Devil in the Device

by Lora Beth Johnson

  “Sands neg,” he breathed, scrambling for the graftling wand. This wasn’t purposed to happen.

  “Sands neg wha—?” Meta broke off into a scream.

  Her full body seized, but the magic held her aplace. Her fingers clawed, then flattened. Her back arched, and her screams grew louder.

  “Meta!”

  Zhade’s finger clumsyish brushed through the spell on the wand, but he recked what he had to do. It was like falling, opening, letting go. He reached out with the Crown and dove into the magic. Suddenish, he recked what he’d done. Where it had all gone wrong.

  He’d wished, mereish as Tsurina had said. He’d thought bout how Meta wasn’t full tall and wanted a solution. He’d imagined bout her hair needing to grow. He’d wished he could make her exactish like Tsurina.

  The Crown was giving it to him.

  Fishes and wishes.

  Meta was screaming, her voice shredded. She convulsed on the couch, her body shifting and morphing. Bones breaking, skin stretching. Zhade clamped his hands on her arms, trying to hold her still, to stop her thrashing, but her attempts mereish grew stronger, her screaming growing louder, til—

  It stopped. She let out a high moan and fell silent. Zhade released her.

  Meta opened her pale eyes.

  Sole, they weren’t pale anymore.

  They were brown, like Tsurina’s.

  “What . . . was that,” she croaked, and behind the hoarseness, she even sounded like Tsurina. The raspy purr of her voice.

  Meta looked down and gasped.

  “What did you do?”

  She stood, and Zhade followed her with his eyes, up, up, up. She was now nearish a head taller than Zhade. She threw her hands out to steady herself.

  “Sands,” Zhade breathed. What had he done?

  Meta stared back, hands feeling the length of her new body, then tangling into her new long brown hair. “I’m . . . her . . .”

  “Sorries,” Zhade gasped. “Sorries, I can fix it.”

  “Neg. This . . . this is perfect.”

  Her face broke into a grin, and Zhade gaped at her.

  “Evens,” Meta said through Tsurina’s voice, tongue, lips. “Let’s go rule Eerensed.”

  TEN

  00110001 00110000

  Andra stared at Griffin’s clone, trembling. The lights seemed to dim, and the fabric-draped walls closed in on her.

  “You’re the solution, Andromeda,” Griffin repeated. “Well, you and Rashmi.”

  “How? Why?”

  This was it. She was about to learn the reason she was created.

  “It’s . . . complicated.”

  Griffin walked back to her work’station and unplugged a translucent reset tool—like the one that had upgraded Andra’s tech to interface with Eerensedian tech. This one was shorter but sharper, and instead of a pastel rainbow of colors, it shone neon green.

  “So far,” Griffin said, “cryonic glass is the only thing the entropics haven’t learned to penetrate, and it’s only because they haven’t been exposed to enough of it. Given time, they will learn how, and no one will be safe.”

  Learn. Adapt.

  Andra thought about how the bio’dome had been created with the same metallic glass as the cryo’tanks. The composition was slightly different, but the pockets had learned how to burst through that when it was weakened, when Andra had been in danger and accidentally called to it for help. Had she taught the pockets how to breach the one material that could hold it? Certainly not. She had the small pocket still trapped in the mini’dome back in the Vaults. It hadn’t escaped so far.

  “I still hope one day,” Griffin continued, “that we can take humanity to Holymyth, but it’s been nearly a thousand years, as you pointed out, and it’s time for plan B.”

  Andra lifted her eyebrows. “Plan B?”

  “I think I’ve finally discovered a way to protect humanity from the entropics.”

  She held out the reset tool. Andra took it, weighing it in her hand. It glowed green in the dim rosy light, an energy coursing through it, brushing up against her nanos. It almost felt alive.

  “What is it? It’s like the reset tool you—she gave Zhade.”

  “You used it?” Griffin asked.

  Andra nodded.

  “Good. I’m sure you noticed that it not only upgraded you, but made you impervious to the entropics.”

