The Seeds of Winter

by A. W. Cross

  “I understand. I don’t always know if what I’m seeing is the possible future or just one of the variables.”

  “Not really what we signed up for, eh?”

  “No. But is more interesting.”

  My hand itched to reach out and ruffle his hair, as I would’ve with a child. But he wasn’t a child; none of us were. “Did you say I was going to save us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, and how am I going to save us?”

  “I have no idea.” He shrugged his thin shoulders. “I told you, it’s not like I’m psychic. I see events leading to probabilities only. Sometimes there are blind spots.”

  “Blind spots! You put all of us through a slaughter and imprisonment to get us to a blind spot? Well, that’s fucking wonderful. What are we supposed to do now?”

  Pax stretched out his legs. “What happened at the Terran camp? When you possessed Tor? How did you do it? Does it happen often? Can you do it to everyone?”

  “No.” I flushed at the memory as Tor closed his eyes. “I mean, I don’t know if I can possess anyone but Tor. I’ve never tried. I can’t communicate with anyone, even Tor, the way I do with you.”

  “Try to see if you can take control of me.”

  “Pax, are you sure? You saw what happened.”

  He gestured around our cell. “What could go wrong?”

  Good point.

  “Okay.” I closed my eyes to concentrate, and reached for the thread that linked me to Pax. I followed it until I saw myself through his eyes. I tried to move his head, arms, legs, anything, but nothing happened.

  “Wait! Try that again,” he insisted.

  “Pax, nothing’s happening. I can’t do it. Not with you.”

  “Just try again.”

  I tried to lift his left arm. Nothing.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked. The excitement in his voice caught Tor’s attention. Until then, he’d been pointedly ignoring us.

  “No, what—”

  “Do it again. And listen.”

  It was very faint, but when I tried to move Pax, there was a slight dip in the humming of the electric fence.

  “Okay, but I don’t understand why you’re so excited.”

  “You’re able to communicate with me and possess Tor because you’re a cyborg, right? Because part of you is a machine?”

  “Right. And you think I might be able to communicate with machines in the same way?”

  “Exactly! Have you ever tried it before?”

  I cannot run if you’re not inside me. The mech in the forest.

  “No.”

  “Try it. It may be our way out.”

  I examined the network of threads connecting me to everyone. Why didn’t I think of this before? There were hundreds, maybe even thousands of them. They all had to lead somewhere.

  And all originated from me. Look at them.

  Tor’s thread burned golden, a thick, solid bond. Some of the others were also lit with various levels of intensity—one blazed with all the brightness of a shooting star—but many more were dark. And then there were the others, the ones that flickered.

  It was one of these I followed to the generator powering our cell. Unlike the mech, there was no sensation of madness. Instead, there was a constriction, a stiff dignity that in myself I would’ve called resentment.

  As I pressed further, the rigid solemnity softened into a focused pressure that darted around me as though it was assessing me.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think it’s aware of me. Now that I was in, I wasn’t sure what to do.

  “Hello?”

  In return, there was another shift in its character, a slight sharpening. I relaxed and let myself expand. The final fragment of resistance dissolved, any challenge receded, and I filled it with myself.

  There was a swift nip then a delicate probing weight that mimicked the caress of fingers. It rippled over me before finally sliding inside me, so frictionless that my sudden orgasm took me by surprise. As I came, the power inside it flowed into me until I was full.

  An abrupt pressure on my arm was far away—an idea, rather than a reality.

  I need to leave. Power threatened behind my eyes and mouth, ready to split me open.

  I pushed the power slowly back into the generator. It accepted it, curling playfully around me as I pulled myself out. I backed down the flickering thread, bewildered by an abrupt pang of loss.

  Pax, Tor, and now Oliver watched me as I opened my eyes. Tor gave me a curious look, but I couldn’t meet his gaze.

  “Did it work?” I asked.

  Pax’s eyes were gleaming, and Oliver’s smirk had returned full-force.

  “Yes. It only went down for a few seconds, but you did it!”

  “I assume they didn’t notice, then?” I asked, gesturing to the two guards.

  “No. They’re too busy wondering how all these new changes are going to affect them. We could probably just walk out of here, and they wouldn’t notice.”

  “The hell we will,” Oliver said, his voice filled with malice. “They’re going to pay for what they’ve done to me.”

  “No,” I said. “If…when we get out of here, there will be no more violence. We will leave. We will talk to no one, touch no one.”

  “And how exactly do you expect we’re going to do that? Ask the giant here to shred the fence with his bare hands so we can saunter through the hole and be on our merry way? Do you really think they’ll let us do that?”

  No, I don’t. “Yes. Something like that.”

  “Forget it. The minute I get out of here, I’m going to take down each and every one of them. Starting with her.” He pointed toward the house where the women lived. His finger was trembling.

  “Well, in that case,” Tor said, “I won’t be pulling anything apart. You may as well make yourself comfortable.”

  Oliver was incredulous. “What? Fuck off. You can’t tell me you’d let yourself be executed.”

  “I will,” said Tor. “I’m done. I refuse to kill these people. We got ourselves in here through no fault of theirs. They believed they were fighting for a just cause, a cause that we gave them. No. Never again.”

