Replica
Page 19
People stare in shock and bafflement as I skate past with my head under my arm. Someone yells, ‘Oh my God!’ Someone else laughs. As I vanish around the corner, I hear someone say, ‘What was that advertising?’
I’m almost a whole block away before I come across some lights that are still on. It might be a while before Christiansen figures out exactly what I’ve done but, once he does, he’ll realize it’s irreparable. With no backup servers, all the stolen data is lost. Ares can no longer blackmail the government into hiring them. Nor can they protect themselves from prosecution. When the police find the cage on the top floor that will be the final nail in Ares’ coffin.
An insane grin imprints itself on my face. I did it. I survived, I saved Chloe, and I protected my country from one of the biggest and most corrupt corporations in the world. Not bad for a collection of spare parts assembled in a teen girl’s basement.
I just wish Graeme were alive to see Ares fall.
The skateboard has slowed down enough for me to step off. I jog alongside it for a few metres, shedding the extra momentum, and then stomp on the tail so it flips up into my hand. I’m already close to a kilometre away from the Hera Global head office. They’ll never catch me now.
Putting my head back on is surprisingly fiddly, like trying to reseal a water bottle with cooking tongs. Once I’ve threaded the screw, I get dizzy watching the world spin.
Kylie must be worried. I told her I was going for a walk, and then disappeared for hours. Time to go back to the house and check on her.
I take the empty gun out of my bag, wipe off my fingerprints and throw it into a public bin. Then I jump back on the board and swerve onto the cycle path which Graeme used to take home.
EPILOGUE
‘Hello?’
The house smothers me with its emptiness. Maybe Kylie got a call from the police. She might be picking Chloe up.
I haven’t thought about what happens now. Kylie has her daughter back. Where does that leave me?
I step in and close the front door behind me. The bag and the board clunk to the floor. I walk into the bathroom, peel off my bullet-torn shirt and examine my torso in the mirror. The gunshot wounds go right through; I can see the wall behind me. But there’s no pain. The artificial nerves must have died.
I’m lucky to be alive at all. The electromagnetic pulse from the electrified counterweight should have killed me, like it killed every other piece of electronics in the building.
They’re not affected by electromagnetic pulses.
Do you know that for sure, or are you just guessing?
Guessing.
It’s possible that a quantum computer might not be affected, but I’d have to look it up to be sure.
My jaw falls open. I keep staring at the mirror, but I’m no longer seeing it. Instead, I’m seeing all the things I should have noticed earlier.
The tracking device Thomas talked about. The clicking sound my throat made, shortly before Ares showed up at the school.
But most of the current designs are about the same size and shape as ordinary processors.
Graeme hid the QMP in the basement. Then Chloe Two built my brain out of bits and pieces she found down there. Later, Graeme couldn’t find the QMP.
Is it possible that it’s been inside my head all along?
I stare at my reflection, as though I’ll be able to spot the world’s most powerful computer behind my eyes. But all I see is glass.
~
In my bedroom, I take another top off the shelf and slip into it. The green cotton hugs my skin. I smooth it over the hole in my stomach, feeling absurdly self-conscious.
I wander back into the living room and sit on the couch, watching the street through the window. It feels like a long time since I’ve sat down.
I hear the tyres before I see the police car. It crawls into view and parks by the kerb without indicating.
Kylie gets out first. Her eyes are puffy and her nose is running. She says something to the cop behind the wheel, who nods gently and waves goodbye.
Becky and Chloe get out of the back seat.
They’re holding hands.
They look so happy.
An ugly, wrenching feeling tears through my guts.
Before I know it, I’m running to the basement door, fumbling with the handle, stumbling down the stairs. I crouch down beneath the workbench, cowering in the darkness as though hiding from a bomb or a tornado.
Up above, the front door opens. I can hear voices.
‘…just can’t believe it,’ Kylie is saying. ‘Where is she?’
‘She should be here,’ Becky says. ‘Chloe!’
Chloe says, ‘You call her Chloe?’
‘It’s the only name she has.’
‘Are you sure she made it out of the building?’ Kylie asks.
‘I saw her. The whole street saw her.’
‘Maybe she’s still on her way.’
‘Maybe.’
Their feet clomp away into the living room.
