by wildbow
And he’d feel the same regret he did now.
“You’ve gone quiet.”
“Thinking.”
“Three minutes before you take the thinking cap off and we get battle ready.”
“That’s fine. I’m thinking in circles anyways. In the interest of being useful, I’m trying to isolate your ‘higher brain’ code from the rest. You want to take a minute, maybe turn your attention to my leg’s prosthesis again?”
“On it.”
He began to select the outliers from the two distinct strains of code.
“Think about nothing in particular,” he told her.
“Harder than it sounds.”
“Think white. Or stare off into space.”
He could see the code shift. He began to gradually narrow down the outliers.
Nothing too pertinent. It would help him to keep any changes from damaging the most essential parts of her, but nothing too useful.
Conversationally, he asked her, “The Undersiders are still holding the territory they did, then?”
“They kidnapped the Director long enough to get her to order the A.I. to stand down, got away from one altercation, then used some combination of Tattletale’s power and the Director’s knowledge to figure out that they could slow me down by knocking out cell towers. As far as I know, they’re in a better position than they were.”
“Damnation.”
“How are you feeling about that? The Undersiders?”
“Psychoanalyzing me? I’m itching to stop them. If you asked me what I’d change, I don’t know that I could name a thing I’d do different. I’d do everything over again, but do it better.”
“You wouldn’t get caught.”
“There’s that,” he said, sighing. “And maybe I was too harsh in my judgement of Skitter. I was angry at her, I was tired, maybe that led me to label her with some malice she didn’t have. In retrospect, yes, she made the decisions she did, but she had reasons for doing what she did.”
“In the same way you did.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that.”
Dragon didn’t respond. He swore under his breath, knew she could hear it.
“They took down our Azazel?” he asked, aiming to change the subject.
“Yes.”
“Fuck,” he muttered. It would have been useful to have, here.
He could see a blip in the code, well beyond the outliers he’d marked out.
“What were you just thinking?”
“Flight plan, battle strategy, and fixes to the Azazel hardware. I have the black box data.”
“Think back through each of those things.”
“We’re going to be at our destination in less than a minute.”
“Please?
There was a long pause, then again, the flare of data being altered well outside of the boundaries he’d noted. He opened up the full stream in the view window, spreading it across every screen in front of him.
“Keep going,” he told her. The cursor flew between the seven screens, marking out areas in color to see where code was changing most radically. It was like the work he did with his own power, the smallest elements impacting everything else.
Like his own power…
He leaned back in his seat.
“What is it?”
“Either Andrew Richter was far better at designing A.I. than I suspected, or there’s something else at play. You have any notes on your code from a few years ago?”
“We just reached Enfield, Colin.”
“I’m only barely wrapping my head around this code as is. I’m worried that I’ll lose track and this will all be gibberish to me if I look away. Notes on your code?”
“How far back?”
“Let’s say in intervals of four years.”
“Loading them onto the Uther’s system. This isn’t like you, Colin. Getting distracted? Making the Slaughterhouse Nine a lower priority?”
“Four years ago, I think it’s the same. Hard to find flares like that and not think I’m cherry picking data.”
“Colin. I admit I’m a little unnerved. Way you’re talking, it sounds like Richter put some safeguard in place and I could fall apart any second.”
“It’s not that. Can you load up the earliest archive of data you have?”
“I’ll have to clear away one of the other files.”
“Do it. They’re useless. They’re the same thing as the most recent set.”
He watched as the flow of data appeared. It was odd how he could look at it and she almost felt younger, like a musician might read music and hear it in his head. Only here, it was like looking at a video image of a girlfriend as a child.
And… more constrained. Certainly more advanced than anything else in existence on the planet, but things flowed. A led to B led to C. He sped through volumes of the data to hunt for a flare, glanced at the time markers. A year ahead. Two years.
No, he couldn’t afford to pore through Dragon’s entire lifetime. He closed the image, leaned forward and stared at the screen, the recent image of Dragon’s code, caught in a three second loop in the midst of her plotting her design.
“What is it?”
“You’re a tinker.”
“This isn’t a revelation, Colin.”
“No. I mean, not just as far as the classification applies to you. You’re a parahuman. I don’t have time to hunt for it now, but at some point between now and a few years after your creation, you had a trigger event.”
“How can I be a parahuman if I’m not human to begin with?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m not even close to human. I might be trying to emulate one, but a sea cucumber’s closer to being a human than I am. That doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t know either.”
“What does this mean?”
“Yet again, I don’t know. But it’s now my turn to remind you that we’ve got to carry on with our mission, see if we can’t track down our targets. The four A.I. suits are close?”
“They’ll be here within the minute.”
“Good. But this thing with the data and your nature, it’s important. A clue. I’m only mortal, I might not come out of this alive—”
“Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true. I want to leave nothing to chance. So I’m going to leave a note, just in case the worst happens and we both die somehow. Instructions.”
