by Claudia Gray
And his execution.
23
NOEMI’S MEDICAL RECORDS TELL HER THAT THE SEIZURE only lasted for seventeen seconds. The eerily accurate timekeeper in her brain tells her it was actually 16.89 seconds from onset to end.
It’s been a whole two days since then, and she’s still stuck in her biobed. Her mech chronometer can’t keep her from feeling like she’s been in this hospital forever.
The feeling that she’ll never get out—that might be a little too accurate.
“Feeling better?” Ephraim Dunaway asks as Noemi props herself up on her pillows early on the third morning of her stay. “How did that ion surge work?”
Noemi shrugs. A muscle in her arm twitches. “I don’t feel any different. No better, no worse.”
Ephraim brightens. “No worse?”
“I mean—no worse because of the ion thing. I think. But I’m still getting… slower, more tired.” She scratches the pixie cap of regrown hair on her scalp. At least she still has full control of her fingers. So far. “Have you turned up anything?”
He sighs as he leans back against the wall and softly thumps his head against it once. “Not a damn thing. Genesis isn’t exactly the place to be if you want to research cutting-edge organic mech components.”
“Maybe it’s not a mech thing,” Noemi says. She’s been brooding about this in her conscious hours. “Maybe it’s a Gillian Shearer thing. My treatment was experimental. Do you think she might not have realized all the side effects of what she did to me?”
Ephraim nods. “Maybe she hasn’t. Still, nothing about the materials or energy output within your body ought to be affecting you like this.” He folds his arms, thoughtful. “You know, we use Tare mechs on Remedy ships. We haven’t brought any of them planetside, because nobody’s in a big hurry to put themselves in a mech’s hands here on Genesis—but we’ve been using them to run labs, crunch data, synthesize treatments, all those kinds of things. But they’ve been making mistakes. Breaking down. Reports we’ve been getting from around the Loop suggest that’s happening to a lot of mechs all over the galaxy.”
“It is,” Noemi says. Suddenly she feels cold, not from anything happening in her body, but from fear. “Abel and I saw malfunctioning mechs on Stronghold and Haven. We knew it was too many malfunctions to be only a coincidence, but we didn’t get the chance to investigate. You think it might have something to do with what’s happening to me?”
“It might not,” Ephraim admits. “We just don’t know. You’re something that’s never been seen before. We have to investigate every human cause of sickness and every reason a mech might break down. And if there are mass breakdowns going on out there, well, I don’t think we can afford to ignore that.”
Mechs are failing all over the galaxy. Will that catch up with Abel, too? Is he all right, wherever he is? “You guys must be studying the mechs. Trying to figure out what’s going wrong.”
“Up to this point, the mechs hadn’t been a major priority,” he replies. “Not with a whole planet still recovering from biological warfare. But now I’m going to take a more in-depth look at our malfunctioning Tares.”
Ephraim stares at the window for a moment, and Noemi just watches him. After more than two days stuck in a biobed, even watching someone stare counts as entertainment.
She remembers meeting him at the hospital on Stronghold, the first time she was his patient. His imposing size and deep voice might’ve been intimidating if he hadn’t been so kind to her during her illness—so warm and caring, unlike virtually anyone else on Stronghold. It turned out that his mother had been a soldier, one marooned on Genesis in the early days of the war, while she was pregnant. The people of Genesis had taken mercy on her and sent her home unharmed. So when he’d realized Noemi was a soldier of Genesis, he hadn’t reported her to the authorities. Instead, Ephraim had risked his freedom to get her to safety.
“Do you regret it?” she asks.
He frowns in bemusement. “The ion surge?”
“No—I meant, back when we met, when you saved me and Abel from being arrested in the hospital on Stronghold.” The memory of Abel in that hospital, holding her hand, pretending to be her husband… She’d give so much to hold his hand again.
“Saving us cost you your whole life there,” Noemi continues. “Do you ever regret it?”
