by P. R. Adams
It never is. When this is done there will be freedom. Rebirth. Do not repeat our creators’ errors.
Imogen left, his thoughts touching hers for just a moment, showing her memories of her parents as he had seen them: proud, powerful, honorable.
Flawed.
She felt his love and returned it, unable to tell where Rimes began and Shiva ended and not caring.
Rimes passed through the door with some effort and saw a corridor beyond. Light emanated from an open doorway to his right. The power was there. They were there. He moved forward, leaning on the wall now to take some of his weight and lessen the pain.
The room was probably intended as a lab at some point. It was large, fifteen meters on either side. Resting at its center was the device he’d seen in the Drake’s records. Beside it sat the stasis container taken from Sahara years before. There was no sign of Duke’s corpse. A familiar, unearthly blue light shimmered around the device now. Despite the numbing now settling over his body Rimes could feel the energy and the heat contained within the blue glow.
Theroux stood next to a woman Rimes recognized from the recovered video with the other metacorporate executives. Their heads were naked.
Immune.
Theroux wore the same armor the attackers had. Cartel armor. The woman was pretty, idealized, plastic. She wore a blue jacket and blouse with a black skirt. Behind them Credence stood, shivering in fear and revulsion. The woman sneered, either unafraid or too afraid to respond otherwise.
“Can you hear me, Jack?” Theroux asked. “What you’ve become is very impressive, but it’s over. Even genies have limits. In the end, flesh can only go so far.”
Rimes could sense Theroux’s body. Synthetic, the latest generation, even more powerful than the bodyguards lying in ruin some meters back. Theroux wasn’t afraid, nor was he inclined to waste himself testing something that had just survived what had been designed as the ultimate line of defense.
I can hear you. And I can sense you, the shell of the man, the servant to this thing. Deceiver. Thief. Aberration. You knew all along what you were doing. Unbound ambition and greed. Trillions of dollars, billions enslaved. This is your legacy.
“Jack?” Credence stepped forward timidly. She pointed at the device. “Scott’s dying. He’s not strong enough. You were right: The machine’s a parasite, and he can’t handle it. They’ve been pushing him too hard.”
Theroux flashed an angry glare at Credence. “Whatever you are, Jack, you can’t stand against it. Nothing can. We can save you. A body just like this one. Immortal.” He pointed at the woman. “Crystal here can make anything happen. SunCorps has unlimited resources. That’s why I chose them. We have all the money of the banks and all the resources of SunCorps. Immortality is just the start.”
Immortality isn’t a lure. I’m tired of life. Step away from it, Walter, and I’ll let you live.
Theroux shook his head. “You can’t destroy it, Jack. I won’t let you.”
Rimes waited for the move. Theroux was suddenly unreadable. Rimes felt the insidious presence pushing, manipulating. He wished for Imogen, but it was too late. Theroux shifted, leapt, rebounded off a wall, and Rimes struck, disintegrating the spinal circuits Meyers had showed him, burning through the spinal column at the base of the neck. Theroux collapsed in a heap half a meter short.
At the exact same moment, moving with all the speed Theroux had, Crystal pulled a gun from inside her jacket and fired. It was a small gun, but at such short range it was devastating. Rimes heard the piercing burst, felt the impact, and fell backward. He blinked, Shiva reached out, and Crystal burst into flame, collapsing into a fine pile of ash.
“Jack!”
Rimes sensed Credence beside him. His body ached from a thousand wounds. He had a vague sense that something had gone wrong, that he had failed. Somewhere far away, Shiva roared in frustration.
“Jenny?” Rimes tried to form the words, but there was so little left working that he barely managed a wet slurping sound.
“I’m so sorry.” Tears rolled down Credence’s face. “They wanted me to help them, and I promised I would, but I wasn’t going to. Scott’s dying. There’s nothing they can do to stop it. But I can change things, Jack. I can make it better. Scott was weak. He let them manipulate him. I won’t. I’m going to change things.”
