by Tony LaRocca
“I want to be out of here,” he said. “You put me here, you take me out.”
She blinked. “You don’t want to be in the Sage?”
Her son threw her a scornful look. “I mean I want to be out of the painting. I know where I really am. The zhivoi–paint’s just interfacing with a neural scanner. I want to be real.”
“Honey, that’s impossible,” she said.
“How do you know?”
The world dipped around her for a fraction of a second. She leaned against the counter, and closed her eyes. I’m fine, she insisted to herself. “It’s like saying you want to be out of your body,” she said aloud. “You can’t do it.”
“I did have a body, and I did get out of it.”
Alyanna put her arm around him, ignoring the way his back stiffened. “Who knows,” she said, “maybe someday they’ll be able to scrape up your paint, and put it in a cybernetic brain, or something. But until then, we’re both stuck here.”
“Not you,” Matthew said. “You can leave any time you want.”
Her head hurt. She wanted to lie down. “Yes,” she said. “I can.”
“That’s why you won’t get the neural implant. You want to leave me.”
She took a sharp breath. “How do you know about that?” she asked.
“Sigma told me,” he said. He turned his gleaming eyes up to hers. “You didn’t want me to know, did you?”
Alyanna ran her fingers upward through her hair. It felt like a sweaty mop. “Even if I got a neural implant, I could still leave, couldn’t I?” she asked. “Think about it. When you were alive, I could have left any time I wanted. Instead, I missed you so much that I came to live in here.”
“Thanks,” he said. He slumped in his chair, all the fight gone out of him.
“You don’t want to be out there,” she said, thinking of the bodies piled in the streets. “I wouldn’t.”
“Then you won’t leave?”
She kissed him on the forehead. “For the last time, Matthew, I’m here because I want to be.”
“Even when you have the baby?”
She let out a long sigh. “Christ,” she said. “This is very, very hard on me too. Please understand that.”
“Sigma says that when you have the baby, you might leave.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I might.”
His face crumpled. “Don’t you love me?”
She put her other arm around him. “I love you with all my heart,” she said, “but do you want your brother or sister—”
“Sister,” Matthew interrupted, “Sigma says it’s a girl.”
“Sigma should mind her own business,” Alyanna snapped at the ceiling. She looked back at Matthew. “So let me ask you then, mister know–it–all. Do you want your sister growing up in this cage with you, or do you want her to be free, like you used to be?”
“You’re not making any sense,” he said. “You just said you wouldn’t want to live out there, but now you’re saying it’s a good place to raise a baby. Which is it?”
Alyanna caught her response before it escaped her mouth. She bit hard on her lip.
“I get it,” he said. “You’d rather start a new life out there with her, because she’s real, because she’s your child.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. It was hard to breathe. “Now,” she said, “that’s just… that’s just…”
A sharp pain, as if someone had sliced her stomach with glass, stabbed through her abdomen. She cried out, slumping on top of her son.
“Mom?” Matthew asked, trying to shift her weight. She tried to stand, but could not. “Sigma!” he shouted. “0800?”
The world shifted around Alyanna. She found herself lying in her bed. She gasped for air. A Cyleb stood at her side. She looked at his number. It was 7350. She did not know him.
“Breathe normally,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, but she knew what it was. She was miscarrying.
“There is an abnormality,” he said. “There could be a thousand reasons, chromosomal incompatibility, for example, or it could be your heavy use of alcohol. We’re trying as best we can to deduce what is wrong.”
“Get me out of the Sage,” she said as she struggled to sit.
7350 gently pushed her down. “Mrs. Galbraith, listen to me,” he said. “This is the safest place for you right now. Your baby is still forming, there is no reason we cannot save her, or even correct any problems in her DNA or RNA.”
Alyanna bit the inside of her cheek. “But not while she’s still inside me,” she said.
He nodded. “We would have to remove the fetus, and incubate her.”
Alyanna dropped her head back onto her pillow. “Is that the only way?” she asked.
“It is the safest way,” he said. “We’ve halted the miscarriage, but we’re not sure what caused it.”
“Where is Jaeger?” she asked. “Or 0800, why isn’t he here?”
“The general does not inform me of his plans,” he said. “As for 0800, he has other duties.”
Alyanna sniffed, and blinked back tears. “Well, at least you knew better than to send in Sigma,” she said. The Cyleb did not reply. “No,” she said. “No, I’m not giving up my baby.”
“Very well,” said 7350. “She is your child.”
“Yes, she is.”
His lips pursed. “Then I recommend bed rest for the time being. Try not to let your adrenaline or stress factors rise.” She did not respond. “Do you wish to see Matthew? He has been quite upset.”
“Of course,” she said.
Her son ran into the room, and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said, his voice thick and hoarse. “I’m so sorry for what I said.”
“Hey.” She picked his chin up. His eyes were bloodshot. “This wasn’t your fault.”
“I upset you. I was being mean.”
“No,” she said. “No, this isn’t your fault at all, and I’m going to be fine.” She was about to ask 7350 for confirmation, but he was no longer there.
“So what caused it?” asked Matthew.
“I don’t know,” said Alyanna. She rubbed her stomach with her good hand. “I don’t know, but I’m all right now.”
