“Don’t play stupid. We know you have them. Your father told us.”
Andra’s palm started to sweat, tears welling in her eyes. She was glad Raj couldn’t see her.
“My dad’s dead. I killed him. Just like I killed Cruz and Raj. And I’m really, really angry about that, so if you don’t want to see what happens when I get angry, I would back the fuck away.”
A feral smile spread across Raj’s face. “You can’t stay in there forever. Either you’ll run out of supplies, or we’ll find a way in.”
“Okay,” Andra said. “Good luck with that. See you then.”
Her finger moved toward the button to hang up the holo.
“She’s coming,” Raj said.
Andra froze.
“Who?”
“Griffin. She won’t be happy.”
Andra scoffed, though fear churned in her stomach. “I’ve seen her memories. I know she can’t get back into Eerensed. Something blocks her tech signature.”
“Something did,” Raj said. “Something that could only be fixed from inside the Icebox. It’s a shame she doesn’t have anyone on the inside. Oh wait.” His grin spread. “She does.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
00110011 00111000
Andra tried to reach the Schism again, but there was no response. She wondered if the AI had already found them and killed them. Surely not, right? They had spent the last few weeks a few tunnels away from the Schism. If they had wanted to attack them, they would have done so already.
So why hadn’t they? Why not attack Eerensed for that matter? Were they waiting for larger numbers? For Griffin? How long would it take her to get to Eerensed?
Andra still couldn’t wrap her brain around the fact that Griffin was AI. It had been weird enough when she was a series of clones, but now . . .
Was there even a point to fighting? Andra couldn’t possibly win against Griffin. She was her creator, after all.
It just didn’t make any sense why she had created Andra and Rashmi, put them in host bodies, and then waited hundreds of years to act out the rest of her plan. There was something she wasn’t seeing.
Andra wandered the quiet halls of the Vaults. The children were finally asleep, in makeshift dormitories in the 2130s exhibit hall. Swan was watching over them with the help of the older kids—and Acadia, Andra supposed. She hadn’t seen her brother and sister since they arrived. Cristin had locked herself in her room. There was a light on in Ophele’s, but Andra left her alone. Dzeni had tucked Dehgo in bed hours ago. Even Lilibet was lightly dozing in the common room, under one of her stitched blankets, the light of a holo’display shining on her face.
Andra found Rashmi in the only place that made sense: outside Maret’s cell.
Well. Maret and Zhade’s cell.
Zhade was passed out on his cot, his face turned away from her. Good. Andra wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. Couldn’t stand the idea of the imprint controlling Zhade. Of all the terrible things he might say to her, and she’d never know what was him and what was the Crown.
The cell was just as it had been, Mechy’s tech holding steady. The force shield was nothing more than a shadow between Maret and Rashmi. They sat parallel, with their backs to the wall, knees bent, staring at nothing.
“I wish I could remember . . . anything. Any part of it,” Rashmi whispered. “My head is just a swirl of colors, no sharp edges, just impressions.”
Maret snorted. “You should be glad. I have memory of all of it. Every single thing I’ve ever done. The Crown memorized it all and would play it back to me if I ever fought too hard. The torture. Executions. I can’t ever forget.”
“At least you know what you’ve done.” Rashmi’s voice was barely above a whisper, small and timid. “I have to imagine.”
Maret shook his head. “But you don’t. Have to. If you wanted, you could mereish . . . live like it never happened.”
Rashmi propped her chin on her knees and tilted her head toward him. “Do you really feel so guilty?”
Maret shrugged, and it was the most vulnerable Andra had ever seen him. “That’s the scary part. I don’t reck. It all made sense when I was doing it. And sometimes, it still makes sense. Even with it gone . . .” He touched the place on his temple were the Crown used to sit. “. . . I still don’t reck what’s me and what’s—”
Maret cut off.
There was blur in Andra’s vision as a figure dropped from the ceiling.
