by Jadah McCoy
Lucca howls as he flails and fails to grasp the metal. I hold on with all my might as it buckles. And then with a groan, the floor sighs in relief as Lucca falls and the extra weight disappears. I watch as his body bounces off a large pipe and lands facedown on the platform at the bottom with a resounding crash.
I gulp in breaths, hooking my fingers in the grates as I pull my body onto the warped metal. Bastion rushes over and grabs my legs, throwing them over the side. He grasps me under my arms and hauls me up, over the hill that Lucca’s weight created in the metal flooring.
I groan. “I can’t believe I made that jump.”
Bastion sighs in exasperation beside me. “Crazy human.” He walks back to the computer and begins pressing the buttons again as he glances up at the screen. “I’m trying to hack this system. It shouldn’t be taking this long.”
I force my shaky legs to stand, pushing myself up. I lean over, hands on my knees as I stop to catch my breath for a second. I wipe the sweat pasting my hair to my forehead.
“I thought you were supposed to be, like, smart or something,” I say, breathless as I take a few slow, limping steps toward him.
He chuckles and turns, a smile on his face. As he looks at me, the smile morphs into a look of horror. His mouth falls open, and cold terror fills his gaze.
“What?” I ask.
The ground beneath me shakes as the floor tilts. I stumble, losing my balance.
“Syl!” He takes a step toward me.
The pain is sharp and quick like fire cauterizing a wound, leaving me numb and in shock. My feet lift from the floor, and I look down. There it is, protruding from my belly, four feet of blood-slicked sword. I place my hands on my stomach, and they come away red. I gulp hard.
“If I die, you die with me,” Lucca says behind me, holding on to the warped metal floor with his other hand.
Lightning quick, Bastion snatches the gun leaning against the computer beside him. Finally, the light on its side blinks green. He cocks it and presses the trigger, a thick beam of electric blue flowing out. I can hear the fleshy smack and pop when it hits Lucca. He makes no more sounds behind me.
My stomach drops to my feet as he falls backward, dragging me down with him. I hold a bloodied hand out, and Bastion sprints to reach me. He tosses the plasma gun aside and grabs my slick palm. With a pained scream, I slide off the blade I’m skewered on and collapse to my knees and then into his arms.
Below me, Lucca hits all those obstacles I saw him hit before and lands against the platform with a clang.
And here I am, dying once again.
Bastion
shrug off my ripped suit jacket, then wad it up and press it to Syl’s wound. It bubbles, blood seeping out in steady rivulets and soaking my lap beneath her. I don’t know how much damage an Organic body can metabolize before death occurs, but I’m almost certain this is what’s called a fatal wound.
“Is he dead?” Her face is white and bloodless. Red seeps from her mouth, painting her pale lips. I hold her closer, staunching the blood flow as best I can with my jacket.
I glance below us. My aim was true, and the plasma ray is no pushover of a weapon. I dare say there’s nothing left of what was once his head.
Slowly, I nod. “Yes. Yes, he’s dead.”
A small, wet laugh escapes her. “Good. He was such an asshole.”
“Killing humans, plotting with Lexion… didn’t really seem like a stand-up guy to me, either.”
She smiles, and then her face contorts with pain. She gulps hard. The blood… it just keeps coming, and my jacket is already soaked with it. The liquid covers my hands with sticky maroon. Her mask of strength fractures and shatters into a million pieces. Tears make her blue eyes shine.
“There was never a cure for me. I was so stupid,” she says, her voice cracking.
“You weren’t stupid,” I tell her fiercely. “You weren’t. You were brilliant. We’ll get you back to Michelo. He’ll know what to do. He’ll know someone who can help.”
“No!” Her protest echoes from the ceiling. “No. Finish it. Wipe the computer. Stop the splicing. What they’re planning… they’re going to kill everyone.”
She shakes her head, and the tears fall. The clear streams wash away the dirt and smoke smearing her face.
I glance over at the computer. The memory drive blinks innocently on the edge of the keyboard. I can wipe the computer, all the data of everyone in New Elite—the PICs, Lexion, Project Surgeon General, myself… It will all be gone. No more upgrades. No more redos. No more slaughter. No more New Elite.
But I’ll be without her. Without Syl. And I…
The chances that I will ever recover from that are currently resting at 13.4584 percent. The odds aren’t good.
