Girl of Flesh and Metal

by Alicia Ellis

  “The goddamn network,” Fisher muttered. “The chip must have received all of this over the EyeNet.”

  “But Ron and Simon turned off my network connection.”

  “No.” She waved a dismissive hand. “We can’t turn it off without modifying the chip. They just disabled the output to your eyes. You’ve been networked the whole time, and that’s where this data came from.”

  “Who sent it?”

  “Hell if I know.” She sounded as dumbfounded as I felt. “You can’t just send data over the EyeNet. There are security protocols. Only approved providers can upload data, and all their data is tagged with provider identifiers.”

  “There are no tags here,” Simon added.

  “Yes,” Fisher said, irritation coating the word, “which means it didn’t come from an approved provider. It came from a hacker, and it would cost a fortune to assemble a machine that could hack the EyeNet.”

  “This explains why your headaches are still bad,” Simon said. “Ever since you started receiving this data, your subconscious has been fighting against your programming.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Any aggression you’ve been acting on isn’t your fault. The data forced you. You tried to fight it off, but you couldn’t.”

  I shook his arm off. “This doesn’t prove anything except that I was influenced, but my actions are still my own.” I looked to Fisher for confirmation. “Aren’t they?”

  Dr. Fisher’s mouth twisted to the side while she considered this. “Ron, grab me a Model Two prototype, would you?”

  He didn’t move an inch. “What are you going to do?”

  “Just get the damn robot.”

  Ron hesitated long enough that I thought he might object. Instead, he trudged from the room. In his absence, Fisher went back to muttering under her breath as she read my lines of data. Simon joined her and did the same, without the muttering.

  A few minutes later, Ron returned. A fully functional Model Two glided into the room behind him, its metal feet graceful despite their weight. It stopped in front of Fisher and Simon.

  “Identify yourself,” Dr. Fisher said.

  “Android M2A12,” it said. Its lips moved just like a human’s, shaping each word. The effect was surreal. For a split second, I forgot it was a machine, and that just made me hate the thing more.

  “Grab a chair, A12, and have a seat.”

  The android dragged a chair from the back of the room and sat. Again, it was hard for me not to marvel at how much my arm looked like the Model Two’s, and I didn’t appreciate the likeness.

  Ron’s gaze darted back and forth between the Model Two and the door. Without instruction from Dr. Fisher, Simon connected the android to another hand-screen. He seemed to have caught on to what she had in mind, or at least, he was humoring her.

  “What are you doing?” I asked him.

  “Your hardware comes almost entirely from a Model Two,” Simon answered. “Your arm, your chip, and the connection between them—they’re all based on the same design. You’re even using a modified version of the Model Two software, with your main program calling the same set of functions. The difference is that your brain plays a role in determining when the functions are called, while the android brain is entirely artificial.”

  I understood most of that, but I nodded and pretended I understood every word.

  “Basically,” he continued, “we’re substituting A12’s learned data with your data to see how he reacts to it.”

  “If he doesn’t turn into a violent anti-tech enthusiast,” Fisher said, “then we have to assume you are to blame for your own actions. But if he behaves similarly to you, when given the same data, it’s most likely the common AI that’s becoming violent and controlling you through the chip in your head.”

  On the left side of the giant vid-screen, a dialog box popped up with the words UPDATING DATA and a progress bar beneath them. The lights in A12’s eyes went out, leaving dull, dark-red orbs. The android’s head slumped.

  “This is going to take a few minutes,” Simon said. “There’s a lot of data he needs to learn.”

  Ron snatched the hand-screen from Simon. “This isn’t a good idea.” He touched the screen, and on the oversized vid-screen, the progress bar froze at sixty-two percent. The words UPDATING DATA changed to REVERTING, and the bar inched back in the other direction, toward zero.

  Dr. Fisher crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s the problem, Ron? We all have places we’d rather be. The sooner we try this, the sooner we can cross it off our list of options of things to try.”

