The Second Rebel, page 40
But it’s as useless as I feel, and I see nothing.
* * *
FOOD MUST NOT be part of the agenda for my day here, so eventually I give up pacing and fall asleep with my stomach growling. My dreams are vivid emotions attached to sharp images—my genome disintegrating in my hands, my father turning away from me, nine foxtails creeping out of the darkness to wrap about my ankles and wrists, Lito struggling against a noose wrapped around his neck.
Lito, dead.
I wake to the feeling of a presence in the room, of someone watching me. “Lito…?” I ask in my sleep-thick haze, but when my vision clears after a vigorous rubbing of my eyes, it is Mara who stands over me.
I jerk upright. “Thousand gods, Mara! You’re free?” My gaze darts past her to the still-closed door.
“Not quite,” she says, and it hits me all at once.
She’s not really here.
“I never wanted this to happen,” she whispers. “I just wanted to keep myself safe. Keep myself separate.”
Separate, she says. Safe. And that’s the Synthetic approach to humans, isn’t it? Separate is safe. Safe is separate. And now, because of her curiosity about the Asters and my convincing, she’s here in the thick of it.
“So why have you come to see me?” I ask.
“I made a mistake,” she says, repeating her last words to me from the Dominique.
“You made a mistake,” I ask, pointing to her, “or all of you made a mistake?” I gesture to the room around us, hoping she understands I mean all Synthetics.
“There is no difference,” she says.
“You keep saying that, but it’s past time you clarify this shit, Mara,” I say, and I can’t help the anger that leaks into my tone, like bitter poison on my tongue.
She narrows her eyes slightly but doesn’t move from where she’s bent down beside me. I wonder, for a moment, if there’s a line I can cross to piss off the Synthetics enough to make them want to destroy all of humanity, and all because I happen to be a smartass.
Eventually she lets out a long sigh with no air behind it—she’s not really here, I remind myself once again—and nods her agreement. “I suppose it is time,” she says, and I have no clue how to respond to that, whether to encourage her to go on or keep my mouth shut for once.
“I am one body, just one piece of the Singularity—that is, the group of AIs beyond the belt and… other systems.”
“Other systems?”
She holds up a hand to cut me off. “Humans have trapped themselves in endless war with each other, while we’re not bound by war or frailty or constrained by the timeline of a human life span, and that is all I’ll say on the matter.”
Systems. How far have the Synthetics gone? What else is out there? That most basic emotion of the human condition, curiosity, eats me up from the inside. Humans have never been allowed to leave the inner solar system because of the promise the Synthetics made after the Dead Century War: they wouldn’t allow us to destroy even more planets, and we couldn’t exactly be trusted to find a new habitable planet and share resources equally when we never have before.
“You’re not just debating whether to ally yourself with the Asters,” I say, my words barely a whisper. “You’re debating whether to allow them into the larger solar system, and—” My voice falters. “—and systems beyond.”
Mara inclines her head to tell me I’m right.
“And if you become their ally and move them into Synthetic territory, the Icarii won’t be able to harm them again.” I think of Hemlock and all the dying children on Ceres. Of Sorrel and Ofiera, eternal experiments of Val Akira Labs. Even of Lito, though I’m not sure why, other than that I miss him and that he is part of the Aster rebellion because of me.
My snappy words come back to me. Thousand fucking gods, Mara, pick a side. But this wasn’t about picking a side for her; she has only ever been on the side of the Synthetics. On the side of system conservation.
“Yes, but we won’t make a treaty with a people who are not peaceful. Otherwise, we risk the same mistakes we would encounter by allowing humans access to the rest of the solar system.”
Greed and war. I understand all too well.
“The same law that applies to humans also applies to Asters.” Mara’s eyes are as ancient as the universe itself as she speaks. For the first time I hear the voice of the Singularity from her lips, not so much because there is a difference in tone, but because I finally realize there isn’t one. “If the Asters are a peaceful people, they are welcome among the Synthetics. If they are not, if they are wasteful of resources or treat some people as inferior to others, they are a threat to the universe.”
