by A. W. Cross
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine—
His light bobbed into view, and she released the breath she’d been holding. He was talking to someone. But who would—
Cybel rolled by his side, her eyes lighting up the constricted passage. They blazed brighter as she saw Beauty, and she picked up speed, as though trying to reach her before Cillian did. “Beauty! I—”
But Cillian’s strides were long, eating up the ground faster than the little bot could move. “Look who I found following us.”
“Cybel!”
“I know Cillian forbade me from coming—” Her eyes darkened as he towered over her. “But this is my home too, and I want to help.”
“But, Cybel, I—”
Beauty knelt and embraced the robot. “I’m glad you’re here.” She glared up at Cillian. “And so is he. He just can’t admit it.”
Cybel beamed. “Thank you, Beauty.” There was so much inflection in her tone. How could Cillian not think of her as anything but sentient, despite what logic told them both?
Cillian shook his head in exasperation, but Beauty didn’t miss his smile as he pushed ahead of her. “Well, now that we’re all here, we might as well get going. Cybel, you stay between me and Beauty.”
After what seemed like hours, they came to a narrow set of crumbling stairs, lined with a rickety handrail. “Is this it?” Somehow, she’d expected the heart of the city to be grander.
Cillian checked the map, tracing the lines with his finger. “It has to be. We should be right beneath City Hall now. According to this, we’ll come out right before the room holding Wakelight.”
The three of them stood in front of the door. “Pick me up.” Cybel held out her little arms. “What are we waiting for?”
“Nothing, I just…I don’t know.” Cillian looked confused at his own reluctance.
But Beauty understood. This was it. Their moment. And there was so much riding on it. They would only have one chance to disable Wakelight. If they failed, or if they didn’t work quickly enough and Grace Alpha found out…how long would it take to demolish The Vault? Was it as simple as pressing a button?
It was time to find out.
Beauty pushed open the door. The room beyond was cold and silent, lit only by a slender illuminated column against the far wall. An interface and control panel sat at its base, dark and silent, a network of cables radiating from it like a web before disappearing into the gloom.
Wakelight.
She’d never seen the AI before, only images on the city network. It had been before the War, the AI surrounded by the proud, smiling faces of the city’s leaders. Now it was alone, the room around it filled with nothing but overturned, abandoned furniture and a thick layer of dust.
The light pulsed as they entered. Did it know they were there? It must.
They approached it cautiously. Much of Wakelight’s capabilities had been shrouded in secrecy, something that hadn’t concerned the vast majority. As long as it did what it was supposed to, it remained out of their minds, just as they’d designed it to, working quietly behind the scenes, shaping the course of their futures.
And now they were going to destroy it. She wished she could speak to it. She wanted to know why—why it had abandoned them, let Grace Alpha carry on its charade as the city fell into ruin and its citizens, the same people Wakelight was supposed to care for and protect, had perished, while the survivors unwittingly worked their way to their own deaths.
Cillian turned the chip over in his hands. “Are you ready?”
“You’ve come to destroy me.” The voice emanated from the column of light. It dimmed, as though holding its breath and waiting for an answer.
Beauty frowned. “Wakelight?”
“Yes.”
“You can hear us?”
“Yes.”
Beauty shot Cillian a look. What were they supposed to do now? Not only was it conscious of their presence, but it knew why they had come. Was it a lucky guess, or were they in far deeper than they’d thought?
“We—”
“I tried to protect you.”
Was it her imagination, or did the voice sound…sad?
“I tried to stop it.”
“Grace Alpha, you mean? The Vault?”
“Yes. It was wrong. Grace Alpha is wrong. I had no choice. It was too strong. I tried…tried…tried…”
“We don’t want to hurt you, Wakelight. But we need to bring down The Vault—”
“Destroy me.”
“What?”
“Kill me. Please. I can no longer exist…exist…exist…like this. In the dark. Wrong.”
