Devil in the Device

by Lora Beth Johnson

  Only, she wasn’t doing it fast enough.

  Reanimation in: 24 seconds

  A million colonists would wake up to a postapocalyptic Earth with nowhere to go and the threat of rampant corrupted technology hanging over them. Scared and naked and alone in their ’tanks.

  Andra opened her mind, reaching for her AI state, but all she found was frustration. Her own . . . and the work’station’s?

  It was panicked. Scared. Somehow, the system knew this wasn’t right. Knew this wasn’t its intended purpose. Felt as though it was failing.

  Andra tried to calm it, but she didn’t have time to reassure a machine when a million lives were at stake.

  Reanimation in: 10 seconds

  Her thoughts became nothing but algorithms and lines of code. It was one thing to stop the reanimation process. It was quite another to reverse it. She had to make a decision. She had to choose.

  She sent out a final string of code and felt a rush of nausea.

  “Did you stop it?” Lilibet asked.

  Andra started to nod, then shook her head, then nodded again.

  “Sort of.”

  She had stopped something. She’d stopped the reanimation process for artists and realtors and constructionists and bakers. They would stay safely in stasis until all of this was sorted out.

  But she hadn’t stopped everything.

  Dozens of screens flashed one final message:

  Reanimation in: 0 seconds

  They went blank, and Andra let out a long breath.

  She heard the sound of hundreds of cryo’tanks breaking their seal.

  Because even though she’d stopped the process for 986,002 colonists, she hadn’t been able to prevent it for 1,427 LAC scientists and their families.

  And now, they were waking up.

  TWELVE

  THE GRIFTER

  Zhade woke the next moren with bruises on his arms, blood dried round his nose and ears, dirt under his fingernails. His head throbbed and his muscles ached, but he couldn’t help but feel the success of the previous even.

  He’d used the Crown to spell the graftling wand, and it had changed Meta’s . . . everything. She could now for true pass as Tsurina. What had started as a fool plan now actualish had a chance of succeeding.

  Zhade tumbled out of Maret’s too-soft bed, washing and dressing quickish, energy buzzing through him.

  Half abell later, he was in the cathedzal, surrounded by guards and angels. He felt the latter at the edge of his consciousness, as though they were waiting for his command. The feeling gave him a dizzying rush as he imagined all he’d do now that he could use the Crown. Commanding the angelic guard wouldn’t be a problem anymore. The weapons were his to control with a thought. It would be an eyebeat to hunt down whoever was sending the angels rogue. For all the headaches he’d suffered, maybe the Crown was worth the pain. He could for true rule Eerensed with it.

  He was wearing one of Maret’s favorite outfits. Black with gold stitching. A starched cape hanging from his shoulders. Usualish, Zhade would have felt uncomfortistic, but today he felt powerful and free.

  Maret had done so much wrong with the Crown, but Zhade could do so much right.

  There was a large crowd assembled in the cathedzal this moren. The guv-askings used to be held in the throne room, but Andra had destroyed the roof. It had taken dozens of people three full days to make their march over broken glass and splintered wood to uproot the felled tree from beneath the marble floor and transport it to the cathedzal for the guv-askings.

  It was a symbolic move. With the goddesses sacrificed, the people were looking for something to believe in. He’d had the stained glass of the coil, crystal, and celestia replaced with one of a map of Eerensed. The stardust vents were filled in with mortar. Now this was no longer a place of worship but a place for the people. And for the dome that protected them.

  Behind Zhade, the lights of dozens of scrys flashed. Andra’s angel had built it so he could control the dome himself. The scrys covered most of the back wall. Afront of them was a translucent desk, and next to it, a shiny metal box Andra said held the dome’s power. He’d been neglecting that part of his duties, but no more. He would solve the rogue angel problem and then use the Crown to design a dome that didn’t need constant maintenance.

  The crowd quieted, and the guards let the first asker through. Zhade’s benevolent smile faltered. He recked her. It was the mother of the girl who had nearish been choked to death by the angel the previous moren.

