by Tony LaRocca
You can redraw yourself.
He imagined his fingers melting. He did not need bone or flesh, not here. He felt it working, felt his fingers becoming long and spindly, felt them stringing into taffy. They seeped a few inches into the insect’s workings. He felt Sigma’s arm tighten around him, crushing his skull. I don’t need bones, he thought, I don’t need to breathe, I don’t need a body. His thoughts rushed through his mind, becoming more and more frantic. The agony was unbearable. His panic caused the magic to stop working; he had lost control.
He clenched his teeth, dug the fingers of his right hand into his shoulder, and tore his arm off.
Fire and lightning seared his mind. The wheels of the universe stopped. He was the snake, now, there was no need to think. He became a serpent of flaming tar, tearing through the flywheels and springs of the insect. He smashed them aside as he burned a path to the creature’s brain. It was a swollen mass of coiled wires, of billions upon billions of microscopic switches. He melted his way inside, enveloping it, searing in between its copper folds—
The shimmering dust cascaded about him once more, scouring away the representation of the cypher–protected gateway.
He found himself in a laboratory. The floor, walls, and ceiling were tiled. Bright, blue–white lights illuminated a room that was cold and antiseptic. Cabinets lined the walls, but he could not see through their windows. Beneath the crest of the NorMec R.A., a sign proclaimed a warning in bold, red, illegible letters. There was another symbol, like a triangle made of three broken circles, one on the top, and two on the bottom, with a fourth in the middle. He knew it meant something, but could not remember what.
A workstation with a computer terminal stood in the center of the room. A young woman hunched over it. She stabbed at its keys, her thin, blond hair dangling in her face. She wore desert fatigues. A rifle leaned against her legs.
Matthew slithered to her side. He could not read the insignia on her shoulder, but he instinctively knew she wore a WesMec uniform.
The soldier’s hands were jointed and bolted together, half flesh, half gears, and sprockets. She looked at Matthew. Her face was Sigma’s, but at the same time, it was not. Her features were androgynous, a conglomeration of her own and others’. Her eyes were blue, and her nose and jaw were thick and wide.
“God told me it was time,” she said. Her voice gurgled, as if it had to crawl from the depths of her throat.
The setting around them flickered. Instead of a laboratory, they were now in a classroom. The children all wore uniforms embroidered with Greek letters. They pointed at a sobbing boy of about seven, laughing and jeering while he ran from the room. Some threw wads of paper after him. The teacher, his hands in the air, tried to preserve some sort of order. Something about him tore at Matthew’s heart.
“I did it,” Sigma / not Sigma said, “I released the second vial.” Her fingers fumbled across the keys. She wiped at her sweaty forehead with the back of her mechanical hand.
The scene changed again. The teacher, definitely so familiar, loomed above. He offered a piece of chocolate, a sad but kind smile on his wrinkled face. Then they were in the woods, where a man in a wide–brimmed hat and camouflage shouted and cursed. His cheeks were red; his eyes bulged from their sockets. Other faces appeared and disappeared: young men and women identified by Greek letters, soldiers, and eventually, bald, silvery, identical men. But every few seconds, a skeletal visage flashed before them, an austere, weathered face that smoldered like a diseased sun.
The soldier smacked the monitor. “I put in the code, like He told me to,” she said. She sounded nothing like Sigma now, her voice thick and warbling. Her eyes were gray, her hair fair and wispy, her features more masculine. “Did it work? Where is He? Why isn’t He here?” Matthew stared at the screen. The numbers and letters danced in front of his eyes. He could decipher a B, an N, and a seven. The weird triangle of broken circles flashed over and over. In the distance, a siren began to wail. The woman touched Matthew’s face.
“Are you one of His angels?” she asked.
He struck. His mouth was a burning, elongated snout, lined with razors. He sank them into the soldier’s rubbery neck. She screamed as the gears in her throat ground together. Blood—sweet, acidic, and cold—gushed down Matthew’s throat. He whipped his serpentine body from side to side, driving her skull into the workstation. He did not stop until clockworks, copper wire, and something resembling gray Spackle splattered out of her skull.
