“Okay!” Oz said, and ran after the other children.
Acadia stared at her sister for a moment, shaking her head, then stalked off after him.
“What now?” Lilibet asked, appearing beside her.
Once Andra had gotten free of the Icebox, and Cristin had soldered the door shut after them, Andra had mentally sent messages to Lilibet’s tablet, as well as the Schism, giving them a brief overview of the problem. She’d skimmed over how this was all her fault, and that she had killed over a thousand people, and now everyone was in danger. She only told them that there was a threat, and everyone needed to pile into the Vaults. She hadn’t heard back from Skilla, but Lilibet and Xana had been waiting for her when she’d arrived.
“Where’s Skilla?” she asked Xana.
Silence had descended on the lobby, and for a moment, the only sound was the ticking of the astronomical clock.
Xana shook her head. “I was here when you sent the message, so I don’t reck what’s happening in the Schism soon and now.”
Andra’s stomach sank. The Schism was far away from the Icebox—through a series of complicated tunnels—but Andra didn’t put it past the AI to find them. And she didn’t know what would happen when they did. And how Andra and the others would survive without them.
Maybe she didn’t have Skilla and her militia, but she did have Lilibet, Xana, Rashmi . . .
“Is Kiv still here?” Andra asked.
Lilibet’s entire countenance sank. “Neg, Xana said he was here to put Zhade in a cell, but left before I saw him. It must have full imported for him to leave without kissing me.”
“Okay.” Andra tried to breathe through the panic. “One thing at a time. We’ll add that to the list of crises we need to handle. And I promise—I promise—we’ll send someone to look for him, but I really need you to do something for me first.”
Lilibet tilted her head and her dark hair swayed. “For certz, Andra, you reck I’d do anything for you.”
Tick, tick, tick, went the clock.
“Take care of Ophele, Cristin, and the children. Food, blankets, the whole deal. Then, lock down the Vaults. Any and every way you can think of. Magically, physically. Make sure nothing gets in without our approval.”
Lilibet nodded, giving Andra a small smile. “I can do that.”
She tried to smile back, but it only pushed the tears out of her eyes. “Thanks, Lilibet.”
Lilibet grabbed her hand. “Are you evens, Andra?”
“No. I’m not. And I probably won’t be for a long time. But I’ll worry about that after everyone is safe.” She turned to Rashmi. “Come on, I need your help.”
“They’re real, they’re mine,” Rashmi muttered before following Andra out of the lobby, leaving the ticking clock behind.
They went to Andra’s room. She removed the clutter from the conference table, sat in the chair at the head, took her reset tool out of her pocket, and slid it over to Rashmi.
“I need you to help me access Griffin’s memories.”
Rashmi’s eyes started welling up with tears and she shook her head, even as she took the glittering ice-pick-shaped tool into her small hands and held tight.
“She made me do it. She made me,” she whispered.
Andra didn’t know which of the horrors in Rashmi’s life she was referring to, but it didn’t matter.
“I know,” Andra said, as calmly as she could. “It’s going to be okay.”
She pulled her shirt aside, exposing the port she’d once thought of as an unsightly birthmark. The sword had destroyed it, but her med’bots had re-created it perfectly as they healed her.
“Hook me up to the work’station, look for nanos in my cortex with any tech signatures that aren’t my own. I don’t think you can remove them, but you should be able to copy them. Griffin had a way to download memories from a human brain, so we should be able to download them from an AI brain. Cruz . . . the AI in Cruz said that AI memory was more organized. Once a memory file is created, it can always be accessed. So let’s access them.”
Rashmi shook her head. “I don’t know what’s real. I don’t know if I’m real.”
Andra took her hand and waited for the other AI to meet her gaze. “Your memories are real to you. For now, that’s all that matters. We’ll figure out the rest later. I promise.”
Andra nodded to the reset tool still clutched in Rashmi’s hand.
“Now,” Andra said. “Stab me in the heart.”
Rashmi did.
It had happened every single day for the last few weeks, yet she still hated the feeling of it. Pain coursed through her as Rashmi hurried to connect the retractable wire to the work’station. She pulled up the holo’display and started flipping through data.
“Anything?” Andra asked through gritted teeth.
“I’m looking,” Rashmi hissed. “Looking, looking, looking, and when you’re patient time goes faster.”
Andra sighed. “I don’t know how much time we have.”
It wouldn’t be long before the other AI found out that Not-Cruz was missing. Or Not-Cruz regained sentience in the Icebox network and told them himself.
Andra had to figure out what they wanted. And to do that, her best bet was Griffin’s memories. Cruz had said something about Griffin putting this all into play centuries ago. Had it been a mistake? Like the anomalies? Some technology gotten out of hand? But Griffin’s clone had given her the reset tool. She’d manipulated her into using it. Why would Griffin replace all her people with AI? Had there been some problem with the clones? Maybe the plan had become warped with each iteration of Griffin, like some high-stakes game of telephone.
“I think I have them,” Rashmi said. “I’m copying them now. They’re filed weird. Almost like how the human brain files . . .”
“Memories?” Andra asked, cracking open an eye.
