I projected the basics onto the ViM embedded in the conference table. Files popped up, and photos of the corridors we’d seen. This was it, I thought. There was no more hiding now, and no more pretending to buy the crap that BioMax was selling. Which meant they wouldn’t have to pretend either. If this body broke, they were the only ones who could fix it, or replace it.
But that mattered only if I let myself care.
“You’re stealing downloaded neural patterns, lobotomizing them, and turning them into cyber slaves.”
I waited for them to deny it.
Call-me-Ben shifted in his seat—that familiar org weakness, the inability to keep his feelings, his guilt, his surprise, to himself. But the other man, M. Poulet, didn’t move. His gray, stony face betrayed nothing. It was Kiri who reacted, pivoting between the two of them, obviously waiting for a denial of her own. She didn’t get it.
“This is true?” she exclaimed, rising to her feet. “You’re actually doing this?”
“We’re doing this,” M. Poulet said calmly. “Or have you forgotten who deposits the credit in your accounts?”
“No,” Kiri said, “I didn’t sign on for this. Lia, trust me, I didn’t know.”
I was concentrating on keeping my own reactions under wraps. So I couldn’t admit I believed her—and I couldn’t reveal my relief.
M. Poulet looked at her like she was exuding a bad smell. “If our discussion is making you uncomfortable, you’re perfectly free to go. You can drop off your security credentials on the way out.”
I didn’t expect her to actually go. I appreciated the moral outrage, just not as much as I would have appreciated the moral support. She didn’t ask my opinion. Her chair scraped back, the door slammed, and then she was gone. Call-me-Ben looked perturbed; M. Poulet looked bored. “Can we get back on track, please? We’re well aware of your hijinks at our recent event, and your intrusion into private property. But we’re willing to overlook it. Keep it between us, as it were.”
“Private property?” Jude said angrily. I hoped it was for show, because if his real emotions were bleeding through, then he’d been thrown more off balance than I thought. “You want to talk about private property? How about the theft and destruction of our private property? Are we supposed to overlook that? While you kill us off one by one?”
“We’re doing nothing of the sort,” M. Poulet said, indignant.
“You’re stealing copies of our brains,” I said quietly, before Jude could fire back. “And then you’re stripping them. There are people in those machines. Don’t you get that?”
“They’re not people.” It was the first time Ben had spoken. He leaned toward me, elbows on the table, his best earnest expression fixed on his face. “That’s what you’ve got to understand. Without the crucial subroutines that control emotion, memory, all the things that make a personality, these are nothing but arrays of electronic data. There’s no consciousness.”
“How do you know? What if they can still think? Or feel?”
“They can’t. They’re machines, computers. Nothing more.”
“Did you join the Brotherhood while I wasn’t looking?” I snarled. “Because your Savona impression is awesome.”
“This technology is a miracle,” Ben said, eyes shining. “It’s brought you—all of you—back from the dead. And that’s only the beginning. We’re talking about the fusion of man and machine—the possibilities of this technology are limitless.”
He didn’t have much future as an evangelist. Though even Rai Savona lacked the rhetorical prowess to gloss this over.
“We’re not technology. We’re people.”
“You’re people, yes—but we’re not talking about you. How does it hurt you to donate a copy of your brain to a good cause? How does it change anything to know that a copy of some of your synapses is helping protect the nation or heal the sick? How does that do anything to you, except perhaps make you proud?”
“Funny,” Riley said softly. “Almost sounds like we volunteered.”
“If this is such a wonderful advance for orgs and mechs alike,” I said, “then why keep it a secret?”
“You see how you’ve reacted,” Ben pointed out. “We needed to ease the way. Help people understand. Once they do—”
“Enough,” M. Poulet cut in. “We don’t have to defend ourselves to …” He flicked a hand at us. “These.” He stood up and pushed in his chair, as if to say, Meeting’s over. “I would think that with popular opinion of you and your kind at such alarmingly low levels, you’d have better things to worry about than trivia like this. I’d suggest you focus on the bigger picture here.” “Trivia like you turning us into war machines?” I said, disgusted.
