My pulse kicks at the sight of Tesla. I want to call out, beg him to speak to me alone but I know that’s not going to happen and I remember his fury in the operating room. He must despise me, whatever his warnings about keeping secrets. His stone-hard eyes bore into mine, his knuckles whitening over the handrail … It was him. In the chair. Certainty forms like ice inside me as the tortured young man from the vision blends with his older self. It makes no sense … why did I cry his words when I was experiencing the memory from Knox’s point of view? And how can he bear to stand with his ex-torturer? Was he reprogrammed? Brainwashed into compliance?

My mind replays what I’ve just seen, zooming in on Tesla’s shoulders, gleaming with sweat, the broad stretch of heaving chest, the clench of rippling stomach muscles – a lot of focus on his mouth and jaw. A mix of desire clanging against a distinct sense of wrongness or violation, and then a stirring of my own Jamie-related memories. I grunt and shake my head, disturbed, confused. The images fade, the feelings lift but my face burns. Did I Transfer that? Did Tesla see it? I can’t look at him.

I realise then, Davis is holding my legs, Benjamin restraining my shoulders.

“She’s ETR sensitive,” Felicity says, hovering as though she might throw herself on me too. “Everything is amplified in here.”

“How unusual,” Knox says, “in one so young.”

“I’m okay, I can handle it.” Though the scramble of signals fills the bandwidth, I focus on the pain in my body. Like an anchor, it helps me to resist the current.

Benjamin and Davis release me.

Up on the metal platform Knox leans his forearms on the rail and cocks his head. The woman next to him whispers, “A Conductor?”

“She’s something.” His mouth curves up in the corner. His gaze stays riveted on me. In the line-up he’s a head shorter than Tesla, who seems huge, staring down at me. Tesla and Knox are the only men. An older woman stands between them. Her resemblance to Felicity is uncanny, though her hair is lighter and her mouth harder. Felicity’s sister? On the right of Knox are two women who can only be identical twins. Both have chestnut hair parted in the middle. One wears hers pulled back in a bun, the other wears hers down. I can’t guess their age – they seem almost airbrushed – but if this is the Executive, they can’t be young.

“How’s the pain?” Knox asks. “Only, we rather need you in that fancy chair.”

I sit forwards and fire licks my spine. I fight to keep my expression even, but it’s an effort not to cry out when Felicity swings my legs over the side of the bed. The paper gown rustles with my trembling and I slide off the edge till my feet find the cold concrete. I don’t want to appear weak, but passing out could stall the proceedings, buy me some time – maybe a chance to speak to Tesla, a chance to see Miriam?

One glance at the drain puts me off the idea. I don’t want to see it up close. The walls either side of me are solid black, reflecting into infinity the scene within like a psychotic funhouse. I don’t look because it makes me dizzy.

Felicity swivels the suspended chair and lowers it for me. Its curved spine is almost reptilian, with divots and peaks formed by plugs and cords, an upside-down question mark able to extend and recline on a hydraulic neck. If not for the black chemical in the glass walls, I’d count it as the single most sci-fi looking thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t like turning my back on it to sit; my neck feels too exposed. Smooth moulded metal forms the icy seat. Felicity lifts my legs onto the rest. I lean back, gingerly, and when the seat rises up I clutch the sides to keep from lurching off onto the floor. Bands rise from the edges, practical and sinister, to clamp my hips, chest, legs and wrists.

I gasp, struggling to resist the instinct to strain against the bonds, fight and flight making me electric, my vision altering as my pupils expand. I want to close my eyes to hide them, as Felicity’s warnings sound in my head. Stay calm or they’ll pacify you. How can I stay calm strapped to a lizard chair, suspended over a drain, about to have my mind probed by a creeptastic kid in a goo-tank?

“Perhaps Evangeline needs help relaxing, Counsellor Allen?” Knox says.

Felicity gives me a warning glance and taps at a console on the side of the chair with her pale hand.

“I’m fine,” I say, panting. “I’ll be fine. I don’t need anything.” I don’t want drugs. I need to keep my wits … but the head and armrests of the chair begin to glow. Calm slips over me, tension lifts from my muscles and a warm drowsy feeling settles, like I’m tipsy.

“Evangeline,” he says. “You are in pain from a traumatising medical procedure, disorientated by your environment and afraid of what is about to happen to you. These influences can muddy the results of the Harvest and prolong invasive intervention during the course of the interview. Calming your system allows us to begin at a base level so that our readings are accurate.”

I’m vaguely aware that “invasive intervention” should trigger a stronger reaction than I feel. “You ordered the traumatising medical procedure.” The words, loose in the air, surprise my ears – I hadn’t meant to say it. The thought had simply risen to an uncapped surface and my voice dipped it out.

Knox is the only one who smiles. “Even in an organisation as fastidious as ours mistakes can happen.”

“Robert,” my tongue says without my consent, “you’re a goddamn dinosaur.” I bite down on my lips. Why did I say that?

Knox is the only one to chuckle. “I can’t imagine where you heard that.”

My eyes move involuntarily to Tesla.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Am I trying to antagonise Knox?

Do I want to be tortured?

“Why are you here, Evangeline?” Knox asks.

“You want my secrets.” Shit. I should have faked passing out.

Knox looks pleased. “I do. Will you tell me your secrets?”

“Miriam said I will. So did Jamie.” I shake my head, upset at saying their names. I rock in my seat, restricted by the band across my chest.

Knox nods. “Your aunt and your lover.”

The need to correct the details rises inside me. She’s not my aunt – she’s my mother – and Jamie’s not my lover – we never had sex. One is a secret, the secret. The other is simply private and shouldn’t be said aloud to a room full of strangers, but I can feel the words pushing up and out; they’re almost through my teeth. “I keep saying things!” My voice reverberates off the glass. “Why do I keep saying things?”

Knox smiles. “Because it is the right thing to do.”

It feels like the right thing to do.

Why am I sweating so much?

There’s something I’m forgetting. Something that worries me … about my mother. “What have you done to her? To Miriam. You hurt her? Can I see her? What about Jamie? Is he okay?”

“It’s been a long day. Your aunt has made a choice to resist the Symbiosis and it has cost her, but you can help her by telling us the truth. You can be helpful like your boyfriend. Jamie has pleased me greatly and you can too.”

At first panic flares inside me but the chair glows brighter and my urgency fades. Another desire grows in its place. I want to be helpful too.

“I believe we’re ready for the Proxy,” Knox says.

It’s like swimming in a deep warm sea.

“Evangeline, you won’t be able to see us but you will hear my voice. I want you to relax and answer each question truthfully. Your honesty will be rewarded.”

My mouth says, “Okay.”

“Counsellor Allen.” Knox nods at Felicity.

“Activate Symbiosis,” Felicity says, her chin lifted to the room. Instantly the glass separating the Executive from the ReProg room fills with black liquid, rising from the bottom to the top just as quickly as it emptied. Their signals are cut off and the bandwidth clears. My ears pop. I see myself reflected in the shimmering glass, pale and heavy-lidded, my head lolling to the side.