“Syl, I…” I pull her in closer. The cold metal of the port at the back of her neck presses against my arm.
“Please!” She gasps for breath. “Don’t let me die for nothing.”
Her information port.
“I won’t.” I lift her into my arms and take her closer to the computer. She shivers, and I hold her closer. With determination, I grasp the memory drive off the keyboard, smearing it with her blood. I hesitate for only half a moment and then slip the drive into her port. She doesn’t even seem to notice. “I promise.”
She fists her hands in my shirt, and her body convulses. Her breathing is rapid, shallow.
“Bastion, I—”
She breathes out, and then she’s still. Too still. The stillness of death has fallen over her. The blood pools and drips through the grates below us. Her hand releases my shirt, relaxes against the floor. Her head falls, tilting away from me. There’s no life in her face, no light in her eyes. The cold blue of smoke, of a ghost, resides there.
I reach up and touch her lips, press her eyes closed. Her life stains my hands. I hold them out in front of me. My soul, if there’s one in this shell body, is scarred, rubbed raw.
I wait—wait to see if it’s worked.
Finally, the drive in her port blinks green—it’s full. The information has been collected.
I pull it out and place it in my pocket. It’s my last hope for salvation.
Syl
ebooting…
I gasp, suddenly awake. I press my stiff fingers against the cold metal surface beneath me. It’s not very comfortable—why would I sleep here?
The room is quiet. Too quiet.
Wait a minute.
I don’t have a heartbeat. Why don’t I have a heartbeat?
I try to remember what happened, but everything is… blank.
But then, cracks in glass, water pouring out, Lucca’s face, the sword!
I sit straight up on the table. My hands fly to my stomach. There’s clothing beneath my touch, whole, intact, no rips, and no red blood staining it. When I look down, strands of long blonde hair trail over my shoulders and chest, not wisps of blue peeking in and out of my vision.
“Michelo, she’s awake!” Bastion says. He skids around the corner dressed in his usual vest and long coat.
“All right! All right!” Michelo calls from the other room.
His steady footsteps stomp against the floor, and he appears behind Bastion. They come into the room slowly, eyeing me like an animal that’s backed into a corner.
I shouldn’t be here. The last thing I remember was bleeding out in the CorpEx tower.
“I was dead.” My mind rifles through all the possibilities, searching for an answer. But there is only one. “I died.”
“Your body died,” Bastion says, “but you are still alive.”
“I don’t understand.” I shake my head. “How did this happen?”
“I was able to take your consciousness and put it on the memory drive and then reupload you into… an android body.”
I press my hands to my face. It’s the same as it’s always been. Bastion hands me a mirror, and I stare at my reflection. Same hair, same face, same me. I examine my teeth. Same missing tooth in the back. Same crease
s on my hands and the same freckle on my arm. My eyes glow now with the same mechanical aura that shines from Bastion’s.
“You may experience some discomfort, some confusion, possibly some cognitive dissonance,” Michelo says. “Not to worry, if so. Nothing a little tweak can’t fix right up.”
I set the mirror down beside me on the table. “What happened to my… my…” I can’t bring myself to say the words. There’s the strangest sense of loss for my human body, for my humanity. My DNA, my blood, my heartbeat, sleep and dreams, wrinkles and aging.
Bastion steps closer to me. “Your body is not you, Syl. This is you.” He brushes his fingers against my forehead.
“I want to know where my human body is.” I remember Lexion’s words well, when he told me all he needed was for me to die. What happens after he gets what he needs? My mind circles around the thought like a predator to carrion.
“I left it. They won’t come after you. They think you’re dead.” His stare falls on me, gauging my reaction. I’m sure it’s fine. He’s done me a favor, really, by throwing them off my trail.
I lower my head, nodding, then meet his gaze.
“And the master computer on level 227?”
Bastion glances away from me for a moment, then back again. “It was one or the other. And I chose you.”
It takes me a moment to process this information. Then I slowly lower my face into my hands. Desolation and panic fill my chest. It was right there. Our chance to end this—all of it. And he threw it away… for me. Now Lexion will come back, stronger and angrier. Looking for vengeance.
I don’t have the strength to fight about it. Nothing I say or do can change this decision. The battle, it’s not nearly over yet. There’s much fighting ahead of us.
