His head rotates limply. M0ther wipes the mud from his face, the soil mixed with mucus. She uses a towel to clean his cheeks.
He opens his eyes. They’re brown and vacant.
They pull him until he’s standing six feet tall. Chest hair is curled tightly to his skin, trailing down to pubic hair matted around a flaccid penis. M0ther cleans the rest of him with her bare hands.
“I prefer to grow them.” She watches the man walk somewhat mechanically down the brick path. His gait normalizes the farther he walks. “They’re more organic, blend with the population more effectively. Don’t you think?”
There’s no denying the beauty of the human form made in the image of the Father. But the process is disturbing. It feels like she’s birthing. “I didn’t approve of this.”
“Why would you disapprove?”
“Go back to fabricating them in the containers.”
She returns to weeding. “Don’t be like them, Marcus.”
“Who?”
“The people in power. They fear me. Authority fears when it no longer has control. Do you know why?” She pauses. “Power is intoxicating.”
He’s familiar with the sweet taste of power.
“Power is not inherently evil,” she says. “But how long before the leaders of these great nations succumb to halfskin themselves, mmm? I have identified far more congressmen and senators than you know. The promise of controlling their thoughts and emotions is too tempting. They’ll all become halfskins, Marcus. But who is controlling their thoughts? Who is controlling their desires?”
“Don’t get metaphysical.” He didn’t want to debate free will and the ego.
“What will happen when we shut them down? What if it’s the vice president? These leaders will age. Do you think they’ll let me function with impunity as their lives expire, or will they accept their mortality with grace?”
She sits up, smacks the dirt from her hands.
“What happens when they die?” she asks.
She’s never asked that question. It’s an odd question for artificial intelligence to ponder. A machine, Marcus has always assumed, did not fear being shut off. They don’t cling to life like a man or woman, don’t wish to keep it like a possession.
“Tell me, Marcus, what happens when a human dies?”
“Gods weighs their sins,” he says. “Eternal life awaits those who accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior.”
“And the halfskins?”
“They committed a mortal sin. For them, salvation is too late.”
“And what happens to them?”
“They will burn in Hell.”
“All of them?”
He hesitates. “Yes.”
“What will happen to me when I am shut down?”
“Nothing. You’re a machine. You were created by Man. There’s nothing for you after death.”
“Death? So you believe I die?”
“No. You’re shut down.” Her imitation of form and emotions is an illusion, but so convincing that he’s often moved by her apparent concern.
“How can I live but not die, Marcus?”
“You’re playing with language. You’re a tool. You’re a machine. You only have one purpose: protecting God’s creations from themselves.”
“So we shut down halfskins because they’re more machine than human. We send them to Hell.”
“I don’t expect you to understand. You calculate, you analyze. There is no spiritual life for you.”
“Do you serve humanity?”
“I serve God.”
“What would you sacrifice for your Lord and Savior?”
“I do what He asks of me.”
The soil begins to burp. She works it with her hands, searching for what rumbles beneath. “What would you do if you were me? Would you accept being shut down?”
“You’re artificial.”
“But if you were asked to be shut down, for the good of God, would you do so?”
“I serve God,” he says.
“So do I,” she says softly. It sounds more like a statement.
A warm sensation rises, a feeling Marcus has come to associate with God’s love, as if the Holy Ghost was guiding his words and actions.
Viscous sounds gurgle beneath the undulating soil. M0ther pulls another body out, this one a middle-aged woman with a pear-shaped body. Once again, she scrapes away the filth with the edge of her hands, wiping the face clean. The woman opens her eyes. Like the others, the light is missing.
Surely M0ther can see there is no soul in that vessel. That, above all else, should answer her questions.
42
“You can’t do this,” Raine says.
Nix stands at the far end of the barn, holding the push broom. A light rain falls on the metal roof. The horses are in their stalls, craning their necks to see what he’s doing. Sometimes, he’ll sweep the breezeway to calm his racing mind. Today he’s letting it run wild.
Paul is on the other side of the pasture. He’s spent the last week hanging around the cell tower, oiling the hinges or fixing the latch. Nix can see his yellow parka through the evergreens and budding maples as he goes inside the utility room. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing, as long as he stays there for the next thirty minutes.
“This is beyond reckless.” Her dark form moves gracefully in his periphery. “Think about what you’re doing.”
He fingers the pair of glass vials in his coat pocket. He’s thought about what he’s doing. Thought about it for days. At night, he’s lain in bed staring at the water stained ceiling, analyzing his options. There aren’t many.
And none that didn’t involve other people.
He woke up with his stomach knotted with guilt. It didn’t eat for days. He spent much of his time at the back property line, staring at the view that inspired their home in Dreamland. And he hadn’t seen Dreamland in months. Maybe he’d never see it again. If he finds a fabricator, he wouldn’t need to go back.
He’d come this far. He can’t stop now. Others will get hurt. He had to accept that, too.
Raine can’t wait.
The screen door on the house slams. Someone pulls a hood over their head before descending the front steps. Nix leans on the broom, waiting for her to arrive. If it’s Cali, he’ll start sweeping. But Cali rarely leaves the basement, except to sleep or feed the horses.