I stare at the computer on which my brain was made, the nylon net which held me down, the vice which once held my severed head. When I was worried about how to escape. When I thought there was somewhere to escape to.
Someone walks back to the front door, alone. Stops.
The skateboard. I left it up there.
The basement door creaks open.
‘Chloe?’
It’s Becky’s voice. I don’t respond. The tears are cold on my cheeks.
She descends the steps, coming into view feet first. It only takes her a second to spot me.
She smiles. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘I just needed some space.’
‘Not a lot of space under there,’ she says. Then she sees the tears. ‘Are you OK.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say. My voice shakes. For the first time I can’t control it. I no longer feel like a machine.
‘I’m sorry,’ Becky says. ‘I had to tell them the truth.’
She thinks I’m still scared of being exposed as a machine. It hasn’t even occurred to her that I’m hiding because I can’t watch her love someone else.
Somehow, her ignorance hurts even more.
‘I know,’ I say. ‘It’s OK.’
‘Detective Anders wants to talk to you. But she promised me you wouldn’t be put in an evidence locker. She said you could stay with Chloe and Kylie. Legally, you’d be their property. You’d be safe.’
Property of Becky’s girlfriend. Ageless plastic, watching the two of them grow old together.
‘Can I tell Chloe and Kylie you’re here?’ Becky asks.
I shake my head miserably.
Becky sits on the concrete floor and puts her hand on my shoulder. ‘You saved Chloe’s life. They want to thank you.’
‘There’s no room for me here.’
‘They can turn the study into a bedroom. I can help.’
‘There’s no room in their lives. Kylie has her daughter back. You have your girlfriend. Chloe has her freedom. None of you need me any more.’
Becky hugs me. Her hair clouds my face. ‘There’s room for you,’ she says. ‘I promise. OK?’
Chloe and I are not the same person. It’s a cruel coincidence that we fell for the same girl.
Perhaps it was inevitable. Becky is smart, and kind, and braver than she realizes. She deserves a human girlfriend.
I kiss her. Just on the cheek, just briefly enough to let her think that it’s nothing more than a thank you. Then I let her go.
‘OK,’ I say.
She beams, and stands up. I climb out from under the workbench.
She puts one foot on the stairs. ‘Coming?’
‘I’m right behind you.’
I follow her up the stairs. When she opens the basement door, she turns right and walks away towards the living area. I turn the other way, and slip out of the front door. I don’t know if she hears me. Without looking back, I dart across the grass, sprint out onto the street and
jog towards the mountain ranges, leaving the lights of the city far behind.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I owe a tremendous debt to arts ACT and the ACT government. Without their support, I would be working in a call centre and Replica would be a half-finished manuscript on a flash drive somewhere.
I also want to thank and congratulate the team at Oxford University Press, particularly Clare Whitston and Claire Westwood, who pushed this book over the finish line.
My amazing agent, Clare Forster at Curtis Brown Australia, believed in this book from the beginning. She, Annabel Blay, and Stephanie Thwaites at Curtis Brown London toiled long and hard to find the right publisher for it. All of you have my gratitude.
I’d like to acknowledge my kind friends Maria Bernardi, Lisa Berryman, Claire Craig, Belle Evans, Paul Kopetko, Chris MacPhillamy, and Dylan Slater who provided crucial feedback on early drafts.
Lastly, I want to thank my family—Barbara, Ian, Tom, and my wonderful wife, Venetia—who never gave up on me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jack Heath was born in 1986 in Sydney, Australia, and lived in Wollongong and Melbourne before settling in Canberra, where Replica is set.
He has been shortlisted for Young Australian of the Year, the Nottinghamshire Brilliant Book Award, and the National Year of Reading ‘Our Story’ collection, as well as Best Sci-fi Novel and Best YA Short Story at the Aurealis Awards.
Jack lives with his wife, their Staffordshire terrier, and several chickens.
He is not, as far as he is aware, a robot.
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–check.
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First published 2014
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CONTENTS
The Basement
The Task
Wednesday
Escape
Alone
On the Run
Thursday
Tightrope
Rescue Mission
Hunted
Investigation
Friday
The Secret
Incursion
The Pinboard
The Net, Cast
Unearthed
Impostor
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
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