by Claudia Gray
Noemi climbs in first and slumps into a chair as Abel joins her. Strands of his dark blond hair cling to his damp forehead, and his wet clothes drip onto the floor, yet he shows no signs of tiredness or alarm. She hasn’t begun to discover the limits of what he can do.
Abel has done all this for her, knowing that she has to destroy him.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
He looks down at her in surprise, then smiles. “It’s unnecessary to thank mechs.”
“I’m not thanking you because it’s necessary. I’m thanking you because you deserve it.”
The silence between them goes on for too long after that. Noemi doesn’t want to feel grateful to Abel; she doesn’t want to be awed by him. She’s letting herself get… confused, distracted. They need to concentrate on the mission.
“Okay,” she says. “From here can we figure out where we are? And where a thermomagnetic device might be?”
Abel moves toward the one computer console in this station. “Probably. We have adequate time to research this and be sure, and for you to rest.” He says the last part as easily as the first, but she still hears what sounds like genuine concern in his voice. “Your escape plan may have had unforeseen difficulties, but at least no one will find us here.”
The door bangs open. Noemi startles as she sees someone standing there—a tall girl about her age or a couple of years younger, with deep tan skin, long brown hair caught back in a ponytail and streaked with red, and a smug grin on her face. Behind her stand three other people roughly the same age, all of whom begin to cackle with laughter.
As Noemi stares at the newcomers, aghast, the girl folds her arms across her chest with pride. “See, Razers always find bugs in the system. And now we’ve found you.”
20
ABEL REMAINS SILENT AND STILL, ASSESSING THE SITUA-tion. He has protocols that would kick in if he and Noemi were being taken captive. But their discoverers—the “Razers,” as they call themselves—can’t make up their minds what to do next.
“We walk in there with these two and just watch the head of security have a complete meltdown.”
“If security figures out that we’re ahead of them, they’ll ask what we were doing down here. Do we really want that?”
Abel assumes this comment is related to the distinct scent in the air, the smoke of an herbal substance that is illegal on both Stronghold and Cray.
“None of you are thinking clearly about this,” says the girl with the red-streaked hair, the apparent ringleader. “If we don’t turn them in, what are we supposed to do with them? But we shouldn’t turn them in for nothing. Sooner or later, they’ll post a reward.”
“Then tell me this, Virginia—who gets the money?” demands the tallest of them, a sturdy, blond-haired boy. “Do we split it equally? Because I’m the one who checked the sensor grid.”
“Only after I told you to,” Virginia says. “I’m the one who figured out they had to have gone deeper underground.”
The Razers begin a fresh round of bickering. Noemi glances over at Abel, less alarmed than bewildered.
He cannot blame her for her confusion. Certainly their captors aren’t behaving like they’re in the presence of potential criminals; it doesn’t seem to occur to the Razers how quickly this situation could change, how easy it would be for them to get hurt.
And it would be very easy. Abel’s programming suggests six different ways he could kill or maim all four of the Razers within ninety seconds. If Noemi’s life is endangered, he’ll do exactly that. But his programming doesn’t allow him to kill humans absent such compelling circumstances, or a direct command.
Instead he must try to understand these Razers. Fortunately, what Abel knows of Cray is enough to help him develop a working hypothesis.
Aside from a few functionaries, the entire population of Cray is made up of top scientific minds. Children on Earth and the other colony worlds are tested at young ages to see if they have the necessary aptitude; if they do, they leave their parents behind to join the intensive boarding schools on Cray. Most never return home. As the planetary welcome message indicated, families can and do visit, but none are permitted to stay. Cray’s resources, like Kismet’s, are reserved for the elite. The difference is that Kismet is for those with wealth, and Cray is for those with intelligence.
The four teenagers standing before them will have been groomed and pampered their entire lives. They think sneaking around in back corridors and smoking controlled substances counts as rebellion. Compared to Noemi, they seem naïve, even spoiled.