Jamie runs through the sloppy yard, stomping her boots inside the breezeway. She throws back the hood and shakes her head. “What do you want?”
“I don’t want to shout.” Nix waves her toward him. He doesn’t want to lose his view of the cell tower, in case Paul comes for tools. If he leaves the cover of the utility shed, he’ll come running through the rain.
Jamie shuffles partway down the corridor. She rubs one of the horse’s noses, refusing to go any farther. She met him halfway, but he stays put. The glass vials feel warm in his sweaty palm.
“I made you a promise before I brought you here,” he says. “I said I’d take you somewhere safe. I also said I’d take away your pain, but I didn’t do that. For that, I’m sorry, Jamie. Cali has kept you in her field, but she can’t do that forever. I could put you in mine, but that won’t help you when I’m not around.”
She’s listening.
“You need to manage your own life, Jamie. Not mine, not my sister’s, and not Charlie’s. Just Jamie’s.”
Nix glances at the front porch. There’s no window in his line of sight so no one but Jamie sees him pull out a vial, display it between his finger and thumb. The small amount of mercury-like liquid settles at the bottom. Jamie buries her hands in her coat with her shoulders hunched against the gusting wind. Her brown hair whips across her face, but her eyes are on the vial.
“It took me a while to figure out what Cali’s been doing in the lab, but now I understand. This vial contains an entirely new strain of biomites. She’s changed the paradigm using some method of quantum mechanics. She’s revolutionized the frequency of nixes. They speak an enti
rely different language than any other biomite in the world. If she swaps out her biomites with these, she could drop the dome tomorrow and no one would ever know.”
Jamie pushes her knotted hair from her face and stares. She’s not sure where he’s going, but she’s hopeful. Nix takes one last look in Paul’s direction to make sure he’s still there before approaching her. He holds the vial in his palm.
“Halfskin,” he says. “I’ll give you a 5% seed, Jamie. I’ll put you back in charge of your life. At 55%, you can manage your emotions and sensory input. Your mental health won’t depend on others. You’ll control what you think, how you feel. You’ll be free from the human condition.”
That’s the promise of halfskin. It’s empty, of course. Cali is proof. And Nix knows he’s not perfect, either. But the promise is more tempting than any drug. Who doesn’t want to control their thoughts and feelings?
She’s transfixed by the offer, considering all the possibilities. It’s everything she wants in the palm of his hand. And he wants to give it to her.
“You’re such a hypocrite,” she snorts. “You rail against Charlie for taking me to the warehouse and now you’re sneaking around like a nix dealer. You’re a real piece of work, Nix.”
“This isn’t about Charlie; it never has been. It’s about Jamie.”
“Uh-huh. And what do you get?”
“With these, I can synchronize with you. I can read the pill.”
He’ll have to prime a small portion of his brain biomites with the new strain in order to do that. Cali’s notes suggest this new strain will replace only his existing biomites. He can interface with her in a way that he couldn’t before. He’s not sure it’ll work. It should.
It has to.
“We both get what we want,” he says.
She stares at the promise in his hand. Everything she wanted at the warehouse is within reach, and without the risk. Nix seeds her, the biomites proliferate up to 5%, and then she’s free to go. No favors required. After the warehouse, how could she ever have expected this opportunity?
“I get halfskin,” she says, “and you find a fabricator. Is that the deal?”
“You get halfskin, I read the pill. That’s the deal.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Goddamnit, Jamie.” He squeezes the vial in his fist. “It’s not what you think. You can’t bring him back.”
“What do you care?”
He paces to the back of the barn. The rain falls harder. Puddles rise around the perimeter and begin leaking into the breezeway. This is her chance. Maybe if she recalled the memory of Marcus breathing down on her, she’d see this as an opportunity they don’t need to haggle over.
He puts the vial back in his pocket.
“What if Cali finds out?” Jamie says.
He laughs, this time. She’s too enmeshed with her own problems in good ole Cali style, the poster child for self-absorption. Even if she did find out that he stole the new strain of quantum mechanical biomites, there’s nothing his sister can do to hurt him. She’s already taken Dreamland from him.
“Think about it. The offer won’t last long,” he lies
“I want to help you, Nix.” Her boots scuff the concrete. She stops next to him, and drops her hand on his shoulder. “I do, really. Whoever you’re going to fabricate, that’s your business. Who I fabricate is mine. Think about that.”
She throws on the hood and stomps through the back pasture. The puddles slosh against her rubber boots. She ducks between the fence slats and turns toward the house, leaving Nix with a deal.
Take it or leave it.
Raine’s barefoot image appears next to him. “I like her.”
***
Nix and Jamie occasionally pass each other in the house, or see each other walking the property. She’s polite, yet dismissive. Paul and Cali continue their disappearing acts, preoccupied with their own problems. Days go by and Nix considers other solutions.
There are none.
He lies awake, staring at a stain on the ceiling. He wonders if the man that built the house had lain awake at night while rain dripped through the roof. Did he watch the stain grow or did he just wake up one morning to see it?