Rashmi brought a shaky hand to her forehead. “There are . . . trillions of these files, and there’s no rhyming reason, Third One. It would take . . . a lifetime to find the ones you’re looking for.”
Andra didn’t have a lifetime.
But what had Cruz said? That she was AI and once a pathway to a memory was created, it would always be there? She had downloaded these memories from Griffin’s database in an instant. Something inside her matrices had known that she needed them. Her AI consciousness working independently of her human awareness.
And that was the problem. Her head was full of her own life and memories and human connections. In order to look at these memories, she would have to be something more than human.
Good thing she was AI.
If she could just reach that state of awareness. She’d had it just hours ago in the cathedzal, when she’d been brought back to life. She’d yet to reach that state on command, but Cruz had an answer for that too. She had to embrace her AI nature.
Of course, it hadn’t actually been Cruz. It had been the thing that had replaced him. The AI who had replaced him. But it didn’t mean he was wrong.
Andra closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“What’s the matter?” Rashmi asked.
“I’m . . . trying to . . . fit all the memories in my consciousness.”
Andra felt Rashmi shake her head through the vibrations in the nanos around her. “No, no. That’s too dangerous. Your brain can’t hold two people’s memories.”
“Maybe if it was a human brain, it couldn’t. But it’s not. Not entirely. We’re AI, Rashmi. The sooner we make peace with it the better.”
“No,” Rashmi muttered. “No, no.”
You’re AI, Andra told herself. Told her body, her heart, each individual nano inside her. You’re AI. You’re a created thing. A tool to serve humanity. You’re AI.
She strained to reach that state of light and knowledge, but all she felt was pain and frustration.
You’re AI. Artificial. Accept it. You’re AI. Embrace it.
“Embrace it!” she said aloud.
She felt Rashmi quivering on the other side of the room, felt the tech around her start to shake. Something was surging up inside her, but it wasn’t the AI state she was expecting. It was anger and pain and guilt and hurt. It was knowing that she’d helped Griffin kill over a thousand people. Knowing that one of those people was her father. Knowing that she would never see him again, never get to apologize.
She would never see her mother again either. Never know if her mother even loved her, or if she was no more than some experiment, an asset designed to aid humans.
Her sister hated her. Her friends had ignored her. She’d grown up lonely and awkward and insecure.
She’d woken up as a goddess, thrown into a world of kings and villains. She’d been worshipped. She’d been martyred.
She’d fallen in love.
Fallen out of love.
Been betrayed.
Betrayed in return.
She was fragile and strong. Brilliant and ignorant. Trying and trying and trying to do the right thing and failing and failing and failing.
She was So
Utterly
Human.
And that was who she was.
Human//AI.
Both and neither.
Something altogether unique.
She was Andra.
Knowledge burst into her, a feeling of light and lightness. She was filled with surety and security and the understanding of who she was and what she was meant for.
“Andra?” Rashmi asked, and Andra could see through her counterpart’s eyes. See herself lifting up out of the chair, her hair floating around her, her eyes open and shining.
Andra was AI, and that was okay. She was human. And that was okay too.
Her purpose . . .
. . . was what she made of it.
She saw within herself, saw all the intricate pathways of knowledge and memory and feelings. She saw data streams and memory files, and tucked into the corner of her being was a presence that didn’t belong there.
Several presences.
Rashmi’s data, for one.
And next to Rashmi’s data was Griffin’s.
Memory stored in nanos, just like Rashmi’s, and Andra knew what she would find if she opened it.
She thrust the memories into her consciousness, absorbing Griffin’s entire life at once.
It wasn’t like using her holocket. She was consumed. Flashes of memoriesfeelingsfearsstrugglesmomentshopestraumasdreamschoicesfate.
Andra saw through Griffin’s eyes, felt through her skin.
She became Griffin.
And she understood.
Finally, she understood.
She collapsed to the floor, the AI state receding. The energy and light drained from her, but this time, she held on to the memories.
“Andra!” Rashmi said, clinging to her. She didn’t know how long she’d been trying to get her attention. “Andra!”
“I’m fine,” Andra croaked, reorienting herself to her surroundings. Her being. The expanse of her own self, the dimensions of her body. Her senses. The smell of sweat and mildew. Rashmi’s fingers digging into Andra’s forearm. The guilt of all she’d done. The grief for her parents. Missing Zhade. Loving her friends.
Deciding her fate.
“I’m fine,” she said again, this time stronger. The room around her—the work’station, the dirty clothes, her unmade cot—felt real and solid, but so did the memories she’d just absorbed. The understanding she now held.
“What did you see?” Rashmi asked.
Everything, Andra wanted to say, but there would be time for that later. For now, all that mattered was the stark truth. Her breath was coming too quickly. She pulled the reset tool free from her heart, ignoring the pang.
“Griffin is an AI,” Andra croaked. “And she plans to convert all of humanity.”
PART FOUR
THE QUICK AND THE DEAD
I’m sorry for everything. I truly loved you.
