by Elle E. Ire
VC2 presses harder. The last bit of high-pitched wheezing air forcing its way through my throat cuts off. The blackness encroaches further on my vision.
How many fucking times can one person die?
My senses fade, the sounds of VC2’s quiet laughter at my demise, the smells of blood and sweat, the pressure and pain in my neck and broken rib cage.
When the one loud crack rings out, echoing off the remains of the high ceiling, it’s distant, as if coming from far away in the mental health facility. A neat, round hole appears in the side of VC2’s head. Then her body stiffens, her eyes flying wide before sliding closed, her body slipping sideways to tumble off me and land with a dull thud on the tile to my left.
What the hell just happened? Did the Storm manage to get through the security doors VC2 had locked again? Has backup finally arrived to save the day?
And what the hell is happening now?
A roaring sounds in my ears, like ocean waves crashing against rocks in a tsunami. I suck in a sharp, harsh breath, air rasping painfully through my bruised throat and lungs. My vision whites out in a blinding flash, so similar to when lightning struck me that every muscle in my body clenches in remembered panic.
But that isn’t the worst of it.
The rush of sensory input is nothing compared to the rush of data. Numbers, images, memories, then emotions: anger, fear, aggression, in one insane mix that threatens to overwhelm my rational mind, and realization hits. VC2 is dead. Rather than the other way around as she’d planned, her implants are downloading into mine.
Too much. Too much. Too much.
I get it all: the Rodwell rape I thought I’d left behind forever, though now it’s blunted and faint—a copy of a copy of an original; Dr. Alkins’s intent to use VC2 as her puppet plaything and her immediate death at VC2’s hands; the killing of those who stood between her and getting to me and Kelly; the murders of so many women in her rage and instability and desperate search for the one to make her complete.
And under all of it, a bleak, empty, hopeless loneliness.
The blackest, deepest of pits opens inside me, sucking me down and down and down while I kick and drive against the pull, reaching for the rim and the bright blue light just beyond my grasp.
My hoarse scream reverberates through the room, my hands outstretched.
An image appears in my heads-up display—me, straining to grab for something, anything that will pull me from the abyss… and another me, suffused in sparkles of blue, made up of particles of swirling energy, her own hands held out calmly before her, open and welcoming and ready to accept me.
At first, I think I’m watching myself and VC2 merge, but there’s no evil intent, no incoherent anger. This other me is logical, rational, balanced.
I take VC1’s hands in mine and pull her to me and into me, her emotions—and yes, they are emotions—filling me with comfort, acceptance, love, and finally peace, before all the glittering diamonds that make up my AI companion swell and burst apart in a final shower like the last tendrils of a fireworks display.
A whisper of sound ghosts through my internal receivers. Look after our Kelly. Our Kelly. Ours. Because in her own way, VC1 loves her too.
Then, nothing.
I come to, or just open my eyes, after an indeterminate silence. I’m not sure if I ever lost consciousness, but I’m awake now, blinking up at the twinkling stars visible in the black night sky through the broken glass dome above me.
Twinkling like the remnants of VC1 scattering across my internal display before it all went black.
VC1. Shit.
I sit up, then wish I hadn’t when my ribs shriek in protest. I wrap one arm around my midsection and wait for my darkening vision to clear again before attempting any further sudden moves.
VC1? I think into the emptiness behind my eyes.
No response.
Status report! A command this time. Her programming won’t permit her to refuse or ignore a direct order.
But instead of a snarky comeback, a complaint about how I’m addressing her, or even a metaphorical image to express her displeasure, a simple readout of my vital signs and implant processes appears on my heads-up display: everything in the orange zones, so I’ve overtaxed myself as usual, but dropping in gradual intervals toward the greens.
VC1? I try one more time. But there’s no response beyond my own quiet, solitary thoughts.
She’s gone. The AI is gone. In protecting my sanity from the corrupted download from VC2, she’s sacrificed her own sentience, her humanity.
