by Ramona Finn
Now Haven was telling me that I wasn’t even expected to have control over it. His smug expression filled my vision. I saw now why he wasn’t even bothering to pander to me. He didn’t need to manipulate me. No need to manipulate when he could just control me directly. He had the keys, and I wasn’t in charge of my tech. It was in charge of me.
I wondered, in sheer, freezing horror, how far did it go? Could he control my tech completely? What else could he make me do? Was its power over me in its design alone? Or could he communicate with it?
I had no idea if the horror on my face was apparent or not, either—he could chalk it up to whatever he wanted to at this point, or maybe he already knew what I was thinking. What I’d been doing.
“You don’t care that I culled all those innocent people?”
Haven shrugged. “Of course we don’t want you to cull innocents. But we also have to be realistic about the stakes of a simulation versus the stakes of an actual Culling. We have to assume that you’ll try a bit harder to fight for precision when there are actual citizens that you’re dealing with.”
His eyes flicked back to Dahn, and there was a pause. For long enough that I turned around. Dahn was grinding his teeth, and I could have sworn there was a whiff of defiance in his pause. But then he spoke, and his words couldn’t have shocked me more. “We can’t expect perfection, Glade. If there are cullables that you miss, then Sullia will follow behind and cull them. If there are innocents that you accidentally cull, that is the unfortunate cost of implementing such powerful technology. We need this technology to survive as a civilization. And the transition to such a new system is bound to have casualties.”
“You’re willing to sacrifice innocents because you want my tech to be this strong? This unnecessarily strong that I may or may not be able to control it? Because, you understand that there are moments that it controls me? Right?”
I said this to Dahn. But his face was completely, wildly shuttered. It was almost as if I were speaking to a clone of him. A robotic replica. This went completely beyond his code of ethics. He’d culled innocents before, yes. But not knowingly. Only because of Haven’s virus. Had he known, he never would have condoned it. Not if it put innocents in harm’s way.
I turned back to Haven, unable to look at Dahn’s stony, almost unrecognizable face another second.
“Of course, we’d like to minimize the damage, Glade. We don’t want you to wipe us out the way you did in the simulation.” Haven laughed and I dug my feet into the carpet to keep from lunging across the desk and ripping his throat out. “So, we’ll just have you practice a bit before the full Culling.”
“Practice?” I repeated, uncomprehending and sharp. “But you just told me you won’t bother to restore the simulator.”
“Ah. Right. Well, I meant that we’re going to have you practice on a smaller sample size than the entire solar system.”
It was the big bang in reverse inside of my chest. If life was constantly being lived, flung outwards from the persistent muscle of my heart like noise from a speaker, then Haven’s words would have simply sucked it all right back in. I felt my whole life collapsing inwards. I was surprised my chest hadn’t caved in as everything settled within me like a tight, unyielding ball. Dense and cold and scared.
“You want me to practice culling on a colony with the expectation that I’ll most likely mess up and innocents will be culled.”
“You’re advanced enough to game out the advantages here, Glade. Some lives will be sacrificed for the greater good. What you’re doing will be rather brave. Groundbreaking. It’ll be the foundation on which we build a safer world together.”
A subservient world is more like it.
“Which colony?” I ground out through teeth that barely wanted to open.
“Io,” Dahn answered immediately, like he couldn’t hold the information in.
Haven’s eyes flickered to him, almost with annoyance. “It was a strategic choice, Glade. Knowing what we know. We figure it will give you further incentive to control the tech as best as you can.”
Bullshit. Utter bullshit. Haven didn’t give a damn whether I controlled my tech or not. He didn’t want me to accidentally cull every single citizen in the entire solar system, obviously, but he also didn’t care if innocents died. If I culled my entire home colony by accident, my sisters included, it would be of small consequence to him. It would, however, have the added benefit of devastating me. He wanted me pinned in place. He wanted all the cards. He wanted me chained to a wall, with a taser in one of his horribly soft hands.
I wasn’t human to him. I was a chess piece. One he hadn’t been able to fully control before. But now he could. He had every single string in his hand because he’d designed my tech. I knew it in my bones. Just like he’d designed that virus. He’d created something that served him.
And now I had no choice but to serve him. He was going to use my brain like a keyboard.
His smile hardened—not in victory, but in satisfaction. He looked like a man who’d worked hard for decades, and now he was finally getting what he wanted.
He looked self-righteous.
My lungs screamed for air and I took a deep breath. I was reminded of my other lungs. The symbolic ones that had finally been allowed to breathe yesterday. There was that inner part of me. The part of me that Haven couldn’t touch. The part of me that Kupier had introduced me to.
My hand found its way into my pocket and clutched the small horse figurine tightly. I reminded myself that, in my reality, the figurine was in my pocket. But in the horse’s world, its front hooves were in the air. Its mane was tossed back. There was wind in this horse’s world. There were things like galloping and racing and running off over the hills. The stiff whip of its tail in its own imaginary wind bit into the palm of my hand.
I’m free, I reminded myself. On the inside, I’m free.
