First Shot

by Bokerah Brumley

  I scowl, not able to remember why she wouldn’t be fine. But when my fingers graze her arm, I find she’s cold to the touch. “Do you have a blanket or...?” The words die away. Wiskee’s chest isn’t moving, and she’s staring without blinking. She isn’t responding at all.

  Everything from the bullet to dragging myself across the barroom floor comes crashing back to me.

  Wait. Wait.

  This room was covered in blood. My blood? That can’t be right. I don’t see any on the stairs now. Even the metallic smell has dissipated.

  “Tonick?” I’m trembling. From the panic. From the shock.

  My teeth chatter, knocking against one another, an ancient Morse code rhythm from Earth before we ruined it: SOS. Things don’t make sense. “What happened?”

  He’s frowning at me, his expression pressed into something I’ve not seen on him before, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he wraps a cover around me, moving his hands up and down my arms. “You lost a lot of blood,” he says.

  But it wasn’t mine that had painted the walls.

  “What happened to Wiskee?” And Teq.

  My thoughts whirl through the events of the past thirty-six hours. It doesn’t add up. Wiskee doesn’t have any gashes, not a mark on her, but she’s dead. There’s something wrong with one of her hands. It’s got weird implants where the fingernails should be.

  Something is tickling my sternum. My hand closes around a necklace. My skin tingles, and it’s like I can sense something from far away. A tune just out of hearing.

  Tonick must have put it on me while I was unconscious. I finger the trinket. Stars are lucky in the UnderCity. I scowl at the brown stains that cover my shirt and run my hand across my chest, just below my shoulder.

  I use all the curse words Teq taught me. The bullet-made rip in my shirt is still there. Proof I was shot, but my skin is intact, cured, as fresh as just-hatched-baby skin.

  Nobody heals as fast as a Pink.

  Tonick is whole, upright. Normal. And rubbing the back of his head.

  “I’m not sure.” He’s distracted, staring to the side. “My head hurts, Jin. I think she hit me on the back of the head.” He whimpers, and my eyes go wide. I’ve never heard the man in front of me whimper like the lost kids in the alleys.

  “It’s a civil war in here,” he grates out, tapping his temple and pushing the words out through clenching teeth. “I think Wiskee did something.” He begins pacing, his muscles flexing and relaxing in weird patterns all over his body, turning his gait choppy and mechanical. The brand on his back flags his allegiance as he moves away, but when he walks toward me, I see the man I want to love.

  I inch upright, eyeing Tonick, but the movement shakes the makeshift bed. Wiskee rolls toward me, her coral lips agape, her pupils dilated, her pale cheeks dusted with freckles. I’ve seen death before, but I’ve never shared its bed.

  Wiskee is a Pink like me. Her blank face is a veneer, a mask, a prank. Death does not become her. A stray hair lies across her forehead, long and dark.

  I freeze. That’s not right.

  Tonick beds Pinks. Teq. Wiskee. Even me. Where would a dark hair come from?

  It shouldn’t be there. I brush the hair off Wiskee.

  But it doesn’t go. Gently, I try again.

  It won’t budge. I frown, pinching it between my fingernails.

  It’s attached.

  My stomach churns. I squint as my thoughts bump into one another, a head-on collision between what I know and what I think I know. How is that possible?

  It’s a single hair, a thin protein filament growing from a follicle in her scalp. And it isn’t pink. I peer at Tonick. He’s rounding the room again. I don’t know how long his breakdown will distract him. I scoot closer to Wiskee.

  Slack-jawed, I pick through her hair. These aren’t starfish arms; these aren’t the errors and side-effect glitches of a pink ReProd. This is hair dyed pink to look like mine, glued together to simulate mine.

  I bite my lip. Wiskee wasn’t real, and I believed she was. Someone sent her. To Tonick. To me. My gaze cuts to Tonick once more.

  Now something is wrong with Tonick. He’s mumbling about a new directive. He has to destroy...something. Something he loves? He’s changing. Into what?

  Tonick is muttering now, his volume increasing. He punches the wall, and I cry out.

  What’s happening?