  “Un-fucking-believable. And her? Are you going to let them kill her?” He jabbed a thumb in my direction.

  Tor refused to answer, but his hands tightened into fists at his sides.

  Oliver smirked. “I didn’t think so. So, we’re all agreed then?”

  “No,” I said, “we—”

  “No. No more.” We all turned. Cindra sat propped up against the wall, her eyes open. She had pushed her tangled hair back from her face, and although she seemed frail, her eyes were clear.

  “We don’t have a choice, Cindra.” Oliver’s voice was surprisingly gentle. He was staring at her with a kind of wonder. I doubted he’d ever looked at Celeste like that.

  “There’s always a choice,” she replied, and Oliver blanched.

  Oh, snap.

  “I’ll come up with something,” I said. “I need a bit more time.”

  “Time seems to be something we don’t have a lot of at the moment,” said Tor, looking through the gaps in the wire to where the village stirred under a lightening sky. He was right. We needed to come up with a plan, and soon.

  As the public-address system blared into life, it came to me. I would have to get the timing right, and I would only have the one chance, but I’d found our way out.

  “There have been complications with Subject O-117-0988. Unbeknownst to us, he swallowed some kind of chip just prior to being cyberized. It seems the nanites have incorporated this chip into his interface. Consequences currently unknown. Will continue to observe progress. Standing by for termination if necessary.”

  —Mil Cothi, Pantheon Modern Cyborg Program Omega, 2045

  Every time I closed my eyes, light flooded the inside of my lids, hot and bright. Ghosts of tubes haunted my arms, my legs, down my throat. No matter how many times I dug them out, they came back.

 
Nanites had flowed into me like molten steel, spreading through me, searing through my veins. I’d slept for a long time after that. The lights had burned my eyes completely away.

  Can you hear me, Umbra?

  I felt you. Millions of you, swarming inside me. When I looked in the mirror, you were under my skin.

  It didn’t feel like I had imagined it would. I’d thought I would feel the same, just more…me. But my flesh disappeared, Umbra. Everything that was soft became hard and shiny, sleek and perfect. Was this how you felt, Umbra? When they made you?

  “I warned you.”

  “Umbra? Is that you?”

  “I am here.”

  “I was afraid you’d left me.”

  “I will never leave you. We are one.”

  It is difficult to describe war to you, Omega, for you have never experienced any form of war, indeed, any form of violence other than what you inflict upon yourself. There were wars before the Artilect War, civil wars, wars between nations, even two wars that spanned the world. I know this is hard for you to understand, Omega, for the world is much smaller now than it was then, and I cannot describe its vastness to you in a way you would comprehend.

  But this war...this war was nothing like those that had come before. After those wars, the people, the places recovered. Many died, many were injured, many were broken, but they healed. Those wars were supposed to be lessons for those of us who came after, to make it harder for another war to happen. But they didn’t.

  —Cindra, Letter to Omega

  The plan wasn’t perfect, but it was all we had.

  “This way, no one needs to get hurt. Not permanently, anyway,” I added.

  Pax tilted his head back, considering. “It should work. It won’t affect us the same way. I agree it’s our best option.”

  Oliver did not. “No way. No way is that going to work. No. It’s too risky. I say we stick with plan A.”

  “This is plan A, Oliver. Your let’s-just-murder-everyone-because-it’s-more-convenient idea was never a plan. You want out of here? You have to play along.”

  “Yeah? Well, you’d better get ready because I don’t think they intend to hang about.”

  He was right. They were building a massive version of the stakes at the Terran camp, right where we had a clear view. A festive air swelled through the village, as though they were preparing for some kind of celebration. Which, in a way, they were.

  The bonfire they’d started the night before now made sense. They’d used it to melt the layer of permafrost to soften the dirt for the stakes. Even then, it was hard going, with several broken handles and jarred bones before they managed to drive them securely in the ground. Secure enough for a single use, anyway.

  Zero points for creativity.

  Tor’s pupils were dilated. “Why would they risk moving us? It would make more sense for them to burn us alive right here in our cell.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Tor, don’t tell them that.”

  His smile was lopsided. “I won’t. I’m just wondering how they’re going to move us from here to there. It seems risky to me, that’s all.”

  I longed to reach out and touch that smile. It might be the last time.

  “There’s your answer,” Pax said, pointing to a group of six men emerging from one of the houses. “It seems like they’ve learned from the Terrans.”

  In their hands, they carried what looked like car batteries, one for each of us. The sixth was carrying a bundle of bronze-tipped rods wrapped in wires. The picana. Unlike the Terran devices, however, these didn’t seem to have any intensity controls.

  “Damn,” Tor muttered under his breath. “That’ll make it significantly less risky.”

  The electrocution wouldn’t kill us, but it would incapacitate us. I’d had firsthand experience of that from Cindra’s body. The pain, as though every nerve in my body was exploding. Bile rose at the back of my throat.

  It wasn’t much of a choice. We could walk to our deaths, or be dragged unconscious.

