by A. W. Cross
“We at least need to talk to Callum first. But I agree, if we have to, we’ll kill them,” I added as Oliver seemed about to protest my diplomacy. There has to be another way.
“You can’t all leave,” Lexa said. “We’re about to be under attack. What will we do without you?”
I turned to her. “You’ll deal with it, Lexa. You planted these seeds. Think of it as a bitter harvest.”
“What do you mean? We had nothing to do with what happened in—”
“Stop lying to us.”
“What’s going on?” Cindra had rejoined us, her eyebrows raised at the sharpness of my tone.
I looked at Oliver. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?”
“You tell them. I want to savor the moment.”
“We know about the silver rain.”
Mil and Lexa looked at each other. Mil put his head in his hands, exhausted at last. “It isn’t what—”
“Stop. You can’t say that. After everything you’ve done, it doesn’t matter what we think. What matters is what you did.”
“What did they do?” Tor’s gaze bored into me as though to say, When did you stop telling me things?
“They created the silver rain. Pantheon Modern dropped a number of bombs during the war, and not just here. They weren’t meant to destroy anything, but Pantheon Modern knew that the particles from them would mix with the ash, and the wind would spread them like dandelion seeds. The bombs contained our nanites and some kind of catalyst. Their intention was to cyberize people in mass numbers. It would take only a small amount, consumed, or even absorbed into a person’s wounds. I mean, everybody had at least one of those, right? Sure, many of them would die, but enough would survive. Only the catalyst wasn’t ready. So instead, it ended up killing everyone.”
Cindra grabbed Oliver’s arm for support. “Lexa, Mil, is this true?”
Their silence was the only confirmation any of us needed.
“But why? Why would you do something like that? What would’ve happened to those who survived?”
“We-we wanted to level the playing field. We didn’t have the power the Terrans and Cosmists did. When we knew the war was about to happen, that there was no way to stop it, we did what we could. We believed the Cosmists were bent on total annihilation, that they wanted a clean slate from which to build their race of artilects. They didn’t care about the human race anymore. They wanted it out of the way. We thought…if we could create enough of you, we could still save people, non-cyborgs. We wanted to salvage what we could, still act as the bridge between human and machine.”
“So Oliver’s ‘death-squad’ theory? Was that true?”
“Of course not. Yes, you were divided into squads and given special abilities, but it wasn’t to hunt down surviving humans. It was to lead the other cyborgs.”
“But why? Why make cyborgs this way? Why not just keep going the way you were?”
“Because we were losing. There was too much pressure from the Terrans and the Cosmists. All our research, our programs, our funding…all of it was to be taken away. We thought if we could show people how useful it was to be a cyborg, how having enhancements was in their best interests—”
“So you decided what their best interests were then tried to force cyberization on them? Like a pair of over-zealous missionaries?” Oliver interrupted. “Did you actually think people would accept that?”
“How did you find out about all this?” Tor asked.
“When I touched one of the victims of the silver rain, I understood what she was thinking. Like a very muted version of what I can do with the rest of you. And so I asked Oliver to do some digging. But that wasn’t all he found. We also found out about Ella.”
Lexa covered her face with her hands.
“Ella? You mean the woman Eire keeps asking you about? Where is she?” Cindra looked over her shoulder, as though expecting Ella to reveal herself.
“In a box. In a store room. Well, part of her, anyway. She found out about the silver rain, and they killed her. Only, Lexa here thinks she’s a good person, so she kept as much of her consciousness as she could.”
“We didn’t know what else to do,” Lexa whispered. “Everything had gone so wrong. We thought more people would’ve survived. If she’d told anyone—”
“She wasn’t the only one who knew, Lexa. I think Eire also knew. Like Pax, she can see through time. Only, she can see what already happened rather than what could happen. She said you’d done terrible things. Are you going to kill her now as well?”
“It doesn’t matter now. None of this matters now.” Weariness creased Lexa’s eyes.
“Maybe not to you. But it does to me. After we stop Umbra, I’m leaving. I won’t be returning.” Tor had stepped back, as though he was already gone.
“Are you coming back, Ailith?” Pax asked me aloud.
“I am, but only for the rest of you, if you’ll come with us. And to bury my father. Then we’ll leave here. We’ll find our own place to call home.”
“What about us? Mil and me? We created you. Made you what you are.”
“Mil will never leave here, Lexa, he said it himself. As for you, you’re on your own. Stay here, go somewhere else. I don’t care, as long as it’s far away from us.”
She tried one last time. “But what about our equipment? You’ll need supplements and checkups. What if something goes wrong with you?”
“We’ll take what we can with us.” I glared at her. “And I know you’re not going to try to stop us, or damage anything while we’re gone. Oliver will see to that.”
Oliver winked at Lexa, amused by her dismay.
“What about Eire? How will we take her with us? We can’t leave her behind.”
“I think I may have a way to wake her up now, Cindra. Be ready to go by the time we come back.”
She nodded. “How are you going to do it?”
“We’re going to give her what she’s been looking for: Ella.”