  He takes more steps, and then he does it again. “I won’t. I won’t. I can’t. I can’t.” He repeats the words over and over now.

  Each time he swings, I flinch and cry. Like a baby. And I can’t help it.

  And then his eyes cut to me, his face twisted in pain, his mechanical irises unfocused, his eyebrows turned up. His mental collapse is progressing.

  Home isn’t safe anymore. I slide off the bed and tap my wristlet. It buzzes an answer. I’ve got to get out of here and as far away as possible. Dyad is my only chance. I cross the floor, keeping my back to Tonick.

  “I love you, Jin,” Tonick says. “I always have.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, but his comment hobbles my legs.

  I clamp my hands over my mouth. Those words. I wanted those words for so long.

  But the confession came from the mouth of a crazy man.

  Wiskee’s not a pink. Wiskee’s dead. Am I next?

  “I cannot lose you,” he whispers. “I love you too much.”

  The words don’t fill me with warm fuzzies or the happiness I crave; they fill me with dread. It’s like my insides are being ripped in two.

  Something is wrong. W. R. O. N. G.

  So much has changed in thirty-six hours.

  “Jin?” His voice breaks. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I-I-I-I...” I try to answer, but I sway at the bottom of the stairs instead, my hand resting on one of the risers. I can’t do this. I can’t tell this lie.

  He’s circled the room a hundred times, but this stops him short. “Tell me.”

  When I don’t answer immediately, something hardens in Tonick’s face. In my mind, he’s morphed from savior to murderer in the space of half an hour.

  “I love you.” I push it all out in a rush, trying not to provoke him. “Tonick,” I tack his name on to the end, but it’s awkward, jarring with the tension that hangs between us.

  “Do you, Jin?” He takes a step toward me. He frowns and twists his head to the side. “Wiskee did something to me. Rewired.” His face buckles, exposing the strain he’s under.

  I check the bracelet. It’s counting down. Dyad is coming. She’ll be here in nine seconds. I’ve got to make it out of this place in nine seconds. “Yes,” I screech, and throw myself at him. He’s caught by surprise and takes one step back.

  I put my hands on his chest and shove. He reaches for me but, unbalanced, he tips backward, flailing through the air and landing on the bed, slamming against Wiskee. My hands slip through his fingers, and I’m free of him.

  I spin away as I hear the sickly thud of Wiskee’s body falling to the floor behind the bed. He’s sputtering and cursing as I dart upstairs. He won’t be far behind.

  Twenty seconds. That’s all I need.

  I clamber over the edge of the floor, stepping from the ladder stair onto the bar floor. The dust is slick, and I slide before I’m able to slingshot around the counter and toward the front of the bar.

  Fifteen...fourteen...thirteen.... Almost to the exit.

  Tonick is roaring MidHeight curses on his way up the stairs.

  I place my hands on the thick masonry wall, hurtling myself over it as Dyad arrives curbside. Relief threatens to relax my momentum. I have to make it out of here.

  Eight...seven...six...

  “Greetings, Jin,” she says as I throw my leg over the seat. “What is our destination?”

  Tonick is coming. When he bursts through the haze, my mouth falls open.

  Four...three...

  Half of his face is gone, torn away. And the other half...

  Good god. He’s not human. He�
��s not even a ReProd. My throat dries. The robotic arms and legs in his room take on a completely different meaning.

  “Anywhere but here.” I mash the accelerator, leaving the bellowing Tonick behind us. “Go, Dyad, go,” I beg.

  She beams at me, seeming oblivious to my panic. “Your wound has healed.”

  Dammit. “Go, Dyad. Go.”

  “Returning to Tonick was the right choice.”

  I can’t argue with her. I just need to get away. I’ll tell her soon enough.

  Dyad’s rear wheel spins until it catches traction on the pavement. We shoot forward as Tonick lumbers toward us, his metal glinting.

  What is Tonick? I’ve never seen a whole skull implant. That can’t possibly be what that was. Work down here is crude; only parts are replaced. That wasn’t crude or cheap. The work was superb, perfect. I swallow. That means GenCor.

  “I’m detecting an elevated heart rate,” she comments. “Are you well?”

