by Ramona Finn
Shaking my head, I face the lab—Dr. Sig’s lab.
Stay. Find what you need.
“What I need?” I murmur. Well, at least Bird is pointing me to do something I already plan to do.
I walk around the room slowly, staring at the walls. For a moment, it seems to me I still hear Bird’s…song. Her humming. But this is not Bird’s voice, and this is not the high and low hum of Bird’s song. This is a low, steady hum. It sounds more like the whirring of a drone.
Frowning, I try to follow the sound. The humming seems to be stronger from only one section of glass wall. When I move away, I cannot hear the hum, so I head back to the far wall and stand staring at it.
The sound is so soft that it is impossible to hear unless I stand in front of the wall. The hum vibrates within my chest. I step closer and touch the wall.
A screen appears. I place my palm on it. My fingers tingle.
I must find what I need—and I need answers.
For a moment, the screen brightens. A light moves from the top of the screen downward, over my hand. My fingers tingle once more. And then a new doorway opens—the glass turns from white to transparent and slides back. I pull my hand from the screen and poke my head into the doorway.
The room beyond is small—much smaller than the lab. I step inside and turn in a slow circle, trying to take in everything. The walls do not seem to be glass, but look like brushed metal of some kind with panels inset into the walls. Light glitters along tubes that connect the panels. Looking up, the ceiling seems to be a copy of the night sky for I see stars—thousands of them—against the black ceiling.
Is this another lab—a hidden one? I’m not sure. The humming is louder in this room, as if the walls are really machines—as if I am inside a drone or something else. I do not know if this is more alien tech or something Dr. Sig or someone else created. I listen for a moment, and hear the humming coming from my left.
Turning, I walk over to the panel that is to my left. A bright light blinks on and off, like the flickering of a fire in a strong wind. Why is there power here? Why is the Glass Hall different from anything else in the Empties—in any of the Empties?
I reach out to the panel, but hesitate. Pulling my hand back, I rub my palm over the leg of my trousers. The skins I wear—tanned and thin—give me no comfort. Do I really want to do this? Touching this will make a connect—but to what?
Now Bird’s warning sits heavy in my stomach and on my chest. This could connect to the AI—this could be a trap. Or this could connect to information that I must have to answer my questions. I think about the See Far Clan and their choice to stay put—it did not help them. The same thing will happen to us. If we stay put here in the Glass Hall the world will continue to shake apart—until we are no more. I have no real choice here.
Taking a breath, I lay my palm flat against the panel. A familiar tingling spreads over my fingers and into my hand.
Connection: Secure.
With a blink, I seem to be in blackness. This is not the cool blue of the AI’s artificial world—this is something else. The black reminds me of the ceiling in this room, and the hum is a soft noise that seems comforting. Color begins to spark into existence around me, tiny spots of white that look like the embers from a fire lit with wood that holds a great deal of sap. Yellows and soft blues swirl around me and into amazing shapes that are unlike anything I’ve seen before.
I almost feel weightless, as if I am floating amid stars. My skin feels warm, as if I am bathed in light, but I have no idea where I am.
This is not the AI’s virtual world, but it is a connect and so it should have the same rules.
I reach out with my mind to summon a screen just like I would within the AI’s world. It appears—but what should I search for? Frowning, I try to think of all the questions I have.
Symbols and lines of code flashing over the screen blur together. I want to slow them down or stop them. Somehow, I know this code, but I shouldn’t. I have no memory of learning this. I want to shout at it to stop—to give me what I want, but I still have no questions to ask that could change the display.
And then suddenly the code vanishes and a face appears—but it is Conie or Dr. Sig staring at me now?
Chapter Thirteen
For a moment, my heart thuds fast and heavy, beating against my ribs in a way that makes my head spin. I suck in a sharp breath and hold it, my chest tight. I know Conie’s eyes—the too-blue eyes of the AI that are impossible on any living person. This woman does not have those eyes. Her eyes seem pale and she also does not really seem to be seeing me. She glances around her as if checking to see if anyone is near. Behind her, I can see the glass walls of this lab. When she faces forward again, she starts to talk, and I realize this is Dr. Sig. Or it was—this is a message she left here somehow with abilities we no longer really have.