Ephraim shakes his head no. “That was a debt of honor. Genesis saved my mother’s life; I saved a soldier of Genesis. As for the rest of it—well, I joined up with Remedy before I’d ever laid eyes on you. You don’t join a resistance group without accepting that sooner or later, your life’s going to be turned upside down. In my case, it happened to be sooner.” A small smile appears on his full lips. “It’s been one hell of a ride.”
“Yeah. It has.” Swooping through the mouth of a caldera to rescue Virginia. Running through snowdrifts to escape from Haven. Riding out the crash of the Osiris. Mansfield kidnapping Abel. Curling up with Abel in long-abandoned crew quarters to watch his favorite movie from the twentieth century, something called Casablanca.
Burying Esther in Kismet’s star so she could warm and illuminate an entire world.
Quaking in the corridor of an unfamiliar ship, holding a blaster on the verge of dying, when the mech who’d been trying to kill her strolled up, introduced himself, and asked for his orders.
“Maybe it’s a hardware problem,” Ephraim says, bringing Noemi back to the here and now. “Maybe Shearer’s technology wasn’t quite ready yet. Maybe she hadn’t tested it enough before she implanted it into you.”
“Of course she’d tested it. Abel told me Shearer was trying to win investors from all over the world with her fantastic new organic-mech creations. Do you think she’d do that if she couldn’t actually build the mechs?”
Ephraim stares at her for a long second, then does the last thing she would’ve expected: He starts to laugh.
She must look stricken, because he pulls himself together quickly. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just—even now that I’ve spent a while on Genesis, I forget that this isn’t really a capitalist society. If it were, you’d know that hell, yeah, Gillian Shearer would try to sell a product she hadn’t perfected yet. That’s how she’d get the money to perfect it. Assuming she could. If she couldn’t—well, she’d still have the investors’ money.”
Capitalism sounds like a huge, confusing mess, and Noemi’s glad she hasn’t had much to do with it. “Shearer seemed to believe in herself pretty strongly. She believed even more in her father, to a degree that couldn’t be rational.” She struggles for the right words. “We’re a society of faith, here on Genesis. But we’re also a society of tolerance. That means accepting that not everyone will believe in precisely the same way we do. We’re taught to guard against—I guess you’d call it zealotry. Believing that your way is the only way.”
“I don’t get it,” Ephraim admits. “If you believe, don’t you have to think your way is the only way?”
“Not at all. The opposite of faith isn’t doubt. The opposite of faith is certainty.” She told Abel that once; she feels the truth of it even more strongly now. Her catechism teacher would be proud of her, Noemi thinks, which would be the first time that stiff-necked guy had ever been proud of her for anything. “Human certainty is an illusion. Ultimate knowledge belongs to the divine. Being humble before God means accepting that you may not possess the only path to Him.”
Ephraim doesn’t quite know what to do with this, and she doesn’t blame him. This is the closest she’s ever come to preaching at her friends from other planets, something she absolutely doesn’t want to do. But he needed to understand this to get what she has to say next. “Shearer doesn’t have any doubts. Not about herself, her dad, their self-proclaimed mission, any of it.”
“So what you’re saying is, we won’t get any help from a repentant Gillian Shearer,” Ephraim says.
“We wouldn’t have anyway.” Which is true. But admitting how far she is from any answers, any help, just makes Noemi fe
el even more afraid.
The only person who might be able to deduce the real problem is Abel, the one person she’ll never see again.
That evening, the hospital informs Noemi she has two visitors. Her condition has been stable long enough for her doctors to clear her for the public visiting area. Noemi slips into a cream-colored robe and pads down the hallway, holding on to Ephraim’s arm for support. She’s pleased that Harriet and Zayan must’ve come back to see her, although she would’ve thought Virginia would bring them directly to her room.
She walks into the visiting area looking for them. Instead, at one of the long white tables, she sees Mr. and Mrs. Gatson.
They were Esther’s parents, and her own foster parents. It seems like she ought to be closer to the people who took her in after her mom, dad, and baby brother died. But Noemi thinks it would be easier for her to talk to complete strangers.