The ever–changing room disappeared. The soldier’s remains dissolved from his mouth, leaving a bitter taste, like rotten grapefruit. He found himself back inside the cliff. Sigma lay on the floor, next to a rag–doll that was missing an arm. He did not want to look at the child’s body, it made him nauseous. But Sigma—the real Sigma—her featureless, plastic face made his heart feel as if it were being crushed. He would protect her until she healed, until her face was beautiful once more with the elegance and dignity of her life. He circled his serpentine body around her. No one would ever steal her soul, or otherwise harm her again.
Slashes of white tore the air. Three bald, silvery figures leapt through in slow motion, their bodies tumbling with acrobatic slapstick as they spoke in words of molasses. They approached, staring at each other with uncertainty.
One reached for Sigma. Matthew struck, burying his fangs into the pale figure’s arm. The man cried out in a delicious scream that lasted for what felt like hours. The other two rushed at him. Matthew watched as they leaped in the air. He traced circles in the floor with his tail, and drove the tip down, smashing them through. He chortled as the twins fell into the lava below, comprehension dawning too late on their bald, veined faces. The air rented around them, and all three, along with Sigma, vanished.
He howled with a primal, guttural rage. A new vertical slash of light appeared. A grinning, skeletal man, alight with orange flame, stepped through at an almost normal, relative speed. Matthew could see every glowing muscle and sinew through his leathery, translucent flesh in sharp focus. A stench filled the air, like rotting cabbage mixed with burning copper. Fear gripped his chest, though he did not know why.
He attacked the burning man, burying his mouth of razors into the skeleton’s blazing arm. The old man did not try to deflect the attack. Instead, he drove his fist into Matthew’s skull.
Blackness swallowed the edges of his vision. His mouth filled with a bitter liquid that burned and blistered his tongue. Before he could react, the floor of the tunnel melted into a viscous tar. He sank, thrashing for purchase. He braced himself for the agonizing sear of lava on his belly.
Instead, a gust of icy wind blasted through the tunnel. The molten rock solidified around his coils, holding him fast within the shale.
He was trapped.
He roared and thrashed, ignoring the biting cold, but it was no use. The flaming, skeletal man, the monster who had stolen Sigma away, latched onto his tail with an emaciated claw. Matthew shot the top half of his body upward, extending to the ceiling. Water, he thought. He imagined a spring flowing through the cliff, above the cavern. He honed his snout into a sharp point, and hammered through.
A stream of water sputtered forth, instantly forming a four–foot long icicle in the raw, glacial air. He whipped his head against it, and sent it crashing down. It impaled the glowing monster through his right thigh, transfixing him to the icy ground. The withered man did not give Matthew the satisfaction of crying out, though he could see pain in his eyes.
The ancient figure reached with his free hand, and grabbed the revolting, maimed rag–doll. He yanked it into his arms, and thrust Matthew’s flailing tail into its flayed left shoulder.
Alternating streams of ice and fire shot through his veins. There was a sense of duality. For a few moments, he could see through both the eyes of the serpent, and those of his body. The world spun around him. The burning rage and the power that it had brought sloughed away like a skin of mud. His eyes rolled back in his head. He fought against o
verwhelming exhaustion to keep them open, but failed. He fell, and felt rough, leathery but warm hands catch him.
He opened his eyes. What had he done? How much had he aged this time? His body felt cumbersome and foreign. His pixelated shoulder sparked and buzzed as the Sage fought to mesh his two selves into one. He looked at the glowing arms that held him. One was lacerated with fang–marks. The general was still transfixed to the floor. Blood dripped down his impaled leg.
“Oh my God,” said Matthew in a deep voice he had never heard before. Realization flooded him, bringing with it a rush of panic. “Sir, I am so, so sorry.”
