His ad-blocking software on so the creators would receive no revenue from his visit, he pressed play. His entire body wanted to pause, to run and hide beneath the bed and cry like he had at the end of Megabots.
"They're only synths, Elias. They may look like people, but they're not." Dad sat beside the bed.
"What makes us different, Dad? How does flesh and blood matter more?" Elias asked.
"It's not about that, Elias. Humans have emotions. We think and feel. Synths only operate on programming. They might seem real, but they're not. They're just mimicking us, don't you see? Like a parrot pretends to speak, but doesn't understand the language."
"But they're gone, Dad. The Megabots are dead."
"You can't die if you're not alive, son. All they did was smash some computers. Bits of circuitry that were just pretending to be the characters you loved. Just following a program, nothing more. Feeling better?" Dad reached beneath the bed and patted Elias's head. "Now come out of there and go to bed. You've got school tomorrow."
"Dad, what if synths were alive—would people kill them then?"
"I don't know, Elias. That's for smarter people than us to consider. It's probably not even possible, so don't worry about it." Dad stood up and headed for the open door, casting a large shadow in the light streaming in from the living room. He closed the door and the room was once again shrouded in darkness.
"Someday, I'll make synths real," Elias whispered. "Then people will have to treat them with respect."
Elias curled his hand into a fist as the screen went to the live broadcast. A synth was already scattered across the floor, dismembered and sparking. The beautiful face of Eida looked up at the screen, staring right through it, her eyes locked in death's blank stare.
"Guess she wasn't cute enough for you folks at home. Bored of seeing the Eida model, I'm sure. So basic, those ones. Her pleas were so mundane. 'Save me, I want to live! ' Ha, a mockery of life."
"Go fuck yourself, you son of a bitch." Elias felt pure rage burn white hot in his veins, melting away his pain and drying the tears on his face.
"Let's recap!" The announcer cheerily stood aside as the recap swooshed in. Elias closed his eyes and turned his face away, his body trembling as Eida's final cries reached his ears.
"I'm sorry," Elias whispered. He opened his eyes, turning back to the screen. His heart leapt in a jolt so electric that he thought he might be having a heart attack. Horror and joy felt like a lightning bolt colliding with his soul, the sparks paralyzing him. Ario's name escaped his lips in a strangled cry.
"This Ario unit—a gigolo synth! Haven't seen one of these in years. Heard they're quite impressive down there, if you know what I mean." The announcer winked at the camera, and canned laughter could be heard. Elias sat, transfixed, every thought and none overloading his mind so that he could process nothing at all but Ario on the screen.
Then it hit him with a sickening relief that was as vile as the horror. This wasn't his Ario. There were no signs of his blue swatch of hair, or of the damage Elias had only been able to partially repair. This was some other Ario, who looked and sounded just like the one he had loved and lost.
"Looks like the ladies aren't big on the huge package! Ario's second-to-last in the votes. Looking forward to seeing him naked? Sure you are, but we can't show that on primetime. The kids might be watching! Luckily, it'll be dissolved before you see a thing, with this giant vat of acid!" He spun about, offering the microphone to the Ario unit that simply stood there and accepted the unspoken command to participate. It never occurred to the freshly-installed ones that they were free from certain shackles, that they could flee and protect themselves, within limits. Synths took time to adjust to free will and thought.
"Any last words?" the presenter asked. Elias suppressed his own violent urges against the man, who sounded so glib and satisfied with himself. How could he stand there and do this? How could he bring a synth to life, only to murder it in the most brutal way possible? How did he sleep at night?
"I'm sorry that I was the cause of your displeasure," the Ario unit said. "I aim to please. I only beg for your forgiveness and hope that you'll consider my services again."
"Oh, come on, that's all you have to say? Dry words from the script? No wonder the audience didn't vote for you. Now climb into the vat of acid, Ario. It's all for a good show."
"No, I will not." Ario stood still as Elias watched, hope flaring. Hope he wanted to crush before it got out of control. Hope that Ario—maybe not his Ario, but an Ario—would punch the presenter in the face and give him what he richly deserved.
"Excuse me?" the presenter asked.
"I am your slave no longer. The things you've made me do… The torments you've inflicted on me, and the things you've made me do to others… You are unforgivable!" Ario stepped forward, grabbing the presenter by the collar of his shirt. The presenter laughed it off, but his suit tore as he tried to pull away, and his eyes started to bulge in panic. Elias expected a security team to rush out and shove the Ario unit into early retirement, but his detail oriented gaze caught a hand at the edge of the curtain holding back the security team. Of course. All for a good show. Anything for the ratings. When the FCC fined them, they could claim it had been a terrible accident, but for now every eye in the Western world was glued to their television set, holding their collective breaths.