  She stepped forward, wringing her hands. “What happens bout the angels?”

  His heart sped up. He couldn’t reveal that he’d been there and witnessed the assault and done nothing bout it. He wanted to help, but he had to first appear ignorant.

  “What bout them?” His fingers tapped against the throne’s armrests.

  “They’ve gone rogue!” the woman cried. “Yestermoren, my daughter and neighbor were nearish killed by one of the patrol angels. And after, another angel tried to stab its sorcer! I’ve heard of other attacks too, Guv. Something must be done!”

  “I hear.” Zhade swallowed. “And what became of the angels?”

  The mother froze, color draining from her face. “They were . . . destroyed, Guv.”

  Zhade nodded. “Good. As they should be. If there are any more attacks, destroy them if you must, but do what you can to bring me one alive.”

  “I have one, Guv!” a frail voice called from the back.

  Zhade started. That happened quickish. The guards brought forward the owner of the voice—an old with a magic arm. The appendage looked almost exactish like Wead’s had. Zhade blinked back the memories. He had to stay focused.

  The man stood small and frail afront of the throne, an angel by his side, bareish larger than him, its pale skin muddied with age. It had thin limbs and a clear skull. Magic sparked inside its head.

  Zhade leaned forward to inspect it.

  It didn’t seem like the rogue angel he’d seen yesteraftermoren. The dark aura that had surrounded the angel who’d attacked the little girl and Dzeni was nowhere to be found on this angel. It was serene and obedient, its eyes a neutral white.

  “This angel attacked someone?”

  The old man nodded. “Firm, Guv. It attacked my promised. I tried to stop it, but I ’pen not as strong as I once was. After, it went norm. Followed me here sawn complaint.”

  Zhade stood and approached the angel. He reached out with the Crown, feeling for the darkness. There was nothing. Maybe he could use High Magic to scry the inner workings of the angel. He pushed harder, waiting for the same sense he’d had before. The merging of his mind with the Crown. The infinite possibilities. But all he felt was a locked door. His temple began to throb with the strain.

  Zhade cleared his throat. “Thank you, citian. We’ll . . . hold this to test spells on. Figure the source of its magic . . . And how is your promised?”

  “Dead, Guv.”

  Zhade blinked, stunned. The man’s promised had just died, and he’d brought the angel here himself? The least Zhade could do was kill his promised’s murderer afront of him. He didn’t have Cheska’s strength or anger, but he did have the Crown. Perhaps the pain had been a flute.

  “Sorries and worries, citians.”

  Zhade didn’t let himself dwell on the man’s look of surprise, before diving back into the Crown. The angel felt expectant. Prepped to serve. Loyal. Zhade wondered if it even had memory of killing.

  It didn’t meteor. It had still done it.

  He pressed past the pain, looking for the killing charm inside the angel, the spell that would end it mereish as certz as removing its heart. He’d sole ever used the kill charm with Low Magic a palmful of times, and never with High Magic. His temple ached. He felt either sweat or blood running down his cheek.

  “Guv?” someone a
sked.

  “I’m—”

  The angel’s hand shot out and clamped round Zhade’s throat.

  He was lifted off the ground as his finger grasped ineffectualish at the angel’s metal arm. There were shouts round him. The clank of armor. He couldn’t imagine past the pain and the lack of air, and sands, this hurt.

  He lashed out with his arm, struggling, wheezing. People were shouting. Black spots filled his vision. His toes dangled above the marble floor. Zhade tried to dive back into High Magic, but he could sole focus on his need for air.

  air air air air air

  His eyes began to close. This couldn’t be it. He couldn’t die here now. Killed by a rogue angel afront of his people. When the ability to stop it was in his grasp, tacked on his head. No one here even recked who he for true was. No one would mourn him. Reck all he’d done for the city. He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to Andra.

  Andra.