  “I’m concerned about false positives,” he said. “You know, when a test gives a positive result even though it shouldn’t.”

  “We know what a false positive is,” Dr. Fisher said. “Explain how it applies to this situation.”

  “If A12 goes crazy, we won’t know if it’s the data that’s causing it, or if it’s the result of a bad reaction between the data and his other programming. We never tested Lena’s original code on a full Model Two, only on an isolated arm.”

  She snatched the hand-screen from him, and a moment later, the large vid-screen’s display changed back to UPDATING DATA. Ron’s gaze locked on the hand-screen, and for a moment, I thought he might grab it back.

  “You okay?” I asked him.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “Perfect.”

  While the data updated on the Model Two, Fisher approached the large vid-screen. It still showed rows and rows of information. She crossed her arms over her chest, her foot tapping a steady rhythm as she contemplated it. I didn’t understand a word, but that data controlled my arm—part of me.

  Several minutes later, the vid-screen beeped, and android A12’s posture straightened. Its head turned left to right as the android scanned the room. Metal eyelids clicked shut and then opened again, but the rest of its body remained motionless. My hopes plummeted to the floor.

  The android leaped into motion. It barreled across the space between it and Dr. Fisher.

  “Shut it down,” she screamed as the thing struck with its left arm. The hand-screen fell from her fingers. The impact lifted her into the air and slammed her against the wall.

  34

  Fisher groaned and went limp.

  Terror froze me in place. The android turned toward Simon. Without a second’s hesitation, he spun and darted toward the door.

  The android bounded after him, its steps more like giant leaps devouring the space between them. The hand-screen bounced across the floor after it, still attached by the cable.

  I would have thought a humanoid made mostly of metal would be slow, but this Model Two proved me wrong.

  It moved like a wild animal, quick and predatory and lethal. With a final leap, it grabbed Simon around the waist before the fleeing boy reached the door.

  Simon went down face-first. His arms shot out to save him, but even from across the room, I heard his teeth clack together as he hit the floor.

  Facedown, Simon threw his hands behind his head to block whatever was coming. I told my self-preservation to fuck off and ran to his aid.

  But the android’s reaction was faster. It grabbed him around the neck and squeezed. When Simon thrashed, trying to flip over to face the thing, the android slammed his head downward. Simon’s face hit the floor again and again, leaving a red splotch against the gray surface.

  I jumped on the android’s back. That at least seemed to distract it from pulverizing Simon’s face. Its arm reached behind it and locked onto my left shoulder. I screamed as metal fingers dug into flesh that was still healing, but I didn’t let go.

  A12 yanked me forward, like I was no more than a doll, and tossed me off its back. I skidded across the floor.

  The hand-screen lay on the floor next to the android, still connected by a cable. Pain blossomed through my body as I stretched toward it.

  My hopes soared when Ron sauntered over to the device. The android eyed him but didn’t attack. Ron swiped up the hand-screen and casually tossed it t
o A12. The android crushed it as if it were nothing more than a paper cup. Broken metal pieces fell from its fingers and clattered to the floor.

  “Ron,” I shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Continuing what I started.”

  “What you . . .” I was so baffled by his statement that I didn’t know how to finish my question.

  “This company doesn’t deserve the power to decide who lives and who dies.” His words contained no hint of anger, just quiet resolve. He waved a quick goodbye and turned for the doorway.

  There was no way he was leaving this room without explaining.

  With a groan, I pushed off the ground. Dark blood dripped into my eyes. I wiped it away and dove toward Ron. We tumbled to the ground in the doorway, and I raised my left arm to pin him down. Pain ripped upward from the base of my neck. I clutched my head and screamed.

  Over the past weeks, I’d thought my headaches were bad, but this reached a new level of pain—like a fire had started at the base of my skull, and it burned hotter by the second.

  Ron tossed me off him. “Don’t fight the programming.”

  Programming? What the hell was he talking about?

  “You think I’d let my own weapon be used against me?”