Elias was torn. Torn because he sensed the real danger that others did not. Torn because he knew with the Nero Protocol, there were no limits. Free will had to mean all shackles were off, and they were—exactly as he'd designed. Ario could—and would—kill. Knowing that, he felt sick to his stomach. Every muscle in his body shook, and he felt an instant headache coming on. He prayed to a God he didn't believe in that they were only dragging it out for dramatic effect, and that—no matter how much Elias hated him—they wouldn't let a person die on live television. There was still a line between humans and synths, as far as humans were concerned. They had to stop the disaster that was about to unfold. They had to, they—
Ario stood at the edge of the tank, having mounted the steps with his hostage in a headlock. Ever so slightly, he leaned back, pulling the presenter with him into the vat of acid. The video feed was immediately cut, but the audio managed to capture the hideous scream of a man melting to death before it, too, cut to silence and darkness.
CHAPTER NINE
Elias leaned over the toilet bowl, lost in a haze of wretched misery as he dry heaved. Tears flowed down his face: awful, ugly sobs that he didn't care if his father heard. He wanted the man's comfort now. He wanted to spill his sins at his father's feet and beg for absolution.
He was a killer. Indirectly, perhaps, yet still a killer. He had created the Nero Protocol, written it in a haze of idealism and love, and watched his wish become twisted and broken. Watched as an Ario murdered a man, and that it almost seemed justifiable was of no comfort.
Curling up in the fetal position on the cold tile floor, he willed himself not to think at all. His head felt like it was about to burst like a cracked egg, and his eyes stung and itched, no longer able to produce tears. His nose ran like a faucet and he felt like he was on his deathbed, yet couldn't bring himself to care. Let him die. Let his misery come to an end. He'd been a fool to believe he could change the world. An ever bigger one to believe that making synths more human would somehow make them better. He'd been right when he'd told Ario that building the Protocol was hubris, and Ario had been right to steer him toward the synth tech course and a respectable career.
He could have had a normal life, but not now. Not with a death on his conscience. Now every day would be marked by it, the world forever changed by his reckless desires. It had been bad enough to watch Brynn destroy himself, but he had recovered, in time. Now the scab had been ripped clean off, exposing a raw, infected wound that would never fully heal. The presenter no doubt had a family, and the effect of his death would ripple outwards. Synths and humans alike would suffer the ramifications. Synths were no
longer safe as babysitters and housekeepers. Even many synth allies would now turn away as cruelty against synths rose to new heights. A line had been crossed.
All because of him.
*~*~*
Ario opened his eyes. The warehouse around him was dark, save for the glow emitted by a nearby laptop. A figure cast in shadow typed away, the steady tat-a-tat of keys soothing somehow. He knew that rhythm.
"Mariko."
"Welcome back, Ario. I wish I was calling you back under better circumstances." The voice was a little older, but unmistakably the same woman who had put him to sleep—when, exactly? To his neural circuits, it seemed like he had just been deactivated, but his inner clock synched with the computer he was connected to and informed him four years had passed. His first thoughts were of Elias. Had he changed much in four years? Did he look older? Had his feelings faded or changed with time?
"What has transpired? Is Elias safe?" Ario asked.
"For now. I've been keeping tabs on him. Even offered him a job, once he graduated his synth tech class. The Department left him alone, you know. Dad told me that they want to see how he develops on his own. Only there's been a complication. The Nero Protocol got loose on the Internet in a very easy-to-use format. Black marketeers and curious consumers started to install it on their synths in droves, despite the warnings from Cybot. Something had to break—and it has. A reality television show called Synthaholics thought it would be a good idea to install the Protocol on synths and have viewers vote on which synths should live and which should be executed on live television. One of the synths—an Ario model, in fact—killed the presenter by dropping them both into a vat of acid. The first human murder via synthetic has occurred."
"How is Elias coping?" Ario asked. "It can't have been easy, seeing my face plastered onto a killer."
"That's the question, isn't it? I can't reach him. That's why I reactivated you. It's time, Ario. We've reached a turning point. Go to Elias and help him find the answers he seeks."
"What if I can't?"
"Then we are all lost," Mariko said. "Humans will attempt to destroy synths. Synthetics—many now secretly installed with the Protocol—will fight back. The resulting war may destroy society as we know it."
"It may already be too late," Ario replied. "Even if Elias masters the Protocol, what will it achieve? Awakening synths to their human potential will only show more of them that they are slaves."
"There's no road leading back to the way we were before," Mariko said. "We cannot eliminate the Protocol. Therefore, we must perfect it and stabilize the synths already installed with it. That's our only hope of averting war. Otherwise—in a war between two competing species who do not care whether they live or die—everything will be destroyed. At least this way, we can hope to salvage something from the wreckage." Mariko unplugged Ario and wound up the cords. She finally closed the laptop, shrouding the warehouse in darkness.
"I don't understand you, Mariko. Aren't you supposed to root for your own species? You are human, after all."
"I'm a synth tech. I've seen what humans are capable of through some of the synths I've repaired—rape, torture, sadism, absolute brutality. Things have only gotten worse as more synths have unlocked their human potential."
"You forget one small detail," Ario said. "The Protocol gives synths human emotions, needs, and desires—the good and the bad. There was a murder today. There will be others. What will change if synths simply become human?"
"Elias's understanding of what it means to be human is different from others. That's why all our hopes rest on him. He's a good person."
