This Mortal Coil

by Emily Suvada

  “Seventy percent!”

  The world blinks to blue, then green, then black-and-white as my head slams against the glass, my lips parting in a scream.

  “Get off her!”

  A shriek cuts the air, and one of the lab counters crashes to the floor. The crowd around me scatters as the room bursts into motion.

  The lights flicker on and off. Cole is at my side, his eyes black, reaching into the liquid to haul me up. I jerk back in a spasm, trying to tell him not to touch the cable, that it’s too late, but he disappears again.

  Another crash echoes through the room. Above me, the ceiling is spinning, thick with drones, zooming in and out of focus as the pain thunders through me. I look down in time to see Leoben fighting Cole, their fists blurs in the strobelike, flashing lights. They topple backward, sending another lab counter to the floor, and I slump into the liquid.

  The pain has a voice, and a scent, and a mind. It’s racing through my nerves, leaving nothing but smoke and ash behind it. I scrunch my eyes shut, and in the darkness behind my eyelids I see the towering silhouette of the three jagged mountains. The image warps and bubbles like a photograph in flames, growing brighter until it’s blinding; then the pain surges into the base of my skull.

  My mind is suddenly rising, jettisoned from my body atop a blistering plume of heat that feels like death itself. The world seems to shrink below me, fading to a speck, taking my body and my screams with it.

  Then it’s over.

  The pain drops away as sharply as it started, and I sink into the liquid, drifting beneath the surface. The strength is gone from my limbs. The image of the mountains still hovers in my vision, tugging at my memory like a long-forgotten song.

  “Get her out, now!”

  Gloved hands drag me back above the surface. I choke up a mouthful of sour liquid, my throat raw from screaming. Voices rise through the room, and the drones swarm around me like birds of prey circling a dying animal.

  “Get her some tech!” one of the nurses shouts.

  My head rolls to the side. Cole is straining against Leoben on the floor, and Dax is standing beside me, his emerald gaze locked on me.

  This is it. I can see it in his eyes, and I can feel it. The lights are dimming, the frantic voices around me falling silent. Across the room, Cole kicks Leoben away and races to me, his eyes black and frightened.

  But he won’t make it. There’s no stopping this. I know there’s no escape. If the pain is ebbing now, it’s because most of my nerves are already dead. I try to yield myself to it, but my heart rate hitches higher. Maybe this would be easier if I truly believed that there was something waiting beyond this world. But I don’t, and that terrifies me. The world was here before I was born, and it will keep spinning after I am dead. The universe is continuous; I am the anomaly. I am the thread that begins and ends, the flame that sputters out. A chance collection of proteins and molecules that perpetuates itself, bound by the electric fire of my mind.

  That fire is fading now. The knitted proteins of my body are unraveling, and I will soon be gone. I’ve known this for days; I stepped into this room knowing it.

  But I’m still not ready.

  “Tech boost!” a nurse shouts, plunging a syringe into my chest, sending a fresh burst of pain jolting through me. My limbs straighten instantly, smacking against the glass.

  So much for most of my nerves already being dead.

  I choke, writhing in the liquid as Cole shoves the nurse aside and wraps his arms around me, keeping my face above the surface.

  “Cat,” he breathes through the walls of pain toppling down on me. “Stay with me. Just hold on—you’re going to be okay.”

  I blink, my vision shuddering, my limbs thrashing against him, sending glowing droplets of the liquid flying across his face. The silhouette of the mountains flashes back into my mind, then vanishes like smoke in the wind.

  “Cole,” I breathe. “I remember . . . I remember something. I don’t understand.”

  But he isn’t listening. His eyes are glazed over, his arms still locked around me. A look of amazement is spreading across his face, and the room has fallen quiet.

  “Fully decrypted,” Novak announces on a speaker, breaking the silence. A hum of voices begins to rise. “First batch test . . . complete. Second batch test . . . complete. Tests from Europe and Asia coming through now. They’re complete too. Four hundred ninety-three permutations tested, with zero trigger penetration. It’s official, everyone. We have a vaccine!”