  “No.” Leave it to Dyad to get right to it. I lean right as I round the next corner. I guess she’s not going to let me off the hook. “Tonick is after me. He murdered Wiskee. Can’t you go any faster?” I was a fool for going back.

  There’s a blip in the corner of the screen, and the whole image disappears and then comes back.

  “You don’t know that,” she says. “You’re running again.” She shakes her head like a friend humored by a friend’s silliness. “You should go back.”

  “No,” I say, fighting a weird wobble in the steering. “He’ll kill me, too.”

  I tap the accelerator.

  “Maximum velocity reached,” she announces. “Incoming message.” She’s so chipper, it’s annoying.

  “No.” I grit my teeth and let my knee brush the pavement as the front wheel vibrates, just on the edge of out of control. I’ve got to figure out where to go. The Mag Mile won’t work. The star at Six Corners isn’t a permanent solution.

  Her avatar smiles at me from the interface screen. “Where do you think you’re going anyway?” She crosses her arms.

  Light swirls on the left side of the screen. Another avatar materializes beside her. It’s Tonick, just as he is right now, in real life, his face torn to expose the metal beneath. He high-fives Dyad. “Operation Jin Harvest,” he says with a smirk.

  The world stops moving. I can hear Dyad’s engine power down, but my veins are glaciers and all I can do is stare as the trap closes around me.

  Up ahead, a patrol bursts through the polluted haze, low over the short buildings, heading toward me. The siren warbles. A tinny voice commands, “Please wait for assistance.” And then three more join the first, bearing down on me with no doubt about their target.

  That’s it. I am forfeit.

  Dyad studies her fingernails. Her link to Tonick takes on a whole new meaning.

  Boot steps come running from behind. When I look over my shoulder, Tonick is there, pointing an energy pistol at me, wearing the same expression as the avatar on the real-life version of his half-robot and half-human mouth. He stares down the chrome barrel and then squeezes the trigger. A yellow bolt shoots through my hair, so close to my cheek that I’ll have a sunburn shiner this afternoon. If I live that long.

  My shoulders droop. GenCor for the win.

  I’m the Pink you’re looking for.

  GenCor Invisi-Communique

  ***Begin***

  RE: Test Subject

  Obtained. Experiment @ 0600

  Attendance required.

  ***End***

  Chapter Twelve

  LOCUS: ALTER EARTH

  UnderCity

  Bostgo Sector

  Cheers

  Date: 13 Pentian

  Time: 0600

  TO SURVIVE, I MUST run.

  But Dyad won’t let me escape. I blame Tonick for her betrayal. He must have downloaded his new self and reprogrammed her, too. I don’t know what’s happened to my former friends. That robot isn’t Tonick. How long has he—it—not been him?

  The three patrols are hovering over me now. Their engines stir up clouds of dirt and contribute even more exhaust to the already smoggy air. They each take their turn announcing that I must halt and be assisted. Ad nauseam. Tonick keeps his weapon trained my way and strolls across the pavement toward me.

  If I duck through the building, I’ll be only a block from Six Corners. I can use my vanishing trick again. It’s saved me before. One of my regulars mentioned it to me one night. It might even work on this new version of Tonick and buy me some time.

  I hit the studs on my wristlets, scattering sensor-scrambling rays around me. Tonick’s one eyebrow ticks up and down. He knows what I’m about to do. He squeezes off another bolt, which hits the corner of the abandoned six-story building I want to pass through.

  The blast knocks a room-size hole in the exterior wall, and half the building collapses. I dive away from the blast in time to toss myself into an overturned barrel. Debris falls all around.

  Dashing toward the rubble, I launch myself over the broken-down concrete bollards scattered over the cracked sidewalk and into the thick cloud of debris. Body parts stick up from the ground like confetti. The smog hides so many inhabitants.

  A cement cloud of calcined lime burns my lungs. The air is thick with dirt. A large chunk of the wreckage leans against another, creating a triangular hidey cave just big enough for me. I slip inside without knocking things over or alerting Tonick where I am.

  “Jin,” Tonick calls. He murmurs and then Dyad peels out. He probably sent her to the next block, putting her between me and Six Corners.

