by Claudia Gray
Abel’s quiet for several seconds, and she thinks the regenerative cycle must have begun until he breaks the silence. “Aren’t you going to tell me how badly I’m comforting you?”
“…You didn’t seem to enjoy it, before.”
“Humans are better at defusing tension through humor.”
“Whaaat?” She drags out the word; if Abel wants to be teased, she’ll oblige. “The greatest mech of all mechs just admitted humans are better at something?”
“For now. I might figure it out eventually.”
“Yeah. You might.” Noemi hugs him, rests her forehead against the place between his shoulder blades. He’s not as warm as a human would be, but she hopes she has enough body heat for them both.
They might’ve lost each other. So many things between her and Abel are unsaid—so many she’s unsure of.
But Noemi knows at least one thing she wants to say to him, and she doesn’t intend to waste any more time. “Listen. About before—what I said when we were discussing Simon, and Inheritors—I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“I don’t know if ‘hurt’ is the right word,” Abel says. But after another moment he adds, “It will do.”
“You’re not ‘lesser’ than me or any other human. I told you once that you were more human than your creator, remember?”
“That proved not to be a very high bar to clear.”
She closes her eyes, concentrating to find the right words. “I don’t pity you for being a mech.”
“But you do pity me.”
If they were in any other situation, Noemi would walk away now. She’d give him time to consider; she’d think up smarter, better things to say. This would all be so much easier. Yet this is the hour they have. “I pitied you for being so alone. That’s all.”
“If other Inheritors come into being, I wouldn’t be alone. But you said their creation would be a sin.”
“Think about it, Abel. Those Inheritors—they’d be hunted across the galaxy. Mansfield never intended to reserve these just for himself or his family, and Gillian Shearer—she thinks her role in this universe is to destroy death itself. Every human who’s afraid of mortality, which means every human ever, would try to capture one. The Inheritors would spend their whole lives on the run. On your own, you can hide, but a whole race of mechs like you? The word’s going to get out. After that, you’d all be hunted down every second of your lives.”
“…That’s your objection?”
“You don’t think it would happen?”
“No. You’re right, it would, if safeguards weren’t in place. But”—Abel’s hand closes around hers—“humans can be killed. They can fall prey to disease, or accident, or even murder. That doesn’t mean they stop having children.”
Is he thinking of them as children already? That feels completely wrong to Noemi, but she can’t say exactly why, and she’s not going to speak carelessly again. “That’s different. Inheritors’ souls have been created only to be destroyed. Their bodies will live on to serve as vessels for the rich and powerful, but the Inheritors themselves—the innermost part of them—that dies. Humans aren’t created only to die.”
“I think your Bible might say differently.”
She blinks, taken aback. The entire shape of this question has just changed for her—like the drawing in which a vase suddenly becomes two faces. Every existence is finite; why should one have less value than another?
A creator’s intent matters, she thinks, but this is something she needs to consider in depth.
Gently, Abel continues, “You’re still thinking of mechs as living to serve humans. As… secondary. This is a natural assumption, since as of now I am one of only two mechs who lead an independent existence.” He turns his face toward the crevasse of wreckage and she knows he’s wondering about Simon within that ship, half-formed, afraid and angry. “But it doesn’t always have to be that way. Consider the potential.”
“I will,” Noemi promises. “But will you do something for me?”
“Of course.”
“Please consider the possibility that something’s not right with Simon. I know you feel for him. I do, too. When I spoke to him the first time, I imagined it was you if you were brand-new, and nobody had ever explained to you what you were. But Gillian rushed the process, and she used a little kid who didn’t understand. It went wrong in a way I’m not sure you can put right. Simon’s ‘games’ nearly killed us. They still could. I’m just afraid that—that you want a brother so badly you’ll ignore all the warning signs until it’s too late.”
