by Claudia Gray
She holds on even as he begins walking toward the door. “You have a soul of your own. A will of your own. You can stand up to him, I know you can—”
“So that’s your girl, hmm?” Mansfield can see her; she and Abel are right in front of the console showing his smug face. “Well, she’s cute as can be. Not what you’d call a classic beauty, but she has spirit, doesn’t she? You get that from me, you know. I always had an eye for the feisty ones.”
If he were here, Noemi would punch him in the gut and see how cute he thought she was then. But he’s safe at home—sitting near a fire, to judge by the flickering light—cozily relaxing while he orders Abel to come home and die.
“You’re a monster,” she says to Mansfield. “You’re a selfish monster who’s afraid to die because you’ve never believed in anything greater than yourself. You gave Abel a soul only so you could smash it when you didn’t need it anymore. Everything he’s felt, the person he’s become—doesn’t that matter to you at all? Don’t you even see him?”
Mansfield sighs. “Obviously this is going to be a problem.”
From the console where she’s feverishly typing, Virginia calls, “I used to be a fangirl of yours, but not anymore, you crapsack excuse for a human being.”
“Who’s that?” Mansfield genuinely looks confused. Virginia doesn’t go to the screen, but she leans over far enough for Mansfield to see her hand as she flips him off.
Noemi turns back to Abel, who hasn’t sat back down again, despite all her pleas… but he hasn’t taken another step toward the door either. Hope swells within her heart. “You’re fighting him, aren’t you? You can do it. I know you can.”
“Enough of this.” With a harrumph, Mansfield adjusts himself on the sofa. “Abel, tell me the truth: Are the emergency defensive stations on the bridge still stocked?”
“Yes, sir.” Abel winces after he says the words.
“Well, go on and open one up.” Instantly Abel walks to a small boxy locker low on the wall—one of many, none of which Noemi’s particularly noticed before—and Mansfield adds, “Take a blaster.”
Abel’s fist smashes the polymer into fine shards that rain down on the floor. Noemi watches, aghast, as he picks up a blaster, its holt glowing green to indicate full charge. When he looks into Noemi’s eyes, the anguish she sees there is almost more horrible than her own fear.
“There we go,” Mansfield says soothingly. “Almost done. Remember who and what you are, Abel. Follow Directive One. Obey me. Kill her.”
38
ABEL’S HAND TIGHTENS ON THE BLASTER—BUT HE doesn’t pull the trigger. He won’t do that, he won’t, he won’t.
He wants to put the blaster down, but he can’t. He’s stuck in a recursive loop, torn between the directives shrieking at him from his every circuit and his overwhelming fear of hurting Noemi.
She stands directly in his line of sight, breathing hard, her large brown eyes staring at the weapon that might end her life at any moment. Then she looks up from the muzzle, into Abel’s eyes.
“Keep fighting,” she whispers.
“Abel.” Mansfield says it louder this time, still avuncular and almost lazy in his confidence. “You’re wasting time. You know your programming won’t let you do anything else.”
It won’t. He must obey his creator. The same fervent dedication that gave Abel purpose for every day of the thirty years he spent in utter isolation, in the cold and dark, tells him to do this thing. Noemi Vidal must die, and he must go home to Mansfield and do the same. Today is their last day.
In the background he hears Virginia murmuring, “Has to be a way to override the override. Come on, come on.” He wants to warn her to shut up. If Mansfield overhears her and gives orders to kill Virginia as well, Abel knows he’ll do it. He likes Virginia, but he doesn’t love her, and surely only love could be powerful enough to keep him from instantly pulling the trigger upon Mansfield’s command.
He’s not sure whether anything has the power to keep him from pulling it anyway.
“A-bel,” Mansfield singsongs, like any parent impatient with a child running late.
A thousand scenarios play out in Abel’s mind simultaneously. He could set the blaster down. Disengage it. Tell Mansfield he made not a container but a person. But he can’t come up with the final resolution of any of these kaleidoscopic images of salvation. He can’t envision any ending but the one where Noemi lies dead at his feet.