Nonetheless, the Razers found Abel and Noemi. The only way out would be to attack them, and Abel can’t do that unless Noemi’s at risk—or unless she explicitly orders him to.
By now he understands she would never give that order.
Virginia plays with the end of her red-streaked ponytail. “We could ask for a reward that wasn’t in the form of money. Extra processors for our plate tectonics project? Or vacation time on Kismet, maybe.”
Noemi speaks for the first time since the Razers’ entrance. “Kismet’s overrated.”
“Says you. Me, I haven’t seen the sun—any sun—in about ten years. Does Kismet have a sun? Then it sounds great to me.” Virginia says this with no self-pity. Her curiosity seems to have been piqued, though. “So what do they want you guys for? Yeah, ‘persons of interest,’ but come on. You guys are up to something.”
“We stole a part for our ship,” Abel says.
The others look at one another and scoff. Their youngest member, a boy just starting puberty, laughs at them. “They don’t issue planet-wide alerts for stolen parts.”
“You said it, Kalonzo. C’mon, you two, spill it.” Virginia smiles conspiratorially. “Was it good? Tell me it was something awesome.”
Noemi stole me, Abel thinks. Or I stole myself. The authorities almost certainly do not yet know Noemi’s from Genesis; their only possible source of information would be the Remedy members they encountered on the Kismet moon, but they would be unlikely to have informed the authorities of Noemi’s origins. They’d wish to preserve their link to a potential ally. Therefore, this pursuit is only about Burton Mansfield’s hope of getting Abel back home again.
Despite Noemi’s sodden clothing and damp hair, she comes across as confident as she leans back in her chair. “Tell you what. Let’s strike a deal.”
The Razers exchange glances before Virginia says, “What kind of deal?”
“We need to hide.” Noemi sighs, as though this were all no more than an annoyance. “Obviously. So you guys don’t tell the authorities that you found us. Plus, you help us get our hands on a thermomagnetic device, and you don’t say anything about us even after we leave Cray. In return, you get—let’s say—fifteen hours to study the most exciting piece of technology you’ve ever seen in your lives. I promise, it will blow your minds.”
The Razers’ eyes light up. Noemi has baited the hook well.
Virginia is interested, but hardly convinced. “Honestly, we probably would’ve hidden you awhile just for fun. But a thermomagnetic device? You’d have to offer up something pretty spectacular, and you definitely don’t have it on you.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Noemi says. “It’s better than you can possibly imagine.”
“We’re listening.” Virginia folds her arms. “What is it?”
Abel already knows what’s coming, but he still feels vindicated when Noemi replies, “The single most advanced mech ever created. The long-lost special project of Burton Mansfield himself.”
They’re not impressed. One of the other Razers, a girl called Fon with her hair piled up in a messy bun, actually laughs. “The legendary A model? Come on. Where would you ever find that?”
Abel steps forward, holds out his left hand, and runs his right thumbnail across his palm, along a tiny ridge too small for the human eye to notice. Only those well acquainted with mechs will recognize this as a repair seam.
As the Razers stare, Abel peels back the
skin to expose the metallic skeletal structure of his hand. The limb isn’t entirely mechanical, which means he bleeds a little, and the pain is… considerable. But his programming allows him to ignore such sensory input, at least for a time.
He smiles easily as he meets Virginia’s eyes, and he says, “A is for Abel.”
Her face lights up with a wide grin. “Well, Abel, my name’s Virginia Redbird, and I promise, nobody’s ever been happier to see you than I am right now.”
Abel places only one condition on the Razers: Their studies can be as extensive as they’d like, but they must not do anything that would cause permanent damage. They swore they wouldn’t, said they’d sooner throw a Picasso on the fire, that it would be the stupidest blunder of all time, et cetera. As overblown as their promises are, Abel can tell they’re sincere. The Razers have taken the deal.
