The Gardener of Man

by A. W. Cross

  “Doesn’t he worry about hurting Umbra?”

  “No, of course not. She’s just—”

  “A machine.” He raised his eyebrows.

  My cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  He brought my hand up to his lips, the way he’d done with Cindra. “It’s okay. I forget too. I thought of her as just a machine at first. Isn’t that strange? When did I get so grand?”

  “You don’t seem like a machine to me,” I said quietly.

  “I don’t seem like a machine to myself either. But how would I know?”

  “Are you sentient, Fane?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I am. I think that I…feel. That I dream. But how can I know for sure? How do you know you are?”

  “I guess I don’t.” My hand was still in his, and I had no desire to move it.

  “What did she do to you?”

  “Nothing. She wanted to, but she’d used up all her strength by that point, I think. She just sort of breathed on me, and that was it. Do you understand what she meant, about how she would help herself?”

  He looked troubled. “No. But…from what you said, she wants to be like me.” He frowned. “She’s disturbing. She shouldn’t be aware like that. When they built her kind, my design hadn’t even been conceived yet. There’s something very wrong.”

  “Do you think she’s capable of doing something dangerous? Of seriously hurting Callum? Or any of us?”

  “I don’t know. She shouldn’t be, and yet… Ailith? Ailith!”

  Sometimes, as scientists, we’re blinded by what we do. Our work allows us to excuse our behavior, allows us to justify the terrible things we do because we know in our hearts that the end result will be worth it. The public rarely know what goes on behind closed doors. They only know how it affects them. But our secrecy prevents them from knowing exactly where to place the blame and allows us to keep moving forward.

  —Mil Cothi, personal journal

  The green sea was no longer a wasteland. It was smooth, shiny. Blood-warm to the touch. I could no longer tell where my body ended and the metal began.

  I was young but ageless; I possessed the knowledge of years, of generations. Of people I’d never met, who were long dead, even though I was only being born. The swarm of my body had been contained, encased and caged. I’d become sleek and solid, all my components moving as one.

  For the first time, the tree was gone. He stood in its place, waiting. As always. So were all the others, standing together. They’d become like me, slowly, one cell at a time. They felt like they were drowning, and they were; their lungs filled with carbon fibers and copper filaments. We were evolving quickly. Too quickly. Soon, there would be nothing of us left.

  “I never saw this coming,” he said, his voice heavy with sorrow. “I should have seen it coming.”

  We all spoke at once, commiserating.

  “I should have felt it. Should have felt it in all of you. But it happened too fast.”

  “I should have found it. I could have changed its course, nullified it.”

  “I should have torn it out. Hunted it down, forced it to submit.”

  “I should have encouraged him to follow the others. To burn.”

  “Where’s Ella?”

  “This is my fault. I let it out. Let it out to play.”

  “Shh. It’s coming. Look, over the horizon.”

  “It’s not coming. It’s already here. Can’t you feel it? It’s drowning us.”

  “How can we drown from the inside? It’s not possible. None of this is possible.”

  “And yet here we are.”

  “Ailith? Where are you?”

  “Quick, it’s coming. Stand together. Make ourselves look larger. Like we have teeth.”

  We stood together, back to back. Wherever my skin touched theirs, it turned to metal. The silvered patches spread and fused, growing taller, wider, twisting toward the sky. Only I didn’t grow, my fingers slipping uselessly through theirs. Their voices became faint, only a whisper on the wind. I tried to claw the metal back, but my nails made no mark.

  “Ailith?”

  It was upon us at last, and I’d been left behind.

  Not left behind. Sent ahead.

  I was the seed. I would grow thorns. I would birth poison and twisting vines to strangle it until it folded in on itself and became nothing.

  “Ailith?”

  It wasn’t coming over the horizon. It never had been.

  It was easy enough to apply our technology to weapons—weapons capable of great destruction; I don’t deny that. But our intention was to use them to protect people, to lessen the damage caused by the other sides. Our destruction was strategic, not all-encompassing. Although you’d never guess it, we actually prevented the aftermath of the war from being much worse. And yet, because we didn’t win, no one will ever know.