Maybe—maybe he could point it at his own head and fire, so he could save Noemi and spite Burton Mansfield in the same squeeze of a trigger. Could he? No. His arm refuses to obey. That plan goes against not one of Mansfield’s orders but two.
Finally, Mansfield’s voice betrays a hint of anger. “Directive One,” he repeats. “Obey me. Kill her.”
The repetition turns something over inside Abel, and he straightens his arm, aiming directly at Noemi’s heart. She’s shaking with terror, almost weak with it. Nothing is more horrible than looking at her and knowing he made her feel this way.
Until he kills her, which will be the greatest horror of all.
“Abel?” Noemi’s voice is very small. “Where there’s no free will, there’s no sin. If you—if you can’t help it—I know you tried. Thank you for trying—” Her words break off, and she shakes her head, unable to speak any more.
She’s forgiving him for her murder before he commits it. Even if Abel has only one hour of existence left, she doesn’t want him to spend that hour hating himself for what he’s done. It is an act of almost unfathomable grace, shining so brightly next to Mansfield’s selfishness that it eclipses everything else inside Abel, every conflict, every command.
Instantly he swings his arm left to point the blaster at Mansfield’s face on the console and fires, fires again, keeps on firing until the console blows apart, sending smoke and scraps of wire flying across the bridge. Noemi shrieks and covers her ears from the din, but in the aftermath they stand there, staring at the wreckage. Abel lets the blaster drop from his hand to the floor, where it lands with a metallic thud. Mansfield’s voice has been silenced.
After a long pause punctuated only by the sound of electrical sparks, Virginia says, “You know, we might’ve needed that console.”
“We have to get out of here.” Noemi seems to awaken from a trance. “He’ll send Queens and Charlies—who knows what else—”
“I managed to limit his override commands to communications. He can call back, but he can’t keep us from flying!” As Virginia swings into action, bringing the mag engines online, Noemi turns back to Abel.
Though in the future he will often attempt to analyze the exact sequence of events, Abel will never be able to determine whether he embraced her, or she embraced him. He only knows she’s back in his arms, alive and well, unafraid of him even after what happened. As he hugs her closer, he feels a kind of pain indistinguishable from joy. Is this what humans feel, when they embrace the one they love? But it can’t be. Humans may mistreat those they love. Sometimes they abandon them entirely. They couldn’t do that if they felt the way Abel feels in this moment. They couldn’t even imagine it.
The Daedalus—no, the ship—lifts off, soaring swiftly upward at a somewhat erratic trajectory. “Um, guys?” Virginia sounds unusually hesitant. “Hate to break up the moment, but you two are a lot more used to piloting this big boy than I am.”
Abel lets go, though not without giving Noemi’s hand a quick squeeze. Sliding back into his pilot’s chair feels exhilarating, especially when he looks down at the vectors and readouts telling him that they’re moving away from Earth at nearly top speed.
“Who is Mansfield going to send after us?” Noemi asks as she moves to another console, switching it to serve as an auxiliary ops station. “Earth planetary forces? His own mechs?”
“No one.” Abel’s fingers expand the part of the screen that shows the far distant solar system. There, just beyond Pluto—quite close at this point in its orbit—lies the Genesis Gate, Noemi’s way home.
“He won’t send anyone.”
Noemi and Virginia both stare at him. Virginia’s the one who says, “Mansfield didn’t come across like a guy who gives up easily.”
Abel accelerates as they clear Earth’s atmosphere and the domed viewscreen again shows the stars. “He isn’t giving up. On the contrary, I predict with at least ninety percent certainty that Burton Mansfield is currently devising a plan to retrieve me. But no such plan can be put into action if Earth planetary defenses have blown up this ship, and me with it.”
Virginia cackles. “You’re our human shield. Well, inhuman shield. Whatever. It works.”
Noemi slumps back in her seat with half-closed eyes. Her obvious exhaustion makes Abel want to pick her up, carry her to her room, and cover her with a blanket so she can sleep as long as she wants. Soon, maybe. The final few tasks of this journey await.
