XOM-B (14 page)

The Council tower rises up from the black city floor just a half mile ahead. We’re close enough and moving fast enough that I’d already begun to brake so we wouldn’t simply careen into the side of the building. But I don’t think we’re ever going to get a chance to stop.

Lined up around the tower is a row of giant robots, their weapons glowing orange and aimed directly toward us. I can’t see how many there are in total. I think their ranks wrap all the way around the building. This is what Luscious wanted Heap to warn me about. I was driving us into a deathtrap.

“Stop the car,” Heap says in a hurry. “Stop!”

I hit the brakes hard. The front end dips forward and scrapes the metal road before Heap’s weight and the repulse discs equalize things. We come to a stop just fifty feet from the nearest giant, close enough that he has to turn his head down to look at us. His six eyes flare red.

“If something happens to me,” Heap says, “just run and don’t look back. Get out of the city if you can. Find someplace safe. Someplace remote.”

“But what about—”

“My life is inconsequential compared to yours,” Heap says, stunning me. Then he steps toward the soldiers who track them with their guns. He raises his hands out to the sides, showing his palms, and walks closer.

I don’t know why, but I step out of the car behind him and watch as he walks away, toward certain doom, again.

Luscious stands next to me, looking as stunned as I feel, and says, “He really cares for you. I would have never…” She shakes her head. “Nothing makes sense anymore.”

The soldiers’ defensive postures suddenly shift, in unison, to a much more aggressive one. Feet spread apart. Weapons are braced against shoulders. Eyes glare angry red. Apparently, they’ve just figured out who we are, or were told. The zombie infection has just landed on the doorstep of the Council’s headquarters and they’re going to eradicate it. The orange glow of their weapons brightens in time with a rising hum. If they fire, Heap will simply cease to exist.

I step closer to Luscious and take her hand, holding it tight in a way that I hope communicates that she should be ready to run. If we can get inside a tunnel network, maybe even underground, we might make it past all these high-powered defenses.

But this doesn’t feel right. Not remotely. I can’t leave him behind to die. Even if it’s what he wants. It’s not what
I
want.

If the whole point of me being alive is to figure out who I am, or what kind of person I want to be, then this choice belongs to me. Not Heap. Not the Council. And not these horrible robots.

I let go of Luscious’s hand. “I can’t leave him again.”

She stares at me for a moment, battling with her fear. Then a strange calmness slides over her face. “Do you remember what Jimbo said? We can’t change who we are.”

I nod.

“He was wrong,” she says and takes my hand.

I smile wide despite the fact that I’m about to die and step forward. Heap nearly falls over when he sees us step up next to him. His hands lower and his posture becomes angry.

“Don’t argue,” I tell him. “This is who I’ve decided to become.”

We stare at each other for a moment, come to a silent agreement and face forward to meet our discontinuance head-on.

17.

The orange glow of charging railguns reflects dully on the bodies of the massive soldiers holding the weapons, making them appear even more ominous.

This is it,
I think. My short life is coming to an end, and despite the brevity of my existence, I am actually at peace. I have seen many amazing things. I have discovered a true ally in Heap, and felt powerful emotions previously unknown to me thanks to Luscious. Seeing her stand beside me now, facing death alongside someone she has just met, is a powerful illustration of how people can grow and change. I would like to spend more time with her, to grow together and see what becomes of it, but I feel fortunate to have discovered her in time for both of us to be changed by the other. My short life has been rich. And what comes next? Death? Energy can’t be destroyed, only changed. Perhaps some part of me will exist after my body ceases to function?

Luscious squeezes my hand. The contact of her skin on mine transfers a range of emotions. Fear. Pride. Anger. Kinship. Through this simple touch, subtle information shifts from her body to mine, like the virus. Skin is like a giant sensor, detecting temperature and the physical environment, but I now realize that it’s much more than that. It’s also a pathway for information to be passed, whether it is through a hand hold, or a bite.

I look down at my bare arm. The indented teeth marks are still visible. And yet I am not infected. Or at least not symptomatically. Not that it matters. I’ll be dead in a few seconds, never to return. I turn my eyes back up, intent on facing my death without fear.