  —Ethan Strong, personal journal

  Feet hovered in the air, dangling from a body held fast against the wall by Tor’s hand around its throat. He’d held me like that once too; maybe it was happening again.

  Maybe this time he’s actually killed me, and I’m having an out-of-body experience.

  Except that the feet hanging passively in front of me were far too large to be mine. I rolled over to get a better look, trying to make sense of it over the roaring in my ears.

  Fane was remarkably calm; he didn’t struggle. His face was composed, his expression neutral, and his hands loose at his sides.

  Tor, on the other hand, looked like he was about to lose control. He stood with his feet planted apart, one large hand wrapped around Fane’s neck, the muscles of his arm rigid. The other was pulled back, fisted and ready to strike. His face was feral, lips drawn from his teeth in a snarl. His hair had come loose from its fastening, and the dark strands merged with the line of his tattoos.

  The roaring narrowed and became more defined; it was coming from Tor.

  “What did you do to her?” he demanded. “ Answer me.”

  Like I’d done, Fane reached out and traced his finger over the inky line on Tor’s bottom lip.

  It didn’t have the same effect. Instead of shocking Tor out of his rage, Fane had simply pulled the trigger. Tor smashed his fist into Fane’s face like a piston, driving his skull into the wall.

  “Stop. Tor, stop.” My voice came out calm, measured, at odds with the screaming in my head. “Stop.”

  A seething black mass under taut skin. Narrowed diamond eyes. The lick of a flame.

  My voice galvanized both of them. Tor faltered, glancing back at me over his shoulder. Fane used his distraction to wrap his own hands around the base of Tor’s throat, the weight of his palms on Tor’s shoulders. He pressed down, and as Tor’s knees buckled, Fane’s face changed.

  The weight of the ocean on a grain of sand. The splitting of flesh under a rock. The skin of a hare, peeled from the muscle with a single tear.

  A wet cracking roused all of us like a shock of icy water.

  Fane released Tor, his hands raised in the air, palms out, as though in surrender. Tor hunched over, still kneeling. One fist was planted on the floor, but his other arm hung uselessly at his side.

  “Stop,” I said again, this time only a whisper.

  A stampede of feet sounded on the stairs, and in the inpouring sea of faces, the room began to spin again.

  “What the hell happened?” Lexa rushed to Tor’s side as he struggled to stand, wincing as she gripped his limp arm.

  Lien nearly trampled me in her haste to reach Fane, clumsy with anger. The right side of his face had caved in, just over the cheekbone. She grabbed Tor’s right arm, trying to spin him to face her. At any other time, the incongruity of their sizes would’ve been funny, a mouse trying to take down an elephant. But not now. “What did you do?”

  “He thought I’d hurt Ailith,” Fane said, his voice calm. Shreds of images still floated through his mind. A belly full of stones. “I don’t blame him.”

  Cindra and Oliv
er stood on their tiptoes, looking over Mil’s shoulder. Cindra looked appalled, Oliver like his mind was working overtime. He edged around Mil and the others, pulling Cindra with him. Pax and Kalbir followed closely behind. They sat in a line on the edge of my bed, whether for solidarity or to watch the show, I wasn’t sure.

  “What the fuck did you do to her then? Why was she on the floor?”

  Ethan moved to stand in front of Fane, glancing at Lien. The tension in the room rose.

  “Tor, I’m fine. I had a…” I hesitated. How much should I reveal in front of Lien and Ethan? Not to mention the others crowded in the hallway. “vision. And I got a little dizzy. Fane had just come up to say goodnight and found me in the hallway.”

  The tension drained from the room as Cindra flashed me a smug, congratulatory smile and whispered something in Oliver’s ear that made the skin over his collar turn pink. Tor closed his eyes.

  Lien’s lips grew even tighter, the paleness around her mouth stark against the rising flush in her cheeks. Ethan merely looked disgusted.