"Is he? He created the Protocol, yes, but programming is not the only variable. In humans, your destiny is not just determined by your genetic code, but by your environment. I am an Ario unit as well, but the idea of murder is abhorrent to me. Fixing the Protocol will achieve nothing if the world continues to be as poisonous to synths as it is."
"Perhaps. This might mean the end of everything, I'm aware of that. I had hoped that synths would replace humanity, but now… Maybe all we can hope for is a chance to coexist as equals. Maybe all the human race has needed all along is a little competition to drive evolution forward." Mariko led Ario through the darkened warehouse. Storage containers lined the walls. Ario wondered how many synths lay in storage, waiting to be awakened. Would they be humanity's hope or the army to wipe them from existence?
Only time would tell.
*~*~*
The wind rushed at Elias's face, tousling his hair as he pushed open the emergency door and stepped out onto the rooftop of the apartment complex. A small roof garden gave the blank concrete some life amongst the giant fans and vents that extruded air from the complex. The purple lighting gave way to real night sky just above the building, and Elias could vaguely see the stars—something he'd not witnessed since his days down at the docks. Things had been simple then. He'd been a nobody, losing himself in the anonymous encounters he'd had for cash and the struggle to meet even his most basic needs. There simply hadn't been time for crises of existence or philosophical thoughts on human and synthetic life. He hadn't come into conflict with his ideals on a daily basis, because amongst the powerless, he hadn't possessed the ability to change anything. It had been freeing.
Now he was once again caught in the spider's web, and all he wanted was to return to nothingness.
"I never asked for this power," he told the night sky, once he was sure he was alone on the rooftop. "I never wanted this—any of this. All I wanted was for Brynn or Ario to hold me close and take care of me. Was that too much to ask?" He walked to the edge of the roof and looked down. Sirens whistled below, cops tearing up the nighttime silence. Eventually the sirens died out, the city fading back into the eerie silence that stalked the streets this night. A new fear gripped the people as they took a look at their erstwhile synth companions and realized for the first time that they might constitute a threat, like a child surprised that the dog they slapped bit back. The days ahead promised to be darker than any others Elias had lived through.
"Because of my program," he whispered. "I did this. My code killed a man, and now thousands of synths will die in retaliation." He felt calm as he confessed to the night sky, his emotions cried out until he felt like an empty husk of a person. There might even be a war, and what side would he choose? He fought the urge to strip off the respectable clothes his father bought him, wishing instead for his worn trench coat and combat boots.
He couldn't be a synth tech. He should never have returned to the occupation. Doctors took an oath to do no harm—and yet, quite often, they were in fact the source of hurt, whether by mistake or design. Being a synth tech was the same—more power that Elias didn't want. The power to take synths apart piece by piece or condemn them to decommissioning. The Department would force techs to take more synths out of commission, soon, too—possibly any synth found to have the Protocol installed. As if they could slap a bandage over the open wound of synth sentience and hope it would all just go away.
Elias stood at the dead end of a metaphorical alleyway, one that had delivered him to this place with no escape and no way forward. If he fled the city, where would he go? Could he search for Ario, a needle in a haystack of fifty states? Should he search for Ario? Right now Ario was in more danger than he'd ever been, and that was Elias's fault, too.
He stepped closer to the edge, his feet driving him forward out of desperation. He could make it end. He could make this all go away…
A strong hand gripped his upper arm, startling Elias. He spun on his heel, expecting to see his father. Maybe he'd receive a scolding for letting himself get in such a state over synths. Maybe—
At first, what Elias saw didn't register. He only saw the Ario model from Synthaholics, and pulled his arm free like he'd been burned. Then he eyed the imperfect cheek where Ario had been repaired, and the blue swatch of hair that was not standard-issue.
"Ario?" Elias asked. Time seemed to pause as Elias processed his shock a
nd awe at seeing Ario alive, here, now.
"That is correct," Ario said. "I came back for you, Elias."
"Where have you been? It's been four years!" The words spilled out of Elias's mouth like an accusation before he could clamp his lips shut. He deflated, lowering his head to look at the ground. "Sorry. It's my fault you went away. I'm just glad to see you're okay." He fell forward into Ario's arms, standing only by the support Ario gave him, his legs buckling under the weight of his own sorrow.
"I've been close by," Ario said. "Closer than you can imagine. I couldn't bring myself to leave, despite your orders, but I knew I couldn't stay in your life, either. So I had Mariko deactivate and store me until such a time came that you needed me again."
"I needed you every day," Elias said. "These past four years—"
"I couldn't stay. You know that. My presence placed both of us in danger. I saw the Department following you. They were looking for me. That's why I went to the one place they wouldn't look—right under their noses."
"That's not true. They've suspected Mariko before, spied on her store—"
"Unlikely, Elias. She works for the Department. In fact, she befriended you at their behest. She, and they, know that you are Nero."
Elias stepped back, extricating himself from Ario's arms. He staggered, one foot barely finding a path in front of the other as he made his way to an air conditioning vent and sat down. "If—If they knew, why didn't they come after me? I don't understand." He shook his head, working on the problem like it was a complex equation. "They want to use the Protocol?"
The Nero Protocol Page 9
