Debris of Shadows Book I: The Lies of the Sage Page 8

  She went to the playroom, and found Bananas where Matthew had left her. She carried the painting upstairs, and placed it on the easel. The golden retriever barked with silent joy at her mistress, racing around in circles within her painted world. Alyanna knew the truth. Bananas would be happy to see a hippopotamus, an air conditioner, or a dead rat.

  She retrieved her goggles from their case, and prepared a palate of base paints—the pigments where the zhivoi–paint would reside. “Null–rad on,” she said. The curtain slid into place, shrouding her in complete darkness and silence.

  She slid the goggles over her eyes. A rendering of the studio flickered before her in sharp colors. On the canvas, Bananas had frozen in mid–leap. Her tongue wagged behind her, leading a painted drop of spittle.

  “Project Matthew–one, Isis,” Alyanna said.

  Virts of Matthew flickered into life around her: laughing, playing, and simply being happy. She wondered what kind of clothes he should wear, though they would be more for her comfort than his. What kid would not prefer to run around naked? She decided that a simple white shorts and t–shirt should suffice; keep the canvas empty, and the mind can fill it.

  She opened the canister. The silvery paint lay inside in an inert blob. She could not see the millions of nanomachines within any more than she could see the individual molecules that made up a drop of water, but she knew they were there. Matthew was there. She dipped her brush into the tin, mixed it with the paints on her palate, and began to resurrect her son.

  Her world narrowed to the window of the canvas. She painted his gentle, beautiful face that was full of innocence. Images of the times she had disciplined and shouted at him, and of the fear and pain it had caused him, flashed across her mind. She winced, trying to squeeze the memories away, but her thoughts would not let her be at peace.

  “I’ll do better,” she said as she added a touch of pink to Matthew’s cheeks. She added a drop of light to his eyes, making them sparkle.

  She made his body the color of spring, of coiled energy, ready to run, jump, and dance. Matthew had loved dancing. He would stand on her feet and hold her hands, while they would sway back and forth. She painted his legs bent, ready to leap into the air. She added more of the zhivoi–paint to the palate, imagining the nanomachines within as robotic insects, each with Matthew’s face. She smiled, and went to work on his arms.

  The right arm was easy, it just hung at his side. She thought hard about what to do with his left. Should he draw, wave, or play with Bananas? He can do anything he wants, she decided as she swirled the brush around the bottom of the canister. She reached for her palate—

  Terrible, white light, magnified by the goggles, stabbed her eyes. She cried out, dropping her brush and palate to the floor. “Warning,” Isis said in her singsong voice. “Warning, null–rad emergency override.”

  Alyanna dashed the goggles from her face. All she could see were patterns of violet and blue as her traumatized retinas tried to recover. “What the hell?” she shouted.

  The door flew open. A silhouette stood in the doorway, panting. Alyanna squinted. It was her father.

  “Alyanna,” he said, wheezing as he looked past her to the canvas. “Oh my God, you actually did it.” He shook his head as he leaned against the doorjamb for support. “How could you?”

  She was about to retort, when she saw the painting move. She rushed to the cabinet, grabbed a null–envelope, and yanked it around the canvas. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked. “Get out.” She ran to Benjamin’s sagging form. “I said to get out.”

  The old man clamped his arms around her. He was drenched in diseased sweat. “I can’t let you do this, it’s too cruel,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Get off me,” she said. She jerked her arms up, throwing him off balance. He staggered backward through the doorway. He half–fell, half–slid down the stairs, clutching the railing.

  “Do you know what you’ve done?” she asked. “Do you? I wasn’t done yet, and the light finalized his consciousness. It separated his soul from the rest of the paint. Do you understand? I wasn’t done yet.”

  Benjamin pulled himself to his feet. “Destroy it,” he said. “I never, ever thought you would try to do something as stupid as this. For God’s sake, you’re licensed. You know that stuff can’t handle a human personality. What you have upstairs isn’t Matthew. Matthew’s dead and gone, and that poor, innocent, artificial intelligence you’ve created can’t possibly understand. Let your poor child rest in peace.”

