“Yeah, well. Shit happens.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Leave? What? You mean for good? Don’t be an idiot. We’ll figure this out, Fin. It just takes time.”
“Love is patient. It waits. It trusts. It hopes.”
“That’s really sweet, but . . .”
“It is a quote from The Word.”
“Oh, that. Don’t you ever get tired of reading that silly book? Text me if you need anything, OK?”
She left. Fin cleaned up the kitchen and took the leftovers to Mama. She didn’t care much for human food, said it was too rich for her tastes, but she was starving. So she ate what she could of it and thanked him for thinking of her. Fin promised to come back with her favorite Reconstitute for dinner, despite knowing what it really was, if she would agree to go to work that day.
She didn’t want to. What was the point?
She had lost her husband. She couldn’t afford to lose her job, too. If she did, then what? She couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t let her. Who would look out for him? And the others? What about them? They depended on her. They were her children. They would be lost without her.
So the argument went. In the end, Mama agreed. Fin gave her enough credits for her week’s expenses, saying that he was living on his SIA pension and had more than enough to share. The truth was he had taken some of Nova’s without asking. He had stolen and then lied to cover it up. He had broken two of the ancient commandments. The odd thing was the lie came so easily that it sounded like the truth. And the good he felt when Mama took the money couldn’t possibly be bad, could it? Or were right and wrong so entangled that he could no longer tell them apart? There was a time when he would have called Dr. Shepherd immediately to confess these sins, to ask for understanding, to beg for forgiveness. Not this time. He couldn’t let Mama die. That would be murder, a sin even the Ancient One could not forgive.
Fin returned to the apartment where he instructed the Homecom to shut down all systems except the vidscreens to conserve power. No raspberry and quince. No circulated air. No music. No sunrise. No cleaning bots to roll across the floor if he spilled his drink or dropped a crumb. He wanted none of it. He wanted what was real. He ordered the Homecom to display historical newscasts starting from the day he was born. He wanted to view his entire life one atrocity after another: the bombings, the mass killings, the attacks and counterattacks, the oppression and injustice. These were what marked the passing of each of his days. These were man’s sins. Not his. If God would not forgive him this one lie to save Mama, how could he ever forgive them?
Fin received a message from Nova later that day that she wouldn’t be home for dinner. She and Agent Clayborn were going to have a late supper together after their shift. She suggested he reheat the leftovers from breakfast if he were hungry. He replied that he would—another lie without the slightest qualm. Was it possible that right and wrong were not absolutes? Why couldn’t he redefine them to suit his needs as the humans did to suit theirs? Why couldn’t he justify his sins as they did theirs? The vidscreen held no answers, only the litany of war and death.
Fin left the apartment. Many had died the previous night. Many more had been left homeless. Yet nothing had changed. Cybernites came and went as they always did like insects scurrying underfoot, trying to keep clear of the human gods who neither saw them nor cared if in one step they squished the last ounce of life out of them. Perhaps the Cys who had survived were happy their friends and loved ones were finally free. Or perhaps their numbness was born of the same programming that Fin felt nudging his guilt into some forgotten corner of his mind. Or perhaps it was true that all hope was lost.
Down the street there was an argument that ended with a single gunshot. Fin’s first impulse was to run to help. That was his training, but he didn’t run. It was too late. He knew that. There was nothing he could do to save that murdered Cybernite or any other for that matter, nothing he could do to prevent one more lost soul from being tossed into the dumpster and turned into the Reconstitute that would eventually come back to poison the one who had murdered him. Lieutenant Trask was right. That was how it was in Cytown. There was no right or wrong. There was only surviving and dying.
Fin walked the other way, keeping to the shadows, heading for the market district. When he got there, he found the booth where the Cy named Millie was selling fresh-cooked tunnel rat. She catered to the police and the Greens who could afford it. Mama had said that she would love to try some if only she had the money. The thought of buying Mama her favorite Reconstitute when it might well contain the reformulated remains of Kron made Fin ill. So he broke his promise to her. Another sin. He didn’t care. This was a sin that was right. Of that, he was convinced. He purchased a small package of grilled tunnel rat and scurried off into the darkness.
