Chapter 2

Artificial

Adam stepped out of the spaceport’s wide doorway, wishing he could stay until Jane returned. He wanted to make sure she got the borrowed Goby back into the hangar without trouble. Though he’d found excuses to stay for an extra two hours after his shift ended, the other admin had grown suspicious, and the last thing he wanted was for someone to uncover the docwork he’d “modified.” So he’d left before anyone could question him, since, as Jane often pointed out, he was the worst liar in the galaxy.

His body felt ready to collapse from exhaustion, and every step weighed heavily as he crossed the elevated walkway lined with yellow lights. Sounds of whirring robots wafted through the cool, dry air from the loading area. Buzzing above them, the chatter of human voices melded into a wordless blend of pitches. The contrast between the living and mechanical noises seemed so stark, he wondered how many would believe the seamlessness with which the two natures could fuse into one. If the people below discovered that he resembled them on the outside, but their mechanical counterparts within, would they still see him as a person?

The question had haunted every breath he’d drawn since an errant laser blast about a year ago had revealed the machinery within him. Not that he needed to breathe. Adam ran his finger down the metal, crescent-shaped mask running from his forehead to halfway down his cheek. His synthetic yet realistic skin concealed his true nature from the world except in that one spot, where Marcus Streger had ripped it away. The other wounds Marcus had inflicted—some as part of his effort to study Adam, some out of spite—had healed in the past few months, but the most visible one remained. Adam didn’t understand why. In fact, he didn’t understand anything about how his artificial body worked, other than that he didn’t need to eat or drink, but he did require sleep. No matter what Pandora had built him out of, though, he was alive. He’d accepted that, and he refused to doubt the life granted to him by the Absolute any longer.

Whatever the rest of the universe believed, the people he cared about had chosen to see him for who he was, rather than what. Riley, the friend who’d always come to his aid, no matter how great the challenge. Devin, the ally who’d nearly given up his own life for Adam’s sake. And of course, Jane, the light of his life. To Adam, as long as she was near, the Rogue Planet had a sun.

But ISARK had ruled his very existence a crime, and for that, both he and Jane had been effectively banished from their homeworld.

Adam glanced up, searching the sky for any sign of Jane’s ship. The dome containing Asylum’s artificial atmosphere stood in the way, reflecting the lights from below and obscuring the eternal night. His gaze traced the dome’s curve to the edge, beyond which lay the tunnel connecting the landing pad outside to the hangar. A lone vehicle sat on the white pavement: a Pike transport, which was far too large to be mistaken for Jane’s tiny Goby.

I’m sure she’s all right. Adam would have gone with her, but she’d insisted that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She’d also pointed out that he’d be little help if a fight broke out. A lifetime spent learning the peaceful tenets of the Via religion hadn’t exactly taught Adam any combat skills. Or rather, the lifetime he remembered. Most of it consisted of false memories programmed by Pandora to shape his personality. But he chose to believe that they had happened and that he was a person, real and whole, despite what lay beneath his mask.

He reached the end of the walkway, feeling as if he’d traversed all of Asylum. A cloud filled his head, dulling his perception. But he had no reason to be so tired; he’d spent the entire day sitting behind a desk. The previous day had been no different, neither had the day before that, nor any day since he’d been hired for the spaceport job shortly after his arrival on the Rogue Planet. Yet waking up grew harder every morning, and he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been exhausted.

“Can’t believe they let a damn cyborg work the computers.” A man’s gruff voice cut through the noises from below. “Who does he think he’s fooling with that mask?”

Adam froze. Of those who worked at the spaceport, he was the only one who wore a mask. He glanced down at the loading area. Three men glared up at him, each looking as if he’d once been an enforcer for a crime boss: large, hulking, and instantly terrifying. From the similarities in their clothing—all wore sleeveless vests that displayed their powerful arms—he guessed that they’d come from the same homeworld.

