Shattered (35 page)

How was I supposed to let the mechs be blamed for what he'd done—for what he
hadn't
done, for the deaths of orgs who were more alive than I was? What if people kept believing that we were dangerous, if the Human Initiative passed, if we lost our rights, lost our credit, our personhood, everything—and all because I'd stayed silent? Hid what I knew, to protect insane orgs willing to die to prove how much they hated me?

If they were the ones with the choice, they wouldn't save me.

But I couldn't die. That was the difference, right? The bright line marking off “acceptable losses” from “tragedy”? Whatever the mechs lost, it couldn't be worth as much as a single org life.

That's what the orgs would say, anyway.

I didn't want to think.

I linked in to the network, and there was a message waiting for me at my zone. Not from Jude, pestering me for details; not from Ani, apologizing, recanting, atoning.

From Zo.

Her av was draped in black, as always, its oversize dark eyes lined in blood red. It spoke in her voice.

I know what happened,
Zo's voice said, her av staring straight out of the screen, straight at me, the way she never did, not since the accident.
We need to talk.

“Here is our enemy.”

I
f three people had broken into the Temple in the dead of night, with intent to vandalize a sacred space and plunder its sacred secrets, perhaps Savona would have been obligated to turn them over to the secops. But the trespassers were mechs—three of them, as it was announced in every vid, on every news zone, no mention of the one released or the one who chose to stay. And the secops wanted nothing to do with them. Savona was on his own. So were the mechs—they were his mechs now.

When it came to rights, we were in a liminal zone. No one's property, not yet—but not quite our own, not anymore. Ani had chosen her team wisely: three mechs whose parents had given up on them, who had no remaining ties to the org world. No one to
care if they disappeared. BioMax refused to get involved, given the “criminal nature” of the circumstances under which they'd been acquired.

Not taken, not kidnapped. Acquired.

Call-me-Ben wasn't taking my calls.

And the network was wild with support for the Brotherhood of Man, horror at the narrowly averted attack. Three mechs surely headed toward a ventilation shaft or somewhere worse. Three mechs with deadly intent, headed off in the nick of time.

Three mechs, strapped to three tall, sturdy posts, made from freshly cut pine. Posts drilled into the stage at the front of the Temple's largest auditorium. Directly behind the central podium. The perfect visual backdrop to the next Brotherhood rally.

Three mechs, their hands bound, their heads shaved, their mouths gagged, their eyes open.

Confirmation that the electric shock hadn't completely shattered their systems. But who knew whether the shock had incapacitated them, fried the connections between the neural network and the body, leaving them trapped inside their own heads, plastoid lumps for the Brotherhood to pin up like ornaments. Or whether they'd been left broken inside, half there, half absent, damaged remnants of their old selves, gibbering wild-eyed nonsense, missing reason, missing themselves. What would it look like, madness in a mech?

“Here is our enemy,” Savona said, his back to his audience, to the cameras, preaching to his prisoners. “Crept into the very heart of our Temple, just as the skinners have wormed their
way into the heart of society. Here is our enemy, the barbarians at our gates, just as the skinners will struggle to defeat our measures, the boundaries we draw for our own protection. Here is our enemy, and here they will stay, for them and for you. For your benefit, so you can look upon them and truly see. For
their
benefit, so they can understand their crime, their trespass. Not breaking into the Temple—the Temple is an open door to any in need.
Any
.” He paused there and I waited for the camera to pan across to her, as it often did—her blue-black hair peeking over the crowd—Savona's prize mech, his pet mech, the one who'd seen the light. I should have been grateful that he so loved parading her across the vids—it was the only proof I had that my story was true, that I hadn't led the others to the slaughter, struck my own deal with Savona and Auden to guarantee my escape. After all, I was the one that walked away, free and clear.

I should have been grateful, but I couldn't stand to see her there, glowing under Savona's warm approval. I couldn't stand her expression, coldly serene, empty of doubt or regret. Empty.

But this time the camera didn't move. It stayed on Savona, leaving the fourth mech,
his
mech, just another invisible face in the crowd. And I was relieved.

“They would trespass
here
,” Savona boomed. “Here, where they're not wanted, as they don't belong, trespass without a thought, because their very existence is a trespass upon humanity.”

He bowed his head and raised his arms out to his sides as if
flourishing invisible wings. “We bear them no ill will. But we will hold them here, like this, until BioMax agrees to stop creating new skinners, until the government recognizes that those already built must not be allowed to maintain their stolen identities, living among us, carrying the names and faces of the dead. They will be a symbol, a reminder that our fight continues. And when we have achieved our goal, we will release them.” He raised his head then, staring up at the mechs dangling from their posts, unable to respond, unable to look away. “We will release you,” he said, like it was a solemn vow.

Then, for the first time, he faced his audience. “They may never understand,” he assured them. “They are machines, prisoners to their programming. We can't let their confusion sway us. We can't let their delusions fool us. We can't rest until the skinners are forced to accept what you all know in your hearts. Men make machines.
Objects
. Complicated, remarkable, sometimes wondrous objects. But objects nonetheless. Only God can make a life.”

“You were supposed to be her best friend,” Quinn told me when she heard. “And you want to blame
me
? Where were you when all this was happening? Where were
you
?”

I hadn't blamed her. Not out loud, at least.

Just told her what had happened, just the facts. Just what Ani had said and done.

Just that Ani had decided betrayal was what mechs did, so why shouldn't she join the party.

“What makes you think I was her best friend?”

“She told me,” Quinn said.

She told me
you
actually cared about her,
I thought.
She was wrong about a lot.

But I didn't say that. Didn't ask how we could be best friends when I barely knew her. Or how anyone would want to be my best friend after seeing what had happened to the last one.