In the long pause that follows, Noemi curses herself for every word, until Abel finally says, “You may be right. Not about the Inheritors, but about Simon. He’s… unstable.” Admitting that cost Abel. She hugs him around his waist, offering what little comfort she can, as he continues, “When I was speaking to him through his mechs, I mentioned his mother. I thought he would naturally want to return to her. But Simon felt nothing. He no longer loved her. I know that if I could no longer feel love, I would be irretrievably broken. Simon may be as well. I can’t abandon him until I’m sure—but I intend to investigate. And I’ll be more cautious in the future.”
“Okay. That’s all I ask.”
When Abel speaks again, his words come more slowly. “The regeneration cycle is about to begin.”
“Do you dream while you’re regenerating? Or only while you’re asleep?”
“I’ve never dreamed during a regeneration cycle before,” he says groggily. “But there’s no reason I couldn’t, eventually.”
Hugging him again, she says, “Then have good dreams.”
Abel shifts, as if he’s going to turn and look at her, but then his head droops onto the floor and his body goes slack. Regeneration has begun.
Noemi’s wired from their narrow escape, and a debris-strewn tank in below-freezing temperatures isn’t exactly the most comfortable place she’s ever tried to sleep. But she’s so exhausted that she thinks she’ll be able to grab an hour or two once the adrenaline wears off. Maybe she can try to have some sweet dreams of her own.
As long as Abel’s with her, she feels safe. Which at the moment is a total illusion, but she’ll take what she can get.
She rests her forehead against his back again, content to feel the in-and-out of his breath—slower than a human’s would be, even in sleep, but still comforting. This small comfort feels precious to her. Beautiful, and rare.
Noemi’s never questioned what she felt for Abel. By the time he told her he loved her, they had less than one hour left to be together. In the months since, she’s often wondered about the nature of his love, whether it was the same as a human’s. But there had been no point in asking what she might feel in return. It had seemed so obvious that they could never meet again.
Holding him now, though—the sense of longing and need even while he’s in her arms—well, it makes her think.
In her memory she hears what Abel said to her months ago, as they parted at the Genesis Gate: It hurts more to lose you than it did to give up my own life. Does that mean what I feel isn’t only a copy? That I do love you?
She answered, I think maybe it does.
That seems even truer to her now than it did then.
She closes her eyes and hugs Abel more tightly. Just for now, she’s going to pretend there’s nothing wrong. That there’s nothing else in all the worlds but the two of them, together.
26
THE AWARENESS THAT THE REGENERATION CYCLE HAS ended doesn’t feel exactly like waking up, but it’s close. Abel opens his eyes to near-complete darkness; only a few of Haven’s moons are visible at this time of night, and they must be smaller, more distant ones. He adjusts his vision as best as possible, then rotates his wrist. Although some stiffness remains, its condition is adequate for their immediate needs. The ankle feels almost entirely normal.
Next to him, Noemi sleeps soundly, her breathing deep and even. Her arm remains stretched around his waist, although her hand has gone sl
ack. Abel allows himself a few moments to enjoy her nearness, and covers her hand with his own. Hopefully this is not inappropriate. She stirs gently, snuggling against his back in her sleep, and he discovers that love can be a physical sensation, a kind of melting warmth through his chest.
Even if she doesn’t love him in return, this feeling is reward enough on its own.
But he can’t afford to let such thoughts distract him from their imminent need to escape. He adjusts input so he can listen to the widest possible range of frequencies. His hearing isn’t exponentially better than a human’s, but the extra sharpness he possesses could make a difference. The bluster of the wind masks almost anything he could possibly hear outside the tank itself. However, he thinks that if Simon’s mechs had pursued them to this side of the crevasse, he’d pick something up. Certainly he would hear any Remedy fighters who had made their way over in hopes of collecting the bounty on his life.
Abel and Noemi are alone. They’ll get their chance to escape.
