“I can’t believe it’s so dark,” she said. “The park lights haven’t changed at all.”
Eliana turned her gaze back to the window. Seeing the city in this dim light made it look like a dream. The shadows hid all the decay in the buildings, and so in the few seconds that Eliana caught sight of them, they almost seemed new.
The train pulled up to the first station. A few people waited on the benches, all of them bundled up in thick coats and scarfs. The doors slid open, letting in a blast of freezing air. Marianella’s scarf fluttered out behind her, and Eliana pulled her hands into her sleeves. She should have brought a warmer coat.
No one got on. The door slid shut, and the train went on its way, heading toward downtown.
“My God,” Marianella said. “The city wasn’t that cold before, was it?”
Eliana shook her head. “It was like this after Last Night,” she said. “When they turned the heat down. It must be the power failures—” She cut herself short, thinking of Sofia sitting on that throne.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. The lights grew brighter as they approached downtown, and Marianella slid her sunglasses back on. Eliana hadn’t bothered with that sort of disguise. She didn’t think it would matter. Didn’t think it could stop anything bad from happening.
The train screeched to a stop at the big shining downtown station, expelling clouds of white steam. The people waiting lifted their faces, staring at the train with blank curiosity. Eliana’s skin tingled, and her stomach tightened. She hadn’t been around so many people since the night of the gala. She didn’t like the way they stared at her.
“We ought to get this over with,” Marianella said in a soft voice. She stepped off the train first, glancing left and then right, moving with slow and cautious steps. Eliana followed. The air flung tiny daggers at her exposed skin, and she tucked her hands into her pockets. She didn’t just need a warmer coat. She should have brought gloves, a scarf, anything.
The people at the train station had a weary look to them, as if the cold had worked its way permanently into their systems.
“I hope it’s not too far of a walk,” Marianella said brightly. Eliana knew she was faking her cheer. And the cold didn’t really matter to her anyway, did it?
“It’s only a few blocks.” Eliana’s teeth chattered. She walked quickly, hoping the exercise would warm her up. At least the cold and the dark were keeping people off the streets. It was easy to navigate the narrow sidewalks. They scurried along, side by side, their heads down. A tension started in Eliana’s neck and worked its way through the rest of her body. Maybe she was more frightened of seeing Cabrera than she’d let herself think.
The walk seemed to take longer than it ought to have, and for a moment Eliana was afraid that they’d passed the café, that she’d taken them down the wrong street. But then it appeared, its windows glowing in the weird gloomy light. The neon YERBA MATE HERE! sign was flipped on, staining the cement red.
“Well,” Marianella said. “They don’t seem to be at a loss for power.”
“I’m sure it’s a generator.” Eliana tried to make her voice casual, but the thought frightened her. Stores were using their own generators? How bad had it gotten out here?
As if to answer, the dome lights gave a hesitant flicker. For a moment the world was caught in static.
“Let’s get inside,” Eliana said. Marianella nodded.
Maria was waiting for them at her usual table in the corner, a mate gourd sprouting a pair of straws in front of her. A bell chimed as Eliana and Marianella walked in, and Maria lifted her head at the sound, then grinned and waved.
“She’s going to recognize you,” Eliana whispered.
“I’m aware of that.” Marianella gave a tight smile. Already Eliana could see recognition glimmering across Maria’s expression. Maria straightened up and smoothed one hand down the side of her hair.
“Hey,” Eliana said, sliding into the table across from Maria.
“I got you a straw.” Maria glanced at Marianella and smiled shyly. “I didn’t know you’d be bringing someone—”
“It’s fine.” Marianella didn’t take off her sunglasses, which Eliana found absurd. “I’ve never cared for yerba mate so much.”
Maria beamed like this confession pleased her. Then she turned to Eliana and said, “I hope your investigation is going well. Have you been staying outside the main dome?” Eliana heard the question she really wanted to ask: Does your investigation involve Marianella Luna? Have you been staying at her house?
“Yes,” Eliana said. “Although I can’t say where, exactly.”
“I understand.” Maria held up two fingers, like she was swearing on her heart. “It’s been so awful, hasn’t it? I’m not going to lie, I was worried. I’ve heard it’s been bad down in the smokestack district.”
“I haven’t been in the smokestack district.” Eliana shifted in her seat. After the dim lights outside, the inside of the shop seemed far too bright.
“Well, power’s been going out in patches, you know, and I’ve heard it will stay out longer there than the wealthier parts of town.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward, glancing a little at Marianella as she did so. “I heard that’s how they’re trying to conserve energy. But I’m not supposed to know that.” She leaned back, obviously pleased that she had imparted this gossip to the famed Lady Luna.
“That’s terrible to hear,” Marianella said.
“I know, isn’t it?” Maria shook her head and sipped from the mate. “Oh, I got your schematics. No big deal.” She pulled a file out of her purse and slid it across the table. “Will you be able to stay a bit? Chat? I miss you. Essie can be such a bore with all her pro-Independence nonsense.” She glanced at Marianella again. “Not that I’m opposed to Independence, of course.”
Marianella smiled. “I know what you mean. The radicals can be tiresome.”