Inside the cell.
Andra darted forward as Rashmi scuttled back. Maret was too slow to react, and in less than a moment, Doon had him in a headlock, blade pressed against his neck.
“Wait!” Andra said, jolting forward, but stopped when she saw Doon’s grip tighten.
Rashmi let out a short scream. Xana was in the room in an instant, hand poised over the controls that released the prison. Zhade jerked awake on his cot.
“How did you get in here?” Andra asked.
Doon smirked. “I’ve been practicing. Magic always has its weaknesses.”
She nodded her head toward the ceiling, and though the cell was dark, Andra saw a missing panel at the top of the wall. Probably some kind of air vent or maintenance shaft. She’d made sure Maret couldn’t get out, but she never even considered someone breaking in.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was here?” Doon sneered.
Andra shook her head, starting to make her way slowly toward Doon. “I . . . I didn’t know you would be interested . . .”
“Interested? Interested? He killed my brother. I’m more than interested. I’ve been looking for him for moons. And all the while, you’ve had him here, paces from my brother’s promised and son!”
Andra put both hands up. “Okay, yes, I know this looks bad, but things are more complicated than you realize.”
“How? He killed my brother. He owes me a life, and I’m bout to take it.”
Xana stepped forward. “Imagine bout this, small one, are you for true a killer?”
“Am I not?” Doon scoffed, her dark curls tumbling into her eyes. “I’ve been alone since I was eight. I’ve lived in alleys and sewers. You and Skilla took me in, trained me. Skooled me how to fight and survive. You made me this. You convoed revenge. I’m mereish standing in your shadow.”
“Do it,” Maret said, his voice strained by the firm grip Doon had on his throat. “Do it. I deserve it.”
“No, you don’t,” Rashmi said.
“I do.” Maret raised his eyebrows, the only expression he could make in his current position. “I did everything I could to hold my power, even if that meant letting people die. I killed because it was fun. Because I liked it. And if you don’t kill me, I’ll do it again.”
“If you deserve to die, I do too,” Rashmi whispered.
Andra held her arms stretched out, as though she were keeping everyone at bay. “No one deserves to die, here, okay? Rashmi, you didn’t choose to be what you are, and you couldn’t help the things Griffin made you do. Yes, your lack of memories doesn’t erase the consequences of your previous actions, but you are a different person now, and that person deserves to live a good life, as short as it may be,” Andra added, thinking of the AI that would surely come to kill them.
She looked at Doon.
“Doon, you’re not a killer. You were put in horrible situations, and I’m thankful you learned the skills you needed to survive, but killing an unarmed person shouldn’t be one of them. And if Skilla and Xana taught you revenge, then I’m going to have a chat with them, one day, when this is all over, about how it’s bad to create child soldiers.”
Doon tightened her grip on Maret.
“And Maret,” Andra said. “You’re an asshole. There are many, many times I wished I had just let someone kill you, and I’m sure I’m going to regret this moment in the near future. But until we can figure out how much of what you did was you, and how m
uch of it was Tsurina and the Crown, we’re keeping you alive.”
Maret coughed. Doon’s sword nicked his throat and blood trickled down. “I deserve death. You just don’t want to believe it, because then Zhade deserves it too.”
“No,” Andra gasped. “I don’t want to believe it because of what I’ve done!”
The cell fell quiet.
“Doon, put down the sword,” a soft voice said.
Zhade was standing, arm outstretched, poised to stop Doon if he had to. To save his brother.
He caught Andra’s eye, and she quickly looked away, but not before realizing he wore his own face again. Her heart stuttered.
Doon sighed and let go of Maret. Instead of scuttling away, he fell to his knees, coughing. He let the line of blood continue to trickle down his neck, the ends of his long hair staining dark red.
Xana hit the controls for the force shield, and Doon walked out. Maret didn’t try to break free. He looked over his shoulder at his brother, who was unmoving, staring at Andra. Xana reignited the force shield.