  Andra almost dropped the reset tool. The ice-pick dagger had done that? It was starting to make sense. She’d controlled the pocket in the throne room. She’d been able to harvest part of one and capture it. And then, just moments ago, she’d been surrounded by a pocket and it hadn’t harmed her.

  “It upgraded your system to mask your own nanos. Like . . . dressing them up in disguise. The code that runs through your nanos is cloaked in a code similar to that of an entropic. It’s like . . . how vaccines are coded into humans’ ’implants. It tricks the body into thinking it has the virus, so it can learn how to attack it. But with this, your upgrade tricks the anomalies into thinking you’re one of them, so they won’t attack.”

  The hair on the back of Andra’s neck stood up. Since stabbing herself with the reset tool, she’d been immune to pockets, sure. But that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. The dead nanos. The voices. The urge to destroy.

  She cleared her throat. “Would this have any side effects? Like converting my tech into actual anomalies? Or killing my own nanos?”

  “It shouldn’t.” Griffin’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Are you having issues with your programming?”

  Andra opened her mouth to tell her yes, but her mind drifted to the rows of clones. Clearly, Griffin viewed bodies as disposable. If Andra let on that something was wrong—that something in her might be corrupted—maybe Griffin would see her body as disposable too. Andra’s memories would be uploaded into a computer and then shoved into another body.

  “No. Just curious.”

  Griffin sat back down in her ergo’chair, crossing her legs. “It’s perfectly harmless, I promise. And while we can’t give the colonists the same code . . . since they’re human . . . we can provide them a similar upgrade to their neural’implants. That’s where the reset tool comes in. I call it an anomalizer.”

  Andra clutched it to her, the sickly green glow shining between her fingers, her knuckles gone white. “Can we do that while they’re still in stasis?”

  “Unfortunately, we’ll have to wake them up first. We can start with a small group. For instance, just the LAC scientists. Then they can help you with the remainder of the colonists. And that—I’m sure you’ve realized—will free up some cryo’plating to use on the rocket. This upgrade is, of course, only a temporary measure. The goal is still to get to Holymyth.”

  “What does this all have to do with me?”

  Griffin’s clone nodded to the anomalizer. “You’ll be upgrading the colonists.”

  “Me?” Andra choked. “But I . . . But you . . . Why can’t—”

  “I can’t risk going back to Eerensed right now.” Griffin swiveled back to the work’station. “After the way things ended . . . if they saw me, it would be chaos. But that’s not why it has to be you. The upgrade only works if it’s run through either your or Rashmi’s matrices.”

  “What? Why?”

  Griffin pulled another holo’display. It was filled with code, just like the ’display of Griffin’s memories, but not nearly as complicated. Andra still had no idea what she was looking at.

  Griffin pointed to a line of code. “The programming inside the anomalizer is generic. On its own, it won’t work.” She switched the ’display to view a tech scan of an ’implant. Wires and nanos stretched out from the ’implant into the shape of a human brain. “Each ’implant is so . . . intertwined with the host’s brain, the code inside evolves to become unique for each person. The anomalizer is meant
to mask the user’s signature.” The lines of wires and nanos turned a bright green, still forming the same shape, moving along the same pathways. “But since each signature is unique, it’s not one-size-fits-all. Each time you upgrade a colonist, the code has to be attuned to the individual in order to work with their tech effectively. Only an AI can do that.” The image on the screen changed to the deep black of the pockets.

  Andra blinked. She was sure she would understand this if she had access to her AI state, but as she was currently stuck in her human mind, it made no sense to her.

  “I . . . can’t.” Andra felt her cheeks redden. “I . . . don’t have access to my AI consciousness. It comes and goes, but I don’t have control over it.”

  Griffin gave Andra a pitying look. “We’ll work on that later, together, if you’d like. But for now, you don’t need to be conscious of the process. Your central matrix can work . . . independently of your consciousness. It’s like . . . an instinct . . . or breathing. You don’t have to think about breathing to do it. Your subconscious keeps you breathing, even when you aren’t focused on it.”

