by Elle E. Ire
“You can’t leave,” Alex says, getting it at last. “Aw, fuck.” He turns to Kelly. “We could stun her. Lyle can carry Vick, and we can cover them. I’m not VC1, but I can get us through this hatch with a little more effort, and I can steal us a ship.”
I sigh. “I’m right here. I’m hearing this plan. And even as you’re making it, VC1 is calculating six different ways to stop you.”
“Come on. You wouldn’t actually hurt one of us.” Lyle pauses, looking at Kelly, his brow furrowed. “Would she?”
I close my eyes to steady myself. When I open them, I feel the walls rising between us, and between myself and my emotions. I didn’t ask VC1 to turn my suppressors up. She did it on her own. Preparing me. “If you draw on me, my programming—”
Kelly opens her mouth to protest the use of the word. I stop her with an upraised palm.
“Quit it. We both know what it is, even if we don’t want to use the words,” I snap. She closes her mouth, lips turning down in a hurt pout that isn’t put on, but real. Sometimes I really, really hate myself. “If you draw on me with the intention of forcibly removing me from service to the Storm,” I begin again, “three primary directives in my subroutines go to war with each other: One: my purpose to serve the Fighting Storm; Two: my purpose to protect my own, very expensive self, and Three: my purpose to protect my teammates. You would be committing treason, so that would negate you as my teammates. That means One and Two take precedence. My implants would view you as the enemy. Even if neither I nor VC1 actually wants to, I am always allowed to use deadly force to serve the Storm and protect myself from my enemies. And I will.”
And just like that, everything shifts. I swear I can see their estimation of me as a human being changing as I watch: the tightening of lips, the narrowing of eyes, the frown of disgust. Not from Kelly, of course. She’s looking back and forth between me and the guys, uncertain of what to do next. “She’s still your friend, and your partner,” she says, tone soft. “She’s saved your lives a dozen times, always had your backs even when you treated her like garbage. It’s not her fault, what they’ve done to her. Don’t turn on her now.”
I ignore her defense of my actions even as the guys’ expressions soften. I signed up to be part of this outfit. My signature is on all the paperwork giving them permission to do whatever they wanted to me after my death. I couldn’t have known what they’d turn me into, but it’s my own damn fault I am the way I am.
“The exception,” I continue, “might be Kelly. I consulted with VC1 while you were telling me your plan. Since my mental health is directly connected to Kelly, I might spare her if she takes steps against me. Or I might not, regardless of what my heart wants.” I meet her eyes. “Please, please, don’t test this. I don’t want to know which way the programming will decide.”
This is a moment that’s been a long time coming.
“We’re willing to take our chances,” Alex says, checking with Lyle in a glance and getting a nod in response. “We don’t believe, when push comes to shove, that you’ll hurt us.”
I think my heart is going to break. “I—”
“She will. She’ll kill you both. And it won’t even take her much effort to do so, because while you two morons are trying not to hurt her, she will hold nothing back. She’ll have no choice. And it will destroy her.” The new voice in the corridor catches all of us by surprise as Carl comes around the corner, hands empty and outstretched in a gesture of peace.
We’re caught, all of us, with the guys openly talking about betraying the Storm. Everyone’s shoulders slump. Lyle and Alex move their hands away from their holsters. The stalemate with Officer Sanderson was one thing. Drawing pistols on our unarmed boss would be something else entirely and not a place they want to go to.
You knew he was there and didn’t say anything, I growl at VC1.
I am sorry, she responds. I tried.
She’s just as trapped in this as I am.
With a start, I realize I’m gripping my pistol, now in its side holster. Out of habit, I flick my thumb over the safety, checking. It’s already off. I have no idea when I did that. I always keep it on when holstered. I set it back in the on position, pressing the switch so hard it bruises the skin.
God, I was really intending to shoot them. This is so fucked-up.
“Where’s your backup?” I ask, looking over Carl’s shoulder. My voice wavers. We have twenty-five people in Undercover Ops—six teams of four and Carl overseeing us all.
“I’m alone. And this conversation and the one before it never happened.” He lowers one hand to his belt pouch and removes a capped hypodermic.
“Wait! You don’t need to drug me. You know I’ll follow orders.” I back away, hands raised. Drugs make me defenseless. With VC2 loose in the base, I need my guard up.
“I’m sorry. I have a mission for you. And I need the appearance of you being subdued and unconscious to pull it off. You’re going to have to trust me. Hold still.”
I stop in my tracks, unable to refuse a direct order from my commanding officer. My muscles go rigid, every fiber of my being wanting to flee while I hold my position.
“What kind of mission?” Kelly asks. “She’s in no shape for that. And there are things you don’t know.”
“Oh, believe me,” Carl says, slipping the needle into my arm while he speaks over his shoulder to her. “I know a lot more than you think. Don’t worry. You’re going with her. And you two,” he adds to Lyle and Alex, “are going to remain here and keep up appearances.”
The world goes fuzzy. I brace myself against the nearest corridor wall. My head feels like it’s doubled in weight. But even without the chemicals muddling my thoughts, I don’t think Carl’s words would make sense.
“What are you talking about?” Alex asks, confirming my confusion.
