The Gardener of Man: Artilect War Book Two

by A. W. Cross

  Nothing happened.

  Oliver threw out his arm, blocking Tor, and gave a single shake of his head. Tor knocked his arm away and began to push past him, but Oliver stopped him again. “Seriously, just watch.” His voice was giddy with anticipation. Tor must’ve heard it as well, because, to my surprise, he did.

  Mil spoke into the device again, quicker this time. The box seemed slippery between his fingers.

  Still nothing.

  Mil backed away, looking frantically at Lexa. “I don’t understand.”

  Lexa shook her head mutely, her eyes flitting between him and Tor.

  “Yeah, about that. You won’t be using that anymore. And you won’t be doing anything to us. Not without our consent.” Oliver leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. I hadn’t thought it was possible for him to look any smugger; I was wrong.

  Mil lifted the gadget to his mouth one last time.

  “What did you do? What’s that thing he’s holding?” I asked Oliver.

  “That’s what they’ve been using to control us. The homing signal, knocking us out, waking us up, knocking us out again…all the power of God in that little box.”

  “So what did you do to it?”

  “Turns out I do have a superpower after all. I mean, I was always good with computers, but I seem to have a whole new affinity with them now. Did you know that each of us is programmable? That most of our…skills aren’t permanent? They didn’t have time to finish us before everything kicked off.”

  “What?” Kalbir asked. “You mean we can just change our abilities…add or delete them as we want?”

  Tor looked at me; I knew what he was thinking.

  “Unfortunately, no. Not exactly, anyway. We’re mostly finished. We can remove the abilities we have, but we can’t add new ones. That much they managed to do right. Judging by your work, your methods are a bit haphazard,” he said to Mil.

  “Wait, so we could get rid of certain abilities if we wanted to?” Tor asked.

  “Yes, until they’re set. Think of it as marking a computer program ‘read-only.’” His mouth twisted. “I suspect they weren’t going to tell us that. Not until they knew what we were, anyway. They initiated certain enhancements without being completely sure how they would develop. I think that’s one of the reasons we’re all different and limited. They meant to wait and see what happened to us then tweak us accordingly.” He smirked up at Tor, goading him. “Did you know they gave us a kill switch? Technically, they have the power to make us drop dead at any time.”

  The paleness around Lexa’s mouth confirmed the truth of Oliver’s words.

  “Luckily for us, it was more of a formality than a practicality.” He turned to Mil, pursing his lips as though he’d tasted something sour. “You should’ve coupled it with several layers of fail-safes, each equipped with a critical function that would trigger the other layers and, ultimately, the kill switch. You know, for future reference.” He winked.

  Lexa sank into the closest chair. “But you’re humans, not machines. We would never—"

  “Spare us the ethics speech, Lexa. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve put an end to it. Severed the connection, as it were.” Oliver encompassed us with a sweeping gesture. “You’re all autonomous now. And you’re welcome.”

  “What do you mean?” Cindra asked.

  “I’ve disarmed their connections to us…no more signals, no more control. It’ll take me less than ten minutes to fix each of your abilities and, boom, you’re all fully-fledged cyborgs.”

  “That’s very…decent of you, Oliver. I’m surprised you didn’t hit the kill switch yourself,” I said.

  “What, and miss the opportunity to get revenge on you assholes for ruining my life? Never.” He flipped us his middle finger then glanced at Lexa and Mil. “Besides, this is much more interesting.”

  “Thanks, Oliver,” Cindra said, “I mean, I don’t have any special abilities, but I definitely don’t want to die. Not like that.”

  “Actually, Cindra, you are a part of the super-friends’ club. Your ability just wasn’t activated.” Oliver looked so pleased I was surprised he didn’t pat himself on the back. “But it is now.”

  Rather than looking thrilled, Cindra’s eyes widened in alarm. “What? What do you mean, activated?”

  “I thought you should have a chance to try it out before you decide whether you want to keep it or not,” Oliver said tentatively. “I thought you’d be happy about it.”

  “What is it?”