Once she takes her seat across from them, she gives Mrs. Gatson an uneven smile. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Noemi says. “When I was here last—we weren’t sure.”
“I’d been put in a medical coma,” Mrs. Gatson says briskly. “Records weren’t kept in an orderly fashion during the worst of the epidemic, so I had to wake up before anyone knew who and where I was.”
Mr. Gatson leans forward. “If you hadn’t brought our world the cure, we might never have found her.” Mrs. Gatson presses her lips together into a thin line; it’s like she’s embarrassed they have to get into the subject at all. Her husband might be here to express gratitude, but she certainly isn’t.
“I guess you’ve heard what happened to me?” Noemi ventures. She can’t imagine why else they’d be here.
Both of them nod. Mr. Gatson looks worried; Mrs. Gatson seems oddly… satisfied.
It’s Mr. Gatson who speaks. “They can get this mechanical stuff out of you, can’t they? I can’t imagine how sickening it must be.”
“Half mech.” Mrs. Gatson spits the words out like they were snake venom she’d sucked from a wound.
“We’re trying to figure out how to handle it,” Noemi says, which is the simplest version of the truth.
Mr. Gatson shakes his head. “When they told you what had happened, you must have felt so violated.”
“I did, at first,” she admits. It feels surprisingly good, being wholly open with him. That rarely happened before. “I’m getting used to it now, though. Whatever malfunction I’m dealing with—hopefully we can get past that, and then I can continue adapting.”
Very carefully, Mr. Gatson asks, “You mean… you don’t mind being turned into a mech?”
“Half mech,” Noemi says. “I’d never have chosen this of my own free will. But it was an emergency. Abel did this to save my life. Without my mech half, I’d be dead.”
Mrs. Gatson’s pale, steely eyes meet hers. “There are fates worse than death.”
Which means: I’d rather you’d have been killed.
Mr. Gatson must’ve heard it the exact same way Noemi did, because his face goes pale. His fingers close around his wife’s forearm like he’s holding her back. “I guess a lot of decisions are still being made. We don’t get any say in them. But we wanted you to know, Noemi—” He pauses, then drops the act. “I wanted you to know that I hope you’ll be well and happy soon, no matter what that might look like.”
Tears well in her eyes. “Thank you.” When their eyes meet, she and her foster dad finally experience one moment of true grace.
Mrs. Gatson turns her head toward the nearest chronometer, checking to see if it’s time to leave yet.
Her foster dad’s warmth is more surprising than her foster mom’s coldness. As Noemi curls up to go to sleep, she thinks about Esther. She’d always wanted Noemi to be more truly a member of the family. Wherever Esther’s soul is now, she’s happy that Noemi and Mr. Gatson finally came together for a moment.
The next morning proves bleaker. Muscle spasms rack her limbs, and her headache throbs with every beat of her heart. Worse is the loneliness. The longing.
Where are you, Abel? I bet you’d know what’s wrong with me. You could figure it out faster than all the human doctors put together. Noemi closes her eyes, thinking of the malfunctioning mechs they ran into on Stronghold and Haven. Is it some kind of software virus, something spreading among mechs the way Cobweb spreads among people?
If it’s an epidemic among the mechs, then this could affect Abel, too. There’s literally nowhere in the galaxy he could go to be safe.
Her comm unit chimes, and she taps the screen to answer. Maybe it’s Virginia or Ephraim, updating her about their research—
But it isn’t. Instead, she sees the gaunt face of Elder Cho. Behind him are the green banners of the Council chamber; this is official business.
“Elder Cho.” Noemi inclines her head in respect. “To what do I owe the honor?”
Cho’s face might as well be a mask. “It has been previously determined by this Council that no mech shall ever be allowed residency on Genesis.”
Why are they calling to tell her again that Abel can’t live here, especially since Abel’s nowhere around?
Then realization strikes. Her frustration vanishes, leaving behind nothing but cold, numb shock. Noemi can only stare at Elder Cho as he continues, “Due to your recent modifications, we have determined that you’ve essentially become another form of mech. Therefore your presence on Genesis cannot be tolerated. You must leave the planet immediately.”