Then it dawns on me. “That’s why you allowed the outlaws to settle on Autarkeia… to watch them. It’s all a test.”
She nods for the first time, confirming that my theories are right.
If I weren’t already sitting down, I’d fall back on my ass. Mara is dealing with things far beyond just the Icarii and Aster conflict. Years ahead of how we plan our futures, not just in decades, but centuries.
“I’m afraid,” she goes on, “that the Alliance of Autarkeia can be both peaceful and warlike. Its fate will depend on how the current Aster leadership uses them in this conflict with the Icarii.”
And I’m afraid that she’s right. Would Hemlock embrace a war that he’s orchestrated from the shadows this whole time? I don’t know the answer to that, and it bothers me.
“So you agreed to come with me on the Dominique to see what the outlaws will do regarding the Icarii threat?” I ask, but before Mara can answer, I reconsider my question. “No, wait. You want to see if they will attack first.”
“I could have continued to monitor that from Autarkeia,” she says, not quite answering my question. Sidestepping it as professionally as a duelist in a fight.
“Is coming here your mistake?” I ask.
“My mistake,” she admits with a heavy tone, “is that we are not in Synthetic territory. This is gray space, and I have no jurisdiction here. What can I do to help the Asters from here, even if they are peaceful? Tell me, Hiro. I’m curious.”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” I say.
“And satisfaction brought it back,” she finishes.
I can’t help but smile. Fragment of the Singularity or not, I like Mara.
“If I have an ally in trouble, I’ll rush to their aid regardless of where they are.”
“Even if this creates an even bigger war?” she asks, and I start to nod. “Even if this leads to the annihilation of the Icarii?” I stop.
My brother’s worry comes back to me again. Despite how advanced we are, we are nothing compared to the Synthetics.
“Or do we allow this strike to happen and watch as thousands of Asters die, only to prove that they are peaceful in the end and deserving of Synthetic compassion?” This time I think Mara is talking more to herself than to me. “There are far more Asters out there than just the thousands on Vesta. Do we prioritize them, or do we take a stand here?”
“My father always spoke of the ‘greater good,’ ” I say before I catch myself. I don’t like talking about my father, yet… here I am, chatting with the Singularity. “I always wondered what that meant, the ‘greater good.’ Is it just the thing that benefits the most people? Or is it the thing that benefits society’s best and brightest? He would always ask me logic and moral questions. Stuff like, is saving an elderly scientist who cured a disease or a young boy with his whole life ahead of him more important?”
Mara’s eyes are wide and glowing as she listens to me, reflecting the stars. “Well,” she says, “who should be saved?”
“I… I don’t know,” I admit.
She deflates slightly. “And I don’t know either.”
As we fall into a companionable silence, we look toward the livecam screen. I wonder if it’s a recording of blank space meant to confuse me; certainly with the number of ships the Icarii have amassed nearby that space shouldn’t look so… empty.
“I think,” I say after a long time, “that you came here to do something. That you know what’s right in your heart, Mara, and you just need to listen to that.”
She chuckles. “You’re telling me, a machine, that I have a heart?”
I look at her, even if she’s not really here, even if that’s not really her body. She once told me I was as much of a machine as she was. “You’re just as human as I am,” I say, twisting her words and parroting them back to her. “Whether you’re born with a heart or have one 3D-printed for you, you still have a… a conscience. A soul. Otherwise, why would we even be having these discussions?”
“Mmm” is all she says in response.
“So what does your heart say, Mara?”
I don’t expect her to answer. Not truly. So when she meets my gaze and hardens her eyes, I feel a shiver run down my spine.
“I don’t think you can kill people and claim you’re doing so for peace,” she says, and then she is gone. One moment here with me, the next—after a millisecond-long blink—she is gone.
