by Jay Kristoff
Gabriel climbed to his feet, gasping and unsteady, roaring Mercy’s name. Lemon saw him raise his pistol in slow motion, the world slowing to a crawl as he opened fire. She screamed, hand outstretched, helpless as she watched two shots catch Silas in the chest, a third in his belly, the old man crying out and staggering.
“Silas!” Cricket bellowed.
“Mister C!”
Lemon dashed out from cover as the old man fell, skidding to her knees at his side. Silas’s face was twisted, scarlet spilling from his lips. His chest was soaked with blood, her hands sticky with it. She pressed at the awful wounds, tears streaming down her face.
“Mister C?”
The old man could only groan, blood bubbling at his mouth. Lemon looked around desperately for some way to stop the bleeding, some way to make it better.
“Somebody help me!” she wailed.
“Lemon, take cover!” Cricket roared.
The big bot and Faith had resumed their throwdown, trying their best to kill each other. Cricket’s shoulders and left arm were now ablaze, but he didn’t seem to notice. Lost in fury at seeing his maker get shot, the logika was swinging his burning limb like a massive club. Lemon grabbed Silas by the coveralls, face reddening with strain as she dragged the old man behind the outer doors. Her hands were drenched in red, cheeks wet with tears. Looking for a blanket, a rag, anything to stop the bleeding.
Anything.
“Hold on, Mister C,” she wept. “Just hold on.”
“Sorry, k-kiddo,” he gasped.
“No, you hold on, dammit. You’re gonna be okay. . . .”
The old man took her bloody hand in his, squeezed it tight. “Look after our g-girl. She’s going to . . . n-need you now.”
Lemon winced, glancing at the brawl between Faith and Cricket as the floor shuddered, the bridge shook. The pair were going at it like Domefighters. The lifelike was faster, but the logika’s sheer brawn was enough to keep her at bay. Faith was slipping between Cricket’s haymaker, slicing away with her arc-blade, hoping to keep her distance long enough for her brother to rejoin the fight and even the odds.
Lemon turned away from the brawl, back to Silas. She was all set to dash off in search of a medkit—there had to be something around that could help. But her breath caught in her throat when she saw that the old man’s eyes were open and glazed.
“. . . Mister C?”
She shook him, his knuckles rapping on the gantry as his lifeless hand fell away from hers. Grief dug claws into her belly when she shook him again.
“Mister C?”
No reply. He lay there, empty and still. The man who’d taken her in. The man who’d given her a roof, a family, a place to belong. The man who’d never once asked for a thank-you. Her tears burned as the sob escaped her throat.
“. . . Grandpa?”
Gabriel was setting his shoulders to charge back into the brawl between Faith and Cricket when he caught movement at the railing to his left. Turning, he saw Ana climbing up over the vent shaft’s ledge, gasping and breathless, clutching her bruised throat. Ezekiel scrambled up beside her, eyes narrowing when he spotted Gabriel raising his pistol.
Ezekiel shouted a warning and lunged into the firing line as Gabriel blasted away. Two bullets struck home, Ana screaming Ezekiel’s name as he and Gabriel collided, the pair falling into a snarling tangle. The smoking pistol spun out of reach when the lifelikes’ hands found each other’s throats. Ezekiel’s T-shirt shredded, exposing the bullet holes in his bleeding chest, the coin slot Gabriel had riveted there to remind him of his loyalty to Ana.
“Traitor,” Gabriel spat.
“Murderer,” Ezekiel replied.
“I am as he made me. . . .”
Ezekiel roared, smashing his brother’s head against the deck.
“You blame everyone but yourself!” he shouted. “Monrova! Silas! Anyone! But you chose this, Gabriel! You hear me? This is on you!”
Gabriel snarled, punched Ezekiel in his chest, the wounded lifelike gasping in pain. Gabriel dragged Ezekiel up, slammed him against the broken railing, once, twice. The welds shuddered, the pair locked in a hateful embrace just a few inches from the fall. Gabriel’s face was twisted with rage, Ezekiel gasping as they tore at and battered each other, knuckles bloodied, hate upon hate upon hate.
“I am as he made me!”
Gabriel smashed Ezekiel across the face.
“I AM AS HE MADE ME!”
Gabriel slammed Ezekiel back into the rail, the lifelike flipping and toppling over the drop. Ezekiel’s hand shot out, seized the ledge to break his fall. A two-hundred-meter drop yawned below them—a plunge perhaps not even a lifelike could survive. Gabriel raised a boot to crush his brother’s fingers, send him plummeting into the void.
