Rubicon, page 38
Adriene stared at the bottle and the packet.
Rezoning. The thought sent a lance of fire through her chest.
In light of everything, she’d almost forgotten what Daroga had told her. That West had invented rezone tech. That he couldn’t deactivate her chip.
That there was no chip.
Heat pulsed in her bruised cheek, and she glanced down to mask her rising anger. If she admitted what she knew, there’d be exactly one person West would blame. And she could not drag Daroga into this. She had to pretend she didn’t know.
“If you want—” Her voice broke into a dull crack. She cleared her throat and tried again. “If you want me gone, why not just deactivate my rezone chip? Then kill me?”
His gaze swept over her, steady, but shielded. Careful. “In truth, I was not entirely honest about that situation, Sergeant. I cannot deactivate your chip.”
She ground her teeth, recalling all too easily how it’d felt when Daroga had first told her. She let her raw, shocked anger slip through to her expression. “Why not?”
With a crackling sigh, West looked down at his boots. “Because there is no chip.”
“No rezone chip?”
“No. You are the chip. A synthetic construct. The rezone process is intrinsic to the very matter you are made of. I cannot stop your rezones; it is a physical impossibility.”
Heat swelled in her chest, fury deadening the already-dull sounds of the chamber. It’d been one thing to hear Daroga say it, but another to hear West admit it. She wanted nothing more than the ability to break her tether and punch through the glass so she could strangle him.
She pushed a breath out her nose, mustering the resolve to respond. “There’s no way to stop rezones? Ever?”
His head shook slowly. “There are methods that might increase the likelihood of a failed transfer. Even then, nothing is guaranteed. I did my job quite well in that regard.”
It wasn’t hard to feign her anger at the reminder of his next life-shattering lie. Her brow furrowed deep, cheeks on fire as she glared up at him. “What do you mean your job?” She took a quick step closer to the glass, but the tether cut her short before she could touch it.
A flash of regret flitted across his single hazel eye. “I didn’t intend for you to find out this way.”
Her lips twitched as she growled, “You didn’t intend for me to find out ever.”
“That’s true.”
Her gaze raked over his metal chest and arm. “You haven’t even used your own technology—why? Because you thought it’d make you even more artificial?”
“Truthfully, yes. Which is exactly why I kept the details of the husk technology a secret. If everyone knew what they really were…” His metal fingers trembled, and he clenched a fist. “I imagine there would be difficulty adapting. Much like the issues I’ve had with my cybernetics, though I’m sure it would be far, far worse. It’s better if they do not know they are constructs. It stirs up quite the existential crisis once you’re aware.”
“No shit,” she spat. “Forget whether telling people is right or wrong—doing it to start with is wrong. How could you keep that from me? This whole time?”
He eyed her carefully. “It was High Command’s decision,” he said, a thread of defensiveness in his tone. “They knew recruits would be far less likely to undertake a rezone contract if they knew that detail. So they plead willful ignorance.”
She let out an indignant laugh.
West’s brow furrowed, and he stepped closer to the plastic barrier. “I understand why you blame me for all the pain rezoning has caused you. But you should know—it’s High Command who rushed it. I could have found better ways to make the process smoother, less traumatic, more complete … if given time. But I was forced to pass it over to CNEF and their cretinous excuses for ‘programmers’ well before I should have.”
Adriene glowered. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
The muscles in his jaw tightened. “They only wanted something that worked, not something that worked well. I will not make that same mistake with Rubicon. And I won’t have to. Our success with this campaign—the intel you’ve retrieved, your loyalty in completing the missions … If you hadn’t come back with the Architect, I may have never discovered the key to the framework on my own. Thanks to you, I’ll be able to implement and distribute Rubicon’s full capabilities without ever turning it over to High Command.”
“You should fucking turn it over to High Command.”
He shook his head. “How can you say that, after everything they’ve put you through?”
