by A. L. Davroe
Despite my fear of Uncle Simon in his current state, the chair has drifted back to him, responding to my intrigue. I’m curious about my mother and my so-called inheritance. “What does the virus do?”
“It stops it,” he says smiling. “Stops everything. Kills it all.” At my horrified expression, he adds, “It’s only for a minute. She insisted on that after what happened in Adagio.”
I frown. “Then what?”
He shakes his head as if disappointed. “Then nothing. It’s only meant to show them how vulnerable they are, how they rely too much on their own technology, even to protect that same technology. It’s a warning against a greater threat. And, with hope, the harbinger of a new age. A better one.”
“And that’s Anansi? The one that’s in the game?”
“The whole of the game is built to hide and protect an underlying protocol: a quest designed to break through the antiviral programs and firewalls that the G-System has built to protect itself and release the Anansi Virus into the system.”
I blink. “A protocol that I was meant to carry out?”
He nods. “You’ve been trained from a very young age to counteract and deprogram the antiviral protocols. That’s what all those puzzles your father always gave you were.”
“But,” I reason, not wanting to believe that I could be part of such a diabolical plan—that my own parents had basically programmed me like a tool from my birth, that all my hardships over the past year were nothing but Uncle Simon sharpening me for the final blow. “Wouldn’t I have noticed I was fighting viruses? I mean, antiviral code is distinct. I’d notice it in the coding.”
Simon shakes his head. “That is what took the longest. Creating the game to cover the virus was the easy part. It was hiding the true aspect of the quest from you that was the most difficult part. Your father knew you’d discover what they were. He had to make absolutely certain that you’d never suspect, so he asked you to decode the programs ahead of time and then imbedded them in the avatars of other Tricksters. He knew they’d find you in the game; your mother had programmed it that way. It was another lesson, you see, a way for you to learn that there are others like you out there.” He points to the window.
Everything makes horrible sense. I can clearly see why G-Corp would want me dead. If President Cyr suspected what my mother and father had been doing, he’d eliminate them. And just to be certain the virus was never released? Kill me—the avatar who the virus was meant to piggyback—before I even started playing.
But I wasn’t killed. Uncle Simon saved me, hid me. Forced me to go into the game by giving me Katrina, and not giving me legs, and programming my android to encourage me to play. And once I was in? Continually torturing me and subjecting me to solitude so that I sought relief and companionship, daily.
The game did what it was programmed to do. The Tricksters found me, encouraged me to go on the quest to the Anansi Chamber, supported me when I needed it. But I was the driving force—the one who discovered the quilt and how to crack it, wrote the program to interpret the data, killed all the Knights.
And when it came to actually getting into the Chamber, or rather, the G-System? Dad hid the codes in my companions. In the end, the only function the other members of my group had was to die and release codes that I wrote. Codes that broke down walls, opened doors, and stopped Knights. Firewalls and antiviral programs. The Knights never wanted revenge; they wanted to destroy me—because I was a virus waiting to happen.
Uncle Simon continues speaking. “He shouldn’t have worried so much about hiding everything from you; you were so cross-eyed in love with that boy, you wouldn’t have known an antivirus if you tripped over it. He made getting you to play the quest far simpler than we thought. I knew he would.”
I feel my face go hot with embarrassment, and then dread tightens my stomach. I knew he was too good to be true. “Oh no, Gus, he isn’t…” I swallow, barely able to get the horrible thought formed into words. “He isn’t part of the game, is he? Something developed to distract me?”
Simon stares at me for a long cold moment before saying, “No. He’s a real person.”
I grip the armrests, trying to keep myself from shaking. “But you had him go in with the distinct intent of distracting me? He lied?”
Simon smiles. “Ah, to be in love.” He shakes his head. “No Ella. The Oracle is the one who assigned him to you, implanted the last virus in his avatar. She picked all of them. Though, I must say, she outdid herself with him. His Naturalist sympathies and inclination for you made him perfect for your team. To him, all he did was play a game and fall in love with a young woman who is too much like her mother. The fool didn’t have a chance. I feel bad for him, actually, to be denied the ability to meet you in Real World.”
I knit my brows and look away, heat stinging my eyes. I never wanted to hurt Gus. “It was for the best.”
“What if it doesn’t have to be?”
I glare at him, suspicious. “What do you mean?”
“I told you, we have to finish your mother’s wish. Your work in that chamber isn’t done.” He looks over his shoulder. “Meems, I brought a case with me when I arrived. Would you go retrieve it for me?”
Meems nods and moves out of the room.
“What was that about?”
He smiles. “You’ll see.”
Frustrated, I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, trying to puzzle out this very confusing encounter. “So Guster and the others were bystanders to the game?”
“Yes.”
“And I’m dead to everyone but you and Katrina and Sadie?”
“Correct.”
I bite my lip. “So that stuff about Katrina and Dad.”
Uncle Simon frowns. “That was true. She should not have told you about that. She shouldn’t have talked to you at all.”
