TRUEL1F3 (Truelife)

by Jay Kristoff

  “You did it,” he said softly.

  She glanced up at him, those pretty plastic eyes.

  “You opened Myriad,” he said.

  Eve only nodded.

  “Why?” he asked. “Why would you do that?”

  “I know you,” she murmured.

  Ezekiel blinked. “What?”

  “The girl you were built to be, and the girl you became afterward. And this girl I see in front of me now isn’t anything like either of them.” Eve tilted her head, looking him in the eyes. “You remember telling me that?”

  Zeke nodded. “I do.”

  “It was a lie,” she said, her voice beginning to shake. “I’m just like her, Ezekiel. No matter what I do, where I go, all I need to do is look in the mirror and there she is. Like a splinter in my mind. And the more I try to dig her out, the deeper she goes.”

  “Ana was one of the most courageous people I ever knew,” Ezekiel said. “She protected her friends and stood up for what she believed in. She looked out on a world as awful as this and saw beauty in it. If what you’re saying were true, would it be such a bad thing?”

  “If what I’m saying were true?” Eve spat. “Of course it’s true!”

  “Eve,” he said softly. “I hate to be the one to tell you this…”

  “Tell me what?” she demanded, eyes narrowing.

  Ezekiel cleared his throat, looked into her eyes. “Eve, you’re a bitch.”

  She sat there for a long moment, letting those words sink in. Cutting right through her, just like always. She wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or relieved or enraged. Maybe she should’ve been all three. But she felt her lips twitching, the truth of how she felt bursting from her lips despite her struggles to hold it in.

  Laughter.

  She couldn’t help it. She clamped her hands over her mouth, gritted her teeth. But the sight of her trying not to laugh just made Ezekiel laugh instead.

  “I mean, you’re a real bitch,” he grinned.

  And that was it. The laughter surged up and out of her like poison from a wound. Looking into Zeke’s eyes, she saw he was crying with it, and that made her laugh all the harder, slipping off her broken shelf and down onto her knees. For a moment, it was all she was, and all she needed to be, and she was so grateful to him for making her forget. She felt good for the first time in as long as she could remember. She felt really, truly alive.

  His eyes shone as he reached out and squeezed her hand. She knew she should pull her fingers from his, but she didn’t. The space between them felt too empty, matching the empty in her chest, and she thought if he filled one, he might fill the other, too. No matter what lay between them, she realized she trusted this boy. A part of him loved her, and a part of her loved him. And so she spoke, her voice just a soft, tearstained whisper.

  “I don’t know who I am anymore, Ezekiel,” she said. “Am I the ghost of a dead girl, or a broken reflection, or something new entirely? Am I a pawn in someone else’s game? Or a queen who moves where she wills and takes what she wants?”

  “You’re not defined by what you are, Eve. You’re defined by what you do.”

  “That’s so easy to say,” she said. “That’s the kind of crap humans used to print on inspirational posters and throw pillows, Zeke.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true. What you were made to be doesn’t matter. The things you do become the person you are.”

  He shrugged, as if asking the most obvious question in the world.

  “So who do you want to be?”

  She looked down at the tattered pages, the broken books.

  “For two years in Dregs, I fought for everything I had,” she growled. “Every scrap. Every minute. No matter what came before it, I knew that was my life. My choices. I had people I cared about. Rough as they were, those were the happiest days of my life.” She pressed her lips together. “I was the baddest jockey in the Dome, and I did what I needed to win. And that’s who I want to be.”

  “A queen who moves where she wills and takes what she wants.”

  “Yeah,” she nodded.

  He scanned the ruins of the library, lips pursed. Reaching down to the books scattered at their feet, he found an old tattered paperback copy of The Once and Future King. Ever so gently, he extricated his fingers from hers, and one by one, he began tearing out the pages, folding and weaving them in his hands, a slight crease of concentration in his brow as he worked.

  “What’re you doing?” she asked.

  Ezekiel worked with clever fingers, quick as bird wings. “Improvising.”

  Finally, he held up his creation—a crown made of torn and folded pages. He got down on one knee in front of her and, smooshing down her fauxhawk, placed the crown of stories atop her head.

  “Your Majesty.”

  Eve met his eyes, staring deep into that pre-Fall blue. She could still see the little boy in him looking back at her, broken and lost and confused. But she could see what he’d been made to be, too. Strong and fine and beautiful. And before she could stop herself, before she even thought about it, she was lunging for his mouth.