  “Place your hands on either side of dear old Dad. Don’t touch him, but move them up and down, like you’re scanning him. You’ll see.”

  Cindra looked at Mil, hesitating. “What will it do?”

  “Well, it won’t hurt him, if that’s what you’re worried about, although I can’t imagine why you would be. The man could’ve killed you with a word, Cindra.”

  She didn’t move.

  Oliver sighed. “He’ll be fine, Cindra, I promise.”

  Cindra walked slowly to Mil, her fingers extended.

  He tried to back away, but Kalbir was too close. She wrapped her hand around his shoulder, her fingers pressing lightly just over his collarbone.

  Cindra caught Mil’s gaze as she scanned up and down his body. For a moment nothing happened then her eyes widened, and she gasped, snatching her hands away as though Mil were poisonous.

  “Cindra?” I asked.

  “He’s…he’s got cancer. It’s spreading.”

  Lexa made a small, strangled sound low in her throat then strode over to Cindra and swept her into an embrace. Oliver, halfway out of his chair, settled back down.

  “It worked. It actually worked.” She pushed the hair back from Cindra’s face and cupped her cheek, her fear of us seemingly forgotten.

  “What do you mean? What worked?” Cindra examined her fingers.

  “You. That was my program. And it worked!”

  “I’m still not sure what you mean.”

  “You can scan people’s tissues, their organs…you can diagnose illnesses in seconds.”

  “Can I heal him too?” Cindra’s face glowed with wonder.

  Lexa’s smile faltered. “No. It only works for diagnosis. But—”

  “Your methods may leave something to be desired, but your results are certainly fascinating,” Oliver said. “Let’s see, we have a medic, a computer genius—me.” He spread his fingers over his chest and fluttered his eyelashes. “Two thugs, someone who can predict the future, and someone who can see what we’re all thinking. Awfully specific abilities, aren’t they?”

  “I’m not a thug,” Kalbir said indignantly.

  “Oh please. Kal—I’m going to call you Kal—the last time I saw such shapely calves they were on the bigfoot over there.” He flicked a thumb in Tor’s direction.

  “It’s not what you think,” Mil said.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what I think. You see, unlike these civilians here, I didn’t have to pass any of your stupid tests to get here. No, I was the lucky bastard who got drafted. I may as well tell you since it no longer makes a difference, but yeah, you’ve got a viper in your midst. Me.”

  “What do you mean ‘drafted,’ Oliver?” I asked.

  “Before this shitpocalyspe, I was CSIS, Canadian Security Intelligence Service. We’d heard rumors about what Pantheon Modern were doing and decided to have a closer look. I volunteered, thinking it would bring me glory, riches…or that maybe even Steph, our stunning ops manager would give me a bl—corner office,” he added hastily, glancing at Cindra.

  “What were the rumors, Oliver?” Tor asked. He’d lost interest in Mil and taken a seat at the table.

  “That the illustrious Pantheon Modern Corporation, altruistically finding ways to cure the sick and infirm, to improve lives and ensure the future of humanity, were in fact building an army, headed by an elite death-squad with very specific abilities.”

  He swiveled around in his chair, the castors shrieking in the silenc
e. He stopped, facing me.

  “And you, my righteous little let’s-save-everyone-so-we-can-all-love-each-other nemesis, are our general.”

  We didn’t even know about the war until it had already begun. People had argued for years about the robots and the cyborgs and whether we were too reliant on machines or didn’t rely on them enough. Sylvie’s mom said that people had lost sight of what was really important, and that we needed some kind of disaster to remind them how privileged their lives were. She said we should be helping the less fortunate people in the world, not wasting all our resources on a future that was unnecessary.

  —Love, Grace

  As though Oliver had said the magic words, all the connections tentatively developing inside me coalesced. The voice within howled with glee as the room erupted.

  “Stop! Please, that’s not true.” Lexa’s shrill voice cut through the chaos.

  “Really? Then why these specific abilities?”