  Will he tell them about Callum and Umbra? Please, Fane, don’t.

  He didn’t. Instead, he turned to Tor. “I know it looked bad. Please, believe me, I didn’t do anything to her.”

  Tor glanced at the surrounding faces, and the fight suddenly left him. He seemed to deflate, to grow smaller. “I’m sorry,” he said, and I was surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “About your face, anyway. You’re a bit less pretty now.”

  Fane grinned. “I’m plenty pretty, brother. Maybe I’ll get a good battle scar from it. I’m sorry I broke your arm. I wasn’t even trying.”

  “Never mind, brother,” Tor replied, his returning smile brittle. “I’ve got another one.”

  “What the fuck are we supposed to do now?” Ethan roared. “I can see you think this is just a wonderful human adventure, Fane, but how are we supposed to fix your face? Everything we had was destroyed in that fucking cave-in. I told you coming here was a bad idea,” he said to Lien.

  Turning to Tor, he spat, “And you. I would try to kill you right here if I didn’t think you’d have no qualms about murdering each and every one of us.” He pointed to Fane. “I hope you’ve learned a lesson here. Perhaps you shouldn’t place your trust in everyone you meet.”

  “I’m not a child,” Fane said.

  “Oh no? And yet you’re acting like one, sneaking off to some cyborg slut’s bedroom. I knew when you began following her that there would be problems. You have no idea how they work. They—” He suddenly became aware that everyone had fallen silent, watching him. “They’re not your kind,” he finished lamely.

  Fane stepped up to Ethan, his ruined face blocking everything else in the room. “Neither are you,” he said quietly.

  Ethan held his gaze, the seconds seeming to extend for minutes. Abruptly, he turned away. “I think it’s time we were going.”

  “What about Fane’s face?” Lien demanded. “How are we supposed to fix that?”

  “I can fix it.” Lexa had finished her cursory examination of Tor’s arm. “I’m going to have to fix this, anyway. We still have our resources.”

  A shadow passed over Lien’s face. “Fine. But we stay here with him.”

  “Absolutely not.” Mil’s voice was firm.

  “You can’t tell us where we can and cannot go.” Ethan’s hackles were rising again.

  “Actually, I can. You have a choice: leave Fane here and we’ll fix him, or take him now, and all of you can leave.”

  “Never. I would—”

  “I’ll stay.” Fane wedged himself next to the others on the edge of bed, smoothing his hands over the covers. “I might even sleep here,” he goaded Ethan.

  “I like him a lot,” Pax said.

  I had to admit, so did I.

  Ethan’s face turned apoplectic, veins standing out in sharp relief. “They can’t make us leave,” he repeated.

  “They can,” said Fane, “and so can I.”

  A sudden coughing fit gripped me, and I bent double, trying to catch my breath.

  Cindra rushed over and placed her hand on my back. “Ailith? Are you okay?”

  I held up a hand and nodded. “It’s so dry in here.”

  “I’ll get you some water.” She disappeared into the bathroom.

  My interruption broke the tension. As I gulped down the water Cindra brought, Ethan shook his head at Fane in disbelief. He’d considered his options and realized he had none. “Fine. You know how to reach us.” Turning to Mil, he said, “If anything happens to him, we—”

  “That’s enough, Ethan,” Lien said. “It’s fine. We’re allies now, after all. Aren’t we?” Her body language said anything but, her smile strained and her back too straight. “Let’s look at this as proof of our good faith.”

  Ethan opened his mouth as though he was going to object, but a twitch in her jaw convinced him otherwise. “I agree,” he replied through his teeth. I guessed he would’ve rather bitten off his own tongue.

  “Well, if that’s settled, let’s get you two boys down to the infirmary,” said Lexa, all business again. “Let’s go everyone. The night is over.” As the others filed past me, looking disappointed, she hung back. “And are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I said. “Honestly. I was speaking to Callum and must’ve blacked out.”

  Lexa looked at me closely but let it pass. “Is Callum okay? He…he won’t come and see me anymore. I thought that if I didn’t force him…that he might get better—or at least let me scan him and try to figure out what’s wrong.”