—Handwritten message addressed to Andromeda Watts, destroyed by pocket, circa 3102
THIRTY-SIX
THE PRISONER
Zhade came to slowish, rising from a dark dream, sleep clawing at his consciousness. Everything ached, his temple worst of all. There was a burning sensation on one side of his face. And there seemed to be something missing. He groaned as he tried to move his arms and legs and his eyes started to flutter open.
His brother was staring at him.
Zhade yelled and jerked back, preparing to defend himself, but he had no weapon, and he was so sore he could bareish move.
“Bout timeish,” Maret said. “Andra must have for true not wanted to convo you. She gave you full bars potion for you to sleep past midmeal.” He sat back on his heels and tore off a chunk of bread with his teeth. “I hope you don’t mind I ate your portion.”
Zhade held his stomach as he struggled into a sitting position on the edge of his cot. “I’m going to kill you.” He’d always purposed to kill his brother, but the images that accompanied that statement were now more violent than they had once been.
Maret nodded, swallowing the bread. “I’m certz you will, but not today. Unless you plan on doing it with your bare hands, and I’ll warn you. You appear quite weak and I’ll fight back.”
Maret offered him what was left of the bread. Zhade grabbed it sole to chuck it cross the room.
Maret watched it land on the other side of their cell—because that’s where they were, a cell in a dark-walled room with a magic shield—and then turned back to his brother.
“I recked I happened the one who was spozed to have the tantrums.”
“Where are we?” Zhade croaked.
“Oh, this?” Maret gestured round them. “This is our new home. Your delightful promised fixed it mereish for us. You’ll have to give her my thanks when you next see her. Oh, that’s right. She’s avoiding you because you’ve turned out exactish like me.” He nodded to Zhade’s face. “In more ways than one, I suss.”
“Where’s Andra?”
“Sands if I reck.” Maret leaned back into a metal chair, more relaxed than Zhade had ever seen him.
Zhade stood and stretched, letting out a groan. He wanted to ask more. Bout Andra. Bout why they were here. But he could figure all that without his brother’s help. He searched his memory, looking for answers. He’d been in the cathedzal. He’d watched Andra die and be resurrected. Then . . . had she attacked him? His lifted his hand to the Crown.
Fraughts.
He turned on Maret, grabbing him by the shirt. “Where is it?”
“What?”
“The Crown, you fraughted fraught, where is it? How did you take it?”
Maret made a gurgling sound in the back of his throat, which sounded firstish like choking, but then Zhade realized was laughing. He threw Maret back into the metal chair and started pacing. Maret held laughing, the sound strangled and frantic.
Zhade looked round the room for a march of escape. The walls, ceiling, and floor were a slick, dark gray material. He could bareish see the seams, but they were there. The magic field was transparent, but it seemed to run between two panels on either side of the room. Zhade slammed his fist into it, and his knuckles came away sizzling.
Maret’s laughter started to devolve into coughing, and after a few good hacks, he fell silent.
Zhade gingerish touched where the Crown had been. It was raw and tender.
“It’ll scar,” Maret said. “Full bad. No more perfect face, brother.”
“Evens,” Zhade said, turning to him and crossing his arms. “Where is it?”
Maret smiled, and Zhade worried he was going to start laughing again. “Haven’t you guessed?”
; Zhade felt sick to his stomach.
“Your goddess took it from you.”
Zhade turned away, feeling himself go cold. Why? Why would she do that? She recked how hard he’d fought for the Crown, how much it imported for the safety of Eerensed.
He’d mourned her.
Avenged her.
Slaughtered everyone in that room for her. Except for Tsurina, but he would fix that later. And she stole from him?
A surge of anger ran through him, followed quickish by a wave of nausea. How could he be angry at Andra? She . . . she was the most selfless person he’d ever met. She sole ever did things that needed to be done. Soze she must have had a good reason to take the Crown.
So why did he hate her?
Neg, neg, that wasn’t right. He loved her, didn’t he?
“You feel it, don’t you?” Maret asked.
Zhade didn’t turn, didn’t respond.
“It’s not you, seeya,” Maret continued. “It’s the imprint the Crown left. It wants you to imagine like this. Tsurina told you its history, marah?”
Zhade nodded. “Firm. But the Crown is gone. Andra took it.” He said the last through gritted teeth.
“Firm, the Crown is gone, but its influence isn’t. It’s why Tsurina could control you. Why she could control me. The Crown plants a bit of magic in your head. You’ll always be connected. There will always be a piece of it inside you.”
At this, Zhade turned to his brother. “Tsurina . . . controlled us?”
“Not full time.” Maret shrugged. “Sole when we weren’t doing what she wanted.”
Zhade frowned. “I don’t . . . have memory . . .”
“You might not. She could make you forget. She probablish recked she’d lose you if you realized soon and sooner. Before the Crown could full bars take hold. Me, though, she let me have memory of all of it . . .”
Maret’s eyes went distant. Zhade stood stiffish, awkwardish, in the mid of the cell, watching his brother. He thought bout the unexplained fits of anger, waking up with bruises, wanting to make people ascared of him. Had that all been Tsurina working through him? Could it be that easy? Could he discard the regret and guilt of all the terrible things he’d done?
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