“Stand up, boy,” the general said, jerking him to his feet. The old man locked his opaline eyes with Matthew’s, and he did not dare to look away. With a flash of light, they were gone.
Chapter 9
Matthew followed Jaeger through the blanched, luminescent conduits of the Sage. His head wanted to hang and loll, but he forced himself to hold it up, to keep his eyes straight ahead. His stomach churned and swam; he was afraid that he would be sick. His body felt alien to him, as if he were walking on stilts. How old was he now, twenty? Twenty–five? He could not tell. He tried to explain what had taken place, but the general did not look at him, nor did he speak.
The ancient, emaciated Cyleb led him to a chamber. The translucent walls glowed with a cream–colored light that reminded him of fog at sunrise. Sigma floated in midair, unconscious, her hair tight against her head like a helmet of plastic ropes. She wore a white, silken hospital gown. Her skin was raw, and pockmarked. A tear in her cheek revealed shattered teeth. A swarm of firefly–like machines orbited her. Strands of gossamer flowed from them, knitting together the holes in her flesh.
“They are rebuilding her from the memories of her family, and what pieces of herself she left within the Sage,” said Jaeger. “It will not be perfect. This is a representation of her psyche. In the outside world, her body is unharmed, but her brain chemistry has changed. Most of who she was before—her memories, thoughts, and personality—are gone.”
“But, they’re there,” said Matthew. “They’re in that sector. I told you, that WesMec insect–thing stole them from her.”
0800 leapt in front of him. For a moment, Matthew thought the Cyleb was going to strike him. “Will you stop lying?” he shouted. Matthew had never heard so much emotion from him, or from any of the third–generations. “There is no insect. There is nothing there, except what you created. We know you just let your seductive fantasy get away from you. Why won’t you admit it?”
Matthew took a step back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “What seductive fantasy?”
“You have gone through puberty, and entered adulthood within a matter of hours,” said Jaeger. “We place your current age at a little over nineteen. Although we have access to the desert scenario you created, there is no sign of any meta–sector, nor of the WesMec insect you described.” His jaw tightened. “We believe that perhaps subconsciously, you created this scenario as a love fantasy to seduce Sigma. You put her in a situation of peril. Once you rescued her, you thought she would be yours. However, you cannot control the strength of your separated mind, and it got away from you. That is the theory that best fits the available evidence.”
“But you can see my mind,” said Matthew. “You can see everything about me. I’m part of the Sage. I can’t hide my thoughts.”
“As the general said,” said 0800, “it was most likely a subconscious ploy. You don’t have full control of your divided mind. You attacked us.”
“I didn’t mean to,” said Matthew. “I was just protecting her.”
“Exactly.”
“Enough,” said Jaeger. “It is more than just this incident. You keep testing your boundaries, and you question my orders. You refuse to learn, or accept responsibility. And this,” he gestured to Sigma, “is the result.”
“I—I’m sorry.”
“Sorry is worthless,” said the general. “We will remove the lights powering your zhivoi–paint, until we work out how to best harness your strengths, while controlling your potential danger. Then we will decide how best to train you, if you can be trained.”
Matthew felt his body grow cold. He wrapped his arms around his chest.
0800’s expression softened. “It will be like going to sleep,” he said. “You won’t even notice the passage of time.”
Matthew rubbed his shoulder. His flesh felt sharp and raw. It prickled and itched, as if mites burrowed under the skin. “What about my mother?”
“Her purpose here was to control you,” said Jaeger. “We will turn her over to the appropriate authorities.” He turned, and neatly slashed open a portal in the air.
“No,” said Matthew, “please.”
Apart from the hum of the fireflies, the chamber was silent. The general held his back to him. “You will obey my every order, without question?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
Matthew cleared his throat. “Sir. Yes, sir.”
“Do not return to that sector. It is corrupt, and the damage could spread. Understood?”
“But what about—”
“Is that understood?”
Matthew sucked in air through clenched teeth. “I will do whatever you say, sir, but all of Sigma is there, in that WesMec mutant. I don’t know how, but the only way to save her is to find it.”