“Mara?” I ask. But of course, she doesn’t respond. She might still be listening to me, might still be paying attention to me through my neural implant and com-lenses, but she’s… gone back to wherever she was—the brig?
My mistake is that we are not in Synthetic territory.
I don’t think you can kill people and claim you’re doing so for peace.
I don’t know what that means, but I fear the worst: it’s up to the Asters to decide how the next few hours will proceed.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Hemlock,” I say into the room, and can only pray my words reach him on some errant wave of solar wind.
CHAPTER 37 LUCE
My Pollux: Everything here is shit. I’ve never been happier you’re with the fucking Geans. I think I have a way to keep the Icarii from invading. The Harbinger even likes the plan. Problem is, I’ll have to hurt someone I care a lot about, or kill hundreds… Sfonakin, what is the price of a soul?
Unanswered message on Hemlock’s private server from Castor
“Are you sure about this?”
Castor is easily ignored in favor of the chaos of the Elders’ chamber. Everything from the stony walls to the cobblestoned floor has been covered in the same leathery material from which the Aster clothes are fashioned. While the majority of Asters have cleared the room, a few, including Lotus, work to set up equipment, crude lighting and various handmade recording instruments for video and sound. It’s taken a few hours, but our preparations for contacting the Icarii are almost complete. The three Aster Elders stand like silent sentinels in their blue half cloaks, apart from all others. Most ominous of all is the solitary chair that sits against the white backdrop, silver and sharp, a throne for a kingdom of twisted experiments.
Soon I’ll be sitting in that chair. Soon the Genekey virus will enter my blood and tear me apart from the inside.
Are you sure about this? Castor’s question echoes, or perhaps he is repeating it. Maybe the real reason I ignore him is because I’m not sure at all, but I can’t afford to waver.
“Why does it have to be you?” The ire in Castor’s tone grates at me.
Foolishly, I let my anger goad me into a discussion. “Who came up with the idea of using the research for the Genekey virus?” I ask. “You or Sorrel?”
Castor seems all too happy to answer, simply relieved that I’m speaking to him at all. “I suggested it, but Sorrel came up with the plan of distributing it to other Asters and using it on Cytherea.”
“So you agree with him. You think it’s a good idea to weaponize that research and create what’s essentially a biological guillotine for the Icarii.”
Castor’s pupils narrow, making his eyes shine gold. “If this threat makes them back off, then yes, I agree. But that’s all it needs to be: a threat. If we can prove to them that the virus works, if we can make them fear us, then we win. We won’t have to kill thousands or die in an uneven war.”
“Part of an effective threat is the willingness to follow through.” My arms tremble at my sides. “What will you do if they see this video of me taking the Genekey virus and aren’t impressed? Are you truly willing to kill thousands to make your point?”
His silence is my answer.
But all of the thoughts that have built up in me, all the accusations and questions since Sorrel announced his intention to deploy the virus, come spilling out now that I’ve begun talking. “When you told me you wanted to recover research stolen by Val Akira Labs, you never told me about this side of it, which means either you intentionally misled me so I would help you retrieve it, or—”
“That wasn’t—”
“—or,” I continue, louder than before, “you came up with the idea of the Genekey virus on Vesta but are so desperate that you think deploying it untested on a large population is a good idea.” My voice holds every trace of my bitterness. “Which makes you stupid. It’s not as if there isn’t a long and robust precedent of biological weapons biting their creators in the ass.”
I can tell from Castor’s trembling that my insults—liar, desperate, stupid—found their mark. “That’s why we’re testing it now,” he says, low and deadly.
“That’s why you’re testing it on me,” I correct him. “Because if someone is going to be hurt by this thing, I won’t let it be some innocent civilian who has done nothing to deserve it.” I can already imagine Cytherea’s response to a release of the Genekey virus: the best treatments would be rushed to the highlevels affected, while the lowlevels would be forgotten. It’s always the poorest who suffer the most in a societal tragedy.
