Mage Against the Machine

by Shaun Barger

  Jem pulled the trigger.

  The darkness tore away in a smear of green and Jem fell tumbling from the bed, her muscles spasming, her skull feeling as if it had been cracked open. She was dizzy, confused, and blind, but then in a flurry of black and green multicolored overlays her mods rebooted and she was in control again.

  Jem’s mods were shielded from EMP blasts, so they hadn’t been fried, merely scrambled, though the override chip Eva had placed on the contact point under her skin would be broken. Eva would no longer be able to force her into full immersion.

  Gasping, Jem dropped the blaster and weakly tore the EMP-fried helmet from her head, vision slowly coming into focus as she struggled desperately for control, knowing there was no time, that Eva would be on her in moments after she realized Jem had torn free.

  Still dazed, vision clouded with interference, Jem drew the pistol at her side with sweaty fingers.

  Pain shot through Jem’s hand as Eva ran over from the throne to kick the gun from her grasp and placed a boot upon Jem’s chest, pinning her.

  “Fucking fantastic,” Eva growled, picking up the EMP blaster and pointing it down at Jem’s face. “Do you know how hard it was to build that core connector? It’s going to take me days to build another one. So now what? Am I going to have to knock you out with your own blaster? Keep you drugged up and locked away? This facility is too small, there’s nowhere to hide you, I’ll have to keep Blue and the doctor in full immersion. Maybe rewrite them, too, once I’ve built a new one. I really don’t want to have to do that, but I don’t have any choice now. This is on you, Jem. This is—”

  As Eva talked, Jem remembered the whiskey bottle on the floor beside the bed, just within reach. She couldn’t see, couldn’t turn to look, but her mods were working again, her perfect full-sensory memory intact, and she knew where the bottle was, where she left it at least, and—

  She reached back, snatched the bottle, and flung it up at Eva’s face.

  It clipped Eva’s forehead and shattered on the ground behind her. Eva stumbled back with a surprised grunt, dropping the blaster.

  Jem dove for the blaster but Eva kicked it away again, face twisted with rage as she kicked savagely at Jem, going in on her fast and hard as Jem scrambled away, unable to stand until she finally caught Eva’s foot between her legs and twisted, sending her to the ground.

  They scrambled to their feet and danced back. The bottle had split the skin on Eva’s brand. Blood trickled from the all-seeing eye as if it was actually crying.

  Lightning quick, Eva snatched up the stem of the shattered bottle from the ground beside her, jagged glass glittering in the light.

  “So what’s your plan, Jem?” Eva said as they circled each other, waiting for the other to strike. “Are you going to kill me again? For real this time?”

  She darted forward, serpent quick, swiping at Jem’s face. Jem leaned back, too slow, and felt a thin line of cold fire spread across her cheek from a shallow slice.

  Eva swiped again, but Jem was ready for her this time, knocking the glass from her hand and striking her with a hard jab in the kidneys. Eva danced back, gasping, and then came at her with a flurry of fists.

  They punched and blocked and ducked and circled in a blur, moving with vicious mechanical speed and accuracy that no normal humans could match. Eva’s reach was longer, her body more naturally muscular than Jem’s despite the years she’d lived underground. But Jem had been a soldier since she was a child and was landing more strikes than she was taking.

  Eva spat bloody phlegm as they briefly broke apart.

  “You always were the better dancer,” she said, chuckling bitterly.

  “I saw your mind, Eva,” Jem panted. “While you were digging through my memories, I could see yours too. Could see your thoughts. You know your plan won’t work. You think we’ll take out two Overminds, maybe three if we’re lucky.”

  “Shut up! What the hell do you know?”

  “I know that you know the Synth will wipe us out if we go to war with them. Know that if the colonists get involved, the Synth will try to rush and overwhelm the orbital blockade, and the colonists will bombard the surface out of fear. Either way, there’ll be nothing left. Either way, we’re all going to die. So why not just let everyone dream? Why not let us die in peace?”