Adam’s mind flashed back to the moment on Yim Radel about a year before when a square-faced man had shot him through the chest after noticing the machinery beneath his first wound. Adam would have died if a cryptic genius called the Seer hadn’t helped him leave his physical body and then return through a new one identical to the original. But the next time he was attacked, he wouldn’t be able to escape to cyberspace again. Marcus had ripped out the mechanism that allowed him to do so.

The terror of the Yim Radel memory flooded him. Adam rushed to leave. He didn’t want to make assumptions about people, but he also didn’t want to take any chances, especially since those men evidently bore hostility toward cyborgs. Though he wasn’t one—he would rather have been a human with mechanical prostheses than a fully synthetic being—Adam didn’t feel the need to point that out. Even as he left, he heard their voices.

“Freak.” The voice dripped with disgust. “Man is man. Machine is machine. Melding the two violates the Absolute’s natural order.”

Adam stopped, wondering if he should point out that the Absolute transcended physical laws, and such petty thinking belonged to the realm of humans. He had no desire for a confrontation and yet worried what might happen if people who thought like that ever encountered an actual cyborg.

But the next words he heard chased away those notions, replacing them with a paralyzing fear.

“There’s something a great deal worse than cyborgs out there.” Darkness edged the second man’s voice. “I heard there are machines that look and act just like us. These robots disguise themselves so well, the only way to find one is to shoot it and see whether guts or gadgets come spilling out.”

How does he know? As far as Adam was aware, ISARK was keeping the presence of AIs like him a secret from the public.

“That’s just shit they make up on the Net.” The third man sounded annoyed. “Don’t believe any of it.”

“Whatever the case, that kid’s hiding something.” The second man’s words rang with suspicion. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t get so squirmy whenever someone asks what happened to his face.”

Coldness pierced Adam’s chest. He’d lost track of the number of people he’d lied to, claiming his mask concealed a burn scar. He’d never grown comfortable with the questions, and apparently, it showed.

He sped away, trying to quash his nervousness. Everyone knows the Net is mostly sensationalism. For generations, people have claimed that intelligent aliens exist, but none of those stories proved true. How would anyone know the same isn’t so for AIs?

The ground seemed to bend before him. A strange haze hung over his vision. He tried to keep going, but dizziness assaulted him. Spotting a nearby streetlamp, he grabbed the pole to steady himself.

The next thing he knew, the world around him had shifted. He stood by the same streetlamp, facing the same narrow alley lined with the low, concrete buildings typical to Asylum. But the people had jolted into different positions. Those who had been on the far end of the street were presently near him, giving him strange looks. Those who had been near him were on the far end of the street. Since Asylum was a sanctuary for fugitives, people minded their own business and refrained from asking questions. That was likely the reason no one paid him much attention, even though he’d probably been standing frozen in place for the past minute.

Adam blinked. That wasn’t the first time he’d blacked out—he’d experienced several such instances since he’d destroyed the last piece of Pandora lingering in his consciousness. But that was the first time it had happened twice in the span of an hour.

“Hey, you!” A voice shot toward him from behind.

Glancing back, he spotted one of the men who had been glaring at him striding across the walkway. Whatever he wanted, he didn’t look friendly. And the other two weren’t far behind.

Every instinct yelled at Adam to run. He drew a breath. The better thing to do would be to approach them and explain that their prejudice against cyborgs was unfounded—never mind that he wasn’t actually one himself. He wouldn’t be the last person concealing artificial parts that those three encountered. What if next time, it was an accident survivor with a mechanical arm? Or a war veteran with a robotic eye?

The ground tilted. Adam tightened his grip on the streetlamp, struggling to remain upright.

“You!” the man called again. “Stay where you are!”

Adam opened his mouth, aiming to say—to say what? He suddenly couldn’t remember; the last thing he recalled, he’d been exiting the spaceport. Everything between then and that very moment was a blank. Who were those men, and why were they approaching? Something in his core told him that he’d meant to speak with them, but he couldn’t recall why.