I glare at him. “I needed answers from somewhere. And I thought—I thought…” My voice dies. I don’t know what I thought anymore.
He smirks. “You thought she was the bad guy.”
“Isn’t she?”
He shrugs. “I hired Katrina to be your guardian specifically because she hated you and wouldn’t question what I had planned for you. I paid her well, agreed to let her daughter marry my son, I gave her this house—which she always wanted. In return, she kept her mouth shut and let me do my work.”
I stare at him for a long moment. “I believe I just might hate you now.”
He finally looks away from me. “That hurts, Ella. Hearing you say that…after all I’ve done to keep you safe from G-Corp. But…” He takes a deep breath. “I knew what I was getting into when I started this charade, so I have to say, I’m not surprised. I don’t ask your forgiveness. I just ask that you make an effort to understand where I was coming from.”
I look away. That logical, conniving part of my genetic makeup completely understands, even tips its hat to Uncle Simon’s brilliance. The other part, the sensitive, caring part that is the Ellani I prefer to be is just hurt—hurt beyond forgiveness.
Finally, Meems returns with a large case and puts it on the bed.
“Ah, here we are.” Uncle Simon stands and moves to the bed where he punches in a code. The case pops open with a pneumatic hiss, and he reaches in. What he draws forth makes my lungs seize in my chest.
He chuckles. “I thought your eyes would bug out, just like that.” He holds the cybernetic leg up for my examination. “Well?”
Chapter Forty
Post-American Date: 7/3/232
Longitudinal Timestamp: 11:34 a.m.
Location: Dome 5: Evanescence
I glance from Uncle Simon’s face to the leg in his hands and then back to his face, overwhelmed and confused. “I-I don’t understand.”
He says, “They are yours, if you want them.”
Hysteric laughter bubbles up in my throat, but it gets stuck behin
d a lump of emotion, and all that comes out is a choked sob.
Simon moves toward me with the leg. “I had them specially designed for you. Your mother would have strangled me otherwise if she were alive.” He holds it out for me to examine. It’s not my leg. My leg could only be reproduced by nanites and stem cells, but it’s the relative size and shape of one of my real legs. It will pass.
“These are, of course, only temporary. After we take care of everything here, I can have proper ones cultured for you.”
Tears sting my eyes again. “I finally have legs,” I whisper. “I have legs, but what’s the point?” I wanted legs so that I could see Guster. But he’s gone. He died before I could know who he was and how to find him here in Real World.
“The point is…” Uncle Simon pulls back the leg emphatically. “That you still have a chance to get what you want, if you do what you’re expected to do.”
I reach up and rub my temples, my frustration and confusion making my world spin over on itself. He’s showing his evil-genius side again. “You want me to be a tool, you mean?”
Uncle Simon closes the case. The locks click back in place, trapping the legs away from me. “I will make a deal with you. Anansi is your inheritance, and I will not rest until you’ve fully embraced it. You go back in that game and finish what your mother intended you to do. You fulfill your role as the spider and make the wrongdoers see their folly. You do this for me, you can have the legs. I’ll dismiss Katrina. I’ll set up a new identity for you and transfer every credit that is rightfully yours into your accounts. You’ll have to Modify your face to throw them off, but that’s small change for what you’re being offered. You can have a brand-new life.”
I scowl at him. “Now that I know the truth and I’ve been so conveniently trained, what’s to stop me from doing that, anyway?”
Uncle Simon’s grin is flawless. “I’ll also give you the identity of the boy. That is something that no amount of hacking will reveal.”
My brain is reeling out of control. It all seems too good to be true. I can have legs. I can have Gus. I can be free. I can have all of that, and all I have to do is plant a simple little virus. But still, it’s a virus…being introduced into the very arteries of Evanescence. Would releasing the virus make me the criminal that’s pulsing through my veins? “Are you certain it’s not going to do any harm? The virus?”
He tucks his chin, grim. “You can’t tell me that after everything you’ve seen and been through that you wouldn’t like the Aristocrats to learn a little lesson. Don’t you want them to see how idiotic they are? Don’t you want them to realize how wrong it was to destroy our beautiful world in favor of constant advancement?”
He has a point. Does coming on my own to the same decision my parents did make me their tool? Does carrying out my inheritance make me a tool if I really want to do it?
I glance at Meems. “What do you think?”
She clutches her hands together in front of her. “I cannot deny that this is what your father wanted.”
“I didn’t ask what he wanted, I asked what you think.”
She looks a little startled at my adamant tone. “I think,” she says slowly, as if the words are foreign to her, “I think that I would be happy if you were happier. If doing this will give you the things that will make you smile once more, then you should do it.”
I could have legs, freedom, Gus. And maybe Evanescence will become better after this. Perhaps I can help build a better world. Be a Designer after all, and it wouldn’t hurt to do something that Dad wanted me to do in the process. That’s what I wanted when I started this whole thing, wasn’t it? To be close to Dad, honor his memory—complete his legacy. Now I can do that while starting my own. “Okay,” I breathe. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter Forty-one
Post-American Date: 7/3/232
Longitudinal Timestamp: 12:22 a.m.