Matthew kissed her cheek. She wrapped her arms around her son, and prayed that she had not lied.
Chapter 8
Sigma rubbed her stinging eyes as her car glided amongst the empty skyscrapers of Manhattan. She felt as if she were under water, that life itself clogged her ears, and dragged back her limbs. As an overseer, she was useless. The third–generation Cylebs under her command performed their duties without complaint or direction. She had become numb to the piles of bodies in the streets, and of her brothers’ efficient methods of disposing of them. She had not, however, gone numb to her own numbness. She had no love for biopures, but… She had seen a baby in the gargantuan pile that morning, clutched in the arms of his father. Her brothers had found them that way in a basement apartment, curled upon a threadbare couch. Rigor had long set in, entwining them as statues. She tried to shake the memory as she returned to the Sanctuary at the end of her shift.
More and more, she felt isolated from her brothers and father. When Jaeger had returned, at the cost of poor Chi’s life, she had felt a relief and fervor that bordered on the zealous. Only the general could save them from what thrived in the West, and the plague unleashed by the Regular Army. Except…
Except he was obsolete.
And the R.A. had trapped him, she thought as she stood in the decontamination chamber, her environment suit rippling about her. Even twenty years ago, when he had been a god walking the earth, Carter, Benjamin, and Rivers had still managed to trap him. At one time, she would have found such thoughts blasphemous. Now, she allowed them to come, even if she kept them shielded from her brothers, because they were shielding their thoughts from her.
Her private chamber was spartan, save for a glowing, cylindrical tank in the corner, crowned with an array of virt sc
reens. There was a cot that she did not use; she slept inside the Sage in an immersion capsule. She sat on its thin mattress, and pressed her hand against the glass.
“Hello,” she said. The images on the screens melted into one another: a rose, a baby’s smile, sunlight. “I’m sorry it’s been such a long time. There is so much going on, and everything is falling apart. Do you forgive me?”
A leaf unfurled. A boy and girl hugging. A peaceful stream, shaded by elm trees.
“At first, Matthew—at first I thought I could love him the way I love you,” she said. “But he’s not even a child, really. I don’t know what he is. I just don’t know if I can…” Her voice broke off. “I’m just like everyone else, I have my orders. The general is reshaping our world, and I don’t know my place in it anymore.”
She heard footsteps approach. She sensed 0800’s presence, and stiffened. She felt exposed and raw, and she wanted to be alone.
“Hello, Mother,” he said.
She did not turn to face him. “You forget yourself,” she said. “We’re all brothers and sisters, here.”
“Even the general?”
Sigma exhaled between her teeth. “You know more than I do,” she said. “I told Matthew that we never lie to each other. So tell me, what’s going on at Watervliet? Why am I shut out?”
She sensed his churning emotions. “I’m sorry, Mother, I can’t tell you.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why?” he asked. “Why do we have to pretend things aren’t what they are?”
“You tell me,” she said. “You’re the ones keeping secrets. You, 6570, 9843, 2217, 4927—your entire squad, even General Jaeger. Why?”
0800 walked to the tank, and bowed his head against it. The monitors displayed frolicking kittens, a hatching chick, and moonlight glinting off a frozen lake.
“He’s happy,” 0800 said. “He’s always happy.”
“0800…”
“I’ve been ordered not to tell you,” he said. “That’s the truth. To find out, you’d have to take it from my mind. I would have to fight you, and it wouldn’t be pleasant for either of us. But you’re stronger than I am. You could do it.”
She realized what he was saying. “Is that what you want?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “I just—”
She did not give him a chance to finish. She clasped his skull between her hands, and drove it into the marble wall. She focused her mind into one, sharp, molten point, and burned her way through. Even while concussed, he fought to squeeze out her intruding consciousness, but she was relentless. She bore through barrier after barrier, until he slumped to the floor.
At last, she let go. She fought to breathe. The effort of the attack had sapped every muscle in her body of oxygen, and they burned. Her head alternated between numbness and agony, as if someone were hammering a nail into her skull. She called for medical assistance. After a few minutes, a stretcher rolled itself into the room. She struggled to lift 0800’s body, but did not have the strength. Spindly aluminum arms unfolded to assist her, and pulled the Cyleb on top. She touched his forehead.
Forgive me, Brother, she thought. The stretcher asked if she required assistance as well, but she ignored it. She leaned on the cot, and pushed herself to her feet. Damaged or not, it was time to confront her father.
She was not surprised to find him waiting in his subterranean shrine, sitting cross–legged in its luminescent waters. He was in communion with the Sage. She staggered down the spiral stairs, clinging to the rail. She knew that if she did not come this way, still frail from her altercation, that he would think her weak. She stood at attention, her legs shaking.
He opened his eyes. “Yes,” he said, as if she were making a routine report. “What is it?”
“Please,” she said, her voice ragged, “just tell me why.”
Jaeger sighed. “We need the Watervliet Arsenal to make drones,” he said. “Those drones can mine for raw materials, and construct war machines, which we can guide from the Sage. We don’t have the numbers to fight the mutants directly. That was the arsenal’s purpose during the war. I thought you understood that.”
