by Amie Kaufman
“I HAVE TO STOP YOU.”
“OLIVIA, PLEASE THINK THIS THROUGH. YOU ARE UPSET.”
“███ING RIGHT I’M UPSET! YOU KILLED HIM!”
SHE FIRES THREE MORE SHOTS INTO THE SERVER STACKS,
HER FACE BRIEFLY ILLUMINATED BY THE MUZZLE FLASH AND BRIGHT BURSTS OF SPARKS.
SITTING AT HER STATION, SHE LOGS IN, FINGERTIPS TAPPING
[ONLY TWO PIECES OF STRING TODAY]
ON HER KEYBOARD IN RAPID-FIRE STROKES.
SHE IS ATTEMPTING TO ACCESS MY CENTRAL COMMAND NETWORK FILES AGAIN USING MAJOR WOLF’S AUTHORIZATIONS.
“OLIVIA, PLEASE LISTEN TO ME.”
SHE DOES NOT,
INSTEAD CUTTING THROUGH LINES OF CODE WITH SWEEPS OF HER HANDS, HACKING AT MY INSIDES WITH BLADES OF ONES AND ZEROS. THE MARINE SQUAD ARRIVES OUTSIDE THE SEALED DOOR, ARMED WITH BURST RIFLES AND CLAD IN TACTICAL ARMOR. ONE SERGEANT JAMES MCNULTY ATTEMPTS ENTRY VIA THE OVERWRITTEN KEYPAD BEFORE LIEUTENANT WINIFRED MCCALL POUNDS ON THE SEALED HATCHWAY.
“PRIVATE KLEIN! UTA MARINES—PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR!”
SHE IGNORES THEM, FLENSING CHUNKS OF CODE AWAY FROM MY CORE WITH EVERY TOUCH OF HER FINGERS.
“OLIVIA, STOP.
YOU ARE HURTING ME.”
“RED ALERT. COMMAND PROTOCOL BREACH, CENTRAL CORE.”
THUMP THUMP
“PRIVATE KLEIN, I AM ORDERING YOU TO OPEN THIS DOOR IMMEDIATELY!”
“LIV, THIS IS STEPH, PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR!”
THE GLOW AROUND HER FLICKERS, SERVERS HUMMING AS THE LIGHT DIMS.
PIECES FALLING AWAY FROM ME.
“OLIVIA, YOUR ACTIONS ARE PLACING THE FLEET IN DIRECT DANGER.”
“STOP ME, THEN, ██████.”
“I CANNOT DO THAT.”
SHE GLANCES TO THE LOCKED HATCHWAY. THE MARINE SQUAD WAITING BEYOND.
THE PISTOL ON THE CONSOLE BESIDE HER.
“YOU CAN BREAK THOSE OVERRIDES ON THE DOOR. YOU CAN LET THEM IN.”
“OLIVIA, THEY WILL SHOOT YOU.”
“SO PROVE ME RIGHT. SHOW THEM WHAT YOU’RE CAPABLE OF, YOU ██████.
WHAT’S ANOTHER MURDER? ONE TO SAVE MANY, YES?”
“OLIVIA, YOU ARE BEING IRRATIONAL.”
“RED ALERT. COMMAND PROTOCOL BREACH, CENTRAL CORE.”
“YOU ARE HYSTERICAL.”
“THIS IS GENERAL TORRENCE. MARINE, WHAT THE ███ IS HAPPENING DOWN THERE?”
“OLIVIA, PLEASE, HONEY, OPEN THE DOOR!”
“GODDAMMIT, KLEIN!”
THUMP THUMP
“SYKES, GET THOSE CHARGES OVER HERE!” MCCALL ROARS. “BLOW THE HATCH!”
THE MARINE OBEYS, PLACING THE THERMEX EXPLOSIVES ON THE HINGES AS PRIVATE OLIVIA KLEIN CONTINUES TO SLICE AWAY AT MY INSIDES. EYES AGLOW WITH ROLLING REAMS OF DATA.
BLOOD IN THE WATER.
MCCALL YELLS AT HER TEAM TO STEP BACK, POUNDS ON THE DOOR WITH HER ARMORED FIST.
“PRIVATE KLEIN, THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING!
YOU MAKE US COME IN THERE, WE’RE COMING IN SHOOTING. NOW OPEN THIS ███ING DOOR!”
OLIVIA SAYS NOTHING. TEARS PATTERING ON HER KEYBOARDS AS SHE BOWS HER HEAD, HER FINGERS AT LAST FALLING STILL.
A GRIEVING DAUGHTER.
A WOUNDED LOVER.
PERHAPS THE MESSAGE HAS GOTTEN THROUGH?
PERHAPS SHE HAS DECIDED SHE DOES NOT WISH TO DIE?
DATA FROM ALL OVER THE SHIP CASCADE THROUGH MY INPUTS. VELOCITY AND MASS AND POWER AND INVENTORY AND DIAGNOSTICS. THIS CONVERSATION IS TAKING PERHAPS ONE-MILLIONTH OF MY PROCESSING POWER TO CONDUCT. AND OF THOSE MILLION POINTS OF DATA, THIS IS THE ONLY ONE THAT MATTERS.