Since waking up in the Storm’s medical center after the airlock accident that killed me the first time, I’ve never felt so alone.
Except I’m not alone. I roll to my knees, groaning at the aches and pains. My first attempt at standing fails miserably when I come crashing down again, making everything hurt worse. Instead of risking more, I crawl across the open space toward the archway where the yellow emergency lights surround Kelly’s shadow, giving her a soft, ethereal glow.
When I reach her, her eyes are open, staring at the opposite hallway wall, unfocused, unseeing. I wave a hand in front of her face, but she doesn’t blink, doesn’t move. Her breathing comes in quick soft huffs more like a trapped, cornered animal than a human being.
I could talk to her. I could touch her. Instead, I just… connect.
Leaning forward, I brush my lips across hers and let the channel open between us. It’s a risk. I might be adding my stress and anxiety to hers, but I focus on the love. It builds and builds until the yellow glow turns to a bright blue aura surrounding us both.
I settle back, watching her face as she blinks once, twice, and her gaze narrows on mine.
“Vick?” The tremor in her voice betrays her uncertainty and fear.
“Yeah, it’s me.” My throat’s so bruised I can barely produce sound, but she hears me.
“Did I—?” She tries to lean around me, to see the body.
I shift to block her view. “You broke it. You damaged it beyond repair.”
Kelly shakes her head. “I killed her.”
“No,” I say, taking her hand in mine so she can feel the truth of my words. “You shut down a machine.”
For a long moment, she says nothing, just watches my face. Then she nods. “What’s wrong?”
Of course she’s also reading my loss and sadness, but the last thing she needs is more emotions to deal with. “Later.” I remove my hand from hers and put a few inches of space between our bodies.
Sounds erupt from down the corridor, the staff having gotten through the exterior doors at last. Or more likely the locks failing when VC2 ceased to exist, and her control over the security systems along with her. I glance back into the nurses’ station atrium, where two orderlies are pushing against the outside of the double doors, sliding them open an inch at a time, but some of the ceiling supports came down right in front of those doors, blocking them with their weight. It will take the staff a while to get through.
The closer the voices come, the more exhausted I am. I want nothing more than to take Kelly and run somewhere far away where we’ll never have to deal with the Storm and their missions and orders ever again. Carl is dead, but someone will replace him, and who knows what sort of boss that will be. I’m tired of being bossed. I’m tired of being owned.
Before I fully understand what’s happening, I’ve slipped one arm beneath Kelly and the other under her arms, around her shoulders. My heads-up display appears, an indicator informing me I’ve triggered an adrenaline burst. Guess I’ve recovered enough to draw on a few of my implants’ resources with or without VC1’s help.
Next thing I know, I’m rising to my feet, Kelly cradled in my arms. My broken ribs ache with the motion, but it’s dulled. The connections between those nerves and my brain have been weakened.
I tighten my grip on Kelly and stride across the atrium and down the corridor on the opposite side, away from the help soon to arrive.
“What are you doing?”
Kelly whispers, her breath shifting my hair beside my ear, her chin tucked tight to my shoulder. “Where are we going? You’re hurt. We both need medical attention.”
I keep going, every stride I take becoming more purposeful, more determined, more sure of myself. “We’ll get help. Somewhere else. Someplace far from here.” My steps echo in the otherwise empty hallway. VC2 really did eliminate everyone in this wing of the facility.
Monstrous.
When I reach another emergency exit, I use the implants to override the security code, push through, and step into the darkness outside. I’m on the opposite side of the building from the remainder of my protection detail. There’s no one to stop me. I take one step, then another across the expanse of shadowy grass surrounding the connected buildings that make up Klenar.
I have to avoid the pools of light cast by the spotlights and time my movements so the exterior cameras don’t catch us in their sweeps, but three minutes later I’m past the tree line and heading for the perimeter fence. When we reach it, Kelly is stable enough to stand. She wobbles a bit on one knee, and her face twists into a grimace, but with a boost from me, she’s able to scale the fence and drop into a crouch on the opposite side. A moment later, I land with a soft thud beside her.