  “Matthew’s upstairs, and if he’s in pain it’s because of you,” she said. She rushed down the stairs at him. He backed out the door, nearly falling to the grass. She watched from the window as he fumbled into his car. The vehicle rose into the air, and departed.

  “Isis, full security and shield. New combination, my voice only. Delete all back–door codes.”

  “Yes ma’am,” said the computer. The shield swirled into life around the house, glistening with a shifting fractal pattern of colors, like oil on water. Alyanna returned to her studio, donned her goggles, and ordered the null–rad back on.

  She undid the envelope around the canvas, and surveyed the damage. Bananas had completed the arc of her jump, her head lolling to one side, a look of orgasmic bliss in her eyes. Matthew, on the other hand… Alyanna looked at her son, and felt nausea twist her stomach.

  The smile that had lit up his face was gone. Instead, he had locked his mouth into a terrified O. God damn you, Dad, Alyanna thought.

  She was determined to finish his left arm. The voice in the back of her mind warned that it was too late, but she ignored it. She prayed that there was not any harm done. It was not unheard of, these tiny accidents, and the painting had been in the light for just a few seconds before she had covered… before she had covered…

  Her eyes dropped to the floor. The brush and palate lay where she had dropped them. She had covered the painting, but not the paint. How long had they been in the light? Ten minutes? Twenty?

  “Oh you stupid bitch,” she said. “You drunk, stupid bitch.” How could she have been such a goddamn fool? “It’s okay,” she whispered to herself. She painted him an arm with quick, frantic strokes. “It will be okay. It doesn’t matter, it will be okay.”

  She attached the arm to his body at his left shoulder. She pressed the discharge button at the end of the brush, transferring any remaining nanomachines to the canvas.

  She checked her watch. It was dawn. “Welcome home, Matthew,” she said. “I want your second birth to be in sunlight.” A wave of peace washed over her. She had done it. She pulled the goggles away, letting the total darkness envelop her. “Null–rad off, please.”

  The computer slid the metallic curtain back into the ceiling. Light seeped into the room as the sun rose over the Atlantic in all of its amber and orange glory. The prismatic swirl of the security shield dimmed it somewhat, but it was sunlight nonetheless. She held her breath, and stared at the canvas.

  Matthew fell to the painted earth. He looked about him in shock and fear. His mouth opened, and painted tears streamed from his eyes. Bananas just laughed, and rushed about him. Perhaps, if she had been painted with all of her wits intact, her maternal instincts would have taken over, and she would have nuzzled the crying boy. But all Bananas could do was bark with laughter, jump, play with her tail, and be joyful. She was not a dog, she was a toy.

  He raised his head, and saw his mother. She wondered what she looked like to him. Was she a giant, looking through a window into his two–dimensional world, and was hers two–dimensional to him? He climbed to his feet, and toddled towards the frame. His body grew on the canvas until all that remained was his chest and face, while Bananas frolicked in the background. Alyanna knew the zhivoi–paint was just rearranging itself, but the effect chilled her. He put his painted hands out, as if touching a windowpane. Alyanna could not hear him, but she could not mistake the terrified words he mouthed over and over.

>   “I sorry, I sorry, I sorry…”

  God in heaven, she thought, he thinks he’s being punished. She sank to the floor. What had she done? “I love you,” she said. She held her hands to his, feeling the crawl of the nanomachines just beneath her touch.

  “Mommy,” he mouthed as he reached for her. He looked at his left arm, squinting with confusion.

  It writhed.

  It twisted and stretched like melting taffy, and then it tore free. The arm slithered in the grass, whirling like a demented snake. Matthew shrieked without making a sound, while Bananas jumped and laughed.

  Alyanna dove for the null–envelope, and sealed the painting inside. She stared at it, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

  She raced down the stairs. Out—she had to get outside. She flung the door open, and stumbled into the dawn. She could barely breathe. She put her hands on her knees, and gasped for air.

