Devil in the Device

by Lora Beth Johnson

  The Icebox seemed to shrink, her vision darkening, breath shortening. This was all happening too quickly. She had to leave. Let Cruz deal with all this. Let Skilla worry about what would happen if the colonists left the Icebox. Or Zhade. Someone else could take care of the consequences. She turned to go, searching for a path through the crowd, but a voice broke through the roar of a thousand voices.

  “ANDRA!”

  Her vision cleared, and a small figure darted toward her.

  “ANDRA!”

  Oz.

  Her baby brother.

  Oz, who she hadn’t even looked for, because she couldn’t bear the idea he could be missing. Oz, who looked up to her, worshipped her, never treated her like she wasn’t enough.

  He bounded toward her, his smile pushing up his round cheeks to almost cover his eyes. His brown hair was sticky with cryo’protectant, and he wore an oversized T-shirt with a cartoon ’bot on it. He threw himself into her arms, and Andra wrapped hers around him and let out a sob.

  Oz squirmed. “What’s wrong?”

  It took Andra a moment to remember that to Oz, it had only been a few hours since they’d seen each other. Whereas she’d been awake for months, and for part of that time thought Oz was long dead.

  “Nothing,” she croaked. “Nothing’s wrong.” She cradled his face. “I’m just glad to see you.”

  He ducked his chin. “You got your tears all over me. And why’s your hair so long?”

  She absentmindedly tugged at the strands. “It’s . . . complicated.”

  “Andromeda,” she heard another voice say, and her stomach dropped.

  She looked up to see her father and sister, staring confusedly at her. Both had shaved their heads and wore the special clothes they’d picked out for their first day on Holymyth.

  Andra stood. Oz grasped her hand, beaming up at her. Her father reached out and tugged lightly at her hair, then met her eyes.

  “Have you seen your mother?”

  Panic swelled in Andra, and tears threatened to spill. There was so much to be done, and she couldn’t let herself be taken over by grief. She couldn’t tell them. Not yet. She didn’t know how.

  She bit her lip and shook her head.

  * * *

  In a little less than an hour, the LAC scientists had organized themselves into groups: some setting up shelters, others labs, still others rudimentary infrastructure and bathing facilities. Without Andra even having to ask, Ophele had taken up shop in the therapy tent, helping the colonists adjust to the rude awakening. Others were searching through the food Mechy had surreptitiously brought. Xana stayed by the door to make sure no one left the Icebox, and Lilibet handed out the hundreds of blankets she’d stitched in her boredom underground. No one questioned who she was or why she was there. Or commented on her weird speech patterns. The shock wouldn’t last forever, though, and eventually, after they had seen to all their immediate needs, people would start to ask questions.

  Andra’s father was laying out the tent her family would sleep in, and she stood awkwardly holding one of the poles. Cruz hung back in her peripheral vision, waiting for her to explain to him what the hell was going on, but she was having trouble disconnecting from her family. She needed to tell them about Isla, of course, but not now. It was too much. For them. For her. After everything was organized, she would sit them down and tell them. But for now each moment she spent around them felt like a lie.

  Her father was wearing one of his professor shirts with the elbow patches. He had started wearing them ironically, but now he said he didn’t feel like himself without them. His head was shaved, but he kept running a hand over it, as though he was repeatedly startled that his normally perfectly gelled hair was missing.

  Acadia had barely spoken. She kept giving Andra glares and then looking away when Andra caught her. Oz had barely stopped talking. He wanted to know all about Holymyth and if he could get out the ’drone he’d techno’sealed and use it to explore the planet and could he go find his friends and what was the latest news from Earth.

  Luckily, he barely took a breath, so Andra didn’t have to answer.

  Andra wanted to cry looking at them. It was an odd feeling. For so long she’d thought they were dead. She’d grieved them. Then, she’d waited for them to wake up, imagining what the reunion would be like, putting it off, and now that it was here, it was both more and less than what she’d expected.

