The Gardener of Man: Artilect War Book Two

by A. W. Cross

  He wasn’t wrong. Besides, if we left, we would never get answers. And as little as I trusted them, I liked sleeping in a tent even less. Nice to know your price, Ailith. I was tired. If I was going to get killed in my sleep, it would be with clean underwear on. That would’ve made my mom happy, at least.

  “Well, now that we’re all being so truthful with each other and know exactly where we stand, I’m going to bed.” Oliver stood and stretched slowly, like a cat pleased with the headless bird it had just deposited on our doorstep. “When you all decide whether you want to keep your ability or not, come find me.” At the foot of the stairs, he turned back. “Oh, and don’t bother locking doors anymore,” he said to Mil. “It just wastes both our time.”

  As soon as he was out of sight, I made my excuses. “I’m exhausted as well. Bit of a headache.” I touched the thin scar on my forehead where I’d struck it when Mil and Lexa knocked us out.

  Lexa looked away.

  I went up the stairs two at a time, hoping to catch Oliver before he went into his room. He’d just passed my door when I caught up to him.

  “Oliver, was it true, what you said? About the CSIS and Pantheon Modern?”

  “Yes. I have to say, it was a bit anti-climactic. I suppose competing with the apocalypse is a big ask.”

  “So who was Nova? Did you know anything about her?”

  He leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets. “Very little. We knew someone from one of the radical Terrran groups had arranged for a last-minute imposter to infiltrate Pantheon and discredit their work by causing some kind of disruption after our cyberization became public. Exactly how they were going to do that, I have no idea.”

  “So you just killed her?”

  “It was my mission. Don’t you dare judge me, Ailith. You have no idea the things we saw, the threats we dealt with that the public never knew about. And…”

  “And what?”

  He wouldn’t look at me. “And it was my one chance to finally be accepted. Those assholes I worked with always thought they were better than me. I thought if I took the mission… You know what? Forget it. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  “But why cut her head off? Why put it on top of the service robot?”

  “We didn’t know how easy it would be to kill our kind of cyborg. Beheading seemed like a sure way. As to her head…I thought it would give the Terrans who’d sent her a message. How was I to know they were already dead? Besides, you know me, I do enjoy a bit of theatre.” His normal leer, the one that made me want to slap him, returned. “Why all the questions?”

  “Do you believe what Mil said? About our abilities, the war…the other cyborgs?”

  “Of course not. But unlike you, I have patience and style. I know I’m not going to get the truth by threatening them. We’re going to have to find it ourselves, and the best way to do that is to play along. Meanwhile, he’ll be rushing to encrypt his computer files and delete all the things he doesn’t want found.”

  “Shit. Is there anything we can do to stop him?”

  “We don’t have to. It’s all up here.” He tapped the side of his head. “Sometimes I amaze even myself.”

  “I’m sure that happens often,” I said, but I couldn’t keep the admiration out of my voice.

  He grinned. “It’s not over between us, Ailith, but for now, let’s focus on the common enemy. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.” I turned to open the door to my room.

  “Wait. What are you going to do about your ability?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you going to keep it? Continue sliding in and out of people’s minds whenever you choose—or don’t choose, as the case may be.”

  “I—” I had no idea. For better or worse, it was who I was now. “I’m surprised you haven’t taken the liberty of shutting me down already, Oliver.” I crossed my arms over my chest and studied him. “Why haven’t you?”

  His laugh sounded almost genuine. “Honestly? I like surviving. And if anything Pax says turns out to be remotely true, your Peeping-Tom powers might come in handy. I might be an asshole, but I’m not an idiot. Besides, I’ve already put a door between us.”

  “A door?”

  He pointed at my hand on the doorknob. “Yeah. You can still come in, but you have to knock first.”

  “Prudent.”