“Lia, enough,” Jude said. “They obviously didn’t come here to reason with us, and we didn’t come here to reason with them.”
“Ah, finally,” M. Poulet said. “We get down to it.”
Jude stood up too. A beat later Riley and I joined him on our feet. Only Ben stayed seated, looking bewildered about how the meeting had slipped out of his control. “You’re going to stop this,” Jude said. “Stop abusing the stored copies. Stop experimenting on us like we’re animals. And then you’re going to give us the means to store our own uploads, and to repair and replace our own bodies. You’re going to set us free.”
“I assume there’s an implied or?” M. Poulet asked dryly.
“Or we go public,” Jude said. “And it doesn’t matter what you try to do to us here—there are people waiting for my signal. If they don’t hear from me in the next hour, they’re going to release everything we have on the network. You’re done.”
It was no bluff. Zo was waiting.
“Do to you?” M. Poulet sounded like he was holding back laughter. “What exactly would we do to you?”
“What wouldn’t you do?” Jude said.
Now the peals of laughter burst through, cold and hollow. “I don’t know what kind of gangsters you children are used to dealing with, but this is a business. You come in here, wasting our time, making your petty little threats, acting as if we could ever have something to fear from you.” As he spoke, the joviality drained from his voice, until all that remained was steel. “Let me be perfectly clear: We have nothing to fear from you. You’re children—not even that: mechanical copies of children. While we are a multinational corporation offering the world a new and exciting technology that will improve the lives of millions. You think anyone’s going to repudiate that because we’re ‘inconveniencing’ a few skinners?” He smiled coldly. “And you’re assuming that releasing information on the network is your right, rather than a privilege you’re accorded by the corps who sponsor the zones. You’re assuming that BioMax has neither the power, the technology, nor the will to scrub the network—every inch of it—of any inconvenient allegations.”
They couldn’t. The network was teeming with billions of zones; it was a sprawling kingdom several times more populous than the flesh-and-blood world. It would take a massively sophisticated search-and-destroy algorithm, not to mention ridiculous computational power, to scrub our posts before they leached into the fabric of the network. Not to mention the fact that zones were supposed to be impregnable. Everyone knew there were hackers, and even the best news zones fell prey almost daily to prank posts and attacks, but the whole point of the network was supposed to be the accessibility of information, the impossibility of locking up any truth that wanted to be free. Thousands of potential truths jockeying with one another for supremacy, maybe, but that was supposed to be the democracy of modern life, the freedom to choose our own reality. The freedom to know.
Then again, maybe it was time I stopped relying on supposed-to-bes.
“What could you possibly be thinking right now?” M. Poulet said, clucking his tongue with fake sympathy. “Perhaps you’re wondering where else to turn. Surely someone can help you, am I right?” He leaned across the table and skimmed his hand across the screen, bringing it back to life. “Him, perhaps?”
/> The Japanese man who appeared on the screen was someone I’d never seen before. He looked to be about my father’s age and wore a neatly tailored suit with no visible tech, but his red pupils indicated this was no Luddite. I’d seen a prototype of the same lenses at a recent BioMax show-and-tell—they were some kind of artificial cybernetic implant that, among other things, allowed their recipient to process and index visual stimuli as if they were text in a network database. So while I was a stranger to him, his glancing at my face would trigger an automatic network search that would, within seconds, relay to his neural implants anything he wanted to know about Lia Kahn.
But he wasn’t looking at me. Neither was M. Poulet. They both had their eyes fixed on Jude. The Japanese man smiled and offered him a shallow bow.
“I think you know M. Sani,” M. Poulet said. “Go ahead, congratulate him. Just this morning he and I put the finishing touches on a partnership that will enrich both our companies, not to mention all who benefit from our technological innovation.”
Jude just stared.