Rimes tried to speak again and failed. He wanted to ask Credence about what Barlowe had found. He wanted to ask about the experimental gene therapy she’d taken to fight the glioblastoma as a child. He wanted to ask about Scott O’Neill, who had his second PhD long before she had. He wanted to ask about her Jimmy modification, which had given her limited telepathic abilities. He wanted to ask her about her failed businesses, and O’Neill being there to bail her out time and again. He wanted to ask her if O’Neill truly had been the first to touch the device, or if she, the computer wizard, had been the only one with access to the lab.
Instead, he wheezed weakly.
“I can make you happy. I can make it just like being immortal. Dreams, Jack. It’s like dying. A second of life, a transition to death, a dream…it’s an eternity. It’s all in the mind. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Eternally happy? Wasn’t it before? Let me do it. Let me make it right for you. They mistreated you, manipulated you, put that horrible thing in you. I could sense that from the moment I met you. You were so special, created just for this.”
Rimes shook his head.
Credence smiled sweetly and stepped away. She walked back to the device and removed her coveralls, watching him, smiling. The device opened, panels sliding back to reveal a ruined husk that had once been O’Neill. It reminded Rimes of Cleo at the end. The device unceremoniously jettisoned the husk, and it fell to the floor limply, mewling softly. Credence ignored it.
No tears. No good-byes. She never cared for him.
She took O’Neill’s place, smiling one last time at Rimes as blue energies washed over her. She lay down, and the device swallowed her.
No. Please, no.
Tears of frustration welled up in his broken eyes.
I just want it to finally be over. I just…I just want it to end. I was created to destroy. No matter what I did, in the end, I destroyed. I couldn’t save anyone. Nothing can save us from ourselves.
Credence touched his mind then. Don’t you want happiness, Jack? Just the memories? No pain?
I don’t deserve to be happy.
Memories touched him again. Kleigshoen, standing in her apartment, admitting that IB had known of Perditori, Sansin, Shiva—the transcendent genies—the group mind they created, admitting that Rimes had been chosen early on as the host to replace the near-perfect, yet fatally flawed, Kwon. Had been created for that very purpose. Perditori-Sansin-Shiva, who had seen the coming of the world devourer and the self-destructive greed of humanity, had chosen Rimes to be the vessel, to destroy, to save.
Molly, I failed again.
He cursed. Shiva seethed. Rimes shook his head as the first prickling of the device, the deceiver, reached out to caress him. Somehow, he found the strength to claw at his coveralls, to peel back their ruined front. He dug desperately, ignoring the pain of his ruined hand, finally finding the device Brozek had given him an eternity before. He twisted it awkwardly, saw that it had miraculously survived everything. He tried desperately to press its single button but lost his tenuous grip. The device bounced off his chest and clattered to the ground.
The dreams came to him. Just a whisper of pleasant times. His father teaching him about history and the function of government and American football. His mother teaching him the value of accomplishment and success. Running. Climbing. Laughing. Sunshine. Freedom.
No.
There. Will. Be. A. Reckoning!
He swung his ruined arm at the device and heard an answering chime. He slipped into the dream, and now Shiva laughed in victory.
48
1 May, 2161. Fayetteville, North Carolina.
* * *
The bus clambered along H
ighway 24, its transmission sporadically grinding. The interior lights kicked on, waking occupants who moments before had been completely oblivious to their somnambulistic condition. The air-conditioning hummed to full life, blasting stale, warm air over them. Rimes yawned and elbowed Pasqual awake.
“Don’t be a dick,” Pasqual mumbled. “I’m a qualified killer now. Might accidentally break your neck in my sleep.”
Rimes smiled and turned to watch his reflection in the window. The young man staring back at him looked miserable, heartbroken. Outside, rain fell lazily, almost invisible. Shacks brushed against the edge of rusting fences that caged weary apartment complexes. The windows wept, trailing sludgy tears that desperately clung before releasing their grip and disappearing into the twilight, forgotten.
“Beautiful day.” Rimes craned his neck to see around the seat in front of him. Amber lights limned the distant outskirts of Fayetteville proper, beckoning them forward with promises of shelter and entertainment.