  She felt the warmth of the sun on her face. It was bright, brighter than it should be. She realized that she was seeing it with her naked eyes; the domestic shield was off. A dot appeared on the horizon, accompanied seconds later by the hum of an engine.

  “Isis?” she called through the open door. “Why is the shield down?” But the house computer did not respond. The dot grew closer. It was yellow.

  “No,” she said, “no, not now.” She backed inside, and closed the door. She had no weapons, nothing with which to protect herself, or her son. “Isis, turn that shield on,” she said. “God damn it, answer me.”

  She heard the whoosh of displaced air as the car descended to her lawn. She ran upstairs, and shoved the cloaked painting in the back of her supplies cabinet. The doorbell rang. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey by its neck, and smashed it on the table. She crept down the stairs, brandishing the jagged glass. She heard a few beeps, and the door clicked open. Sigma looked at her, smiled through her helmet, and stepped inside.

  “You,” Alyanna said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Why didn’t you answer the door?” Sigma asked as she walked across the foyer.

  “Get out,” said Alyanna. “This is a private residence.”

  “There are no more private residences, Artist,” the Cyleb said. She ran a gloved fingertip across the top of a picture–frame. She peered at it, and tsked. “Haven’t you heard? We’re in a state of emergency. There’s an epidemic.”

  Alyanna tightened her grip on the bottleneck. “Why are you here again?” she asked.

  “An A.I. check, completely within our jurisdiction in these troubled times,” Sigma said. “Tell me, do you have any artificial intelligences in the house?”

  Alyanna bit the inside of her cheek. “No,” she said.

  “What about Isis?”

  Alyanna shook her head, flustered. “It’s just a low–Q domestic, well within the law.”

  Sigma nodded as she approached the stairs. She looked at the shard of glass in Alyanna’s hand as if it were a curiosity. “Your bottle is broken,” she said. She put her foot on the first step.

  The truth was, Alyanna had no idea how to fight. She had no doubt that whatever attack she made, the Cyleb could easily dodge, and would respond with a deadly riposte. It did not matter. They had killed her son once, they would not take him from her again. She leapt at Sigma, slashing with her bottle.

  The Cyleb sidestepped the attack, and clamped her gloved hand on Alyanna’s neck. A jolt of electric current shot through her. Every muscle in her body went rigid. She shook, and dropped the broken glass. Agony seared through her nervous system, as if a thousand needles were puncturing her skin. Sigma let go. Alyanna slumped forward, gasping for breath.

  “And what of zhivoi–paint?” Sigma asked. “You’re registered to own one nanomachine–enhanced painting, canine, EQ sanitized, yes?” She reached out her hand.

  “Yes,” Alyanna said in a squeal. “It’s a dog. It was my dog.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Your pulse is racing.”

  “You just electrocuted me!”

  Sigma leaned against the railing. “Hmm,” she said. “An hour ago we detected an unauthorized source of artificial intelligence, with both human IQ and EQ. It came from this square kilometer, and yours is the only residence within with an authorized zhivoi–painting.” The Cyleb looked in Alyanna’s eyes. “Show it to me.”

  Oh Jesus, Alyanna thought. “No,” she said, her voice shaking.

  “No?”

  “No. I have my rights. You’re not allowed in my home. Get out.” Her voice rose to a shout. Sigma tilted her head, watching her. “Get out, or I’ll—”

  “Or you’ll what?” Sigma interrupted, pushing past her. “Just what will you do to me?” She gave Alyanna a patronizing glance, and ascended the stairs.

  “Isis,” said Alyanna, her voice low, “emergency call, breaking and entering.” The computer did not reply. “Isis!” She looked up the stairs, and followed.

  Sigma reached the landing. She faced the wall where Bananas had resided. She pressed her hand against the rectangle of wallpaper that was not faded. She nodded, and turned her gaze to the studio.

  “No,” said Alyanna, rushing at her. The Cyleb brushed her with her fingertips, and sent another jolt of electricity through her skin. Alyanna collapsed to the carpet, her jaw locked.

  The world swam around her. She reached for the railing with a shaking hand, and pulled herself to her feet. The door to her studio was open.