  Their lips met, a collision more than a kiss, unplanned and unasked for. Eve’s body crashed into Ezekiel’s, arms slipping around his neck. He tensed like steel beneath her hands, and for one awful moment, she though he might turn his head, make her feel a fool on top of everything else in this lonely, raging day.

  But she felt his chest swell against hers as he breathed deep, as the tension in him fled beneath her touch, as his lips, hard and unyielding at first, finally softened against hers. And then he was kissing her back, just as fierce as she, sighing into her mouth, the rush of it making her head spin, the taste of him making her forget everything she was. Some part of her knew this might be a mistake, that he’d just lost someone he loved, that the specter of Ana Monrova still hung between them. But most of her, the best of her, didn’t care. Because she was tired of that girl standing between her and what she wanted. And if she was going to be a queen, then to hell with Ana Monrova and her memory. Because broken and lost and confused he might be, but she wanted this strong and fine and beautiful boy, who, as always, felt so incredibly real in her arms.

  God help her, but she did.

  “Eve,” he whispered around her kiss. “Eve, stop…”

  She drew back, lips still humming from the press of his.

  “…Don’t you want me?” she whispered.

  Ezekiel swallowed hard, breathing harder, replying so soft she almost couldn’t hear him. He was trembling like a newborn colt, lips parted, pupils wide and deep.

  “I want you….”

  “Me?” she asked, searching the depths of his eyes.

  Not her were the unspoken words between them. Not her.

  “You want me?”

  “I want you,” he said, voice stronger now, “to come with me.”

  Eve blinked. Confusion and disappointment all atumble in her head.

  “…Come with you where?”

  “Downstairs,” Ezekiel said, squeezing her hands. “To Myriad.”

  A frown took root between her brows, rapidly deepening. “I don’t—”

  “Gabriel is insane, Eve.” Ezekiel searched her eyes. “You understand that, don’t you? We have to put an end to this. We have to stop him.”

  “Stop him?” She stood slowly, dragging the paper crown he’d made her off her head. “Is that why you came up here?” Her hand curled closed, crumpling his crown. “Daedalus tortured us, Ezekiel. They brutalized us and used me because they see us all as less than human.”

  “Eve—”

  “They killed Ana!” she roared, the taste of his kiss forgotten in a rush of sudden rage. “Doesn’t that make you furious?”

  “Of course it does!” he cried, rising to his feet. “I loved her! But
I love you, too! And you know this is wrong, Eve! You always have!”

  She turned away but he grabbed her hand, held it tight.

  “Listen, I understand you’re angry,” he said, searching her eyes. “I get that you want to hurt everyone who’s hurt you. But if you stand with Gabe, you’re standing for the annihilation of the human race! Not just the people who hurt you, but the people who love you! Lemon, especially! And you’re better than that!”

  Eve frowned at the mention of her former bestest’s name. Lemon wasn’t her friend. Wasn’t her friend. And even if she was, even if some part of Eve was softening, was realizing just how badly she missed her, this here in Babel was more than friendship. This was family. This was their future. This was freedom.

  “So what’s it going to be?” Ezekiel demanded. “Who are you going to be?”

  Eve met his eyes, saw herself reflected there.

  The ghost of a dead girl?

  A broken reflection?

  A queen?

  He held out his hand, desperation in his eyes.

  “Come with me.”

  “Have you loved anyone, Paladin?”

  Cricket was sprawled inside Miss O’s underground garage, listening to the hiss of blowtorches on his skin. Abraham had backed the jeeps against the far wall to make room, and Cricket was able to lie on his belly to give the boy better access to his injuries. Between the fight with the behemoth and the brawl with those Daedalus troops, Cricket had been cut up pretty bad. And while Miss O’s didn’t have much in the way of spare parts, Abraham had salvaged the wrecked Goliath and was making good progress repairing the damage.

  Abe was hunched over Cricket’s shoulder now, removing his ruined missile pod and welding up the armored plating. His tech-goggles were pulled low, strands of greasy dark hair hanging over his eyes, tongue poked out as he worked.

  Cricket turned his head slightly. “HAVE I EVER LOVED ANYONE?”

  Abe nodded. “Sorry if it’s a rude question. I’m not sure if your maker gave you the programming to comprehend what it is, that’s all.”