Noemi realized they would value knowledge above all other things, Abel muses as Virginia holds a spectrometer over his bare feet. Perhaps later, he might ask Noemi to teach him more about human nature.
Then again, he will have little time to use such knowledge. Now that acquisition of the thermomagnetic device seems likely, and imminent, Abel’s life-span can probably be measured in mere days.
There seems little point to learning anything new.
They’ve taken shelter in the Razers’ hideout, an empty chamber at the end of a tunnel left behind after a construction project was moved. Abel’s information on adolescence indicates that private meeting places for this age group would normally be ideal for enjoying video entertainment, taking intoxicants, engaging in sexual activity, or some combination of the three. This room, however, is a computing lab, one made up of jury-rigged older machines the Razers have “customized.” Despite the whimsical touches, like the string lights across the ceiling and the hammock in the far corner, this is unquestionably a place to do work.
“So after a long day of doing science experiments, you unwind by doing more science experiments,” Noemi says. She’s changed into a T-shirt and leggings of Virginia’s, both somewhat too large for her. The leggings wrinkle at the knees, but Abel finds himself fascinated by the way the wide neck of the pale pink T-shirt falls off one of Noemi’s bare shoulders. There is no logical reason for such fascination, but telling himself this doesn’t help Abel stop looking.
“Yeah, but during the day, we do boring experiments,” Virginia explains without looking up from her readings of Abel’s leg. At the moment, she’s the only Razer with them, a show of either great trust or foolish self-confidence—in Abel’s opinion, probably the latter. Kalonzo’s getting them something to eat, while the other two, Ludwig and Fon, do some research on thermomagnetic devices in the vicinity. Virginia’s clearly thrilled to have some research time with Abel to herself. “On our own, we do cool shit. Like this. Though this is a lot cooler than usual. The A model! The legend!”
Abel likes being referred to as a legend. “What had you heard about me?”
Virginia gestures toward his damp shirt, which he obligingly pulls off as she says, “That an A model existed. That Mansfield tried to push the limits of what a cybernetic organism could do and be. Some extracts from his papers have circulated—caused a lot of commotion in robotics circles, let me tell you. But he never made another A model. A few people tried to do something similar, but they failed.”
He still has not been replaced. To Mansfield, he was unique. Abel thinks of his father’s smile and feels a strange tug at his throat. He’s been wondering for some time whether he might develop the ability to cry. Apparently not yet, but he’s beginning to know what that might feel like.
Virginia places a sonar imager on his chest and begins scanning. “Technically I guess we could open you up,” she says to Abel, “but I’d rather not get blood all over the place. Unless you can stop bleeding on command?”
Abel shakes his head. “That’s as automated for me as it is for you.”
Noemi’s expression turns troubled. “Abel—what you did, back at the observation station, peeling that skin back from your hand—did it hurt?”
“Of course. My organic structures include nerves.”
With the scanner just above what passes for Abel’s heart, Virginia lets out a long, low whistle. “You have backup systems for backup systems, did you know that? Mansfield outdid himself with you.”
“Yes,” Abel says.
“So how come you’re not with Mansfield? How did he ever let you out of his sight?”
“He… believed I had been destroyed. Our separation was accidental.” That’s as close to the truth as Abel can get without giving too much away.
“But you don’t want to go back to him?” Virginia asks. “Because him looking for you—that’s what you have to be on the run from, right?”
“I do want to go back to him,” Abel says. “Very much. But there’s something I must do first.” He is very careful not to look at Noemi as he speaks.
It isn’t that he’s not curious about her reaction. It’s that he fears she wouldn’t have any reaction at all.
Virginia accepts this explanation, vague as it is. “I guess nobody’s in a big rush to go back to Earth, huh? Last month’s imager from my parents said they’re having sandstorms in Manitoba. Sandstorms! My people have been up there since the Bering Strait went underwater, and nobody ever had to worry about sandstorms before. Ever. It’s got to be completely terrifying.”