At the Saturn relay station, where asteroid miners and long-haul freighters refuel, Abel brings their newly nameless ship to a standstill, the better to let a single-pilot corsair launch safely.
“Sure you won’t come to Genesis, even to see it?” Noemi stands next to Abel as they watch Virginia prep her ship. “You’d be welcome.”
“Are you kidding? The land of low-tech? I’d die within hours.” Virginia grins at them as she finishes zipping the neck of her flight suit; her red-streaked ponytail swishes as she leans down to check the controls of her corsair. It’s a larger ship than this bay would usually hold. Noemi’s tiny fighter has been nudged against the wall where it sits, still awaiting its greater errand.
They haven’t yet discussed where Abel might go, but he’s still too relieved to care about anything other than having escaped from Burton Mansfield. Too happy to be in Noemi’s presence again, and—to his surprise—sad to see Virginia go.
Virginia, on the other hand, is even bubblier than usual. “I’ve still got a couple of weeks to go in my suspension. Plenty of time to come up with stories from the wild parties I supposedly went to on Kismet.”
“Nothing as wild as the truth,” Noemi says, which makes Virginia laugh, and Abel realizes he’s smiling.
“Might even drop by and see my parents, assuming the sandstorms don’t cut off all air traffic.” Virginia sighs. “Just so you know—I’m going to check on Ephraim and Riko, too, see whether they show up on any news feeds. She creeps me out, but I’d like to make sure he’s doing all right. I think he’s the bravest of all of us.”
“No,” Abel says, looking at Noemi—who has said the same thing at the same moment, looking at him. Embarrassed and unable to determine why, he adds, “It’s good to know Ephraim will have your help. It reduces uncertainty.”
That makes Virginia point at him. “I’m going to miss this. Going to miss both of you. It’s been fun, having friends who aren’t Razers. Who knew?”
Friends, Abel thinks. I have friends. Virginia, perhaps Ephraim, maybe Harriet and Zayan, too, and certainly Noemi. He feels sure that Noemi’s feelings don’t mirror his own, but it doesn’t matter. She came for him; she forgave him. Those two gifts alone would sustain him far longer than thirty years.
“Anyway, if this guy can fly through the minefield around the Kismet Gate?” Virginia grins. “You have no excuse not to visit.”
Noemi touches Virginia’s shoulder, only for a second. “Thank you.”
Abel would like to echo her, but would feel presumptuous claiming Noemi’s mission as his own. So he only says, “Good-bye, Virginia.”
She only waves at them, then pulls on her helmet as the transparent upper shield of the corsair slides into place. Abel walks out of the docking bay, Noemi just behind him—but she’s going backward, unwilling to look away from Virginia one second before necessary.
Once they’re in the corridor, the air lock pinwheels shut to begin the launch cycle. The image of the bay comes up on a nearby screen, and they watch together in silence as the doors open and Virginia’s red corsair drifts free, then streaks away toward her next adventure.
If Abel has analyzed human conversational patterns correctly, the customary next step is an exchange of sentimental thoughts about Virginia’s help and departure. However, by now he is as aware of the imminent Masada Run as Noemi must be. “Only one more task before we can go through the Genesis Gate.”
Noemi turns to him, frowning. “What?”
Has she forgotten? “We need a mech to pilot the fighter into the Gate.”
“Like the Queen model I have waiting in sick bay?”
Although Abel can’t analyze his facial expression, Noemi apparently can, because she breaks into peals of laughter. He simply shakes his head. “You exceed expectations, Noemi Vidal.”
“So do you.”
It strikes him then that they’re alone together for the first time since their hospital room on Stronghold days ago. This fact should not be significant. Yet he dwells on it, especially on the silence that falls between them as Noemi’s smile gentles.
He realizes there’s one question he wants to ask, one he would not have put to her in front of the others, although he can think of no reason why not. “Why did you come after me?”
“I had to.” She drops her gaze from his, as if unsure of her own thoughts.
It’s not a precise answer, and yet somehow it’s more than enough.