Location: Free Zone, Anansi Chamber; Nexis
As I manifest into my avatar, the striking pain of grief overwhelms me once more. In Real World I’ve had time to recover from my losses, but here they are fresh all over again. I roll onto my side and stare at my hands, still sticky with Guster’s blood, the jump stone stuck to one palm.
Guster is gone. Broken promise.
Get up.
He’s not really dead. Do what you came here to do and you can see him.
Can I? Is the boy I’ll meet in Real World anything like the one I knew here?
Even if he isn’t, don’t let it all be in vain. You didn’t let him die so that you could mope for the rest of your life.
Meems’s words float up out of the confused thoughts in my head. You are still here. Make him proud of you, Ella. Be strong. Do not let this beat you. You must persevere. Her words had been about my father, but that doesn’t make them any less potent when it comes to Guster. I have to persevere. I have to be something. I have to make my father and Guster proud. I have to deserve their love. I have to make myself proud. I have to love myself. I have to fulfill my inheritance, continue with Dad’s legacy. I have to be Anansi, be Robin Hood. I have to help make a positive change. Be a Designer for the future. I must persevere.
I wipe my face with the backs of my bloodstained hands. I’m still crying. I’m not sure I can stop. It all feels too fresh and, to top it off, I have everything I’ve just learned from Uncle Simon to process as well. I could sit here and mope for days with the amount of crying I need to do. But I will keep going. I struggle to my feet and look around the Anansi Chamber, searching for some indication of what I should do.
When I first fell to the floor here, it had seemed that the Chamber was completely empty, but now I see that I was wrong. There is something, though it’s not what I thought it would be.
It’s a massive hollow cylinder stretching up and down for as far as the eye can see. Along the perimeter, I can see lights twinkling and flashing. All along the inside of the cylinder are threads—a massive spider web connecting one thing to everything else, and along the silver threads the flashes travel back and forth.
It’s like a brain with glinting synapses, a vast network communicating at lightning speed. Ahead of me is a narrow walkway that leads out over the vast emptiness below. On a small landing at the center there hovers a familiar site.
The last of my father’s puzzles.
Biting my trembling lips, I step forward.
The puzzle is not like I remember it. I’ve stared at it every day for months, trying to puzzle out the code so that I can write a decoding program to unravel the strands and reveal the message. Now, as I look at it, I don’t just see the fiber-optic strings. I see the silken spider’s threads. I see the threads like I always do when I really need them. And I know and understand them in that mysterious way I always seem to when it matters most. I reach out and touch the backlit data-command board mounted just beneath the puzzle.
I see the threads. I know the intricate knots. I know these threads as the strings pulling the program along. Understand them as a Programmer should. That’s all they’ve ever been, just programming.
And I know how to unravel the code and design a new one.
My fingers fly over the keyboard, knowing exactly where to go and what to write; they are well-practiced from my time working on Frankie. It’s a long, complicated program, but my body and mind are operating in a time and a place that don’t adhere to relative reality. It’s like I can hear them whispering: Opus telling me where to put this backslash and that colon, Nadine showing me how one protocol interacts and overlays another, Morden telling me the secrets of what I can’t see.
I feel my mother’s breath on the back of my neck, silently urging me to reach out and take what she’s offering—an instrument to bring about change. I remember my father’s words, always telling me how special I am, sharing his vision with me—showing me the building blocks of a better world.
I am
preprogrammed, acting on impulse, dumping a vast memory into a whirling pool and somehow bringing order to it. Building a complex web. I am the spider. This is my venomous bite. I will make them see their folly.
Guster’s hands guide mine, deft and sure. When my finger hits the enter button, it’s his command to execute, the absolute desire to stand before him once more overruling every other thought.
I am Ellani Drexel. I am a Natural Programmer and Designer. I will stand proudly for who, and what, I am. I will understand that I am worthy of love, no matter my color or creed. I will work for a world that can see this as clearly as I can.
And then it happens. The puzzle unravels and bursts apart like a glimmering flower—a lotus more beautiful and perfect than those on the pools in the Fief of Lau.
In the middle of that vast flower, my father stands smiling at me. His holographic image is a sight that makes my heart ache even more, makes the slow tear quicken. I reach out to him, knowing he’s intangible, but wanting to touch him still.
“Dad,” I whisper. “I made it. I did it.”
He smiles and nods at me. Then he folds his arms over himself, his body transforming into that of a golden bird. He rises high in the chamber, screams aloud, then bursts into flame and ash, making me gasp with horror. But as he tumbles downward, his ashes disappear in a slow shower of gently falling crystalline rain. In his place comes the message. From above and below, the threads wind and twirl inward, crisscrossing in a woven pattern that forms a single almighty word.
