Nothing was more devastating to The Reestablishment than the revolution that led to their downfall.It makes sense then that all efforts to feed the insatiable, chemical mind of Klaus have been in pursuit of a program designed to generate the voluntary servitude of the masses.
I can see it now, the usage scenarios multiplying. It’s simple logic: if we believe our choices are our own—if we do not know we are being bent into obeisance—we will not be tempted to revolt. The ultimate goal of synthetic intelligence, then, is the obliteration of organic intelligence.
The eradication of resistance.
A self-preservational instinct seems to glitch inside me at the thought, a stutter of my nervous system sending up a warning. I know, even as I’m thinking, that the direction of my thoughts is illegal. This fear clears the slate of my mind, wicking the theories away like water. It’s not safe to let my doubts percolate. I’ve learned the hard way that disconnection from the Nexus isn’t enough; the only way to survive mental invasions on the Ark is to police my own thoughts, keeping secrets from myself.
I refocus my energies on James, giving him my full attention as he wades deeper into the water. My head tilts in tandem with his, mirroring him as he zeroes in on something just under the surface. He goes suddenly still—and then dives with surprising force, resurfacing moments later, laughing and out of breath. I watch him do this several more times before he emerges,victorious, with a shimmering fish caught in one fist.
“Hey,” he calls, turning his broad smile toward a camera. “Can I eat this? Or is this robot meat?”
The fish flaps desperately in his large hand.
“I mean, look, food is food,” James is saying. “I’m not too proud to eat robot meat. But how many grams of protein do you think is in robot meat? More than a regular fish? Less? Just because I’m on vacation doesn’t mean I stop trying to hit my daily goals, you know?”
Just because I’m on vacation.
His nonchalance: another absurdity. I add this to the file I’m building in my head. Later, I’ll spend more time examining the data I’ve gathered. For now I glance over my shoulder at Damani, who’s begun pacing the short hall outside the glass door, gesticulating angrily as she speaks. She still hasn’t briefed me on my new mission, but the withholding of information follows a familiar pattern. It’s always been like this.
At least this mission, unlike the others, is cause for hope.
Should I execute my directives without fail, I might finally be released from the pit. Clara and I might finally be delivered from starvation, from illness. The penance I’ve paid all these years for the sins of my parents might finally come to an end. This was the promise Klaus made me as I was raised, like wreckage, from the amniotic fluids of his mind.
A series of splashing sounds interrupts my reverie. James emerges from the water slowly,hair dripping, clear rivulets snaking down the hard planes of his face. I’m careful to keep my eyes above his waist as he moves onto dry land. For the first time he looks almost tired, eyes closing as he stands in a cooling patch of sun. He tosses the fish toward his campsite, then pulls on a pair of dark boxer briefs. I finally exhale, a modicum of relief releasing my shoulders as I unpin my eyes from his head, watching him now warm himself before the hot coals of his fire.
Damani bursts back into the office.
The barrage of sound shatters inside me: the knocking of her heels; the exhale of the glass door; a sharp breath; the muted drum of her fingers against her arm. Gone is her triumphant smile. She looks irritated, though she explains neither her irritation nor her absence, choosing instead to hover over my shoulder, watching James now with a palpable anxiety that hadn’t existed before.
“Has he opened your letter yet?” she demands.
I turn slowly to face Damani. “What?”
Rosabelle
Chapter 9
“Your letter,” Damani says, impatient. “The one from Lieutenant Rivers.Sebastian,” she corrects herself. “It was confirmed through Clara’s comms that she delivered your mail to you this morning. You don’t remember?”
I resist the urge to pat myself down, search my empty pockets for the small stack of mail Clara handed me only hours ago—no, a lifetime ago. But I’m no longer wearing this morning’s clothes. I’m dressed in a benign set of pink medic scrubs. White tennis shoes. My request for a standard-issue, black tactical uniform was summarily rejected. My boots were not returned to me. My clothes were incinerated.
Papa’s coat—my only winter coat—was destroyed.
“Why would James have my mail?” I manage to ask.
She frowns. “The subject swiped them from your coat at some point before leaving you in the hall. I believe his exact words were:Now we’re even.I suppose it makes sense you wouldn’t remember—you were nearly dead with fever.”
I return my eyes to the screens, heart pounding so hard I’m worried Damani can hear it. Perhaps it’s because it feels like a violation for a stranger to open my mail before I do— or because I have no idea what Sebastian might be sending me this time—or perhaps, more terrifyingly, because I think I do know what he’s sending me and I don’t want to process the news like this,with the eyes of my world watching me—
“Never mind, here we go,” says Damani, nodding up at the monitors. “I was worried I’d missed it.”
Panic wreaks havoc in my chest.
James is stepping into his bullet-riddled utility pants, tugging the waist up around his hips when a sharp corner of an envelope pushes out of a side pocket. I hold my breath, watching as he tugs free the stack, confused for only a second before a smile brightens his features. He shakes a bit of water from his hair, glances at the headline of yesterday’s paper—
ARK ISLAND STILL LEADS THE WORLD
AS ONLY SELF-SUSTAINING NATION
