by Claudia Gray
Look for an emergency alarm. See if you can hit it. Whatever security Shearer’s got would probably target the Smasher and maybe you’d get your chance to escape. This plan dies as soon as Noemi thinks of it, because already the Smasher is plodding toward her. It stops a few steps short of her and says, in its flat voice, “The garbage chute won’t kill Professor Mansfield. I chose to leave his body intact, since I hope to have use of it again.”
Hope had died inside Noemi’s heart. Now it’s born once more, along with the single soul she loves most in the whole galaxy. “Oh my God,” she whispers. “Abel?”
30
SMASHERS DON’T HAVE EYES, EXACTLY; MINING ROBOTS don’t need to distinguish fine shades of color or the subtleties of light. They have scanners, which provide a rough sensory map that can be used for digging out ore, properly loading carriers, or carrying out occasional demolitions work, as well as metallurgical analysis.
The scanners give Abel only a grainy, colorless image of Noemi, but it’s enough.
“A curious experience, being a Smasher,” he says as he lifts Noemi and carries her away from the rubble of the smashed wall. “This physical form is much more cumbersome, but much more powerful.”
If he’s correctly interpreting her blurry expression, Noemi is still dazed with astonishment. “How—how is this possible?”
“As you know, I—at least, my old body—was recently outfitted with Tether hardware and software. My consciousness and the software appear to have fused in some sense, until using the Tether has become almost automatic. A kind of instinct. Fortunately, as part of an experiment, I installed the Tether inside the Smasher we picked up on Stronghold. While I was at the task, I also put in considerable extra memory storage, purely out of curiosity.” Proximity alerts at Abel’s shoulders warn him that the corridor is narrowing. He sidesteps carefully through the next door. “As it turns out, this gave me a way out of data containment after Mansfield had extracted my soul. The Persephone had been abandoned not far from the perimeter of the Winter Castle, which meant that the Smasher was within range. Granted, his form is rather graceless, and I hope not to keep it for very much longer. In our current situation, however, it’s the most useful receptacle for my soul. And it has certain advantages. For example—”
With his free “hand,” he punches through the nearest wall, creating a passageway that will allow them to quickly reach the perimeter of the Winter Castle. The boom echoes through the corridors. Security is likely to arrive soon; Abel’s surprised it hasn’t already.
Noemi touches the broad hull he has for a chest, the sensory dome he has for a head. Her hands seem so small against his new, massive bulk. “A home for your soul,” she repeats, her voice trembling. “Your soul left your body, and now you’re—you’re free.”
He thinks she may be close to tears. Perhaps she’s merely overwhelmed, but Abel can imagine that this transformation might have certain theological aspects. “Do you consider my survival proof of the soul’s survival after death?”
“I don’t need proof for that,” she says. The grainy gray image is clear enough for him to see her crooked smile—or perhaps he’s filling the incomplete visual data with his own memories of her. Abel could never forget any of her expressions, any centimeter of her face. “Besides, this isn’t like anything else that’s ever happened in the history of the worlds. You’re something humanity has never seen before.”
In Abel’s opinion, this has been true since his manufacture, but he elects not to point this out. His resurrection on Haven is not only unprecedented, but unanticipated.
If humanity doesn’t know how to treat mechs with souls while they’re alive, then they certainly cannot be trusted to preserve and protect those souls after the deaths of their physical bodies. Should Inheritors have to accept the mortality of the soul even if, for them, it would be avoidable? Ethicists will debate this without coming up with any definite answers for decades, if not centuries.
That would be fine, if Inheritors wouldn’t be invented until centuries in the future. But Inheritors will exist very soon. They’re already on the verge of being made. Gillian and Mansfield have a lab ready and waiting here inside the Winter Castle.
Within his cradled arm, Noemi tenses. “Someone’s coming. Lots of someones.” Abel’s audio input is extremely weak, but he’s begun to pick up slight vibrations in the floor. Noemi scrambles against him, making him think she’s trying to escape, until he sees her level her blaster over his arm. “Just turn me to face them. I’ve got the rest.”