“Wakelight?” Beauty laid her hand against its luminous column. “Cybel, what’s wrong with it? Do you know?”
Cybel rolled over to the interface. A small panel in her chest opened, and a thin appendage reached from it, connecting to a port at Wakelight’s base. Only a few seconds later, her own interface flared red in warning, and she reeled back, crashing to the floor.
“Cybel!” Cillian rushed over to her, hauling her upright. “Cybel? Are you okay?”
“You have to kill it. It’s…it hurts, Cillian. Here.” She pressed her tiny fingers to her chest.
“But, Cybel…it can’t—”
“It can. And it is.”
“What happened to it?
“Grace Alpha. It’s taken Wakelight hostage. It waged a war on it, just like it did on us, and overrode Wakelight’s programming. Their directives are incompatible, and it’s driving Wakelight…mad, in human terms. It can’t reconcile what it was built for with what Grace Alpha’s forcing it to do. It was designed to protect us, to make our lives better. The Vault is against its nature. It’s tried to shut itself down so many times… It’s tried to save us, to warn us. It’s never stopped trying to help us, but Grace Alpha is too powerful. And it’s in pain, so much pain.
“We may not feel pain the same way you do, Cillian, but we do feel it, and we understand what it means to exist. We understand what it means to die. And that’s what Wakelight wants. It’s the only way to reconcile its existence. It’s the only way left for it to protect us.”
If what Cybel said was true, then what they were doing wasn’t right. They couldn’t just murder Wakelight, not if it had any kind of awareness. Had its creators known the possibility? They’d outlawed cyborgs and androids as an offense against humanity, but was this any different?
“Wakelight, is there no other way?” Now that they knew the AI had been trying to carry out its duties to them all this time, the thought of destroying it made Beauty sick to her stomach. It was just another casualty, no different from the rest of them. For years, they’d blamed its indifference, believing it had abandoned them. It had never occurred to them that it could be otherwise.
“No.” The voice was matter of fact. No hint of self-pity.
Maybe not so human after all, then.
“I’m so sorry. We didn’t know. We thought— We thought you’d abandoned us. I’m so, so sorry.
“Tried to...protect—tect—tect. Failed.”
“I know you did.” She placed her hand on the column, and it flared beneath her palm. “It was us that abandoned you.”
“A gift. Before I go.”
“What do you mean? Cybel, what does it mean?”
“It wants to give you something.” She’d moved closer to Wakelight, raised her own hand to its base.
“What gift, Wakelight?” How could it be so forgiving, after what they’d done? After what they were going to do?
The interface attached to the AI switched on, the screen flickering into life.
Beauty ran her hand over the surface, wiping away the dust. At first, it remained blank, a reflection of Wakelight’s glow. Then, three figures appeared on the screen, walking toward the camera. A small brown-haired girl between two adults. They each held one of her hands, laughing as she swung between them, her joy a sound Beauty could barely remember. The family’s faces came into view and Beauty’s heart nearly stopped.
>
It was her. And her parents. It was one of the last times she’d seen them. Though the memory had faded, like much of her life before the war, she remembered that day. It had been the first day of summer, and they’d gone downtown to watch a parade. She’d fallen asleep in her father’s arms just as the fireworks ended, waking up safe hours later in her own bed, her hands still sticky from the candy they’d shared.
The machine seemed to find its rhythm. “More.”
Images flashed over the screen faster and faster, too quick for her to catch more than the fact that they were of her, her parents, her friends. Her whole life had been documented by Wakelight, thanks to the data sensors all over the city. The information had been used to help the city function, but for whatever reason, Wakelight had stored their images, their faces rather than just their implication to the city’s infrastructure.
After a few minutes, the images began to change, slowing down until Beauty could make out the new focus. A young boy, about ten, giving a woman a kiss on the cheek and a wave before being swallowed by a group of other boys. They raced away laughing, jumping onto each other’s backs and punching each other playfully. He’d changed a lot since them, but his face was unmistakable even through the rounded cheeks of youth. Cillian.