  The room erupts into a roar. The drones scatter into frantic spirals, circling the crowd, capturing the moment.

  “That . . . that’s it?” I whisper. Nobody listens. The nurses are laughing and crying, hugging one another. I want to tell Cole that this is wrong, that they need to check again, but he suddenly pulls me from the vat, holding my dripping body to his chest. He crushes me to him and kisses me while the crowd circles around us, raising a cheer.

  “You’ve done it,” he whispers, his lips on my ear. “It’s over, you did it.”

  My body is shaking, but it’s just exhaustion—my vision is clear, and my heart is pounding, but it’s steady and strong.

  Dax stares at me through the crowd with a haunted look in his eyes. He knows what I know, but I’m too weak to say it.

  There’s no way I should have survived that kind of procedure.

  It’s impossible. It’s insane.

  I should have died in that vat.

  CHAPTER 38

  THE NURSES UNSCREW THE CABLE from my spine, then rub me down with a sponge that soaks the blue liquid away. Novak disappears with Dax to launch a broadcast announcing their success to the world.

  That isn’t all they’re broadcasting. The code I wrote is now running from the new joint network of satellites, installing the vaccine on the panels of everyone on the planet. The people in the bunkers will be expecting it, and most people on the surface will download it willingly. Those who refuse to download it will still have it running secretly in the background of their panel’s operating system. We’re violating their rights, but at least they’ll be protected from the plague.

  A cheer rises from the corner of the room, where some people are lifting their panel arms in celebration as the vaccine installs. The movement catches on, and the drone cameras circle the crowd, capturing the rising sea of cobalt light. The cheer spreads like a wave until the gymnasium is a pandemonium of tears and laughter. People drop their arms, hugging one another, crying.

  It’s over. The vaccine is released. It’s done.

  It’s too much for me to take in. I stand mutely, my fists bunched in the bathrobe’s fabric. The crowd around me is starting to sing, but I don’t raise my voice to join them. My thoughts are turning in on themselves like paper curling as it burns.

  I’m alive.

  It makes no sense. It should be impossible; my body should have crumbled into a slick, watery mess. Instead, I’m merely tired, my muscles humming with the healing tech the nurses plunged into my chest.

  Cole stands watching me, his eyes wide with wonder, as though I’m glowing in a wavelength known only to him.

  “You saved the world,” he says. His hand slides to the small of my back, and he leans in to kiss my temple. I don’t know how to react, so I just close my eyes. I should be happy, but all I can think about are the flashes I saw during the procedure. The three mountains. The conversation with my father. They must be memories, and they must explain how I survived, but trying to remember them now is like grasping at handfuls of smoke.

  I want to tell Cole, but I don’t know how to say it.

  Sorry I didn’t tell you, but I was supposed to die today?

  When I open my eyes, Leoben is pushing through the crowd, holding a foaming bottle of champagne. He thrusts a glass into my hand and tilts the bottle to fill it.

  “You look like someone who needs a drink, Agatta.”

  “Leoben . . . ,” I start, unsure of what to say. He knows I was supposed to die in th
e decryption. Dax told him so he could hold back Cole if it came to that, which it did. A patch of Leoben’s white-blond hair is wet with blood, and the front of his shirt is torn open.

  “Yeah, whatever,” he says, giving me a meaningful look. “Not supposed to mix alcohol with healing tech, I know. I think we can let that slide for tonight. It’s time to celebrate. We can pick our way through the code tomorrow.”

  I look down at the glass of champagne in my hand. He’s telling me to forget about it, to enjoy the fact that we’ve done what we came here for.

  The vaccine is out. It works. It’s over.

  But how can I celebrate when I’m standing here like this, unscathed and whole in a body that should have shattered like glass?

  “To the great Lachlan Agatta!” Leoben shouts, holding the bottle aloft. “May he continue to confound us!”

  The crowd around us echoes the toast, confused but enthusiastic. I stare hard at my glass, then drain the champagne in one gulp.