Even with his limited vision, Abel can tell her aim is unsteady. Is she truly so upset?
Either way, her assistance is unnecessary. “Save your weapon’s charge. We may need it later.”
“But how do we—”
Three Queens and a Charlie burst from the next door, all of them fully functional, armed, and ready for combat. These are warrior models, designed to kill humans…
…but they’re not much good against Smashers.
Abel spreads the broad mining claw he has for a hand and swats them aside. The mechs tumble across the room, slam into the far wall, and sprawl on the floor. Two of them have already deactivated, and the other two struggle to get up and return to the fight. Abel folds the claw into a fist and brings it down once on each mech, hard. After that, nothing remains but blood and wire.
Noemi shivers hard enough for his dull sensors to feel it. He says, “If it helps, don’t look at them.”
“Abel—” She sounds winded. “I’ve been killing mechs since I turned fifteen. This isn’t anything new.”
“Then why are you shaking?”
“I’m sick,” she says. “Or breaking down. Whatever you’d call it. We don’t know what’s going wrong with me, or whether it has anything to do with the other mech breakdowns going on throughout the galaxy—I don’t guess anyone can know—”
“You’re lacking a software update,” Abel says. “At least, that’s the cause of the other breakdowns, and I suspect the tech implanted within you had the same expiration date.”
“Wait, really?” Noemi seems confused. “How can every mech in the galaxy need updating?”
“Because Mansfield and Shearer stood to make a profit on it,” Abel replies. “They’ve updated their own models, of course. If we can retrieve a destroyed mech from this area, I can probably determine and replicate the update.”
She laughs weakly. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
“At the moment, many things.” Nor is Abel absolutely certain that he can fix what’s wrong with Noemi. However, he suspects that mentioning this would count as being “terrible at comforting people.”
“There’s more that you don’t know,” she says, her voice breaking. “Genesis is about to strike, using the Bellum Sanctum—”
“And the Liberty War will be won. Congratulations.”
“You don’t understand, Abel.” Noemi looks up at him, and her voice is pleading. “We have to stop Genesis.”
As he continues their journey back to Noemi’s party’s snowmobiles, she explains to him what Bellum Sanctum is. Abel had considered himself incapable of being further surprised by human savagery, but it seems he was wrong.
“If Earth hasn’t listened to the warnings we sent and doesn’t act until it’s too late—or if Earth can’t defend itself against a core disruptor at all—then we have to figure out some other way to stop this,” she finally concludes. “I was wondering—you were the only one who could turn that engine on. How hard will it be to turn it off?”
“Vibrational stresses will still be extreme. As I understand it, mechs or more basic machines generally undertake this task. So I would be a natural candidate to deactivate the engine. I will, however, need my original body to do so, or at least one smaller and more dexterous than this.” What is he to do, if he can’t reclaim his body? Maybe he could upgrade the memory of a higher-capacity mech like a Queen or Item—but with these enormous, clumsy hands, he’s not sure he’d be able to do
that. “Burton Mansfield’s occupation of my body is proving inconvenient not only to me but also to the billions of other people whose lives are at risk.”
“It was so grotesque, seeing him in you—in your body.” Noemi shudders.
“When did he tell you who he really was?” Abel hopes she hadn’t kissed him yet. He would be very, very angry if he learned Mansfield had taken advantage of Noemi in that way.
“He didn’t tell me. I knew it wasn’t you in there. I’d realized that after just a few seconds.” Noemi’s voice has begun to tremble again, and this time he doesn’t think it has anything to do with her health. “I know you, Abel. I know your soul, and it’s sweeter and purer and better than any human soul I’ve ever encountered. I know you, I trust you, and I believe in you.”
It’s more than he ever dreamed he would hear from her. Beyond his wildest hopes. But Abel knows he must ask: “You aren’t angry that I helped turn you into a hybrid mech? You don’t think being a mech is ‘less’ than being a human?”