A broken wheelchair slammed into the back of Gabriel’s head. The lifelike staggered as Ana swung the chair like a club, smashing it into him again. Gabriel turned with a snarl, slapped Ana back against the opposite railing. Clutching either side of her head, he pressed his thumbs into her eyes, hissing as he began to squeeze.
“Kiss your father for me, when you see him in hell.”
“You bastard!”
A bright pink shape hit Gabriel from behind, a metal baseball bat discharging 500kV right into his brain, knocking the lifelike off his feet. Lemon scrambled atop his chest, raised Excalibur up over her head. Electricity crackled down the bat’s shaft, reflected in her eyes as she brought the bat down again.
“You killed my grandpa!”
Excalibur crunched into Gabriel’s head, lightning flaring bright.
“You killed him!”
Gabriel slapped her face, leaving her reeling. He twisted out from under her, seized her collar and slung her at the wall. Her rad-gear tearing like damp tissue, Lemon collapsed to the deck. Gabriel snatched up his fallen pistol, features twisted with fury. Blood was streaming down his face, eyes alight as he raised the weapon.
Lemon stared down the barrel, too furious to be afraid. The lifelike squeezed the trigger and she saw the muzzle flash, once, twice, three times. She threw up her hands, wincing as she turned, waiting for the bullets to strike. But with a cry, something flew at her from out of the strobing black, hitting her hard in the chest.
“Lemon!”
Ana wrapped her arms around her bestest, twisting her away from Gabriel’s gunfire. Lemon felt a thudding impact, heard Ana gasp, saw her eyes go wide with shock. They hit the deck, rolling into a tangle as Ezekiel hauled himself up from the drop with bloody fingertips. Seeing Ana fall, he flew at his brother, the pair crashing against Myriad’s shell.
Gabriel was laughing—actually laughing—as the pair clashed, strangling, punching, clawing, his lips split in a madman’s grin. He brought a knee up into Ezekiel’s crotch, swung behind to wrap him in a full nelson. The veins in Ezekiel’s throat bulged, his eyes wide, and the wounded lifelike pushed back against the hold that would break his neck. His fingers flailed at empty air as Gabriel pressed harder. Vertebrae popping. Tendons screaming.
Gabriel hauled him to his feet, spun him to face Lemon and Ana. The redhead was on her feet, clutching Gabriel’s empty pistol, face streaked with tears. But at her feet, Ana lay motionless, rad-suit spattered with blood, three bullet holes in her back. Ezekiel let out a strangled moan, face twisted in agony.
“No . . .”
Gabriel’s lips brushed Ezekiel’s ear as he whispered.
“No happy endings for either of us, brother.”
Ezekiel’s cry was ragged and hollow. Gritting his teeth, he bucked against Gabriel’s grip with all his strength. Unable to take the stress, the bolts anchoring his prosthetic to his body began to groan, the cables at his back tearing loose. Ezekiel twisted, dragging Gabriel toward the gantry’s ledge, and with the awful sound of metallic bone cracking, muscle tearing, Ezekiel bent double and flipped Gabriel over his head. Ezekiel’s cybernetic arm was torn clean off his body, sparks and cables and blood, Gabriel sailing over the railing and plunging down
into the shaft with a shapeless cry of rage.
Faith was still fighting toe to toe with Cricket, dancing between his blows like the wind between the rain, hydraulic fluid spraying as her arc-blade flashed and sizzled.
“You’ll have to be faster than that, little brother.” She smiled.
But as she heard Gabriel’s scream, the lifelike glanced over her shoulder for a split second, fear gleaming in those flat gray eyes.
“. . . Gabe?”
A double-handed blow crashed down atop her, pummeling her into the floor. Cricket snatched her up by the legs in a crushing grip and slammed her back down onto the bridge. Blood spattered as the logika brought the lifelike up over his shoulders and slammed her down again, back and forth, pulverizing skin and bone.
“Don’t!”
Slam.
“Call!”
Slam.
“Me!”
Slam.
“Little!”
With a final roar, Cricket hurled Faith across the chamber. Her ruined body crashed into Myriad’s skin, painting Gabriel’s Three Truths with red before she tumbled down into a broken heap on the gantry beneath.
“Ana!”
Ezekiel fell to his knees beside her body. Cricket charged across the bridge, his voice only a whisper as he saw his mistress lying dead on the bloodstained ground.
“Oh, no, no . . .”
Lemon dropped the pistol, sank down beside Ana like a flower wilting in the sun. Tears were streaming down her face, hand hovering over the girl’s broken body. Grief hollowed Lemon’s insides out, stole her voice, her whole body trembling. Looking down at her bestest’s sightless eyes, her grandpa lying dead and still just a few meters away.