  I grimace. He did teach me that trick.

  “Come out, Jin,” he wheedles.

  He’s close enough now that I can tell he’s lowered his weapon. His facial circuits light up in random patterns. In the dark metal socket, his mechanical irises luminesce a brilliant blue, eerily human. I’m such a fool. How did I ever miss the glow?

  Chaff irritates my nostrils. I pinch the tip of my nose with one hand and clamp my other hand over my mouth. His next step shifts the rubble until one of the slabs I’m hiding under moves and pins my leg beneath it.

  It hurts enough to make me cry out, but he’s standing right there, staring over the shambles he’s created. I press my hands harder against my face. I’d rather smother myself than die on an experiment table.

  Tonick lifts his weapon and creeps away. What’s he playing at? Surely, he heard me.

  I don’t have time to work it out. It’s an opportunity to get away. When I’m sure he’s gone, I slip out. As I step toward the rear exit, a single chunk hits my heel and then tumbles down the rubble hill I’m standing on.

  “Jin,” he says. His voice has no emotion. His heart has turned cryo. “You’re coming with me.” The whine of the energy pistol fills the space as it powers up.

  I lift my hands but don’t turn around. Call me romantic. I don’t want to remember him as my murderer. I don’t want to see his ripped face as I die. I flinch when he shoots, but there’s no bolt burn. Instead, when I glance down, I see the feathered end of a needle bullet. And then I’m falling through the air, the ground knocked out from beneath me.

  I taste coconut-strawberries and I cringe, waiting for the pain of landing on concrete edges to hit me, but it never comes. I land on two clouds instead. Darkness closes in.

  Stars lead the way to a brave new day.

  A breeze tickles my ear, whispering in his voice, “I found it. Trust me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  LOCUS: UNKNOWN

  Date: Unknown

  Time: Unknown

  SOMEONE SLAPS MY FACE. “Wake up, princess,” a woman says sweetly.

  “Teq?” I open one eye. “I’ve had an awful dream.”

  “Wake up, princess.” I don’t recognize the voice, and nobody calls me princess.

  I’ve got to wake up. One eye responds, and light pours in. The other one is missing in action, not responding to my commands. I peer through the one. An out-of-focus whit
e-coated woman is staring at me. She resembles Dyad’s medical-mood avatar, but I’m half here. So I wait for my wholeness to kick in.

  “Hello, dear,” she says, too close to my face.

  I slap at her, but my hands don’t move. “Awehnksa,” I say, but it’s not what I meant to say. It came out all garbled. My mouth isn’t moving correctly either, and it feels like I’ve been eating gravel. Or sandy cotton balls.

  She gives me a half smile. “Side effects.”

  Then I swallow, smacking my lips several times. “Who are you?”

  “I made you. That makes me...your...mother.” She chuckles. “Who else would I be?”

  Another piece of the puzzle.

  Both eyes are finally working. “A psycho, then,” I say.

  “A visionary.” She smirks. “I see what can be, and I work to make it happen.”

  I snort. Cuffs. If I could get to my bracelets.

  Can’t reach them. Why?

  Dammit. I’m tied, and my studded cuffs have disappeared.

  She pinches her lips as small as they’ll go. “Fine, we’ll do it your way,” she says. “We’ve tried draining some of you Pinks and putting the blood in other creatures.”

  She chuckles. “That’s how we found 06042000.”

  I guess I look confused, so she adds, “Tonick. We chopped off his arm, planning to pump him full of your friend”—she frowns as though she’s straining her brain cells for an answer—“Teq, was it? But so far, artificials can’t receive real blood, only the fake stuff. We’re working on that, though. That’s the missing piece of the puzzle. Once we have that...” She pauses. “We didn’t know what he was until we tried to remove his arm.”

  My insides twist, and I try to swallow the bile back down. They want self-healing artificials. Why? Why would they want that?

  “You know, I had no idea they made artificials so attractive. Whoever changed him over does great work.” She gives a tiny sigh, and her gaze drifts down as though she’s remembering. “Once we knew, it was easy to reprogram him. Once we drain you, he’ll be our new pet.” She winks.