Paradise of Lead Trilogy

by Mackenzie Morris

  "No, no. Forget about that. I'm your friend. Call me Blice."

  "Or I could call you a jerk." Isidore whispers under his breath.

  "What? Why?"

  "Really? You want me to tell you all the reasons?"

  Um . . . what's this? "Niko?"

  "We'll talk about this later. I know what you did and I don't like it."

  "What don't you like?" Blice asks.

  "You gave me control. Take it back. It feels . . . bad. I didn't know how much you had been influencing me until now. I don't want to make all these decisions and deal with the thoughts in my mind."

  "I can't take it back. I did it to save your life. Do you really not want to be free from me?"

  "I was programmed to need you. Don't abandon me!" Isidore cries out and wraps his arms around Blice.

  "I don't understand. I thought that you would be happy."

  "No!"

  Blice feels Isidore's tears soaking through his shirt. "Hey, stop crying."

  "When you had partial control, I knew you would keep me around and take care of me. You had claimed me as yours. Now I don't have an owner and I hate it."

  Oh. So he wants an owner. Isidore is right. When Blice was programming him, he made it so Isidore has to be around Blice if there is any way possible. Without wiping Isidore's programming and redoing it, there's nothing he can do. "Niko, I'm still your owner. I still love you very much and I will do anything for you. We are just like we were before. The only difference now is that I trust you enough to let you be free from me messing with your programs without your consent. Also, I don't get to use those T.I.M.E. control programs to punish you anymore."

  "How will you punish me then? Will you hit me more?"

  "No. Stop. What has gotten into you? We're equals, remember? And now with you having full control, we truly will be equals. This is a good thing."

  Much to Blice's surprise, Isidore slides off the bed and stands as if nothing ever happened. "Come on. I want to go home. Will you take me home?"

  Blice takes his arm and steadies him, just to be cautious. "Sure. We can go home."

  * * *

  After Isidore takes a shower and dresses, he feels so much better. The scars are already fading and he will be back to his perfectly engineered self in no time. He looks around where the blood and slivers of glass have been cleaned up. So much of that night is blurry to him and he's grateful for that. If he had to relive that every time he stepped into this room, he couldn't live here anymore. He looks at himself in the newly replaced mirror above his dresser. He looks just as flawless as ever and he hates it. However, below the perfect exterior, his dark blue eyes reveal the sorrow and turmoil churning in his soul. No amount of programming will ever be able to remove that. It is in this moment that Isidore knows he is becoming human. Every human has hidden emotions that only their eyes will show to souls closest to them. He doesn't know how it is happening, but he can feel his hardened mind softening and becoming mortal like the rest of the world. These mortal emotions both terrify and comfort him. At least now he knows that he can feel genuine emotions. The downside? He has to face them and cope with the heartbreak that is gnawing away at him.

  Blice calls for him from the Oval Office down the hall. "Niko, come here."

  Isidore doesn't particularly feel like talking or being anywhere near Blice, but what choice does he have? He sighs and braids his silver hair before going down the hall and into the office. "What is it?"

  "Clara's identification password was used to gain access to Paradise's network." Blice says from behind his computer.

  Isidore reaches up to his chest and takes the three Inquisition insignias in his hand. "How is that possible? I have her insignia right here. That's the only way to do that without her password."

  "I guess they used her password."

  "How?" Isidore asks.

  "I just got an email. Dear God . . . I don't know what to do with it."

  "Who is it from?"

  Blice looks up at Isidore and speaks carefully. "Clara Lifestone."

  Isidore runs around behind the desk. "Open it!"

  Blice opens it then grimaces and shakes his head. "It's just a bunch of random numbers."

  "Let me see." Isidore looks at the screen. He's seen those numbers before. In fact, he sees them every day. He holds up his arms. "Those are the numbers on my arms."

  Blice looks them over. "Okay. What does this mean?"

  "No clue. Clara was a computer programmer and she asked about the numbers once. I wonder if she . . . never mind."

  "Tell me."