“Wait!” a distant voice shouts. “Stop! Hold your fire!”

Heap and I turn toward the familiar voice.

The soldiers don’t react, but they don’t fire, either.

“Don’t shoot,” the voice says again as a man dressed in all white runs out from between two of the giant sentinels. He turns his back to us, waving his arms in the air, walking backward. “Stop! It’s Freeman. Stop!”

“Councilman Mohr?” I say, surprised not as much by his appearance but his passionate plea and exaggerated movements. In the short time I’ve known the man, he’s never once raised his voice or moved with any sense of hurry. But now he’s positively frantic.

“Stand down, now!” he shouts, now standing just a few feet in front of us, thrusting his hand in the air like he could block the railguns if they were to fire. When I hear a high-pitched tone reverberating from Mohr and see the wrist display on his raised hand glowing brightly, I think that might actually be his intent. Since the end of the Grind, Mohr has been the world’s dominant intellect and in many ways, is the architect of society. He’s just one of the many members of the Council, but my short time among them revealed that Mohr is considered a leader. One of two. That these robotic soldiers didn’t obey his orders immediately is surprising. To me, at least. No one else seems perplexed.

Heap looks almost indifferent.

Luscious is clearly relieved by the sudden rescue.

I don’t think either of them are considering the deeper meaning of these events, perhaps because there isn’t any. I could be making something out of nothing, which is how Mohr says the universe formed. I disagree with the theory, except in the case of thoughts, I suppose. It’s confusing.

Mohr looks over his shoulder. “Freeman, are you all right?”

“Fine, Councilman,” I say, which isn’t really the truth, but I’m pretty sure he’s talking about serious injuries, of which I have none, unless you count the bite of a virus-infected zombie, the shrapnel in my shoulder or singed back. “Are we safe now?”

“Yes, yes,” he says, though he still hasn’t lowered his arm and the railguns are still casting sinister light. But then, all at once, the line of soldiers lower their weapons and stand sideways as though to grant us passage. “Now if you don’t mind my asking, why were they going to shoot you?”

“They’ve been chasing us all through the city,” I say. “They killed a
lot
of people trying to kill us.”

“That was
you
!” he says, eyes wide before squinting and turning to Heap. “How did this happen? Your only job was to—”

“We were in the Lowers,” Heap grumbles.

Mohr actually stumbles back as though the words were a physical force against his chest. “The Lowers! But—why? You’re not supposed to—
Why?
”

“We were attacked,” Heap says, his tone even, delivering a report. “Conditions necessitated that he flee while I deal with the attackers. But … there were more than anticipated. Freeman was…”

Heap pauses his watered-down version of the story and looks to me. He doesn’t know the rest.

“I was found. In a bone pit.” I look for a reaction in Mohr’s face, but see none, which actually tells me a lot. By not reacting at all, he’s telling me that he knows exactly what the bone pits are and doesn’t want to draw attention to the subject. I decide to save that conversation for later and continue my story. “A man named Jimbo found me. Brought me to the Lowers. I tried overclocking, listened to music and—”

“You overclocked!” Mohr says, unable to hide his outrage. “Freeman, do you have any idea how dangerous that is? There’s no way to predict what that could do to your system.”

“Perhaps my education about the world should be expanded? I’m discovering that there is a lot I do not know … about everything.”

“Knowledge cannot be rushed,” Mohr says. “Without context, or wisdom, it can be misrepresented.”

I notice he glances toward Luscious when saying this, subtly implying that things she told me might not be true.

“I know that I was nearly killed when the Lowers were destroyed,” I tell him. “I know that Jimbo, the man who pulled me from the bone pit you don’t want to talk about, was killed when soldiers like them”—I motion to the now statue-like giants—“destroyed the bridge as he was crossing it.”

“Freeman,” Mohr says, looking at the black metal beneath our feet. “Sometimes a sacrifice—”

“Human life is to be respected and cherished,” I say, quoting his own words.

Mohr’s face remains downturned. My words—his words—sting.

When he speaks again, Mohr’s voice is quiet, almost pleading. “You have to understand, we don’t know what’s happening. We don’t understand it. We had to take measures, before it was too late for everyone. We’ve sent out teams, but none have come back. Our intelligence is limited.”