  To them, it had sole been a few minutes since they’d last seen Andra. Of course, she looked a little different, hair longer, waist thinner, complexion sallow, but the only person who would have noticed was her mother, and her mother wasn’t here.

  They didn’t treat her any differently than they always had, which was to say her father was distracted, her sister distant, her brother effusive. It should have made her feel at home, sparked some sense of nostalgia in her, even if it was only part of her programming. But instead she just felt tired.

  She’d lived a whole other life they knew nothing about. She’d been a goddess. She’d discovered she was an AI. She’d saved a city. And to them she was still just Andra, the awkward, sarcastic, underachieving middle child.

  A sudden shiver ran up her spine, and Andra drew her sweater tighter around her, but the chill didn’t go away.

  Destroy.

  Andra stiffened, sucking in a breath. The voice was quiet, so quiet she wasn’t sure if she’d actually heard it or if she’d simply imagined it.

  Destroy.

  Her heart stuttered. This time it was clear enough that it seemed impossible her family hadn’t as well. But Oz was still chattering, Acadia didn’t look up from her tablet, and her father was fussing with the tent.

  Destroy.

  A burst of pain shot through Andra, and she coughed into her hand. Big heaving coughs that interrupted her brother’s speech about ’drone racers in stasis.

  “Okay there, Andromeda?” her father asked without turning from the tent instructions.

  “Yeah, evens—fine,” she stammered, but she wasn’t.

  It wasn’t just a voice—it was her voice. And it wasn’t just a word, it was . . . a compulsion. An overwhelming need. The voice wasn’t convincing her to destroy. The urge was already there. If anything, she had to convince herself not to.

  “I’ll be right back,” Andra said, setting down the tent pole she’d been clinging to.

  Oz waved enthusiastically, and Acadia gave her an icy look over her tablet. Her father looked like he was about to protest, but Andra ducked away before he could say anything. With her back turned to them, Andra opened the hand she coughed into. It was covered in black residue of decaying nanos.

  “Okay, Andie, now what?”

  Andra jumped. Cruz was standing right next to her.

  “Jesus.” She wiped her hand on her pants. “I didn’t see you.”

  Cruz grinned sheepishly, hands thrust into his pockets. His curls fell over his eyes. At least he was wearing clothes now. “Sorry. You . . . okay? You look a little pale.”

  “Fine,” Andra said. She hesitated a moment, waiting for the voice or another bout of coughing, but none came.

  Cruz narrowed his brown eyes, but his grin didn’t fade. “All right, Andie. What’s the deal here?”

  Andra swallowed. “So, um, for now, I, uh, need you to tell everyone there are . . . atmospheric anomalies on the surface. Say that Dr. Griffin woke early to address this, but she needs the help of the LAC to continue. Tell them she’s stuck on the surface, but left a list of very specific instructions, starting with upgrading everyone’s tech.”

  Andra had thought the lie was pretty good, if she did say so herself. Technically, there were atmospheric anomalies, Griffin was stuck elsewhere, and she had given very specific instructions.

  Cruz narrowed his eyes. “Tell them? Is it not true?”

  Andra grimaced. “It is . . .
vaguely true . . . if you squint.”

  “Andie—”

  “I promise.” Andra put a hand to her heart. “I will tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me goddess, but first we need to make sure everything is calm and organized.”

  Cruz shook his head, but there was a quirk to his lips, a spark in his eyes. He had always loved puzzles. “All right, Andie. I don’t know why they’d listen to me. I’m still just a junior scientist.”

  Were you? Andra thought, leading Cruz a few rows over to where Mechy had set up a projekit from the Vaults, so Cruz’s voice could be heard above the crowd. She gestured to it, and Cruz grinned.

  He grabbed the mic and hopped onto a nearby cryo storage shelf. He hung there for a moment, testing its weight, and then scrambled up a few rungs, so he could look out over the makeshift tent city popping up in the warehouse.

  “Excuse me,” he said, his voice echoing through hovering speakers.