  "I was going to say that maybe she sent the message referring to me, but she couldn't have."

  Blice rubs Isidore's arm. "It's okay. I know it's going to be difficult for you. But I'm here. If you ever need to talk about it, I'm here."

  "I know. Thanks. You're a good friend, Blice."

  "Not really. Can you run those numbers through your database and see if there's anything they go to?"

  "Already tried." Isidore says. "Nothing shows up except for some references to them being in a security program."

  "We already knew that. I don't understand. Trace the email. Can you do that?" Blice asks. "See where it was sent from?"

  "Working on it now."

  "So, what medication do they have you taking?"

  Isidore pulls out a small bag of pills from his pocket and sets it on the desk.

  Blice picks it up and opens it. Ah. He knows these well. He took them for five years when he was younger and had problems with depression. "How many?"

  "Two of them four times a day."

  "That's a lot."

  He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't mind. I have a location. Ever been to Eden?"

  "Eden? Interesting. Are you up for travelling?" Blice asks.

  "I'll go wherever you go, Blice."

  "No. That's not what I asked. Can you make the trip in your condition? If you are going to be in too much pain, then you need to stay here and recover some more."

  Isidore crosses his arms on his chest. "I can do it."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  Blice holds up Isidore's hand and begins to mess with the settings on his watch. "I trust your judgment. I would like to sync our watches again so I can see your vital signs on my watch in case something starts to bug up, with your permission, of course."

  "Go ahead."

  33

  For the past day and a half, Byron has clutched his bottle of Alezi Blue and stared at it, waiting for the moment when Damien will let him drink it. Apparently Damien doesn't like people drinking in the transport. Figures. Even inside, Byron can tell it is getting colder the farther north they drive. He's never seen the mountains this close and it's more than enough for him. He could live the rest of his life and never have to traverse these again. That would be perfect. It's not that he's afraid of heights . . . okay. Yes, he's afraid of heights. Growing up in the desert and never having encountered being higher than anything else except for the canyon outside of Rubble City, he never had a chance to know how terrified he really was.

  When Damien slows to a stop in the middle of an empty field with a single two story building behind a tall electric fence, Byron immediately does the first and most important thing: open his tequila and take a much needed drink.

  "One day. Can you not go one day without drinking?" Damien asks. "Your liver is probably already dead."

  "Then I'll get a fake one like my leg."

  "You're not funny. I need you to be sober while you're out in the field with me like this. You have to be on top of things and ready to act at a moment's notice."

  "I know how to be on top of things . . . if you know what I mean." Byron nudges him in the side.

  Damien sheathes his throwing knives on his belt and loads his gun. "No. It's not funny, Byron. We have each other's lives in our hands. I'm depending on you and forgive me if I don't want my life in the hands of a drunken idiot."

  "Whatcha gonna do about it, M
ontgomery? Shoot me in the back? Gonna put me in a wheelchair too?"

  "Stop."

  "Go ahead. Oh, I'm so scared of the hero."

  A knife flies past Byron's face and sticks in the headrest, missing him by less than an inch.

  "What the hell?"

  "I told you to stop. No one talks about Seth. You will never be as good of a man as he was and no one can take his place. Is that clear?"

  Byron pulls the knife from the seat. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

  Damien sighs and gets out of the transport. "Come on. Let's not fight. I have a feeling we're going to have enough fighting against other people. Before we go inside, be sure to do what we practiced in the combat simulator."

  "I still don't understand all that. Why did you shoot my metal leg?"

  "Would you rather I had shot your good leg? Remember this. I know your leg isn't real. Other people won't."

  "That doesn't answer any of my questions."

  "Just keep in mind what we practiced. It will be invaluable to us."

  "Whatever. I still think you're insane." Byron takes another drink before following Damien up to the fence. "How do we get in? It's an electric fence."

  Damien grins and snaps his fingers. His electricity sparks to life then he grabs the wire, but nothing happens. "Huh. It's off. Why have it if you aren't going to use it?"

  "Maybe no one's home." Byron reaches out to slip through the fence when a jolt of electricity hits him then knocks him on his back.