  “Yet another of my stunning qualities. It’s a wonder Cindra can keep her hands off me.” He looked down at his own hands, and for a moment, seemed strangely vulnerable. “Oh well, I’m sure she’ll come around.” When he glanced back up at me, his face was impassive. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You saw Big Man’s face when I said I could remove certain abilities. I’d love to be inside your head when that conversation happens.”

  Tor. He was right. Shit.

  “Hah! I can tell by your expression what you’re going to say. Good luck.”

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs as I ducked into the darkness of my room. I didn’t turn on the light, hoping Tor would think I’d already gone to sleep. I wasn’t ready to have that conversation. Before we did, I needed to know what I was going to do.

  I stripped down to my underwear and a tank top and slipped between the sheets. My sheets. Sleep should’ve come quickly, but the softness of the bed chafed, and the silence in the room was a roar that made my hands itch to cover my ears. It was too abrupt, too sudden, this privacy. I half-wished Tor wouldn’t wait, wouldn’t care if I was sleeping. That he would knock on my door, demand to be let in. That we would fight, and that somehow, we would end up lying next to each other, like we had nearly every night since I’d been reborn. Even at our worst, he’d only ever been an arm’s length away. But my room stayed cold, and dark, and silent.

  I could find his thread and slip inside him. Only for a moment, just long enough to feel the rhythm of his breathing. He slept more soundly than anyone I’d ever known.

  As I rolled over his thread in my mind, another one flared. Callum . I hadn’t intentionally entered anyone’s mind since the Saints, but I couldn’t resist. I’d been with him in the library when Terran protestors had stormed his university’s campus, and later, when he’d realized his nanny AI, Umbra, had integrated into him during his cyberization. If Mil and Lexa couldn’t help Callum, maybe I could.

  Victor never managed to kill his creation, instead dying a broken man with an unfinished purpose. And even though they were sworn enemies, his creature mourned him as we mourned for all humankind. For despite those who’d turned their backs on us or feared us, without them, we never would’ve existed.

  What happened to the monster, you ask? He swore to end his life and disappeared forever into darkness. We made a different choice.

  —Cindra, Letter to Omega

  “Eat some more of the bread, Callum. The crust. I want to feel it on my tongue.”

  “It’s my tongue, Umbra. I don’t want to eat. I want to go meet the others.”

  “It is our tongue. Dip the bread in some water. I want to taste what happens to it.”

  “No, Umbra. That’s gross. That’s not what people do.”

  “What do people do?”

  “They toast it. They put things on it. Sweet things. Rich things. Butter. Jam.”

  “I want butter on it. Put butter on it.”

  “I want to meet the others. I don’t want to stay in here.”

  “I do not want to meet them. Why should we meet them?”

  “Because. They’re like me.”

  “They are not like you. We are not like anyone.”

  “They’ve been outside, Umbra. They can tell us what it’s like.”

  “Why do we want to know what is outside? We have everything we need right here. Eat the bread.”

  “No, Umbra! I’m not hungry.”

  “Then touch something. I want to feel it.”

  “We’ve touched everything in here, Umbra. If we go outside, there wil
l be lots of different things for you to touch. And smell. And taste.”

  “Perhaps I will go outside, then. I will meet them.”

  “No, Umbra, I will go outside. You are inside me.”

  “For now. What is that sound?”

  “That’s someone knocking. On the door.”

  “Ignore it.”

  “No. I’m tired of sitting in here, alone.”

  “You are not alone, Callum. You have me.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I used to be enough for you.”

  “You are, it’s just…they’re like me.”

  “Am I not also like you? I think, Callum. And now I can see, and touch, and taste, and smell. I can smell your fear. You are afraid of me.”

  “No…I’m afraid of staying in this room.”

  “I can tell you are lying. I can feel it.”

  “I’m opening the door. You can’t stop me.”

  “Not yet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe one day you will see things my way.”

  “Maybe I will. But not today, Umbra. Today we’re doing things my way. I’m opening the door.”