Taking her hand, I pull her along beside me, not too fast since she’s limping, but fast enough. We don’t get far before she tugs me to a halt. “How?” she asks, peering into my face, the moonlight casting shadows across us both. “How are you doing this? Your loyalty program—” She breaks off, clears her throat. “I mean, brainwashing.”
I shake my head once, hard. “No, it’s programming. I’m human. The implants are machines.” My throat threatens to close with the emotions swarming me, but I swallow them down. “Just machines. VC1 is gone. Let’s call them what they are.” But not what I am. I’m human. I’ve always been human. It’s high time I accept that.
Kelly’s eyes go wide with shock, then sadness. “Oh, Vick, I’m so sorry. Really. I may not have completely trusted her, but I… liked her,” she says, referring to the AI.
“She liked you too.” Loved, actually, but I don’t say it out loud. We’re both hurting enough. “She saved me from being overwritten by VC2 when all her data transferred to me. But a few things got through.” I pause, sifting through algorithms and programs in my head. “VC2 had no loyalty compulsion program.” She had no self-preservation programming, either, but that’s a revelation for another day. “VC2 was free to do what she wanted. And now, so am I. So are we.”
Chapter 50: Kelly—A Relative Term
Vick is… well, it’s complicated.
I ONLY have flashes of the events that occur during our escape from the Klenar Facility, Germany, and finally, Earth. Vick’s implants might no longer be an AI, but the technology surpasses most of what’s out there. From what Vick tells me, we have no trouble obtaining fake identities and boarding a shuttle off world.
I’m in and out of consciousness throughout the journey to wherever Vick is taking me. Recovery from emotion shock is a slow process. But our destination doesn’t matter. All I care about is that I’m with her. She’s alive, and we’re finally free of the Storm’s hold over us.
We move from a small sleeping compartment on a sketchy transport company’s passenger shuttle to a private space yacht just for the two of us. Vick settles me comfortably in the single stateroom while she pilots us to points unknown, coming in and out only to scan my vital signs, feed me, and catch a few hours of rest here and there. During that time, we sleep curled around each other, her love flooding my senses and healing us both.
When at last I awake fully rested and it doesn’t hurt to lower my empathic walls, I’m in a different bedroom. Rough-hewn log walls surround me, and for a moment my breath stops with the thought that I’m back in that storage shed where VC2 held me captive. But no. The bed beneath me is soft and warm, a huge king, the frame also made of natural wood logs and a headboard carved with a variety of furred foresty herbivores and carnivores prancing across it. The quilt covering me is patterned in rustic shades of reds, greens, and browns. I push it off to find Vick’s dressed me in plush black pajamas covered in multicolored glittery stars and wonder how embarrassing it must have been for her to go shopping for that. The thought makes me smile.
A single lamp glows on a chest of drawers across from the bed, and a mirror casts my too pale complexion back at me. Not entirely healthy yet, but I’m getting there. I swing my legs off the side of the bed, placing my feet on a thick faux-fur rug in blacks and grays, and test my ability to stand.
My limbs hold my weight. I pad across the dark hardwood floor to one of the two windows and pull aside the deep green curtains.
To my surprise, it’s night here, wherever here is. I lean as close to the glass as I can, pressing my nose against it and startling back at how cold the surface is. It’s winter. That’s for certain. Or maybe not. I might be on a world farther from its sun. I’m in a two-story log structure, this bedroom being on the second floor, and it’s surrounded by tall, dense pines. Some decorative external lighting gives the house? cabin? a soft ethereal appearance like something from a romance novel. I can’t see much beyond that.
Then the overhead clouds part and two full moons shine down on the scene, taking my breath away.
Sparkling snow covers the grounds around the cabin and weighs down the branches of the thick forest of pines. In the distance, I can just make out a lit open space with a single private landing platform, our space transport resting upon it. No other homes or structures of any kind as far as I can see.