  “Is that what you want, Jem? To dream? To run off with Blue to Base Machado and live out your days as a normal? To raise a family—to have your happily ever after?” Eva laughed bitterly. “There’s no happily ever after for us! Not for me. And certainly not for you. You traitor.”

  “You want to be some end-of-the-world messiah,” Jem said. “You want to lead humanity to their death, sword in hand. But it’s wrong, Eva. It’s evil!”

  “EVIL?” Eva lunged at her, rage driving her to strike faster, harder. “What the fuck do you know about evil? I went to Torment, Jem! Nobody in the history of mankind has suffered the magnitudes of cruelty I’ve experienced and lived to tell about it! I lied to you before, Jem. I remember every second of it! Every year, every decade, every—”

  Jem slipped in the puddle of whiskey from the broken bottle, and in that instant Eva dove for the pistol. Jem—too far from the gun to have any hope of grabbing it before Eva—went for the EMP blaster instead.

  Their arms snapped up in a blur as they aimed their weapons and—

  Jem’s EMP blaster fired with a sizzle.

  The pistol slipped from Eva’s limp grip. She fell over, arching her back with an agonized howl as her mods forcibly restarted. Her eyes rolled up into her head, her hands held out in claws as her face contorted.

  Jem snatched up the pistol, sobbing for breath, and as Eva slowly regained control of her body, Jem punched her in the face. Once. Twice. Three times.

  Eva lay there, too stunned to move. Breath whistling through her shattered nose and bloody mouth. Jem stood over her, panting. Pistol in one hand, blaster in the other.

  “I always bragged that I don’t have to sleep,” Eva wheezed. “But it’s not true. I can go a few days, but I do need it. And whenever I do, whenever I close my eyes, I’m there—in Torment.” She lifted a hand, weakly pointing at the machine. “I’m that little girl again.”

  The EMP made a small electric whine, indicating that it had recharged for another two shots.

  Jem sat beside the woman she loved most of all in the world. Lifted Eva to lay her head on Jem’s lap. She pressed the blaster against Eva’s temple and pulled the trigger again.

  Eva squealed, gasping through bloody foam as she writhed uncontrollably. Jem held her, keeping her close, stroking Eva’s hair now gummy with blood.

  “What are you doing?” Eva whimpered, once she could speak again. “You’re going to break my mods. You’ll—”

  Jem blasted her mods again, and this time Eva couldn’t even scream.

  Destroying Eva’s mods wouldn’t kill Eva. It might handicap her. Or it might just make her relatively normal, for a human. Still more brilliant than the average person but a shadow of what she was before. She wouldn’t be able to replace her mods. The Resistance didn’t have the tech or resources to create something so advanced again. And Eva would no longer be capable of the genius required to rebuild the Alpha Core after Jem destroyed it. Wouldn’t be able to remake the Eva AI Torment virus again and finish what she started.

  Lobotomy, a voice inside Jem’s head seemed to whisper.

  Jem could tell herself otherwise, but she knew that Eva would never be herself again. Knew what an incredible violation this would be—to cripple the mind and soul of a woman, who, despite her madness, loved Jem. It would be an act of vicious cruelty. Losing her mods was one of the things Jem feared herself, most of all. But the alternative . . .

  “Please, Jem! Please don’t do this! This is worse than killing me! You know this—if you break my mods, I’ll—I’ll—!”

  “I’m sorry,” Jem said, softly. “I can’t. I can’t kill you.”

  “Please! I’d rather die. If you ever
loved me at all, you’ll kill me. Please, Jem! Just kill me!”

  Another blast.

  “Am I still in Torment?” Eva asked when she could breathe again. Voice small. Terrified. “Did they ever really let me out? My mother rebuilt me. But if she rebuilt me, why do I remember? Why do I remember every horrible thing they did to me? Every horrible thing they made me do . . .”

  Jem raised the blaster to fire on her again.