On his way back, there was an explosion close by. Another attack. A drone had breached the defenses of the Periculum Air Force and was firing on the Cyblocks. Fin ducked under a building overhang as debris began to fall. Semperesse was there.
“Hello, Fin,” she said, surprising him.
“Esse? What are you doing here?”
“The same as you—trying not to get killed. I was on my way to the Haven. Would you like to accompany me?”
“I have a package to deliver.”
“I see. Well, if your travels take you that way, which I suspect they might, I’ll be waiting for you.”
They sheltered there until the shooting stopped, until the Great War had left its scent once again like a beast marking its territory. Esse headed off toward the Haven and Fin returned to the apartment. He queried the Homecom. Nova hadn’t left any further messages, so he took the prepared tunnel rat to Mama. He knocked on her door. No answer. He knocked again. No answer. He tried the knob. It was unlocked, so he went inside. He found her on the bedroom floor, barely alive. Beside her were several empty vials and a used auto-injector. Fin helped her into bed and called the hospital to report a Creep overdose. He demanded they send a med-tech immediately. The dispatcher wanted his authorization. Fin had none. The man wanted to know Mama’s color, number, and series, and if she were dead yet. Fin replied that she would be if they didn’t come soon. The dispatcher responded with directions to the nearest approved recycling can where Fin could deposit the body after she passed away, or before if it was more convenient. He assured Fin that Polyclonic Emergency Services would be notified so a replacement could be issued right away for Yellow-021 Series-99. He assured Fin there would be no disruption in service to her employer. He thanked Fin and hung up.
Fin threw the Commlink across the room.
Mama stirred. “Fin, honey? Is that you? Something smells mighty good.”
“You spent the money I gave you on Creep. Why, Mama?” he cried.
“Oh, don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine. Come back at suppertime, why don’t you? I’ll make you a nice plate of Recon just the way you like it. And if Kron complains, he’ll answer to me.” She touched his cheek, her eyes vacant. “Now be a good boy and run along. I have cleaning to do.” Her hand slipped back onto the bed. Her yellow eyelids fluttered, and in one last gasp her twenty-one years of struggle were over.
Fin ran from the apartment, down the stairs, into the night, through the unending rain to Rosie’s. He found Dirk at the bar washing away the memory of another day. Fin begged him to help. He wanted to give Mama a proper burial, not in a trashcan, not to be remade into poison, but buried forever in the ground like the humans did for their loved ones. He didn’t know the right words but he wanted to pray over her body like the ancients used to do to remember those who had passed so sadly from this life. It was the least they could do for her after all she had done for them.
Dirk laughed at him, ridiculed him. Even if he wanted to help, which he didn’t, there was no place in Cytown to bury anything. There was no dirt left to turn over, no place that hadn’t been paved level by the Man or destroyed in this bloody war. Dirk told Fin to toss her body into th
e dumpster with the rest who had died that night in the drone attack and say a few words before closing the lid if that’s what he wanted. When the trash was collected, she’d be recycled into food to keep everyone else alive. That’s how it was. That’s how it would always be. And if he didn’t like it, there was a self-recycle booth a few blocks down that could put him out of his misery real quick and painless.
“But Dirk, I thought we were friends.”
“I heard about what happened at 202. That’s on you, buddy. The explosion. The deaths. Mama. This is your fault.”
“I am sorry.”
“Sorry?” Dirk pointed to the other Grays and Whites staring at them over their mugs of Cy booze. “How do you think they’re going to afford their dose now? Book has doubled his price, and everyone’s afraid to second-source after what happened at 202.”
“Book is in jail.”
“You mean was. He got out an hour ago.”
“Impossible.”