  "Idiot. That's for drinking so much." Damien uses his electricity on the control panel. "Get up and follow me."

  Byron stands and goes behind Damien. "You're an ass. That really hurt."

  "Shh." Damien swipes his key card in the blue hologram. The door slides open.

  "How does your keycard work here?"

  "It's an old Outlander Force compound. It's been abandoned for years . . . or we thought it was abandoned. Looks like some technologically-minded vagrants have taken up residence here. Stay in front of me and shoot anything that moves. I hope you learned to aim that gun of yours."

  "It's a shotgun. If you aim, you're doing it wrong."

  The grey concrete walls are bleak and uninviting. The wind blows into the hallway, causing Byron to pull his coat tight around his body. He jumps when the door slams shut behind them.

  "Go down the hallway and check inside the rooms until you find the computer."

  Byron takes the left side and opens the doors. The rooms are empty except for some school desks that are falling apart, broken televisions and radios, and shattered glass littering the floor. A few cockroaches scurry off into the holes in the walls. "Hey, I don't think there's anyone here. I'm not finding anything."

  A woman's scream catches their attention.

  "Damien, did you hear that?"

  "Yep. Look for her. What are they doing in here?"

  "No idea. I'll check in this large room over here." Byron steps into the darkness and switches on the fluorescent lights which flicker and pop until they illuminate the room that is more like a bar than anything. A few metal operating tables line the walls and assorted medical equipment lays on small movable tables.

  Strong hands grab Byron's shoulders then push him into a table. He gasps for breath, but the man in all black with a face mask is on him again, this time with a rusty axe in his hands. The axe slams down into the floor next to Byron's hip. Too close. He rolls away then holds up his hands. The flames leap out into the room.

  The man screams and flails about, desperate to extinguish the flames. Byron kicks the man in the stomach before pulling his bruised body up then limping to the door. As the burning man's crying echoes in the long eerily empty hallway, Byron focuses instead on finding his partner. He holds up his sensor that has long ago gone dead. Where did Damien go? With the man's dying screams fading, the facility is shrouded in an unnatural silence.

  Byron slips into the shadows of a stairwell and peeks around the corner to the large window at the end of the hall by the entrance. Four large black transports pull up and the doors slam shut as someone shouts out orders to a group of men in black. What language is that? One that Byron isn't familiar with. These men have body armor, helmets, and gas masks. They're not playing around. Byron's primary goal is no longer finding the computer that the signal came from. Instead he needs to get out of there before they bomb the place.

  A hand is forced over Byron's mouth and someone pulls him down to the floor. "Quiet. Be silent."

  Byron's heart leaps in his chest as he looks into the eyes of his partner. Damn you, Damien. He pries Damien's hand from his mouth. "What are you doing? Where have you been?"

  "Here. I was waiting on you." Damien whispers. "What took you so long?"

  "I shared some tea and cupcakes with a nice fellow. What do you think I was doing?"

  "Fine, fine." Damien types something into his sensor. "What's wrong with your sensor?"

  "It hasn't been working for days. We have bigger things to deal with right now. Those soldiers have gas masks. We don't."

  They both look up as the female screaming continues from deep inside the compound. Without thinking, Byron darts down the dark corridor towards the screaming. Damien chases after him until the front doors open and soldiers spill inside.

  "Halt!" The leader commands from behind his visored helmet. "Take one more step and you both die."

  Byron glances over at Damien. Are they going to do this? This plan is ridiculous, like most of his plans. Damien winks then draws his gun with one quick fluid movement and fires, hitting Byron's leg who falls to the floor. Three more shots ring out, each one expertly placed to penetrate Byron's coat but miss his body.

  The leader holds up his hand to stop his troops from firing. "You shot your partner? What's your name?"

  Damien holsters his guns and holds out his hands to them then begins speaking in that same language. When the soldiers laugh and turn to leave, Damien waits until they are gone then helps Byron to his feet. "Problem solved. We don't have to fight every time."

  "What was that?" Byron asks.