“Hold up,” Andra said, turning to Doon. “How did you really get in here?”
* * *
Doon showed them the route she took through maintenance and ventilation shafts that led to a tunnel that wound through a collapsed portion of the Vaults. She told them the tunnel connected to another tunnel, which connected to another, then another, until it reached the Schism. The problem was Doon was the only one small enough to fit.
Andra paced as she waited for Doon’s return. She’d left half an hour ago to take a message to Skilla. It was possible she would run into the AI or that the AI had already gotten to the Schism, but if there was any chance of getting Skilla’s militia and refugees to the Vaults, they had to take it.
Andra paced outside the room that held Zhade and Maret’s cell. Xana watched her with a raised eyebrow.
“You going to convo him?” she asked.
“I . . . who?”
Xana gave her a disappointed look, her modded eye flashing. “Mereish because my feelings weren’t returned, doesn’t purpose yours are doomed too.”
Andra’s jaw dropped.
“Scuze?” Xana said, hand over her heart. “I’m observant.”
Andra rolled her eyes. “This is different. Sides, I don’t want to convo him with his brother right there.”
Xana shrugged. “I purpose, it’s your choice, but things are not looking good. You should say the things you want to say now, before it’s too late.”
Andra didn’t respond. She didn’t know how to fight Griffin and the AI yet, but even once they had a plan, there was a strong possibility they would lose. This could be her last chance to speak with Zhade . . . about anything.
“Your feelings weren’t returned with Skilla?” Andra asked. “Or Dzeni?”
Xana’s eyebrows shot up. She ran a hand over her shaved head. “I don’t . . . I . . . She . . . What are you convoing?”
Andra let out a ghost of a laugh. “Scuze. I’m observant.”
Then she straightened her shoulders and walked into the room before she lost her nerve.
Maret was lying down on his cot, throwing one of his shoes into the air and catching it. Zhade was pacing the length of the force shield. He stopped when he saw Andra.
For a moment, she let herself take in his face. It was truly his again. His wide cheekbones and bowed mouth. His sarcastic eyebrows hanging over his brown eyes. He still wore his hair like Maret’s—too light, too long. And he was far too thin. And there was an angry red scar over his left temple and eye. But it was Zhade.
Andra swallowed. “Hi.”
“Heya,” Zhade said. His chest was heaving, and she couldn’t read the expression on his face. But he wasn’t yelling or attacking or casting biting remarks, like she expected.
She didn’t know who this Zhade was, who he had ever been. Was he the arrogant boy who brought her to Eerensed? The kind one who let Andra cry on his shoulder? The ambitious one who had used and betrayed her? The tender boy she’d slept with? The boy dictator controlled by Tsurina and the Crown? Or yet someone else?
“So, uh.” She took a step toward him. “I just wanted to say sorry for—”
“Neg, stop, don’t,” Zhade said, his face red with anger.
“Oh, I just—”
“Neg, mereish . . .” He sighed. “I purpose you have nothing to be sorries for. I . . . I treated you full horrible, that moren. I was angry and hurt, and I wish I could blame it on the Crown, but in truth, I don’t reck if it was me or not. And I . . .” He ruffled the back of his head. “Every word I said to you before we . . . the even before I left . . . was the full truth. My full truth is that I love you.”
Andra felt something swell inside her, some vestige of hope, some determination to make everything okay, to wade through their boggy past to find solid ground.
Zhade shook his head. “But it’s not enough.”
Andra deflated. Her eyes smarted and her throat closed up.
“Even without the Crown, I treated you full horrible. I lied to you, manipulated you, used you.” He bit his lip and looked down at his feet, and Andra was surprised to see tears in his eyes. “And I love you enough to not want you to be with me. Because you deserve better. And no meteor how hard I try, I can never make up for what I’ve done. And now that I have this . . .” He gestured to the side of his head, where the Crown had been, where there was now a scar. “. . . this thing in my head, there will always be a chance that I’ll hurt you.” He met Andra’s gaze. “I’ll never, ever be able to deserve you.”
