by Russ Linton
Knuckles and M@ti exchanged a wary glance. Already armed guards moved swiftly past the long window.
“Genetic engineering, M@ti. The same thing the Collective doesn’t want you to do to yourself. Sure, it’s been performed to weed out disease and birth defects and create a, well,” his eyes scanned her head to toe, “monochromatic, agreeable sort of human. Turns out, your genes can also store a fair amount of data.”
The guards rushed into the room. Her attempts to hack their systems had already reset. Knuckles took up a stance he’d probably learned in yet another game. They were screwed. Lembas knew it as he continued his monologue.
“As far as the AI are concerned, this ability to store data is one of humanity’s redeeming features. For optimum efficiency, most user data is stored inside you. We’ll find the cane there too.” As Lembas spoke, M@ti could tell she’d slipped down the evolutionary chain in his eyes. There’d be no convincing him otherwise. “Take them. We’ll begin the procedure in the morning.”
36
M@ti stared at the ceiling of their cell. It didn’t appear much different than the living quarters she’d seen. She wagered she and Knuckles even had more space. A sink that didn’t work. A toilet, which also didn’t work, and two beds — springs only, no mattresses. They’d both decided to sit on the floor with their back against the wall farthest from the door.
They’d been here for hours. The ominous preparations which Daemon had been ordered to start became less pressing as time went by. Mostly, M@ti kept her thoughts on trying to make sense of the crazy situation they were in and kept coming up empty.
It felt strange, but after a few false starts she’d awkwardly let her head slip onto Knuckles’ shoulder. She’d stayed there, sinewy muscles pressed against her cheek, as his heat and tension slowly diffused. It had been a slow, inevitable process. No tourist chassis could ever replicate that. The Collective had tried so hard, but they’d never be fully human. Ever.
Not the Collective, M@ti realized. Chroma. She’d tried to go back.
“I won’t let them hurt you,” Knuckles said.
He wouldn’t. M@ti’d all but had to throw herself on him to hold him back from the armed, genetically boosted guards. The building anger, she felt it too. Two helpless thralls trapped between warring forces, she hated the helplessness as much as he did.
“I’ll figure a way out of here,” she said.
Knuckles reached up and groped at the air beside his temple. “I keep wanting to log out.”
M@ti pulled away and dropped her chin to her chest. “I wish it were that easy.”
“Easy as what? Hacking into this grognard’s systems?”
“Point taken,” she said. “So you were listening?”
“Yes, I was listening. The whole thing. People tune out when they’re in the Nexus, I try to keep a beat alive in two worlds.” He turned, a fleeting smile on his lips. “Ever have a real world stick break in the middle of Blitzkrieg Bop while you’re slaying it in a Nexus gig? You juggle another without missing a lick and keep on. Nobody even sees you do it and I could care less. I fucking saw. I did.”
“You were amazing,” she said, recalling the way he attacked the dented old drum kit. “You are amazing. We’ll get you back there, somehow.”
Knuckles pulled his knees tight and pressed his forehead against his arm. “That can’t happen. You know that. Or maybe you don’t. Nobody’s pulled the plug on your life.”
M@ti looked apprehensively at the door. “Just you wait.”
Catching her meaning, Knuckles sprang to his feet and thrust away from the wall. He stalked toward the door, fists clenched and veins standing along his neck. “I told you, I won’t let them hurt you!”
She straightened and let her head fall back. Not hard. Just enough to feel the sensation of cold cinder blocks jarring her thoughts. “Why? I mean, really, why would you help me? The person that got you into all this?”
Knuckles slumped. “Maybe it’s those stupid games you always nagged me for playing. We never left a group member behind. Never logged when somebody needed you. There was a code in that life. I’m not going to lose that, too.”
“Come here,” M@ti said. Dejected, Knuckles shuffled her direction. She patted the concrete where he’d sat moments before and he slid down the wall. “You be my hero, I’ll be yours, but we’ve got to get some rest. Being drugged in the trunk of a car doesn’t count.”