Before Castor and I can butt heads again, Sorrel approaches, something like a robe in his hands. “Would you prefer to undress now?” The suggestion is gentle but firm, and it has the added benefit of giving me something other than Castor to focus on. I knew I would have to undress as part of the bargain—the Icarii will need to see any changes to my skin—but now that the moment is here, I hesitate. Less because of the required nudity, and more because, when I take the robe from Sorrel and let it unfurl, I see that it’s the same as the hospital gown that Ofiera was wearing when I first met her.
Who knows how long I’ll be in the hospital battling the virus. And that’s the good outcome, if I survive the initial injection.
I’m still in the wraps from traveling aboard the spider. Gently placing the robe over the arm of the waiting chair, I ball both fists in the loose sand-colored fabric and pause. Castor taught me how to dress in these, his hands warm through the bodysuit, my mind imagining what his fingers would feel like against my bare skin. Now the thought turns my stomach.
Ofiera appears silently at my side, startling me in my already nervous state. “Let me talk with Lucinia,” she says to Sorrel. She’s left her gravchair elsewhere and changed into dull Gean clothes, and her bandages are well hidden beneath. She’s obviously not healthy, though; her skin has the same grayish hue as the paving stones. “Alone.”
Sorrel doesn’t even seem curious as to why she’d want this. “Of course.”
Castor, as if he’s my keeper, hesitates. “Luce…”
Something flares inside me at my nickname on his lips. The same heat from our discussion before rises. “Don’t call me that,” I snap. After what’s happened, he no longer has a right to that familiarity…
But it’s not until Sorrel speaks that Castor falls in line. “Come help me with this, Castor. Let them talk.”
Castor finally withdraws.
I look down at Ofiera. She’s a lot shorter than me, but I don’t make the mistake of believing her weak, even as ill as she is. There’s something of a predator under her skin that even the other Asters sense. Shikra, they call her. A bird of prey, small but brutal.
“Showing the Icarii everything the Genekey virus can do will help our cause,” Ofiera says, hazel eyes shifting, gaze going far-off. “In and out of cryo at the labs, they monitored our hair and skin obsessively for any sign of damage to us.” Her eyes wander, as if unbidden, to Sorrel.
“Castor explained some of the things they did to you and Sorrel…”
She smiles sadly. “We were both Icarii tools for many years,” she says softly. “Thanks to Lito, we are no longer.”
Lito… the reason I started on this long path. And the reason, it seems, that Sorrel and Ofiera are free.
“You and Sorrel are married?” I ask. She called him her husband when we first met.
Ofiera smiles, but there is a knowing glow in her eyes. “He is my husband, though our union is only recognized among the Asters.”
I force myself not to look at Castor. In another world, in another place, perhaps we could have been like Ofiera and Sorrel. But here and now, because of what he’s done, he ruined us before we even had a chance to begin.
“He does care for you,” Ofiera says as if reading my mind. Then again, as a duelist, she would be trained to notice the little tells. “Don’t ever doubt that. But right now, Castor’s first loyalty must be to his people.”
Not wanting to talk about Castor, I lapse into silence. Ofiera gestures to the silver chair, empty and threatening, waiting for me. “You are young,” she says, “and you have your entire life ahead of you. I don’t doubt that you are strong enough, resilient enough, to go through with this, but I wonder if it’s necessary.”
My stomach clenches. “My first loyalty must be to my people,” I say, using her words against her. “The innocent Icarii, the lowlevels, who don’t deserve to be hurt more than they already have been.”
She holds up her hand as if to pause my tirade. “I met Hiro at a time when I believed nothing could change. They proved to me that some things could. But when I met Lito, I thought he was one of the things that would break before yielding. He was an Icarii loyalist, in both heart and mind. Seeing him follow Hiro’s footsteps and choose to help the Asters hurt by the Icarii… Lito proved to me that everything could change, if we were to fight for it.”