A vague memory floated through his head—he’d seen them in the loading area while leaving the spaceport. Had he said something to them?

The man spoke again. Adam caught pitches and syllables, but each faded before the next could land in his mind, leaving him with no idea what the other was saying. His thoughts were such a blur, he wasn’t sure if he could string together a full sentence. Only one thing was certain: he had to get to the hydroponics garden—and fast. Some part of him screamed at him to do so, though he couldn’t guess why.

Adam ran, spurred by that internal force. The rush was so great, he managed to keep moving despite the invisible weights dragging him down. The buildings, streetlights, and passersby vanished into a blur. He’d visited the hydroponics garden—an oasis of greenery nurtured by artificial sunlight—a few times before with Jane. While his head and vision were too fogged to tell one alley from the other, his legs remembered the way.

Several twists and turns later, he found himself facing a wide, open area bathed in warm illumination. Concrete walkways snaked through a tangle of bushes, flowers, and small trees. Transparent walls topped by a high ceiling surrounded the garden. As he approached, a clear door slid open.

The moment the artificial sun touched his skin, a surge of energy rushed through him. His face tingled where the light fell upon it. A streaming force coursed through his body. For several moments, Adam stood still, absorbing the heat. His gaze rested on nothing in particular, though he became vaguely aware of a few people walking past him. Gradually, the weights lifted off his shoulders, and the cloud around his mind cleared.

Once again aware of his surroundings, Adam realized how odd it was to stand in the middle of a pathway. Spotting an empty bench ahead, he walked toward it. Dizziness lingered, and he kept his pace slow. Taking a seat, he glanced around.

No one else wandered the garden at the moment; those he’d spotted previously had left. He hoped that meant few had seen him standing frozen by the doorway. But plenty had been in the streets to witness his mad dash. He wondered why the urge to come to the garden had been so powerful—and why he’d felt so weak before.

The world tilted, and he closed his eyes. He could think of only two possible explanations for what had happened. The first was that he needed the solar energy like an organic being needed food. It couldn’t have been coincidence that led him to the one spot on Asylum containing something akin to sunlight. Visiting the garden in the past had energized him, but he’d thought that was due to the joy of life surrounding him—an internal, rather than an external force. Apparently, he was as dependent on the artificial sun as the plants. Like a slate or a starship, he thought dryly. Except those machines could also connect to other fuel sources, whereas he had no idea where else he could go for sustenance.

The second theory was that, in his effort to destroy Pandora, he’d damaged his own mind, leading to the blackouts. They’d been forgettable nuisances at first, only causing him to miss a second or two. But they were growing longer and more frequent with no sign of relenting.

Adam opened his eyes. Before him, emerald ferns spread their wide leaves and brown trees stretched their narrow branches. A shadow fell across him, and he whirled to find a tall, gaunt man staring down at him. Recognizing that dark, broad face as belonging to the Seer, whom he’d previously only encountered in cyberspace, Adam blinked, wondering if he was hallucinating.

“You appear to be cognizant once again.” The Seer’s low monotone rumbled in Adam’s ears.

Adam furrowed his brow. The last time he’d encountered the Seer, the enigmatic programmer had projected his virtual self into Adam’s mind via the Net. But that was no longer possible.

“Are you… really here?” Adam stared in disbelief.

“I am.” The Seer’s black eyebrows gathered, though his eyes appeared unfocused. “I did not expect the effects of solar deprivation to affect your perception of reality.”

Adam tilted his brows sheepishly. “I just never expected to run into you.”

“You must not be very intelligent. Asylum is a known sanctuary for fugitives. You are here to avoid the Intelligence and Security Agency of the Republic of Kydera. I am here for the same reason. They seek me for my knowledge concerning the artificial intelligences Pandora left behind. The probability of us both hiding on Asylum at the same time is low, but far from zero. Would you like to know the precise odds?”

Adam smiled. “No, thanks.” Realizing the implications of the Seer’s words, he asked, “ISARK forced you into hiding, too?”