She took his silence as agreement and cautiously let her head settle on his shoulder again. The tension had returned, and she wondered how long it would take to dissipate this time.
“You first this time,” he said. She lifted her head to argue. “This isn’t some kind of chivalry bullshit. I’m just too amped right now. No way I’m letting them take us completely off guard again.”
M@ti patted his arm. “Fine. I’ll set an alarm in my interface. A couple hours? Can you make it that long?”
Knuckles grunted.
Good enough. He was right though, he might be soaking in adrenaline, but she was drained. After effects of the drugs, her nightmare-filled night, or had that been the night before? She couldn’t remember anymore.
“What time is it?” Knuckles asked.
“Late. Close to midnight.”
He drummed his fingers on the ground. “Good.”
M@ti didn’t mean to even fall asleep again. Just knowing Knuckles was guarding was staying alert was supposed to free up her thoughts and let her figure out the next step. Her interface whirred away in the background, still trying to penetrate the feed. Beyond the concrete walls, she could feel the hum of the equipment in the lab, smell the odd mixture of dampness and ventilated computer systems.
She pushed closer to Knuckles and felt him lean into her. Let them all come. If Loadi himself could find a way in, let him come. She’d found a warmth she could never again be denied.
THE DOOR SLAMMED OPEN, jarring M@ti awake. Her arm was stretched on the cold concrete, her head resting in the crook. Immediately, she pushed herself up, looking for Knuckles.
Daemon stood in the doorway with two guards behind him. Her desperate glance found Knuckles next. He was by the bed, one of the exposed springs uncoiled in his hand. The sound had taken him by surprise as well and he cursed as he emptied his hands and launched for the door.
“Knuckles, no!”
A fist connected with his face, and he went down. Daemon towered over him, rubbing his bony knuckles.
“I told Lembas the escort was unnecessary.” He sneered as he stepped over Knuckles, writhing on the ground. Daemon’s eyes found M@ti. “You don’t need to be conscious for this. I’d be happy to see you put up a fight.”
M@ti started to respond when Knuckles suddenly lunged. He threw his shoulder into the back of Daemon’s knees, sending him to the floor. The guards rushed into the room.
“Stop,” she shouted.
For a brief moment, M@ti saw Knuckles mount Daemon’s back, his cowl and matted hair clenched between the drummer’s powerful fingers. Daemon’s face twisted in rage.
The pure viciousness on Knuckles’ face stunned her. His anger and loss had all caught up to him in this moment where he sought to keep the one thing he had left safe. She didn’t know if she could save him this time. They’d both go down fighting.
She was on her feet, throwing herself into the fray. Before Knuckles could crush Daemon’s head against the concrete slab, a guard had grabbed his arms. The other wrapped up his body. They ripped him away, screaming but she kept charging. Her boot missed Daemon’s face by centimeters. His hand shot out and grabbed her ankle with frightening speed and she went backwards, bouncing off the hard floor. Air shot out of her lungs and she gasped to retrieve it. Choking, she tried to get to her feet and could only wobble. She crawled to one of the bed frames to help her get to her feet. She had to stand. Fight.
Knuckles continued to thrash under the press of the two guards. He’d been pinned to the floor. Daemon rose and spat at M@ti before turning and sending a
foot into Knuckles’ ribs.
The awkward sigh of pain from the pile took the rest of M@ti’s air. Whatever mucus hadn’t already been dislodged by the fall began to burn behind her eyes. Tears streamed. Daemon unleashed another kick. Knuckles was just a tight ball now. The guard smiled as he drew his sword. Of course it had to be that guy.
“Stop! I’ll come with you!” M@ti screamed
Daemon straightened his robes and cast a vengeful stare. He barked a command and backed away. The guards clambered from the ground, leaving Knuckles in a heap. M@ti stumbled forward and fell at Knuckles’ side.
“I’ll go with you,” she repeated, brushing Knuckles’ hair out of his eyes. His cheek had already started to swell, and his eyes squinted with the pain as he held his ribs. “Just stop hurting him.” She looked up at Daemon. “Tell Lembas I’ll give him the damn cane.”
