"...cannot be allowed to live, obviously," Armstrong was saying. His voice was calm. Analytical. Like he was discussing a stock portfolio. "They are the direct heirs. If they live, they grow up. They might eventually ask questions. Try to claim their parents' wealth. We can't have loose threads."
Lillian leaned forward. "So, disposal? It seems a waste after all the trouble of keeping them."
Armstrong took a slow sip of his drink. "A waste, indeed. I have a better idea. I'd like to see them grow up. But not as Canes. As no one. We've perfected the new memory-suppression formula. We test it on them. A full regimen. Wipe the slate utterly clean. Then we place them in… let's say, challenging circumstances. Different cities. No resources. No history. Let them navigate life poor, wretched, with no idea who they were or where they came from." A small, cruel smile touched his lips. "A living testament to the completeness of our victory. And a useful long-term study on the drug's efficacy."