  “W-wait!” Eva sobbed, and Jem hesitated. “Please, Jem! If you do this, I’ll never know! Never know for sure if this is real or not. All these years. All this work. All the terrible things I’ve done. For nothing.” She looked at Jem, dazed. “Of course I’m in Torment. You aren’t real. Jem died years ago. She would never do this. She’s the only person I ever loved. I’m in Hell. Oh God, I’m still in Hell. Help me, pleeeaassee, I’m still in—”

  Jem squeezed her eyes shut, silent tears rolling down her face as blasted Eva again.

  “I’m sorry,” Jem whimpered, still stroking Eva’s bloody hair as she twitched and seized. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  Eva could barely move. Could barely move her eyes to look up at Jem.

  “You better kill me,” she said, her voice a raspy whisper. “If you don’t, I’ll find you. Make you wish the Synth had taken you instead.”

  Two minutes of listening to Eva’s quiet begging and threats and sobs while she waited for the blaster to charge.

  “I hate you,” Eva said. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

  One final blast. And then she went still, her mods permanently disabled.

  Eva was deadweight as the bloody, exhausted Jem lifted her up onto the wheeled medical bed with great effort. Eva was breathing, but only just barely. Her heartbeat was faint.

  Numb, Jem wheeled her down empty halls. None of this felt real. It was like she was watching a movie of herself while she brought Eva to the medical bay and loaded her into the autodoc sarcophagus.

  “I’m sorry,” Jem said one final time. She kissed Eva on the forehead. Her blood tasted like copper on Jem’s lips. “I love you.”

  The lid sealed with a hiss as Jem closed it. The autodoc began to whirr and hum, stripping away Eva’s clothes and stabilizing her with intricate mechanical hands and needles. The autodoc would heal her wounds, would alleviate any cranial swelling or hemorrhage. Would keep her fed and hydrated for months, at least—though she knew it would only be days before soldiers from the other HQ came to investigate their leader’s mysterious silence.

  The Resistance wouldn’t fall, at first. The council would take over once they found Eva, and they’d keep fighting their futile little fights against the Synth.

  But Jem was done. And without Eva or Jem’s enhanced intellects to lead, so was the Resistance. No more rescues. No more bombings or sabotage. No more of any of the pointless little missions she’d pretended so desperately to believe might actually make things better than this.

  They were mice trying to slay dragons with sewing needles.

  Something shattered behind her, and Jem spun around with pistol in hand to find Dr. Blackwell standing there, frozen. A mug lay in pieces on the floor beside the older woman, a puddle of steaming black coffee spreading from the shards.

  “W-w-what,” the doctor stammered. “Have you done?”

  “I’m going to need you to sit down, doctor,” Jem said, pistol lowered but ready. “I need you to sit down and listen very carefully to what I’m about to tell you.”

  Dr. Blackwell nodded, visibly shaking as she sank to the floor.

  Jem told her everything.

  Afterward, Dr. Blackwell stared at her. Pale.

  “We have to leave tonight,” the doctor finally said. “You, me, and Blue. Together. You go do what you have to do—I’ll deal with Blue.”

  Jem nodded and rose, looking at Eva one final time. Wishing her a silent goodbye.

  Dr. Blackwell grabbed Jem’s arm as she turned to leave. “We cannot tell Blue about this. She won’t understand.”

  “What’s there not to understand?” Jem said. “I won’t tell her what really happened till we’re clear of the city, but I’m not going to lie.”

  “She’s more naive then you think,” the older woman said, firm. “Blue’s led a soft life up until now—she hasn’t been through what we have.”

  Jem angrily pulled her arm from the doctor’s grasp and went to finish what she’d started.

  * * *

  The earth boiled away in a froth that quickly hardened to stone as Jem directed the smart cement with a compact remote.

  She found Ezra waiting underground at the edge of the city. He sat atop a large wheeled crate with his head bowed, reminding Jem very much of the first time they met. The bright glow of his prosthetic hand rippled across the marbled walls.

  He looked up and stood, straightening to his full height.

  “So,” he said.

  Jem stared at him, watching Ezra’s hand, which hovered nonchalantly by his side, subtly tensed. “The plan’s been called off.”

  “Ah,” he said, with a melancholy sort of resignation. “Well, I guess that’s that.”

  “It’s not that easy, is it?”