As anyone who’s read The Prince knows, at some point, people must either be indulged or annihilated. I suspect that’s the conclusion we all came to. We’d all been indulging the belief and opinions of the masses, each in our own way trying to cajole them to our way of thinking. What was unfortunate was that we all came to the conclusion at the same time.
—Mil Cothi, personal journal
“Are you sure she’s in here?” Fane asked. “How do you know?”
“I can feel her. She has a thread, like the rest of you, just more…erratic.”
I searched the shelves, checking behind coils of wire and stacks of circuitry. And there she was, in a small, black oblong box. Ella.
“We have to hurry, Fane. She doesn’t have long.”
“What are you going to do for her, Ailith? Like you said, she doesn’t have much time. We can’t save her.”
“This isn’t about saving Ella. I know we can’t do that. I want her to talk to Eire. Let them say goodbye. They deserve that much, at least.” I cradled the box in my hand. “Eire won’t wake up until she finds out what happened to Ella.”
“It’s a longshot,” he said.
“I know. But it’s still a shot.” I perched on top of a storage container. “Fane, I’ll need your help. I can hear Ella, but she can’t hear me. Do you remember when the Saints were holding us captive? When I had to build that sonic pulse? You helped me then. You acted as a bridge between me and the machine. Can you do that again?”
“Of course.”
I took his hand and closed my eyes. None of that was necessary, of course, but it helped me focus. I found her thread. The flickering was even more intermittent now, duller. We’re running out of time.
“Ella?” Fane surrounded me and her.
“Eire? Is that you? I’ve been waiting for you. Does this mean I’m waking up? Am I better? It feels like I’ve been here for so long.”
“No, Ella. My name is Ailith. I’ve come to take you to Eire.”
“Is she okay? I don’t feel right�
�� I can’t remember. What happened to me? Why am I here?”
Fane squeezed my hand. Tell her the truth.
“ Your body is gone, Ella. Your consciousness was preserved.”
“My body? What do you mean it’s gone? Where’s Eire?”
“You… Something went wrong.” I looked at Fane, helpless. “Do I tell her what they did to her? What difference does it make now?”
“What’s happening to me? How much longer will I be in the dark?”
“You’re dying, Ella. Your consciousness is breaking down.”
There was a long pause. “I’ve been dying for a long time, haven’t I? I knew it. Ever since I told them what I found. That’s real, right? I did that?”
“Yes. I wish it wasn’t.”
“You’re taking me to Eire? Does she know? Is she dying too?
“No. But we need your help. She won’t wake up, Ella. We’re in danger, and we need her to wake up. I think she would for you.”
“I would get to say goodbye?”
“Yes.”
“Take me, please. I’ve been waiting forever in the dark.”
***
“Eire? Can you hear me?”
“Yes. Where’s Ella? Did you find her?”
“She’s here, Eire. She’s here with me.”
“Ella? You’re here?”
“Yes. They need you to wake up, Eire. It’s time for you to go.”
“No, I want to stay here with you. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I’m so sorry. I know you never wanted any of this. I know you did it for me, because you thought it was the only way we’d stay together. I never should’ve let you think that. I was so selfish. The worst part is, I would’ve married you even if you’d said no. But you said yes, so quickly. I’m so sorry.”
“I wanted to go wherever you went, Ella. I don’t regret it. If we’d stayed home, we would’ve died anyway. But at least then we would’ve been together. We could’ve died together.”
“We’re together now. Listen, you need to save yourself. You’re in danger, and you need to wake up. I’m dying, Eire. I don’t even have a body anymore. Ailith brought me to say goodbye. I can feel myself fading. I know I should be afraid, but I’ve been here so long that I wouldn’t know how to come back.”
“I don’t know how to come back either, Ella, not without you. I’ve waited for you all this time. I’m not afraid.”
“Are you sure? You followed me once before. And look what happened.”
“Look what happened. We’re together, aren’t we? Like we promised we would be. I’m sure.”
“Thank you, Ailith. You kept your promise, and you’ve helped us keep ours.”
“Eire, you—” Their threads flashed, blinding me with light.
Conversely, maybe a human’s love for a machine speaks to the generosity of the human heart, of its incredible ability to accept even the most fundamental differences and not let those diminish its capacity for love.
—Cindra, Letter to Omega
“Eire? Ella? Eire?”
“Ailith, they’re gone.”
“They can’t be. It was only supposed to be goodbye.”
“It was.” Fane pulled me to his chest as my shoulders shook. “It was what they wanted. They were finally together. They were happy, Ailith.”
As I pressed my cheek against his shoulder, I saw him. A large cocoon lay on one of the empty beds, just the right length for a man. My father. Something in my chest came untethered, scattering like dandelion seeds in the wind, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
Fane followed my gaze. “Ailith—”
I turned my face away and released the last my fragility in a single, silent scream, leaving behind raw and barren earth. “We have to go find Callum, Fane. We have to finish this.” Sudden doubt threatened my resolve. “What if we can’t stop Umbra?”
Fane tactfully ignored my soundless outburst. “If there’s any risk of her getting what she wants under Ethan and the Saints’ control, we have to. But you need to understand that if she won’t give in, we’ll have to kill Callum. It’s the only way.” He ran his hand over my hair. “We both know that’s what it will come down to. We just have to stop her from taking us down with her.”