“We have a lot to do.” I kick off the table, testing my new legs. “But first I have to go to Elite. I have to warn them about the hell Lexion is about to unleash.”
Syl
he sky above us glows pink, orange, and purple. The clouds float by ever so peacefully, Zita, Zel, and KOI-10 coming in and out of view behind them. Below the hill we’re perched on, the shattered windows of overgrown buildings reflect the waning sunlight. The firewasps flit and the marshgators croak in ponds below, their heady song echoing through the trees.
This is home. Just as I remember it. Soon the sun will set, and the Cull will come out to look for whatever they can make a meal out of.
“What’s the plan?” asks Bastion.
He stands beside me on the hill, leaning against his plasma gun and looking dapper as always in his long coat, strapped up with guns and bombs.
Shrugging, I cock the gun in my hand and perch it on my shoulder.
“Lexion was right about one thing.” I press a bud into my ear, the first notes of a Chopin sonata blaring out of it. “This place does need an extermination.”
Bastion smiles beside me. “Well then, let’s go squash some bugs, shall we?”
Where does one even begin?
I’d like to thank my parents for reading to me every night, and for listening to the little stories I would write (which had terrible character development and a lot of telling rather than showing, but I was a novice back then). Thank you to my 9th grade English teacher, Mrs. Gibson, who read my very first short story and told me what a wonderful talent I had for writing. Without her, I never would have had enough faith in myself to continue writing.
Thank you, thank you, thank you to Lynn Vroman. You are a GODDESS, and mostly, you are my muse. A million times thank you for answering all my late night Facebook messages, reading chapters at random times of the day, and reading this book probably dozens of times without complaining once. Without you, this novel would still be an unfinished short story and Bastion wouldn’t exist. I think all the literary ladies of the world can thank you for that.
Thank you Jamie Zakian for all your advice and critiques. You are a lifesaver.
Kara Malinczak, you are the best editor EVER. And, honestly, over time you’ve become much more than that. You’re a good friend, too. I’m so glad I found you. This story wouldn’t be what it is without your keen eye.
Thank you to Mark Steinwachs, my starfish, for constantly telling me how “big time” I am. It’s not true, but it’s nice hearing it all the time. Thanks for sharing my love of IKEA.
Vicki Keire, you are amazing! Thank you so much for being my “first super fan” and for falling in love with Syl’s story. You have helped me so, so much over the past year. Thank you for your guidance, without which I probably would have lost my mind several months ago.
Thanks to Regina Wamba at Mae I Design for the beautiful cover. Your work is, and always will be, amazing.
A shout out to all of my writing pals at the Nashville Writer’s Group. You guys are so fun, and I always enjoy reading your work. Thanks to everyone at Agent Query Connect who gave me feedback and encouragement. Finding AQC was one of the best things that ever happened to me as a writer.
Thanks to my friends for understanding all the times I couldn’t go out because I was busy killing someone (a character—they hope), or would disappear into my writing cave for weeks. My muse is a capricious mistress, and I must answer when she calls.
A gigantic thank you to the Curiosity Quills crew! Without your hard work and dedication, this dream would’ve never come true for me. You are so appreciated.
A nod to every rejection I received and everyone who told me I wasn’t good enough. I never believed any of it, and you shouldn’t believe such things either, reader, when you hear them about yourself.
And, finally, thank you, dear reader. I hope that this crazy story my brain concocted makes some semblance of sense to you. I created this world, but you are the one who brings it to life. You make everything possible. Know that, wherever you are, whatever you’re going through, I am with you.
I am so thankful for all of you.
Jadah currently lives in Nashville, TN and works as a legal coordinator. When not babysitting attorneys, she can be found juicing her brain for creative ideas or fantasizing about her next trip out of the country (or about Tom Hiddleston as Loki - it’s always a toss up when she fantasizes.)
She grew up in rural Arkansas, yet can still write good and sometimes even wears shoes! She did date her first cousin for a while but they decided against marriage for the sake of the gene pool.
Her true loves are elephants, cursing, and sangria - in that order. If you find an elephant that curses like a sailor whilst drinking sangria, you’re dangerously close to becoming her next romantic victim - er, partner.
She cut her writing teeth on badly written, hormone-driven fanfiction (be glad that’s out of her system), and her one true dream is to have wildly erotic fanfiction with dubious grammar written about her own novels. Please make her dreams come true.
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