Rubicon, page 44
// I can assist. As long as we’re within a few meters, I can force a false threat assessment matrix into their HUDs. //
“I can facilitate that with another EM wave,” the Creator said. “If they are all indeed part of the same network, it may create a small power surge that could briefly disable their suits and cause additional hesitations.”
“All right,” she sighed, chewing it over. She tried to force the idea to take shape in her brain, to feel confident about it. But something didn’t sit right. There was too much room for error, certainly, but mostly, it was too … flashy.
They didn’t need to create some grand spectacle to draw the individual attentions of thirty soldiers. In fact, something like that might not even work, considering the circumstances. They needed something to distract the one controlling it all. Something that would distract West.
// No—don’t even think it. It’s too dangerous. //
She growled a sigh.
Why? Because he might kill me?
// It could be so much worse than that, Adriene. You know that. //
Then so be it. I don’t see another way.
// Mira’s ashes. At least let them try the ghosting—//
You were just lecturing me about trusting myself …
// … Well played. //
“I have an idea.” She looked to the Creator. “A way I can distract them—all of them. Be ready on my mark.”
“I will await your signal,” the Creator confirmed.
She hunched into a crouch and crawled toward the staircase.
“Whoa, wait,” Daroga said, worry faltering his weathered tone.
She glanced back. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Just be ready to back us up, okay?”
“Fuck.” Daroga rubbed the top of his helmet. “Yeah, okay. Be careful.”
Adriene picked up her rifle, then crept down the stairs, back to the main entrance.
Open my visor.
// Absolutely not. //
“Dammit,” she growled. “Listen, please. You don’t know West like I do. This will work—you have to trust me. Open my visor.”
// It’s far too—//
“Override,” she demanded, voice hard.
// Dammit … //
She could practically feel the weight of her Rubicon’s chagrin as her visor slid open, flushing her face with a waft of warm, dry air. A trail of sweat wound a path down her brow, stinging her eyes. The unfiltered sounds of the corridor rushed into her ears, a steady thrum of electronics pulsing from the transformer room.
She kept her rifle lowered, but reaffirmed her grip on it, then gave her Rubicon the signal.
The door slid open. The wash of light from the transformer room spilled over her as she stepped inside, heart thrumming.
Icy goose bumps ripped across her skin as thirty spines stiffened simultaneously. Thirty rifles and thirty suits clacked as they turned toward her in horrifying unison.
She stopped at the foot of the stairs, then cleared the panic from her throat. “Julen.”
A single soldier broke from the assembled pack, stepping slowly forward and stopping a few meters in front of her. They stood unmoving for a few long seconds, then a whirr cut through the silence and their visor slid away, revealing the blank-eyed stare of her lieutenant.
He looked both exactly and nothing like Brigham—his too-smooth brow stained with West’s hard-edged stoicism. His light brown eyes at once glazed over and hyper-focused, carrying that same pained, regret-laden warmth West had inflicted on her in the holding cell.
Brigham’s voice came low and cracked, barely audible over the static purr of electric conduits. “I wish I could say I was surprised to see you here, Sergeant.”
She flinched when, at once, the soldiers turned to move. She took a step back, masking her relief with a scowl as they began to spread out their formation. They moved to either side of the vestibule, training their aims on her, creating barriers between her and the exits. Putting their backs to the exits.
“Where did you take the others?” she demanded, hating the way her voice wavered through her racing heartbeat.
“You don’t have to worry about your friends,” Brigham—West said. “They’re on their way to get upgraded now.”
She shook her head. “Why? Why not just kill them and be done with it? Almost a dozen others have already rezoned. What difference would a few more make?”
He lifted his chin. “With the upgrade, I included one other update. One I think you’ll like.”
An acrid taste crept into the back of her mouth.
“I found a way to … ease the burden,” he said in Brigham’s timbre, but with West’s cadence. “They’ll rezone with no memory of what happened. I know it’s not quite the reckoning you wanted. But it is better, yes?”
She exhaled slowly, taking a few seconds to fully digest what he’d said.
It was better. A relief, actually. Their free will had been stripped, but at least they wouldn’t remember the terror of not having control of their own bodies.
A wall of dread erased any relief as she realized what it really meant.
They wouldn’t remember.
No one would know what’d happened. They’d rezone without knowing what killed them. Without knowledge of their location or the hive mind or West’s reckless plan.
She met his eye again. He stared back at her with a pleading softness she’d never seen her lieutenant, or West, exhibit before. His voice came softly as he inclined his head, “I told you I’d find ways to perfect rezoning if given enough time.”
“You had years,” she snapped.
“I know.” His gaze flitted to the ground before returning to meet hers. “I never had much in the way of … motivation to continue my work on that project. Not until I saw your pain, saw all it’d done to you.”
Fury welled hot tears into her eyes.
“I fixed it, Sergeant,” he said, tone earnest. “And it doesn’t require a Rubicon implant. I can implement it across all rezone facilities, immediately—with or without Rubicon. Just stop this, stop fighting me, and join me. And I’ll do it. I promise.”