“Day nine-hundred-sixty-two of the Normandy Project. We’re experiencing some minor setbacks regarding the virtual construction. Integration initially went relatively smooth, but minor glitches have arisen in terms of expected power usage.”
Reaching out, I touch her face. Glitches—she uses the word to mean a problem, but that is not what a Glitch is here in this world. She does not react to my touch but keeps talking, her voice dry, as if nothing is wrong, as if she is not in the process of creating something that now wants to destroy this world. She purses her lips and lines form along the edges of her mouth. With her high, sharp cheekbones, the lines make her look older. She lets out a breath and begins speaking again. “The alien technology is primarily organic in composition and as a result is not adapting to the power supplies we’ve been trying to use. Solar and wind power seems to work well, but we need to set up some other source—possibly geothermal—due to the demands put on the system.” She pauses, rubs at the lines on her forehead and begins to speak faster. “The time frame doesn’t allow for errors. We need a permanent barrier of protection over cities that can sustain itself. If we fail, everyone is at risk from the unstable climate we’ve created. Dr. Regis thinks it’s a mistake to alter the organic imprinting within the alien technology, but I can’t see any other choice. Organic technology means a system that can regenerate and repair itself. It’s going to need power, and it will need stasis periods—much like sleep for the human body. But the real trick is going to be the energy to sustain its own artificial body—the environment we’re creating.”
She stops again. I struggle to understand her. Some of it makes sense. Normandy—is that the Norm? She must be speaking of the AI—it is the only thing I know that has alien technology, and she says it is organic, like a body. That makes sense. The drones and scabs made by the AI have organic components. I may also be something like that. But it is hard to think of the Norm as a massive body for the AI. However, this starts to make sense. The AI needs water and fuel—or rather the Norm needs these things. But how is any of this information going to help bring down the AI?
On the recording, Dr. Sig flashes a tight smile as if she is not really happy with her own thoughts. “We may have to take bigger risks with the integration. I don’t see any choice about that, either”
Choices. Did she make the wrong choice in creating the AI? From how she speaks, she sounds as if the world was in worse shape during her time than it is now. I find that difficult to believe. How could it have been worse than our brutal sun during the day and our cold nights? But I’ve had dreams of terrible floods. Is that what happened? Did they somehow make the world’s weather go wrong, and it is only now correcting itself? Or is the AI tampering with the climate as well? I know it can.
Dr. Sig’s voice drops to a low tone as if she doesn’t want anyone to hear her words. “We are too close to stop. There is too much at stake. I’m—”
Her words cut off and her image vanishes, leaving the screen blank. A sharp jolt runs through me, stabbing up from my palm. With a gasp, I jerk away.
Swaying, I glance around. I am back in the room near Dr. Sig’s lab and no l
onger in the virtual world within the Glass Hall.
I stare at the panel, my hands shaking and my breaths coming in short gasps. I’ve been disconnected.
The Glass Hall threw me out.
That’s never happened to me. I’ve influenced other connects, and I’ve pulled Skye and others from connects gone bad, so I know it’s possible to sever a link like that. But this was as if the Glass Hall itself pushed me out.
Why did it do that?
Frowning, I brace my back and put my hand on the panel again. Nothing happens. The glass under my hand remains cool, as if it is no longer active. Given how old everything must be, it really is not much of a surprise—the power must be fading here.
Unless Dr. Sig found a way to that power source she spoke of—geothermal. It must be power from the ground.
Pulling my hand away, I rub my face, and realize this is the same gesture I saw Dr. Sig make. With a shiver, I turn away and head out of the lab. I don’t want to think about how I seem to becoming more and more connected to Dr. Sig.
I’m hungry and tired—and an idea is swirling around in my head that I don’t really like.
