Crashed

by Robin Wasserman

  I waited for Riley to take Jude’s side or keep his mouth shut. But he shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. Not to me, to Jude. “She’s right. We don’t do this.”

  “It’s not like they’re innocent. They’re not in there having a tea party. They’re trying to kill us. We’d just be striking first. Self-defense isn’t a crime.”

  “You want to turn us into monsters?” I asked. “You want to confirm everything they say about us? You want to make it all true?”

  “You want to die?” Jude snapped. “This isn’t just about Sloane and Ani and all the rest of them, not after what you saw. We didn’t turn this into a war, they did. And in a war, you fight. Self-defense is not murder.”

  “Dead is still dead,” I told him. “And if you knew anything about what it was like when people—”

  “Lia, don’t,” Riley said, his voice quiet but insistent.

  “No!” I cried. “If he understood what it’s like when people fall, when they stop breathing, and their eyes . . . if he’d seen what we saw, he wouldn’t . . .”

  “That was fake,” Jude said tightly. “So maybe you’re the one who doesn’t get it. I’ve seen death. The real kind. And I’ve seen people die because they couldn’t protect themselves.” He shot a glance at Riley, who looked away. “Or because other people refused to do what was necessary to protect them.”

  “It doesn’t make it okay,” I insisted. “It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t find another way.”

  “Stop being such a child!” Jude yelled. “Sometimes there just isn’t another way.”

  “And sometimes there is,” Riley said. “So we find one.”

  “Zo could be in that building,” I said.

  “You said she’s not allowed in there,” Jude reminded me.

  “Fine. So someone else’s sister could be in there.”

  “You’re right,” Jude said. “Sloane. Sister of an eight-year-old kid named Max. And Ty’s got two little brothers. Brahm has an older one, who doesn’t acknowledge his existence.”

  I couldn’t believe he’d bothered to find out about anyone’s families, much less remembered the details.

  “Then there’s Ani. Who doesn’t have anyone,” Jude continued. “Does that make her less valuable? Does that mean we should sacrifice her so the orgs trying to kill her get to live?”

  “I don’t want to sacrifice anyone,” I said.

  “You want. You want. Like that matters.” Jude shook his head, plainly disgusted. “Reminder: They’re orgs. They’re going to die sooner or later, so what’s the difference if it’s a little sooner than later?”

  “You don’t mean that,” Riley said.

  Jude shrugged. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Here’s what I know. Sometimes it’s necessary to sacrifice. Isn’t that the bedrock of our wonderful society? Isn’t that why the masses get shoved into the cities, why they live in the dark, eating synthetic garbage, dying without med-tech? So that the few can enjoy their cars and their network and their organic, free-range beef? Pollution stays under control, population stays under control, everyone’s happy—everyone who counts, at least. Every day, we sacrifice the many for the good of the few. So why not, just this once, sacrifice a few for the good of the many?”

  “And it’s just a coincidence that in this case, the ‘many’ is us,” I said sarcastically.

  “It’s no coincidence,” Jude snapped. “It’s self-preservation. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in trouble. It’s not just the Brotherhood. It’s the government restrictions. It’s the corps turning on us. It’s BioMax claiming to be on our side but holding the keys to the kingdom. What happens if they suddenly decide that mech tech is too much trouble for them? What if they don’t want to give us new bodies anymore and just let the old ones break down? Let us disappear? We have no control,” Jude hissed. “And you may be okay with that, but I’m not. At some point, we have to start standing up for ourselves. I say we start now.”

  “Listen to yourself,” I said. “Orgs. Mechs. Us. Them. Like they’re so different from us—like you’re so different from Savona. As if you don’t sound just like him, ranting and raving and not caring who gets hurt. You’re both so convinced that you’re right—”

  “The difference is I am right!”

  “I’m sure he thinks so too.”

  “Wake up, Lia! Some people are right and some people are wrong. Some things are right. And if you’re too cowardly to admit that, if you’re too scared to face up to the truth and do what needs to be done, then you’re just as wrong as they are. Maybe more so. At least they believe in what they’re doing. You’re just being willfully stupid.”