  “We thought…we knew there was going to be trouble when word of the Cyborg Program Omega got out. Surely you can understand that? You all knew what the tensions were like then, not just between the Terrans and the Cosmists, but between them and us Cyborgists. Not to mention the general public.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  “We thought we should be prepared. In case someone took action against us.”

  “You mean like starting a war?”

  “Yes. No…we didn’t think it would go that far. We wanted to give you some kind of defense. But we designed it so you had to function as a team. We learned from the previous generations that if we made you each capable of everything, you would be too formidable, too dangerous. The world never would’ve tolerated you. The way you are now, you would’ve been human enough to be accepted on your own, and then together…you would be more.”

  “Like the pieces of a puzzle. You said we were the first generation to survive?” asked Pax. “How many generations were there?”

  Lexa glanced at Mil. He shook his head.

  “Enough. Either you start giving us answers, real answers, or we throw the pair of you out of here and see how well you survive.” I was conscious of the words only as they came out of my mouth. “I know a bunker you could stay in. Or, we could just end you here and now. You may not be able to press our kill switch anymore, but I can press yours.”

  “Ailith.” Tor’s voice held an undercurrent of warning.

  Mil seemed to wither. He nodded at Lexa and closed his eyes.

  “Four. You are the fourth generation.”

  “And none of the previous generations survived?”

  “No…they…they were not compatible with life.”

  I didn’t even want to think about what that meant.

  “How many were in our generation?” Pax’s voice held nothing but curiosity.

  Lexa hesitated. “It doesn’t—”

  “How many?” I repeated.

  “Sixty-five. Five teams of thirteen. You were our cluster, the only ones who survived.”

  Sixty-five. And we’re the only ones left.

  I shook my head. “And nearly half of us are dead. Ros, Adrian, Nova. And Callum and Eire aren’t much better off.”

  “Nova?” Lexa asked. “Who’s Nova?”

  Tor and I exchanged glances. “Nova was in Oliver’s bunker.”

  All eyes turned to Oliver. His face was triumphant. “See, I told you I was right to kill her.”

  Lexa’s voice trembled. “You killed someone? What are you talking about? You should’ve been in that bunker with a man named William.”

  “Killed someone? Oh, you have no idea what we’ve been up to.” Oliver laughed.

  “You mean, there was no one called Nova in the program? Maybe a mix-up with the teams?” I asked Lexa.

  This wasn’t right. I wasn’t supposed to be here, in this shitty bunker. I should’ve been with them, carrying out my mission. Buying my freedom. Not trapped here, underground with him. She was right; she shouldn’t have been there.

  “No, there was no one with that name on any of the teams. Trust me, I know.” Lexa placed her hand over her heart. “I know each and every one of your names. I—”

  “Well, that’s interesting. But she’s dead, so I guess it all worked out. I wonder what happened to poor old William.” Oliver smirked at his reflection in the polished surface of the table.

  Mil shook his head, “It’s not possible. It’s—”

  “Wait. That’s still only eleven of us,” said Cindra. “Who are the twelfth and thirteenth?”

  Mil and Lexa said nothing, nor did they as much as glance at each other.

  Kalbir’s pointed gaze burned holes in me.

  “Who’s Ella?” I asked.

  Lexa inhaled sharply. “How do you know about Ella?”

  “Wait,” Kalbir said. “You mean there actually is an Ella?”

  I didn’t wait for Lexa’s answer. “Did Kalbir not tell you? I can see the memories of all the living cyborgs in our group, and I can also experience what they do in the present. How do you think we all found each other? I was there when Pax and Cindra were tortured. I was there when Oliver was worshiped as a god. I was also there when Adrian and Ros took their own lives. I know what happened to Callum. Who, by the way,” I said to Kalbir, “is not losing his mind. He—”

  “But Eire—” Lexa interrupted.

  “Is in a coma, I know, but she’s alive. She must be for me to link to her. I just couldn’t until we got here, because her connection is so weak. And she wants to know where Ella is.”

  Lexa released her breath, the final exhalation of surrender. Like Mil, she seemed to collapse in on herself. “Ella is dead.”

