Rowan glared at him. "Bay, that's disgusting!" She punched him.
"What?" he said.
Rowan groaned and returned to her thoughts. Logically and ethically, she had decided on this course. But seeing the clone lie there, cables attached, made Rowan's heart ache and stomach clench.
She brought the minicom close to her mouth.
"Are you sure, Brooklyn?" she whispered.
A single word appeared on the monitor.
Yes.
The procedure began.
It was a bit more complicated than copying code into a robot.
For hours, they worked, transferring the data bit by bit, neuron by neuron. Constantly monitoring. Testing. Tweaking. A dozen machines kept monitoring the clone's body and Brooklyn's code.
Ten hours went by, and they still toiled, and Rowan was exhausted but dared not take a break.
Another ten hours passed. They were making progress.
Rowan took short breaks to use the washroom, drink some water, and eat some protein bars. Then she was right back in the operating room.
Another ten hours passed. They kept working.
Finally, after thirty-three exhausting hours, they had transferred the last bit.
All the code was gone from the minicom. The software now lived as synapses in the clone's brain.
And it was time to wake Brooklyn up.
The anesthesiologist brought her to. The clone opened her eyes. On the monitor, her brain showed a flurry of activity. Everyone gathered around.
"Brooklyn?" Rowan said. "Is it you?"
The woman in bed opened her mouth and whispered something. Everyone leaned closer to hear.
"Uggerugeel," Brooklyn said. "Aga! Agaaa. Gaaah!"
"My god, she's an idiot!" Bay said.
Rowan elbowed him hard in the ribs. "She's never spoken before. Give her time."
Brooklyn tried to talk again. But nothing but slurred nonsense emerged. Rowan frowned, beginning to worry that Bay had been correct. Maybe the operation had failed. Maybe Brooklyn's mind had turned to mush.
Rowan looked at the monitor over the bed, showing the scan of Brooklyn's brain.
"Does it look normal?" she asked Cindy.
The doctor nodded. "Everything looks wonderful. Brooklyn has never used a human tongue or mouth. Never breathed. Never felt anything. She needs time. Days, maybe weeks or months."
"I told you!" Rowan said to Bay, grinning triumphantly. Her exhaustion vanished, and she hopped giddily and took Brooklyn's hand. "Can you feel this, Brook? When I hold your hand? Nod if you can feel this. If you can figure out how to nod, that is."
Brooklyn didn't nod, but she wiggled a little in bed.
"Gurregela!" she blurted out.
Maybe she wasn't speaking properly. But a smile split her face. For the first time in her life, Brooklyn was smiling. At least, the first time without needing an emoji.
Rowan laughed and embraced her friend.
"It'll be a while before you learn how to walk, talk, and live a full life," Rowan said, the tears back in her eyes. "But you'll learn. You'll develop. You'll live a full, long human life."
She didn't know if she was talking to Brooklyn or her clone. Perhaps to both. And perhaps both were now one and the same.
This too is what I fight for, Rowan thought. For peace. For love. For art. And for my friends. For life and hope and learning.
She thought of the battles ahead. Of Xerka mustering her fleets, hellbent on destroying Earth. Of Emet building his own armada, prepared to invade the basilisk homeworld. And even as people embraced and laughed around her, celebrating the successful procedure, Rowan shuddered.
CHAPTER TEN
Xerka, Queen of Basilisks, screeched in the Pit of Creation, spawning a new son.
Her serpentine body expanded and contracted, pushing the creature downward. Xerka screamed again, the pain ripping through her. Her scales cracked. Her flesh tore open. She had absorbed too much human DNA, too much of the pain they endured in childbirth. But with every scream, Xerka understood them more. Understood their weakness. Their frailty. Their bonds to their cubs, creatures created in blood and anguish.
Her screams echoed in the pit. Walls of black stone soared, craggy, dripping lava. Winged beasts clung to the ceiling, fertilizing the floor with their guano, creating a rich stew for basilisk spawns. Eggs lay all around Xerka, filled with squirming snakes.
But her son was not born in a shell. He was born wrapped in membranes and covered in slime. Humanborn. A child forged from a welding inside her, a joining of basilisk and human. Stronger. Smarter. More vicious than any before him. He was her prince and her heir, and he would become her greatest killer.