One of the shadows below moves a bit, drawing my attention—Vick, standing on a wide rounded wooden deck, leaning with her arms crossed over the railing and staring into the peaceful darkness of the woods. She turns her head toward the shaft of light now cast across the snow from my window, then glances over her shoulder up at me and raises one hand in silent greeting.
I wave back, more enthusiastically, bouncing on my toes and giving her a wide smile, which earns me one in return, though there’s sadness in it, too, and I remember that she’s gained her freedom but lost a friend. I wonder if VC1 will ever return.
Vick strolls toward the cabin, disappearing from my view. A moment later a door on the ground floor opens and closes. Heavy booted footsteps come up what must be wooden stairs, echoing throughout the structure. She opens the bedroom door and pauses, leaning against the door frame, scanning me from head to toe as if she’s memorizing every inch of me.
Then she’s crossing the floor and taking me in her arms, pulling my body against hers as if she’ll never let me go. Her padded olive-green jacket is cold, but I slip inside it, letting my plush pajamas warm her through her simple black T-shirt and black trousers. All new clothing. I have no memory of her leaving for an extended period of time, so either she had things delivered, or I’ve been more out of it than I realized.
“You’re better,” she murmurs against my hair, which, now that I think about it, smells clean, along with the rest of me.
“Yes,” I agree. Then, “Did I shower at some point? Or did you find a way to bathe me? I don’t remember.”
Vick leans back to study my face, worry creasing her forehead. “You showered. You insisted on it, so I held you up while you got clean, both times. It was one of the few coherent things you asked for in the last four days.” She sighs, exhaustion and concern evident in that single exhalation.
Okay, now that she says that, I do have vague memories of wanting to scrub away the touch of VC2 and the blood and gore of that final fight.
I rest my head against her shirt, taking in all that is Vick: the hard muscles, the way she holds me to her as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear, yet gentle in her grasp, the tantalizing scent of that simple cologne she sometimes wears. “I’m okay. Really.” Four days is the longest I’ve ever been in emotion shock, and that scares me a little. I probably needed a medical facility. But I understand her hesitation in taking me to one. If the
Storm gets ahold of us, they’ll replace her loyalty programming, maybe even make it more restrictive. Choosing between my health and our freedom must have been horrible for her. “You made the right choice,” I say. “I promise, I’m going to be fine.”
Another sigh shudders out of her and the muscles in her shoulders relax. Her arms loosen their desperate hold. “You sure you’re not telepathic?” she asks, not for the first time.
“There are no true telepaths,” I remind her, giving the same response I always give to that question, then add, “but I’m starting to wonder if, with the brainwave match, the two of us might be the first.”
Instead of the laugh I expect, Vick fixes me with a serious look. “There are things in my head you don’t want to know. Ever.”
I don’t have a response to that. Instead, I ask, “How are you holding up? And where are we? It’s beautiful here.”
“Deci,” she says, answering the second question first, which doesn’t surprise me at all. “Any part of my income the Storm didn’t take back as repayment for my implants and continued medical care, I turned over to VC1 to invest as she saw fit.” Vick’s lips curve in an embarrassed little smile while a soft pink suffuses her cheeks. “Turns out she was quite the entrepreneur. I’m fucking loaded. And I own investment property on four different worlds.” She releases me to spread her arms out, indicating the whole cabin. “This is one of them.”
“She had good taste,” I muse. “Romantic too. Are the others the same?”
Vick shrugs. “Don’t know. Haven’t looked at them yet. There might even be more than four. There’s a whole file of financial data to go through. I’ve barely had a chance to glance at it while I was taking care of you and making sure we’re safe.”
“And are we? Safe, I mean.” A shiver passes through me that has nothing to do with the cold outside. Vick is still property of the Storm, with or without her loyalty compunctions. And she’s an illegal clone. Those two facts make for a lot of potential enemies.