Debris of Shadows Book I: The Lies of the Sage Page 6

  “Because,” he said, touching his sunglasses with shaking fingers, “the moment she saw my eyes, she would have quarantined me. Any order I gave would be ignored. They would have locked me away in a tube, as quickly as possible, and Matthew would still be in there.”

  She shook her head, deflated. “Don’t you love him?”

  Benjamin cocked his head. “You told me he had barely shown any signs,” he said, “but he’s in the advanced stages. Why did you let it go on this long? What are you playing at?” She returned his stare with a mixture of shame and anger. He turned, and walked away.

  “Dad?” she called after him.

  He walked to a waiting caravan, stepped on, and took off with it. She watched the bus depart in disbelief. She shook her head, got inside her car, and collapsed against the leather. “Home,” she said. “Take me home.”

  0800 ran a gloved hand across Matthew’s glistening face. He reached out with a washcloth, and spotted the sweat away. “It’s all right,” he said.

  So many had fallen to the Burning. He had lost thirty–six of his brothers this month alone. They had been taken to the incinerators, every one of them with the same face as his. He dabbed another bead of sweat off the child’s brow, wincing at the heat beneath.

  They had euthanized his brothers before the final, brutal stages of the disease could overtake them. The effects could bleed from one diseased mind into the whole, causing discord throughout the song. 0800 closed his eyes, searching for the soothing presence of his brothers to calm him.

  He found none.

  His eyes widened. He opened a communication subroutine, and tried again, reaching out for the song. Again, he felt nothing. Not emptiness, not even the echo of his thoughts within the collective mind. He tried again, pushing outward. The veins on his face and neck throbbed until they ached like sore muscles, but there was still no response. This meant one of two things. Either his nervous system was somehow damaged or infected, or someone was blocking him.

  The door slid open, and Sigma stepped inside. 0800 could not hear her harmony in his mind, he could not hear anything. He had never felt so alone before, and it made him afraid. A worm of anxiety encircled his heart, and squeezed.

  “Listen to me, Brother,” Sigma said. “Who are you?”

  “I am a servant,” said 0800. “I am part of the song.”

  “Do you hear it now?”

  “No,” he said, “I am alone.”

  She stepped forward until the glass of her helmet touched his. There was sadness in her face, like a mother punishing a child.

  “If you are part of the song, then why do you value the orders of a biopure over mine? Especially his, of all people.”

  “Because he outranks you.”

  Sigma sighed. She caressed Matthew’s face with a gloved hand. “What you feel right now is what this child feels. You feel alone, and afraid.” She turned back to 0800. “I understand you were being kind to the artist, but we’ve lost so many of our brothers this month. There were sixty–four last month, and forty the month before that. Do you weep for our pain the way you do for hers?”

  “Of course,” 0800 said. The loneliness, the cold, wet anxiety, was a physical pain now. “Yes, I weep for us all.”

  Sigma studied his face. She waved her hand. The song returned, flooding 0800’s mind with the harmonies of his brothers. He basked in them, his twitching nervous system prickling at the sudden but welcome onslaught.

  “I know you do,” said Sigma. She took the washcloth from him, and mopped Matthew’s face. “Remember this: Though he’s technically in our chain of command, Dvorkin is not our friend, not after what he did to us.”

  0800 regained his composure, his protective suit drenched in sweat. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

  Sigma touched Matthew’s face. “I have to inform our brothers,” she said. “Perhaps the doctor can be of use to us, for a change. Continue to oversee the sanitization of the city. Your compassion is a rare and special trait, but I never want to have to give you an order twice again.”

  “Yes, Sister.”

  She stroked Matthew’s chin. There is nothing else we can do for him, she sent to 0800. Despite her composure, he could feel the desolate bitterness beneath her words. Terminate him tonight. Let the final stage pass him by. She leaned down, and touched her helmet to Matthew’s cheek. She closed her eyes, and kissed him through the glass. She stood. Remember, Brother, she sent, we take care of our own.

  Chapter 3

  “Uncle Benjy?”