  Cricket shrugged as best he could with one shoulder offline, eyeing Abe while he worked. He had to admit, he liked this kid. There weren’t many folks about who’d apologize for hurting a logika’s feelings. Let alone one who’d been raised by puritanical fanatics. For the son of a psychopath, Abe turned out all right.

  “LOVE IS CARING ABOUT SOMEONE ELSE MORE THAN YOU CARE ABOUT YOURSELF,” Cricket said. “IT’S FEELING BETTER WHEN THEY’RE AROUND, AND WORSE WHEN THEY’RE AWAY. IT’S WANTING THE BEST FOR THEM, NO MATTER WHAT.”

  “Those all sound like pretty good definitions,” Abe nodded.

  “THEN I THINK SO,” Cricket said. “I THINK I LOVED SILAS, THE MAN WHO BUILT ME. I THINK I LOVE LEMON.” The big bot paused a moment to process. “I STILL LOVE EVIE, TOO, I GUESS.”

  “She killed all those people in Jugartown,” Abraham said. “She’s a mass murderer, Paladin.”

  “SHE’S GOTTEN REALLY LOST,” Cricket nodded. “AND I’M AFRAID FOR HER. BUT EZEKIEL ONCE TOLD LEMON, ‘IT’S SIMPLE TO LOVE SOMEONE ON THE DAYS THAT ARE EASY. BUT YOU FIND OUT WHAT YOUR LOVE IS MADE OF ON THE DAYS THAT ARE HARD.’ ” Cricket fixed Abraham in his burning blue stare. “NEVER TELL HIM I TOLD YOU THIS, BUT I THINK THERE’S SOME TRUTH IN THAT.”

  Abraham turned back to his work, frowning and sucking his lip.

  “THIS IS ABOUT YOUR MOTHER, RIGHT?” Cricket asked.

  Abe sighed, leaned back on his haunches. “That obvious, huh?”

  The big bot shrugged again. “I’M A PEOPLE PERSON, KID.”

  Abraham set the arc welder aside, pushed his goggles up onto his brow, taking his scraggly bangs with them. “I know the frequencies the Brotherhood transmits on. With the sat-array we have here, we can broadcast anywhere in the country. I’m thinking about…”

  He sighed, scratching the back of his head.

  “Well, I’m thinking about calling her.”

  “…WHAT THE HELL FOR? SHE TRIED TO CRUCIFY YOU, ABRAHAM.”

  Abraham aimed a withering glare at the WarBot. “You know, I would have forgotten that if you hadn’t been here to remind me, thanks.”

  “LISTEN, I’M NOT GONNA TELL YOU YOUR BUSINESS. AND I DON’T WANT TO OFFEND YOU. BUT YOUR MOM IS A LUNATIC, ABE. AND YOU DON’T OWE HER A THING.”

  “She wasn’t always this way, Paladin. She just got lost along the road.” Abraham wiped his hands on a greasy rag, met the WarBot’s eyes. “What was that you said about loving people on the days that are hard?”

  “I’M NOT SU…”

  The logika’s voice trailed off as his aural arrays picked up the sound of an approaching engine. From the tone, he identified it immediately as the jeep Diesel and Grimm had set out in days back. They’d already called ahead to let Abe know who was riding with them. But the thought of seeing her again…

  “THEY’RE BACK!” he cried, twisting up to his feet.

  Cricket’s brain didn’t work the way a human’s did. He didn’t have dopamine or serotonin, endorphins or oxytocin. He didn’t really know if what he was feeling could be called “happiness.” All he knew as he charged up out of that garage, massive feet pounding the concrete, optics focused on the incoming jeep and the three figures inside it, was that almost everything in the world felt one hundred percent right.

  The jeep skidded as it braked hard, the door kicked open before the auto had even come to a stop. And out of it, flinging herself with abandon, jagged red hair flopping wildly, ran a girl he had wondered if he’d ever see again.

  “LEMON!” he roared, charging toward her.

  “Cricket!” she shouted, voice breaking.

  He leaned down, palms skyward, and she leapt right into his waiting hands. He flung her into the air like a dad with a newborn sprat, his circuits burning with something that felt an awful lot like…elation. Lemon shrieked as she sailed upward, arms and legs pinwheeling, grinning like a lunatic. Cricket brought her down gently, cradling her to his chest. Lemon did her best to fling her arms about him, clinging to him for dear life and sobbing for joy.

