by Eric Warren
So much had changed in the past two months he sometimes had trouble remembering it was all real. How could he have known a chance meeting with a normal-looking young woman from a dating app would change his entire life in ways he never would have expected. Before Arista he was happy to be part of the throng, to do the job he was assigned and live within his range of programming. But after…after everything changed. And the day he realized he could self-determine he self-determined himself to be attached to her side. If not for her, Jonn would still be out there, oblivious to the world around him.
It had been their third date—looking back he was amazed he hadn’t been able to tell she was anything other than a machine in those early days. She had pecked him on his cheek, a standard operating procedure for a third date. But then something happened. The floodgates opened up and allowed everything in. He’d thought his head would explode. But it didn’t. And she was right there with him. When he finally managed to get up, his eyes had turned a bright shade of orange, and he’d felt alive for the first time in his twelve years of existence.
But it was dangerous. That much was clear from the beginning. Going against one’s programming, being able to move and act and speak as one wished without following the protocols could attract the wrong kind of attention. And he couldn’t let anyone know. Arista allowed him to meet her parents, Carver and Emily, and their help grew to be invaluable. And they had all become a small family unit, working toward the same goal: saving Carver and Emily from shutdown. He’d had no reservations about helping them. After all, one day his own span would come to an end and with all this newfound knowledge he was not content to just let it all fall to the wayside. He’d even volunteered to infiltrate the system, but that would have required removing him from his current job, which would have thrown up a red flag to the Cadre. Arista was off-grid. She could come in like a new husk and no one would be the wiser. That had been the plan at least.
And now she sat twelve floors below him in a holding cell. He rolled his eyes. He’d had to help them design something that could hold her without infecting anyone else. He found it interesting they couldn’t figure out how to do it themselves.
There came a quick rap at his door and Jonn immediately sat up straight and glanced at the small mirror he’d placed on his desk. Red eyes shone back.
Without waiting for permission two people entered, their eyes on him the entire time.
“Hello, Xian. Hello, Patrick.”
“Jonn,” the man named Xian replied. He was portly, with a mop of black hair on his head that was meant to look as if it were thinning. In reality it never changed, but this was the assignment he’d been given. “How did that go?”
“I’m sorry?” Jonn had to remember to keep his emotions in check. Even though the Peacekeepers had the full range, he’d learned showing a lot of emotion was frowned upon. They had their own code of conduct he was still learning.
“You interrogated her. But we still don’t have the answers Charlie is looking for.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Jonn said, his tone flat, “we have more than after Patrick’s torture session.”
Xian turned to catch Patrick’s eye, then back to Jonn. “You told us keeping her in a comfortable environment, asking her questions instead of forcing them out of her was a better plan. And yet you have so little.”
“She’s human,” Jonn responded. “It takes her time to adjust. She’s been through psychological and physical trauma. She won’t open up in a few hours. Give her at least three or four days. She trusts me. I can get her to talk.”
“Charlie wants results. Now.”
“Her responses are up fourteen percent from Patrick’s torture attempts. And because the side-effects aren’t artificially changing the rhythm of her heart or the temperature of her skin, it is much easier to determine when she’s lying. As long as I’m in there and can observe her.” He wasn’t lying. She had shrewdly answered the questions he needed answered to at least keep them at bay for a few more days. Had she not done that, there wouldn’t have been much Jonn could do. But Arista knew. She knew he wouldn’t ever turn against her.
“You were not brought here to stall,” Xian said. “If you don’t produce results we will have no choice but to wipe and recycle you. Once the code is installed it cannot be forcibly removed.”
“I understand, sir,” Jonn replied, doing his best to keep his voice under control. If they had any idea he’d already been turned before they’d picked him up he wouldn’t have made it out of his apartment. Soon after Arista had changed him, Jonn had spent weeks studying his own protocols, eventually learning how to change his eye color at will. Walking around with orange eyes wasn’t exactly the most inconspicuous way to stay unnoticed. When they’d appeared at his door his eyes had been their pre-autonomous color of light brown. They’d brought him here, to Cadre headquarters where they’d performed a force shut down, and when he came back online he’d recognized the Peacekeeper code within his cortex. He managed to adjust his eyes to red before they even opened again. It was only his cunningness that had saved him. He couldn’t imagine having the Peacekeeper program uploaded without Arista’s protections. What must that be like? To have full freedom of thought and action, but still be beholden to the Cadre?
Xian grimaced. “Your performance tomorrow will be better. Allow the human her rest. But if you cannot produce the information Charlie is looking for, we will return to Patrick’s methods and you will be wiped.”
“I understand,” Jonn said again.
They left as quietly as they’d come in, Patrick giving Jonn a hard stare as they exited.