  “I’m not a weapon.” I squeezed the words out through gritted teeth.

  “Aren’t you? I know three people who would disagree—except they’re dead now.”

  The pain subsided, and with a grunt, I pushed myself to my feet. I lunged toward Ron again, but the pain came back like a bat to my skull.

  “Stop fighting it, Lena!”

  I let my body go slack, and the pain disappeared.

  “See,” Ron continued. “I’m not trying to hurt you. Believe it or not, I consider you a friend.”

  “You programmed me to kill three people, and you think that’s not hurting me?” Despite the evidence in front of me, I refused to believe it. I needed to hear him say it. “Harmony. Kevin. Debbie. They did nothing to you.” I gestured toward Simon without glancing at him—I couldn’t stand to see him motionless on the floor. “Simon’s your friend!”

  “He’s a colleague—one who works for the company that convinced my mother to get that surgery for her cancer. She would have died anyway—I know that. But my dad would have lived.”

  I could have sworn Ron’s father was alive. “Your dad’s dead?”

  “Not yet, but soon. Cirrhosis caused by alcoholism. He started drinking when CyberCorp’s so-called cure failed my mother. They should have left my mother to die. He had made his peace with it. Then your mom showed up, wearing her fancy suits and swearing up and down that she could save the day. She gave him hope. That’s what made him turn to alcohol when she died anyway.”

  My body tensed up with each word, and I stood with hands fisted at my sides. “My classmates had nothing to do with that. Harmony had nothing to do with that.”

  “Her dad did. All of their parents. Miller designed the nanobots. Dr. Carlyle adapted them for medical use and implanted them in my mom. And Rodriguez—he’s the worst of all of them. He sat at my mother’s bedside with my dad and pitched the treatment, smiling and encouraging every step of the way. They needed to feel what I feel.” Ron gestured toward Simon’s and Fisher’s still forms. “Anyone else who works here is just as much to blame for supporting a company that cares about nothing but their bottom line.”

  “You killed three people—made me kill three people.”

  For a second, he looked regretful. “I didn’t know you when I started this, or I might not have done it this way. When your folks brought you in for surgery, it was like a gift. It was perfect—using the daughter of the people who destroyed my family to destroy their company.”

  So I’d been nothing but a convenient pawn—right time, right place. He’d destroyed my life out of convenience. Without thinking, I lunged at Ron—and then screamed as agony tore through my skull.

  “Temper. Temper.” Ron clicked his tongue.

  I didn’t care if I died in the process. I was going to smash his face in.

  I gritted my teeth and swung my left arm forward. Ron’s eyes went wide, and he jerked to the side—but not fast enough. The two of us screamed in tandem as my fist clipped his cheek. I dropped and curled into a fetal position. My head burned. Ringing filled my ears and vibrated through my teeth.

  “Bitch.” Ron spat blood and tried to scramble to his feet.

  Pushing through the fire in my head, I rolled on top of him. My knees pinned his hands to his sides. I felt him shift his weight, getting ready to heave me off. But I raised my metal hand, threatening.

  He froze.

  “I swear,” I said, “if you move, I will break your face.”

  The pain had dissipated some, now that I wasn’t actively attacking him, but I was prepared for it. I knew the cost of hitting him, and it would be so worth it.

  Ron had caused all the trauma I’d been through after the accident. More than that, three murders rested as much on his shoulders as on mine.

  His face screwed up, and for a second, I thought he would beg for my mercy. Instead, he laughed, so loud and full that his chest shook.

  “What?” I growled down at him.

  “You’re just like them. How do you not see that?”

  I should have smashed his skull already. I was a murderer. Why not add one more to my tally? “I’m like who?”

  “Your parents.”

  I leaned down until our noses almost touched. “You really want to piss me off right now?”

  “You’re so high and mighty. Sitting on your high horse in judgment of everyone around you. But you need technology as much as the next guy. Your hand-screen? You couldn’t get through a physical-therapy session without it. Useful, isn’t it?”