  Benjamin gave the girl on the operating table a reassuring smile as Rivers pasted electrodes to her forehead. Her thick, auburn hair spilled from underneath her blue, elastic cap. Command had chided him for allowing the second–gens to call him Uncle, but the poor kid was ten, barely a year older than Alyanna. What if that was her, laying there?

  “Yes, what is it?” he asked.

  “Do I have to get operated on?”

  “Do you mean, ‘Do I have to go through with this operation?’”

  She rolled her chocolate eyes. “Yes,” she said in a singsong voice.

  Benjamin chuckled. He tucked her hair back into its restrainer, and caressed her cheek. She scrunched her face, the golden lights in her irises flickering. “Don’t you want to be a mother someday?” he asked.

  She reached up. He thought she was going to swat his hand away, but she grabbed it instead. Her slender fingers squeezed his, and he felt a slight electric tingle, even through his latex gloves.

  “Uncle Benjy,” she said, “what happened to Zeta?”

  Benjamin sucked in air between his teeth. He had sworn never to lie outright to the subjects. A promise you only keep when it’s easy is worthless, he thought. He glanced at Rivers, the lieutenant’s eyes locking with his. He opened his mouth to answer, when the door of the surgery opened.

  An orange glow blanketed the operating room, like the final rays of the setting sun. General Jaeger stepped inside, his distended rictus thankfully covered by a paper mask. The girl whipped her hand away from Benjamin’s, and shot it to her hip in a fist. She straightened her spine, as if standing at attention in bed.

  The general strode to her side. He tilted his head towards her, bathing her in his golden light. “Sister,” he said, his bass voice conversational, “is there a problem?”

  “Sir, no, sir!” she shouted.

  “At ease,” Jaeger said. His hairless brow furrowed, as if he smelled something disgusting. “Are you frightened?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Of course not,” said Jaeger. “What you’re doing is an honor reserved only for the strongest of us. Is that you? Are you the strongest?”

  Her jaw tightened. “Yes, sir.”

  The general patted her shoulder with a glowing hand. “Prove it to me, then.”

  Benjamin watched as her cybernetic irises swiveled and contracted. He felt a bite of irritation that the Cylebs were probably communicating in their own, silent way. Another tap of the general’s chisel.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, General,” he said. “These instruments are very delicate and unshielded.”

  Jaeger’s luminescent fingers contracted on the girl’s shoulder. He nodded at her, turned, and left, without giving Benjamin or Rivers a glance.

  Benjamin snorted. “There was a time when that walking electromagnetic pulse called me Sir,” he said underneath his breath. Rivers laughed, but it was more nervous release than jocularity. Benjamin winked at his patient. “Okay, hon,” he said, “we’re going to start the anesthesia in a minute. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

  “Of course I’ll be fine,” she said, her voice thick in the back of her throat. The golden fibers in her eyes flared beneath a glistening sheen. She blinked the moisture away. “Stop talking to me like a ’pure. I’m strong. I am strong. I—”

  Benjamin jolted awake. He blinked away the last vestiges of the dream. “More ghosts,” he muttered.

  At Penn Station, he had transf
erred to a mass transport headed towards New England. There were two third–generation Cylebs in the car with him, wearing biohazard suits. He felt a sharp pang of guilt. He should be quarantined, or at least at home, but he doubted there was a cubic inch of air in NorMec the Burning had not infested.

  He pulled his trench coat around himself. His skin burned as if he were on fire, but he shook with chills, as if naked in a snowstorm. He leaned back, and closed his eyes, listening to the creak of the springs in his seat. He had first noticed the telltale veins in his eyes three days ago. He knew that he would enter stage two in just a few more. When that happened, he would swallow the capsule, and his pain would instantly end. At least he would go out in style. There was no way in hell he was going to enter the final stages, not if it meant spending his last few days in one of those plastic coffins. The image of poor, sweet Matthew, dying alone on a sweat–stained sheet flashed in front of his eyes. He shook his head, trying to force the vision away. Alyanna, he thought, can you ever forgive me?

