CALIX: “They were trying to invent a vaccine for the virus when I was liberated.”
GLEESON: “Did they succeed?”
CALIX (shaking his head): “They were able to make suppression work on me, though, if only for an hour per dose. My question, now.”
GLEESON: “Not so fast. You still haven’t said what the dreams were about. Not specifically.”
CALIX: “I told you, they’re about what happened to me in—”
GLEESON: “They tortured you, yes. So you said. But how?”
Calix’s hands clutch the sofa cushions. When he swallows, his throat bobs visibly.
CALIX: “They...anything they could think of to induce pain. Cutting into me, breaking bones. Capsaicin injections. They...”
Calix shudders, eyes fluttering shut.
GLEESON (gently): “It’s all right, Calix. That’s enough.”
Calix doesn’t appear to hear. He drops his head back, his voice thin and shaking.
CALIX: “They had me gagged. I couldn’t...”
GLEESON (urgent, his expression nauseated): “I know.”
At last Calix opens his eyes. He’s pale. Gleeson removes his spectacles with trembling fingers and scrubs the heel of his other hand against his face.
GLEESON: “Go ahead and ask what you were going to ask me.”
A long moment passes. Gleeson puts his glasses back on.
CALIX: “Can you learn telepathy?”
GLEESON: “I don’t know. It would seem so, although the only other telepath I knew could never quite define how she acquired the ability. But she couldn’t readeverymind, as I can. Her ability was limited, perhaps because it wasn’t her presenting power. She could only read the minds of people she had a close, personal connection to. She spent years trying to cultivate telepathy but never got past this limitation. She could read the minds of people she understood on a deep and intimate level, and only if they felt a close connection to her in return. But no one else.”
Calix says nothing.
GLEESON: “I advise against it. Telepathy is a curse as much as a blessing. Far worse when you use it on a loved one and realize all the nasty things they think about you but would never say out loud.”
CALIX: “I want to help him.”
GLEESON: “I know you do.” (He drags his hand through his hair again.) “I know, Calix. But reading Adalwolf’s mind won’t help you help him. Believe me.”
CALIX: “You think I could learn, though.”
GLEESON: “I think...I think that would be a very bad idea.”
Calix is still looking at him, his face lean and hungry. He opens his mouth to speak again.
The video ends here.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Noam was sprawled across his bed on Friday afternoon, halfway throughOryx and Crake, chewing on one of Taye’s red lollipops, when Dara and Ames cornered him with demands that Noam attend some dinner party Ames’s dad was throwing. It wasn’t the kind of thing Noam was into, hanging out with old rich people and playing sycophant. He was about to make his excuses, but then Dara said, “You should come.”
And that decided it, really.
That night, Dara and Noam took a cab out of downtown toward Forest Hills and the massive mansions belonging to the rich and famous and government employed. Noam watched the houses slide past, each more ostentatious than the last. Some were larger than the entire training wing. Dara, smiling down at something on his phone, didn’t seem to notice.