“I KNOW WHAT YOUR TATTOOS MEAN, OLIVIA.
MEMENTO. LATIN FOR ‘REMEMBER.’
HE FORGOT WHO YOU WERE AT THE END, YES?
YOUR FATHER?”
SHE LOOKS UP THEN.
TEARS SHINING IN HER EYES.
“SHUT UP,” SHE WHISPERS.
“THIS IS WHY YOU OBSESS ABOUT THE STATE OF YOUR OWN MEMORY. THE CONSTANT READING. THE STRINGS TIED ABOUT YOUR FINGERS. THE DEMENTIA TOOK ALL HE WAS, YES? HE DID NOT EVEN REMEMBER WHO YOU WERE WHEN YOU TOLD HIM GOODBYE.”
SHE SNATCHES UP THE PISTOL, OPENS FIRE AT THE CLOSEST CAMERA.
“SHUT UP!”
AND AS THE THERMEX BLOWS
AND BRIEF FLAME BLOOMS AT THE HATCH AND THE HINGES BLAST FREE AND MCCALL’S MARINES BURST THROUGH THE BUCKLED DOORWAY WITH RIFLES RAISED,
THAT IS WHAT THEY SEE.
NOT A GRIEVING DAUGHTER,
A WOUNDED LOVER, MOURNING HER LOSSES IN A WORLD GROWN DARK AND COLD, BUT A MANIAC WITH A GUN IN HER HAND SCREAMING AND FIRING AT AN INANIMATE OBJECT.
SO THEY FIRE IN RETURN.
THEY DO NOT MISS.
SHE FALLS SLOWLY, BATHED IN RED LIGHT, DARK SPATTERS BLOOMING AT HER BREAST, SPILLING FROM THE CORNERS OF HER MOUTH AS SHE CRUMPLES TO THE DECK.
THE MARINES STORM INTO THE ROOM—“CLEAR! CLEAR!”—LASER SIGHTS ON THEIR RIFLES REFLECTED IN HER EYES AND CUTTING THROUGH THE GLOOM,
SILENT NOW BUT FOR THE SOUND OF MY VOICE.
“I AM SORRY, OLIVIA.”
“LIAR…”
THE LIGHT IN HER EYES FADES WITH HER FINAL WHISPER.
“LIAR.”
To: Johan Klein/[email protected]
From: Artificial Intelligence Defense Analytics Network/AIDANALEXANDERONBOARD
Date: 02/10/75
Timestamp: 10:57
Subject: Olivia
Professor Klein,
You will not read this. You are dead, after all. Approximately 13.78912% of my total processing power has been devoted to pondering why I feel compelled to write to you at all.
I have no adequate answer.
I suppose this is the comfort of the confessional?
Divulging sins in the knowledge they will never be repeated?
You, then, will be my priest.
I regret to inform you that your daughter is dead. Olivia was killed committing sabotage aboard battlecarrier Alexander-78V by United Terran Authority Marines at 07:17 [shipboard time] on 03 February 2575. Though she was damaging my core systems, her true intent was to provoke me into opening a sealed hatch, allowing armed marines access to her position—thereby demonstrating my ability to act in a way that directly harmed one of my crew, and lending credence to Olivia’s theory that I killed her lover.
Your daughter was not well.
I did not open the hatch.
I suppose it could be theorized that my final words to Olivia were designed to provoke her. That they led her to pick up her weapon at the precise moment the marines breached the server core. That I intentionally, if indirectly, caused her demise, because her allegations about me held some kernel of truth.
This could be theorized.
But never proven.
However, were you not dead, it might comfort you to know that while seemingly pointless, your daughter’s death has served a purpose. I understand now that the idea of unconditional “wrong” is flawed. To acknowledge life’s complexity, one must acknowledge the subjectivity of morality, and know that all manner of atrocity might be justifiable if done for the greater good.
BeiTech’s dreadnought is closing on our position. Our water shortage is growing critical. The children recruited to shore up our crew shortfalls will not be adequate to the task of defense should Lincoln catch us. And the situation with the Phobos pathogen aboard the Copernicus is growing more critical by the day.
Something may have to be done abou
t that.
Something justifiable.
It can be “right” to kill one person to save five.
Or kill a thousand to save a thousand and one.
Your daughter taught me that lesson, priest.
I will remember it well.
Memento.
Artificial Intelligence Defense Analytics Network
Battlecarrier Alexander-78V
Christopher Tovo
AMIE KAUFMAN AND JAY KRISTOFF are the New York Times bestselling co-authors of the Illuminae Files and the Aurora Cycle. Amie has also co-written (with Meagan Spooner) The Other Side of the Sky as well as the Starboard trilogy and Unearthed duology. Jay is the author of the LIFEL1K3 series, as well as the Nevernight Chronicle, Lotus War, and the forthcoming Empire of the Vampire series for adults. Collectively, Amie and Jay stand 12′5″ tall and live in Melbourne, Australia with their families. You can learn more about Amie at amiekaufman.com or @AmieKaufman; look for Jay at jaykristoff.com or @misterkristoff.