“I’ll say,” Luscious chimes in.

Mohr looks her up and down as though scrutinizing the results of one of his experiments. He shows no emotion, his thoughts impossible to read. “And who are you?”

“Kamiko,” she says. The name and different-sounding voice turns my head toward her. She’s changed her look again, perhaps even before Mohr arrived. The darker hair and eyes now match her black uniform. Her black lips are set straight and serious, one eyebrow raised as though in challenge.

Her name alone is clearly less information than Mohr was expecting to receive so I decide to give him a little more while respecting Luscious’s privacy. “She’s my friend.”

“Your friend?” Mohr says, a smile creeping onto his face, as though this information has erased all of the horrible things we’ve discussed thus far. “Interesting.” He then glances back and forth between Luscious and the soldiers, perhaps noticing for the first time that Luscious was facing down death alongside Heap and me. “
Very
interesting. A lot has changed in a single night, Freeman.”

“For everyone,” I note, causing his smile to fade.

Mohr nods and then points to me and Heap. “You two, follow me.” He turns and walks toward the soldiers guarding the massive Council tower.

I don’t move, and I’m not sure if Heap is just following my lead, showing some kind of support, but he doesn’t budge, either. Perhaps he’s still not happy about what happened in the Lowers. Mohr certainly hasn’t provided an acceptable answer, and I doubt one exists.

When Mohr notices that we’re not following, he spins around slowly, forehead wrinkled and asks, “Is there a problem?”

Heap lifts his elbow and nudges Luscious. “She comes, too.”

Luscious flinches away and growls, “Don’t touch me.”

“Are you sure?” Mohr asks. “It seems she doesn’t appreciate your presence.”

“Does anyone?” Heap asks, reminding me of another string of unanswered questions. But they can wait. I don’t think I’ll be getting any real answers until we’re inside, and even then I’m not sure I’ll be told the truth.

I reach my hand out toward Luscious. “She’s with me, Councilman.”

Luscious takes my hand and I see Mohr fighting that smile again.

“Very well,” he says, turning toward Luscious. “Just do me a favor and try not to antagonize Sir when he questions you.” I’ve heard of Councilman Sir, but have never met him. Of all the Councilmen, he seems the busiest, or perhaps just the least interested in me. I know very little about him, but Luscious’s reaction to his name—a crushing grip on my hand—tells me he is a man to be feared. Feeling confident, that no single man could be more terrifying than the undead hordes, railgun robots or the drones that bombed the Lowers into oblivion, I follow Mohr toward the black spire.

18.

The elevator surges upward, causing me to tense as my body adjusts to the sudden upward movement. But it’s more than just bending at the knees to absorb the acceleration. A strange discomfort swirls through my body for a moment and then quickly dissipates when the elevator reaches its top speed, whatever that is. I close my eyes, containing what I think is nausea, and when I open them again, Mohr is staring at me with delight in his eyes.

The need to defend my discomfort becomes unstoppable. “I’ve never been in an elevator before.” Neither Mohr, Heap nor Luscious seem affected by the upward movement.

“I know,” Mohr says with a grin. “How does it feel?”

“Uncomfortable. Like my insides want to stay on the ground, but my body is pulling them up.”

“Wonderful,” he says.

“Not wonderful. I don’t like it.”

“You can feel all that?” Luscious says.

“Freeman is far more sensitive than other people,” Mohr says. “We designed him that way.”

“You
created
him?” Luscious asks.

“Grew him,” Mohr says. “Yes. He is the first of his kind. Better than all of us.”

These words, “better than all of us,” make me more uncomfortable than the elevator ride. I don’t want to be better than other people. I’m
not
better than other people.

Everyone falls silent, watching the numbers above the doors scroll higher, which I realize represent different levels of the tower. We’re passing the seventy-eighth floor. I do the math, assuming that a story is ten feet. We’ve traveled seven hundred and eighty feet in roughly thirty seconds so we’re moving at roughly eighteen miles per hour. In another thirty seconds, we’ll be more than a quarter mile in the air.