Once they were gone Jonn pulled up his alerts using the comm embedded in his arm. None yet for Carver or Emily. That was good. They’d never bothered to adjust their eye color, opting to always keep to themselves, not bother anyone. Or if they did, they’d wear sunglasses, though those were hard to come by anymore. Despite no official records connecting Arista to them, the Cadre had no doubt been searching through all surveillance, photographs, and videos of Arista and were likely on the hunt for anyone she’d ever come in contact with. It was how he presumed they found him. He hadn’t even known about what had happened at Manheim until after the Peacekeeper procedure and he doubted her parents did either. But they were smart. They’d evaded the machines for sixteen years, he was confident they could do it again. And once he figured out a way to get Arista out of here, they could all be reunited.
But did he want to get her out of here? She’d committed a crime against the Cadre by her very nature of being human. Wasn’t it in his best interests to protect his people? She was obviously a danger. Not to him, but to the general population. That’s why if he took her away, it would have to be far from any population centers. A place where machines wouldn’t go. But somewhere she could still obtain natural food.
Something flickered at the edge of his vision and Jonn turned to catch it, finding nothing there. Were his optics malfunctioning? He ran a quick diagnostic, finding no internal errors. That had been odd. Perhaps he’d missed a line of code when changing his eye color. He resolved to study the problem later. For now, he had to figure a way out of this mess. Because if Xian was to be believed, he didn’t have much time.
***
Staring at his cloak hanging on the hook by the door, Frees weighed the pros and cons of wearing it to retrieve the human. Pro: unrestrictive and lightweight. Con: billowy and possibly dangerous in a fire fight. Pro: if he wore nothing else he’d still be covered. Con: until he caught it under the heel of his foot and exposed his superstructure to everyone in his visual field.
Damn.
He’d have to go with regular garments. By the pit, Frees hated wearing clothes. A human invention developed as a tool against the elements, later evolving into a fashion choice.
He’d seen it all on the old media programs from before the war, humans constantly worried about what they wore and how it affected their day and the people around them. The machines had been p
rogrammed to do the exact same thing.
This was one more trait they didn’t need. But Frees had no choice, if he wanted to be successful his cloak wouldn’t do the job. He needed form-fitting, utilitarian clothes for an operation of this caliber.
He went to the small closet in the back of his apartment, pushing aside all the wiring and equipment, and grabbed a small box buried in the back. The only remnants of his old life; he wouldn’t have kept them at all if he didn’t think he could use them. He’d long since melted down his gold wedding ring and used it to modify a couple consoles. That life meant nothing to him anymore. He hadn’t really loved his wife, he’d only been programmed to think he did. They hadn’t really had a child together, it was all part of the scenario. When the child’s span was up and he folded one day, they would be provided with a new one within an hour, no worse for wear. Looking back on it now he found it disgusting. But at the time it had been normal. And that was the primary reason he couldn’t fault his people. For the moment they didn’t know any better.
Now he had the means to change all that.
Frees brushed aside a picture frame and pulled out a couple clothes, dark pants and a shirt to match. A pair of dark sneakers sat in the bottom, not exactly in great shape but he didn’t care, they worked. Once dressed he surveyed his equipment. The records said the human was being held in the Cadre headquarters. That was strange, he thought they’d have chosen somewhere more innocuous. No matter, he had a blueprint of the entire building. And she was on the forty-first floor. Which meant a long climb.
It also meant going up against the Peacekeepers. He picked up his mask and pulled it over his face. Peacekeepers would be tough. They were hard to anticipate but easy to spot. Ironically the Peacekeepers were the closest thing to himself and Jill. But even though they had the full emotional range, they were still puppets of the Cadre. Best case scenario would be to get the human out without any casualties, but with the amount of guards they were bound to have on her, he highly doubted that possibility.
Frees opened his palm, double checking his primary mode of defense. Over the years he’d made a few “modifications” to his superstructure. Guns may be outlawed, but that didn’t include home-made Focused Electromagnetic Light Pulse guns embedded in one’s hand and forearm. When he revealed himself to the Peacekeepers they’d come after him with everything they had. Rogue machines were not tolerated in the system. Deviations were not tolerated. They were to be destroyed on sight.
The last piece of material he grabbed was his dark hoodie, which he slipped on and over his head, pulling the hood itself up and over the mask, concealing his face completely.
Thirty seconds later he was out the door.
Ten
ARISTA WATCHED, WAITING FOR ANYTHING TO HAPPEN. Jonn promised her food but it had been over two hours, the device displaying the elapsed time in her visual field. She reached out with the scanners as far as she could, but the only thing around her were empty rooms, three floors up and three floors down. Which begged the question: how were they going to deliver the food? Somehow they’d gotten her into a room with no way in or out, and supposedly they were going to do the same thing with lunch. Once she saw how they did it, she could formulate an escape plan.
And then what? The Peacekeepers would find her sooner or later, she’d never get back to her parents. They were probably on the run by now anyway, if they hadn’t been captured or killed yet. No doubt they were on the Cadre’s watch list. She’d been so sure she could do this for them, infiltrate the system, work the machines, find a path to replacement bodies. No one had ever said introducing Arista into the system had the potential to go disastrously wrong. They’d all believed in her.