  “Don’t call her stupid,” Riley said.

  “I can speak for myself,” I told him, putting a hand on his shoulder so he would know I appreciated it, even if I didn’t need it. Then turned back to Jude. “Don’t call me stupid.”

  “Go ahead,” Jude told Riley. “Nod along with your girlfriend. Let her tell you what to think.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing,” Riley said. “She’s right. You’re wrong. That’s it.”

  “Oh, really?” Jude sneered. “Since when do you care who gets hurt? As long as you get what you want, right? Take care of what’s yours, and never—”

  “Shut up,” Riley said, a warning in his voice.

  “You think he’s going to choose you?” Jude asked me. “Think again. He knows what he owes me. He’s never going to forget that.”

  “You owe each other,” I said. “And now he’s paying up by stopping you from doing something stupid. Why don’t you stop being so pigheaded and paranoid and listen? We’re not your enemy.”

  “We?” Jude rolled his eyes. “I love how she talks like she knows you. But she doesn’t know anything, does she? Not about who you really are. What you’re willing to do.”

  “I’m telling you to shut up—”

  “He doesn’t have to tell me anything,” I said loudly. Like shouting would make it true. “I know what I need to know.”

  “So do I,” Jude said. “This is the only way to rescue our people. And to stop these psychos from doing any more damage. I’d rather do it with you, but if I have to, I’ll do it alone.”

  We argued with him. We kept arguing until there was nothing left to say—until it was clear that Jude was convinced this was the only way. And every time Riley spoke, every time he exchanged one of his looks with Jude or trailed off in the middle of a sentence, knowing Jude would understand and I wouldn’t, I wondered. I hated myself for it. But I heard Jude’s voice, his unspoken expectations, and I wondered. Who were you, Riley? I thought. What did you do?

  The argument drained us all, and in the end we were still left with no alternatives, no compromises, no resolution. We all agreed: Ani, Sloane, Ty, and Brahm needed to be rescued.

  We agreed that the lab was dangerous and should be destroyed.

  And we agreed there was no way we could accomplish those tasks without getting caught, not if we gave the Brotherhood any kind of warning.

  We agreed that time was running out. Maybe they were closing in on the answer they needed, the way to destroy us all. Maybe they weren’t and they were just torturing their prisoners, every day, every night. Either way, it had to end.

  But I couldn’t turn myself into a murderer.

  Jude took the plane back to the estate, agreeing to send it back for us later, so that we could have time alone in the snow to think. Time alone for me to pretend I didn’t care who Riley used to be or whatever lurked in the silence between him and his best friend.

  “He wants us to agree he’s right,” Riley said. “But he really will do it himself if he has to.”

  We couldn’t talk him out of it. And we couldn’t warn the Brotherhood ahead of time. Or the secops.

  “I can’t,” Riley said. “I can’t do that to him. And there’s always a chance . . .”

  A chance he might change his mind. Innocent until proven guilty, until his finger slipped onto a detonator, until
someone died. So we would go along with him—until we couldn’t go along with him anymore. We would find a way to get the hostages out, blow up the lab, save the day, without more bloodshed. And if that didn’t work, we would call in reinforcements.

  Would there be time, between thought and action, time to stop him—to talk him out of it, or to do whatever else, anything else it took?

  We decided to bet there would.

  But we weren’t betting with our own lives.

  “I’ve never gone against him,” Riley said. He hugged me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. “Never thought I would.”

  “Are you sure—?”

  “I can’t let him do this. I owe him too much.”

  I twisted to face him, without breaking free of his embrace. Our faces were almost touching. “What is it?” I asked. “What do you owe him?”

  He let go. Looked away. Sank back into the snow. “It scared you. What he said.”

  I shook my head. No.

  All I did anymore was lie.

  “It should have,” he said. “It would, if you knew.”

  I didn’t want to know.

  “Then you tell me,” I said. “Go ahead. Scare me.”

  He didn’t speak, just stared down at the snow. Sleet spattered down on us, streaking our faces like the tears we couldn’t cry. I reached out, touched his cheek. He grabbed my wrist. “Just tell me,” I said. “Why do you owe him? What did you do?”