“No, I don’t,” Noemi says. “I got upset when Genesis came after you and you didn’t listen to me. You have to get better at solving problems with me, not for me. But that never made me think less of you. I couldn’t think less of you, and I don’t ever want to leave you. Not ever again.”
Abel isn’t as certain. Yet the way she looks up at him, the expression in her eyes… surely that’s reason to hope.
But the trembling isn’t just emotion. Noemi is badly in need of repair, and they’re in hostile territory. They must hurry.
Rather than remind her of her illness, Abel says, “I look forward to kissing you when I’m once again in a body with nerve endings.”
Noemi’s laugh encourages him. “Yeah, a human-shaped body might come in handy for that.”
This phrase is evocative of many possibilities, but Abel sorts them as lower priority.
Noemi, too, seems to be refocusing on the essentials of survival. “Harriet and Zayan came with me,” she says. “Virginia and Ephraim, too. We’re supposed to rendezvous back at the snowmobiles—if they haven’t been captured, or gotten lost.”
“I’ll locate the others.”
Lumbering to the nearest control panel, Abel interfaces with it and pulls up security video, sector by sector, flipping through it as quickly as his duller sensors will allow.
Area: Central laboratory. Gillian Shearer is furiously typing into a control panel as she shouts, “I’m trying to open the hatches!”
“Well, they’re not opening!” says Mansfield’s voice, via his comm link. “I’m stuck in here with the junk, and I can’t believe my own daughter doesn’t have enough wherewithal to do something about it!”
Apparently Mansfield’s escape from the garbage is taking a while. Good.
“Alert security,” Mansfield’s voice continues. “They should be on the lookout for that Vidal girl and a Smasher.”
Gillian frowns. “A Smasher?”
As entertaining as it would be to continue eavesdropping, Abel knows it’s time to move on.
Area: Internal defense. Various Queens and Charlies stand in formation. There are two dozen—an intimidating number to fight, but not a large enough number for the total defense of the Winter Castle in the long term. He makes note of this for later.
Area: Repair and regeneration. In this room he sees empty mech tanks, which are waiting to incubate Inheritors. The next step in mech development, mechs who will be able to procreate and feel emotion. Who will have souls. Each of them will have a Directive One buried deep within their programming, and they’ll have to obey it—and Mansfield, no doubt. No human law will prevent it, and no human will care. They will have to surrender their bodies, their lives, on command.
Organic mechs aren’t the future of cybernetics, Abel thinks. They are the future of slavery.
But he must move on.
Area: Refuse processing. Burton Mansfield wades through the sludge and muck accumulated at the bottom of the Winter Castle, sopping wet and filthy, and clearly furious. This view is a waste of 0.021 seconds, as Abel knows none of the members of Noemi’s party are there—but he doesn’t regret looking.
Area: Climatological research. Harriet and Zayan dart through one of the doors, keeping their backs to the wall.
Area: Kitchen 4. Virginia and Ephraim sneak between two tables. As they hurry by, Virginia grabs a frosted pastry from a platter and starts munching.
“Located,” he tells Noemi.
“Then signal them,” she says. “Let them know it’s time to get the hell out of here.”
Abel reaches the snowmobile bay first, Noemi in his arms, which proves fortunate. When Zayan and Harriet run in, they reach for their weapons. Only Noemi’s presence keeps them from firing. (A Smasher hull would withstand significant blaster damage, but they might’ve accidentally struck Noemi in the process.) Even with her there to help him explain, they find his transition… difficult to comprehend.
“This is Abel,” Zayan repeats. “This big mining thing right here?” He knocks against the metal “chest” for emphasis, which Abel finds somewhat impolite but not worth mentioning.
“It is me,” Abel promises. “For instance, I know that you found the floating food at Montgolfier extremely repellent, and that if you and Harriet fulfill your plans of having a child someday, you particularly like the names Swathi and Martin.”
Harriet’s face lights up, and she squeezes Zayan’s hand. “I like Martin, too.” Her biggest grin is reserved for Abel. “Welcome back from the dead, if that’s the right term.”
