My arms are forced behind my back. The powerful hand at my throat is ice cold. They are too fast and strong for me to escape in the ways Ling taught me. Without a human body’s weakness to exploit, I am helpless.
A chorus of emotionless voices begins. “By order of the Trust and Project Aevum, we are authorized to act against individuals found guilty—”
“Help!” I scream hoarsely. “Somebody help—”
The grip around my throat tightens, muting my cry. This can’t be how I am supposed to die. Alone in an empty plaza, surrounded by a flock of robots that won’t even notice my blood on their hands.
Faces flash at me. Ling, Benji, Lana, Naz, Achilles. Abel. Hunter. Yes, even Hunter. A strangled choke of terror escapes my throat, but then I steel myself. I will not die crying.
“. . . We are authorized to execute.”
I gaze up at the sprinkling of diamond stars above the plaza, pin-pricks of light that traveled so far to meet my eyes.
Here I come, Mommy. Here I come.
And then . . . nothing. My entire body is tense, ready for pain. Still nothing.
“Just get it over with,” I wheeze, my voice strangled through their immobile grip.
As one, the Quicks’ eyes change color. They switch from red to white. My arms and throat are released. I almost collapse, doubling over and gasping for breath. The robots all turn away, going from the plaza, their feet drumming loudly on the clean stone inlay.
Then they are gone. I stand, dumbfounded, alone but for the gentle burble of the water fountain. Why did they stop?
A lone figure emerges from the shadows, walking slowly toward me.
It is Hunter.
His green eyes seem to glow. No. They are glowing, pulsing with some kind of power that has never been human.
“Th-That was you, just then,” I stutter in disbelief, my hand still rubbing my throat protectively. “Those Quicks—you serfed them.”
His face is devoid of expression. “Yes.”
My survival instinct kicks in. “Someone might see us. Someone human.” I gesture behind me. “These boutiques are all locked—”
The sound of the door unlocking cuts me off. Without a word, he strides past me and opens it, walking inside. A moment to take this in—Hunter as masterkey—and then I follow, closing the door securely behind me.
The fresh perfume of flowers hangs heavy in the air. Dozens of beautiful bouquets spill out everywhere—enormous white lilies the size of buckets, full red roses that smell just like chocolate, a bird-of-paradise with bright feathers growing from its stem.
A huge oval mirror hangs above a glossy pink counter. I lock eyes with a beast. I start in fright before realizing the beast is me. Dried blood cakes one side of my face from the cut on my head. My skin is darkened with smoke and dirt and rubble. The ends of my hair and parts of my eyebrows have been singed off. Red marks shaped like fingers bracelet my throat.
My tronic glows in the dim light, four words embedded under my skin: No feeling is final.
Hunter comes toward me. I don’t know if I should be scared of a killer or thankful for a savior. His voice is just a murmur. “You’re hurt.” A thin hypodermic needle plunges into my forearm.
“Ow!” I try to wrench my arm away, but Hunter holds it securely, pumping cool, clear liquid inside me. “What is that?” I ask in a panic.
“Nanites. A form of microrobotic technology—”
“I know what nanites are!” I exclaim. “Why am I chock-full of them?”
“They’ll help you heal faster.”
He extracts the needle carefully. As I rub where it had pierced my skin, I can’t help but stare at him. I look like a war zone. He just looks like Hunter.
This must be a mistake. A huge and terrible mistake. Maybe Hunter does work for Simutech but he can’t—There’s no way he’s actually—
There’s one question that’ll answer this. My voice is not much more than a whisper. “Who is Emily Anderson?”
Shadows pool around his face, his expression still completely unreadable. “A memory I wrote,” he replies quietly.
I spin around, away from him, one hand clamped over my mouth to stifle a cry. I grab the counter for support.
“You’re not my uncle’s assistant,” I say.
“No.”
“You’re not a student.”
“No.”
“You’re . . .” I can’t look at him. “You’re . . .”