  “Attagirl!” Leoben yells, slapping my shoulder.

  Cole laughs, snatching the bottle from him, tipping it up to take a gulp. Someone opens the doors to the football field, where the bonfire is already raging. Music pulses through the air. The crowd begins to drift outside to celebrate around the fire.

  Leoben grabs the bottle and ducks down to see his reflection in the vat’s curved side, pouring the champagne over his head to wash the blood from his hair. “I’m gonna get you for that, brother.”

  “You can try,” Cole says. He squeezes me to his side, trying to snag the bottle back. Leoben shakes it, capping the mouth with his thumb, then sprays both of us with foam. I can’t help but laugh, shrinking into Cole. His grip on me tightens, and he gives me a smile I thought I’d never see again.

  It suddenly hits me that this is real. I’m standing next to Cole in a world that’s ablaze with hope. The vaccine is out, and I’m going to be alive to watch the world rebuild. The thought makes my head swim.

  It’s hard to believe I have a future again.

  “You think they’re going to open the bunkers now?” Leoben asks, looking around for somewhere to put the empty champagne bottle. He drops it into the blue liquid of the vat.

  “I guess so,” Cole says. “They might wait a few weeks, but I think a lot of people are ready to go back outside.”

  The Cartaxus anthem chimes, and the screens on the wall blink, showing video feeds from around the world. There are fireworks over survivor camps and people praying in circles. Crowds in the bunkers are swarming into the common areas, holding their children. Two years of nightmare. Two years of plague.

  I keep telling myself that it’s finally over, but it still isn’t sinking in.

  Outside, a crack tears through the air. I flinch instinctively, staring out at the football field, expecting to see the plume of a blower detonating. Instead of a rising cloud of mist, I see the glow of a firework, casting a brilliant white light over the crowd’s upturned faces.

  “Come on, let’s go find Dax,” Leoben says, waving us out into the night, swiping a bottle from a girl beside him. Another two fireworks whistle into the air and erupt, blue and scarlet. I know what they are this time, but the sound still makes me flinch.

  The crowd is singing, the music pounding. The bonfire is ablaze. The screens on the wall are flashing with a million happy faces, and suddenly I can’t breathe. I blink and see three mountains draped in pure white snow. I see my father’s piercing gray eyes locked on mine.

  Cole steps forward, but I stay frozen.

  “You okay, Cat?” he asks.

  It’s too much for me to take in. Too much joy, too much confusion. We’ve done what we were trying to do—we’ve released the vaccine—but I still feel like I’m teetering, standing on shifting sands.

  “Cole,” I whisper, “can we go somewhere quiet?”

  “Are you okay? Do you want a nurse?”

  “No, I’m okay, I’m just . . . overwhelmed.” I clutch the bathrobe around me. “I could do with a shower, and some clothes.”

  Cole’s eyes glaze briefly. “They put some clothes in a room for you. There’s a bathroom you can clean off in, and a bed, too.”

  “Now now, soldier.”

  He grins. “That’s not what I meant, but I like the way you think.”

  I send an elbow into his ribs. He laughs, grabbing my arm, hooking it around his waist.

  “I’m taking Cat to shower and get changed,” he shouts to Leoben.

  “Too much information!” Leoben yells back. He tilts the bottle of champagne upright over his mouth, then tosses it deftly, sending it in a perfect arc behind him and into the vat.

  Cole slides his arm around my shoulders, guiding me through the thinning crowd. Hands reach out for mine, high-fiving, faces lit up by the bonfire’s flickering light. A dozen people try to stop us, wanting to talk about the decryption, but Cole weaves me past them expertly, ducking into the hall.

  The doors swing closed behind us, dulling the sound of the fireworks, of the raucous crowd out on the field around the fire.

  “Is that better?” Cole asks, guiding me down a dimly lit hallway.

  I sigh, leaning into him. “You have no idea.”