“Them?” she shouted, her dry voice grating in the harsh echo of the room. “What about everything you’ve put me through? You’ve done nothing but use, manipulate, and lie to me since the second we met.”
His brow wrinkled, and again, he looked truly remorseful. Which was beyond fucking infuriating. “I apologize for that, truly,” he said, tone calm, steady. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but … after reviewing the transcript your VI sent, I felt that if I told you the truth about your rezone chip, you would not agree to the assignment. And finding you…” He pinched his chin, shaking his head slowly. “It really was a needle in a haystack.”
She glared. “I was the first new recruit in months,” she rasped. “It was just luck.”
His lips pressed thin. “I suppose you believe Thurston recruited you?”
“I know he did.”
West shook his head. “I’d been compiling data for months—well, years, really. Narrowing in on what I had hoped would be the perfect candidate for the AI upgrade.”
Adriene’s breath slowed, eyes defocusing.
“There were many factors,” he continued in a quiet, measured tone. “A consciousness’s separation from the original body is one. However imperceivable, something is lost with each rezone. Hybridization was another, more drastic step in that same direction. A hybridized mind carves certain pathways that remain with each iteration. Despite new brain matter, the mind unconsciously re-forms them after each rezone.
“But through my simulations, I discovered an equally important element. Apathy. The instinctual part of the mind that attempts to keep a human alive is a large factor in preventing the Mechan consciousnesses from carrying through a rezone. An artificial intelligence can’t conceptualize nonexistence the same way a human can, so the human is prone to win out every time. The less the human values their mortality, the more likely a cohesion can be found.
“So when your file crossed my desk, I thought it was too good to be true. You were a perfect storm of circumstance: a high number of rezones, a successful two-weeks-long hybridization—the longest on record—and a psych profile labeled ‘apathetic but functional.’ Alongside a habitual tendency to decline psychotherapeutic treatments. Taken together, they allowed your mind to accept the AI.”
The muscles in Adriene’s neck and jaw cramped as she wrung them tight, and she couldn’t form words or even the barest sliver of a thought on how to respond.
West took a step closer to the glass, mere centimeters from her. “Did you really think the 505th would kick grunts up from ground assault to fill our ranks?” He leaned in, his hot breath fogging the glass. “The only reason you’re here is because of me.”
Her mind raced as she processed the admission. Her instinct was to call bullshit—to call bullshit on every word that came out of his mouth.
But she knew, deep down, there was truth to it. Bringing up a career specialist from the 803rd to be a sergeant in the 505th was like asking a trail guide to step in as a surgeon.
Iron-tinged saliva filled her mouth, and her voice wavered when she spoke. “I’m guessing that means you’re responsible for what happened to Cash?”
His hazel eye narrowed.
“My squad said his implant ‘overloaded,’” she continued. “And he was so messed up after, he couldn’t get cleared to be refit with a Rubicon, so he got reassigned. You tried to test the upgrade on him, and he melted down. Like I almost did.”
West gave a slow shake of his head. “In truth, no. I knew it wouldn’t work on him, I only did it because I needed to make room for you.”
She stared, stunned at his point-blank admission.
He sighed. “It was the easiest way to push through a reassignment.”
“That doesn’t mean you just kill him!”
“That man was an abusive lunatic,” West growled, tone clipped. “And I did not kill him, I zeroed him out. He’s alive and well.”
A horrified laugh escaped Adriene’s throat. “Only someone who’s never rezoned could say that with a straight face.”
West glared. “I did Flintlock—and your teammates—a service in getting rid of that man. Besides, do you understand the bureaucratic circus that would have had to happen to get that done any other way? I needed you. So I found a way to get you.”
“I bet you think I should be thanking you for bringing me here? That you saved me from some cursed existence in the 803rd?”
“No.” West stepped back, shaking his head. “If anything, I should be the one thanking you. You moved my research forward months, maybe years, in a matter of a few weeks. Without your brain to study, I would never have been able to figure out how to adapt the Architect’s directive to our biology. Now that I’ve seen how it worked for you, I can replicate the same pathways in the others’ brains.”