“I suppose we owe it partially to you,” M. Poulet said. “BioMax and Aikida have been rivals for far too long. You helped us both see that our interests lay in cooperation, rather than competition.”
Finally, I understood why Jude looked like he was about to fall over. We hadn’t just been outplayed. We’d been laughed off the field.
“We had a deal,” Jude growled.
“And now we’ve made a better one,” M. Poulet said.
“It will be a great endeavor,” M. Sani added, enunciating crisply to make up for his slight accent. “We are all looking forward to it.”
M. Poulet gave the screen a bow, and it went dark. “Not all of us, I assume,” he said to Jude.
Jude didn’t say anything. None of us did.
“Surely you didn’t think we’d actually let you follow through with your pathetic little plot,” M. Poulet added. “You’d do well—all of you—to remember that we’re in control here. Surely, Lia, at least you understand how much control we have. And what we can do.”
I suddenly understood. This is the man who sentenced me to death. He was practically bragging about it. So disgustingly certain that there was nothing we could do to him.
Maybe he was right.
“Will that be all?” M. Poulet concluded. “Because if so, I have some actual business to attend to today.”
Call-me-Ben cleared his throat. “Lia, if you and your friends would like to discuss this further—”
“I think they’ve wasted enough of our time today,” Poulet snapped. “We’ve both got busy days ahead of us.”
His meaning couldn’t have been clearer if he’d fitted Ben with a leash and muzzle.
“My assistant can show you out,” Ben said, cowed. Pathetic. Though no more so than we were.
“We can find our own way,” Jude said.
“Oh, I think it’ll be best for you to have an escort,” M. Poulet said. “Don’t you? Wouldn’t want you wandering off and getting lost on our property again, now, would we?”
So we lost even that battle. We followed Ben’s assistant, not speaking, avoiding one another’s eyes. We did as we were told.
We retreated to the outer edge of the parking lot, which was nearly empty but for our two cars. It must have been obvious from our expressions how the meeting went, because neither Zo nor Sari asked. They just watched us warily, waiting for someone to make a move.
“Assholes,” I finally said.
Jude snorted. “Can we skip the ritualistic licking of wounds?”
“Right, no point in dwelling on past mistakes,” Riley said. “Especially when they’re yours.”
“Mine? This was your idea.”
“My idea to go, yours to talk—and talk, and talk, and talk, and say nothing. As usual. And then there’s Aikida.” He shook his head. “You’re some master strategist.”
It took me a second to identify the expression on Jude’s face, as I’d never seen it there before: humiliation. And almost as soon as I caught on, it faded away, replaced by pure anger.
Sari draped herself over Riley, her head on his shoulder. “Is anyone going to tell me what happened?”
“What do you care?” Jude spit out. “What the hell are you even doing here?”
“Leave her alone,” Riley said.
Jude scowled at Sari. “She’s a big girl. Let her defend herself.”
“She shouldn’t have to.”
“And Lia shouldn’t have to deal with this crap,” Jude said. “But you bring that here and rub it in her face. Nice.”
“Can we not do this?” I said.
“She’s none of your business,” Riley warned him.
Jude smirked. “Which she are we talking about?”
“Jude, don’t.” Knowing as I spoke that it wouldn’t do any good. “We’re all a little tense after—”
“Let him talk,” Riley said, loudly.
“Oh, I really don’t think you want that,” Jude said.
“Try me.”
“What should we talk about, Riley? The way you turned me in to the secops? Tried to blame it on her?”
“I did not,” Riley insisted.
Jude laughed. “Not out loud. But I know how you think, remember? There’s always an excuse. She talked you into it; she lied to you. So you throw her away instead of just sucking it up and accepting what you did.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Riley growled.
Jude wouldn’t stop. “You ran away when she needed you. Why am I not surprised?”
I didn’t need him standing up for me, especially when he was only doing it because he was spoiling for a fight. “Jude, shut up.”