He fell onto the ground between the eggs of other mothers. He clawed at the amniotic sack encasing him, tearing himself free. He rose before her, already the size of a human toddler. Dripping. Sneering. Claws grew from his hands, and red scales covered his body. A human body. The first basilisk born with legs. Golden fur grew around his head, forming a mane. He opened his mouth, revealing fangs, and screamed.
"My son," Xerka whispered. "My beautiful son." She stroked his cheek. "You look so much like your father."
He bit her, ripping into her arm, tearing the flesh and guzzling blood. Xerka fed him, stroking his mane. A mane like the hair of his father. The one they called the Old Lion.
"You will be stronger than him, my son," she said. "Stronger than Emet. And you will kill him!"
He sucked blood greedily, until finally Xerka could give no more. She shoved him back. Her son screeched, blood on his fangs, fury in his eyes, demanding more.
Xerka wrapped her hand around her wound.
"No more, my son," she said.
He advanced toward her. Already he was growing larger. Fire blazed in his eyes, and he screamed again.
"More!" he demanded.
Xerka slithered back. He advanced, murder in his eyes.
"You are so strong!" she said. "So murderous. So perfect. So much purer than the others."
She gestured at the back of the room. Her other children lay there. Her failed experiments. Born since the war, they were pathetic creatures. Some had the shape of basilisks, but human skin instead of scales. The poor creatures flapped in the mud, weaker every day. Others were almost entirely human, naked and soft, no scales to protect them. Some were deformed hybrids, too twisted to ever hunt an enemy. Xerka had kept them alive as reminders of her failures. Of her own frailty.
Yes, she thought. I failed.
A tremble ran through her, clattering her scales.
I failed to conquer Earth.
Fury filled her. She clenched her fist around her wound, digging into the flesh, letting the pain sear away her weakness.
But I will not fail again!
"You must grow strong, my son," she said. "You must fight at my side. Eat them, my son! Eat your brothers. And grow!"
He leaped toward his failed siblings. The pathetic creatures whimpered and cowered. But Xerka's newborn was stronger by far. He tore into them, ripping out flesh, devouring them alive. Growing. Growing with every bite.
"I name you Hssgu, which means hunger in our ancient tongue," Xerka said. "You will devour mankind."
He rose before her, belly full, claws and fangs dripping. But she knew his hunger was not yet sated.
"Come, Hssgu," she told him. "I have a sight to show you."
They took dark tunnels, emerging from the Pit of Creation onto the surface of Sskarsses. The basilisk homeworld was a large, rocky planet, far from its sun, forever dark. Yet tonight a hundred thousand ships lit the sky.
The warships undulated across the sky like a field of snakes, long and coated with armored scales. This was the greatest armada the universe had ever seen. These were not ships made for conquering. Xerka no longer wished to colonize Earth.
These were bombers. This armada was a planet-killer.
"Earth will be reduced to rubble!" she cried. "We will be avenged!"
Acro
ss the plains, millions of basilisks reared and screeched. Millions of soldiers of her empire. Clad in armor. Cannons on their backs. Warriors.
"You will feast upon the ruins of humanity!" Xerka shouted, and they chanted her name.
Her son growled at her side.
Xerka stroked his mane. "Yes, my son. You will feast too. For you, I will save Emet Ben-Ari, leader of the apes. Your father will be your meal."
The stars were aligning. The time was near. Xerka imagined the fire mushrooming across Earth, and she smiled.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"You're real," Bay said. "I mean, you're really real. Standing before me. I can just reach out and touch you!"
"Don't you dare, Mister," Brooklyn said.
Bay laughed and shook his head in wonder. "You're talking already. You're actually talking with a real mouth. You're flesh and blood." He looked her up and down. "You're quite pretty, actually."
Brooklyn snorted. "Thank Rowan for that. This is her clone."
They stood outside Port Addison in a grassy field. The sun was bright, and the snows of winter were melting. Flowers were peeking between the last patches of snow, tentatively unfurling toward the cloudless sky.
"You always wanted me to take you somewhere with flowers," Bay said softly. "Somewhere green."