  There was a squeal of feedback and Cruz winced, but the ambient noise of over a thousand people quieted and heads turned his way. He cleared his throat.

  “Hello, LAC,” he tried again, and this time, his voice echoed clearly. “I have some important information, so if you could pause what you’re doing and gather round for a moment, I’d appreciate it.”

  It was actually pretty impressive to watch fifteen hundred people stop what they were doing and form a crowd below where he stood, several shelves up. One hand grabbed a metal rung, and he leaned forward over the crowd.

  He told them the pseudo lie Andra had given him, that there were issues with the atmosphere, that Griffin had woken early and needed their help. He embellished with his unique charm, cracking jokes, giving out compliments, all the personable things Andra could never manage. She rolled her eyes, but it was exactly what the people needed to hear.

  “And of course,” Cruz added, “our fearless leaders didn’t want you to be without the love and support of your families. So congratulations, LAC and our extended family: you are now the first people awake on an alien planet!”

  There was a smattering of applause, but not enough to cover someone shouting from the back of the crowd, “And where is Griffin?”

  Cruz’s smile faltered the perfect amount, just enough to lend authenticity to his claim, but not enough to make people worried. “Unfortunately, she’s been stranded in a bunker some miles off while getting some atmospheric readings of the planet, so she’ll be working remotely until we can get her some transportation. Don’t worry, though. She’s perfectly safe. And so are we.”

  Excitement buzzed through the crowd.

  “Dr. Griffin has asked me to pass on her instructions to you.” Cruz paled, and Andra caught a small tremor in his hand. “And I happily accepted the position.”

  There were murmurs of surprise from the older LAC scientists.

  “Now,” Cruz hurried on, before anyone could dispute his claim. “We are going to construct a few makeshift structures so we can rest, and then tomorrow you will each be assigned tasks. And”—Cruz found Andra in the crowd, as though he were making sure he was getting this all right—“we will be running an upgrade on your tech, so just be prepared to have a quick procedure on your ’implant sometime in the next few days.”

  Andra nodded, and Cruz smiled back at her.

  The crowd dispersed, going back to making meals and putting up tents and organizing clothes. Andra hung back and Cruz leapt the last few feet off the cryo’ shelving, landing on the concrete floor with a slap.

  “Well done,” Andra said.

  “Thanks.” He grinned, and the expression warmed Andra. It was so genuine. “Now, as a token of your gratitude, do you mind telling me what’s really happening?”

  Andra shushed him, looking around to see if anyone was listening. “Not here.”

  “Andra!” a voice cut in, and a small grimy hand tugged at her arm. She looked down into Oz’s smiling face. “Come help us put up our tent! And then Dad said I could play Hive’Mind! I’ll let you be the Queen if you play with me.”

  “I . . .” Andra couldn’t think of an excuse. She’d been putting off telling them about Isla, but she wouldn’t be able to much longer. “I’ll be right there,” she said, patting Oz’s head. “Will you give me a minute?”

  “SURE!” Oz shouted too loudly, and then ran off.

  “We’ll talk in the moren,” Andra whispered to Cruz. “After breakfast.”

  Cruz gave her a confused look, then nodded and winked. It was different than Zhade’s winks. Awkward but somehow still charming.

  “Naps for now, talking for later?” he asked.

  She grimaced, realizing Cruz had probably picked up the expression from Rashmi while they were “dating.”

  Andra waved goodbye, then made her way through the crowd of colonists, dodging playing children, winding around tents, until she found her family, their shelter already up. LAC tents were comfortable by any standards. Theirs was a forest green, and Andra didn’t have to duck as she entered the wide doorway. The whole structure was about the size of Andra’s old suite in the palace, but felt both homier and more claustrophobic. Oz was trying to get Acadia’s attention, but she was swatting him away, lying back on a cot, intent on her holo’band. Her father was setting up a bed that was wide enough for both him and Isla.

  “Andromeda, where did you run off to?” he said distractedly. “Did you find your mother? Did she want you to help with something?”