  He leads me through the school, past rows of empty classrooms, finally stopping to push open an unmarked door. Inside is a tiny room that must have been the sick bay, with a few cots arranged along the gray cinderblock walls. An outfit of fresh Cartaxus clothes is folded neatly on a table by the door, beside a pair of boots, a hairbrush, and a packet of wipes. The light in the room is already on, and Dax is waiting inside with an unreadable expression on his face.

  Cole’s eyes narrow. His arm grows tight around my shoulders. “What are you doing here, Crick? I thought you and Novak were busy making one of her broadcasts.”

  “We’re done. We prerecorded most of it earlier. I need to talk to Catarina in private, and you should probably go and check on Leoben. He just commed me—he’s already drunk. The fireworks are running out, and he asked where the jeep was. He mentioned something about a rocket launcher.”

  “Ah, that’s not good,” Cole mutters. “I should probably . . .” He turns to me.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Go. I need to talk to Dax anyway.”

  “Are you sure?”

  My stomach tightens. I need to talk to Dax about the decryption, but I’m not so sure I’m ready for whatever he’s come to say.

  “Go,” I say, pushing Cole’s chest. “I’m fine, honestly. Go stop Leoben before he blows something up.”

  Cole squeezes my hand and jogs back down the hallway. Dax stays silent, watching me impassively. Once Cole’s footsteps fade, I step into the room. My body sighs with relief as I sit down on one of the steel-framed cots.

  Dax’s emerald eyes never once leave mine. He looks like he’s trying to read something written on my face, something he can’t understand.

  “What color are your eyes, Catarina?”

  I frown. Of all the things I expected to hear, that’s not one of them. “They’re gray, like my father’s. A polymorphism on OCA2, you know that.”

  “Yes, I do.” He sits down on the cot beside me, staring with an intensity that makes me want to shrink away. “What did you do during the decryption?”

  “I don’t know how I survived. There’s a lot going on that I don’t understand, like—”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” he says, cutting me off. “What did you do to the vaccine?”

  I blink. “The vaccine? What are you talking about?”

  He stands and paces across the room. “You’re a genius, Catarina. Don’t play the fool, it doesn’t suit you.”

  My breathing quickens. “Dax, I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is this something to do with the ERO-86?”

  Dax pauses mid-step. “The memory suppressant. Of course.” He turns, his face softening as he looks me up and down. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?” I stand and s
tride across the room to him, clutching the bathrobe around me. “Dax, I’m losing my mind here. Tell me what’s going on.”

  He swallows. “I analyzed the readings from the clonebox, and I found what was generating the ERO-86. You have a neurochemical-producing implant buried in the base of your skull. It used to be controlled by a subfunction in your healing tech code, but it went offline when your panel was damaged.”

  The air grows still. I search Dax’s face for a hint that he’s joking, but all I see is fear. I reach one shaking hand up to touch the back of my head. The base of my skull. That’s where my migraines come from.

  “Did you say my healing tech?”

  Dax nods, and I draw in a breath. That’s the function core that Marcus cut out of me because he said it had neural code. I didn’t believe him, but in a way he was right. It wasn’t neural code, but it was producing neurochemicals. Memory suppressants. Maybe that was why Amy seemed lucid afterward.

  But why the hell did my father give it to me?

  “Okay,” I say, my voice wavering. “What does that have to do with the procedure?”

  Dax presses his lips together. “The implant switched on again during the decryption, but it wasn’t generating ERO-86 anymore. I didn’t realize what it was doing until I saw the feedback from the clonebox.”

  “What was it doing?”

  Dax laces his pale, slender fingers together. “It added four million lines of code to the vaccine.”

  I step back. “No. I thought you checked the code. I thought it was working.”

  “It is, but the vaccine was supposed to have roughly five million lines, and the version that came out of you had nine. I have no idea what the new code is doing, but it looks like it’s acting as a daemon—running independently, without instructions. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  I stare at him wordlessly, the roar of celebrations outside drifting into a wash of static. There are four million lines of untested, unchecked code in the arm of every single person.

  And I’m the one who put it there.

  “How did this happen?” I breathe. “Why wasn’t it picked up?”