Tears welled in Andra’s eyes, but she willed them not to fall. “You’re right, asshole. You never will deserve me.”
He nodded in resignation.
Andra glowered. “But everything else you said was bullshit.”
Zhade opened his mouth to argue, but Andra cut him off.
“So, you have that . . . imprint thing in your head, so what? So you did terrible things, before and after you had the Crown. So. What.” She threw up her hands. “Unfortunately for me, that doesn’t change how I feel about you. And you don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to pull the ‘noble sacrifice’ card and say you’re ending things because of how you feel for me. That’s bullshit. It sounds to me like you’re taking the easy way out. You’ll never be able to make it up to me? Maybe not, but you should at least make an effort. You’ll never be good enough for me? You’re damn right, but that doesn’t give you the pass to just stop trying. We’ve all done horrible things, myself included. None of us get to give up. So shut up and do better, asshole.”
Zhade stood, gape-mouthed. Andra left before he had a chance to respond.
THIRTY-NINE
00110011 00111001
Doon made it back around midnight. The journey should have taken only an hour, not four, but Doon wouldn’t say what she’d been doing the rest of the time.
The Schism was fine, but they were cut off from the Vaults. Doon told her Skilla had gotten the panicked message Andra had sent from the Icebox and tried to answer. Andra had never gotten the return message, so it was clear that the colonists were watching and somehow blocking communication. Skilla had tried to find a way to the Vaults, but AI had set up camp in the main tunnel. They would have to find another way in.
Andra sat forward in her ergo’chair, where she’d been flipping through the memory files now on her work’station. Inside her head, Griffin’s memories were all mixed together, a muddle of events Andra couldn’t organize into a story. But on the computer, they could be organized, categorized, shaped into patterns. Rashmi and Lilibet were helping her sift through the data, but there were trillions of moments. Finding the right memory that would give them a clue as to how to defeat the AI would take a miracle. If there was a way to do it, Griffin had buried it deep in her subconscious.
AI were hard to
kill—Andra’s own recovery proved that—but it wasn’t impossible. There had to be some way to kill the AI and prevent their nanos from traveling to a new host. At least they couldn’t hop from body to body. If they could, Griffin wouldn’t have needed Andra to convert the colonists with the anomalizer. It was possible for nanos to be absorbed into nearby tech, though, so that made even dead AI dangerous.
Andra kept searching through the memories, seeking patterns. Sorting through the three different tech signatures.
She blinked. Then rubbed her eyes, looked again.
There were definitely three separate tech signatures in the files. One matched Rashmi, the other matched Griffin. Rashmi had only downloaded the memories that didn’t match Andra’s tech signature, so who did the third set of memories belong to?
The file was small. Ridiculously small compared to the others. And its subfiles were categorized differently than the other memories. They were filed by chronology, not by the chaotic connections a brain makes when storing memories. These looked like they had almost been filed . . . intentionally. Like someone had put them into Andra’s brain on purpose.
She opened the first file.
It wasn’t like Griffin’s memories. It didn’t feel like she had lived this moment, always known it. It didn’t become part of her. Instead, it expanded around her, taking her through the moment like the memories in the holocket would. Except this was more than just a sim that included senses. She felt the emotions, thoughts, impressions, instincts of the memory.
She was holding a baby girl in her arms. It hadn’t lived long. She was grieving, confused, angry. She didn’t know how she’d tell Auric, who was so excited for their second child. Acadia, who wanted to be a big sister.
Then Alberta came.
At first, Alberta had cried with her, but then her eyes had cleared, and she’d told her. About the AI program. About how she could bring the baby back. Told her about the plan. The plan for Andromeda. And Isla agreed.
Andra cried out, coming back to herself as the memory dissolved.
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