Her eyes narrowed, cheeks hot. Everything he’d “promised” up to this point had been a complete lie. Any truth he had told had only been in service to his end goals.
West looked back at her through Brigham’s eyes, gaze steady, awaiting her response.
She shook her head. “So you can take everyone’s free will and their memories? No fucking way.”
West’s glare hardened.
Give the signal.
The Creator’s pip flickered into her HUD. It moved toward the entry.
“Is my LT still in there?” she asked, voice wavering.
“Of course he is. That’s how it…” His lips twisted as the warmth faded from his eyes. “You know that.” He glanced back toward the ansible door, then the exit, then back at her. “There isn’t anyone left…” His left hand tremored, and his voice sharpened. “So who is helping you?”
She kept the concern from her face by doubling down on the rising anger, sneering at him. “You just captured my squad and the Stormwalkers, remember? I’m it.”
His jaw flexed, glare flat. “You’ve always been a terrible liar.”
The Creator’s massive frame bent through the southern doorway. In a single leap, he cleared the long stairway, landing at the foot as a purple wash of light flashed over his limbs, shrouding him in electric armor.
The fire of thirty rifles ripped through the chamber, laser and plasma and charged slugs flying to melt uselessly into the seamless shroud of his shield construct. Before they could flee, those in close quarters were caught in the wake as the Creator swung his massive arms in a wide circle.
Rifles were crushed and tossed away, spines snapped, heads freed from their bodies in seconds.
Brigham didn’t flinch, didn’t even turn to look. His eyes stayed locked on Adriene, darkening, expression hardening into fury.
Unbidden, Adriene’s visor slid shut.
// Run. //
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
Adriene’s feet slid as she shuffled backward, trying to tear her gaze away from the horror happening behind Brigham. His shoulders swelled, and he marched toward her.
She spun, but he threw himself at her. They tumbled down, her rifle skidding away as she hit the ground.
Charging her strength with all the power her suit and adrenaline would allow, she turned and thrust her fist into his chest. He tumbled off and slid away.
She reached toward her gun, but he grabbed her ankle and yanked her toward him, snapping her head back against the ground with the sudden jolt.
Twisting, she tried to wrench her leg free, but he already stood over her. He got a firm grip on either side of her chestplate, dragging her a few meters. He hefted her to her feet and slammed her back against a transformer enclosure, knocking the air from her lungs.
Grunting, she reached, fingers stretching toward her grenade compartment. Her hand froze as a wave of sharp electric pain flashed over her skin. Her muscles went slack.
What’s happening?
// He—it’s—//
Staticky feedback rang in her ears.
It’s what?
Her heart raced, limbs trembling. Her skin tingled, and every hair on her body stood on end.
Another shock wave ran through her suit and into her skin, and she clamped her teeth down, a hot wash of coppery saliva flooding her mouth.
// Surge—over—loa—Err—or—//
Stay with me, dammit.
She growled through clenched teeth as white-hot pain sparked along every nerve in her body, limbs and fingers stiffening. Her HUD disappeared from view.
The wave of electricity vanished.
Brigham let go, dropping her to the ground unceremoniously. He stepped back, straight into the massive grip of the Creator.
The metal hand crushed his torso, Brigham’s suit and body crumpling under the force. The Creator tossed him away.
Adriene’s field of vision tilted—brightening, softening, the color washing away.
“Civilian human, small commander needs assistance.”
The Creator disappeared back toward the remainder of Flintlock, his shielded arms swinging.
Breaths short, Adriene pushed up on her elbows and slid back to lean against the transformer case. Her racing heart steadied as the static pain subsided, though her head pulsed with a new, dense, unwavering migraine.
What the hell is happening?
She waited with hitched breath, but no response came.
The glass of her visor flashed with blue static sparks, humming and clicking as it jittered open and closed on an unending loop. She thumbed open her hyphen and flicked the suit into safe mode.
She coughed out, “Retract visor.”
Her suit responded, sliding the glitching glass back into her helmet. The air felt dry and cool, the sounds of gunfire and crunching metal relentless from the vestibule, where the Creator continued to slaughter Flintlock.
She flicked her suit back into standard mode. Hot pain fired behind her eyes, and she clamped them shut, growling through bared teeth.
Where the hell are you?
// He—eer. //
What’s happening?
// He’s hacking me. //
“Shit,” she growled. A hot pressure crushed against her ribs. Flaring pain oscillated behind her eyes.
// He used the physical link to breach my defenses. Now he’s bridging the connection. //
You can stop him, right?
// No. //
She peeled her eyes open and glanced around, though she couldn’t see much of anything through the haze of hot tears.
What about Daroga?
// He won’t be able to fix it, not in time. I can hold West off, but it’s only a matter of time before he wins. Adriene, if—when—he does, you’ll be part of the hive mind too. //
“Fuck.”
A lance of stormy, dark grief flooded through her. But it wasn’t her own.
// You have to destroy me. //
What? No—
// Yes. //
Her crushing headache pulsed with more agony.
I can’t.