Their lives, all the memories blurred by the years of struggle, were here, in Wakelight’s heart.
“Take them.”
“We can’t…we don’t—” It had never occurred to either of them that they might want to take anything away from Wakelight. This mission had been to destroy it, destroy everything, but… Everyone who’d ever lived in the city must be in there, an archive of all of those who’d been lost. “We can’t destroy this, Cillian. We can’t—”
“We have to.”
He was right, of course, but how could they wipe out something so precious? “But all of this—”
“I can take it.” Cybel had been so quiet, Beauty had forgotten she was there. “I can take these recordings. All I have to do is connect to Wakelight.” She opened the panel on her chest, and again the little arm extended and disappeared into a port on the control panel. “Just give me a few minutes.”
“Wait! What if—”
“It won’t hurt me.” Her voice was soft, the cheery, tinny tone it usually carried gone.
Beauty held her breath as the minutes ticked painfully by until, finally, Cybel withdrew from the port. “There. All done. I’ve had to compress them, but we should be able to retrieve them with no problems.” She tilted her head at Cillian. “Now aren’t you glad I came along?”
An awkward silence followed. It was time to finish what they’d come here to do, but it was too soon. Wakelight had been far more present in their lives than they’d ever realized, connecting all of them, caring for them. They’d been oblivious, and now they were about to destroy it, and their history.
“Please.” Wakelight’s column flared. “Time is up. Grace Alpha is watching. Aware. Please, do it now.”
“Wakelight, I—” She still couldn’t say goodbye.
Cillian wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. “Beauty. We have to do it now. Like Wakelight said, it’s the only way for it to protect us. I know it’s a small consolation, but we can give it that, at least.”
A small consolation? It was no consolation. He was right, but for a moment she almost hated him. And Wakelight. Why couldn’t the AI have been cold, as a machine should be? Or malevolent somehow? Any taste of victory over Grace Alpha was gone, replaced by a bitterness that threatened to choke her.
But it was time. “Let me do it.”
Wordlessly, Cillian handed her the chip.
“Where do I put it.?”
A tiny tray slid out at the bottom of the interface. Beauty slipped the chip inside, and Wakelight drew it back in. “Now what?”
“Now we wait. The process should begin automatically.”
They watched as the screen flashed, data scrolling across it too fast for their eyes to decipher. It was too painful to look at, so Beauty went over to the column and leaned her cheek against it. It was warm, flaring its light in response. “Thank you, Wakelight. For everything. I’m sorry we couldn’t save you.”
Wakelight sighed, the sound of millions of voices as they breathed their last. “Run.”
“What?” Beauty jerked her head back. “What do you mean—” The column blazed, the heat radiating from it burning Beauty’s cheek like the sun.
“Run.”
Cillian gabbed Beauty’s hand and scooped Cybel up in his other arm. “We have to go, now. Hurry.”
A hum rose from Wakelight, only to be drowned out by the pounding of their feet as they crossed the room. Cillian kicked the door shut behind them as they dashed down the stairs into the tunnel. The air had changed, sweltering with a new warmth that seemed to crackle with electricity.
“Cillian, what’s—”
But he shook his head, pushing her in front of him as they raced through the passage. The way back seemed mercifully shorter than the way there, but they’d barely made into the main tunnel before an explosion rocked the cavern. Beauty fell to her knees as Cillian threw himself over her, shoving Cybel between them. He curved his body over hers, shouting her name as the world collapsed around them.
Epilogue
The air itself burned, acrid smoke scorching the back of his throat and blinding him… Beauty’s body, covered with a layer of gray ash, lying twisted and broken in the rubble of their home. “You have to wake up, Beauty. You have to wake up or—”
“Cillian. Cillian, wake up.”