For another twenty-six minutes, he allows Noemi to sleep. She can’t have gotten nearly enough rest these past few days, even for a young human in top physical condition. However, when the temperature drops further, he realizes they need to act before the chill becomes hazardous for her despite the protection of the parka. “Noemi?” he whispers. Speaking louder would be more effective, but humans seem to value a more gradual awakening. “Noemi, get up.”
“Mmph.” She stirs beside him, then groans. “I was hoping the tank part was a nightmare.”
“We aren’t that fortunate. We need to move.”
“Can we? Are you okay?” Noemi sits up and touches his arm. No doubt she’s only checking his injury, but the contact rushes through Abel like heat or electricity. It’s not yet desire, but it could be. Do humans feel attraction at such inconvenient moments? Surely not. This must be some kind of malfunction. Unlike any other malfunction, though, Abel enjoys it.
He says only, “I should be able to climb down the remainder of this side of the ship until we’re at ground level, which will provide our best chance at escape. This is of course assuming the necessary handholds exist. What about you? How would you evaluate your climbing strength?”
“I’m not sure. Usually I’m pretty good, but now—” Noemi rubs her hands together; they’re red with cold, no doubt numb.
Immediately Abel says, “You should hold on to my back again while I climb for us both.”
“Don’t put yourself in more danger for me. That’s too much weight for you to carry with your ankle and your wrist—”
“It isn’t.” It’s close, but within acceptable parameters. “They’re almost back to normal. In addition, you know you can’t grip the handholds, not without gloves. This is the only way.”
Her frown tells him she doesn’t like it, but she nods. “I was thinking—if we get to Virginia’s corsair, and return to your ship, maybe we could contact Fouda from there? We might be able to bargain for the relay codes with something else.”
“I don’t want to leave Simon here.”
Noemi pauses, and he anticipates more of her objections to his work with Simon. Instead she says, “We’d have more resources on the ship. Some of Mansfield’s original plans for mechs, stuff like that, right? We could regroup and come back for Simon.”
“An excellent plan.” Its excellence is largely based on the fact that it’s the only remotely workable alternative, but Abel feels the need to be encouraging while agreement is still possible between them. His needs and Noemi’s will soon conflict. She’ll want to help Genesis as fast as she can—understandable—while he knows leaving Simon alone any longer could lead to disaster. He’ll make his arguments when the time comes. “Our hike to the corsair will be difficult—about two kilometers from here, but through difficult terrain and thick snow.”
She shrugs. “We’ll make it or I won’t.”
Abel wants to correct her statement, as he has no intention of going on without her. But that’s something else to mention only later, after it comes up, which, hopefully, it won’t.
In some respects, the broken chasm dividing this ship provides a more promising climb than Abel would’ve thought. Ragged spars of metal jut out at various angles, offering the hand- and footholds they require. Unfortunately, those same spars are mostly crusted with ice. Abel can compensate only so much for a slippery surface.
Noemi’s not the only one who could use a pair of gloves.
Quickly calculating ratios and probabilities, Abel decides the likelihood of his making it safely to the bottom is sufficient for him to try it. But it doesn’t seem enough for him to risk Noemi. He prefers a wider margin of safety when it comes to her. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Uh-oh.” Noemi rubs her head with one hand. “If you’re admitting you have actual limits, that means it’s bad, right?”
“Successfully climbing to the bottom isn’t impossible. Only… slightly less probable than the alternative.” This is definitely a time to keep exact percentages to himself.
She exhales, then says, “Well, there’s no other way out. No matter what the odds are, we have to try.”
Abel knows this, logically, but still wants to argue. Maybe he could escape on his own and bring help back to her—but what help, and when? Most likely he wouldn’t be able to return for at least a solid day, by which time Noemi would probably have died of exposure.
“Abel?” She looks at him steadily. “I trust you. I’m willing to try this. And sitting around here dreading the climb is only freaking me out.”
“All right,” he says. “Let’s go.”