  "Russian."

  "No, I mean all of that."

  "I told them that you were a spy from the Red Republic and I was sent to track you down then kill you. I figured that they were working with Kazimir so I tossed his name around and they bought it."

  Wait. What? "You speak Russian?"

  "I speak everything."

  "Why did they believe you so easily?"

  "Don't question it. Let's go find whoever is screaming." Damien takes Byron's arm and leads him down the corridor to the end where large metal double doors block the way. "I haven't heard it in a while. Look around for a control panel so we can get these doors open."

  Just as he says it, the doors open and a woman steps through. Her eyes are bloodshot and her skin is pale. Her black hair is matted and tangled. Blood is soaking through her white blouse. She reaches out for Byron who catches her as she collapses in his arms.

  "Are you okay?" Damien asks. "What happened to you?"

  She turns her head and moves her hair out of the way to reveal a USB port. "They are turning people into T.I.M.E.s. I'm the lucky one who survived the procedure. You probably heard that other woman screaming. She screamed for hours until she just . . . died. The others died two days ago. They were all M.A.G.E.s, chosen because they have regeneration magic like me. Can you help me?"

  "Of course." Byron picks the woman up in his arms and carries her out of the building. "Let's go get you cleaned up. The president will be here soon."

  "He's coming out here?"

  "Yes. He will help figure out what to do with you now." Damien says as he dials a number into his sensor and a voice comes over the speaker.

  "This is President McSage."

  "It's Damien. Get out here ASAP. There have been some developments. Make sure you bring Isidore."

  34

  Blice stops the Jeep just outside of a compound surrounded by an electric fence that Isido
re can tell isn't working even from here. It's colder here, much colder. Isidore's breath fogs on the window as he watches the thick grey clouds above the desolate plains where only dead grass grows between the slabs of stone.

  "You okay, Niko?"

  Isidore takes his medication and watches the snow silently falling. "I will be. It's just hitting me bad right now. I first met Clara six months ago today. I guess I fell hard for her and I don't know if I'll ever get over her. I know that I can never love another human woman."

  "I'm so sorry. Can I do anything to help you?" Blice asks.

  "Give me some time. I'll be back to serving you well in a few days."

  "You don't serve me anymore. Take as long as you need. Know that I'm here for you."

  Isidore unbuckles the seatbelt and grabs his coat from the backseat. "You've never been there unless you wanted something."

  "What did you say? I didn't hear you."

  "Forget it." Isidore steps out of the Jeep and looks around at the tall evergreen trees and snowflakes that are falling, just beginning to collect on the branches and the dark grey stones under his feet. He slips on his long black wool coat and wraps a purple scarf around his neck. He watches the tiny specks of ice dotting his sleeves. He can see the delicate intricate designs glittering in the dull daylight. Clara would have loved this. A gentle frozen breeze circles around him and he shivers. This is hard. He could have been happy again if she had moved on from him and found someone else to love her. He could have been happy if she got married to someone else. At least then she would be alive and still gracing the world with her bright smile. Isidore misses that smile, the smile that could bring light to any darkness and even bring human love to an android like him.

  "Isidore!"

  Isidore turns around and he nearly dies right there. No. It can't be. He begins walking towards that voice. Across the field, he sees her. Her black wavy hair is blowing in the wind and her coat whips around her knees. He has to get closer. It's not possible. There's no way. The tears come, but he doesn't care. He takes off running into the snow. "Clara!"

  As they run towards each other across the empty plains, the air fills with millions of snowflakes, nearly hiding them from view. They stop just out of reach, each one staring at the other with an eternal tide of flowing emotions to be traversed in these few inches separating them. The snow blows between them as Isidore holds up his hand and reaches out to her. Is she a dream or a mirage? Some hallucination from the medication and the stress? His fingertips brush her warm cheek. Her eyes show a longing, a desire, and every emotion a human can feel, all reflected in those pale green eyes as they brim with tears. Isidore takes her in his arms and spins her around. He holds her close and buries his face in her hair. "Clara . . ."