She shuddered, sweat stinging her eyes.
“Yes, the process may be painful,” he continued. “But it will work. And that is all that matters. The pain will be fleeting.”
She swallowed back a swell of bile. “So, this really is your ‘final and resounding defeat’?” she muttered, her tone equal parts disgust and fury. “Turning us all into fucking scrappers?”
“An acceptable sacrifice.”
“It’s really not.”
“It’s the only way we will ever win this war.”
“West, you can’t—”
“Humans are too independent,” he insisted. “We cannot possibly work as a cohesive whole without intervention. We are not fighting an army, we are fighting a hive mind. A singular entity. We must respond in kind. To even have a chance at survival, we must meet them on equal footing.” He drew in a breath, his firm tone impassioned, vehement. “All we’ve been able to do for twenty years since the Brownout is stay afloat—if anything, we’re worse off than when we started, hemmed in with that dying star. Mira’s sun will consume us—mankind will exhale its final breaths in that doomed system, all because we couldn’t break the Mechan blockade.” He took another step toward the glass, his fervent tone softening as he gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head. “We have to fight fire with fire, Sergeant. You know this.”
She shook her head. “As a final recourse.”
“That impasse has arrived.”
“No, it hasn’t,” she pleaded, her outrage waning into supplication. “You said yourself rezoning has only just allowed us to go on the offensive. It’s only been four years; give it a few more.”
West’s shoulders swelled, hard voice reverberating against the plastic wall. “And how many more humans will have had to endure how many rezones in the interim? How many true biological beings made synthetic because we have to throw them like cannon fodder at the problem?”
Adriene’s heart raced, the pressure in her chest writhing.
“Your entire generation has known nothing but war,” he went on, “nothing but Mechan oppression. Imagine if we could end that now. Give peace to our progeny? Before the Mechan succeed or Mira consumes us?”
She pushed her sweaty hair off her forehead with the back of her cuffed wrists. “No,” she insisted. “Not like this. Not by any means necessary. You can’t just hybridize everyone.” Her voice came out tinged with unavoidable fury. She cleared her throat, pouring all her effort into focusing on her desperation instead of her anger. “You help soldiers—you keep them safe. That’s what Rubicon does; that’s why you created it. To help them, not to control them.”
“This is helping them. This is the only path to ensure our freedom.”
She shook her head, her metal tether pulling taut as she tried to step closer. “It doesn’t have to be. Think of everything we could learn from the Architect—centuries of intel left to unearth. All that data we worked so hard to gather. Flintlock will help you. I’ll help you. We can plan a safer offensive, plan an end to—”
“Not,” he snapped. “In. Time.”
She held his gaze, his brusque words hanging in the air between them.
Her quiet voice cut through the silence like a knife. “In time for what?”
West looked down at his boots. His hand rested on his hip, chest swelling as he heaved a pained sigh. The fingers of his metal hand tremored against his metal hip.
Her shoulders drooped, realization weighing heavy on her weary muscles. That’s why he’d started taking risks, accelerating missions, circumventing standard procedures. Why he’d killed Cash, why he’d pushed the untested AI upgrade … why he’d recruited her as his proxy. Why he’d lied to her, told her everything she wanted to hear to get her to help him. All because he didn’t know if he’d live to see it through.
“Sir, I…” She cleared the hesitation from her throat, calling up what few dregs of empathy she had left to force the lie out. “I’m sorry, I really am.”
His brow furrowed deeper, but he didn’t respond.
“I’d be far too much of a hypocrite if I told you to just suck it up and rezone. But you can trust us to carry it through—the 505th, Flintlock, Thurston, the other commodores. Me. If you tell us what you know, share your intel, collaborate … it might take a few years, but it will be the resounding defeat you want. Without having to risk so much.”
