Coming to You Live

by Mira Grant

  “You know he’s bringing a box with him,” said Mahir, closing the lid on his laptop as the door clicked shut. The two sounds blurred together, becoming one conclusive snap. “A big one, about six feet long and three feet across. Big enough for a body.”

  “I know.” I closed my eyes. It was easier when I didn’t have to look at the world, when I could pretend that all of this was just some sort of strange and unending dream. “There isn’t anything else that makes sense.”

  “And you’re … all right with that? I know that you don’t want to die, but—”

  “Why is it any different when the organs come with a body to keep them sterile and healthy?” The question even sounded weak. “She’s never woken up. She doesn’t have the neural capacity to wake up. I’m not really okay with the fact that she exists; I didn’t expect to come back and hear that the EIS was continuing to work with my tissue. But if the clones are going to be out there, I may as well benefit from them. They’ve sure as hell benefitted from me.”

  There was a long pause before Mahir said, “I thought Canada might soften you a bit. Give you time to get some distance, find some peace. I didn’t expect it to make you harder.”

  “Oh, no?” I opened my eyes, sitting up as much as the tubes strapped to my arms allowed, and glared at him. “This is harder? Wanting to live, instead of dying again? I can remind you all that I’m not the original Georgia as much as I want, but I still remember dying as her. Do you know what that does to a person? I close my eyes on the bad nights, and Shaun’s pulling the trigger.” Or I was confined to a bed, just like this one, at the mercy of the doctors who milled around me like moths around a candle. My whole world was a nightmare now. “Do I think this is a responsible use of cloning technology? Actually, yes. I think this is the only responsible use of cloning technology. Am I afraid that they’ve lied to me about how developed her brain is, and that I’ll be killing someone who is in basically the same position I was, just so I can keep going? Yeah. Am I going to do it anyway? Yes. I am. You should know that.”

  “I do.” He shook his head. “If you tried to tell me that you weren’t going to do it, I’d be doing my best to talk you into it. I may not get to talk to you much these days, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it.”

  I blinked at him. “So what was all this about…?”

  “I want to know that you’ve thought things through, and that you’re not compromising your principles because you’re afraid of leaving Shaun alone.” Mahir looked at me gravely. “The two of you were always a bit, well, codependent. You function beautifully as a unit, and you fall apart when you’re separated. That concerned me back when you had an outside support system. Now that you’ve essentially walked away from it, it terrifies me.”

  “I am afraid of leaving Shaun alone, because I wouldn’t be leaving him alone,” I said. “I’d be leaving him with the voices in his head—and they’re getting mean. He didn’t get magically better just because I came back.”

  “He needs to talk to Dr. Abbey about treatment.”

  “He is, I think. He’s had long enough to figure out that he can’t do this on his own, and he’s ready. But if I die here, all bets are off. You know him. You know how he reacts.” I laughed bitterly. “Like, you actually know, because you’ve seen it happen. If I die again, he’s going to go off with the voices, and let them lead him to his doom. So no, I’m not compromising my principles for the sake of Shaun. I’m doing it because I want to live to fight another day. I am taking him into consideration as I approve my treatments—and I assume you’re sitting here, taking notes, because you’re planning to write up this ground-breaking medical case.”

  Mahir flushed, looking away. “Nothing like this has ever happened before, Georgia. This is all new ground, and you know that the EIS won’t publish their results for anyone else to see. They’ll keep it all quiet and under their control, because that’s how they do things.”

  “Still?” I couldn’t quite keep the wistfulness out of my voice. The world wasn’t kind—the world had never been kind, and I knew that better than most—but I had been hoping, at least a little, that things would have changed after everything we’d done. Maybe that was egotistical of me. I didn’t know. I just knew that we had paid a great deal for a new world, and now it didn’t look like we were going to get it.

  “They’re better than they were. Haven’t you been reading my articles?”

  “Some,” I said. “I read more of Alaric’s work these days.”

  Mahir looked hurt. “Really?”

  “Really.” I shrugged. “He does human interest and history; things that have already happened. Things I could never have changed. You … you’re still reporting the news. You’re doing heavy digging, and you’re doing it from Europe, which means you’re not endangering your family in the process. I am so proud of you. But if I read your work, I’d want to help. I’d want to get into those situations, I’d want to dig for those answers, and I’m not … I’m not ready yet. I’m still recovering. So is Shaun. We both need more time, and that means I can’t afford to let you make me start caring again.”

  Mahir looked at me silently for a long moment before he nodded. “That makes sense,” he said. “I’ve had similar thoughts. I went to Australia—did you see that one? Beautiful country, just beautiful, and their approach to security is so evenhanded and sensible, it made me want to grab Nandini and Sanjukta and head straight for immigration. San’s young enough that she could grow up thinking that was the way the whole world was. She could be so much less afraid than I know she’s going to be, living in England, with a blood test unit on every doorway and regular contamination drills in the Underground. I could spare her, if I was just willing to walk away. I haven’t gotten there yet. Some days, I feel like it’s only a matter of time.”