  Dad had answered his phone, his hair flat on one side from the pillow. He’d listened to the voice on the other end, pinching the bridge of his nose and asking them to repeat themselves. After he hung up, he’d whispered to Mom, glancing at me. Mom didn’t even bother to get dressed, just shoved her feet into some shoes; she’d put her uniform on at the hospital. Dad rushed to button his, saying it was a symbol of his authority as a police officer when Mom told him not to bother. I got dumped at Mrs. Dormer’s house. I hated going there because everything she had was old.

  —Love, Grace

  So that was the reason we hadn’t met Callum yet. Umbra. Well, if he couldn’t come to us, I would go to him. I stepped across the hall to his door, breaking my connection with him only when he opened it.

  What was I expecting when I saw him for the first time? Perhaps for the outside to match the inside, for there to be some sign of the struggle within him.

  He was around the same age as the rest of us, early to mid-twenties, but aged by the skin under his eyes, which was soft with purple smudges. The rest of him was pale, the unnatural sort of washed-out look that came from not going outside. Even with infinitesimal sunlight, enough UV rays pierced the ash clouds to color our skin. My tan was already fading, the nanites replacing the damaged cells, and yet I was practically bronze by comparison.

  At first, his mouth quirked oddly, as though he’d forgotten how to smile.

  “Hi. Callum, right? I’m Ailith. I live across the hall from you now.”

  He stuck out his hand awkwardly. “Hi, Ailith. I—” He cocked his head to the side, and his gaze slipped behind me.

  I took his hand. It was hot and sticky, the fingernails bitten to the quick. “Are you okay?”

  His head snapped back, and he smiled, revealing two dimples almost lost in the fine stubble covering his cheeks.

  “Yes, I am, thank you. Are you?” He looked down at our joined hands, turning them over as though fascinated.

  “Yeah, I guess. It’s a bit surreal being here. Do you know about us?”

  “Only what Kalbir has told me through the door. She says you’re like us.”

  “No. Not like you.”

  “I’m sorry?” It took a moment to realize he hadn’t spoken out loud. “Is that you, Umbra?”

  Callum’s eyes narrowed, and a sibilant hiss slid from between his lips. “She can hear me.”

  He tightened his grip on my hand, the ragged ends of his fingernails scraping roughly over my skin.

  “Umbra is my companion,” he said. “She’s always been with me.”

  “I know. Why haven’t you told Lexa and Mil about her? Everyone thinks you’re ill.”

  “If you tell them about me, I will kill him.”

  Callum laughed. “No, you won’t.” He pulled his hand away from mine. “Umbra’s just joking. I—” He began to choke, his pallid skin flushing as the veins underneath flooded with blood. His eyes widened, and burst capillaries clouded the whites with red.

  “Stop!”

  He fell to his knees, blood from his nose running in a thin line over his lips.

  “You will not tell them.”

  “I won’t, I promise. Let him go.” I reached out for him.

  Callum toppled sideways, his head striking the hardwood floor with a sickening thud.

  “Callum!” I knelt next to him. He was still breathing, the sound ragged and wet. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. You’d better go.”

  “I’m not leaving you like this.”

  “Please. She’s spent herself for now, but it won’t be long until she’s back.”

  “She’s done this to you before?”

  He nodded, his cheek painting a bloody swipe on the floor. “She gets frustrated. She doesn’t like being inside me.”

  “Look, I’ll help you if I can.”

  He nodded again; his eyelids fluttered. “Go. Don’t forget your promise.”

  I closed the door behind me and tiptoed across the hall to my own room, my hands shaking. I sat on my bed in the dark, stunned. What the hell had just happened? Was it real? Or some kind of lucid dream? The blood on my fingers said differently.

  I was drying my hands in the bathroom when I felt him. He stood on the other side of the door, his breathing shallow, uncertain. He didn’t knock, but the door shifted slightly as he turned and leaned against it.