I looked down at Eire, at Ella’s box on her chest, and hope suddenly sowed itself inside my hollow chest. Could it work?
“I have a new idea. One that means we could both stop Umbra and keep Callum alive. But it’s risky.” That was an understatement.
He groaned. “This is going to be bad, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But, like you said, we have to stop her. At all costs. Do you understand me? If she succeeds, if the Saints and Ethan get their true god—” We can’t let that happen. They’ll come for us, and for Fane. We need to put an end to it, now. Worry about the details later.
I told him the plan, avoiding his eyes. I needed to nurture the plan growing inside me, and any sign of his doubt would crush it.
“But that means I can’t come with you.” If Fane had been human, I would’ve thought there was panic in his voice. Can I blame him?
“It doesn’t matter. Tor will be with me. But you can’t tell him. You can’t tell anyone.”
“What about Lexa? I’ll need to tell her. I’ll need her help.”
“Tell Lexa. Play on her guilt. Threaten her. Whatever you have to do.” My hope took root and became a living, breathing thing. Whatever you have to do.
“What if I just ask nicely?”
“Like I said, whatever you have to do.” I sighed. “We’ll need Oliver too.”
“Do you trust him?”
That was a good question. Did I? “Yes. Not because of me, but because of Cindra. And because of himself. Oliver knows the only way for us to stop what’s coming is for me to stay alive. If I live, he’s got a much better chance.”
“I don’t like this plan.”
A single white rose on black oak. A reflection in the water.
“Me neither.” But I couldn’t see another way, and we were running out of time.
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“Then you can bury me with my father. And then run. And protect them. But don’t worry about that now.” I tried to be flippant. “Besides, can you even grieve?”
He looked hurt. “Of course I can. And I would.”
I reached up and cupped his cheek. “Well then, we need to make sure this works.” I hesitated then stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. Why not? I may not get another chance. Between Umbra and Ethan, our future was starting to look bleak.
A secret note, tucked away to be found. A promise, written in smoke.
The images rolled off him, threatening my determination. What if we fail? We had only one chance to get this right. Why had I chosen, at this most crucial time, to be merciful? What if that mercy undid us all?
The band tightened around my heart. Perhaps it wasn’t mercy after all.
***
We crowded around Eire as I told Oliver and Lexa our plan. Oliver listened, his mouth agape, then grinned. “You’re fucking mad, Ailith.”
“Careful, Oliver, that almost sounds like admiration.”
“It almost is. You’d better hope you don’t survive. There’s going to be hell to pay with Tor.” He looked pleased at the thought.
“Just don’t tell anyone. Even Cindra. We need to handle this just right if it’s going to work.”
“No arguments there. Right. I’m ready on my end.” He looked toward the head of the bed, where Lexa fussed over the machine at Eire’s head. “Lexa?”
“Yes. But her brain will only stay alive for so long.” She made a few adjustments. “I can’t guarantee anything.”
“We wouldn’t believe you if you did,” I replied. “But you’d better try your best. Your life is at risk here as well.”
She blanched. “I told you, we—”
“I don’t care, Lexa. Watch her, Oliver, Fane. You know what she needs to do. If she tries anything else—”
“It would be my pleasure.” Oliver grinned.
“Well, then I guess this is when we say goodbye. I—” I held out my arms awkwardly.
He pushed them away. “Oh, fuck off already, A. If you were that easy to kill, I’d have done it by now. Just go, and let us get on with it.”
I laughed. “Thanks, Oliver. Fane?”
“I should be coming with you.” He was still sulking over being left behind, arranging and rearranging a tray of supplies.
“I know,” I said, stilling his hands with my own. “But I can’t do this part of it without you.”
“I’ll see you soon, then.” His eyes were strangely bright.
“If things go wrong, don’t lose me in there,” I said, brushing his hair back from his forehead.
“I won’t.”
“I know.” I turned to leave then hesitated. “I’d like to see my father.”
Fane glanced at the cocoon. “You don’t have to right now, you know. You can see him when you get back.”
“No. I want to see him. I need to.”
Fane heard the smothered wail in my voice. “Turn around then. Let me get him ready first.”
When Fane was finished, I turned. Look.
Fane had uncovered only my father’s face, rolling the sheets thickly over his neck. His eyes were closed, his jaw slack, like he’d often looked on a Sunday afternoon, the one day he wouldn’t work, ostensibly to watch whatever sport was in season. Predictably, five minutes after the program had begun, a light snore would waft from his chair, and I would creep about the kitchen, trying not to disturb him.
I can remember him like this. An old man, in his bed. Like he would’ve been, if the war had never happened. It wasn’t the death Cindra had wanted for her grandmother, but it was the death I would’ve wanted for him.
I would remember him like this, and many other ways. I knew this to be true.
Goodbye, Dad.
His skin was rough over his cheeks from the wind and smelled faintly of soap and water. I closed my eyes, and the sun shone through the truck window as we made our way to market, looking to the future as we always had.