I had a plan to grab that freedom with both hands. To get the hell off this Station and rush straight into the hands of Ferrymen. They had the technology to shut off my tech. It was called dampening. And I’d hated it the first time they’d done it to me. Now, though? I’d welcome it. I longed for the blissful, unmolested silence of my own solitary brain. Even if the lack of tech would make me more vulnerable. I really, really didn’t care. All I wanted was this horror show off my arm and out of my brain.
I had to stick to the plan, though. My mother’s plan. She hadn’t told me much about her actual task, but I knew I had to get everyone in one place. Like they were when I performed a simulation. She’d assured me that I wouldn’t have to go through with it. So, I reasoned, why would a Culling be any different in that case? As long as everything went according to plan, I wouldn’t have to cull anyone.
I took a deep breath, but it did little to cool the defiance and fury within me. I tossed my hair back and could practically feel Dahn’s eyes tracking the motion. He knew me well enough to know that that was my tell. But he was silent and still behind me.
“Will it still be centralized Culling? From the Station?”
“Heavens, child!” Haven exclaimed in what seemed like delighted surprise. “Of course. We’re not going to have you traveling all the way to Io for one little Culling. Besides. We want most of the factors, besides the magnitude of it, to stay the same. You’ll perform the primary Culling from the centralized location of the Station, where you can hook into a reliable power source. And you’ll perform this one that way, as well.”
In a sick way, it was a relief. That meant that my mother’s plan would still be effective. “Alright,” I said. I knew that complete agreement and acceptance would seem suspicious, given my visceral reaction to this news and this change of plan. So I straddled the line. “I’m uncomfortable with this, though. It’s so different. Such a shift in ideology.”
“You’re bothering yourself with the ethics of it?” Haven’s brow drew up. “I’d assumed, as you’re our leading Datapoint, that you’d simply see the utilitarian logic of it and accept it.”
I didn’t believe him for one second, that he’d actually assumed that, but there was no point in showing more of my emotional side right now. “I’m still a human,” I said instead. “I’ll have to acclimate to this new reality.”
He closed his mouth and frowned. His least favorite part of our world. Humans weren’t computers. The fact was the bane of his existence.
“How much time will you need to acclimate?” he all but snapped.
Time was really of the essence here. As much as I didn’t want to seem like I was just agreeing out of the blue, I needed to agree to this very quickly. I pretended to hesitate, but then nodded. “I’ll be ready in the morning.”
Haven brightened. “Perfect. Dahn and I will have the simulation room cleared of the wreckage of the old simulator and you’ll have access to the power source.”
“Tell everyone,” I said, command seeping into my voice in a very Glade Io type of way. The sound reassured me. “The pressure will be good for me.”
I turned on my heel then. Not even waiting to be dismissed. I attempted to catch Dahn’s eye as I left, but he didn’t even turn his head.
Dahn Enceladus was in the one place he’d sworn he’d never willingly go again.
He was outside Glade Io’s door.
The Station was darkened and quiet. He knew that there would be a few technicians in the main control room even now, and perhaps an assistant cook or two up early to prep breakfast at this witching hour. But that was it; otherwise, the Station was asleep.
Not peaceful, though. Never peaceful.
He slipped through Glade’s door and jumped when he realized that she was standing in the middle of the room, facing him.
“I thought you’d be sleeping,” he told her.
“My tech notified me that there was a Datapoint lurking outside my door.” Her voice was dry, and so very Glade. And even in the dark, her hair was glossy, and her eyes were so black he saw nothing in them at all.
It was where she kept her secrets. Locked up tight.
He closed the door behind him.
“Why are you here?” she asked him. He realized now that her stance was tight and ready. She was preparing herself for a fight. God. She was preparing herself for a physical fight. An altercation of some kind. With him. She thought he was going to attack her.
The realization of that had him recoiling from himself in disgust. He knew that his presence and complicity today would have been a betrayal to her. But he hadn’t anticipated how it would feel to be treated like an enemy afterward.
He decided not to beat around the bush. “I wanted to know if you’re really going to do it tomorrow.”
She squinted at him as if he were crazy. “Of course I am.”
He crossed his arms. “Don’t act like it’s insane for me to be suspicious of you, Glade.”
She eyed him for a second, but said nothing.
He took a step toward her. “You told me once that I trusted you even if I didn’t want to. But you were wrong. I don’t trust you, Glade. I think you’re secretive and possibly unhinged and on the precipice of doing something that you can’t undo. Something that could have implications for every citizen in the solar system.”
She crossed her arms and blinked almost lazily at him. It made him want to tear his hair out.
“So, tell Haven.”
He glared at her, his arms crossed and his teeth clenched. He didn’t grace the comment with a response.
“Seriously, Dahn.” She stepped closer to him, and he realized he’d never seen her eyes so dark. “If you’re so wholly convinced that I’m a menace, then go tell Haven. Knock on his door. Wake him up. Have me dragged into interrogations the way you did with Sullia. Just think! You can finally get to the bottom of all this mystery!”
He glared at her even more, his temper and frustration threatening to bubble up and over. “I don’t know who you are.”
“And that just burns you up, doesn’t it?”
His hands darted out and grabbed her around the shoulders before he’d thought about what he was doing. He gave her one good shake before she slapped him away.
