by Hayley Stone
“True, but there’s a difference between creating artificial intelligence that can’t feel, and a living consciousness that can,” I counter. Isn’t there?
“I’m not trying to debate the finer points of philosophy with you, Rhona,” he says, although I think he’d like to if he were feeling better. “I’m only pointing out that science and technology have a dark side. We can’t expect to keep playing God without consequences.”
“What about me? Am I just the fallout of bad judgment? Human hubris in the flesh?”
“No.” He answers so quickly there can be no doubt he means it. “I’ll admit, I’m still uncomfortable with the whole notion of cloning, but even bad ideas sometimes have good outcomes.”
Something brushes against me, and I look down to find Camus’s fingers reaching toward my hand. His fingers are cold and stiff, so I try warming them between my palms. His other hand comes over and closes on mine, holding them intensely still.
His eyes meet mine, serious but gentle. “History will be the judge of what Samuel and Rhona, Matsuki and the rest of them did, whether it was morally or ethically right. But you’re more than some test-tube marvel. The things you’ve done, the people you’ve helped and saved, who you continue to help and save—science can’t take the credit for that.”
“You know, normally this would be the time I’d answer with something clever,” I tell him with a short laugh, batting away some of the tears his words have brought to my eyes.
Camus rubs his thumb back and forth over the back of my hand. I find it soothing.
“One more thing, while we’re clearing the air,” I say after a moment. “Back at McKinley, I received private footage of the council meeting where Samuel reviewed my…case, I guess you’d call it. Was that your doing, by any chance?”
Camus starts coughing again, but nods. “I forwarded it to you when I was sent the footage, since I obviously wasn’t able to be at that meeting myself. I thought you should be made aware of your situation. And while we’re clearing the air,” he says, “I confess there were other, less kind reasons at the time, but they no longer exist.”
“No?” I ask, unable to sound anything but hopeful.
“No,” he says, holding my gaze with feeling.
His coughing keeps up, however, interrupting our moment and delaying more of the conversation we need to have. It causes him to slouch forward. He lets go of my hands and pushes me from the bed. “Let me get you some more water,” I say, rising.
He coughs into his hand, and it comes away from his mouth black and wet in the dark. “Maybe a doctor would be better.”
—
“He’s going to be fine,” I tell Samuel and Ulrich, just like I’ve told everyone else, and will continue telling myself until it’s proven true—or false. No. Don’t think that way.
Until then, I become an unwilling participant in the waiting game. Again. With the machines ominously holding their positions, there’s little else I can do but wait.
Samuel and I are just joining Ulrich for a quick meal when Zelda shows up, drawing the latter away to collaborate on something. She doesn’t say squat to us, but she does look excited—though not necessarily in a happy way. I nibble on some saltines, the only thing my stomach can handle while continuing to flip-flop in anxiety—and try to leave the worrying in the back of my mind. Samuel distracts me with a memory of eating this same brand of crackers in the yard our houses shared back in New Mexico.
When Ulrich and Zelda finally come back in, her edginess has spread to him.
“Do you want to tell her, or should I?” Zelda asks.
Ulrich rubs his face, looking all sorts of tired. “Zelda has a theory—”
“It’s more than just a theory,” she says. Instead of sitting down, she paces back and forth. Her energy is contagious and I find my leg rocking to her stride. “I’ve been trying to figure out what the machines’ endgame is. Their recent behavior is all wrong for their basic programming. They have the numbers and the weaponry to take us out, but instead they’re just sitting on the perimeter. I couldn’t figure it out…until I started thinking about everything else that’s happened.
“The machines want to take you alive, Long. They hinted at as much back at Churchill. It’s the reason they didn’t fire on you in the facility, and again why they kept missing once we were out in the open here. Remember, they blew up the chopper only after you got out. It’s not convenience or luck. Put it all together.” I have, and I don’t like the picture it’s forming. “The machines aren’t attacking us because they don’t want to risk killing you.”
“If you’re wrong about this…” I start to tell her.
Zelda lifts her chin stubbornly. “Remember why you brought me on this mission. I’m the expert—”
“Actually, you volunteered.”
“—so you’re just going to have to trust me on this one. I know what I’m talking about. I helped program them. And I’m telling you, they’re up to something bad.”
I worry my bottom lip between my teeth, thinking. “Jeffrey said he believed the attack on Churchill was the bait to lure us out into the open. He was sure Juneau was where the trap would snap closed. But they’re not going to just wait out there forever, right?” I give Zelda a direct look. “I mean, how much patience did you and your programmer friends put into those things?”
“The higher echelon controlling them is adopting new strategies all the time. They could be trying to starve us out, but that’s the least efficient option.”
“And what’s the most efficient option?”
“Depends,” Zelda says.
“On?”
“On the risk versus the reward. They’ll probably try to draw you out into open combat. If that fails, they’ll move in to intercept. Never mind the risk of killing you. And everyone will be caught in the crossfire then.”
“Why are they taking so long to decide in the first place?”