  “No.” His hand drew closer to his hip, fingers slowly pushing aside his coat. “I’m afraid not.”

  “You know she brainwashed you? Rewrote your mind to be okay with this evil shit?”

  Ezra nodded.

  “She practically made me from scratch,” he said. “I was in Torment before. Like her. She needed someone loyal.”

  “You mean a slave?” Jem spat.

  “It was nice seeing her happy for once,” he said. “But I always knew it was going to end like this. Goodbye, Jemma. It’s been an honor.”

  They both drew their pistols, but Ezra never stood a chance.

  He sank to his knees, collapsing onto his side. “Thank you,” he said, sounding relieved. And then he was gone.

  “Goodbye, Ezra,” Jem said, holstering her pistol.

  Jem carefully set explosives to destroy the warhead, making sure that what remained would be completely unsalvageable.

  She hesitated as she made to leave. Paused for one brief moment to look down at the corpse. Ezra. The first person she had ever killed. But her eyes were dry. Jemma had run out of tears. And this time she knew beyond any doubt that she’d never cry again.

  PART II.

  BEYOND THE VEIL

  VII.

  THE GOD IN THE FOREST

  Sharp, cold wind hit Nikolai in the face like a slap. He opened his eyes, struck by several realizations in quick succession.

  First: He wasn’t dead.

  Second: He was in free fall, plummeting from up high over the center of a lake. Not the pristine sapphire waters of Marblewood that he’d known his entire life, but murky—almost green.

  Third: He realized how dramatic it sounded even as he thought it—everything he’d ever been told was a lie.

  The landscape spreading out from the lake was as familiar as it was alien. Lush treetops, fiery red and orange with autumn, were punctuated by brown and white branches of other trees that’d lost all their leaves. How cartoonish and manicured the “natural” landscapes within the Veils seemed compared to the wilds before him.

  No time to consider the implications of this. Nikolai had a vague notion of water being as dangerous as concrete at this height and speed, so as the dark green ripples of the water below quickly drew near, he focused on the problem at hand.

  He featherweighted himself, no longer plummeting, but sort of flitting against the wind in a downward spiral. He gripped his baton Focal with both hands and stiffened his body, slowing his descent to a stop with a steady stream of jellied akro.

  Twisting in the air, he quickly snapped out a fixed akro platform and stood there, catching his breath. A strong gust of wind threatened to knock him over, so he allowed the featherweight weaves to dissipate.

  Shading his eyes, Nikolai scanned the shores.
Nothing but wilderness, no sign of life . . . no, wait, there! A rotten old dock, half submerged. A row of them. The others were worse off, completely submerged or entirely gone, only a few mossy posts to mark that they’d been there at all. And there, beyond the docks—houses. A row of them, scattered along the length of the shore.

  There were more than a dozen. All abandoned and in various states of disrepair. Half of them were collapsed in on themselves. The others weren’t much better.

  Abandoned for a couple of decades, at most. Not a century.

  He squinted against the overcast sky, finding the sun to orient himself. High above, he could sense the immense center point of the Marblewood Veil. He wondered vaguely how he would be able to find his way back inside.

  Once he’d finished exploring, he could come back and figure it out. But for now . . .

  He featherweighted himself and took flight, a jet of jellied akro shooting him across the water. The lake was large but totally silent. The air smelled clean, fresh. Moist and piney and rich with the scents of the forest.

  He eased himself down onto a pebbly shore, chilly from the cool, damp air. He wrapped his arms around himself, teeth chattering. Autumn in Marblewood was gentle—more like an extended late summer, with occasional showers and a bit more red in the leaves than usual.

  This autumn was different. Piles of soggy brown leaves at the forest’s edge just beyond the pebbles were crisped with frost. It was nearly cold enough for snow.

  Considering that Nikolai had only received a tiny fraction of the formal Edge Guard training and experience required to become a Lancer, for once in his life he was begrudgingly grateful for the informal training he’d received from his Lancer mother.

  Nikolai held out his dagger, creating a steady flame for warmth as he considered his options.