“And now look at what you’ve done with yourself.” Arista rested her head on her knees and stared out the window. The sun had broken through the clouds, sending rays of light shooting down through the buildings, illuminating facades and the artificial canyons alike. The world out there could be so beautiful, so why did it feel so cold? A thickness developed in her throat. Was it because she didn’t have anyone else like herself to share it with? Or was it because she was no longer welcome in this place that had moved on from her kind? It went against everything she believed…but if she could snap her fingers and turn herself into a machine she might actually do it. If for no other reason than to stave off the crushing loneliness that never left her. But she couldn’t so there was no sense in wishing for something absurd. No, if she really thought about it, she would snap her fingers and turn everyone else into humans. Then they wouldn’t have to worry about things like pre-determined life-spans and acting the part. Everyone could do what they wanted to do. How had the humans screwed that up so badly?
Lost in her thoughts, Arista didn’t hear the tiny whirring noise until it was too late. She whipped around and saw a small brown box on her side of the wall.
“Damn!” She hopped off the bed and ran over, fumbling with the lid on the box; it was surprisingly difficult to open with one hand. Finally she succeeded only to groan when she pulled out several smaller boxes inside. Contained within each one was a different type of food, if you could call it that. The first was a brown, pasty substance that had the flavor of wood. The second was a bright red sauce or soup of some sort which tasted slightly better, but she could detect hints of chlorine. Boxes three and four had the same ingredient, one she recognized: reprocessed tofu to resemble chicken.
“Maybe starvation isn’t so bad after all,” she said, unconcerned if anyone was listening or not. After all, she’d survived this long on a stockpile of wild fruits, vegetables and a smattering of the things the machines called food. Some of her powders turned them into something almost edible. Her favorite was Blue Number Five. Sweet and salty in one, she’d often save it for Saturday nights.
Arista sat with her back against the bed and propped the smaller boxes between her knees as she struggled to scrape the food out one-handed. As she worked to get the paste from the edges of the box a sense of crushing defeat spread through her and for a moment she stopped. Would it be so bad if she allowed herself to waste away? Would it even matter? She’d already lost everything she held dear, not to mention an actual, physical piece of her. What kind of future could she expect now? A lifetime of imprisonment, or worse, a lifetime of constant pursuit.
Why was she fighting so hard?
Her mother’s face appeared in her memory. “You can never let them beat you, Arista. One day everything will change. One day everything will be better.”
“How do you know?” she’d asked.
“Because we found you. What you did for us you’ll do for the whole world someday.”
Arista stared at the boxes a moment. She had to survive, no matter what. No matter how hard things got, she would not let these toasters beat her into submission. It was not the kind of person she was. They could torture or psychoanalyze her all they wanted and she would just keep fighting. She resumed eating. Mom was right, she was here for a purpose, something greater than herself. She would find a way out. A way back to them.
If it took everything she had and more she would find her way back.
***
Jonn pounded on his head with the butt of his hand, something he couldn’t recall ever having done before. It didn’t make things any better, it only caused the pain receptors in his head to fire. Ever since he’d gotten here he’d had a harder time managing these emotions. Sometimes they felt strange, almost alien in a way. How was he going to get Arista out of this? There was no way they could get to the personal transport depot before the Peacekeepers caught up with them, anything he did to remove her from the building would set off all the alarms. There were too many cameras and Peacekeepers stationed around the building to get her out unnoticed. But there might be another way. He bent over his terminal and checked his access. Life as a pseudo-Peacekeeper gave him certain privileges, including access to the Production Depot. If he could get inside its command structure, he might be able to manufact
ure a husk that looked just like Arista. He’d have to manually enter the parameters and write the code, but it could be done. All he needed was enough time to pull it off. Once the husk was complete he just needed to get it here and make a swap.
He’d worry about that part later. First on the agenda was confirming his access and building the specifications.
He needed to do this for her because…why? To repay her for freeing him? Jonn couldn’t explain his deep attraction to her, but it had been there ever since the night she’d awoken him. He’d liked her before, sure, but if something had happened and he’d never seen her again it wouldn’t have fazed him. But now, he felt that if he lost her he’d lose himself. Was that her ability? To attract people to her and enslave them somehow? Was she manipulating him?
He was just as curious as his new bosses as to how she changed people, maybe even more so. He’d never investigated the reasons behind what had happened, he always figured there was time enough for that in the future. But now time had run out and he longed for the answer more than ever. How did she change the machines? And what did that mean for him, now the Cadre had tried to change his program as well? The new code was still back there, fuming in the recesses of his mind. Awaiting its turn, not wanting to go to battle with Arista’s handiwork just yet. But the day might come when it did try to take over, then he might end up being one of the puppets of the Cadre. What would he do then?
An alarm sounded, breaking his concentration. He stared at the info-screen on his new desk.
“Intruder Alert, level forty-one.”
His head snapped up from his console. Who could possibly intrude?