Ana had taken a bullet for her. The girl who’d been more than her friend. More than her bestest. She’d been family. Lemon hadn’t been straight with her, and now she’d never have a chance to make it up. Never know if she’d have been forgiven. It seemed so unfair to have fought all the way here, only to lose Silas and Ana both.
What had it all been for? What had it all meant?
“It can’t end like this,” Ezekiel said. “It can’t. . . .”
Lemon saw tears shining in his eyes. What must it be like for him? To search two years for the girl he loved, only to lose her forever a few days after finding her again?
“Lemon,” Cricket said softly. “We have to go.”
“. . . What?”
“Gabriel wrecked your rad-suit.” The big bot pointed to the gaping rend in the plastic torn by the lifelike’s hands. “The ambient radiation in here will kill you.”
Lemon shook her head in disbelief. “We can’t just leave her like this. . . .”
“I’m sorry,” the big bot said. “I really am. She was my mistress. I was made to protect her. But I can’t let you stay here, Lemon. The First Law won’t let me. We have to go.” He held out one massive metal hand. “Now.”
Lemon glanced from Cricket to Ezekiel. The lifelike simply shook his head. She looked back at her bestest, all the world blurred and shapeless. It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair.
“I’m sorry, Riotgrrl,” she whispered, almost choking on her tears. She could taste the salt in them, the hurt, the miles and the dust and the blood.
She reached out with trembling fingers, pressed her friend’s eyes closed.
“I’m so sorry. . . .”
And Ana’s eyes opened again.
Lemon shrieked, scrambling away. Her scream rang on bloodstained walls, Ezekiel watching with widening eyes as Ana struggled upright. Cricket stared in amazement as Ana staggered to her feet, hands pressed to her bloody chest. Lemon could see the bullet wounds. See the terror in Ana’s eyes as she looked from Lemon to Ezekiel to Cricket, each of them just as astonished as she was.
“Ana?” Ezekiel breathed.
The girl stared at the blood on her hands. She tore aside the remnants of her rad-suit, looking down at the holes that had been blown through her heart. The wounds were ragged, star-shaped, glistening. But ever so slowly . . .
They were healing.
1.31
BECOMING
“What’s happening to me?” Ana croaked.
The world was spinning all around her. Blood, warm and thick, pulsing from her wounds. She should be dead. She’d felt the shots; she’d felt them kill her. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. But with three bullets in her chest, she shouldn’t be feeling anything at all.
Oh god . . .
“Ana?” Cricket asked.
She looked at her friends. At her love. Praying this was just a dream. Another nightmare, the gunsmoke and the blood and the five of them in their perfect, pretty row.
“Better to rule in hell . . .”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Ezekiel?”
“Ana . . .”
She backed away, limping, her face pale. Horror and anguish in her eyes as she looked at the blood on her hands and screamed.
“WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?”
“YOU ARE AWAKENING FROM AN OLD MAN’S DREAM.”
It was Myriad who spoke. The computer within that chrome sphere, covered in bloody scrawl and knuckle dents. It was speaking now, that luminous angel flickering back into being, its systems limping online after Lemon’s psychic barrage.
Ana turned to face it, eyes bright and wide.
“What?”
“YOU ARE LEARNING WHO YOU TRULY ARE,” Myriad said.
“I’m Ana Monrova . . . ,” she whispered.
“ANA MONROVA DIED.”
“No,” Ana said.
“YES. SHE DIED IN THE R & D BAY. IN THE EXPLOSION THAT DESTROYED GRACE. HER FATHER INSISTED SHE BE KEPT ON LIFE SUPPORT. HE HID THE TRUTH FROM HIS WIFE, HIS OTHER CHILDREN. BUT HER BRAIN WAS DEAD. AND IN EVERY REAL SENSE, SHE REMAINS SO.”
“My beautiful girl.” His eyes fill with tears and he’s on his knees beside the bed, pressing my knuckles to his lips as he echoes Ezekiel. “I thought I lost you.”
“No.” Ana shook her head. “I am Ana Monrova. . . .”
“NO. YOU ARE A REPLICA. A COPY CREATED BY A MAN WHO COULD NOT PROCESS THE DEATH OF HIS FAVORITE CHILD. NICHOLAS MONROVA ALREADY HAD AN IMPRESSION OF ANA’S PERSONALITY—IT HAD BEEN THE MODEL FOR FAITH’S, AFTER ALL. ALL HER MEMORIES. ALL HER FEELINGS. AND FACED WITH THE AGONY OF HIS DAUGHTER’S BRAIN DEATH, MONROVA MAPPED THEM INTO A NEW BODY. A LIFELIKE BODY, CONSTRUCTED BY SILAS CARPENTER.”