“Are your parents all right?” Noemi asks, hugging herself, uneasy with the personal question.
Virginia pauses mid-scan. “I send them what I can. They’re doing okay. As okay as you can be in that situation. Mostly I try not to think about it.”
Noemi’s frown betrays her confusion, or her contempt. A girl who wouldn’t even let go of her friend’s dead body until she found a decent resting place could never understand leaving people she loved in danger. But Abel understands difficult choices.
Oblivious to their reactions, Virginia gets back to work. “Hey, if you guys are bored, we’ve got all the latest vids down here, and a great classic collection, too.”
“Do you have Casablanca?” Abel asks in sudden hope.
“Maybe? I’ll have to check. Want a hard copy to take to your secret ship for your secret trip to do whatever it is you’re secretly doing?” Virginia gives him a showy wink.
He has no use for that kind of humor, but to see Casablanca again, at last—“Yes, please. I’d like that very much.”
“What’s Casablanca?” Noemi asks.
Has Genesis banned everything wonderful? “It’s an early twentieth-century movie—movies were a primitive stage of what we’d now call vids. They only provide visual and auditory input, but can be surprisingly stimulating.” Abel smiles as he thinks of the characters—Rick, Ilsa, Sam, Captain Renault. “Casablanca was my favorite.”
Noemi’s face takes on that troubled look again, but Virginia burbles on happily. “Well, if anyone’s got that here on Cray, I can fix you up. Or, uh, maybe I can just fix you. You’ve got some weird readouts coming through here.”
She must mean the overloads in his emotional systems, particularly the area controlling devotion and loyalty. “Certain mental functions of mine have rerouted. I’m still processing at full speed, but results are more variable than they once were.”
He could just tell her which areas are causing problems, but he finds he doesn’t want to tell her something so… personal, for lack of a better word.
Virginia raises her eyebrows as she continues to scan. “Something’s definitely up. Whatever it is, it’s primarily software, not hardware. I doubt we could fix you without a total memory reboot.”
Noemi shakes her head. “That would be wrong, just… erasing him.”
At first Abel feels flattered, but then he remembers that Noemi needs his former knowledge in order to destroy the Genesis Gate. He is only of use to her intact.
“Are you kidding?” Virginia laughs at them. “I wouldn’t erase Abel even if you both begged me to
. This work—what Mansfield did in here—I know I don’t understand it yet, but it’s too important to ruin. What he accomplished with you goes beyond anything I thought cybernetics could do.”
“What do you mean, precisely?” Abel says. Mansfield never explained, in-depth, exactly what the differences really are.
Abel has never been troubled by what humans would consider existential crises: He knows what he is, who made him, what his duties are in the world. He’s never had to ask himself the same questions about meaning that so haunt humans. But if he is something more than a mech—if his existence has some other, greater meaning—
“You’re amazing. Like, above and beyond any other mech I’ve ever seen.” The enormous grin on Virginia’s face isn’t as self-satisfied as before. Abel searches for the right word to describe her and comes up with awestruck. “Your mental processes are complex enough to be human.”
“What?” Noemi steps closer to them. She braces herself against one of the graffiti-covered worktables, as if she expected to fall. “What does that mean?”
Abel would like that answer himself. Although he already understands the objective importance of this news, he knows he will need to fully digest this information later, after he is not so overcome with pride.
Every excellence within Abel is proof of his father’s love.
Virginia shrugs. “Abel, you have an incredibly intricate operational cortex. Honestly, your capabilities are so overdeveloped they’re counterproductive. Like, you can doubt your own choices, can’t you? I bet you can.”
“Sometimes,” Abel says.
“See?” Virginia points at him. “Other mechs can’t do that. Doubt holds people back. Mechs are supposed to fulfill their task no matter what. No way Mansfield did that for no reason, or only to prove that he could. Abel… you were designed for something specific. Something extraordinary. You really don’t know what it is?”