“Always on her side these days, aren’t you?” Riley said, a nasty edge to his voice.
Sari tugged at his arm. “Forget them. Let’s just go.”
That was my job—had been my job—the peacemaker, the conciliator, the one who would stand between Riley and the wrong choice, and try to turn him the other way. Now there was nothing I could do but watch as he shrugged her off and finished what he’d started.
“He’s the one that should go.”
“Where do you get off?” Jude asked. “You should be on your knees, begging me for forgiveness.”
“Yeah, that’s how you like it, right? I crawl around after you, begging. When’s it going to be enough?”
“I never blamed you.”
“Not out loud.” Riley threw his words back at him. “But I know how you think, remember? Nothing’s ever enough.” With every word he took a step closer to Jude, until they were only inches apart. Riley, his body built to its original specifications, was several inches taller, but it wasn’t just that. He was bigger, his shoulders broad, his muscles straining against his shirt. Jude’s lanky, angular form had always seemed like a reflection of his power, all sharp edges and stealthy grace. But next to Riley he suddenly looked small.
“What are they talking about?” Zo asked in a low voice. Not low enough.
“They’re talking about the past,” Riley said loudly. “They’re always talking about the past.” He poked Jude in the chest, hard enough that Jude stumbled backward. “Right?”
Jude shook his head.
“Everyone else’s past is irrelevant,” Riley said. “But not mine.” He turned to Zo. “Because I hid.”
I couldn’t believe he was about to say it out loud, here. “When they came for me, I hid, and I let them have Jude. Isn’t that right?” He turned back to Jude now, face ugly with anger. “They broke you, while I watched. And you never let me forget it.”
Jude shook his head again, harder this time. “We were kids,” he said. “I got over it.”
“Got over it?” Riley laughed. “Got over being stuck in that chair, letting me wheel you around, letting me feed you, clean up your shit?”
When Jude spoke, we could barely hear him. “Because we were friends.”
“Because I felt sorry for you. I kept t
hinking, if I do this one more thing, we’ll finally be even. I’ll be free.”
“You’re lying.”
“I did everything you said, didn’t I? Followed every order. Wasn’t for me, you’d have rolled into a gutter and died a long time ago, and it’s still not enough.”
“Don’t do this.” Jude said it in a strangled voice. That was the moment I understood what I think he’d understood the whole time. Riley was doing it on purpose. Digging his fingers into the wound. Anything to make Jude lash out.
Because he thinks he deserves it? I wondered. Or because he wants an excuse to hit back?
“He likes to pretend he’s strong,” Riley said, nearly shouting now, his voice rising as Jude’s dropped. “He pretends he’s tough, he’s in control … what a joke. You think a new body changes anything? You think just because you’ve got your pretty little legs and pretty little face that anything is different? Nothing is different. You’re still that sad little boy, all twisted up and useless.”
“Riley, please—”
“You’re still weak.”
Jude’s fist landed squarely between Riley’s cheek and jaw. Riley’s head snapped back, but he didn’t even sway on his feet.
Jude didn’t swing again. Instead, he looked back and forth between his fist and Riley’s unmarked face, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done—as if, because there would be no bruise and no blood, nothing to prove it had really happened, maybe it hadn’t.
So he didn’t see it coming: Riley’s arm, Riley’s fist, the full force of Riley’s rage. Jude stumbled with the impact, and then with the next, and the next—until his own fists rose, as if of their own accord, and he finally began to fight back.
I’d been a target before, experienced sharp knuckles jabbing into my flesh and boots kicking my stomach, had my arms twisted back; I’d tucked into a ball, protected my soft places, soaked in the pain—I’d felt it all but had never watched it before, not for real. Never stood on the sidelines as two people tried to tear each other apart—and because in this case the people were mechs, they were having to work all the harder, clawing at flesh so slow to tear, bashing noses that refused to bleed, bones too hard to break. It was different from the fake fights intended to please a vidlife audience; it was wild.