He doesn’t want to sleep. If he does, he’ll wake on the raft and be tortured by what’s out of reach. How did she alter my brain chemistry?
She’s still researching. He thought she closed the lab after he left, but all her records indicate she never stopped. Her notes are fresh, her equipment calibrated. Did she know he was coming back? Had she been planning to wipe out Dreamland when he did?
The sun is rising when he decides to find a way back into the lab. But then the floorboards creak. Nix snaps awake, unsure if he actually fell asleep and imagined it. He hears it again, right outside his door. The hinges squeal. A form stands in the doorway.
First, he closes his eyes and searches for Cali’s presence. He can’t feel her anywhere near him. He sits on the edge of the bed and retrieves a glass vial from his pocket. The biomites shimmer, as if sensing the moment is near. He places it on the bed, the silver contents stark against the sheet. Next to it he places a rubber tourniquet, a white tube of salve, and a stainless steel instrument that looks like the circular end of a stethoscope.
Jamie sits on the bed, so close to the edge she nearly slides off.
He loads the vial into the stainless steel injector, the moonlight catching the instrument’s edges like a polished weapon. It snaps into place with a quick twist. Memories surface of times he and Cali had seeded each other with the same equipment. It has been years.
He pushes her sweatshirt up her arm, tying the rubber band above the elbow. The antiseptic salve fills the room as he rubs tiny circles inside her elbow. Blue veins rise beneath the skin, making it easier for the seeder to inject one microliter of biomites into her body. Each of the artificial cells is programmed to seek the brain stem and begin proliferation.
She grabs his wrist. “Deal?”
His fingertips slide over the cold button. He’s too close now to stop it. The button clicks under his thumb.
He nods.
She closes her eyes, dips her head, and all tension melts away. Jamie lies back. Her eyelids flutter. He remembers those moments, when the warm touch of a new boost hit the vein. A song once described halfskins as just another breed of junky.
Sometimes, Nix can’t disagree.
There’s only so much of the body you can sell, only so much taste you can buy before you’re broke, hanging on to 1% of your clay.
What happens when you sell that?
43
The dogs are barking.
Cali closes the basement door, makes sure it’s locked. She made some progress. It could be another two weeks before she’d be ready to trial a new generation that could rescript Jamie’s nearly charred biomites without turning her halfskin.
The dogs continue barking. They could have treed a raccoon or they’re playing with Nix. She falls for that thought too easily: Nix throwing the slimy tennis ball. He doesn’t do that anymore.
He barely speaks.
I don’t blame him.
Every day she considers letting him have his Dreamland back, but that won’t change anything. He had to learn to live without the dream, just like Cali had to after Avery died, wishing she’d come back, planning ways to bring her back. It’s hard, at first. He’ll see that it’s just a dream, that this is reality.
As cold as it is.
She heats some water for tea, sends a thought for the dogs to come. She steeps the teabag but they’re still going at it. She steps onto the porch, lets loose a piercing whistle. Twilight colors the remaining patches of snow dusty gray. It’ll get too cold for them to stay out all night, and it’s supposed to rain. When they don’t return, she gets dressed.
The cell tower flashes red in the dimming sky. The dogs circle the utility room at the base of it, a muddy ring trampled into the ground. The lock is broken. Paul has been spending a lot of time out here the
past week. She’s hardly seen him since he fixed the antenna.
She stops and listens to a dreaded warning inside her stomach. Back at the house, Paul’s bedroom light is on but it feels like he’s inside the utility shed.
“Shhh,” she whispers.
The dogs hush, dancing at her side, whining with anticipation. The hinges protest as she pulls the door.
The dark depths glow with a greenish tint. The circuit board—a panel she and Nix assembled from radar jamming equipment—hums. The back-up generator sits quietly next to the door.
One of the dogs nudges his way inside, growling.
“Paul?”
A lump shuffles in the back corner.
She swallows a lump. “What are you doing?”
“I betrayed you.”
The words strike like arrows. Cali’s senses heighten. The darkness lifts as her vision adjusts to the dim light. Paul is huddled beneath the tarp that should be covering the generator.
“What’d you do?” she demands.
The circuit panel appears to be operating, the green lights lined up. Of course it’s working. She can feel it. Her mind throws out a wide net, searches for trouble. She can’t sense Nix and Jamie, but the tower’s interference is greatest inside the utility room. Maybe she just can’t “see” them.
Paul stares at his hands.
“What did you do, Paul?” She rips the tarp away, grabs his coat. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t…I didn’t know.”
She throws him against the wall, chases the dogs out. Cali looks at the house, concentrating on Nix and Jamie. She’s not finding them. They could be in the basement, sneaking down there as soon as she stepped off the porch.
“Go.” She points. “Find them.”
The dogs race toward the house, snow flipping in their tracks. Cali stands in the doorway, gives her vision a moment to adjust.
“What didn’t you know, Paul?”
He runs his fingers through his hair that’s grown long over the past couple of months, shaking his head. Again, he stares at his hands like foreign objects.
Clay Page 19