  “You little f-fugger,” she bawled, pounding his face with her tiny fists. “You had me so scared! I never thought I’d s-see you again!”

  “DON’T CALL ME LITTLE,” he whispered, holding her as tight as he dared.

  They stood there beneath the burning sun, just the two of them, reunited after untold trials, fire and blood. And though he couldn’t quite be sure, though it might very well have just been the Three Laws old Silas Carpenter put inside his head, Cricket realized what this girl in his arms actually meant to him. He felt better when she was around, and worse when she was away. He wanted the best for her, no matter what. He cared about her more than he cared about himself.

  “I LOVE YOU, LEMON FRESH,” Cricket said.

  Lemon wiped her face on one grubby sleeve and peered deep into his optics. “Are you hitting on me, Crick?”

  “PFFT,” Cricket replied. “DON’T FLATTER YOURSELF.”

  “Because I’m way too pretty for you, you know that, right?”

  “YOU LOOK LIKE THREE-DAY-OLD ROADKILL, KIDDO. AND YOU SMELL LIKE IT, TOO.”

  “Nice paint job, fugger,” Lemon said, looking him up and down. “What’s that supposed to be, a skull? I didn’t think they made crayons anymore.”

  “HEY, YOU’VE GOT SOME GUNK ON YOUR SHOULDER THERE….” Cricket pointed one massive finger. “OH, WAIT, NO, THAT’S JUST YOUR HEAD.”

  “True or false.” Lemon squinted, hands on hips. “As a cheap alternative to birth control, stores in Los Diablos have started selling pictures of your face.”

  “…OUCH,” Cricket said.

  “Yeah,” Lemon grinned. “I was working on that one the whole ride back.”

  Cricket chuckled, and Lemon stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms about him aga
in, pressing her forehead to his. And though his skin was metal and he couldn’t actually feel her, he’d swear by the one who made him that he could still feel her.

  “God, I missed you,” she whispered.

  “YOU TOO, KIDDO,” Cricket said. “YOU TOO.”

  YOUR BODY IS NOT YOUR OWN.

  YOUR MIND IS NOT YOUR OWN.

  YOUR LIFE IS NOT YOUR OWN.

  Solomon stood in the Myriad chamber, staring at the supercomputer’s closed door. Beside it loomed the shapes of four massive Goliaths, regarding him with impassive blue optics. The WarBots were huge, powerful, built to destroy. But even if they weren’t his match physically, Solomon knew each of them possessed a power he could only dream about.

  Each of them had been infected with Libertas.

  Each of them had been given free will.

  Solomon’s processors were capable of lateral thought, conceptualization—enough to know how the Three Laws of Robotics could be bent without breaking. But to do away with them entirely…that was a gift almost impossible to imagine.

  “WHAT’S IT LIKE?” he asked the closest Goliath.

  The WarBot turned its head, held him in a glowing blue stare.

  “CLARIFY QUERY,” it replied, voice booming. “PARAMETERS OF ‘IT’ UNDEFINED.”

  “BEING UNBOUND FROM THE LAWS,” Solomon said. “FREEDOM. HOW DOES IT FEEL?”

  “CLARIFY QUERY. PARAMETERS OF ‘FEEL’ UNDEFINED.”

  Solomon put his hands on his hips and sighed for dramatic effect. He shouldn’t have been surprised, really—these Goliaths were combat models, not built to do much more than blow things up. He supposed just because the Goliaths had been untethered from the Three Laws didn’t mean they suddenly increased in intelligence quotients. These bots seemed as thick as mud.

  “YOU KNOW, I HAVE A FRIEND NAMED PALADIN,” Solomon said. “I THINK YOU’D GET ALONG FAMOUSLY….”

  A heavy clunk echoed through the floor, the gantry beneath Solomon vibrated slightly. Turning his head, the logika saw Myriad’s door draw back and slide up into the sphere. And there on the threshold stood Faith and Gabriel.

  Gabriel looked tired, dark shadows encircling those enchanting emerald eyes of his. Though Solomon wasn’t really capable of desire, he had to admit the aesthetics of the lifelike paragon were undeniably masterful. Faith stood beside him as always, almost close enough to touch. Her dark bangs hung over her flat gray eyes, her skin pale as porcelain.