His lips pressed into a grim line. “You place far too much faith in them, Sergeant.”
“Maybe,” she admitted. “But what I know for certain is that if you do this, now, like this … it’s only a matter of time before the Mechan capture one of us and figure out how you did it. If they learn how to successfully hybridize through a rezone…” She shook her head slowly. “You’re right; it might expedite the end of the war. But not in our favor.”
“That is precisely why we must act decisively, without hesitation.” He cast a glance across the yellow-tinged holding cell. “Which, in turn, is why I must take such drastic measures to ensure you do not interfere.”
“West, you—”
“Your team will be returning shipside shortly,” he said, tone unyielding. “It would be a shame for them to endure another rezone so soon after the last.”
Her mouth dropped open, warring fear and disbelief suppressing her ability to formulate a response.
“If that is not enough,” he continued, and his hardened hazel eye locked onto hers. “Specialist Harlan Rhodes, Private Dominic Booker, and Private Amailia McGowan just rezoned at a facility in Sector Twelve.”
Adriene froze, the blood draining from her face. The base of her skull burned with scratching stabs of pain. Her Rubicon, clawing to break free. But he couldn’t reach her.
West tilted his head. “I’m under the impression these people mean something to you.”
She drew in a series of stilted breaths and tried to shake her head, but it was pointless—she knew her fury was written all over her face.
“You have no need to be concerned,” he said, dry assurance in his tone. “So long as you sit quietly.” He jutted his chin toward the food and water he’d kicked through. “And keep yourself alive. Your easiest assignment yet, Sergeant.”
Her Rubicon scraped again, and she grimaced, lifting her hands to try to scratch the back of her neck, but the restraints cut her short.
West rubbed his chin. “I realize your Rubicon is likely trying to break itself free.” He pulled a small tablet from his belt, then tapped on the screen. “So, forgive me, but I’ll need to keep its power source depleted, just in case.”
A sharp prick fired into her wrists under the metal of the cuffs. A warm tingle crept up the insides of her arms.
“I’ll return to feed and water you.” West’s stoic visage twisted in her vision. He turned horizontal, then jittered, duplicating as he spun slowly.
Her legs buckled, knees hitting the floor before she collapsed to the side, muscles going slack as numbness overtook her.
West sighed. “I think I will take some of your advice, Sergeant.” He glanced down at his quivering metal fingers, then slowly closed his fist to suffocate the tremor. “We need to get the Aurora on the right path. I’m going to go share what I’ve learned with the commodore.”
West turned, and his cybernetic leg dragged as he limped away. The cell door sealed shut behind him.
The lights dimmed, and Adriene fell into darkness.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
The sand, once again—smothering, suffocating, paralyzing. Missiles shrieked overhead. Metal groaned on metal. The crucible approached.
With a flash, the chaos ceased.
She stood, battered and bruised, in the rocky cavern. A hollow, nebulous dissociation consumed her. Her limbs detached, her consciousness drifting, uncoupled from her presence. A spectator in her own body.
Her legs moved beneath her, her steps stilted and lumbering. She strove against it, begged for control, but she could not resist.
Her traitorous feet brought her to a Mechan ship. Inside, a pair of Troopers analyzed her for days—scans, blood draws, biopsies. All the while, hunger roiled in her stomach, her lips parched with a brutal, unrelenting thirst.
Finally, they deployed her.
For seven days, the hive mind piloted her like a marionette, luring squads from the 803rd into traps to hybridize or kill them. Seven days that felt like a year—every second slow, brutal, torturous.
She woke from that nightmare into another—languishing on the floor of the small cell they kept her in. She strove to shut out the chattering hive mind, the ubiquitous voice of an entity at once singular and numberless.
A familiar, static pulse stung at the back of her eyes, sending a tingling ripple along her nerves. Her legs twitched, but she didn’t rise. She no longer could, no matter their recurrent, insistent commands.