  “How did you get here, anyway? You must have been on a plane the second Dr. Abbey contacted you.”

  “It took me a few hours, actually,” said Mahir, with a short smile. “I hopped a flight from Heathrow to Hamburg, went from there to Helsinki, and finally got dropped off at an old research installation up in Nunavut. It’s supposedly fully decommissioned, although we both know how often that’s true, especially when there’s something useful to be had by keeping a place operational. A few bush pilots fly out of there, small-range planes, exorbitant fees. The site paid for my tickets, by the way. In case you were planning to question my use of the operational budget.”

  “Are you planning to write an article about the pilots in Nunavut?” I asked.

  Mahir grinned this time, bright and lasting. “Your instincts are still good. Yes, I am. I’ll be spending a few days up there before heading home. A few of the pilots have agreed to show me around, as long as I elide any identifying details that might lead the government to them.”

  As if the government didn’t already know: As if places like that, in a world like this, hadn’t long since been accepted as the cost of doing business. People still needed to move around. We had become a global economy before the Rising came, and there were always going to be reasons to travel between continents—reasons that sometimes didn’t allow for the long, grueling process of going through official channels. Mahir’s passport had been issued by the nation of India, a place that currently didn’t technically exist. As such, he was in a better position than most to use the smaller, underground airports; he didn’t need a visa to go anywhere in the world, and he couldn’t be arrested for crossing international borders unless he was already a wanted criminal.

  Some of the things we’d done in the process of toppling the CDC’s leadership and replacing them with people from the EIS were technically illegal. All those charges had been dropped by President Ryman after we got his wife back. As long as he was careful, Mahir’s freedom of movement would remain unchallenged, and he could continue to report on the ways in which the world had adapted.

  “That sounds fun,” I said. “I think you’ll really enj
oy writing that one.”

  “I enjoy writing all of them, even the hard ones.” He was quiet for a moment before he said, “You know, Georgia, people wonder what happened to you.”

  “I know.” There were whole forums and bulletin boards devoted to Shaun and me, groups of people who traded rumors and blurry snapshots that could have been virtually anyone like they were currency. We had become celebrities by doing the impossible—unveiling the CDC, coming back from the dead—and we had cemented our place by doing something else that should have been impossible. We had disappeared. In a world where surveillance was king and the CDC almost always knew where everyone was, we had dropped off the grid completely.

  “It’s a great story.”

  And there it was. Finally, the thing he’d been waiting to say since the day he arrived was out in the open, sitting between us like the inevitability it was. I leveled a flat gaze on him, waiting until he looked away before I asked, “Does it matter whether I want it to be written? Do I get to ask for professional courtesy, and actually believe that you’re going to extend it?”

  “Dammit, Georgia, don’t try to make me the bad guy here.”

  “Why not? You and I both know that the only way you could bring yourself around to the idea that Shaun and I would want to be a human interest story is by casting us as either victims or villains somewhere in the back of your head. I’m guessing ‘villains’ was easy, since we walked away and left you holding the bag, until you actually saw us again, and saw how damn sick I am.” I waved a hand furiously at the equipment surrounding me. Even that much motion tugged on my IV, sending a twinge of pain through my arm. I wanted to rip it out. I wanted to reject everything about the machines that were keeping me alive, and the technology that had created them.

  I was the product of modern science and fringe medicine. I should never have existed. There was no one in the world who hated that fact more than I did.

  “You think we want to be here? You think I want to see you look away every time I turn my head, like I might somehow not have realized that you were watching me? Newsflash, Mahir: If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be in this bed. I want to live, yes, but not like this. Not in a … in a white room, where everything smells like antiseptic, and you never get to see the sky.” The walls were a pale cream green, but the principle was the same. This room was a cousin of those sterile rooms at the CDC, where clever scientists had violated the laws of nature in order to prove to themselves that they could. On paper, I had been created so that they could use me as a weapon against my brother, but that was never the real reason. They made me because they could. They didn’t give a crap about whether or not they should. Scientists never did.

  “People want to know,” said Mahir quietly. There was guilt in his tone, but there was steel there, too. I had put it there. I had taught him to pursue the story no matter what tried to get in the way, no matter how hard your target squirmed and fought. What mattered was telling the truth, writing it all down and showing it to the people who needed to know about the things they hadn’t been there to witness for themselves. What mattered was the record. The person who wrote down what happened was really the one who made history, like a craftsman made a wall. One brick—one story—at a time.

  “What if I don’t want them to?” The question came out rawer than I’d expected. I paused, swallowing to steady myself, before I continued, “What if I want to be forgotten? I’m not really interested in being anybody’s martyr. Been there, done that, got the urn with my ashes in it, sort of creeped out by that. I don’t want to die, but I don’t want to be a story anymore either. I want to be a person.”

  “What about what I want?” Mahir raised his head and met my eyes squarely for the first time since he’d arrived. He was so much older than he’d been when all this started. We all were. “You walked away, and I let you go, because I thought you’d come back. I thought we’d have time to put all this in order, arrange the narrative, figure out what sort of direction we wanted to go. And you never came back. We’re here now because Dr. Abbey called us.”

