Torn (Cold Awakening) (21 page)

I fell silent. They didn’t push it; they changed the subject. It was strange, I thought, barely listening to their debate over some celebrity gossip Zo had seen on a stalker zone, the way three people who’d spent so much time hating one another could function so seamlessly as a unit, understanding the things that weren’t said, knowing what to ignore and what to pretend so we could all
make it through the ride to nowhere. There was even a moment, Zo teasing Jude about knowing something he shouldn’t have unless he’d been secretly perusing the stalker zone himself, when it didn’t feel like we were pretending at all. It felt like maybe normal was within reach again, somewhere on the other side of all our disasters.

That was the moment, that first glimmer of inexplicable hope, when Sari’s text came in, priority level high:

Come home

Something wrong with Riley

The apartment was cleaned out. Sari’s stuff—which had been splayed over the furniture and floor—was gone. Along with mine and Zo’s. The small pile of possessions we’d amassed since abandoning Casa Kahn was nowhere in sight.

Sari was gone too.

You notice the strangest things, the most trivial details, when everything’s falling apart.

Your eye takes in everything, too much: the fecal brown of the walls, the play of light across the windows, the sounds puncturing the silence, a gasp, a shriek, and an empty hole where your voice should be, but you have no words.

You have no words and you have no volition as your legs carry you to a body sprawled on the floor, facedown, arms crooked, everything still.

And, finally, you find your scream. “Riley!”

I was on my knees, cradling his head, the day repeating itself
with different players. He lay motionless, eyes closed. His uplink jack lay beside him, like he’d been holding it when he fell. Sari had left him like this. Helpless.

“Riley!” I screamed again, thinking, hoping, that maybe, for whatever reason, he’d shut down for the night on the floor instead of the bed; that if I yelled loud enough, if I turned him over and slapped his face and shook him, then he would open his eyes. But if he’d just shut down, the first scream would have woken him. There was no such thing as mech deep sleep. There were just two basic options: On.

Off.

Zo tried to pull me away, but I elbowed her backward. Déjā vu. Like no matter how we started, someone would end up on the ground, someone would get pushed away, someone would be on her knees, desperate.

But Jude was stronger. He took my arm and yanked me to my feet.

I slapped him, harder than I’d hit Riley, harder than I’d hit anyone. “What did you do to him?”

“What? I was with you all day!” “You must have done something, when you fought—broke something, you must have—”

“Lia.
Stop.
” He grabbed my shoulders, held them steady, so much stronger than me, hung on no matter how hard I thrashed. He waited for me to stop, to face him—and eventually, there was no other choice. The only sound in the apartment was Zo’s uneven breathing.

“I’m calm,” I said, trying to sound it. “Let go.”

He did.

I was calm, and I would force myself to stay that way, until I got Riley whatever help he needed. Then I would figure out who to blame.

It was the last place any of us wanted to go, but there was nowhere else.

We loaded Riley into the car. Gently, although there was no need to be gentle. I tried not to wonder whether he was awake in there, if he knew what was happening. I lifted his eyelid, not sure what I expected to find. All mechs had a glimmer of gold at the center of each pupil. Riley’s had gone black.

That means nothing,
I thought, as we sped toward BioMax and tried not to worry about what they would do when we arrived. What else could they do after everything that had happened but punish us—punish
him
. I was certain they’d turn us away.

They didn’t.

This has happened before,
I thought, as we waited in a cramped hallway while the techs worked on him, and I tried to forget what was happening three or four floors below us, machines with our minds and our memories following orders, obeying commands.

What was the last thing I said to him?
I thought, and hated myself for not remembering, because the truth was I hadn’t said anything; I had watched Riley and Jude break each other, and then I had watched Riley leave. No comment.

I didn’t understand why they were helping us, and when the tech emerged from his little room, apology fixed on his face, I waited for him to tell us it had been a mistake, word had come down from on high that Riley was not to be touched.

I couldn’t look at the guy’s face.