“To look at the code.”
“To look at the code. The fact that you haven’t noticed this yourself suggests there may be a mental block in place.”
“I don’t have a mind to put any mental block inside. I’m data.”
“And the same limitations still apply. Just in case, we’re going to make sure someone can look over the code if we don’t make it back. Whatever happens, someone’s going to page through your memory, get our first hard data on a trigger event. Ideal world, it’ll be us. You can’t remember it happening?”
“No.”
“Well, we’ll see just how well that data was erased. Or if it even was erased. Could be a block keeping you from accessing a very real memory. With luck, maybe a bit of a loophole like the one I created around your ability to create child A.I., we can unlock that memory, decrypt it or find a snapshot of it as it’s in progress.”
“To what ends?”
It was a good question. It took him a moment to conceptualize it into a complete thought.
“…Since the day I got my powers, I’ve seen myself as a soldier in a greater war. Good against evil, order against chaos, mankind against the likes of the Slaughterhouse Nine and the Endbringers. It’s a war on every front. And sometimes that’s called for ugly choices. When we talked about unlocking the restrictions in your code, breaking down the barriers Andrew Richter was so careful to put in place, we talked about the idea that you and I could work together, give our side the upper hand in sheer firepower. And I think we can with a little more time, a little more work. With this? This snapshot, t
his recording of a trigger event in progress? Maybe we can get the upper hand in knowledge, too.”
“I know what you’re thinking. Reproducing trigger events, deciphering or even controlling the source of powers. This is the type of radical thinking I’m supposed to rein in while I’m working with you.”
“Are you saying I’m wrong? That we shouldn’t investigate?”
“No. We should. I’m worried about the can of worms this opens up, but we should.”
“I don’t see why you’re so reluctant.” He was already typing up the note to check the code, marking out the dates and times to investigate, the things to look out for. It was painfully abstract, but the right tinker or the right genius could find it. He opened the channels to deposit the files on the primary PRT server.
His computer froze.
“Dragon?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” he said.
The speakers produced the sound of a sigh. “We won’t put the note on anything the PRT can get at.”
“Why?” he asked.
“That,” she said, “Is a long story, and it’s where I’m asking you to trust me and leave this for later discussion. Our priority right this moment is the Slaughterhouse Nine. I doubt we’ll stop them outright, but we’ll try. Six powered suits in all. I can’t disobey the directive, and you can’t let yourself lose track of the mission, or you’ll never get back on it. I’ll explain this after.”
“You said you couldn’t put the files on anything the PRT can get at?”
“I’m almost certain they already know whatever we stand to find out. I suppose it’s unavoidable, given how close we are on so many levels, but you’re getting drawn into another fight, with an enemy that may be on the same level as the Nine or even the Endbringers. An enemy I can’t afford to fight face to face.”
“Who?”
“I’m obligated to follow the laws of the land. To obey the local government, no matter who they are. When we’re done here, whether we stop the Nine outright, see them escape yet again or lose the fight, you should ask me about Cauldron.”
Monarch 16.7
Living in a city meant dealing with some recurring issues. Crime, having to lock the doors, congestion on the roads, crowds getting in the way on footpaths; stuff we dealt with so often that we considered it routine. We considered it background noise or we managed without even thinking about it. Construction work was something we couldn’t dismiss so readily, something that always seemed to elicit groans and complaints. Maybe because it was so blatant, so grating, and it changed in tone, location and degree often enough that we couldn’t adjust.
Not today.
No, I felt a level of satisfaction and security as the bulldozers and piledrivers went to work in my territory. For every car on the road, there were ten trucks carrying debris out and five trucks bringing materials in.
A lot of that would be Coil’s doing, I knew. There was construction and clearing going on throughout my territory and building inspectors were checking blocks, all despite the warnings that were going around regarding big, bad, unpredictable Skitter, and that would be because he greased palms or the construction companies at work were his.
Damn it, I felt restless. I wanted to go to Coil’s territory and discuss Dinah, and I might have, if Trickster hadn’t been the first to speak up and declare he was going to confront Coil. I suspected that Coil wouldn’t release Dinah this soon, and if he was under too much pressure to hear Trickster out, he certainly wouldn’t listen to me. If he did have something to offer Trickster, he wouldn’t welcome my distraction. I had to wait. I hated it, but I recognized it as the sensible route.
Trickster’s focus was on Noelle, though, and nothing I’d seen indicated that Coil had made any advances on that front. All I knew, really, was what Tattletale had told me and the little things that had come up in our brief discussion with the Travelers about our strategy. She’d been a girl, maybe not in the best of health.