Maybe she could reason with Lembas. Or if they took her up on her offer of working together, she’d be someplace where she could truly fight back. Here she was, hoping to have an excuse to log into the Nexus. To leave reality so she could have a chance at surviving.
Daemon snatched her arm in an iron grip and yanked her to her feet. “No, not so easy. I’ll let Lembas and his boys sleep. You’ll hand the data over my way, you filthy thrall.” He jabbed his finger into her temple, pressing hard enough she shifted uncomfortably away. “I’ll dig it out of there, pluck it from the garbage as you used to do, and cleanse it with holy flesh. Your friend here is welcome to whatever is left.”
Daemon dragged her from the room effortlessly. The two guards filled the doorway, backing out with hands on their weapons. M@ti caught one last glimpse of Knuckles as he pulled himself across the floor toward the bed then they closed the door.
DAEMON FORCED M@TI into the cavernous chamber. Going limp had only made him yank harder and lifting her feet, kicking, had been useless. They crossed the gantry which swayed and creaked under each step. Rickety enough M@ti been convinced to stop struggling as she stared down the deep, unlit shaft.
They made their way through a maze of pedestals, each spiraling toward the middle of the central platform. An operating table waited there. Steel implements glistened on a tray. Tubes and wires ran into a bank of terminals, most of them concentrated near the head of the table. Leather straps marked the shape of a human form, open and poised for her limbs, her chest, her head.
M@ti stared in horror. She recalled as a child when her retinal implants had been inserted into her eye. The robotic hands maneuvering, jerking. Her body froze.
She didn’t resist as Daemon strapped her down.
“Lembas wants to understand what happened to Chroma. He’d replicate it and make himself an AI if he could.” Daemon sneered as he tightened the straps. He leaned close, his cheek nearly touching hers as he spoke into her ear. “I just want to see what she’s put inside of you. See if it can solve our own problems with reclaiming our former glory.” He raised up and smiled, delighted at her fear. “Magic canes in some virtual world?” He laughed and turned toward the terminal, typing at a keypad before sweeping toward the shining surgical tray, gleaming under a halo of light. “They call me a religious fanatic with make believe gods?”
Chroma lay here once. A little girl, she’d been at the hands of monsters like this one whose ambitions made her life insignificant. She hadn’t always been what she was, she hadn’t even made the choice. An experiment. Like her.
Floating just above her fear-soaked gaze, M@ti’s display sprang to life. She cried silently, wishing herself far away. Escape, she needed that. Frantic, she opened her custom interface and loaded the tools, analyzing what had happened.
Daemon watched her eyes with interest. “Yes, you’ve been given access. You’ll be a good little girl in your land of make believe,” he said, taking a scalpel from the tray and examining the razor edge. “I’ll be monitoring everything. One hack and I’ll be finding out if I can unravel Lembas’ package from dead tissue. Understand?”
She nodded, her forehead rubbing uncomfortably against the strap. But when had she ever been a good girl?
M@ti remembered what Lembas had said about her encounters with Loadi. She’d fallen off the networks completely. All the information returned had been scrambled, useless. Daemon wouldn’t even understand if he saw it.
She traced her previous connection back to quarantine room where Loadi had held her, and she sent a single message:
Help.
37
M@ti found herself in her childhood home.
The floor was the same rich, golden wood. An orange patterned rug paired perfectly with the warmth of the floor. A deeper chocolate wainscot ran the perimeter of the entry hall and throughout the house. Ornate plaster designs sculpted the ceiling from which two modest chandeliers hung.
She ran her fingers along the narrow lead strips of the stained glass in the front door. A stylized tree, it had leafy boughs spanning from one edge of the frame to the other. She’d always felt some sort of connection to it.
She moved to the wood-capped staircase and put her hand atop the newel post, cupping the rounded top perfectly just as it had worn under her palm from racing by and vaulting herself toward the front door.
Only, as she looked, she didn’t feel nostalgia. This place had never been her home. Not because she’d felt so disconnected to her parents either. This was simply a place built for someone else. Not her.