They figure out a way to extend his belt and loop it once through the cord around her waist. It’s a pitifully weak kind of harness, but it’s the best they can do with what they have. Abel positions himself at the tank’s edge and lets Noemi adjust her grip on him and her balance. “Ready?” he asks.
Her hands tighten around his shoulders. “Ready.”
He bends, grasps the lip of the tank, and drops so that his body hangs over the side. For 0.4 seconds the icy metal seems to deny his hold, but then Abel gets it. Together he and Noemi dangle from this one ledge, she clinging tightly to his back, the crevasse still very far below.
“Oh God oh God oh God oh God,” Noemi whispers. “Tell me that was the hardest part.”
“It was, actually.” Their probability of death is still far too high, but completing the first step means their odds have improved to nearly sixty/forty.
Abel moves slowly, taking his time to make sure every hold is as secure as it can be. His wrist throbs with every movement, which is unimportant as long as his grip remains strong. There’s not much Noemi can do to help at this stage, but she remains utterly still, more so than most humans could manage. Because of this, his balance stays constant. With every meter they descend, the drop becomes less dangerous, and their odds improve.
After eleven minutes and fourteen seconds, they reach the bottom. Together they make contact with the ground, then stumble back a few steps before collapsing in the white wet crunch of snow. Noemi’s breathing is fast and shallow, like someone trying not to cry; Abel would reassure her if he thought he could speak.
This must be what humans call “exhaustion.” He doesn’t like it.
Finally Noemi says, very quietly, “Thank you, Abel.”
“You’re welcome.”
“We have to start walking. Can you do it?”
His ankle and wrist ache from the strain of the climb, but as Noemi said earlier—they’ll make it or they won’t. So he gets to his feet alongside her, brushes ice crystals off his clothes—
—and spots the figure rising from behind a snow-covered pile of debris.
“Abel!” Noemi cries, pushing him to the side just before a blaster bolt arcs through the air overhead. If her reflexes are faster than his, he’s even more tired than he thought. They’re half-buried in a drift, the snow their only protection. “Was that Remedy?”
“No—the Ta
re with one eye. One of Simon’s. And we’re unarmed.”
The situation’s even worse than that. Even now, the Tare—functioning as part of Simon’s mind—is sharing their location with the rest of his mechs. Within minutes the others will be on them.
Abel brought Noemi safely to the ground only for them to both die.
Noemi looks around frantically, her chin-length hair whipping in the wind, before grabbing a large stone and hurling it at their attacker. The Tare has turned so that her absent eye faces them, so she doesn’t see the rock coming—and when it makes contact, she goes down instantly, unconscious or inoperable.
“Unarmed, my ass.” Noemi scrambles to her feet and tows Abel up with her. She seems to have realized he’s not functioning optimally. Snow slips off her parka but clings to his clothes in thick, cold ridges. “We have to go back inside the Osiris,” she says.
He must protest. They only barely escaped the ship with their lives, and both the passengers and any surviving Remedy members will attack Abel on sight. Simon has yet to be reasoned with. Noemi will be in danger as long as she’s near him. “That can only delay our reaching the Persephone.”
“You’re not yourself, Abel. And if you’re not at full strength, there’s no way we can get to Virginia’s corsair.” She counts her points off on her red, chapped fingers. “But if we can’t fly up to her, she could fly down to us. There’s got to be something in the Osiris we could use to contact her—right? Or we could maybe find the docking bay and take a smaller ship, if there’s one that’s still spaceworthy. Either way, we’ll be able to help ourselves better in there than we can out here.”
“Agreed.” It’s risky, but so is every other course of action they could take. He stalks through the snow over to the fallen Tare and takes her blaster in hand. If he has to put Noemi in danger again, at least he’ll be able to defend her. Then he spies another blaster among the wreckage and tosses it to Noemi, who’s very good at defending herself. She’s also skilled at attacking, as their opponents on this ship will soon be aware.