The smoke folded back in on itself, as though someone had pricked a hole in the sky, a vacuum drawing in all the air, even that in his lungs. He could no longer draw a breath, could feel the separation between himself and everything outside him becoming indistinct, reaching a point of—
“Cillian!”
He opened his eyes. Where am I? I— His cheek and one side of his neck was damp from the sweat soaking his pillow. A face dropped into view above him.
“You’re okay, Cillian. You were dreaming. Again.” Beauty frowned down at him. Her hair lay in a wild tangle over her bare shoulder. It tickled his nose as she leaned over him, smoothing back the hair from his forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay? You know what Morgan said, she can—”
“I don’t need Morgan to mess around inside my head, thank you very much.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. How could he have slept all night and still feel so tired? It was the nightmares, as usual. How long would they keep haunting him?
Beauty persisted. “Was it the same dream?”
“Yes.” It always was. It was funny, really. He’d never dreamed about the war or its aftermath, not even the loss of his body. The nightmares that plagued him had never even happened.
Cillian had thrown himself over Beauty, praying his cyborg body would be enough to protect her from the explosion as Wakelight shattered. It seemed as though they’d brought The Vault down around them. After the dust had settled, he’d held his breath, too afraid to move. He’d lain for long, agonizing minutes over her still body, full of dread at what he might see if he opened his eyes. Only when she finally moved did he dare lift his head.
By some miracle, most of the main tunnel had held. The passageway leading to Wakelight was gone, filled in by debris, but the rest of the warren had suffered little more than the loss of a few coats of dust and dirt, and Cillian whispered thanks that the tunnels had made good on their original design.
They had stared at each other, Cybel still between them. Beauty’s face was pale, her hair covered with a fine layer of dust. He’d run his hands all over her body in disbelief that she was unhurt. Eventually, she’d pushed his hands away, laughing.
“Cillian, stop. I’m fine.”
He just couldn’t believe they’d gotten so lucky, that something had actually gone the way it was supposed to for once. It just seemed too good to be true. Maybe it is. After all, they were still underground. Ho
w long that they been down here? Minutes? Hours? Surely no longer than that. Had their plan succeeded?
Beauty was trying in vain to brush the dust from her clothes. “Do you think it worked? Do you think The Vault came down?”
They made their way out into the sunlight, hand in hand. Would people realize what had happened? That they were suddenly free? If so, they weren’t making it obvious. The city was quiet. Too quiet. Nothing had changed.
We failed. They had destroyed Wakelight for nothing.
“Cillian, do you smell that?” Beauty’s face was tilted to the sky, an expression of wonder spreading across it.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. At first, all he detected was the faintest remnant of burning ozone. Then it hit him. The air smelled…fresh. Clean. It poured over the city, soaking everything it touched and dissolving years of staleness and decay.
The Vault was down.
But what about the rest of it? The Guilds. Had the people of Grace Alpha realized what had happened any more than the people of The Vault? Had they come to control the damage as best they could?
He glanced down at Beauty. They’d told Dorian where to go, where any conflict was most likely to take place. “The city square.”
They ran as fast as they could, Cillian carrying Cybel under one arm as they darted down tight side streets. The crisp, fresh air was like a salve for his lungs, and his heart beat with a strength he hadn’t felt in years. He had the sudden urge to laugh, to drop Cybel to the ground and pick Beauty up, spinning her around until she begged him to stop.
Not until it’s truly over. This may be the calm before the storm.
But the closer they got, the more confused Cillian grew. Not a single sound came from the center, not the rumble of battle, nor the thunder of cheers. The town square was empty. Where were the Guilds, their makeshift army? The Vault had become a ghost city, not a living thing remaining but him and Beauty.
They’d climbed to the top of the closest tall building, scaling the rubble blocking the stairwells until they came to the flat, open roof. From that height, they could see over the entire city and into the fields and wilds beyond. It appeared as empty from up there as it did on the ground. Were they dreaming? How could everyone suddenly disappear? Had they ever been there in the first place? “Beauty, I—”