  “Why did she?” It was the question I’d been itching to ask. She had no good reason to summon our friends and acquaintances—not unless she thought I was dying, and if that had been the case, she would have been better off sedating Shaun and finding a nice room without anything breakable in it. This made no sense.

  Mahir frowned. “She said you had something to share.”

  “No. Not really. I missed you all—please believe me when I say that—but I never said I wanted to see you again. Sort of the opposite, really. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

  “I called your friends because I was calling my friends, and I wanted to be sure that no one was going to get so excited by the squishy science goodness of it all that they failed to remember that you were a person,” said Dr. Abbey. We both turned. She was standing in the doorway of my room, next to an Asian man in tan shorts and a Hawaiian-print shirt.

  “It’s always a risk, with us,” said Dr. Joseph Shoji. “Hello, Georgia. You’re looking awful today.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” I said, and scowled. “You summoned everyone here because you didn’t trust the people you were already calling? Doesn’t that seem a little counterintuitive to you?”

  “Not really.” Dr. Abbey walked into the room and started fiddling with my IV, ignoring Mahir completely. “I needed the best in the world if I was going to save you, and I needed an escape plan if I wasn’t going to save you. Shaun would tear this place down around my ears if he thought I’d done something to hurry you to the grave. So I called my contacts at the EIS, focused on people who already knew your medical history, and summoned my medical dream team. At the same time, I tipped off the people who love you as to your location. There’s no way we could fail to give you the best possible care with this many eyes on us. It just wouldn’t work.”

  “Huh,” I said. I couldn’t dispute the wisdom of her actions. They were backward and strange and not even remotely the actions of a normal person, but they made sense for her, and they would do what she needed them to do: They would protect her. If I didn’t survive the transplant, Mahir, Alaric, and Maggie would be able to talk Shaun down. Nothing was going to make him okay at that point—nothing was even going to come close—and they were probably the only people in the world, excepting Rick, who stood a chance of reaching him.

  If Rick showed up next, I was going to scream. Having the vice president of the United States swing by to see how I was doing was just too surreal, even for me.

  Dr. Shoji’s smile was clearly forced. The concern in his eyes was just as clearly real. “Georgia,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’m two steps short of a medically induced coma, but who’s counting?” I looked at him calmly. “Did you bring what you needed?”

  “I did,” he said. “We can operate in the morning.”

  Three

  George couldn’t go to sleep without the sound of my breathing, and she couldn’t come to me, wired up as she was to all those tubes and machines. We dozed together, me stretched on the six inches or so of mattress between her body and the edge of the bed, her squarely centered, arms at her side, like a wax dummy in a store window. I tried to pretend I wasn’t scared out of my mind. She tried to pretend the same, and neither of us spoke. What would there have been to say? I couldn’t beg her not to leave me; she was already trying her hardest, and implying anything else would mean implying that I thought she was going to fail.

  Besides, the Georgia who didn’t really exist was more than happy to fill the silence. She had talked all night long, giving voice to the thoughts that raced through my aching head, but putting her own brutal twist on them.

  “She’s going to die again, you know. That’s what people made of meat and mad science do. They die. That’s going to suck for you. At least you’ll have a date for the funeral, huh?”

  “You should give up on her right now. If you walk away, you can pretend she got better
. How does that sound? You and me and the big wide world, and you get to tell yourself she’s still here, furious and alive.”

  “You always knew it was going to end like this.”

  “You’ll always have me.”

  I kept my eyes closed and swallowed my whimpers, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing how she was getting to me. She knew, of course. She was inside my head. But for the moment, I could still curl next to my flesh-and-blood girl, stiff and silent, and tell myself that things were going to be all right.

  Morning broke and the lights in the room came on, chasing away the shadows behind my eyelids. I opened them and Dr. Abbey was there, flanked by Dr. Kimberley and Foxy, a solemn expression on her face. George was still asleep, or at least still had her eyes closed. I sat up.

  “Is it time?”

  Dr. Abbey nodded. “You need to leave the room now, Shaun.”

  “What?” I stared at her. “No. You’re not going to operate on her in here, are you?”

  “No. We have an operating theater prepared. You can watch if you want—I know better than to try to stop you—but I wish you wouldn’t. It will probably be distressing for you.”

  “I’m supposed to try to convince you to come out hunting with me,” said Foxy blithely. “I have grenades and a rocket launcher and I went out last night and found some big holes that probably have bears or foxes in them. We could set them on fire if you wanted. Ever seen a burning zombie bear trying to climb a tree? It’s really funny.”

  “I can’t decide whether or not that’s animal cruelty.” George still wasn’t waking up. I frowned at her. “Hey, George? You okay?”

  “She’s out,” said Dr. Abbey. “The sedatives in her IV put her under hours ago. We’re going to be sedating her further for the surgery, but this was the best way to make sure she was fully relaxed before we went in. With the amount of work we’re going to be doing, this was the best thing for her, medically.”