What if there is more inside me than just Dr. Sig’s DNA? What if the AI gave me some of her memories and her knowledge? That would explain why I know things without any idea of how I learned them. But does that mean I will make the same mistakes Dr. Sig made in creating the AI?
Back in the Glass Hall, the clans are meeting again, and I hear mutters, questions about if it is safe to stay here or not. The leaders of the clan sit separate from the others, but the Tracker Clan is easy to spot, grouped around what once was a wall. They pass around dried meat and skins of water that look a little too thin. I go to sit with them. The dried meat is tough, but filling. I eat a little bit and watch as Wolf sits with his shoulders hunched and listens to the other clan leaders.
I’ve become familiar enough with the clans to identify them easily, but what matters more is who seems to be supporting Wolf and the Tracker Clan and who is not.
It does seem as if the Walking Tall Clan is on Wolf’s side. A few of their clan mingle with the Tracker Clan, sharing water, and their clan leader, Mountain, sits next to Wolf. He is well named for he is big and bulky, huge as a mountain. The Fighter Clan still worries me. They all sit hunched over, their bodies tense as if they are hoping a fight will break out. They look eager to leave for they have taken up the space next to the entrance. From what Red Kite is now saying about how a clan should look after its own, I don’t think we’re going to get any support from them.
Why are they even here?
Glancing around, I search for Alis and Skye, but they are not in the hall. They must be out on a scavenge. Crow and Bird are also missing, which means they’re out as well. Frowning, I wonder now how long did that connect in Dr. Sig’s lab last? It did not seem more than moments, but now I begin to think I was there for far longer than I knew. That’s why I came out hungry and tired—I was lost in the Glass Hall’s virtual world.
That thought chills my skin. Maybe it was a good thing it threw me out.
Unwilling to dwell on the idea that I might never have disconnected if the Glass Hall had not dropped me out, I try to listen to what the clans are saying. But the meeting seems to have ended. Red Kite and the Fighter Clan are heading outside. Red Kite turns back to Wolf and she says something about the night sky being safer than glass.
Wolf just shakes his head and turns away from her. His glance sweeps the room and then finds me. His dark eyes look worried. He heads to my side and sits down, his knees bent and his arms resting on them. He looks tired, his eyes seem a little dull and his shoulders sag as if he has come back from a bad scavenge.
“Wolf?” I just say the one word, leaving the question hanging. Does he need something from me? Something other than me talking to the clans again?
He glances at me and says, “The shaking did more than break glass—it shook the clans, or some of them. Walking Tall Clan is with us, but the others can’t decide what to do. Fighter Clan wants to go back to their own territory—or some of them do. Some of them want a fight.” He glances at me and his mouth curves. “Missed you. Been exploring?”
I nod and offer back a small smile. I also reach up to touch his face. I need to touch something real—something that is a connect to a warm body and not to cold virtual worlds that leave me confused. He doesn’t move as I touch him. His face is rough with his beard, and I wonder if he worries about what the other clans think to see a clan leader with a Glitch—a former Tech. I know Red Kite thinks little of me—probably the others do, too. The other clans have no Glitches with them, which tells me a lot about how they don’t really take in anyone who gets thrown out of the Norm.
I know you care…I do, too.
I try to send Wolf those thoughts. His eyes warm as if he understands. I pull my hand away, but he touches a fingertip to my cheek, echoing the move I made. His touch leaves my skin tingling, me and the way his gaze lingers sends a jolt into my stomach that settles even lower inside me.
“You were gone a long time,” Wolf says.
I bite my lower lip and then ask, “How long?”
“Two meals. If you’d missed this one I was going to have to track you down.”
“Here?” I glance around at all the glass. “No footprints, no traces. The Glass Hall is really a maze of halls and rooms.” Looking away, I pull in a breath, let it out and tell him, “I spoke to Bird. She still worries I’m connected to the AI and will be even more so. I worry, too. So I went looking for answers.”
“Did you find what you need?”