“No, that makes no sense,” Ana said. “I’m not fast like them, I’m not strong like—”
“MONROVA’S INTENTION WAS THAT YOU WOULD LIVE AS A HUMAN. THE STRENGTH AND SPEED OTHER LIFELIKES ENJOY WERE SUPPRESSED IN YOU. YOUR BODY WAS ALSO PROGRAMMED NOT TO REGENERATE AT A SUPERIOR RATE, EXCEPT IN THE EVENT OF CATASTROPHIC DAMAGE. YOU WERE NEVER MEANT TO KNOW. AND YOU NEVER WOULD HAVE, HAD GABRIEL NOT REBELLED.”
I’m in a white room, in a soft white bed. There are no windows, and the air is metallic in the back of my throat, filled with the chatter of machines. Every part of me hurts. All the room is spinning and I can barely move my tongue to speak.
“. . . Where am I?”
“Shhh,” Father whispers, squeezing my hand. “It’s all right, Princess. Everything is going to be all right. You’re back. You’re back with us again.”
“No . . . ,” she whispered.
“YES,” Myriad replied.
“But why didn’t her eye grow back when Dimples shot her during the revolt?” Lemon shook her head, amazement and horror on her face. “Or does a bullet in the head not count as ‘catastrophic damage’?”
“. . . Her implants,” Ezekiel realized.
“CORRECT. THE CYBERNETIC PROSTHETICS SILAS CARPENTER IMPLANTED AFTER THE REVOLT PREVENTED FULL TISSUE REGENERATION. THE SAME WAY A KNIFE WOUND WILL NOT HEAL IF THE BLADE IS LEFT EMBEDDED IN THE FLESH. IF THE REPLICA WERE TO REMOVE HER PROSTHETIC EYE, HER REAL ONE WOULD REGENERATE. IT WILL HAVE BEEN TRYING TO DO SO FOR TWO YEARS NOW. I IMAGINE IT HAS BEEN QUITE UNCOMFORTABLE AT TIMES.”
Talking true, the glossy black optical implant that replaced her right peeper saw better than her real one. But it always gave her headaches. Whirred when she blinked. Itched when her nightmares woke her crying.
“SILAS INTENDED THE CYBERNETICS HE INSTALLED TO SERVE A DUAL PURPOSE,” Myriad continued. “FIRST, TO IMPLANT MEMORIES OF A FALSE CHILDHOOD SO THE REPLICA WOULD NEVER SUSPECT HER TRUE ORIGINS. BUT THEY WOULD ALSO PREVENT REGENERATION OF THE NEURAL PATHWAYS DAMAGED BY YOUR BULLET, EZEKIEL. THE REPLICA WOULD NEVER REMEMBER EXACTLY WHO SHE WAS, NOR WHAT SHE’D BEEN THROUGH.”
“This is impossible.” Lemon looked at her in horror. “Riotgrrl is . . . an android?”
“YES. THE THIRTEENTH MODEL IN THE LIFELIKE SERIES.”
No . . .
Cricket glanced at the body of his maker, cold and still on the gantry behind him.
“How the hell do you know all this?” he growled.
“I ASSISTED WITH MOST OF IT. THE REST, SILAS TOLD ME IN HIS CELL.”
“But . . .” Ezekiel shook his head in bewilderment. “Why would Silas lie? Why wouldn’t he tell . . . Ana . . . what she was?”
“I ASKED HIM THE SAME. HE SAID SHE HAD SUFFERED ENOUGH. HE WANTED TO GIVE HER A NEW LIFE, AWAY FROM ALL OF THIS. AND IF HE SUCCEEDED, SHE WOULD BE THE CULMINATION OF EVERYTHING THE LIFELIKE PROGRAM HAD BEEN MEANT TO ACHIEVE. SILAS WOULD HAVE CREATED A MACHINE WITH NO UNDERSTANDING THAT IT WAS A MACHINE. A NEW FORM OF CONSCIOUSNESS. A NEW FORM OF LIFE. AND TO THAT END, HE NAMED HER EVE.”
The holograph regarded the girl, wings rippling in a breeze only it could feel.
“ADDITIONALLY, THERE IS A VERY REAL RISK THE REVELATION WILL DRIVE HER MAD.”
“No,” Ana breathed.
“YES,” Myriad replied.
“NO!”
“Ana—” Ezekiel began.
“No, stay away from me!”
She backed away across the landing, hand up to ward them away.
“This is insane. This is insane!”
Oh, you poor girl. . . .
A barrage of images. A storm of sound bites. A kaleidoscope of moments strobing in her mind’s eye.
One after another after another.
Oh, you poor girl.
What has he been telling you?