  “Little Brother?”

  The Cyleb’s voice came from the top of the stairs. Alyanna crept up them, and peered into the studio. The null–envelope lay on the floor. Sigma stood in front of the painting. Alyanna could see her back, but not the painting itself.

  “Brother?” asked Sigma again. Alyanna was shocked by the tenderness in her voice. “Come out. I know you’re in there, somewhere.” Her hand caressed the canvas, her shoulders slumped.

  Alyanna backed down the stairs. She had to think of something—anything—before this monster took her son again. She crept out the side door, and across the lawn to her car. She activated its dashboard console, and sent a text message to the local precinct:

  Emergency, Cyleb intruder. Private residence invaded. Has cut off communications.

  A few seconds passed before the computer replied. Please give your name and address.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. She typed the information, her eyes on the dome of the studio. The dashboard chirped, and words flashed across the screen:

  It was a good try, Artist.

  The locks of the doors snapped into place. She jabbed the release button, but nothing happened. The safety harness whipped around her, lashing her into the driver’s seat.

  The vehicle shot into the air with an ascending whine. Alyanna struggled against the harness as she turned the wheel, but neither reacted to her touch. She let go. “Car?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Land!”

  “If you wish to lower your altitude, the descent pedal is in the middle.”

  She stomped on the pedal. Nothing happened. “Autopilot.”

  The speaker seemed to sigh, as if the car were talking to an idiot. “To engage autopilot, please release the controls.”

  “I’m not using the controls, you stupid piece of shit.”

  A few moments passed. “I am sorry, but your voice patterns indicate immense stress,” the car said. “Why don’t you release the controls, and let the autopilot take over?” Alyanna peered out of the window. Her house looked like a toy.

  “I’m not touching the controls!”

  “One hundred fifty feet, and rising. May I suggest you turn on the autopilot now? Your stress levels are beyond the prescribed zone for safe driving. May I suggest—”

  The voice cut off with a pop. The screen flashed once, and went blank. The car stopped its ascent, and hung in the air. The engines died with a sputter.

&nb
sp; It fell.

  Alyanna screamed. Everything seemed to slow down. The house below seemed tiny for a few seconds. It grew as the car plummeted—

  She jolted hard in her seat. The airbags deployed, encasing her in a world of white. She heard a whine inside her head—no, it was outside the cabin. The engines were on. The car descended at normal speed, landing on the grass. The doors opened as her restraints released.

  Alyanna tumbled to the lawn, shaking with adrenaline. A second yellow vehicle had parked alongside Sigma’s. She lumbered to the front door just as two third generation Cylebs exited. Sigma walked behind them, her eyes staring straight ahead.

  “The situation has been taken care of,” one of the two identical Cylebs informed her. Sigma said nothing.

  “The situation has been taken care of?” Alyanna asked. “She breaks into my home, assaults me, and tries to kill me—”

  “She will be detained and punished,” the Cyleb said. “We apologize. We have jurisdiction to enforce the law, but we are not above it.”

  “Wait just a moment,” said Alyanna. She ran into the house, and up to her studio.

  The painting was gone.

  She went back outside as Sigma and one of the third–generations boarded the second car. The other Cyleb had already departed with Sigma’s vehicle. “Stop,” she said.

  The Cyleb turned to her. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “A painting. She’s stolen a painting.”

  “You called in an assault, ma’am?”

  Alyanna stared at him with confusion. “Yes,” she said.

  “Has that crime been dealt with?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then there’s no further need for our assistance,” he said. “Have a good day, citizen.” He entered his vehicle.

  “Wait,” she said. But the roar of the engines drowned her out as the vehicle rose, and accelerated towards the horizon.

  She flung the door of her car open, and jumped inside. She pulled the harness around her, and yanked on the controls.

  “Hello again, ma’am,” the car said. “I trust that your stress levels have—” Alyanna shut the voice off with a savage jab, and took the car into the air. She checked the scanner. A Cyleb vehicle was half a mile away. She pressed hard on the accelerator, and took chase.