“Say it,” he says, in a strangely urgent voice.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hard, then force them open. I turn to meet his gaze coldly, channeling my most mechanical self. “You’re a combination of human clone tissue and machine. You have an artificial nervous system, powered by robotic neuron and glial cells. Your DNA sequences are genetically engineered. You’re not human. You are . . .” I pause. “You are an artilect. You are Aevum.”
In the darkness of the boutique, I catch the faintest glimpse of a smile on his mouth. “Right again, Tess Rockwood.”
A flood of memories pours over me. Hunter’s fingers running up Mack’s handle the day we met, the way his eyes darted so quickly to mine. The pleasure of discovering Malspeak. The questions, the curiosity, the awkwardness. The endless repertoire of facts and figures and information. Magnus was connected to the streams. He could see everything. That’s why Hunter knows so much about art and history. He was in the streams the whole time. How could I not see? How could I not realize what he really was?
“But—But you were always at Abel’s,” I stutter. “How is that possible? Why weren’t you locked up at Simutech?”
Hunter’s eyes slide sideways. “That information is classified.”
“Screw classification!” I exclaim. “Hunter, it’s me, it’s Tess.”
His eyes flit to mine before flitting back to the floor. After a pause, he says, “Abel told the Trust the reason Magnus killed your mother was because he was not socially conditioned, and that I must be allowed to operate in society as a normal boy in order to be safe. The Trust refused. A compromise was made.”
“You could be at the house,” I say. “You could travel to and from Abel’s home.”
The walk by the river. That’s why he was so excited. That was the first time—I shake my head, almost unable to comprehend it all—that was the first time he’d even been to the river.
My feet move toward him to get a better view. He looks exactly like a normal boy. His hair, his skin, the color of his eyes. A perfect clone. Of whom?
I wonder. “You’re amazing,” I breathe, stunned. I can’t believe Abel did it. My fingers reach to touch his skin—skin that doesn’t rip or tear, skin that doesn’t seem to feel pain, skin that looks human but must be improved somehow, modified, strengthened—before I remember where I am. Who I am. Who Hunter is.
“The presentation,” I remember. “Hunter, I saw the presentation at Simutech.”
Nothing. He’s silent, unmoving.
“I saw the Builder kill those men,” I continue, my horror growing with every second. “You did that. You took control of that Builder and you killed them.”
I will him to say no.
“Yes,” he says. “I did.”
I’m having trouble breathing. “I can’t believe you did that. I just—I just can’t believe that. You’re a murderer!” I cry, before catching myself and dropping my voice to a frenzied whisper. “You’re a murderer. You killed ten people.”
“Yes, I did.”
“And you’re supposed to carry out Project Aevum. You’re supposed to”—my voice wavers; I snatch it back—“kill everyone in the Badlands.”
“Technically, I’m anticipating a ninety-six point seven percent success rate,” he muses quietly. “But essentially, yes.”
“That’s why the Trust created you.” My mind is racing, trying to pull everything together. “Project Aevum wasn’t your idea, you’re just . . . you’re just the means to the end. You can make subs kill people.”
“Yes.”
I swallow hard, panting with adrenaline. “Okay. Okay. We’ll go back to Abel’s together,” I think aloud. “We can wait there for Kudzu. Once we find Ling, she’ll know what to do.”
“Kudzu?” Hunter blinks before his face clears into understanding. “That’s why you used the off-cycle scratch,” he murmurs. “You’re part of Kudzu. That’s who broke into Simutech.”
There’s not point denying it now. “Exactly.”
“If I’d known that . . .” A subtle grimace touches his features.
“What?” I ask in alarm. “If you’d known that, what?”
Hunter looks momentarily lost in thought. “I might not have sent in all those Quicks.”
Hunter sent in the Quicks. The Quicks who killed Lana. It was him. He authorized the Quicks to kill. For a moment I can’t bear to look him. He didn’t know, I remind myself fiercely. He’s a puppet. You have to save him.
I grab his arm and pull him a few steps toward the door. “We have to get out of here.”