  “How did she die? Why do I not know she existed?” A note of panic crept into Kalbir’s voice.

  “It’s…it’s too painful. Ella wanted to be a cyborg so badly, but she just…died. She… One minute she was fine, the next…she was gone. And she wasn’t the only one. There was another man, Cayde. The thirteenth.” Lexa’s eye grew bright. “We almost lost Eire as well. Some days I think it would’ve been better if we’d just let her go.”

  “Why don’t I remember this Ella? Or Cayde? They were never here, were they?” Kalbir looked so bewildered, I almost felt sorry for her.

  “They were. You met Ella after your cyberization. Cayde…Cayde didn’t survive the process. But you all went through so much, and with the war…we thought it would be easier for the rest of you if you didn’t remember them.”

  “You erased my memory? What else don’t I remember?” Kalbir’s chest rose and fell, her breathing shaky.

  “Nothing, I swear.” Lexa twisted her fingers together. “And Callum will get better, we’re sure of it. He just needs time. As for Ella, it never should’ve happened. It was our fault—”

  “Lexa.” It was a caution.

  Do they not know what happened to Callum? “What do—”

  “Ailith.” This time the warning was for me. Tor shook his head slightly. “You’ve got a lot of supplies here. Was the compound custom-built for you, Mil? For us? I imagine this place uses a lot of power. How?”

  Mil nodded. “Yes. We wanted to be prepared, so we stockpiled enough for years, just in case. As for the power, we use a system of hydropower, batteries, and generators. It’s simple, but effective. In fact, we—”

  Adrian had discovered the storeroom before his death. We’d found kerosene in the storage room, along with years of stockpiled supplies. Had they known what was going to happen? The war and the aftermath?

  “You knew, didn’t you? About the war?”

  Mil looked as though he was watching a bomb fall to earth, long seconds of painful awareness in which to accept or deny the inevitable. Scrubbing his hands through the wiry tufts of his beard, he stared over our heads at some tiny detail hidden in the green shadows.

  “Not exactly. We knew something was going to happen. Something big. But we thought it would have to do with your persecution. We knew th
ere would be some conflict, perhaps even military action, but we never conceived it would happen on the scale it did. Not this level of destruction. Not even close. We thought we’d over -prepared.” For the first time, he looked me in the eye. “Believe me, this is not how we’d intended everything to happen.”

  “If you put us to sleep to protect us, why did you wake us? Why now?”

  “We realized our situation was as good as it was ever going to get. In our lifetime, anyway. Once we understood what had happened, we waited, hoping the world would recover, and we could awaken you into a new era where you would be valued instead of persecuted. Things turned out differently, and we finally decided the right time would never come. We were hoping we could all survive together.” He considered us, his expression hard. “Would you rather we’d left you asleep?”

  Something is still not right. But they were saying all the right things. Tor had relaxed enough to lean against the table, his arms crossed loosely. Cindra nodded slowly, as if it all made sense to her. Kalbir merely looked bored. Pax’s dark eyes were fathomless. Was he was calculating the variables? Predicting which future these truths or lies would take us to? Oliver looked at me and shrugged.

  I wanted to shake him, all of them. How could they accept everything Mil and Lexa told them so easily?

  “So what now?” Mil asked. “Will you stay? I’m aware the answers we’ve given you may not be enough, or what you were hoping for, but perhaps the longer you’re here, the more you’ll understand and the more it will all make sense.” He took a seat at the table and gestured for Tor to do the same. “We’re on your side. The controls we’d programmed into you were for your safety as much as—and I’ll admit this—ours. Kalbir was right when she said we weren’t sure exactly what we’d done to you. We know what we’d tried to do…but as you’ve realized by now, things don’t always go according to plan.” He leaned back in his chair, wincing slightly. “You don’t trust us, and we accept that, but, hopefully, if you stay here, you will. And to put a blunter point on it, where else do you have to go? Right now, all any of us can hope to do is survive, and we’ll do that more effectively together.”