When they slip through the Genesis Gate, Noemi whoops in joy, and Abel drums a quick rhythm on the base of his console. She looks over at him in surprise. “It’s something pilots do when a person travels the whole course of the Loop for the first time,” he explains. “Something they did, anyway. You’re the first person to complete that trip since the Liberty War ended.”
Her face is luminous as she stares at the distant green dot on the viewscreen that is planet Genesis. “Home. Mine, and now yours, I guess.”
“Mine?” Abel had not anticipated this. “Mechs are forbidden on Genesis.”
“Yeah, well, you’re going to be the mech who saved Genesis. That makes a difference.” Noemi spins her seat around, leaning toward him with no doubt in her eyes, only delight. “We’ll explain what you are, in every way. That you’re unique, irreplaceable. And the hero of Genesis can begin getting to know his new home.”
Abel suspects it may not be as simple as Noemi imagines. However, he also knows that putting this question to the planetary leaders right after the destruction of the Gate will give them a strong chance of success. If they fail to win him a place on Genesis—
—then he will fly away in this nameless ship and try to find another fate to call his own. And he will go on for the rest of his many days knowing that he saved Noemi along with her world. It’s enough.
“Will your world detect our entry into the system?”
Noemi nods. “They’ll see us on long-range scans. They’ll come to investigate within the day, but by then we’ll be done, won’t we?” Then her face pales. “Unless—the Masada Run—how long do we have?”
His fingers move quickly along the console as he measures, then smiles. “We still have approximately forty hours until the Masada Run is scheduled to begin, assuming no changes in plans since your departure.”
She laughs in relief as she spins her seat in a circle, arms outstretched. “They’re going to throw us a parade. Wait and see.”
They get to work immediately. In sick bay, they open up the cryopod and remove the inert Queen model. Before she can cycle out of dormancy mode, Abel inputs new codes that will establish Noemi as her commander, as well as shut down all unnecessary mental functions. The Queen has already deleted her advanced programming, already chosen to be something instead of someone; Abel has no qualms about using her for this mission, and knows Noemi doesn’t either. But the fewer potential complications, the better.
The Queen follows them obediently to the docking bay, where they ready Noemi’s fighter for its final flight. “Power is more than adequate,” he says, checking the data readouts. “This ship could fly to Genesis, come back again, and still be able to complete the mission.
”
“No need for that,” Noemi says to the Queen, who stands as expressionless as a mannequin. “You’ll follow the flight plan given to reach the center of the Gate.”
“Affirmative,” the Queen replies. Even her voice inflection has been lost. She is more of an it now.
When instructed, the Queen takes its seat. No flight helmet is needed; it can do without air for the brief time it will remain operational. Finally, Abel picks up the thermomagnetic device. A few quick turns of the controls, and it will be activated, ready to do its work. Within minutes, it will be too hot for a human to touch, too hot for a mech thereafter. But by then destruction will be seconds away.
Abel meets Noemi’s eyes. “Ready?”
“Ready.” She nods once.
He turns the controls. The device begins to vibrate in his hands. The low hum seems to electrify the room as he sets it in the fighter—
—and the Queen model goes dead.
“Wait. What happened?” Noemi tugs at the Queen’s collar as the mech flops to one side, completely inert. Abel shuts off the thermomagnetic device instantly, to conserve energy. This changes nothing for the Queen model, which is unsurprising; there’s no reason it should react to thermomagnetic functions.
But then why did it go dead the moment he turned the device on?
Correlation is not causation, he reminds himself. Yet the part of his mind that has developed instincts tells him this is no coincidence.
“What’s wrong with her?” Noemi asks. “Was it something about the cryosleep? Dormancy mode?”
“No. That should have no effect, and all my preliminary scans were normal.” Abel scans the Queen again to see nothing. No mental action whatsoever, and even organic life functions have shut down. This kind of catastrophic failure is almost unknown, particularly in a mech that checked out only minutes before. In order for that to happen—
He stops moving. Stops thinking. Instead he is overcome by the chagrin of knowing that he has underestimated Burton Mansfield one last time.