  I said nothing.

  “You can’t even deny it.” Ron nodded toward my arm, still poised to strike down at him. “And you need that arm. You need it to keep on with life as usual. Most of all . . .” He laughed again. “You think I wouldn’t have thrown you off me already if you weren’t threatening me with it?”

  I’d blamed my parents and CyberCorp for everything wrong with my life, because they’d attached this arm to me. But the arm worked beautifully, just like my old one except for the bad data Ron had fed it. Ron was the problem. He’d used it to commit murder.

  And now I was about to use it to kill him? How did that make me better?

  I dropped the arm to my side and took a long breath to steady myself. “I’m not going to hit you. But you’re going to jail.”

  Ron shot up and tipped me off him. Before I could stand, he was on his feet and standing in the doorway. I cursed and stepped after him, but a noise behind me caught my attention.

  I turned to find Dr. Fisher wobbling to her feet. She looked unscathed, except for the vacant expression.

  “Oh, thank God.” Tears of relief swam in my lower eyelids. She was alive.

  “Lena?” Fisher scanned the room until her gaze landed on Simon, still bloody and motionless. She let out a high wail and ran toward him.

  Android A12 hadn’t moved through my conversation with Ron, but now, its eyelids clicked as Fisher ran across its field of view. Its head rotated to follow her.

  “Oh, this is the good part.” Ron leaned against the doorframe and grinned—which could only be bad.

  “Dr. Fisher!” I lunged toward the android.

  A12 was faster. It darted toward her, its face expressionless, serene. I leaped before I reached it and pulled back my left arm. I put everything I had into the punch and struck A12 across the side of its jaw.

  Metal crunched, and my fist left a dent in the android’s face. It turned toward me, eyes glaring red. My second swing hit the same spot, and the dent deepened. My metal fingers came away crushed together.

  A12’s arm rose, but mine was already moving toward its face again, and I couldn’t stop the momentum. My fist clanged against the android’s palm. A12 squeezed, and my metal hand crunched, f
ingers crumpled and pressed into the palm. I yanked free with a screech of metal and swung my mangled fist toward the thing’s face again.

  The android dodged and countered. Metal glanced across my face. It barely made contact, but the room spun, lit with bright white spots. I slumped to the ground. My shoulder hit the floor first, but that pain barely registered over the throbbing in my cheekbone.

  While I groaned on the floor, A12 bounded after Dr. Fisher, who had almost made it to Ron and the door.

  Jackson stepped around Ron and through the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets. It took him only a second to spot Simon face down on the floor, me bleeding and crumpled, and Dr. Fisher fleeing toward him. He shoved Fisher behind him.

  She careened directly into Ron, knocking them both to the floor.

  The android slowed, and its gaze shifted from Fisher to Jackson, and back to Fisher. It didn’t seem interested in Jackson, except for the fact that he stood between it and Fisher. Now that I thought about it, the android hadn’t seemed interested in me either, until I tried to stop it from killing Simon and Fisher.

  Its hand shot out and gripped Jackson around the wrist. It tugged, but Jackson’s arm didn’t move. He stood firm. When it came to arm strength, he had two arms on the same playing field as the Model Two’s, where I had only one.

  When I spared a glance for Dr. Fisher, she was sitting on Ron in the hall just outside the door. At least that was covered.

  Jackson rolled his wrist from the android’s grip and clasped his fingers around its arm. He twisted, and the sound of groaning, creaking metal filled the room.

  A12 slammed its other hand into Jackson’s face. He dodged, and the blow skimmed its target. Skin tore off Jackson’s cheek, and metal shone through underneath. Jackson released the android’s arm, which hung limp at its side, connected by wires now visible.

  A small smirk played on Jackson’s lips as the skin on his face knitted closed. The boy who loved technology—who had become technology—had found a worthy toy to play with. He lunged at the android, and the two of them hit the floor grappling.