“Don’t worry. I’ll brief all of you as soon as I get Corren off the station.”
“Off the—” I don’t finish the thought. I’m already gone.
SHIP’S ENGINES, padded but still hard table beneath me, antiseptic smells. I’m in a transport’s medical bay. I crack one eye open against the blinding white lights reflecting off equally blinding white and metal surfaces. Pain lances through my head—knockout drug aftereffects suck.
No one around and I’m not hooked up to anything, so I swing my legs over the side and check out the rest of my surroundings. Standard medbay setup, though smaller than I expected. Two tables, including mine, so I’m on a shuttle, not a larger vessel. I stand on shaky limbs, then rotate, searching out the door. It’s behind me, in the center of a wall comprised mostly of a giant window looking out into an observation area. Must be soundproofed, because though Kelly and Carl stand on the opposite side, I can’t hear them. And judging from their facial expressions, Carl’s rigid posture, and Kelly’s gesticulations, they’re having a heated argument.
I can imagine what it’s about.
Bracing myself against the table with one hand, I reach out for the first throwable object I can grasp—in this case, an empty bedpan on the rolling tray beside me—and hurl it at the window. It makes a satisfying clang as it bounces off and clatters to the tile floor. Both arguers turn as one to stare at me, Carl frowning and Kelly exuding relief. She gets through the door first, shoving Carl out of the way to make it to my side and offer me the support of her shoulder.
“Hey,” I whisper, voice hoarse. “How long have I been out?”
“Hours,” she growls back, more at Carl than to me. “And he would have kept you under longer, but I guess VC1 had other ideas.”
“Damn AI,” he says, keeping the table between us. “There’s only so much programming can cover.”
Kelly and I stare at him. “You knew?” we ask in unison.
Carl taps the side of his head with one finger. “I told you, I know more than you think. Probably more than you even know about yourself,” he says to me.
Alarm bells go off in my head, an old-fashioned klaxon loud and obnoxious at once
—VC1 sending a blunt warning. I do not like what Carl’s words imply, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Come on,” he says, heading back into the observation lounge.
I put an arm around Kelly’s shoulders for balance and we follow him. My headache fades into the background as the adrenaline kicks up. We sink into a couple of side-by-side cushioned armchairs and wait.
“So,” he says, taking an opposite chair. “You’re probably wondering what the mission is. Bear with me and try not to bite my head off.” Taking a deep breath, he finishes with, “We’re checking you into Earth’s Klenar Facility.”
“What the fuck is—” I break off as VC1 fills my head with images, first of me in a straitjacket. Then another one of a room with padded walls. I blink the display off. “You’re putting me in a mental institution?”
Kelly sucks in a sharp breath. Guess she’d never heard of it before either.
“Not just any mental institution. The best money can buy. It’s a privately owned facility, catering mostly to members of the One World Government and their relatives, but also open to high-powered business executives, famous entertainment industry personalities, and a handful of other wealthy clientele, for the right price.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands. “And how, exactly, am I getting in?” My voice is muffled, but he hears me anyway. It’s finally happening. They think I’m crazy, that these recent events have pushed me over the edge. Not that I blame them, what with the break I suffered on our island vacation, mixed with my old Rodwell trauma and my more recent issues with mirrors. But an asylum? “I really didn’t think I was that bad off.”
Kelly rests a hand on my back, rubbing in circles until my shoulders untense. Her love flows through our connection. “You’re not. I’ve been worried, but you don’t need an institution.”
“No, you don’t,” Carl confirms.
I glance up. He’s grinning, that bastard. “This isn’t funny.” I’ve feared losing my mind for years.
Sobering, he shakes his head. “Sorry. No, it isn’t. I apologize. You’re getting in as a called-in favor from the OWLs. They owe you for helping with the Secretary of the Treasury and her daughter. Don’t misunderstand,” he adds, raising his hand to forestall further questions. “You will be receiving specialized treatment there for your recent dysmorphia. However, mostly you’re there to be bait.”
Oh. Shit. Of course.
“Bait for what?” Kelly asks, uncertain.
I turn to her and take her hands in mine. “They wanted to get me off Girard Base, and they needed a plausible cover story. The Storm is trying to protect the civilian population.” I glance at Carl, who nods in confirmation.
“I still don’t get it. What’s really going on here?”
“Are we secure?” I ask Carl, rather than VC1. After all, if the AI is compromised, she’ll lie, and a computer that can lie is a dangerous thing indeed.
“We’re secure,” my boss assures me. “While you were sedated, your med team added a new security chip to your implants. They’ve been working on it since we became aware of the other clone, shortly after returning from the slaver base. The chip will scramble all incoming and outgoing data beyond recognition to anyone outside of the Storm who tries to read it. We’re confident you’re no longer a liability.”
So the headache isn’t just from sedative side effects. I nod, relieved, and give Kelly’s hands a gentle squeeze.
“I’m a lure,” I tell her. “For VC2.”
Chapter 36: Kelly—Perceptions
Vick is bait.