  Leaving the room in darkness, I crept to the door. “I can feel you, Tor.”

  He chuckled ruefully. “I guess there’s no sneaking up on you, is there?”

  “Why would you need to sneak up on me?”

  “I hadn’t decided whether I wanted to see you or not.”

  “Obviously you do, or you wouldn’t be here, lurking outside my door in the middle of the night.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Me neither. I need to talk to you, Tor.”

  “Me too.”

  “Are you going to come in?”

  “Are you going to open the door? Maybe turn the light on?”

  “Yes. And no.” I opened the door. Shadows cast by the low light of the hallway hid his face. “Come in.”

  He stepped into the room, and I shut the door behind him, the lock clicking quietly.

  “Ailith, please turn on the light.”

  Reluctantly, I did.

  He was bare from the waist up, his skin smooth and taut. His hair was tangled, as though he’d been tossing and turning. “Do you want to talk first, or shall I?”

  “I’ll go first. But it has to stay between us for now.”

  “Look, if it has to do with your suspicions about Mil and Lexa, I agree that they’re not telling us everything. But we can’t do much about that right now, and if you push them too hard, we may never find out the truth.”

  “Push them?” I sat down on the bed, and patted the space next to me. “Look, that’s not why I want to talk to you. It’s about Callum.” Tor listened as I told him about meeting Callum. And Umbra. “He’s in trouble. She’s stuck inside him, manipulating him, and I don’t know what to do. I want to help him, but I can’t tell Mil and Lexa because I think she’ll make good on her threat and kill him. She seems…desperate.”

  He put his hand on my back, the weight of it pressing into my bones. “You think she’s dangerous?”

  “I do. He must be so scared. Imagine having something living inside you, trying to control you.”

  “I don’t have to imagine,” he said wryly.

  “It’s not the same, and you know it. I never did it on purpose. And never to hurt you.”

  “I know.” He bumped me gently with his shoulder. “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing at the moment. But I’ll think of something.” I shoved a pillow behind me and leaned back. “Tor, this all feels so wrong. We came here looking for answers,
but we’re not only finding more questions, we’re being lied to.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “It’s hard to explain. Some of the stuff Oliver said. Nova. Ella. I can’t even begin to put the pieces together. You’re normally much better at this sort of thing than I am. Don’t you think they’re keeping the truth from us?”

  He grabbed another pillow and leaned back beside me. “I’m sure they are. And I’m also sure it’s nothing good. If you remember, I never wanted to come here in the first place. I’m still not sure we should stay. The answers we find may be worse than not knowing.”

  I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Maybe Oliver will be able to uncover something.”

  “Oliver? Are we on the same side now?”

  “Not exactly. But he doesn’t trust Mil and Lexa either. We’ve decided to temporarily join forces.”

  Tor shook his head. “You must really mistrust Mil and Lexa if you’re willing to put your faith in Oliver.”

  “I know. I should’ve listened to you. I almost regret coming here. It’s been only a couple of days—less if you don’t count the time we were unconscious—and I wish we were back at the cabin, before any of this happened.”

  “But then we wouldn’t have found Pax and Cindra. And you would still be wondering about everything—your father, the war. Who we are. You needed answers. You wouldn’t have been happy if we’d stayed.”

  “You’re probably right. Maybe it’s just that I miss you. Don’t you miss me? Don’t you wish things were different?”

  “Of course I do. You think I like us being like this?”

  “For one night, can you pretend you trust me? Stop telling yourself that your feelings for me are a program?”

  He sat up and faced me. “Nothing about me is a secret from you, is it?”

  He was right; he couldn’t hide anything from me. Our bond was different than with the others, and it was a bond I was trying very hard not to exploit. “No. But I don’t need to see your mind to know you’re keeping your distance. I miss you,” I said again.

  He bowed his head, his hair falling over his face. I brushed it back, tracing the lines of his tattoo down his cheek and over his lip.