could she possibly know that?

“Plasticity did your arm, didn’t they?” Dr. Cyrah asked. She clicked her tongue as if she despised the name of the rival company.

“Yes.” She glanced down at the smooth, bare skin and realized it must be obvious that her arm was bionic. It was a perfect mirror replica of her left, but with all the scarring on this side of her body, no way her arm would be so unblemished.

“The scarring on your face and neck looks to be third-degree burns, some fourth, am I right? We could regrow all of that and graft it right on. Several treatments under the Selsie light, and we could have you perfect again in eight or nine sessions.”

Perfect. Nothing in her life would ever be perfect again.

“I elected not to treat the scars,” Grace said with a pointed stare.

Grace hadn’t wanted her wound erased. If she had to remember what happened every day of her life, why not the rest of the world? Besides, cosmetic work could only be done legally with the permission of the recipient.

The scientist squirmed. “If it’s a matter of price, we can give you a steep discount. It would be excellent publicity for us, and we could even make you—”

Grace’s blood pressure was rising again. She felt the heat in her face.

“Is it true you grow headless specimens here?” Heron asked. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, drawing the doctor’s eyes to him.

Dr. Cyrah looked rightfully offended by the question, her little stub of a nose turning up. “That was before my time. Besides, they had to be headless. People were concerned about the implication of full-bodied clones, even if they were kept in a coma state. It was considered unethical. So the heads and bodies were grown separately.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible given the way the neck, throat, and spinal column connect and—”

“They didn’t have—” Dr. Cyrah’s mouth snapped shut. She looked ready to burst.

“Is anyone missing?” Grace asked, glad Heron had done a wonderful job of turning the conversation away from her scars. Grace gestured around the lab before pointing down the row of long tables, toward the other workers inspecting the equipment and sealed organs.

“Only one,” Dr. Cyrah said, tugging at the bottom of her lab coat, her cheeks still tinted pink. “We have a technician, Ravee Kapur, who didn’t show up for his oh nine hundred shift this morning.”

“Can we get his address and contact information?” Grace asked. She suspected that if the criminal was intelligent—and one must be to exit a bio-sealed building with twenty-six organs discreetly in tow—it would be best to show up for work the next day and answer all the questions as if nothing had happened.

For this reason, Grace expected to encounter their thief during the interviews, not hiding from the authorities. Of course, people did surprise her from time to time with their stupidity. For example, take the bomber who went after the precinct. Lix Richards had remained too close to the scene, not hiding himself at all.

“We’d like a list of all persons permitted in this area,” Heron said, rather haughtily.

“Of course.”

Something caught Grace’s eye. She moved toward the back of the lab, wandering past the glittering, clean tables and softly whirring tech equipment. She excused herself as she squeezed past busy workers and their blinking monitoring systems. Something kept clicking.

Click clack. Click clack.

On the wall was a large portrait of all the workers. Grace was able to spot Dr. Loba Cyrah on the far right, her smile bright, her shoulders pulled back in a picture-perfect pose.

She picked out a few of the other faces: two men and three women who were working the machines closest to her now. But most of the faces were strangers.

Dr. Cyrah stopped beside her. “This was taken at the instructional seminar two Octobers ago.”

“Ah, yes,” Heron said, coming around the tables to squint up at it. “This is Dr. Hillinger’s method.”

“What is?” Dr. Cyrah asked. Her irritation hadn’t left her voice completely. As smitten as the first-floor receptionist had been with the young inspector, it seemed Heron’s charms did not extend to Dr. Cyrah.

Strangely, that made Grace like Heron a little more.

“Dr. Hillinger is a psychologist who proposed that a feeling of home could be created simply by seeing yourself in that place. It mimics a sense of belonging created in home environments, the primary place we see such photographs. Hillinger was the one who encouraged employee photos in workplaces to promote loyalty. Of course, this one is rather impersonal. Close-up and individual shots would be better. Especially photos with the employees doing something they love. Everyone in this photo looks hungry.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dr. Cyrah said. “Science says it’s memories that create affection for a place.”

“Dr. Hillinger wouldn’t disagree. Warm memories of a place do create affection, as does familiarity, but more important is seeing yourself.”

Grace saw that Dr. Cyrah was on the verge of exploding into a counterargument.

“Are these all the people who have access to this lab?” she asked. Grace scanned the portrait, guessing how many faces she saw.

“Actually, yes,” Dr. Cyrah said.

“And the man you mentioned? The missing technician?”

“Here is Ravee.” Dr. Cyrah pointed to a tall man with thick black hair, eyes that were just a tad too close to one another, and a nose that stuck out rather long on his face. He was positioned at Dr. Cyrah’s right arm.

Grace opened her camera software and snapped three photos of the portrait.

“I hate to say it—” Dr. Cyrah began.

But you will anyway, Grace thought.

“—but it has to be Ravee who stole the organs. He is the only one who could have overridden the doors and removed the organs from the sensors without tripping the alarms we have in place.”

“He isn’t the only one,” Heron countered. “He’s just the only missing one.”

Grace wondered where Adams had found this man. His investigation methods were not at all standard. Where was he trained?

It was important to remain calm and assured in initial interviews. Absolutely no conflict of any kind was to be introduced. All behavior should encourage the flow of information, uninterrupted. Even if it was only lies pouring from someone’s mouth, it was still data that could be sifted and used, either for or against the evidence that would come later. Hindering data at this phase of the investigation severely limited their options. And conflict always hindered.

So why in the world was Heron baiting Dr. Cyrah?

Grace needed to resume control of the interview. “Was Ravee familiar with the alarms used to monitor the condition of the organs?”

“Yes, and he knew that the slightest error would immediately trigger the alarm.”

“He must’ve expected an immediate response,” she continued.

“Oh yes. We are very prompt. Even minutes of incorrect incubation can cause tissue death,” Dr. Cyrah said. “Whoever took the organs had to know how to harvest them from the monitoring system and disable the alarms. Ravee serviced the computers himself. He could have done it easily.”

“What about the other lab workers?” Heron asked. “Wouldn’t someone have seen him taking two dozen organs?”

The top of Dr. Cyrah’s ears glowed red. “We think it happened during the shift change. There’s a five-minute window between second and third shift when the lab is empty. Ravee is usually the first one here.”

“And when does that changeover happen?” Grace asked.

“Just before midnight.”

He looked ready to speak again but Grace shot him a look. Heron fell silent at once.

“Thank you,” Grace said, to both Dr. Cyrah and Heron. “That’s all we need for now. We have more than enough to begin. We’ll be in touch.”

She gave the portrait one last lingering look.