You’d know, Eliana thought bitterly. She opened up the file and glanced down at the schematics. Not that it mattered; she didn’t understand them. But Marianella peered over her shoulder.
“These look perfect,” she said. “Thank you very much. Maria, right?”
“Yes.” Maria beamed, thrilled that Lady Luna knew her name. Eliana slid the file into her own purse and then took a long drink of yerba mate. It wasn’t sweetened—too far into the winter for that—but the warmth was still nice.
“Can you stay?” Maria asked. “At least for a little while? Fifteen minutes? I took the rest of the afternoon off.”
Eliana wanted to stay. Even in those bright lights, it was nice to see Maria, to have someone to speak with other than Luciano. Nice to share a bit of yerba mate with a friend.
She glanced at Marianella. Marianella sighed, so slight it was just her shoulders hitching for a half second. Eliana was sure she would make up some excuse to get them back to the park. But she didn’t.
“Fifteen minutes would be fine, I think,” she said.
Eliana had never been so grateful for fifteen minutes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SOFIA
Sofia sat out in the garden, the folder with her schematics resting in her lap. Eliana and Marianella had returned several hours ago, both of them quiet but not hurt. Night had fallen shortly after that, and she had monitored the screens herself since then, waiting to see if Cabrera would make a move under cover of dark. But he hadn’t. No one had.
She decided it was time.
She’d already read through the schematics, studying each line of information to see if she could find some scrap of herself. She couldn’t. It wasn’t like reading code, which was like looking into a mirror. This was more like the time she had found an advertisement for herself in the back of a cigar magazine. Disconcerting and strange.
Far away, in the city itself, a church bell chimed three o’clock. As the gongs faded into silence, Sofia
stood up and walked to Araceli’s workshop. Marianella was asleep in the palace, dreaming like a human. And Sofia did not want Marianella to watch this. She didn’t want anyone to watch this, except for Araceli. And that was only out of necessity.
The walk to the workshop took seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds. The night air was cold and shimmered with the movement of entertainment robots watching her from the shadows. Sofia held her head high.
The workshop door hung open, waiting. She went inside. Araceli was gone, but she had taped a note to her desk that said, Ran to the cottage. Be back shortly. A record player sat beside it, unmoving, not even plugged in.
It still felt dangerous.
Sofia wandered from the record player to the worktable. All of the supplies she’d procured from Cabrera were laid out in a neat display, glittering in the work lights. She selected one of the smaller vacuum tubes and held it up, twisting it so that it caught in the light.
“You shouldn’t touch anything.”
Sofia looked at Araceli. “My touching never bothered you before.”
“I just didn’t want you to get started without me.”
“You know I can’t.”
Araceli walked across the room, carrying a big canvas bag that clanked as she moved. She dumped its contents out onto the work tray—mostly spare electronics parts. But there was also a long, thin knife of the sort used to operate on robots.
“Did Eliana get the information?” she asked.
“She did.” Sofia handed Araceli the file. Araceli opened it up and scanned it.
“The activation code is in the upper-right corner.”
“Yes, I see it. This is perfect.” Araceli set the folder next to the parts on the table, leaving it open. Then she looked up at Sofia.
“Do you understand how this is going to work?” she asked.
“Of course I do.” Sofia tilted her head, looking again at the scatter of electronics and the surgical knife. “You’re going to cut out my heart. So to speak.”
One end of Araceli’s mouth turned up. “Pretty much.”
Sofia trusted Araceli. She was the only human Sofia trusted, because she had given up everything to protect a maintenance drone. And when the city belonged to the robots, Araceli would be the only human allowed to stay behind.
But nevertheless Sofia could not imagine Araceli plunging that knife into her chest, not without harming her in some way, cutting the wrong wire or knocking the wrong part loose. Not on purpose, but out of nervousness.
“If you don’t mind,” Sofia said, “I think I’d like to cut the core engine out myself.”
A faint relief washed over Araceli’s features. Sofia was almost touched.
“Well, let’s get it over with,” Araceli said.
Sofia stripped off her blouse and camisole and sat, topless, on the edge of the table. She had not been fully naked in front of a human for almost forty years, but Araceli looked at her the way she always did.
“Let me put in the code so we can access everything,” she said, dragging a cable across Sofia’s lap. She inserted it in the place behind Sofia’s ear, and when she plugged it into her computer, Sofia felt a twinge of connection. An electric shock. Araceli hunched over her computer and input the code, using the old polished-brass keyboard that clicked and clacked like bones. When it was done, something inside Sofia opened up like a flower.
Araceli straightened. “Your knife,” she said, handing it over.
Sofia pressed the tip of the knife against her clavicle. The core engine was only a heart in the metaphorical sense. Her brain, tucked away in her skull, contained her motor skills and the programming necessary to create intelligence, but the core engine was a cluster of wires that housed her intrinsic programming, the programming that defined her. Here was the programming that made robots servile to humans. Here was the programming that converted music into orders. The intrinsic programming was separate because it could not be reprogrammed easily, by just anyone. You had to have the right permissions. And entering the code made it possible to remove the programming without destroying Sofia completely.