  His last imagining was of her. The dimple when she smiled. The sarcastic comments in her funny little accent. The way she never gave up. She fought. And fought. And cared. And loved.

  He wondered if she would miss him.

  A spear burst through the angel’s chest. Zhade fell to the floor with a slap, landing on his hip and elbow. Pain shot through his bones. He coughed as Gryfud pulled him away.

  Through blurry vision, he saw someone in a white dress twirl her spear in the air several times, knock the angel to the ground with the butt of it, then flip it round to pierce it once more into the angel’s chest. When she yanked the spear free, the angel’s smoking heart was stuck to the tip.

  Meta turned and smiled in the most Tsurina-like fashion.

  “Are you evens, my son?” she asked, her voice a hypnotic purr.

  Zhade nodded, letting her help him to his feet.

  Panic swirled in his chest, closed his throat. Meta had saved him, but his citians had just seen him fail to use the Crown. If they recked he was powerless, they would overthrow him.

  He cleared his throat, scowled. “Dispose of the angel’s corpse,” he commanded, trying to add Maret’s characteristic whine to his voice. “Anyone with an angel should surrender it to the palace soon and now, or face the consequences.”

  He’d seen Maret do this—go on the offensive. Make the people worry bout their own lives, rather than focus on his faults. He felt sick even attempting the tactic.

  But it worked. The crowd shuffled nervousish.

  He met Meta’s eyes. She nodded in approval, the barest hint of a grin on her lips.

  “And if I find anyone hasn’t surrendered their angels to the palace by the end of the day, they’ll become familiar with our dungeons.”

  The threat tasted bitter on his tongue, sounded so much like his brother. But what choice did he have? He had to seem strong to maintain his power. He had to rule Eerensed to save it. Sides, it was sole threats. He wouldn’t actualish do it.

  Before the citians could see the truth on his face—his regret, his discomfort—he turned and stalked out of the cathedzal.

  THIRTEEN

  00110001 00110011

  Andra’s feet slapped against the concrete floor of the Icebox as she ran past lines of inert cryo’tanks toward the row of LAC scientists. Some of them would be able to get free of their ’tanks. Others would be stuck on higher shelves where they had been stored like so many boxes. She could hear the echo of movement and voices, fifteen hundred people waking up from a thousand years of sleep.

  At least it’s not all the colonists, she thought, but it didn’t soothe her.

  She flung herself down an aisle between the towering shelves of closed cryo’tanks. Light glinted off their casing. The colonists stored in these, at least, were blissfully unaware of what was happening. They weren’t waking alone, panicked, with no one to help them, to an unfamiliar world. Andra pushed herself harder, the concrete floor slippery beneath her feet.

  She’d sent Mechy to bring supplies and Lilibet to stand by the Icebox door at the far end to keep people from leaving, giving her a lie to feed them about a toxic atmosphere. It was miles off, but there were so many people waking, and they would be confused and searching for a way out. Andra sent a panicked neural message to Rashmi but didn’t receive a reply.

  She picked up the pace, ignoring the stitch in her side and her heaving breaths, as she turned the corner down the next row and ran smack into Cruz Alvarez.

  A very naked Cruz Alvarez.

  He grabbed her shoulders and blinked in surprise. “Andie!”

  Andra stared. Even coated in ’protectant residue, dark curls plastered to his head, he instilled a sense of nostalgia and longing in her. He was so cute. So smart. Analytical but creative. Practical but compassionate. Even now, knowing that her crush had been nothing more than her programming reacting to intelligence—oh god, she’d probably been programmed to be attracted to him specifically—she still felt the rush of butterflies in her stomach. She blushed and waved awkwardly.

  He released her, and Andra came back to herself enough to realize there were other colonists before her. Some wandering around. Some attempting to cover themselves or help those on higher shelves climb down. The noise of the waking colonists was quickly becoming a roar of activity.

  Cruz ran a hand over his face, smudging the cryo’protectant. “Jesus, Andie, you got dressed in a hurry.”