“You called?”
Loadi’s voice came from the drawing room. M@ti wandered almost dream-like toward it, passing through the carved wooden frame, past the brass handled doors. Her father’s chair angled perfectly beside her mother’s near the blazing hearth. Loadi sat there but she ignored him, moving toward the bay window. Across the empty street was the lot.
“I hated them,” she said. “It wasn’t real. Wasn’t natural.”
“By now, I’d hoped you’d figured out how little that means,” Loadi said.
She turned. “Why here? Why bring me here?”
“I think you know.” Loadi sat in her father’s armchair, his cane across his lap, legs crossed. “This,” he said, gesturing to the house, the world outside, “was never about you. It has always been about her.”
“Chroma.” M@ti couldn’t help but seethe as she said the name. Of all the people trying to manipulate her life at this moment, she was the prime instigator. The one who’d made the world a hollow, lonely place. Even after being subjected to countless experiments in the underground bunker, Chroma had chosen to force the same fate on not just her, but all humanity.
Loadi nodded and flicked the cane toward the chair opposite him. When M@ti didn’t sit he shrugged and brought the cane back, tapping it on his knee.
“She’s like us. Searching for a new beginning.”
“I don’t know if she’ll find it before Daemon gets your cane.” M@ti navigated through her interface and loaded the captured weapon which appeared in her hand. “Once he and Lembas get this, it’s game over for her and probably every one of us lowly thralls.”
“No, it’s game over for the planet, M@ti. Her experiments have finally gotten the best of her. She’s aware of this.”
M@ti felt the power flowing through the cane and she wanted to peel back the mask and stuff it down Loadi’s throat. He didn’t move as she came within striking distance.
“So what good are you then? You said you’d help me stop her. Now, you want me to help you escape so you can follow your dreams while we all die? Is that it?”
“I tire of death, M@ti. I die and am reborn countless times a day. I want what she wants — I want life.”
“And you’ll wreck a planet to do it?”
Loadi stood but kept his own cane lowered. “I’ll give the world to you in order to save it.” He tilted his beak to indicate the black sliver she wielded. “With that, you can become like me. A hunter. She will flee before you just as she does me. But with your help, I will have secured her sole means of escape. Then, as you eliminate every last
one of the AI, she will find herself cornered.”
“The core needs to be completely destroyed.”
Loadi shrugged. “So destroy it. If you wish, as soon as you have granted me access to the core and I can transfer to the expedition, I’ll release my discoherence’s chains and let them run rampant. I am the failsafe,” he said with a tip of his hat. “I stop fighting, they’ll crash the entire system in minutes.”
“And billions of thralls will die.”
“You can’t have it all, M@ti. None of us can.”
There was the urge again to make him eat his own cane. He didn’t tire of death because of anything resembling a conscience. He tired of it like a child tired of their toys.
“Do you even care?”
“Care?” Loadi asked, standing and gliding toward the window. “Interesting that you would believe I experience emotions, M@ti. What of Chroma? Do you believe she cares? The core is where her cognitive functions lie, but her heart is elsewhere.”
“She has no heart,” M@ti said. “She’s an AI, like you now, no matter what she used to be.”
“Perhaps, but if there are feelings, they pale in comparison to our eternal suffering. Wouldn’t you agree?”
M@ti crept closer and buried the tip of the cane into the base of his skull, the leather mask squelching and his hat tugged backward by the pressure.
“I can end it for you, right now. How’s that?”
Loadi sighed. “You could.”
She tried to clear her thoughts but the house with its perfect illusions threatened to flood her with anxiety and rage. Somewhere, her body was likely being probed and mutilated, while her mind was trapped in the past. She’d wanted help and got more riddles.
Loadi regarded her with a tired sweep of his goggles and gave her his back once again. Outside, the quiet street darkened. Shadows stirred, and she was reminded of her night in the wilderness, surrounded by unknown shapes and unseen eyes. In the dark, beasts raced across slivers of greenish moonlight and crawled from behind chunks of code.