I DO not like this plan. I understand it, but I don’t like it. The reasoning is sound enough: Vick is known to have suffered a traumatic injury that has given her some severe anxiety in recent days. So checking her into Klenar Mental Health makes sense to anyone looking. It’s a beautiful facility, located in a small valley in the mountains of Germany near the Swiss border. At this time of year, late spring, flowers cover the surrounding hills, though there’s a touch of persistent snow on the very tops of the peaks.
I did some research on the facility while we were en route. Luxury and comfort abound. The hospital is small and exclusive, one main building with a reception area and administrative offices, and two wings—one for the regular patients and one for those who suffer from more serious problems or tend toward violence. The small but highly respected staff treat everything from substance addictions, to severe depression, to all varieties of PTSD and much more. At maximum capacity, they can serve about forty individuals, though from the sparse numbers I’m seeing, they don’t appear to be close to full.
“Impressive security,” Vick comments as we stroll along one of the corridors. She tilts her head toward corner cameras painted the same colors as the pale yellow and cream walls. Now that she’s pointed them out, I can spot them, but they blend well.
An older female staff member in all white leads us toward what will be mine and Vick’s accommodations while we’re here. Vick’s medteam is already onsite, having arrived a couple of days earlier. At least they’re keeping us together. Our guide pauses, turning to smile over her shoulder. “We want all our guests to feel safe, but we try to keep it unobtrusive. We also cater to some very important people. Our location does a lot to keep the media and particularly tenacious fans out, but the few who venture this far don’t get past our system and the guards.” Her slight German accent is noticeable, but not distracting from her fluent English.
“Guards?” I ask, hurrying to keep up when she starts walking again. Vick’s longer stride causes her no problems in that regard.
“They’re dressed as orderlies,” Vick murmurs to me from my right. “Four have shadowed us since we arrived.”
Beige-uniformed men and women circulate among the doctors and nurses, but Vick’s right. They aren’t carrying anything or helping with patients. Instead, their gazes touch on everything and everyone, though their expressions are calm and politely friendly. Several cast surreptitious glances at us every few moments.
“Look closer. They’re heavily armed.” Tension rolls off Vick in deep waves of teal.
I do so. Telltale bulges in the pockets of the baggy coveralls indicate a variety of weapons they can reach in a matter of seconds.
When we come to a pair of automatic doors, each marked with a set of double black diamonds, one of the milling “orderlies” pauses and looks our way, a big grin set on his handsome face.
“Robert!” I exclaim, rushing forward to embrace him.
If anything, the OWL’s grin widens. “Kelly, good to see you,” he says in his cultured British accent.
Vick offers a hand, which he shakes.
“And you, Vick.” Robert frowns in concern. “I understand you’ve had a time of it since your return from our joint mission.”
“You could say that,” she says with no inflection.
“Well,” our guide says, “I’ll leave the rest of the check-in process to Robert. He’s head of your onsite security team, so all questions about what you can do and where you can go should be directed to him. But I’m certain you’ll find the accommodations we’ve provided for you and your staff will meet all your needs.” With that, she gives us a little wave and heads off toward a desk at the far end of the corridor. I can’t help noticing the flare of white relief that sparks in her emotional aura. Was she nervous about walking with us? I was so focused on Vick, I didn’t pick up on it, but now…. And why the contingent of guards?
“What do the black diamonds mean?” Vick asks, indicating the doors in front of us.
Robert shifts uncomfortably. “Well, if you were a skier, they would stand for an extremely challenging ski slope. Here….”
“Spit it out, Robert.” Vick crosses her arms over her chest. Some of the milling orderlies tense, a few hands dropping closer to weapons pouches.
“It’s Klenar’s subtle way of saying Maximum Security wing, patients who are dangerous to themselves or others.” He meets Vick’s stare
with a steely one of his own. Lowering his voice, he adds, “The lads and ladies on my team know you’re not dangerous to us, but if we’re going to perpetuate the charade that you are here because you snapped and went on a killing spree—”
“Wait. Is that what they’re telling everyone?” My voice rises, drawing attention from some nurses and a passing doctor. I lower my tone. “Seriously, this is what we want people to believe back at the base?”
Beside me, Vick goes very still and very quiet.
“Come on,” Robert says, waving his palm over a scanner by the double doors. After a couple of soft beeps and a click, they swing open, only now allowing us to see how thick they are—at least a foot and made of solid steel.
I take Vick’s ice-cold hand in mine. Her grip is tight, her pulse too fast. “Breathe, Vick,” I whisper. She takes an unsteady breath and we move forward. I don’t miss her other hand trailing its fingers across the access pad as we pass through. I look away quickly before Robert notices. The doors swing shut behind us and lock into place. Vick’s eyes go unfocused for several critical seconds before they zero in on my face and she nods once in silence. I nod back.
VC1 can handle this. No words needed between us for me to figure that out. If we need to get through those doors in a hurry, she’ll make sure we do.
Robert leads us through a central hub where two hallways branch off, one on either side. Overhead, a huge beautiful glass dome crisscrossed by metal framework lets in natural sunlight in a bright blue sky.
The weather outside must be perfect. I wonder how long it will be before Vick can get out and enjoy it again. She gazes upward, a longing expression in her eyes, and I know she’s thinking the same.