Published by Month9Books on September 17, 2019
Cover Design: AM Design Studios
Genres: Science Fiction
Format: Digital, Paperback
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Seven of our country’s most gifted teens will become Nobels, hosts for the implantation of brilliant Mentor minds, in an effort to accelerate human progress.
But as the line between what’s possible and what’s right draws ever blurrier, the teens discover everything has a cost.
Scientists have created an evolved form of living known as Merged Consciousness, and sixteen-year-old Lake finds herself unable to merge with her Mentor.
Lake, the Nobel for Chemistry and Orfyn, the Nobel for Art, are two from among the inaugural class of Nobels, and with the best intent and motivation. But when Stryker, the Nobel for Peace, makes them question the motivation of the scientists behind the program, their world begins to unravel.
As the Nobels work to uncover the dark secrets of the program’s origins, everyone's a suspect and no one can be trusted, not even the other Nobels.
As the Mentors begin to take over the bodies and minds of the Nobels, Lake and Orfyn must find a way to regain control before they lose all semblance or memory of their former selves.
2. From Lake’s Point of View
My eyes snap open. I’m not dead.
I blink a few times to erase the blur. Two people wearing white lab coats and anxious expressions are focused squarely on me. I squint at the blinding light overhead.
The male scientist says, “Her occipital lobe is functioning properly.”
Good to know. And I can still hear, which means my temporal lobe is also operational. My racing heart begins to decelerate.
“What is your name?” the woman asks me, over-enunciating each word.
I summon the answer, although it takes longer than it should. “Lake Summers.”
She makes a note in her tablet, looking more than a little relieved. Then I remember why. Losing one’s self-awareness was on the long list of risks in the Informed Consent Agreement I’d signed.
My throat constricts, and I blink back tears. My brain hasn’t become inert matter, but I should know the woman’s name. It isn’t coming to me.
“Water,” I croak. “Please.”
The pock-faced male scientist places a straw between my lips, and I suck in the warm, chalk-flavored liquid. I can still taste; my parietal lobe is undamaged. Since I have the capacity to inventory my senses, my reasoning and problem-solving functions must also be intact. The nerves in my face convey to my brain that a tear is sliding down my cheek. It slips between my lips, and I savor its saltiness.
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