They had tossed three flimsy chairs into the hall for us, and we sat while the tech stood. There was no confusion about who was in charge.

“We’ve done everything we can think of,” the tech said, “but we’ve had no success waking him up. I’ve never seen damage like this before. The neural matrix is completely fried.”

He said it like he was talking about a damaged exhaust pipe on a used car.

“I was afraid of that,” Jude said. “So how long’s it going to take to get another body? Or can you reuse this one?”

The tech swallowed hard. “Someone’s coming down to talk to you about that.”

“Why don’t
you
talk to us about it?” Jude said, an edge to his voice.

“I’m not really qualified to—”

“What’s wrong?” I said. “Tell us. We can handle it.”

Lie.

The guy laid it out in a flat, toneless voice. “This has never happened to us before. The servers are supposed to be incorruptible. But …”

“But what?” That was Jude, and I wanted to press a hand over his mouth, because if the tech didn’t say it, it couldn’t be real.

“But the files have been corrupted. Something must have happened during the uploading process, some kind of bug; we don’t know yet. Whatever fried his neural matrix also destroyed his backup copy on the network server. It’s been completely deleted.”

Deleted.

Not dead.

Not gone.

Delete.
Verb, meaning: to eradicate, obliterate, wipe away.

To expunge. To remove.

To erase.

It
had been erased.

It
, the file, the ones and zeros that had comprised a life.

The world narrowed and slowed, until there was no one but the tech, nothing but his bulbous face, his chapped lips curled up in a sickly smile, like if he pretended it was okay, we would all follow suit, and go happily on our way. I tried. Tried to focus on the bald patch just above his left ear, the scar slicing through one of his eyebrows, which must have been some kind of vanity mark, as all scars were these days, but it didn’t make him look dangerous, just defective.
Bad call
, I thought, and tried to feel sorry for him, but I couldn’t feel anything.

Then, suddenly, I understood. This was just another game, more leverage, jostling for position. Corporate make-believe. “You’re lying,” I said. A deep calm radiated through me. “Riley’s fine.”

Jude’s eyes were open and unseeing. He lowered his head. Zo laid her hand on top of his, and he let it sit there, like he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“Don’t you get it?” I asked him, almost giddy. “It’s a trick. To shut us up.” I laughed. “How stupid do we look?”

“Why would I want to shut you up?” the tech asked, confused.

“Not you,” I said. “Them.”

He was obviously getting nervous—which meant I was onto something.

He cleared his throat. “Maybe you didn’t understand—”

“We understood,” Jude said dully.

“No,
I
understood,” I said. “You’re giving up.”

“Lia, it’s not a trick.”

“How do you know?” I asked, hating him. He’d always believed there were no limits to what orgs would do—but he’d chosen now to believe what he was told? Now, when it made no sense? Why couldn’t he just believe
me
?

“He’s not gone,” I said. Mechs lived forever, from one body to another, one copy to another. It was what separated us from the orgs; it was our defining, constitutive quality.

Machines cannot die.

“Let her see him,” Jude said.

The tech shook his head. “We don’t—”

“Please.”

“Fine,” the tech muttered, and opened the door for me. “I am sorry.”

The door closed, and I was alone in the room. Riley was still, stretched out on a long metal table. Not Riley, not anymore. A body. Its eyes were open. Its face was slack.

I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Cradle his body in my arms. Press my lips to his. Brush his hair off his face. Stand by his side and hold his hand.

But I didn’t do any of it. Not because I didn’t want to, or because I feared he wouldn’t want me to, but because he wasn’t there anymore. Maybe I’d known when I had first seen the body lying on the floor. And if he could be erased so easily from the body, it was all too easy to imagine he’d been erased from everything else.

That the body was just a body. Would always be just a body.

That he was gone.

“If there were no consequences, it was almost like it hadn’t happened.”

O
f course it was call-me-Ben who came in and found me on the floor, back against the wall, knees pulled up to my chest. It was always Ben, delivering the bad news, delivering the truth, delivering me from evil, Ben, who fashioned himself my savior and all the while, I knew now, was only saving me so I could save him and BioMax, use my face to sell their story, and sell myself out with every word.