  Andra grimaced. “Maybe more like keeping my heart beating. I can make myself breathe. I can’t make my own heart beat.”

  Griffin took Andra’s hand. “Oh, Andromeda. One day you will.”

  Andra looked away.

  “But for now”—Griffin shut down the holo’displays—“it’s all set up. All you have to do is connect your upgrade tool to the anomalizer. Jack yourself in. The anomalizer connects into the colonists’ emergency ports. No invasive surgery or anything. Just press the button and go. You literally can’t mess this up.”

  Wanna bet? Andra thought. But something else was bothering her.

  “How did you know about my upgrade tool? I thought you . . . the last Griffin didn’t give it to Zhade until right before her execution. How did she upload that memory?”

  Griffin frowned. “She didn’t. But she’d been planning it for a while. I assumed the boy would be successful in finding you.”

  “Assumed? You did all of this without knowing for sure I was alive?”

  Griffin shrugged. “If you hadn’t been, I would have had to keep working to find the answer.” She smiled, flashing a row of straight white teeth. “But now you’re here. You can be the answer.”

  Andra tried to smile back but couldn’t. She had thought there was some deep purpose, some specific reason for her creation that she would now fulfill to save the world. But this was just . . . luck. Accident.

  “You can do this. I have faith in you.” Griffin leaned forward to examine Andra. “You know, the first Griffin was always so proud of you. She always said you were her greatest achievement.”

  Andra shifted her weight. “Really? Not Rashmi?”

  “Rashmi was the prototype. You were the product.”

  Andra tried to smile, but that wasn’t flattering to either her or her counterpart.

  “I . . .” She cleared her throat and sat on the edge of the sofa. “Is that . . . all? I can’t do more? Or was there something else? Like, some reason I was created, that I need to fulfill? Like a purpose?”

  Griffin clasped her hands in front of her, bouncing her crossed leg. “You were created to help humanity. In any way you could. There was no . . . specific purpose. No reason. We wanted to see if we could create True AI, and we could. And now you’re here, and you have the ability to help me save humanity.”

  “Oh.”

  Andra stared at her feet. That was it? That wasn’t right. It didn’t feel . . . true. Andra had thought there was something deep inside her, some reason she existed. And if she could just find it, realize it, it would give her existence meaning. But there was no meaning. She was just . . . a tool to be wielded when needed.

  “It’s late.” Griffin stood, oblivious to the despair rising in Andra. “You’ve had a long journey. Can I get you something to eat?”

  “Certz.”

  Griffin exited, leaving Andra alone with her thoughts. The office started to shrink around her. Instead of being homey, the curtain-draped walls and dim lighting felt claustrophobic. There was too much furniture, and Griffin’s work’station was a mess. Andra started pacing.

  She had no purpose, at least nothing unique to her. She was just . . . there to perform random tasks that happened to come up. That wasn’t enough for Andra. She wanted there to be a reason, a plan, a destiny. She wanted it to be grand and important and epic.

  She wanted to save humanity.

  All of humanity, not just the colonists.

  Once she figured out how to run the upgrade on the ’implants, she would figure out a way to ’implant the Eerensedian population, so they too could be protected. It wouldn’t save the environment or rid the world of pockets. But it was a start.

  She now saw the path in front of her. Wake the colonists. Upgrade them. Create the rocket with their help. And with the cryo’chambers empty, she would have the cryo’plating she needed. She’d found the answers she was looking for.

  So why did she feel so . . . hopeless?

  She wrinkled her nose and stood, crossing to Griffin’s work’station. Maybe if she looked at the code for the anomalizer, her AI brain would understand, even if her human consciousness didn’t.

  She flipped open the holo’display, reaching out with her nanos. The work’station was abuzz with complex, intricate code. Streams of data ran vertically in a green light. This was what was left of the original Griffin. A collection of sensations converted into computer code.