“Why?”
“Because otherwise the Trust will force you to kill millions of people,” I snap, more out of fear than annoyance. “We have to get out of here now!”
Hunter pulls his arm easily from my grip and steps back to put a healthy distance between us. His voice is dead calm. “The Trust isn’t forcing me to do anything, Tess.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I am choosing to perform Project Aevum,” he says simply. “Removing the human element from the Badlands is the most effective course of action for the ongoing prosperity of Eden. You saw what happened on the Northern Bridge. The Badlands are a threat. It’s very fortunate I can stop it.”
I’m dumb with disbelief, before I choke out, “You can’t really think that, Hunter. I mean, you can’t actually believe that.”
“Yes, I can.”
“But these are people’s lives. You’ll be ending people’s lives.”
“What’s the alternative, Tess? Everyone starves to death?” Bizarrely, his voice switches to my voice, an octave higher than his. “ ‘It’s not really living out there. It’s surviving. And most people aren’t even doing that. They’re just dying.’ ”
I said that to him. They’re my exact words.
“I’m not sadistic, if that’s what you’re thinking. Project Aevum is designed to be humane,” he continues in his regular voice. He turns and wanders away from me, his voice echoing around the darkened shop. “That’s why the Trust built me to be able to do this. A human would be pointlessly distracted from the task by emotion. I see the problem. I fix it.”
“But what you’re doing is wrong!” I cry.
“Perhaps according to your morality,” he allows. “But not to mine. Eden is the pinnacle of human evolution, Tess. It’s a society that has been thousands of years in the making. Project Aevum will allow it to be fully realized.”
I can’t believe he is justifying this, so cold, so calm. “Hunter,” I say, trying to keep my voice even, “there’s no need for drastic measures, okay? Let’s just—let’s just talk about this.”
He smiles, amused and intrigued. “What an interesting thing to say,” he says softly. “I can’t imagine anyone in Eden who’s taking more drastic measures than you right now. Do you assume you are better placed to make this decision than I am? I may not be human, but I am conscious. Just because you don’t like what you hear doesn’t make it immoral.”
“Yes it does!” I snap, throwing up my hands. “What you’re talking about is absolutely insane.”
He is wholly unperturbed by my anger. “You’ve studied the world’s history, Tess. You know I’m not the first person to decide the fate of millions. They had their reasons. I have mine.”
“Those men were all monsters,” I say harshly. “You really want to be in their ranks?”
Hunter’s eyes move around my face with austere assessment. “Anger,” he muses softly. “Such an interesting emotion.”
“Yes, lucky you’re not ‘distracted’ by that,” I snarl sarcastically. I flash on Hunter holding my sore hands across Abel’s dining room table. “How can you even say that? You have emotions, Hunter, I’ve seen them!”
Hunter’s face drops into complete blankness, as if I’d just switched him off. “No,” he says flatly. “I don’t.”
Hunter’s been faking his emotions. Simulating them. A murderer playing a boy to manipulate me.
Just like I did. This is karma.
In the dim light of my mother’s office: “Hello, Magnus.”
“Tess. You are not permitted to be here.” His deep voice rumbled and I put one finger to my lips.
“Shhh.”
Obediently, his voice dropped to a low murmur. “I am glad you are.”
I giggled, cocking my head to the side. “That’s me, little boomerang girl. Always coming back.” I made my way over to the hulking man-machine in the corner.
“Do you like what I’m wearing?”
His large head moved down, then back up as he looked over Izzy’s come-hither outfit.
“Yes.”
A shiver of electricity ran through me as I put one hand on his huge bicep. It was cold and hard. “Can you feel that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like how it feels?” I murmured, letting the cool of his exterior absorb steal the heat of my hand.
“Yes.”
I started running the tips of my fingers up and down his arm, tipping my head up toward his. I know he can feel it, my finger-pads racing up and down, up and down. “Do you like that?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me. Tell me that you like it.”