“I don’t care about you anymore, Glade! I don’t care. The only thing I care about is becoming a member of the Authority. Okay? That’s it. And if you’re about to do something that will jeopardize everything? Then I’m going to stop you. As simple as that.”
Her dark eyes danced between his. But, of course, she latched on to the very last thing that he’d thought she might, and it instantly annoyed the hell out of him. “Anymore? You don’t care about me anymore? As in, you used to?”
Dahn paced away from her, straight to the wall beside her bed. He pressed his forehead to the cool chrome of it and took a deep breath. “What does it matter, Glade?”
“It matters because I thought I was the only one.”
Dahn had the sudden and distinct feeling that his organs were all being roughly reorganized. What exactly was she saying? “What do you mean?”
It took her a moment to answer, but her voice was softer when it did. “This whole time, we’ve been told that Datapoints don’t have feelings. That we’re incapable of them. But here you’re saying that you used to care about me. Which means that…”
He tuned out the rest of her words and turned to face her. She wasn’t saying that she cared about him, in particular. Just that his words lent credence to the idea that all Datapoints weren’t emotionless. Right. Of course that would be a shock to her.
“Humans aren’t computers.”
She nodded, her head cocking to the side as she detected the strange deflation in his tone. He’d slipped there, letting it through. Just like he’d slipped in saying ‘anymore.’
“Dahn,” she said carefully. “If I asked you to do something tomorrow. Something for your own good and safety, even if it didn’t seem like it… Would you do it?”
“No.” His answer was immediate and fortifying. There’d been a time when he would have hesitated. Pushed her for more information. He would have been intrigued by her. Interested by the proposition. He would have wanted to be let in on her secrets. But she’d pushed him too far. Confused him too badly.
Mixed him up irrevocably.
“Just like that?” she asked. “A hard no?”
He nodded curtly.
“Why?” Her question was genuine—he could tell. She was seriously confused.
“Because you act without logic! You have all these reasons that make no sense to anyone but you. You say that I’d need to trust your all-knowing plan when I’ve seen literally zero evidence that it would keep me safe. No. I keep myself safe better than you ever could. I will never throw myself into your camp without knowing every detail, Glade. Every single one.”
“You’d never believe me… even if I told you the truth.”
“That’s fine. That’s just fine. I don’t need your truth. All I need is myself and my plan and my future. That’s it. I made that decision and I’m sticking to it.”
“When did you make that decision?” she asked.
She was still in the middle of the room and his back was still against the chrome wall. There was, at once, too much space and not enough between them. He hated that her voice was so calm when his was shaking with emotion. He felt as if she were a detective, slowly piecing together the clues, and he still wasn’t even sure what the clues were.
“After—” he cut himself off.
“After I kissed you?” she guessed.
It was his turn to say nothing.
She cocked her head and that glossy hair slid from one shoulder. “It was that bad, huh?” Her voice was dry, and he could hear a joke in it, but he didn’t laugh. Didn’t respond. He felt as if his back had become fused to the chrome wall.
“You think I was trying to manipulate you? Like Sullia would?” she guessed again.
Actually, that thought hadn’t even occurred to Dahn. And now he felt like even more of an idiot. “No.”
“Then what was it that bo
thered you so much?” She shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”
It was the shrug that did it. One cavalier shrug too many. He lunged forward until he had her by the shoulders again. His hands were gentle, but the tension inside him wasn’t.
“Big deal? The big deal is that we’d never done that before! That Datapoints don’t do that! That when humans do that, it’s for some reason.” He felt like he was spitting glass with each word he spoke. “But I don’t know your reasons. I never know your reasons. All I know is that it was like a movie I couldn’t stop playing for hours afterwards. And it did two things at once. It made me realize how…” he searched for the right word, slamming a hand over his chest as he did it. “How soft I am for you. But also how much I don’t trust you. How much I’ll never trust you. And I hate it all. You’re my weakness, Glade. You’re going to make me trip at the finish line because I can’t make myself turn you in. And I can’t make myself trust you enough to do what you say! I’m not aligned with Haven anymore because of you, but I’m also not even aligned with you anymore because of you! What I feel for you, it makes me alone. It makes me even more alone than before,” he spit out before he could stop himself.
She reeled backwards, literally stumbling away from him. There was more horror on her face than he’d ever seen before. She looked as if he’d stabbed her through the heart.
“Dahn.” That was all she could get out. She didn’t even look like she was breathing.
Dahn swiped his hands back and forth over his face, trying to get ahold of whatever was boiling just under the surface. He was almost positive that he’d never be able to. The only thing he could do was just bury it. Forever.
He turned on his heel to leave, but Glade was in front of him in a flash, stiff-arming his chest and sending him backward by a few steps.
“No! Don’t leave. Let me… Just let me… I need a second to think!” She glared at him until he lifted two hands, palms up in surrender.
He’d let her think.
She slammed her eyes closed for a full minute, her eyelids pulsing and rippling as her brain went a mile a minute. When she looked up at him, finally, he was startled by what he saw. There was raw emotion there. A lot of it. And, more, it was the tender kind. Even a Datapoint like Dahn could interpret that much.