  Which was basically what Andra was.

  She started to run a search for the anomalizer. Billions of files came up, organized chaos. Memories and feelings and—

  She was sitting in a hospital waiting room. The lights were harsh. Somewhere down the hall an alarm was blaring. She knew—

  Andra jerked back to herself, sitting hard on the ergo’chair. Her muscles ached, her lungs burned.

  What had just happened?

  It had been different than a sim. It wasn’t like the memories that popped out of her holocket. She hadn’t been pretending to experience the moment as she watched it play out in a holo. She felt like she had just lived that moment. That the experience had been as real to her as any of her own.

  She’d just experienced one of Griffin’s memories. Was this why the clone felt so much like Griffin? Had she lived through these moments as though they were her own?

  “Feeling all right?” Griffin’s clone said from the doorway.

  “Yeah,” Andra breathed, not wanting to admit she’d peeked into Griffin’s memories. “Just . . . tired.”

  “Well, this will help.” She set a tray of synth’food in the shape of various fruits and vegetables on the work’station in front of Andra.

  Andra’s stomach growled.

  “I guess I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” she said awkwardly, and dug in.

  Griffin sat down on the couch and tossed her legs up. “So, do you have any questions for me?”

  Andra watched her for a moment. She hadn’t known Griffin well, but it was still uncanny how much this clone not only looked and sounded but acted like Griffin.

  “I can’t think of any,” Andra said. “But I’m sure some will come up. Is there a way I can contact you?”

  “Oh, of course.”

  Griffin reached into her pocket and tossed Andra a small comm disc, which Andra failed to catch. It thumped quietly onto the carpeted floor, and Andra awkwardly bent to pick it up and stash it in her pocket.

  “Unfortunately, there are . . . some issues with the LAC annex at the moment. Too many of the buildings around Riverside were faradayed too well, and messages are hard to transmit in and out of Eerensed. So you’ll need to be outside the city walls to contact me. There’s limited power, so you’ll want to use it sparingly. But don’t worry, Andromeda.” She sat forward. “
I know you can do this. I believe in you. Whatever issues you come across, you’ll be able to figure out. You’re . . . well, you’re an AI, after all. Learn, adapt, as your mother would say. That’s what you do.”

  “I’ll wake my mom up first.”

  Andra took another bite of her food as her mind raced. She’d avoided looking up her family, knew she would be too tempted to wake them if she knew where their cryo’tanks were. But now she had a reason. Her mom would know what to do, could help. Even if there were some issues to work through—like her mom lying about what Andra was her whole life.

  Isla Watts was a genius. Probably as smart as Griffin. With Isla awake, they could upgrade the colonists and build the rocket in no time. Maybe she’d even help Andra save the Eerensedians as well. They would work together, and Isla would finally see Andra’s value. She was no longer an underachiever. She was no longer lazy or too hung up on words or her books. She was finally doing what Isla had always wanted for her. Working for the LAC.

  Griffin cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to tell you this, but . . .”

  Andra froze, stomach plummeting, and she knew what Griffin was going to say before she said it.

  Grief lined Griffin’s face. “Andromeda, your mother is dead.”

  The tray of food clattered to the floor. The room spun. Andra tried to reach out for support but fell heavily to the ground.

  Isla was dead.

  Dr. Isla Watts, the most renowned cryonic ethicist and astro-eco theorist to ever live—

  —was dead.

  Andra’s mom was dead.

  She choked back a sob, covering her mouth. Tears dripped down her face onto her hands, the carpet.

  Destroy.

  “Andra?”

  Griffin’s voice.

  Everything was blurred by tears. Griffin helped her up, and Andra fought back a wave of nausea.

  “I’m so sorry,” Griffin said. There was something in the tenor of her voice—something deeper than hurt. To someone who didn’t know her, she’d have seemed unmoved, but Andra could see the grief in her eyes. Eyes that looked just like her son’s. Grief that didn’t quite belong to her. Something she must have seen in a memory of one of her past selves.