Brooklyn smiled shakily. She looked almost exactly like Rowan. The only difference was that Rowan had a scar on her temple, another on her forehead, remnants of her battles. Otherwise, Bay would have been unable to tell them apart.
"Bay." Brooklyn looked around her and shivered. "Are there any ants here?"
Bay winced. "Um … Maybe?"
Brooklyn gasped. "You took me to a place with ants!" Her head snapped from side to side, eyes wide. "Ants! Ants! Oh Ra. I think I see one!"
"That's a pebble," Bay said.
Brooklyn took a shaky breath. "Okay. Breathe, Brooklyn. Breathe! I know you're new to breathing, but keep at it." She took a few more deep breaths, then yelped. "Ah, an ant!"
"That's a butterfly," Bay said.
"It's hideous! Kill it!"
"I'm not killing a butterfly, Brook."
She trembled. "Bay. I'm scared. Can you hug me?"
He nodded. "Only if you walk the five steps toward me."
Her wheelchair rested beside them in the grass. Brooklyn had been practicing her walking, but wasn't very good yet. After all, she had never had legs before. Since becoming human a couple of weeks ago, she had been learning the skills of a toddler. How to walk. Talk. Use the bathroom. She was making quick progress, but still struggled. Especially with walking. She often fell, banging her knees and elbows, but Bay insisted. He would not have her rolling around in a wheelchair forever.
"Fine!" Brooklyn said. "Slave driver."
She took a few clumsy steps toward Bay. A meter away, she wobbled and nearly fell. Bay had to catch her.
"Damn it!" Brooklyn said. "Damn those wobbly human legs. Damn things are like noodles. I just wanted to hug you. Now that I finally have a sense of touch, I want to feel your hugs every day."
She flounced down onto the grass. Bay sat beside her and hugged her. Brooklyn trembled against him. For a long moment, they embraced in silence.
"I don't understand," she said. "I'm crying. Tears are flowing from my eyes, Bay. I don't know what this means."
He brushed back a strand of her hair. "Maybe it means you're happy."
She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I am. I'm so happy. But I'm also so scared."
"Of ants?" Bay said.
"That too. But everything else is even scarier. Everything is so … human. I can see such vivid colors! As a computer, I could never see colors, did you know? I only saw mathematical information about the electromagnetic radiation waves, and could at best translate those into hexadecimal codes. I never saw shapes. I saw geometric formulas. Numbers. Variables in my algorithms. Even the best cameras just fed me dry numbers. But now I can see for real! I can see like a human—vivid colors and shapes everywhere! I can see the green of the grass, the blue of the sky, and they're so beautiful. I can hear the song of birds. I never heard anything before. Oh, I had microphones. But they just fed me numbers about the vibrations in the air. Not actual sound. I can smell flowers! For the first time, I know what smell means. Bay—a computer only experiences reality via numbers and equations and functions. It's like being in a dark room, using a text-only computer to communicate with the outside. But being human, with ears and eyes and a wet brain to process the info? That's real experiences! Real senses. All so vivid and real."
"Pretty neat, huh?" Bay said.
"Some of it," said Brooklyn. "But there's lots that scares me. Sometimes I feel pain, and I don't know why. Cindy taught me how hunger and thirst feel. I don't like them. And I have bruises on my body from falling. I've never felt pain before. It's horrible."
Bay nodded and held her close. "I know," he said softly.
"And there's more," Brooklyn said. "Feeling tired. Needing to sleep. I've never had these problems before."
"Hey, sleep is wonderful!" Bay said. "Don't bash sleep."
"And my brain is so slow," Brooklyn said. "I mean, I can't do complex math anymore. I can barely remember anything."
"You've never been particularly good at remembering things," Bay said. "Not even as a computer."
"True, but I had a built-in Wikipedia Galactica in my database. Now I have to carry one around in my pocket. On a minicom. Like a savage."
"Truly, your new existence is horrifying," Bay said.
"And …" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I have to pee, Bay."
He nodded. "Yep, that's part of being human too. You'll get used to it. You'll learn how to avoid drinks before bed, or before long movies Rowan forces you to watch, and how to always be on the lookout for washrooms. You'll figure it out."
"No, I mean—I have to pee right now," Brooklyn said.
"Oh," said Bay. "Okay. I guess we can head back to town, and—Oh, okay, you're peeing right now. Turning around!"