I didn’t fight him.

I searched myself, tried to find that certainty I’d had, that it was all lies, a game, that Riley was coming back—but it had slipped away. Truth or lie, the end result was the same: He was gone.

Somehow, I left the room and left the body behind. Small
things registered: the pressure of Ben’s fingers on my arm, Zo’s strained grimace, Jude’s blank gaze. Nothing mattered.

Then, somehow, we were in a conference room: Jude, me, my sister, call-me-Ben. Again I had to shrug off the strange sensation that the day was repeating itself, rearranging itself with different places and different players. Jude was like a zombie. Zo told him when to walk, when to talk, pushed him into a chair. I couldn’t look at him, because Jude was unthinkable without Riley, as—no matter how much I’d tried to deny it—Riley was unthinkable without Jude.

“How does this happen?” I asked Ben. Thinking,
You did this. We stepped out of line, and you punished us.

Ben held out his hands, encompassing his explanation between them: empty air. “We don’t know. I’m so sorry. This has never—We’ve been caught unawares here, all of us. But I can assure you there’s no need for you to worry—if this was a problem with our software, we would have caught it much earlier than this. No, this had to be some kind of external stimulus.”

“Someone did this to him,” I translated.

“That’s our thought, yes.”

“Someone like you.”

He literally convulsed at the suggestion, his eyebrows flying up as his mouth twisted down and his hands fluttered. Every time I saw him, Ben seemed less and less the preternaturally cool and collected mannequin I’d once known and loathed. His slimy self-assurance had been an almost reassuring constant. I needed
it now, something to hate, something steady and immovable to push back against.

“Industrial sabotage,” he said.

“No. You did this. To shut us up, to punish us, I don’t know. Why don’t you just admit it? Why
pretend
you were trying to help him?”

“I’m not pretending. BioMax has an obligation—
I
have an obligation—to honor our contracts with our clients. To help them when they come to us. Doctors don’t heal just the people they like.”

“You’re no doctor.”

“Still. What happened in the boardroom has nothing to do with what happens in here. Can you understand that?”

I didn’t know who we were, pretending that it mattered what I thought. As if I had any power. I had nothing.

“And you know very well that certain factions have been researching this kind of disruption for quite a while now,” he continued, when I didn’t respond. “If they’ve succeeded …”

I glanced at Jude, certain his eyes were burning through me. But his head was down, his eyes on the table. Maybe he hadn’t even heard.

Yes, this could have been BioMax striking back against us after we’d had the asinine temerity to show our hand and try to force theirs. But it didn’t make sense—Riley had never been the biggest threat to them; they’d made that very clear in their pursuit of Jude, not to mention their cultivation of me. Shutting him up wouldn’t do anything but inflame us, make us more determined
to do … whatever it was they thought we had the power to do. If they wanted to stop us, there were easier ways.

And, as call-me-Ben said, they weren’t the only ones who hated us. I’d seen the lab with my own eyes, the Brotherhood’s attempt to find a way to destroy us. To corrupt not just our brains but the brains stored on the servers; to take care of us—to
delete
us—once and for all. It was why Jude had been so determined to blow the place up, with its researchers inside.

But Riley and I had saved the researchers, saved Savona and his scientists, set them free.

I
had set them free.

Don’t think about it.

“You still aren’t telling me how it could have happened,” I said. “Or even exactly
what
happened.”

“Think of it as a virus. Something must have been done to his uplink jack. He was clearly in the middle of the process when it happened, and it’s the best explanation we can come up with for how the stored files would also have been corrupted.”

“You’re saying this isn’t random—someone went after
him
, specifically?”

“Looks like it. The uplinker was most likely sabotaged. The network servers are completely inaccessible, so the damage must have been done on his end. Probably someone close to him, with access to his possessions, someone he trusted. Can you think of any—”