  “I told you what happened to Jude, how he got hurt,” Riley began. He wouldn’t look at me. I put my hands over his. Cold, I thought, registering the thin layer of ice crystals coating our skin, without caring.

  I nodded. “Some kids beat him up.”

  “Because of something I did,” Riley said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear him. “I stole this kid’s chillers. That was back when there were still some b-mods floating around. But it was tough to get your hands on them. I didn’t even like that crap. I was going to sell them. But . . .”

  “They caught you.”

  “They caught Jude. There were five of them. Older than us, and bigger. They came looking for me, and Jude told them he was the one who stole the chillers. They believed him. And they—” He choked down the words.

  I squeezed his hand. “You didn’t make them do anything.”

  “I didn’t stop them either. I was there. Hiding.”

  “You were smaller. You were outnumbered.”

  “So was Jude,” he said, his face twisting in self-disgust. “But he didn’t tell them where I was hiding. Or that I was the one. He just let it happen. Like I let it happen. I . . . I just watched.”

  “You were a kid!”

  He ripped his hands away. “Why are you making excuses?”

  “Because . . . I . . .” But if he didn’t already know, I couldn’t say it out loud. “So now you owe him. That’s why you took care of him all those years.”

  He scowled, angry that I didn’t understand. “I told you, we looked out for each other. And when he wasn’t there—when they took him away for all those tests or whatever—”

  “BioMax?” I said.

  He nodded. “I told you, he’s smart.”

  “You’re smart.”

  “Not like Jude. He knew how to get stuff, how to get out of stuff. And when he wasn’t around . . .” Riley finally met my eyes. “You really want to hear it? All of it?”

  No. “Yes.”

  He recited it in a calm, flat voice, like a kid giving a history report, a kid describing a scene long past, holding no interest for him, bearing no relevance. “That guy Wynn you met in the city, the one that took you. He’s one of the ones that did it to Jude. When we were kids,” he said. “And after Jude disappeared, I got mad. Guess I freaked out. And I decided to get him some payback.”

  “But you changed your mind,” I said hopefully. I’d seen Wynn alive. Healthy. At least before the secops showed up.

  “Didn’t change my mind,” Riley said mechanically. “Missed. Hit someone else instead. Wynn’s brother. Little kid, eight or nine.”

  I stood up. I didn’t even know I was doing it. I was barely aware of my legs in motion, rising, pushing me away from the ground, away from him. I just needed to be upright, feet planted on something stable. “What happened? To the kid?”

  “What do you think happened?” Riley said harshly. “Blood loss. Infection. Took a couple days, I think. But then he died. That’s what I hear.”

  “You weren’t around anymore.”

  He shook his head.

  “Because you got shot.”

  He nodded.

  “For revenge.”

  He nodded again, still on the ground. I felt like I was looking down at him from very far away. “It’s why Wynn was so angry. He thinks I won. That Jude and I get to live forever, and his kid brother’s dead.”

  “He thinks that because it’s true,” I said flatly.

  “Yeah. So that’s why he took you,” Riley said. “That’s my fault too. It all is.”

  I shouldn’t judge him, I thought, staring down at this boy I’d thought I knew. I wasn’t there, I didn’t live like that. I don’t know what it took to survive.

  But maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe death was death.

  “I didn’t want you to know,” Riley said. “I wanted to start clean.”

  Because we were different now.

  People change, I thought. Auden had changed, more than I wanted to admit. Zo had changed, and changed again.

  But then, they were people; we were mechs. Our brains were frozen, sliced, scanned, downloaded.

  Maybe everything was frozen.

  Stand up, I begged him silently. Convince me. Make me understand.

  But he didn’t move. He was looking past me, maybe thinking about the kid. I wondered what he had looked like. What his name was. Whether he’d seen it coming.

  How much it had hurt.

  “It’s why I can’t let Jude do this,” he said.

  I’d almost forgotten why we were here, why we’d started talking about this. The present had receded into the background, pale and colorless. While the past was bleeding red over the snow.

  “I promised,” he said. “Never again.”