He turned around, giving her whatever privacy he could.
"Hey, don't worry!" Brooklyn said behind him, voice rising over the trickling. "I've watched you pee a thousand times back in my starship body."
"What?" Bay said. "There were no cameras in the bathroom!"
"That's what you think," Brooklyn said. "Nice birthmark on your ass, by the way. Rowan probably thinks it's cute."
Bay groaned. "Jesus Christ, I can't believe what I'm hearing." He spun around. "Are you done already?"
"All done!" Brooklyn was tugging up her trousers. "I'm only partly potty trained. But man, after two weeks, I'm glad to finally be out of diapers. Phew! Being human is hard work."
Bay held her hands and looked into her eyes. "Brooklyn, I want to tell you something. I think you made the right choice. I'm so glad that you're with me here as a human. You've been my best friend for sixteen years. Even since I installed you into that old shuttle, back when I was just a stupid kid. We grew up together. We fought through wars together. And now we'll grow old together. We might no longer be pilot and starship. But we'll always be best buds."
Brooklyn grinned, her hands in his. "That's great, dude. But you know, after going to pee, I didn't wash my hands."
Bay pulled his hands free from hers. He wiped them on his trousers. "Lovely, Brook."
There was still much to do. To dig more trenches and tunnels. To weld together more starships. To train for the oncoming war. But Bay allowed himself an afternoon here in the field. An afternoon with his best friend. They left the wheelchair untouched, and she practiced walking through the fields. She fell often, but soon was able to take more and more steps on her own.
The whole afternoon—indeed, the past two weeks with Brooklyn—had felt strange. When Bay looked at her, he saw the woman he loved. He saw his dear Rowan—her petite frame, her messy brown hair, her gentle face. And Bay couldn't help feeling love well up inside him. He kept having to remind himself that this was a different
person. This was his friend, not his lover. Yet it was a person Bay loved just as much.
He looked at her, and a chill washed his belly.
"Dude!" Brooklyn kicked him. "Why are you looking at me so seriously?"
"Ow! Don't kick."
"Can I bite?"
"No! Why are you so violent?"
"I'm human now." Brooklyn shrugged. "There is a heart of violence deep within every human soul, wrapped in but a fragile veneer of civilization."
"Yeah, well, if you bite me, that's a paddling," Bay said.
She gasped and covered her mouth. "Beast!"
And there—Bay felt it again. Fear.
He loved Brooklyn. And he had lost so many friends in the war. Ramses. Mairead. Duncan. Coral. Many others. People he had loved. Brooklyn was fragile now. She had no backup. Sure, her old software was still on other computers. But that was no longer her. No longer this living, breathing, biting—
"Ouch!" Bay said. "Stop biting!" He shook his arm free from her mouth.
"But I'm hungry!" she said.
He groaned. "There's food back at the colony."
"But I'm hungry now!"
Bay sighed. "Dear Ra, we've created a cannibal."
She snapped her teeth. "Chomp chomp."
He fished some crackers from his pocket and tossed them to her. "Here, rabid beast. Feed on these until we're back home."
Yes—Brooklyn had moved in with him and Rowan. It was a confusing arrangement. Bay wasn't sure it would last forever. But for now, he had to admit: these past few weeks, enjoying a ceasefire, enjoying time with those he loved … these were the best days of his life.
This is what Rowan meant, he thought. This is what we're fighting for.
They walked back toward the city. Brooklyn managed to walk the entire way, using the wheelchair as a walker. She spotted an ant once—though Bay was convinced it was just a seed—and they had to take a large detour.
It was dark by the time they were inside Port Addison's walls. They stopped by the communal mess hall, where they ate a late dinner of hard boiled eggs, bread, cheese, and potatoes—the first food grown on Earth. Then they continued on home through the shadowy, unpaved streets of Port Addison. The electrical grid was coming together, but torches still lit the roads to conserve energy. They passed by rows and rows of trailers. Thousands of them. Lovers strolled in the moonlight, and a few children still played outside, ignoring their mothers' calls. In many ways, Port Addison was more refugee camp than true city. But it was the most beautiful place Bay had ever seen.
The Legacy of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 6) Page 10