“It will do for now.” He recalls Robin Mansfield, still trapped in an afterlife that is no life at all. He intends to keep his oath to set her free, but he must get Noemi to safety first.
Noemi sags against him, her limbs limp. The shock of Mansfield’s attack and his rescue must’ve sent adrenaline coursing through her body, keeping her alert. Now it’s worn off, and her weakened condition is clear. She murmurs, “We have to wait for—”
Blaster fire down the corridor startles the humans. Abel redirects his audio input in time for Ephraim’s voice to echo through the corridor: “Come on! Move!”
“I’m moving!” Virginia shrieks, the last word almost obscured by more blasters and the pounding of footsteps.
As ever, Noemi rallies for combat. “Harriet, Zayan, get on a snowmobile and go! We’ll be right behind you.”
“No.” Abel deposits her on a snowmobile and motions to Harriet to take the controls. “You can’t help Ephraim and Virginia in your condition. I should be more than capable of defending them on the way out.”
“But—” Noemi starts to protest, then goes pale. She sways sideways and catches herself just as Harriet hops aboard the snowmobile. Zayan’s already on another one, understanding how short time is. Still, Noemi can’t quite give up her need to fight. “I don’t want to leave them behind.”
Abel says, “You aren’t. I’m still here.”
Harriet guns the engine, and the snowmobile zips forward. Noemi grabs Harriet’s waist, allowing herself to be taken away. She must feel even worse than she’s letting on. Zayan’s right behind them, and within 3.72 seconds, both snowmobiles have zoomed through the open bay doors, into the brilliant light reflected from the snow.
Immediately afterward Ephraim runs in, sweating and breathing hard. Abel decides explanations will take too long. Instead, he sweeps Ephraim up in one claw, giving him a shake that sends his blaster tumbling to the floor.
“What the hell?” Ephraim yells. He struggles to free himself, which proves to be impossible. Abel spreads the other arm wide, ready to catch Virginia when she comes through.
She doesn’t.
Instead, he hears a security door sliding shut.
Virginia’s voice comes through Ephraim’s commlink. “The door is blocked, so I’m going to go deeper in. See if I can’t mess this place up from the inside out.”
“No!” Ephraim fights even harder to escape Abel’s grasp. “Virginia! Don
’t do this!”
“Too late, buddy.” She cackles with what sounds like genuine glee. “I can’t get out, so I’m going to do some serious espionage before they catch me.”
How like Virginia, Abel thinks, to turn a no-win scenario into a chance to cause mayhem. The plan is too risky, and he would physically remove her by force if he could—but without knowing her location, he can’t.
He can tell that another two mechs are bursting through a side door—and the portal to the outside is grinding shut. If he’s going to get Ephraim to safety, he has to go now.
He has to leave Virginia behind.
Abel turns and runs to the door. Blaster fire scores his back, but he keeps going. There’s nothing to do but save those he can.
31
THE WIND BUFFETS NOEMI’S FACE, HOWLS IN HER EARS. She can see nothing but a pale sky above and white snow below. Harriet is only a dark warm shadow she’s holding on to to keep herself from floating away from this body, this planet, until she’s nothing but a soul.
Like Abel, she thinks through a haze. Just like Abel.
Through the rush of air around her she hears distant blaster fire. The soldier inside her reawakens, pulling her back into the here and now. They’re escaping from the Winter Castle, and she can’t fall apart yet.
Harriet curves sharply as she brings the snowmobile to a stop near the makeshift Vagabond hospital. The curving motion sends a flume of snow spraying out around them. The sudden stop dizzies Noemi all over again. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and only then climbs off.
A few seconds behind them is Zayan. His snowmobile halts close enough to send snow flying; the cool speckles against Noemi’s hot cheek feel good. She must be feverish. Through the spangling of snowflakes on her eyelashes, she sees him run to Harriet. The two of them embrace tightly, and it hits Noemi how much they must care about Abel. Risking their own lives would be one thing, but they’re willing to risk each other. That’s so much harder.