  Andra bit her lip, taking in her family. The people she grew up with. “We need to talk.”

  They paused at the tenor in her voice and stared. Andra took a deep breath.

  * * *

  It went about as well as Andra expected.

  She was vague about how she found out about Isla’s death. She avoided mentioning that Dr. Griffin was a clone turned goddess living in exile under what was left of Lake Superior, letting them believe the explanation Cruz had given. She told them that Griffin had woken Isla before the others. That they’d been out in the desert running terraforming tests, and Isla died in an accident. She didn’t say it had been Wastern pirates. Instead, she blamed an experiment gone wrong.

  Huge tears were running down Oz’s face as he tried to stifle his childlike sobs. Acadia sat stoic, muscles in her face tense, knuckles white. Auric, most of all, broke Andra’s heart. His lower lip wobbled, even as he took in a steadying breath to put on a brave face for his kids.

  “Well,” he said, voice no more than a whisper, “she died doing what she loved. And on a new planet, no less.”

  He stood and walked jerkily to the other side of the tent, looking away. Andra pretended not to see his shoulders heaving.

  “Did you . . .” Oz hiccuped a sob. “Can we bury her?”

  Andra brushed Oz’s tangled hair back. “I’m sorry, Oz, no. There’s . . . We can’t.”

  He laid his head against Andra’s stomach.

  “Now, because of . . .” She took a breath. “I’m going to have more responsibilities, so I might not be around a lot, so don’t—”

  Auric slammed his fist against a table. “NO!” He turned. His face was red in anger, more anger than Andra had ever seen there. “You’re a child! You don’t have any responsibility concerning any of this! She pushed you children. She wanted us to go on this . . . doomed mission. And look what happened. And now you’re going to sacrifice yourself to this too? Finish her work so you can get yourself killed just like she did? There are so many other scientists. Why do you have to be involved?”

  Andra swallowed. “I just do, Dad.”

  “Yeah,” Acadia snapped. “Why you? You never showed any interest in any of this stuff. You were always off in your room getting off to your dictionary while I was doing all the real work.”

  “Acadia,” Auric warned.

  “Stay with us, Andra!” Oz said, his eyes red.<
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  “Andra, you don’t need to do this,” Auric said.

  “I have to,” Andra said.

  “But why?” Auric asked.

  “Yeah, why?” Acadia echoed.

  “Why?” Oz added.

  “Because I’m AI!”

  The tent fell silent.

  She hadn’t meant to say it like that. Hadn’t mean to say it at all. One look at her family’s faces, and she knew none of them had known, hadn’t even suspected. How much had Isla Watts kept from her family?

  “That’s . . .” her father said, voice crisp. “What are you talking about?”

  Andra forced herself to look him in the eye. “I’m a wetware AI in a human body. I don’t know the details, but Mom and Dr. Griffin created me. To help humanity. To . . . help with this. I grew up thinking I was human, but when I woke early, I . . . learned the truth.”

  Auric shook his head. “That’s not the truth. That’s impossible.”

  Andra sighed, trying to steady herself, to sound firm. “Think about it, Dad. You know it’s true.”

  “No.” He shook his head, pacing the small space. “No.”

  Acadia let out an unamused bark of a laugh, tossing her tablet to the floor and storming out of the tent.

  “I don’t understand,” Oz said, a slight wobble still in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  Andra smoothed back his hair.

  “I’m not your sister,” she said, as gently as possible.

  “Andra, don’t,” her father started.

  “What?” Oz asked, easing away from her. “You’re not Andra?”

  “I am Andra. But I was never your sister.”

  “You’re adopted?”

  “I’m artificial intelligence. Like . . .” Andra looked around for something to help her explain. She pointed at one of Oz’s toys, propped up on his cot. “Like the Guardian from ’Bot Wars but with a human body.”

  His eyes went wide, and his mouth hung open.

  “That’s . . .”

  Andra’s eyes were already smarting, her stomach sinking.