“I like the feeling of your hand on me, Tess.”
“Do you want me to continue?”
“Yes. I want you to continue.”
“What about this?” I whisper, pressing more of my body against the bulk of his. “Do you like this?”
“Yes. I like that very much.”
I stopped and quickly pulled myself away.
His deep voice rumbled immediately. “Please continue to do that.”
“Who is in charge of you?” I asked sharply.
“Simutech and Doctor Francesca Rockwood,” he replied. “Please continue to touch my arm with your hand.”
I hovered a few inches from him, looking deep into his dull, silver eyes, barely able to stop my voice from becoming a snarl. “Who. Is. In. Charge. Of. You?”
I can almost see the processes whirring clunkily in his singularix, as his excited nervous system battled with his logic circuits.
“You are, Tess. You are in charge of me.”
“That’s right.” I exhaled, flushed with success. Guess what, Mom? Lowering your little project’s logic circuits to maximize his emotional susceptibility? Big-time success.
With a smile full of secrets as dark as witches’, I pulled his head down to meet mine.
Stumbling, I knock over a vase of roses. It crashes to the ground, scattering the flowers across the polished floor. Roses and thorns crunch under my feet.
“Tess?”
I wish I could burn these memories out of my brain. I used the feelings Magnus had for me with a callousness I can’t bear to recall. But his feelings were real.
Breathing hard, I look Hunter right in the eye. “You were designed,” I say, “to have emotions. You should be able to feel things. Correct?”
He’s silent. But I’m right. I know I am.
“Why did you tutor me?” I ask suddenly.
“Abel ordered me to.”
“Why?”
Hunter remains inscrutable. “I don’t know,” he replies.
“You must have a theory. If you’re really so smart.”
His eyes dart to mine, then shoot away. A crack. A crack I can get through. “Abel wasn’t getting you to watch me,” I think aloud. “Abel didn’t know about Kudzu.”
Then why insist we spend time together?
“Does Abel know,” I ask, “what the Trust intends to do with y
ou?”
After a moment, Hunter nods. “He does.”
“And does he disagree?”
“He’s not permitted to say.”
“What do you think?”
Hunter’s gaze draws away from me. “Abel does not approve,” he says softly.
I’m remembering things. Abel watching me refuse to eat the mushroom risotto. Abel asking me about my time in the Badlands.
“Is it possible,” I continue, “that Abel thought I could—I don’t know—help? In your development? That I could be a . . . good influence?”
As the words leave my mouth, I feel certain I am right. Abel didn’t support building a genocide machine. He was using me to expose Hunter to a different way of seeing things. Or to make Hunter feel things.
What was it my mom said defined consciousness? Free will. Morality. Empathy. Hunter has free will, or so he believes. And he believes he is acting morally. But empathy? No. You need emotions to feel empathy, and he doesn’t think he has those. Abel wanted me to help Hunter feel things. Yes. If Hunter did feel empathy, maybe he wouldn’t be able to go through with Project Aevum. If he cared about the Badlands like I did, maybe he wouldn’t be able to destroy them.
Time is running out. I have to convince Hunter to come with me. I have to do it now. And to do that, I have to get this boy-machine to feel.
“Why did you save me from the Quicks?” I whisper.
Again, my question is met with silence. I move slowly toward him, keeping my voice soft.
“Why did you save me back at Simutech? You could’ve killed me. Why didn’t you, Hunter?” His eyes are on the floor, staring at the space between us. I feel so incredibly exposed. My face burns. My heart thumps. “Is it because you care about me?”
Still, nothing. But he’s not moving away. Slowly, I reach for one of his hands. He flinches. “It’s okay,” I whisper, stopping for a second. “It’s okay.”
My fingers find his. They are warm, pulsing with genetically altered blue blood, powered by mirror matter. Gently, I lift his hand until it’s near my face. I press his fingers onto my cheek, so he can feel my skin. Finally, finally, he lifts his eyes from the floor and lets himself look at me.
Parched Page 21