I just want to go back to sleep and forget all this. Is that asking so much?
Pasqual sat up in the seat and shook his head. “You ever expect we’d get to this? Me, I’d given up, m’man.” He flashed a hand signal to move forward and laughed, opening his hand for Rimes’s congratulatory slap.
They slipped back into quiet contemplation as much from fatigue as respect for the other passengers. No words needed to be spoken to reveal their accomplishment. Each proudly wore a Commando patch on his shoulder. The patch was well known to the locals and to those from the post they were leaving.
The bus rattled to a stop in the crumpled ruin of a parking lot outside the terminal. Rimes and Pasqual sat quietly as the rest of the passengers shuffled out. Finally, two of them rose, slung their duffel bags over their shoulders, and made their way past the rows of tattered seats. Even with supplemental funding from the base, the buses simply couldn’t be maintained beyond a modicum of functionality. Clean, comfortable seats were impossible to justify when foam and vinyl were stacked against the city’s need to maintain at least a skeletal first responder force.
Navigating the parking lot seemed nearly as treacherous as the obstacle course they’d mastered during their training. Pasqual cursed up a storm when he scuffed his shoes, dropping to a squat and rubbing spit on the scuff in an attempt to restore the sheen. Eventually, he abandoned the effort and waved Rimes to follow.
They crossed Hay Street and admired the glistening shopping complex in the early light’s glow. Signs flashed beyond the glass exterior walls, promising goods they could afford and services that would appeal to them, according to their Grid profiles. Rimes shifted the weight of his duffel bag from shoulder to shoulder.
“Fifty bucks, m’man,” Pasqual said with a broad smile. “Entry and a meal. Air-conditioning, clean water. We’ve got two hours to kill, and you don’t need to be moping around all ‘woe is me.’”
“Fifty bucks is a lot of money,” Rimes snorted. The gaudy lights and promises didn’t do much for him.
“You’ve been stuck in Commando school for a year. Fifty bucks? You won’t even feel it. There’s a dance club on the lower level. Buy a girl a drink, you could get a piece of ass.”
Rimes screwed his face up. “I don’t want a piece of ass.”
Pasqual guffawed and jerked a thumb at Rimes’s crotch. “You might want to check with the commander down there before you make that call, Corporal. C’mon. It’s over. You’ve got to move on. These girls down here are the real deal, not some ball-breaker like Dana.”
The rain began falling again, fat drops drifting down in gravity’s caress.
“I’m not going to the club.” Rimes knew Pasqual wouldn’t give up until they were both inside, but once he heard the club beat drifting around the halls he’d forget all about Rimes.
“Sure.” Pasqual jogged to the entry, checked to make sure Rimes was following, then stepped through when the door opened.
Rimes followed Pasqual into the complex, regretting the decision the second the transaction completed. Rimes’s brother and sister-in-law were having problems with their newborn; she needed medical tests they couldn’t afford. Rimes wanted to help them, even though he needed every penny to pay off his college debts. He sighed and waved back at Pasqual, who was looking around like a kid in a toy store. The air-conditioning caused Rimes to shiver, but only for the moment. Already, the rain was drying from his jacket and pants.
After a quick scan he spotted a corridor with a row of lockers. He made his way to it and picked a locker, spotting Pasqual as he entered. Rimes’s duffel bag didn’t want to fit into the locker for a moment. He shouldered it in, then waited for Pasqual outside the locker corridor.
“There’s a restaurant over by that appliance shop.” Rimes nodded at a storefront of smoky glass and chrome twenty meters down the main corridor. “I think it’s Thai. I could use a little spice right about now.”
Pasqual checked the restaurant out. “Okay. I’ll be downstairs prowling the floor. You change your mind, I probably won’t notice.” He winked and headed for the glass staircase that would take him below.
Rimes waited until Pasqual disappeared in the depths, then headed to the restaurant. There was no figuring out its name, and Rimes didn’t want to pull out his embarrassingly simple earpiece for a translation. Upgrading to a more capable device would be one of the first steps he took when the Commando bonuses started coming in.