It was possible Trickster had been trying to save Noelle in the same way I was trying to save Dinah. The circumstances were different, obviously: Coil was the best answer the Travelers had to Noelle’s situation, but he was the cause of Dinah’s.
Still, it made me think.
I was officially hands-off in my territory. I wasn’t going to deviate from orders now and risk upsetting Coil. That meant no costume, no showing my face, no intervention in the management of things.
Which turned my thoughts to Sierra. As far as my ability to sense things with my swarm went, Sierra was easier to identify than many. Her dreads gave her a distinct profile.
I couldn’t find her.
I could find Charlotte. That wasn’t a problem; she was in the company of the kids, half a block away, giving each kid two six-packs of plastic water bottles to ferry out to the various work sites.
“You’ve been lying there since I woke up, eyes half-open, staring off into space.”
I blinked hard, then rubbed my eyes. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
I looked at Brian. He was pulling himself up to a sitting position, the covers over his lap. I glanced over his upper body. None of the battle wounds I’d seen him sustain in the past were there anymore. The scars from the shallow cuts Cricket had carved into his chest were gone, as were the defensive wounds and old scars on his hands and arms. He was in perfect shape, physically. Physically.
But I’d sort of explored enough to discover that last night. It hadn’t been a perfect night, not even excellent, but it had been nice. Considering all of the other humiliating or awkward possibilities, I was happy to take nice.
Thinking about it made me self conscious. I pulled the sheets up to my collarbone. “You sleep any?”
“Some. Woke up in the middle of the night, I made some noise. I’m surprised I didn’t wake you.”
I frowned. “You should have.”
He shook his head. “You were exhausted. Once I saw you there, it helped me to realize where I was, dismiss them for the dreams they were. Took me a bit to relax, but it wasn’t bad. Being here.”
Hated that, that he was struggling like that and I couldn’t help fix it.
“Do you need to talk to someone? A psychiatrist?”
I could see him flinch at that, his entire upper body stiffening in some kind of knee jerk resistance.
I waited, not pushing.
He sighed, and I watched that battle-readiness slowly seep from him, the tension leaving him. Up to a point. “Don’t we all?”
“Probably. But you’re the one I’m worried about.”
“I’ll figure this out myself. Have to do this myself, or I feel like it won’t count, it won’t really be a fix.”
I didn’t like that response, but it was a hard one to argue with.
“I won’t pester you about it. But can you at least tell me that if this goes on for any length of time, you’ll go get help?”
“It’ll get better. Has to. I feel like I’ve taken strides forward, forcing myself to let down my guard, to be here with you.”
I tensed, “Forcing yourself?”
“That’s not what I mean. I mean, you know. I… I can’t relax. Can’t stay still, can’t stop watching over my shoulder or make my brain stop replaying scenes in my head. Except I can, if I’m active, if I’m doing something like we were against those Dragon suits, or if I’m with you, and I’m lying here in your bed, trying not to wake you up. Then I know I can’t get worked up, it gives me these boundaries I can force myself to work inside.”
My eyebrows drew together in concern. “It sounds like it’s causing you more stress in the long run.”
“No,” he said. He reached out and used both of his hands to seize mine. He squeezed. “Come on, no. Is that really what you want to talk about right now?”
“I’d love to talk about other stuff,” I said. I wasn’t sure I was telling the truth. Things were more awkward in the light of day. Only seconds ago, I had prodded a sore spot for him by raising the
idea of psychiatric help. Offended him. If I didn’t clear my head and get centered, I wasn’t sure I trusted my ability to avoid another misstep.
“But?”
“But I made plans with my dad. It’s…” I paused, closing my eyes, “Nine-twenty-eight. I figure I need to shower and get dressed, which might take an hour, eat, do a quick walk around my territory in civilian clothes, then head over. I want to spend time with you, but after the intensity of the past little while, taking things slow this morning feels like a nice idea.”
“How do you know the time?”
“Bugs on clock hands,” I said, pointing toward my bathroom.
“Ah. You want company?”
My eyes widened a little. “In the bathroom?”
He grinned. “For breakfast. And the walk-around, if you want. I could learn stuff. We’re liable to lose track of time if we share a shower.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Please, we’ll have breakfast, walk.”
I climbed out of bed, tugging one of the sheets free of the bed so I had something to wrap around myself as I made my way to the bathroom.
With my bugs, I could sense Brian getting out of bed shortly after I’d abandoned the sheet, climbed into the shower and pulled the makeshift shower curtain into position. He made his way downstairs and began putting breakfast together. He set two plates down, and then said something to the empty room.
I still had the scene in mind a little while later, as I ventured downstairs. I was dressed now, a tank top, jeans and sweatshirt around my waist, my hair towel dried but still damp. “Were you talking to me?”
“I was saying it probably isn’t very hygienic to have houseflies landing on dinner plates.”