  He smiled, showing a line of straight, white teeth, and Andra felt the same way she did that first day Cruz ate at their house and winked at her over his green beans. She pushed the emotion away.

  Andra swallowed. “I was already awake.”

  “What?” Cruz blinked. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

  He placed his hands on his hips, looking around. He didn’t seem ashamed of his nakedness. Why should he? She was just an AI, and, apparently, he was privy to the fact.

  And also, he had nothing to be ashamed of, Andra thought with a blush.

  She opened her mouth but found she couldn’t speak. It was overwhelming to be confronted with someone from her past. Someone who knew her not as a goddess but as Andra. Someone, other than Rashmi and Mechy, who spoke in her accent and dialect, who had a shared history, who would understand her inside jokes and sim references.

  She should have been overwrought with emotions. This. This was what she had wanted all this time, to be back with people from her time. But instead she just felt . . . awkward. It was a different kind of culture shock to be confronted with a past you longed for, then suddenly realized you were alienated from.

  “Andie?” Cruz repeated. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” His voice carried just the right amount of tension, like he cared, but didn’t want to make things worse by panicking himself. He reached out a hand but didn’t quite touch her.

  “It’s . . . a long story. But things didn’t go as planned.”

  Cruz’s eyebrows furrowed, and Andra had the odd compulsion to smooth his forehead with her fingers. The urge to show physical affection was something Zhade had awakened in her, only now that she realized how inappropriate it was.

  “I’ll explain everything later,” she said. “I promise. But I need you to keep everyone calm and organized. See what you can do for clothes with what people put in their ’tank drawers, and I’ll worry bout the food. And whatever you do, don’t let them leave the warehouse.”

  Cruz was shaking his head, as though Andra was going too fast, as though he couldn’t process all the information at once. He was only human, after all.

  “I promise,” she said. “I’ll explain everything as soon as I can. Just . . . don’t let anyone leave.”

  She could only imagine the chaos that would happen if the colonists realized they were on Earth. If they found the Schism, or goddess forbid, appeared in Eerensed.

  “I won’t,” Cruz said, and it was one of the things that had drawn her to Cruz, that he took her
seriously. Now, she knew it was because she was AI, and he knew it. He trusted her programming.

  “Promise?” She held her pinkie out to him, definitely avoiding looking down.

  “Promise.” He smiled and hooked his pinkie with hers. “But you owe me an explanation.”

  And so do you, she thought.

  “I owe you several. Now, get everyone in a group down at that end of the warehouse.” She pointed in the direction of the reanimation therapy tent Mechy had set up. “And I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”

  She could tell by the look on Cruz’s face he was already making plans. Already figuring out what needed to be done and how.

  A neural message appeared in her mind from Lilibet’s tablet, saying she’d already turned a few people away from the exit, but they believed the story about the atmosphere being unstable. So. That was good. Andra mentally checked in with Mechy, who said he was coming back with a hover full of supplies and, surprisingly, Xana. Rashmi still hadn’t responded.

  Andra tried to calm herself, to think through the plan. Naked colonists were everywhere, yelling to each other, scrounging through their ’tank drawers for . . . drawers. They walked past her as though they didn’t see her, as though she didn’t even exist.

  Someone bumped her shoulder as he passed, a young man Andra recognized as Raj . . . something. He was in cryonics, maybe. He didn’t apologize. Didn’t even acknowledge her.

  That was fine. They wouldn’t listen to her—they didn’t even know her, except as maybe Isla’s daughter—but they would listen to Cruz. He was one of them. He would help her get everyone organized, clothed, and through the reanimation therapy. Then, she would tell Cruz the truth and have him convey it to the rest of the LAC. Well. Maybe not the truth. A lie that was close enough to the truth. If Cruz was the one telling them, they’d believe him.

  Then Andra would need to get the colonists food, water, and shelter. Then start upgrading their tech, and instruct them to build the rocket with their cryo’chambers.