  “I think he’s fine, Lexa. Oliver’s found some things in his programming that he’s going to clean up. Nothing serious.” Assuming Oliver finds a way to separate them.

  She pursed her lips. “He didn’t say anything to me about that.”

  “It was pretty deeply buried. Some minor compatibility issue. He only found it because of his ability. I guess he didn’t think it was important enough to mention.”

  She searched my face, looking for something more. But, as though she wanted to preserve our fragile new bond, she let it go.

  “Tor, Fane, with me. Now,” she said, like they were two naughty school boys instead of lethal instruments. She marched ahead, disappearing through the doorway. I was surprised she didn’t twist their ears.

  Tor avoided looking at either of us, following Lexa quickly.

  Fane lingered. “You didn’t tell her about your vision. Or that you spoke to Umbra. Or even about Umbra.”

  “I’ve never had that vision before. Usually, it’s a dream I have. As for the rest… They don’t know about Umbra, Fane. She threatened to kill Callum if we told them, and I’m worried what they would do to Callum if they found out. It might prompt Umbra to strike.”

  He dipped his head. “You’re protecting him. I understand.”

  “Does your face hurt?” I asked then felt silly.

  “I think so,” he said. “It’s difficult to tell. Is this what pain feels like?”

  Red, tinged with yellow, too bright for the eyes. Raw wet flesh under a blister. Salt.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “You’re not supposed to. It’s supposed to stop you from doing whatever it was you did again. Can I touch it?”

  “Please.”

  I pressed my fingers gently into the indent of his cheek. His skin felt as smooth and firm as it had looked, yet soft too, like flesh. Underneath, Tor’s fist had left a crater, the edges crushed and jagged.

  He leaned into my fingers, closing his eyes.

  I pulled my hand away.

  “So you and Tor are not together? He seemed to feel otherwise.”

  “No, we’re not.” I sighed and sat on the bed. “Honestly? We were, at one time, and I don’t want to talk about it now. But he would’ve defended any one of us like that. Pax, Cindra…probably even Oliver.” I reconsidered. “Okay, maybe not Oliver. But we’ve been through a lot together.”

  “Maybe. B
ut Tor knew I hadn’t done anything to you. That’s not why he attacked me.”

  “What do you mean? Why did he do it then?”

  “When you were…dreaming, or whatever it was, you called out for me. Not him.”

  “Ah. I still don’t believe he would attack you over something like that… Our split was his choice.”

  “Maybe. What did it mean? Your dream?”

  “You saw it?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen it for a long time. It changes. I’m glad I’m not a kite anymore. I don’t think I like heights.”

  “What did you see, this time?”

  “I was running. I saw you, all of you, in the distance. I was trying to reach you, before…I don’t know. They were all turning to metal, and I’d lost my skin, and parts of me were breaking off, and the broken parts moved much faster than me, but not faster than it. The others, they looked like they were becoming the tree, their arms spread, their fingers grasping at the wind. And it was coming. And I couldn’t get there. And I—” His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated.

  A hot flash, a sudden chill. The crescendo of a heart about to burst.

  “Fane, it’s okay. Dreams aren’t literal. And they don’t make a lot of sense. Most of the time, they don’t mean anything. Don’t worry about it. Not yet, anyway.”

  He nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

  “You should go. Let Lexa patch you up.”

  “Can I come back here? I feel safe here.” And for just a moment, he seemed so fragile and human that I almost said yes. Almost.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. But, since you’re going to be here for a day or two, why don’t you come and see my greenhouse tomorrow? I’ll wait for you.”

  After he’d gone, I locked the door, checking it twice to make sure. I stared at the pit in my wall, the size of a human head, bloodless and broken.

  The knock on the door startled me.

  “Fane, I said—”

  “It’s me,” Oliver said from the other side. “Look, I know you probably want to sleep, but I think I’ve found a way to separate Callum and Umbra. I want to do it now, while we still have a chance.”