// You can. You have to. //
Her eyes fell on her suit’s low-power indicator. Bile climbed the back of her throat. She glanced to the side, at the transformer enclosure she leaned against.
// T-grade or higher. It’ll work. //
I’ll die too.
// It’ll stop your heart, yes. But that can be resolved. Within thirty seconds. //
Dread settled heavily on her shoulders. Another spike of white-hot pain fired behind her eyes. She clamped them shut, huffing out throttled breaths through her teeth.
With a waft of sweat and evergreen, Daroga arrived.
She tried to cling to the scent, tried to use it to draw herself back from the blinding pain.
“Adri,” Daroga’s clipped voice cut through—both in comms and through the air—he must have had his visor down as well. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
She focused on the delay between Daroga’s two voices, letting the strange detail center her thoughts. Sucking in a breath, she tried to ignore the searing pain behind her eyes. “West’s hacking my Rubicon.”
“Shit.” Daroga ripped his tablet from his belt, but Adriene put out a hand to stop him.
“There’s nothing you can do—not in time. He says I have to short him out.”
Daroga shook his head, eyes wide. “That’ll kill you too—you’ll rezone.”
“Only after thirty seconds…”
Daroga opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He glanced around, horrified, then sucked in a breath. “I need a defibrillator or—”
“Use your suit.” She took his wrist and peeled open his gloved hand, pulling the palm to her chestplate. Her hands trembled. “The current will work the other way.”
Daroga’s wide-eyed stare drifted down to his hand, and he didn’t respond.
She lifted her shaking fingers to his chin and pushed his gaze back up, locking eyes with him. “It’ll work.”
“What if I can’t bring you back?”
“You can do it, I know you can. But if something goes wrong, you take the Creator, and you finish it. Promise me.”
He stared back at her for a moment before his haunted gaze hardened, and nodded, resolute. “I promise.”
She pulled him into a kiss, warmth rushing through her, curbing the waves of pain.
“Either way,” she said, “I’ll see you on the other side, right?”
He gave a weak, exhausted smile. “Right.”
“Maybe we’ll even be assigned the same prison barracks.”
His breath caught with a pained laugh and he pressed his forehead into hers.
She flinched as a bolt of electric pain sent her head spinning.
// We need to do this. Soon. I can’t hold him off much longer. //
She steadied herself with a deep breath. “I need to get to the inside of the transformer.” She jutted her chin toward the access panel beside her.
“Yes, yes,” Daroga said quickly, crawling up to it. “Uh, Tool Mode A3.” A drill extended from the top of his glove and he began unscrewing the bolts holding the access panel in place.
Pain blinded Adriene’s vision again, and she clamped her eyes shut as she waited.
// I’m sorry it has to be this way. I wanted to be there for you in the end. //
You were—you are. You’ve been everything I needed you to be.
// … I have? //
She swallowed, bitter angst filling her chest. She’d known it for a long time, but kept it down—hadn’t let it rise from her subconscious, let herself fully believe it. That he was the real reason she’d remembered how to give a shit again. Helped her keep hold of that last shred of empathy. That she’d still be an empty shell—a husk of a human—if it weren’t for him. That this AI West had inflicted her with had saved her humanity.
Then she felt it again, that layer of emotion that wasn’t her own. A warmth spread through her chest: contentment that she truly felt that way, that he’d done something right, that turning against his maker and choosing her had been the right decision.
But it was tinged, stained with threads of regret and sadness. The overwhelming sense of it being too soon.
There was a whole universe out there—so much more to do, to see, to feel. He’d just started to feel.
All that would be gone soon, and he would disappear … to where? He knew he’d be gone from her, that he wouldn’t see through her anymore, feel the world through her, think and worry and laugh through her, but he’d still have to be somewhere, wouldn’t he? Or would there be nothing, just blackness, emptiness, trapped in an interminable night?
Nothing in his endless banks of data told him what came after.
Grief cut through his thoughts, and his distress melted away as he refocused on her. No matter the depth of his worries, he couldn’t neglect her.
Don’t be scared of your mortality.
Relief filled her chest as his anxiety subsided, waning in the wake of her sentiment.
It’s the most human thing you can feel.
// How did you know I was thinking about that? //
I guess I get to read your thoughts now too.
// Good. Now you know how it feels. //
She scoffed a dry laugh, tears welling in her eyes.
// Don’t worry, I don’t have regrets. //
I don’t know where I’d be right now if I hadn’t had you as an ally the last few months. As a friend. Thank you for choosing me.
// No, thank you. It may have been a short life, but I couldn’t have asked for a better conduit through which to experience the human condition, however briefly. //
She sucked in a slow, deep breath. “Ready?” she asked, voice thin.
// To leave you? Never. //
She pressed her eyes closed over hot tears. Flashes of white and shifting patterns of color danced behind her eyelids.
Another burst of pain cracked through her skull. West was getting closer.
“Got it,” Daroga said, voice wavering.
She shifted, twisting her torso toward the open panel. She tried to lift her arm, but her muscles were weak, limp. “I—help.”