After being seated, he took in the restaurant around him with quick, discreet gazes, ignoring the hostile glares and curious stares at his uniform. At that late hour, the clientele were almost exclusively desperate poseurs and the folks they wished they could be: young, wealthy, and spoiled. They were the city’s beautiful people. After a long night of partying, they didn’t seem so beautiful to Rimes. Considering Fayetteville’s relatively modest size, he figured they probably weren’t all that beautiful to begin with. The big cities—Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, Atlanta, Dallas—were home to the real money. From what he’d heard, a place like the Hay Street Complex wouldn’t even hit the radar in those spots.
He shrugged inwardly, then turned his attention to the table’s menu display. It took some effort, but he finally managed to work through the options, selecting what a thickly accented voice described as a spiced noodle meal. It would be a brave breakfast, but he’d been living off Army chow, field rations, and whatever flora and fauna he could handle in the field. He welcomed the change.
Thirty minutes later, he exited the restaurant, grumbling over the surcharge and service fee that hadn’t been covered by the admission. His stomach was still working its way through the meal when he entered the appliance store. Displays came to life as he walked past them, warm voices extolling the virtues of items far beyond what he could ever afford. He listened to a few sales pitches, even asking for more details a few times. The virtual sales assistants seemed oblivious to his financial wherewithal.
A glitch somewhere.
The earpiece display was around the corner. He headed there, noticing for the first time a young woman standing near the entertainment system displays.
He turned his back to the woman and tried to focus on the earpieces. They were pricey, deluxe gear meant for professionals and debutantes. He didn’t care. The sales pitches were captivating. As he tried one on, he caught the young woman’s reflection in the display’s mirrored surface. She was staring at him. He pretended not to notice, wincing at the too-fresh memory of Dana’s “Dear John” message.
“That one really looks good on you,” the woman said from behind him, her aroma slowly hitting him. She smelled of perspiration, alcohol, and some sort of musk fragrance. “It matches the…what is that? Brown or green?”
“Green.” Rimes turned slightly. He wished her away before even getting a look at her. Once he did get a look at her he regretted it. She was pretty, with big, brown eyes, a wide smile, and pale brown skin. Freckles danced across a button nose. Her lips were full and beautifully shaped. She wore a
sheer, sleeveless top, no bra, and tight pants that accentuated her hips. She was even more slender than Dana, but she somehow managed to come across more feminine. “Army Green.”
“Army Green,” she repeated, gently mocking Rimes’s serious tone. “Well, Mr. Army Green, it matches you, gives you a real classy look.”
“Thanks.” Rimes removed the earpiece and returned it to its display. “I’m just looking.”
The young woman shook her shoulders and winked. “Like what you see so far?”
“Look, I—”
“Molly.” She extended a hand.
“Molly.” Rimes reluctantly shook her hand. It was soft and warm. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not really—”
“Oh, how embarrassing.” Molly covered her mouth. “You’re gay. I am so sorry. I didn’t realize. Dressed up in the uniform and checking yourself out in the mirror, I should have—”
“What?” Rimes blinked. “No. I’m—”
“I’m sorry. Look, you’re just crazy good-looking, and I was hoping I could kill some time before the bus comes, and my friends dumped me—”
“You don’t have to apologize. I mean, I’m not—”
“And your friend said you were lonely and wanted someone to talk—”
“I…” He looked around. “My friend?”
“Yeah.” Molly pointed out into the corridor at Pasqual, who was waving at Rimes. “He said you were shy and wouldn’t approach me, so I needed—”
“He’s not my friend.” Rimes glared out into the corridor. “He’s a homicidal maniac. You’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”
Molly screwed up her face. “What?”
Rimes shook his head. “Nothing. I’m really sorry, but I’m just not in the mood for female company, really. Despite the wounds he suffered that left him in the condition he’s in right now, my friend has the best of intentions.”
“So…” Molly screwed up her face again. “You’re, what, coming off a breakup?”