Infinityglass (Hourglass 3)

“Nothing ever changes.” She sat down on the bench across from ours.

“No, it doesn’t. Probably never will. Why are you here?”

“To help my daughter.”

“Please. There are a million ulterior motives in everything you do.” I rubbed my temples. Oh, how this woman exhausted me.

“I’m here because of who you are.” She paused for effect. “What you are. How you got that way. Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I don’t need you for answers. I don’t need you for anything.” Her expression would have frozen a hot spring solid. In July. After a moment, all the chill melted away, and she smiled.

“Really?”

Cold dread swirled in the pit of my stomach. I knew that smile. She had something on me, something big. She didn’t seem eager to make me work for the information, which meant she could barely contain it.

That was scarier than a hundred rips coming for me at once.

“I’ve been with Chronos for years, ever since my own parents worked for them,” she said. “I’ve seen raw talent that you can’t even fathom.” The smile faded and was replaced by calculation. “I was a scientist before I was a mother, so I had time to think about the kind of child I wanted. One just like me.”

An uneasy fear crept up my spine.

“I wanted to make sure I did everything perfectly,” she said, “so there was research. So much tedious research. I needed to verify the genetic sequence, so I located specimens.”

“Specimens?”

Her smile made a brief reappearance. “Once everything was confirmed and reconfirmed, I began experimenting. Of course, mistakes were made.”

Adrenaline numbed my face and clutched at my vocal cords. She couldn’t mean what I thought she meant.

“No one gets everything right the first time. Experiments can create monsters.”

“What kind of monsters?”

“The versions of you that I didn’t get right the first time.”

My mouth went dry. “You made multiple versions of me. Are they still out there?”

“I don’t allow mistakes.”

I stared at her, hoping for a shred of humanity. Searching for anything that wasn’t cold and self-serving. I didn’t find any of it.

“I count as a success, then?” I asked.

“You’re as close as I could get.”

“Did you ever love me?” I asked. God, it hurt, because I knew the answer. “Or was I just a means to an end?”

“People define love in their own ways,” Mother said. “Some people say love is about duty. Or loyalty. You owe me your very life. The way our relationship has progressed is completely your choice.”

“No, you made all my choices for me.” Either through manipulation or emotional blackmail.

“Have you considered I have motives?”

The pull of the power she had over me was the only thing keeping me in my seat. I decided then and there, no matter how many hours or minutes I had left on earth, that she wasn’t going to dictate one more second.

“Your motives are the least of it. I don’t know one true thing about you, and I don’t want to.”

Dune