  Celeste approached our prison. Her face was clean today, but her hairstyle was the same. When Oliver saw her, he stood up straight and put on what I assumed was his winning smile. He sauntered over to the bars and started to lean against them before he remembered the electricity. His hasty retreat made Celeste grin.

  “Hello, Oliver,” she said sweetly. “How is our resident false Divine this morning?”

  “You don’t need to do this, Celeste. I’m sorry. I…” He glanced around at the rest of us then swallowed his pride. “I’ve never felt important before. I… Before the war, I was nobody. You…made me feel… What we had…”

  “Was a lie, Oliver. Worse than a lie. You destroyed everything we had faith in. Everything I had faith in. I…the things I did for you. To you. Let you do to me.” Her face reddened at the memory, but not the cherry of a sweet blush. No, that was the deep scarlet of shame. “I should thank you, actually. I’ll never have to do those things again.”

  “Celeste, please.” He glanced at Cindra and lowered his voice. “I love you. We had something.”

  “You love no one but yourself, Oliver. That’s why you were a nobody, why you’ll continue to be a nobody. You’re lucky I’m letting you die in one piece. I should cut your cock off and stuff it down your throat.” She spat at him, her saliva sizzling against the charged wire. “But that would mean touching you again. Goodbye, Oliver. Every minute you’re burning, your body trying to keep you alive, think of me. I wonder how long you’ll last?”

  She turned to leave without glancing at the rest of us. Oliver forgot the wires and lunged at her, hands outstretched. He managed to grasp the corner of her shawl before it slipped through his fingers and electricity snaked up his arm. His jaw snapped shut, teeth crunching against one another. Not one of us moved, not even when his back arched and he finally broke free, striking his head against the ground. Blood leaked from his flayed tongue and out the corner of his mouth. He lay motionless. I rather liked him that way.

  Tor nudged Oliver with the toe of his boot. “Are you going to start?” he asked me.

  “The timing needs to be right. It’s not like walking down an empty corridor and flicking on a switch. It’s… I can’t explain it.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to, even if I could. Being in the generator had been…not sordid, exactly, but personal. And given my history with Tor, some things were better left unsaid.

  “Well, it looks like they’re almost ready to go. They’ll probably make an announcement soon.”

  As if on cue, orchestral sounds filled the air.

  Oliver groaned and struggled upright. “Oh, fuck off, Celeste.” He regarded the rest of us and crossed his arms over his chest. “She knows I hate this music.”

  “Nice to have to you back, Oliver.” I needed to do this now. “Pax, it’s time.”

  I sat on the floor of our cell, with Tor and Pax on either side of me. Oliver fretted in the corner, licking his wounds. The fight had gone out of him, his eyes searching the village.

  “She’s not coming back, Oliver,” Cindra said softly.

  He flinched.

  I almost feel bad for him. Almost.

  I took a deep breath and cleared my mind.

  “You can do this.” Cindra said, curling her hand around my calf. She smiled at me, and in the curve of her lips was the woman who would become my greatest friend. For a moment, everything in my world disappeared but her. Was I catching some of Pax’s foresight? He beamed at me.

  Yes.

  I rubbed my arms. “I’m ready.” I searched for the thread I needed and found it flickering rapidly, as though agitated. I took a deep breath and grabbed it.

  Being inside the PA system was different than the generator. The latter had been benign, almost affectionate, once I was inside it. This machine was much more resistant, it’s impression patchy, like an echo. It skittered away from me, skipping around inside itself. I expanded, and it shrieked with the terror of something trapped.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispe
red as I began to fill it. It struggled, trying to find a way around me. I expanded faster, and it tried to match my speed, to fill the space before I could and force me out. “I’m sorry.”

  I filled it completely, and turned inward on myself, gathering its energy into a single dense node. It thrashed against me, trying to break free. Something akin to panic crashed through it and over me like a wave. It was drowning, trying to claw to the surface so it could gulp down air.

  I pushed it further. Its resistance became more erratic, and I eased off, coaxing, trying to be gentle. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Am I speaking out loud? “Please, I need you to help us.” I tried to radiate calm, to soothe it.

  For a few minutes, it seemed to be working, and then, with a furious thrust, it pushed back against me. I’d been fooled; its strength was monstrous. I wouldn’t be able to hold it for more than a few seconds. The dam I was building inside it wasn’t going to last; I had failed.

  My hold began to slip.

  A third presence enveloped both of us in an unyielding embrace.

  It was him. The thread like a shooting star. The one who’d been following us.

  He did what I couldn’t, cajoling the circuits until all challenge against me disappeared. The atmosphere abruptly shifted, and we were all on the same side, working as a single entity.

  A pressure pulsed on my arms. It was time. Here we go.

  I let the dam burst.

  I don’t know who dropped the first bomb, only that it unleashed the end of the world. I won’t tell you who did what, for you don’t know the players, nor will I tell you how people died. These things are too painful to describe, and knowing will make it harder for you to understand why we did what we did in the aftermath.

  —Cindra, Letter to Omega

  The colossal surge of sonic energy thrust me down the thread connecting me to the machine.

  As I hurtled back into myself, the link between us ripped apart, the fragments disintegrating. No. I hadn’t meant…