“Oh, yes, absolutely,” I cut in smoothly, “he’s an Iku. But he wasn’t an employee.”
That does it. The pens hit the table with a clatter, the sound like gunfire in the tense room. They’re starting to understand the mess they’re in.
“For those of you still itching to sign, I’m so sorry if I accidentally gave you the impression that this is optional,” I continue, before letting the pause stretch for effect. “Let me be perfectly clear: these patents—Ben’s patents—are not the intellectual property of Iku Industries. If you push him out, well, he’s taking meat synthesis and his particular methodology for SKYN, which he still individually owns, to any sector that will have him. We assume that will be many.”
There it is. The collective gulp.
One of the council members, his voice thin and reedy with panic, mutters, “That’s impossible. You’d need Gold Knowledge Seeker status to even sit in the patent room, let alone get your hands on those documents.”
I lean in then, bending over the table. My hands press firmly on the wood, my cleavage spilling forward like my breasts just may tip out, and the diamond at my collar catches the light just so.
The collectiveoh shitis orgasmic. The entire night, they saw the diamond but likely thought it was an expensive gift, a flashy jewel a man buys his lover. But I am the real deal.
Michael, already halfway out of his seat, practically launches himself to his feet. “You were supposed to be completely unmodded!” He says, eyes wild with disbelief.
“What can I say?” I shrug, unable to suppress my smirk. “Ben got lucky.”
As if on cue, Ben moves behind me. “I went off the dampeners, so I could feel,” he says, his voice calm but with an edge sharp enough to cut glass. “And I’m so glad I did because, good God, this feels fantastic. The controlled burns will operate with consent and equally on us all.”
“We have rights, Ben! You can’t just take remake everything!” his brother shouts.
“You’re wrong; I can. I am the Iku heir, and the power to cull is mine alone. I could start with you if I wanted to. The Iku legacy is not yours to taint with greed and shortcuts. Death comes for us all in equal measure, or it will come for you individually.” He hooks his big hand around my waist and is looking only at me now. “Our legacy is mine to protect, and I will do so with everything I have.”
* * *
The council holdouts sign their documents and gather them quickly, efficiently, as if they might change their minds if given the time. The L.O.S.S. Program is registered before the digital ink dries. A burst of sound behind me, the crowd shifting, and the shopkeeper approaches me.
He grabs my shoulders, shaking once. “Should’ve sent you in years ago,” he says, almost laughing.
I tilt my head. “You could have told me you were some resistance spy.”
“That would make me a pretty shitty spy,” he says.
“Are you going to sign up for LOSS” I ask.
“I’m going to have to fight these machine bastards for it now. 60 years is a long life in the mines. But these abovegrounders are obsessed with status. They’ll crowd us out.” the shopkeeper says.
“Maybe you can help up make sure the ratio is fair?”
“I could do that.” He touches his chest “Thank you.”
We hug, brief and unsentimental, and he’s gone before I can say more—absorbed back into the sea of bodies, all heat and breath and shifting glances.
To my left, in the blur at the edge of my vision, Lily watches me. She’s pretending not to. Her gaze flicks sideways to Ben’s brother then to Ben. I can see the math in her eyes, the quiet subtraction.
She untangles herself from Micheal’s grip and makes her slow, graceless trek toward Ben. If she’s embarrassed, the dampeners have dulled it. Her movements are too fluid, too unbothered, like a marionette with her strings cut loose.
Ben stands in the center of the room, back straight, shoulders squared—an old-school stance, the kind of posture you’d expect from a statue in a city square. She says something low, probably pleading. Her mouth moves, but the words don’t carry. And then his voice, when it comes, is thunder and closing doors.
“Lily, you have Michael. He is everything you deserve.”
A flicker of something like panic crosses her face.
She tries again. “It wasn’t just me,” she says. “Your mother, your brother—they made me feel like this was the only way. You weren’t listening. You were slipping away. Ben, please—look. I have SKYN now.”
She shrugs her shoulders, baring the sleek prototype pulling and buckling on her frame. But Ben, oh—Ben does not flinch.
No chairs thrown! No threats of cannibalism! My baby!