“You were supposed to look out for her,” Quinn said, angry as Quinn ever got.

And I didn't say anything to that either. Because buried beneath all the reasons that she was wrong—I
wasn't
Ani's best friend, I
wasn't
the one who'd broken my promises or broken her heart, I
wasn't
under any obligations—she was also right. As right as Quinn ever got, at least.

I'd let her think she was my friend, I'd let her tell me things, secrets, let her listen to mine, asked about her like I cared,
had
cared, and maybe I'd let myself think we were friends too—and then I'd shut my eyes and looked away.

My fault, not my fault, all of our faults, no one's fault. And then I linked into the network, saw those mechs, none of them friends, each of them one of us, and all I saw in that moment was that Ani was to blame for what Ani had done.

“Why'd you even do it?” I asked Quinn. “Just couldn't stay away from Jude, even though you knew it was the one thing that would—” I shook my head. “That's it, right? Nothing so sweet as forbidden fruit and all that?”

“What am I, a child?” Quinn snapped. “Or Jude's some god of love I couldn't resist? Please.”

“What's the point, then? You just wanted to hurt her?”

“Maybe I don't need a reason for what I do,” Quinn said. “I do what I want. Maybe that's the point.”

I didn't answer.

“You'll never understand what it was like for me,” Quinn said. “Before the download.”

I wondered—was that what Jude heard when I talked,
After everything I've lost, I deserve whatever I can get
? Was that why he always threw them in my face, words like “spoiled” and “naive” and “childish”?

So you were a damaged orphan, strapped to a bed for fifteen years, trapped inside a wasted body,
I wanted to say.
So what?

We're all damaged,
I wanted to say.
And we're all here now. Stuck. It doesn't mean we get to do whatever we want. Or hurt whoever we want.

But I didn't.

I wanted to believe that she went to Jude not because she wanted him, not even because she chafed at anyone telling her what she could and couldn't have, but because she
didn't
want him, suddenly didn't want anyone but Ani, and the idea of that, chaining herself to a person when she'd finally gotten free of her cage, losing the freedom to want what she was supposed to want, freaked her out so badly that she pounced on Jude, did it practically in public, did it and would have done it again and again until she got caught.

I wanted to believe that about her and pity her rather than blame her, but I couldn't, not quite. And so instead of asking the question and getting the answer I didn't want, I left.

After it happened, Jude took to sitting in the greenhouse, cross-legged on the floor beneath the tables bursting with purple and golden blossoms, hidden from the hothouse lights by the wide fronds of an anthurium plant overhanging its pot.

“She liked to come here,” Jude said, squinting up at me when I found him there. It was two days after the failed raid, and the glass building blazed in the sun. From his perch in the leaf-shaded dark, I must have been a silhouette to him, backlit by the light. “She'd just sit. Said it kept her calm.”

“I didn't know that.” I sat down across from him.

I'd come to accuse him. And it seemed fitting here, at the greenhouse, where Jude had once explained to me that when it came to hurting people, motives didn't matter.

He looked past me, eyes flitting from plant to flower, settling on the windows. Cyclones of dust whirled in the pale beams of morning light. “This was her favorite part about being a mech,” he said. It didn't feel like he was talking to me; it felt like he would be saying it if I were there or not. “No more sickness. No more death. As much credit as she could want. No more—” He shook his head, jaw clenched. “All the shit we got past, and
this
was still her favorite.”

“The greenhouse?”

“The flowers. Trees. All this nature crap. She never saw any
of it before. The city's all concrete. We used to laugh about it. How we never really got nature until we turned into machines.”

“She's not dead, Jude.”

“What?” He looked at me, confused for a moment, as if he'd forgotten I was there.

“Ani,” I said. “You're talking about her in the past tense. She's not dead.”

“Might as well be.”

“Don't say that!”

“Like you care.” Jude scooped up some loose soil by his feet, building it into a low mound. “You left her there.”

“You weren't there,” I reminded him. Driving the knife in. “You don't know what it was like. I couldn't have gotten her out. Even if she'd wanted to come back.”

“I know you,” he said nastily. “Always looking for an excuse to give in. Run away.”

“Run away?” I spit the words out. “You're the coward who didn't go in the first place! No, too risky for
you
, so we should all suffer in your place. None of us should have been there that night, Jude. Not us, not
Ani
—and you knew it. You just didn't want to believe it.”

“I wanted …” His voice drifted off.

“You wanted to pretend you didn't hurt her, like it never happened!” I fired the words like bullets, knowing they couldn't hurt him, nothing could hurt the mighty Jude. “You wanted to just pretend she was fine and everything was fine, and it wasn't. It's
not
!”

“Shut up!”
he shouted. Startling us both. “You think I don't
know this is my fault?” His voice was ragged. “You think I need you to tell me that?”

“This is Ani's fault,” I said quietly. It slipped out, not at all what I'd been intending to say. “She did this.”

“
I
did this,” Jude said. “Just me.” He cupped his hands, sweeping more soil into his pile, packing it hard, smoothing his mound into a tower. “She ever tell you how we met?”

I shook my head, not really expecting him to continue. But he did, like he talked about the past all the time. Like he didn't care anymore.

“We were in there together for almost a month,” he said. “Me, Ani, a few others. They never told us what they were testing us for. Or why the ones who disappeared never came back. I was the only one who knew what we were doing there—”

“How?”

A ghost of the old cocky smile crossed his lips. “Knowing things is something of a hobby for me. I'm rather good at it,” he said. Not boasting, just stating a fact. “But the rest of them, no idea. You don't tell the lab rats why you're putting them through the maze, right?”

“I thought Riley knew too,” I said hesitantly, feeling like I was breaking Riley's confidence by admitting what he'd said. “I thought you got him into the program?”