The way his words echo Bird’s forces my stare up to his eyes. I search his face, wondering if he has spoken to Bird, but Wolf just stares back at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. The Glass Hall has put new lines around his eyes and mouth. With a start, I realize he, too, worries this may no longer be safe. Unlike the other clans, the Tracker Clan has no place to go back to. “Would the Walking Tall Clan take us in?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. They’ll consider it. Maybe not. The ground shook again while you were gone.”
I lick my lips. More shaking—but I felt nothing while I was in the Glass Hall’s virtual world. Does that mean I was elsewhere?
Glancing around at the Rogues, a plan starts to form—something Dr. Sig said starts to make more sense. The Norm is the AI’s body. We’ve been trying to attack the AI’s mind—to strike at the AI’s core. But what if we could do just as much damage by striking at the AI’s body—at the Norm. That’s a target the Rogues might understand. It’s real and the dome is something everyone can see.
I look over at Wolf. “I think I have an idea—but we’re going to need more than the help of just one clan.”
Wolf nods. “What’s your thinking?”
I shake my head. “Would the clans feel better about attacking the Norm? It’s…it’s metal and protected. But the Rogues understand hitting back against drones and scabs—those are real, too. The AI…it’s more like a concept. It’s not real, not like the shaking. And if they understand that’s coming from the Norm—”
“They’d strike back.” Wolf sits up a little straighter. “It’s a good idea.”
Swallowing the dryness in my mouth, I ask, “Do you think I need to talk to the clans?”
He shakes his head, pats my hand and stands. “No. Let me sound out the others first. I’ve heard stories of the Sing-Song Clan—that they have things that make the Fighter Clan think twice about attacking them. And the Walking Tall Clan is said to have been the first to scavenge the Empties. Mountain once told me he’d found weapons that can bring down drones. I thought he was just boasting. We have to make certain of them.”
I nod. Wolf looks a little less tired now. He leaves me to seek out the other clan leaders—or at least to seek out Mountain and Iguana. I scoot back until I can lean against a wall, and start to think of a plan that will not be pure suicide for everyone.
Attacking the Norm is going to wake the
AI and Conie will send out every done and scab she has to fight back against us.
Crow, Alis, Skye and Bird come back empty-handed from their scavenge. Alis and Skye head over to me, both of them dusty and their hair tugged and twisted. Outside the Glass Hall, I can hear the low moan of the wind. Alis spits out sand. “Storm coming.”
Skye nods and tries to brush the dirt from her hair, which is now the same color as the sand. “Just beat it back here. Couldn’t find a platform that worked.”
“Couldn’t find anything,” Alis mutters. “Animals knew sand was starting to blow and headed underground.”
Glancing at her and frowning, Skye says, “Bird got Croc some of the herbs he’s been wanting—that’s something.”
Alis grumbles about how herbs won’t help us with not having much water left. I agree, and I start to wonder if I can make a connect here, could I find water as well as power?
However, water really is the least of my worries right now.
The plan I’ve been forming is dangerous—one that could leave every Rogue here dead. I know the AI has far more drones than the Rogues could ever defeat. But I have an idea about that, as well. One that is going to fulfill Bird’s prophecy—and that frightens me.
To get my mind off my worries, I help Alis and Skye shake the sand from their clothes. From across the hall, Crow gives me a nod, but he doesn’t come over to talk. Wolf is still meeting with the other clans. Now Wolfe has not just Mountain, leader of the Walking Tall Clan, with him, but Faun of the Sing-Song Clan is listening to them, as is Iguana of the Hills Clan. That must be a good sign. Alis and Skye settle back to sip water, eat a little dried meat and talk about the scavenge. I listen with only part of my attention. Across the Glass Hall, Red Kite and the others in the Fighter Clan have come back inside to escape the wind and sand. Red Kite steps up to Crow. She stands with her feet apart and one hand on her knife hilt—but that’s how she usually sands. She doesn’t smile, but she also doesn’t look braced and ready to fight. Crow doesn’t move away, but turns toward her as if he doesn’t really like her being at his back. He folds his arms across his chest, and his mouth tugs down in a harsh frown. The scar that cuts the side of his face seems pale against his tanned skin.