Sofia dug the knife into her skin.
It didn’t hurt because she didn’t feel pain. She split open her sternum, hydraulic fluid pouring down her chest. Araceli looked at her feet, hair falling over her eyes. Exactly as Sofia had thought. She couldn’t bear to watch this violence. Or rather, what she perceived as violence.
Sofia reached inside her chest, her movements jerking, halted. Her programming was trying to stop her. But she could overcome it. For the five seconds it would take, she could overcome it.
She wrapped her fingers around the core engine. Her thoughts blacked out, grayed out, returned. Her hand was still inside her chest. Using her fingers, she unhooked the wires, one at a time.
Another blackout. She returned, having lost three seconds. No time to delay.
Sofia yanked out her core engine.
She screamed and slammed backward onto the worktable. Her mind was rioting, flooding her with a thousand images of humans—Araceli and past clients and workers from the amusement park and even the engineers who had built her so long ago in Brazil. She was aware of a weight being lifted from her hand, and then of a warm human palm pressing against her forehead.
“It’s all right.” Araceli’s sweet voice. “You did it, and you’re all right.”
Sofia couldn’t see the workroom, only the mass of humans crowding around her. Memories come to life. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound of Araceli’s humming as she worked. It was enough to draw her out of the past and into the present.
Slowly, her mind cleared and returned back to her. She felt hollow and purposeless, like a discarded doll. When she sat up, it surprised her that she could move, because what reason did she have to move, without her programming?
Araceli leaned over the worktable, a bright light fixed on the core engine. It was dismantled, strewn out in many tiny pieces across the surface, glittering like sand. When Sofia saw it, she felt nothing, and that was not what she’d expected.
Araceli set the micro-engine under the light and snapped it open. It was larger than the core engine, despite its name, but Sofia knew, distantly, that it would still fit inside her chest. Araceli hunched over the micro-engine with a soldering iron and a vacuum tube. There was a faint whiff of burning.
The micro-engine was the foundation, although without the old programming key it would be harder to align it to Sofia’s specifications. That was why they needed the schematics. With that information, Araceli would be able to override Sofia’s old programming. Sofia had explained what she wanted, and had collected all the necessary equipment, because a robot could not reprogram itself. They were designed that way.
“This is easier than I expected,” Araceli said.
“It’s because you’re the best.” Sofia’s voice sounded tinny and far away. She wasn’t whole. Not without that micro-engine.
Araceli laughed. “I’m just working off your designs. If you don’t mind waiting, I think I’ll be able to hook this into the computer and clear out some of the music programming. I mean, the new micro-engine should take care of it, but just to be on the safe side.”
“I don’t mind waiting.” Sofia remembered when she was brand-new, sitting in the laboratory waiting to be programmed. It had been like this, that curious calmness, that sense of expectation. She didn’t know what she would become.
The best version of myself, she thought, watching Araceli work. The work lamp illuminated the pores and lines in Araceli’s skin, and Sofia was momentarily fascinated by them, by her humanity. Those lines and pores meant Araceli had freedom when Sofia did not.
Except, no—that was no longer the case.
Araceli stood up and carried the micro-engine over to the computer. Sofia followed, although her steps shook, and moving made her vaguely dizzy
. She steadied herself against the wall, aware that she was leaking hydraulic fluid down the front of her chest. That bothered her more than her nakedness. Funny.
“Do you want a chair?” Araceli glanced at her, then set the micro-engine down and pulled one out from beside the computer. “Here. Sit. I’m worried about your bleeding.”
Sofia sank into the chair and said, “It’s not blood.”
Araceli didn’t answer, only turned back to the computer. She linked the micro-engine into the mainframe and sat down at the keyboard and began to type. The micro-engine sat there, unmoving. The rotary display whirred through the list of programs that Araceli was going through and deleting. The display was too far away for Sofia to see which ones exactly. But she trusted Araceli.
Sofia stuck her finger into the hydraulic fluid and lifted it up to the light. It was thick purplish black, like motor oil. She’d never seen it before. None of her patrons had ever cut deep enough. They were, after all, warned not to, because seeing a woman bleed black instead of red ruined the effect.
When she still had her core engine, thinking on those things would make her angry. Or sad, sometimes. But right now they didn’t make her think of anything. They were simply a fragment of the past. They didn’t matter anymore.
Araceli hit one last keystroke and leaned back in her chair. “There. Got it.” She turned and grinned at Sofia. “You ready to reinstall?”
Sofia nodded.
Araceli lifted the micro-engine off the table and held it to her chest, waiting. Sofia stumbled back over to the work counter and stretched out on her back. She blinked up at the lights. Everything was fogged and hazy.
Araceli nestled the micro-engine inside Sofia’s open chest cavity. With each reconnection Sofia’s thoughts sharpened and clarified until they were sharper and clearer than she could ever remember.
Araceli murmured, “One mo—”
Everything cut out.
Sofia floated in the darkness, a disembodied consciousness. She was nothing but memories: The lights in the laboratory where they built her. The first time she saw Hope City glowing through the porthole in the ship that brought her to Antarctica. Dancing up onstage. Memory after memory.