“‘During the war.’”
Jaeger snorted. “Imagine,” he said, “using a munitions factory as a refugee camp, while the end of civilization is at hand. All the equipment was still there. It just needed to be—”
“There were families,” Sigma interrupted. “Civilians. Children. You turned the defense systems on them, and sent 0800 to dispose of their bodies.”
He shrugged. “They were biopures, and they were cheating. Nature did not intend them to survive the plague they created. They had no right to seal themselves from its wrath.”
Sigma opened and closed her mouth. “I see,” she said. “Why did you hide this from me?”
“You’re questioning my orders right now,” he said. “What’s more, you encouraged your brother’s sedition, and attacked him. What other reasons do I need?”
“I understand,” she said. “I’m not used to being isolated from my family.”
He stood, his glowing muscles rippling with every movement. He walked to her, and embraced her.
“I can feel your revulsion,” he said, his breath hot and rancid against her cheek. “You think I’m a monster, but we need that arsenal to survive. More importantly, David needed to learn that attacking me has consequences, that I can be twice as ruthless as he. He won’t dare try something like that jet stunt again, knowing I’m willing to take civilian casualties. Tactically, it was a winning move. I shielded you from it, so that the responsibility would be mine alone.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “Thank you, sir,” she said.
He chuckled, pulling away. “You’ll understand in time,” he said. “I’m ordering you to enter the Sage, and heal. You need your immersion chamber right now. 0800 is recovering nicely.”
“Please don’t punish him,” she said.
“Oh, I think you’ve done enough of that,” said Jaeger. She stared straight ahead. “How goes your other assignment?”
“It’s progressing,” she said. “I won’t trick, coerce, or force him. He has to understand. It has to be his choice.”
Jaeger’s cheek twitched. “Sigma, do you understand that everything—everything—hinges on this? There may not be time for understanding. If you can’t do it…”
“He will understand,” she said. “He will understand, and he will help us.”
Jaeger nodded. “All right, then,” he said. “You have a week.”
Sigma swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re dismissed.”
She ascended the stairs, her aching legs trembling with every step. She did not need to look back to know that she was being watched, judged, and found wanting.
Although it was past noon, Alyanna still lay in bed. First Matthew and her father, then her hand, and now her unborn daughter. Everything had conspired against her at once. The need to paint, or at least to draw, gnawed at her insides. Hadn’t some armless master learned to paint with his toes, or maybe his mouth? Then why couldn’t she just learn to draw with her non–dominant hand?
She rose, put on a pot of coffee, and meandered into the living room. Matthew lay on the couch. His mouth opened and closed in a silent but frantic chant. His eyes darted back and forth. Alyanna crept to him, and touched his arm.
Her son jumped, letting out a small yelp. He blinked. “Sorry, Mom,” he said with an embarrassed smile, “I was deep inside a book. It’s a lot quicker this way.”
“I’ll bet,” she said. “What are you reading?”
He reached under the couch, and pulled out the largest book she had ever seen. It looked like two Bibles glued together.
“Atlas Shrugged,” he said. “Ever read it?”
“No,” she said as she examined the cover. There was a picture of a train on it. “I never read much.”
“I’m trying to get as many different philosophical views as I can,” he said. “I rea
d Beyond Good and Evil, The Republic, The Bible, The Koran, and even The Illuminatus! Trilogy, which was a lot more fun than the others.” He pointed at the book in her hands. “Some of it is good, some of it is dumb. The problem with Ayn Rand is that she was all–or–nothing ideological. You’re supposed to take the dumb with the good, or you’re ‘immoral.’ I’m up to page 632. I’ll be done in half an hour.”
Alyanna thumbed through it. “Jesus Christ,” she said, “that’s only half of this thing.”
“I know,” he said, “I don’t have to read it at all. I can just add it to my memory, if I want. But Sigma says it’s important to soak it in, that reading’s more than just knowing, it’s understanding.”
Alyanna handed the book back. “Keep it,” he said. “I can make a million.”
“I’ll wait for the virt.”
“I don’t think there’s going to be any more virts, Mom,” he said, “not for a long time.”
“Yeah, so much for Entertainment Corp.,” she said. “Not that it matters for me, now.”
He looked at the arm that hung at her side. “I’m sorry you can’t paint anymore.”
Her lips tightened. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But you love art,” he said. “I know you do. You had the best job on Earth. You did what made you happy.”
“I wasn’t happy,” she said. “I drank. I treated you like garbage.”
“I didn’t feel that way.”
“Well I did.” She wiped at her eyes with her fingers.
“Do you know why depression’s so dangerous?” he asked. “Because when we feel a certain way, we can only remember the other times we felt the same—”
“Stop it,” she cut in. “Please, I know you mean well, but you’re not helping. You keep spewing facts like a walking encyclopedia, but you have no idea what you’re talking about. I just can’t keep up with you. Someday, you’ll be so smart that you won’t even want to talk to me.”
Matthew considered this. He opened the side table drawer, and took out her tablet and charcoal. He turned the pad to a new page, put the pencil in his right hand, and slid it under her arm. He lifted her limp hand, and curled her fingers around his.