  Barely any other passengers rode the transport. He had seen two other biopures when he first got on, huddling together when the pair of Cylebs marched by. On the window across from him, someone had etched something about “fucking mentel freekies.” It had ceased to amaze him years ago that “fucking” was the only word such a person could spell.

  The transport reached its final destination at NorMec Regular Army Headquarters. Benjamin exited. He strode towards the gate, keeping his shielded eyes straight ahead. He heard the soft thud of rubber–coated boots fall into step behind him. His chest tightened, and he forced himself not to turn his head, or break his stride. A Regular Army soldier stood at the entrance, giving him a surge of hope. He knew he had to make the first move, and make it fast.

  “Private,” he called to the guard, “report.”

  “Just a minute, soldier,” the Cyleb on his left interrupted. He deftly stepped ahead of Benjamin, blocking the doctor’s path as his partner moved to stand behind him. He extended a gloved hand. “I need to see your identification, sir.”

  Benjamin removed his wallet, flipped it open, and revealed his card for inspection. “I am Doctor Benjamin Dvorkin, ST, retired,” he said. “Now let me pass.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we have our orders,” the Cyleb said. “Will you remove your glasses, so we may identify you?”

  Benjamin shot the private at the gate a glare as she talked into her radio. Make it quick, sunshine, he thought. “No, I will not,” he said. “What’s your name and rank?”

  “I am 5351, and this is 5873. We are both ranked GS–11, and permitted to make independent inquiries if the situation permits.”

  “I see,” Benjamin said, keeping his eyes on the private. “I am a member of the Senior Executive Service, and I will not submit to a junior. A voice print match is allowed for identification, as per regulation one lima forty–three papa. Now identify me, and let me pass.”

  5351 sighed. “I regret to admit it sir, but the voice print database is down. So is the thumbprint database.”

  “Let me pass, Cyleb.”

  “Sir,” 5351 continued, “it is not my place to question why headquarters has replaced our brothers who stood guard with biopures. However, here on the surrounding grounds, our orders are clear. Are you aware that the Burning is now an epidemic? It has become our unfortunate duty to quarantine those civilians who have succumbed.”

  “I am not a civilian,” Benjamin shouted for the private’s sake. Come on, soldier, he thought.

  “So you keep saying, sir. In that case, why don’t you just let us identify you? Then we can all go about our business.”

  Benjamin turned around. It appeared that the stupid girl at the gate had not been able to rally the troops. He would have to try another way. 5873 was there, blocking his path to the transport. “Get out of my way,” Benjamin said.

  “I’m sorry sir, but you are on government property. You fall under our jurisdiction now,” 5351 said from behind him. “Remove his glasses.” 5873 reached for Benjamin. The doctor squeezed his eyes shut—

  “Attention!” A voice cut through the air. Benjamin opened his eyes a crack. 5873’s rubber–clad fingertips were inches from his glasses, frozen. “I said, attention.” A few seconds passed before the two Cylebs obeyed.

  He turned his head. A short, thin man in his fifties marched down the steps of the dome, the private in tow. The hair cropped close to his skull was gray, but his moustache and eyebrows were black. The silver eagle insignia of a colonel adorned his muscular shoulders. A wave of relief passed over Benjamin. His heart pounded so hard, he could feel it in his throat.

  “Sir,” 5351 said.

  “Why are you harassing the doctor?” the colonel asked. The private ran to Benjamin’s side, her hand on her sidearm.

  “Sir, we do not know that he is Doctor Dvorkin; he refuses to remove his glasses.”

  “Hmm,” the colonel said. “Fifteen minutes ago, the voice and fingerprint databases went offline. Seems to be at the order of your lady Sigma.”

  “Sir, she had reason to believe they had been corrupted by a virus.”

  “And no doubt, she’ll be proven correct,” the officer said. He stared into 5351’s silver eyes. “Look at me, Cyleb. Who am I?”

  5351 considered his answer. “Colonel David Rivers, sir,” he said at last.

  The officer’s eyes narrowed. “I am taking this man—whoever he may be—inside, under my own custody, and authority. Is that understood?”