“Not when you’ve got money and connections, big connections. He’s gunning for you, buddy. He’s got it in for you so bad he’s canceled the ticket for your head and told everyone to back off. He wants to do you himself. If I were you, I’d disappear real quick.”
“I am not afraid of him.”
“You should be. He’s got an army. He’s got eyes everywhere. He’s got the cops on his payroll. Anyone who helps you is dead. Their family, their friends . . . Dead. Get out of here while you still can, and don’t come back or I just might take my chances and do you myself.”
Fin did leave, but he didn’t get far. The rain was pounding his resolve, drowning his will in the gutter of hopelessness. He called Nova and got her voicemail, leaving a disjointed message that he needed her. He called Dr. Shepherd on the new number he had been given but there was no answer.
A group of Cys came out of Rosie’s, drunk and loud and looking for trouble. Fin fled down the alley to the next street. Tucked between two hovels was a self-recycle booth. The overflowing bin behind it and the booth itself were covered in a layer of hardened ash. It hadn't been emptied in years. A Gray and a Yellow were standing under the neon five-credit sign. Fin got in line behind them. A light flashed inside the booth. The door opened, releasing a puff of ash that the rain added to the thick puddle of ended lives on the pavement. The Gray stepped inside. The door closed. The light flashed again.
The Yellow standing in front of Fin turned around. Her face was beaten and disfigured. “Spare a credit?” she said. “I only have four and the Drab didn't have any to spare. Please,” she begged.
“Why do you want to take your own life?” Fin asked.
“I was made for one thing and one thing only. I was pretty. Now look at me. Not even a Cy would want this face.”
Fin checked his pockets. He had exactly five credits left. He gave her one.
The booth door opened. The wind blew gray ash in their faces.
“Thank God, it’s finally over,” the Yellow said, stepping inside.
The door closed. The light flashed. The door opened again.
Fin looked at the four credits he had left. “Thank God, it’s finally over,” he whispered. But it wasn’t. Not for him. Not yet. But why couldn’t it be? Why couldn’t he get away once and for all from Book, from them, from this horrible pointless existence? It would be so easy to take one more credit from Nova's stash. She wouldn't even miss it. But that was stealing. It was wrong. But so was killing. Or was it? Suicide was perfectly legal. So Council had decreed. And there was a way, one sure way to end it all, and he wouldn't have to steal anything or hurt anyone to accomplish it.
Fin looked up. Beyond the rooftops of the Cyblocks, Periculum’s eternal light shined like a beacon against the black sky, steadfast in the darkness and the rain, a haven and refuge from misery and war. It was power absolute, its unforgiving shield a quick and painless end. Many had done it before, many with not a credit to their name who had given up and chosen it as the final curtain call on their mean and desperate plays. And it would be so easy. His shield privileges had been revoked. His city time zeroed. He would be vaporized instantly if he attempted to pass through the nanoparticles. There would be nothing left to recycle, nothing left to poison anyone else, nothing left to bury or say a few words over. It would be as if he had never existed. The sins of his miserable life would be erased in an instant, the pain and suffering gone forever.
Fin ran. Blind to everything but desperation, he ran down the street toward the Periculum shield. Without fear, without regret, without remorse, he ran past the Cyblocks, the hovels, and the slave pens of his people. With every ounce of strength left in his synthetic body, he ran, crying out against the lie that things might someday get better if only they hung on to that thread of hope. But the truth was, no one was holding the other end of it. It was dangling loose, flapping in the rain, always out of reach, and ever taunting them. And it was their fault. It was his fault. His sin. He was to blame. They were all to blame, the humans, the Cybernites, everyone. They were all guilty of creating and sustaining a world in which war and persecution, hatred and never-ending suffering had become the only truth. It was their wrong, but right was wrong and wrong was right. Wasn’t it? So Council had decreed.
Fin turned a corner and stopped. Ahead was the Haven, beyond it the shield. Beneath the unlit sign that hung over the old mansion’s front door, a large Gray and a human were checking in a group of Cys.