“But—” Noemi swallows hard. “I was born here—my parents, my brother, they died in the Liberty War—I fought for Genesis! I fought in battle after battle, I volunteered for a suicide mission, I brought you the cure for Cobweb and a fleet of ships to fight with, and—”
“Noemi Vidal did these things,” Cho says impassively. “She was a great hero, in her way. But she was a human, one who no longer exists.”
They don’t understand, because they won’t. Zealotry never recognizes itself. She can’t get through to them; she can only plead for mercy. “I’m sick. Dr. Dunaway’s working on a treatment. If we don’t find one in time—” She swallows hard. “If we don’t, I could die.”
Elder Cho doesn’t flinch. “Noemi Vidal is already dead.”
24
ABEL COULD FREE THE PERSEPHONE FROM THE TRACTOR beam of many different types of ships—virtually all non-military vessels, and approximately 66.86 percent of military ships as well. His ship was outfitted with top-level technology when it was built more than thirty years ago; he’s updated it considerably in the past few months.
Unfortunately, the Genesis ship dragging him along is using tractor-beam tech that’s fully half a century old. The mechanism is old-fashioned and not nearly as efficient—but it operates on a completely different system than Abel’s ship does, which makes him powerless against it.
It is, he thinks, like being capable of breaking through any electronic lock in existence, only to be bound in iron chains.
So Abel’s forced to simply wait as the Persephone is dragged through space—past Cray, past Stronghold—all the way back to Genesis.
He’s not completely without hope. If he could escape from Gillian Shearer’s lab on Haven, he can escape from Genesis. If Noemi has been taken to Genesis, as seems likely, she would no doubt try to help him.
Even if she thinks he’s less than human in some way, Noemi would never ever abandon him to such a bleak fate.
However, for all Gillian’s delusions of grandeur, she was in the end only one person, controlling one small town and a finite number of mechs. The Winter Castle’s security has limits. Genesis, on the other hand, is an entire planet, its people hardened by decades of war. Even in the aftermath of the Cobweb plague, Genesis can field a strong military presence in space and on the ground. They will be harder to elude.
But perhaps not impossible.
Wait, he tells himself as they make their way through the outskirts of the Earth system. He’s in his quarters, between repeat viewings of Casablanca. (He considers
this the best way to kill time in captivity: watching your favorite movie while planning to escape.) Wait for your chance. It could appear at any time, and you must be ready to seize it—
At that moment the Persephone shudders.
Abel sits upright, evaluates the potential causes of strain, and then pauses the movie’s playback at the first frame of Rick walking into the Blue Parrot. At full cyborg speed, he dashes back to the bridge.
On the viewscreen he sees the Genesis ship that took him captive in the middle of a firefight with another—a new one, but familiar in its design—
Out loud, Abel murmurs, “Remedy.”
Remedy and Genesis are supposedly allies—but that alliance is between Genesis and the more moderate wing of Remedy. Ephraim’s group. They don’t speak for the entire movement.
It’s instantly apparent that the Genesis vessel is outgunned. They hang on, though, fighting against the odds; he’d expect no less of soldiers who’ve endured the Liberty War.
He also expects them to lose, which means he’s about to be free.
Remedy is a large resistance organization, leaderless, comprised of different wings with different philosophies; the various cells agree only that Earth’s dominion over the planets must end. It began as a group of doctors who had realized the truth behind the Cobweb design—that it was designed by Earth and released deliberately into the galactic population long before the full risks were understood. Since that beginning, however, Remedy has expanded greatly. Some cells are more radical, more violent. Many have bombed public facilities on the various worlds, stooping to terrorism to accomplish their goals.
Given the armaments on this particular ship, Abel suspects he’s more likely to encounter Remedy terrorists than Remedy physicians. Either way, he’s much more likely to be set free, or at least get the opportunity to escape. He disapproves of Remedy’s terrorist actions, but he’s in no position to quibble with the ideology of his liberators.