  “Promised who?”

  “Myself.” He whispered. “The kid.”

  This is still Riley, I thought.

  Jude was wrong: The past wasn’t irrelevant.

  But it was past.

  I let myself drop into the snow beside him.

  “I told you I deserved it,” he said, rubbing his fingers against his arm, against the artificial skin. “And it’s still not enough.”

  I couldn’t picture him holding a gun, lining up a target. Pulling a trigger. Any more than I could picture him watching his best friend get kicked and pummeled, Jude’s body broken, flopping helplessly on the ground, while Riley hid, safe and scared. I couldn’t picture him scared or vengeful or anything but what he’d been to me—solid, bold, kind. Riley.

  You believe what you want to believe. Jude’s voice. Always Jude’s voice in my head. Too scared to face the truth.

  So I faced this. I faced him, Riley, all of him. What he’d done, what he was, who he wanted to be.

  I put my cold hands on his cold face, and I drew him toward me.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He wasn’t saying it to me.

  “I forgive you,” I whispered back, even though I wasn’t the one with something to forgive, even though my forgiveness wasn’t what he needed.

  We stopped talking.

  Later.

  His fingers, like ice, trickling down my spine. Snow against our skin, snow filling the spaces between us, melting in the crush of flesh on flesh. His eyes drinking in my skin, the body that would never be my body.

  “Don’t,” he whispered, feeling me tense, pull away.

  “Close your eyes.” My lips brushed his lids, shutting him away. I closed my own, hiding in the dark. Pretending we could be something else.

  His hands,
cold, his skin, soft. His voice, softer, in my ear. “Open them. Look.”

  Backs against the ground, eyes to the sky, he linked our fingers, raised our joined hands toward the gray clouds. Traced his fingers down my wrist, down my arm, down my skin.

  It felt like nothing.

  His skin, pale against the snow, white on white.

  “It’s all wrong,” I said. Imagined a face with hooded brown eyes, a body with narrower shoulders, longer legs, skin the color of weathered oak, a boy I’d never known, a boy who gathered me in, rolled me over in the snow, sugaring our bodies in white.

  Remembered a body that shivered in the wind, fingertips brushing lightly against skin, touches painful with promise. Another body, another life. “You shouldn’t look like this. I shouldn’t look like this.”

  “But this is us. This is it.”

  I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want him to see.

  “This isn’t my skin.” Riley let the words drift into the wind. “This isn’t how it should be. He said it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Jude said.

  Jude said nothing mattered, we were what we were. Bodies and minds.

  “He’s wrong,” Riley said. “It matters. Every day, every time I look—” He passed his hand in front of his eyes, pale fingers spread wide. “It matters. Except now. Here. It’s just me. Us.”

  Just us. Not machines built by human hands, not minds whirring with data. Not eyes that didn’t blink or hearts that didn’t beat. Not bodies that didn’t move the way bodies were supposed to move, not skin that didn’t feel the way skin was supposed to feel. Not something ugly, not something wrong.

  Just him, his arms, strong. His skin, soft. His lips, cold. His eyes on my body, not turning away.

  Just me, folded up in his arms. The sensation of his hands, the pressure, the temperature, the properties of closeness, the elements of touch, not like it used to be—not like it mattered.

  Not pain, not passion, not abandon. Just a promise.

  Just us.

  NO ONE DIES

  “One way or another, we would always be fine.”

  Preparing seemed to take forever as Riley and Jude gathered equipment—that was their word for it, not weapons, not explosives, just equipment—from their contacts in the city, as we mapped out entry points and contingency plans, as we cold-shouldered Quinn, pretending that nothing was going on, as Riley and I huddled in dark corners of the orchard, rifling through our backup options and last-minute, last-ditch possibilities to stop the bloodshed. As I learned, just in case, to aim a gun, learned how it was heavier than it looked but not as heavy as it should have been, how my hand fit perfectly around its grip but its holster rested awkwardly at my waist. As three mechs hung on three posts, carried in every morning, carried out every evening, staring blindly over a roaring crowd, their faces pale and twitchy in the vids, waiting for a rescue that was never going to come.