She frowns, exasperated with all the questions. “How am I supposed to know? They’ve evolved since their creation. I’m not a bloody machine whisperer. The way I see it, you must figure into some pretty big, pretty nasty plans of theirs. Could be they want to use you as a Ganger to set more traps for the resistance. But rest assured, I’d put a few rounds in your back before I let that happen.”
“Thanks?” I say uncertainly, then look to Ulrich. “What do you make of all this?”
“They have been amassing forces in Juneau for some time,” he allows. “It’s possible they are wanting to kill two birds with one stone.”
“Or not kill, in my case,” I add dryly. I grab another cracker and pop it into my mouth, chewing nervously. “Maybe we can use this to our advantage.”
“How so?” Samuel asks.
Everyone looks at me, waiting for some grand plan. “Sorry to disappoint you all, but I’m still working on that part,” I admit. I stand up, taking the box of crackers with me. “I just need somewhere quiet and some time to think. I’ll come up with something.”
He’s going to be fine, and I’m going to come up with something.
Chapter 28
I escape onto the roof. Or what now serves as the roof. Formerly the eleventh floor, according to the gold, peeling placard in the stairwell, but the ceiling has collapsed in, exposing it to the sky. Of the few walls remaining, each bears exposure damage, and none have any color left to them from being ice-blasted by the snows of six winters. But it could be worse. Many of the surrounding buildings have been leveled—probably during whatever bombardment did this. Mere luck appears to have played a role in sparing the apartment complex a more ignominious fate.
I’m not surprised to find snipers positioned, two to every corner, with their sights trained on the streets. It’s frigid up here, with nothing to break the wind—or their concentration. Even if they mind the weather, they don’t show it. They barely acknowledge me with more than brief glances.
Not wishing to disturb them, I pick an empty spot on the eastern edge of the bu
ilding, where part of the wall serves as a guardrail to keep me from falling down to the broken asphalt below. Now, that would be embarrassing.
I sit down on a pile of rubble—not the most comfortable seat in the house, but it works—and wait for some divine inspiration to hit me.
In pondering upon this midnight dreary, I take account of everything we have at our disposal, versus the enemy’s resources. Ours is a much shorter list. Humanity is stuck fighting from the corner, the same corner we inadvertently put ourselves in by delegating our dirty work to machines in the first place. I look out at the perimeter, where I can just make out the hard, angular silhouettes of the machines and the faint, ruddy glow of their optics. They’ve congregated carelessly in the open streets as opposed to hiding in the material graveyard around them. And why not? They have nothing to fear from us.
As much as I want to keep an eye on the machines, my gaze continues to be drawn to the mountain which judges the city, like some ancient guardian. It didn’t do much to protect Juneau before, though; why should it now? If anything, it’s more of a danger.
It wouldn’t take much, I think, eying the snowy precipice. And it’d all come raging down. Snow was unique—it could be soft and romantic, or violent and terrible. Much like water, and water always took the path of least resistance, too.
I look at the mountain for a long time, and then back to the streets, trying to work it out.
The path of least resistance. The path of resistance.
“That’s it,” I breathe into the black night.
—
I head back inside and take the stairs down to the third floor so I can speak with Camus for what could very well be the last time, if my plan goes south. Part of me hopes to leave with his blessing. Instead, Camus gets upset. I try to make him understand, but all he sees is the enormous black mouth of the tunnel ahead. He can’t see the light at the end, like I do. He doesn’t believe it exists, like I have to.
He calls my behavior rash, and me suicidal.
“You’ll die,” he says, an accusation, as if that’s what I want. “You do understand that.”
“Maybe,” I agree. “But I have to try.”
“But why? Why does it always, always have to be you, Rhona? Why not someone else? Why not—” I think he wants to say “Why not me?”
Seeing his stricken look, I flash back to the last memory I have of my previous life. Camus clutching me in the snow. I’m shivering. Gasping. Dying. No, Rhona, please, he begs, his tone alternating between soft entreaty and a firmness that insists I will not die. Stay with me. A little longer, love. Keep awake. Keep your eyes open. Rhona. Hold on. Help is…He doesn’t finish the thought, because he can’t—because he’s choking on tears, because he knows. Help will be too late coming. His lips are chapped and bleeding, but when they’re on my lips, it doesn’t matter. I know now he was trying desperately to revive me through some miracle of love. And I wish he’d gotten that miracle, that lonely miracle, because I think it’s the only one Camus has ever asked for.
In the end, the doctors have to sedate him after he tries to rise from the bed to prevent me from leaving and opens some of his stitches. I cup my mouth, trying to contain my horror as he staggers toward me. My last image of Camus is his dark eyelashes fluttering closed, sealing his fears into the blackness with him. The words he would’ve used to contest my decision sputter out on his lips, dying to silence, my name among them.
This time, I do say goodbye. But Camus is already unconscious and can’t hear me.
I start down the stairs at a rapid clip, pausing on a landing to lean against the wall and contain my tears, my fears. It doesn’t work. Instead, my breath comes in harsh sobs as I come completely undone. I’m not sure if I can do this. But I’m sure I have to.