  There was a long pause. “Yes, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  Benjamin watched as the two black–clad figures departed. “Thank you, David,” he said. His clothes were drenched in sweat.

  “Damn it, Ben, get inside,” Rivers said, “before they claim the retina library has become corrupt, and try to arrest me too.”

  NorMec R.A.H.Q. had been constructed as an inverted fractal pyramid. Its most central and lowest chamber had three shafts that branched up and outward. Each of these led to three more underground chambers, each of which branched upward to a series of nine domes on the surface.

  The complex resided in what had been known as Connecticut. Benjamin had worked there for twenty–nine years, sharing a lab in the third level with David Rivers. This had been the cradle of all three generations of Cylebs: soldiers, orphans, and clones. It had been different then, the goddamn cyborgs had known their places. And why not? He had given purpose and meaning to their lives. Hell, if not for him, there would never have even been a third generation. In retrospect, was what he had done really so monstrous?

  The thought brought with it another wave of guilt and anger. He closed his eyes, squeezed his hands into fists, and opened them again. He realized that Rivers was watching him from the corner of his eye, expecting a response.

  “I’m sorry, Dave, I blanked out there for a second.”

  “I said that I’m sorry.”

  Benjamin shrugged. “I’m sorry, you’re sorry, everyone seems to be sorry,” he said. The lift pitched downward, while the cabin tilted upright. The gyroscopes compensated a fraction of a second too late, causing his stomach to swish. “I didn’t want to see the human race go out sorry. At least you’re a natural.”

  “Just lucky, I guess,” said Rivers. “My Charlene died yesterday.”

  Benjamin wondered if they had put her out of her misery, or if she had clung on to the end. He tried to push the thought away. He did too much of that, he realized, drowning thoughts. They had a way of swimming back up through the bile when he needed them least. “How bad is it?” he asked.

  “Worse than you’ll ever know.”

  Benjamin felt a moment of vertigo that had nothing to do with the elevator. He slumped against the wall as the world spun around him. Rivers grabbed his arm, and held him.

  “I’m all right,” Benjamin said, rubbing his temples. His nose ran. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and blew into it. “Why did they do it?”

  Rivers opened his
mouth, and closed it. “Sorry, Ben,” he said.

  Benjamin rolled his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said, “I’ll ask them myself.”

  They stepped off the lift, and into the colossal Chamber of Generals. The radius of the dome was fifty feet. It sat, buried almost a hundred feet below the surface. He could hear the creaking of the support lattice above, straining underneath the weight of the world. Benjamin wondered if the metaphor was intentional.

  Tapestries representing every state of NorMec hung from the curved ceiling, swaying in the circulated air. The only light in the chamber came from a flickering hologram at its center. It displayed a map of NorMec, stretching from the Atlantic Ocean to the great shield wall that broke the continent through the plains. The wall stretched from the Gulf of Mexico to Canada, and around the jagged coast of Maine. After that, it extended a mile into the ocean off the east coast, around the southern tip of Florida, and back to make a full loop. NorMec had seceded from the rest of the Earth.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice whispered in Benjamin’s ear. He turned his head, but could not see the source. He looked at Rivers. The colonel met his eyes, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. “I remember when this nation still held its manifest destiny, to stretch from sea to shining sea.”

  A projection stepped from the darkness. Benjamin breathed in sharply. The man wore a strapless evening gown that looked as if it had been patchworked from a dress uniform. Each of his earrings was a single star. Ribbons and medals adorned his left, hairy breast, while a plate with the engraved name “Lauler” covered his right. As the hologram strode towards him, Benjamin could see his skin was creamy and flawless, but still hung from his bones like that of an eighty–year–old.

  “All of humanity,” the hologram said, sweeping his arm through the map, “herded like cattle.”

  Benjamin blinked. He glanced at Rivers. “And Cylebs,” he said at last.

  “Yes, your children,” General Peters said, flickering into life. She was a skeleton, her bones chipped and yellow. “What did you call them then? ‘The end to destructiveness, self–hatred, and corruption, and the birth of true teamwork.’ Your children seem to have growing pains.”