Esse was waiting there, too. She waved to Fin. “I knew you’d change your mind,” she said. “God be with you, Fin.”
Fin reflexively mumbled, “and with us all,” but why? God didn’t care about them anymore, did he? He had abandoned them. The world was on its own. No, that wasn’t right. God would never abandon his people. God loved them all. He knew their names and never forgot a single one from the greatest to the least. The Word said so.
Esse took Fin by the arm to steady him. “Would you like to go inside and sit down for a bit?” she said.
“I would," he replied.
The bouncers waved them around the line. They entered the building. Ziggy met them inside.
“You were right as usual, Esse,” he said. “I don’t know how you do it. Good thing I’m not a betting man, eh?” He answered the question on Fin’s face, “Esse said you’d be next.”
“Next?” said Fin.
“When I was looking for property, she suggested I buy this place because it’s on one of the few direct routes to the city. She thought it would be nice to give folks one last chance to think it over.”
“Think what over?”
“You were heading for the shield, weren’t you? It’s a popular way to do the deed among your people. Come on. You look like you could use a drink.”
They passed the crowded bar and entered the private room in the back. Soft music was playing. A waiter served them water. Fin declined, but Ziggy insisted.
“I can’t,” Fin said.
“Why not? It’s perfectly fine.”
“I think that’s the problem,” said Esse.
“Oh, I see. This is about equality, is it? You think you Cybernites deserve everything we humans have?”
“I believe everyone deserves the same benefits that society has to offer,” said Fin.
“Where’s the incentive to work hard, to better oneself?”
“We are not some amorphous mass of disconnected beings that happen to occupy the same space. We are a civilization. We should be working together for the betterment of all. We should be measuring our personal success by the success of the whole, not by the treasures the few have accumulated.”
“So, no wars, no greed, no subjugating others, no second-class citizens? Where’s the fun in that?”
Esse said, “I don’t think joking about it right now is a good idea, Ziggy.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry, Fin. I just don’t know when to stop. That must be why I have so many ex-wives. If it upsets you that much, you should do something about it, and I’m not talking abou
t suicide. That doesn’t do anyone any good. Try doing something that helps. For what it’s worth, that’s what I’m trying to accomplish with the Haven.”
Fin replied, “Everything I do only makes things worse.”
“That’s not what I heard. Noah thinks you’re doing a fine job.”
“Dr. Shepherd’s faith in me is misplaced.”
“You’ve done everything he expected of you,” Esse said.
“He must not have expected much.”
“Oh, come now,” said Ziggy. “I think you’re not giving yourself proper credit. Besides, he said you have a girlfriend now. If you go through with this suicide thing, she’ll be heartbroken.”
“Nova is not my girlfriend.”
“Do you love her?” Esse asked.
“Apparently, I do not know what that is.”
Ziggy said, “Are you happy to be around her? Do you miss her when she’s gone? You know, things like that? How do you feel about her?”
“How I feel does not matter. She does not love me in return.”
“Nonsense.”
“She told me so, Ziggy.”
“Trust me. What she means is that she’s not sure she loves you yet. Give it time.”
“She said she cannot love me.”
“And you’re giving up just like that?” Ziggy laughed. “You may have lost a battle, but the war for your lady’s heart is far from over. Take it from an old general who has survived many a campaign and bears the scars to prove it. Love is like war. You advance when you’re able. You retreat when you must. You skirmish when you can’t make a full-on assault, and you call a truce when both sides need a break. The one thing you never do is quit.”
“You did.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“You do have three ex-wives,” Esse reminded him.
“I’m telling you that’s different,” Ziggy said. “Those relationships were mistakes.”
Fin said, “How do I know that what I feel for Nova is not a mistake, too?”
“You don’t, at least not yet. You hardly know her. But one thing’s for sure: you’ll never find out if you run down that road to the shield and give up whatever future you might have with her.”
Fin Page 25