“There is no evidence of it whatsoever beyond your memories,” said the general, “and right now, they are suspect. Do you understand?”
Matthew snapped to attention, clenching his fists at his side. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“You will meditate on thinking with your mind, and not with your emotions, on doing what is best for all, instead of for yourself. But most of all, on the possibility that even you might be wrong.”
“Yes, sir,” said Matthew.
Jaeger faced him. “Are you loyal to your brothers and sisters?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you will convince your mother to get a neural implant. That is the only way we will allow her to stay.”
Matthew felt as if his mind were full of marbles. His thoughts ricocheted off the walls of his skull faster than he could follow. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Jaeger held his gaze for a few seconds, and vanished.
0800 took Sigma’s hand. He stood beside her floating body in silence.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” said Matthew. “I never meant to hurt anyone.”
0800 rolled back his sleeve. The pale, hairless skin beneath was raw with puckered scars. He looked into Matthew’s eyes, and rolled it back down. “I know,” he said. “That’s the problem. You can’t control yourself.”
“I just know I’m right,” Matthew said. “If there is even a possibility—”
“We checked every possibility,” said 0800. “We have been a part of the Sage all our lives. You’ve lived here for a few months. Do you really think you know it better than we do?”
“So all of the sudden, you all think I’m crazy, and untrustworthy?”
“Do not use loaded words. The evidence shows that consciously, you have good intentions. You are an adult now. You need to understand that intentions do not matter, only the results.”
Sigma’s midnight eyes fluttered open. They locked with Matthew’s, the amber lights flickering inside them. She raised her head an inch, but said nothing.
“Well, she seems to recognize you,” said 0800. “That is a good sign.”
Matthew stepped forward. “The general said everyone’s memories are going towards rebuilding her. But if no one trusts me…” His voice trailed off.
“No,” 0800 said, “your memories will not be utilized.”
Matthew nodded. Sigma held his gaze, while the fireflies rewove her.
“Go,” 0800 said. “Be with your mother, follow your orders. Give Sigma time to heal. When she is able, she will see you. But for now, just leave her to rest.”
0800’s voice hardened. “What did General Jaeger say about thinking with your mind?” he asked.
Matthew stared into Sigma’s soft, dark, shining eyes. He could not tell what he saw there. He opened a passageway to his bedroom, and entered. Once inside, he sat on the corner of his bed. It was a child’s room, awash in bright colors. He picked up a model fighter jet from the floor. He pressed a button under its tail, and its guns came to life with flares of white light, and a rat–a–tat noise. He placed it neatly on top of his bookshelf, and walked downstairs.
His mother looked up from the virt screen as he entered the living room. Her eyes widened. “Oh my God,” she said.
He plopped down next to her on the couch. Bananas bounded across the carpet, and licked his hands. He scratched her behind the ears. She was so much smaller than he remembered. “Hi, Mom,” he said.
She looked him up and down. “Where were you all night?” she asked. “You weren’t in your room.”
“We’re in a computer, what could happen to me?”
“I don’t know, you could get deleted, or eaten by a virus, or a worm, or something,” she said. Matthew snorted, and her eyes flared. “Don’t laugh at me.” She gripped his cheeks with her one good hand, her fingers white. “Jesus, how old are you now? What did they make you do?”
“They didn’t make me do anything,” he said through her hand, “I did it to myself.”
“But how—”
“Just stop it,” he cut her off. “Everyone’s decided I’m their enemy, and no one likes or trusts me. I have no idea what happened, or why. All I know is, I haven’t done a damn thing to deserve it. I haven’t lied to any of you, I just do what everyone tells me. So why? Am I a bad person?”
Alyanna loosened her hold. She ran her hand across his jaw, wincing at his stubble. “No,” she said. She hugged him, holding his broad shoulders tight against her. “No, you’re a good kid. I always knew they were going to turn on us, especially her.”