After another few minutes, I straighten up.
It takes about ten minutes for everyone to convene after I send a directive to gather all the squad leaders on the tenth floor, where there is a good view of the mountain.
Samuel stands beside me as the last few straggle in. “You’ve come up with a plan, I take it?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how popular it’s going to be. You’re definitely not going to like it very much.”
“What? Why? Rhona?”
Instead of answering him, I call the meeting to order. No one is required to sit down; there’s not enough furniture to accommodate that anyway. Most choose a random spot in the room to stand, leaving me at eye level with everyone, on even footing, just like I want it. Pedestals are places best reserved for dead gods.
I smile, knowing it might be one of my last opportunities to do so.
“Well,” I say, meeting the curious gazes of my allies. “Why don’t we get this party started then? I hope at least some of you got some sleep, because it’s gonna be a long night…”
Chapter 29
Day breaks on a gray and thankless morning. Cast in such a bland palette, it’s hard to tell where the mountain ends and the sky begins. Today they’re one and the same, heaven and earth. It’ll sure make for a sight, like bringing the wrath of God down upon the machines.
Provided the plan gets that far.
It’s taken the better part of the morning, but everyone’s finally in position. Back at the main apartment complex and in all the hidey-holes nearby, the hatches have been battened wherever possible, and wherever impossible, people have moved to higher ground. Samuel and some other math types did the calculations and I’m not worried for our people if we succeed. If we fail, then I’ll be worried.
Or I’ll be dead. Either way, it’ll be pretty definitive.
While the remaining squads check in over comms, I preview the street one last time. The machines appear to be powered down, hibernating in the cold, but I know it’s a trick. More than two dozen wait twenty yards from this building, and I’m sure more are hidden behind them in the vale of fog. From this distance, the group doesn’t look like much—nothing that couldn’t be handled by patient guerrilla tactics. But the clock is ticking on our supplies, and we don’t have time to play Joey Peashooter with them.
This is a massive gamble, I know, all resting on a strategy that could absolutely backfire. As much as I hope my live appeal reached someone, we can’t rely on the chance that some hoped-for forces are going to ride to our rescue. We’re alone, and this is it. The final showdown between man and machine.
“Are you ready?” Samuel asks me. I can’t see his face behind the mask of his combat helmet, but I hear the skepticism mingled with fear. Not for himself, if I had to wager, betting on the fact he’s shown no concern for his own safety thus far. “You know, there might be another way.”
“Yeah?” I say, removing my weapons. “What’s that?”
His silence is pronounced. “I wish I knew,” he answers helplessly.
I pull his helmeted head toward me, placing a kiss on the top of its black visor. “Thanks for sticking it out with me this far, Samuel. You’ve been brave enough for us both, much braver than you give yourself credit for. But now it’s my turn.”
“Rhona.” There’s such an ache in the way he says my name. He looks like there’s more he wants to say, but doesn’t. “Go get ’em, tiger,” he tells me, trying for humor, but sounding pained. “I’ve got your back. We’ve all got your back.”
I give him my best, my most Rhona smile. I try to be as fearless as he thinks I am. “I know,” I say, and add more lightly, “You better.”
“Rhona,” Ulrich calls to me. It’s time.
He double-checks my body armor, like I don’t know how to put it on right. Like it’ll make any kind of a difference if the machines decide to go Terminator on me. (Yes, I am so glad Samuel decided to show me those movies, as if my fear of machines wasn’t already the size of a football stadium.)
Zelda hovers nearby, with an itchy finger resting on the trigger. She anxiously glances outside once, twice, three times. It makes me nervous. Nervouser.
“You know, if you’re wrong about this, I�
��m going to get shot,” I tell her. “Just saying.”
“I’m not wrong,” she maintains, yet there’s a flicker of doubt in her eyes. “And if on the off chance I am, then we’re all dead anyway.”
“Comforting thought.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time for some of us.” This statement, combined with the way she looks at me—like she’s just been let in on a juicy secret—leaves no doubt in my mind that she knows the truth.
“Ulrich told you,” I assume.
She nods. “I knew there was something different about you. But…” She pauses to roll her eyes. “I may have been wrong about everything else.”
It’s tempting to make her work for this apology, after everything, but I don’t, and not only because it would be petty. “Don’t sweat it. You weren’t the only person to give me a hard time,” I tell her. “But we’re all on the same team now.”
“Yeah, we are,” she agrees. “Though I’m still mad at Orpheus for not telling me. He says he was sworn to secrecy by the council, him and Ortega both.” Her mouth dips into a frown. I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing I am: with the latter’s death, that’s one less person who can spill my secret. Not that Ortega would have; he was a good man. He deserved better. The only way I can honor his loyalty and sacrifice now is to win.
“The machines have intercepted our communications, and caught on to our movements,” Ulrich cuts in. “Reports say they are moving in. It must be now.”
I nod. “Right. Okay. Make sure everyone waits for my signal. Not a minute sooner—or later.”
“You will have to move fast,” Ulrich reminds me a final time.