“They did not force me. They learned about my connection to Pandora’s artificial intelligences and sought my assistance. I do not wish to be a part of their organization. Therefore, I left my former residence on Viate-Five and came to Asylum.”

Adam knew he was partly to blame for why the Seer had been compelled to leave his home, and guilt stung him. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” The Seer tilted his head. “You do not know me, and yet you appear to sympathize with my situation. This is the trait known as compassion in humans. Pandora did not design the artificial intelligences to possess such a characteristic.”

“Pandora’s not my only creator.” Adam tried to meet the Seer’s gaze, but the other looked away.

“You must be referring to the Absolute, a mythological deity. Believing in such an entity is not rational.”

“Faith never is. You believed in me, even though you hardly knew me. Was that…?” The word Adam sought vanished before he could speak it. He wracked his mind, searching, then recalled it was a word the Seer had just used. “Rational,” he managed.

“I did not help you out of faith or compassion.” The Seer’s face barely moved as he spoke. “I did so for the preservation of humankind. Pandora presented a danger to the galaxy and needed to be eliminated. You were the only one who could defeat her, as her other artificial intelligences had not yet gained sentience and would not have defied her commands.”

“How did you know, then, that I wouldn’t become like her once I entered the Net?” Adam contemplated getting up, since it seemed rude to remain seated while his companion stood, but didn’t trust his ability to remain upright.

Something changed. The Seer appeared to have jerked slightly to the right. Adam blinked.

“Did you not hear me?” the Seer said.

Adam gave him a perplexed look. Only an instant had passed since he’d spoken, and the Seer certainly hadn’t said anything before asking his question. Unless… I must have blacked out again. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“You lost consciousness again while appearing awake.” The Seer’s expression didn’t change. “The frequency with which this is occurring indicates that your energy source is almost depleted. The artificial sun will not sustain you.” He angled his head. “You also appear to have damaged your central processing system. Without a more powerful energy source, it will not repair itself. If you remain on Asylum, you will likely perish.”

An icy fist gripped Adam’s insides. The Seer’s words confirmed his suspicions about why he was always tired, why his blackouts had been getting worse, and why the injury to his face wasn’t healing. Since the Rogue Planet had no star, he was, in a sense, starving. But if he and Jane left, what then? Thanks to Mek’s generosity toward Jane, they could get by on Asylum, but Adam doubted they’d find such luck in another place.

He sighed. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“There are many other worlds outside the Interstellar Confederation’s jurisdiction where the Intelligence and Security Agency of the Republic of Kydera will have difficulty locating you. However, few Fringe worlds possess the kind of order maintained by Tenebrarum. In addition, you will need to remain vigilant if you wish to keep your identity a secret, as many begin to suspect the existence of artificial intelligences such as yourself.”

Adam looked up with a start. “How do you know?”

“I follow the activities of groups on the Net, particularly those composed of hackers. The largest of these, the Collective, recently obtained classified documents from the Eryatian government. These documents revealed that a military cadet named Kira Therese Araton, who killed several of her schoolmates in a mass shooting before the authorities stopped her, was not a mentally unstable young woman, as reported to the public. Rather, she was an artificial intelligence like you. I am sure you were already aware of this fact.”

Guilt clawed at Adam’s heart. Of course he knew about Kira Araton. He was the reason she’d murdered those people. The fragment of Pandora lingering in his mind had forced him to take control of Kira’s body while leading him to believe it was all a vivid nightmare. When he’d realized that real blasts had been fired and real lives lost, the agony had been unbearable. No matter how many times he told himself that Pandora had been to blame, he could never truly absolve himself. It appeared the crime haunted his reality as well as his conscience.

“The Eryatian government is denying the validity of the Collective’s claims,” the Seer continued. “However, many on the Net suspect that the authorities are trying to conceal the truth. They are correct.”

Fear engulfed Adam. What would happen if the galaxy realized the rumors about AIs were true? He could cover his telltale injury and act as human as anyone else, hold on to his belief in the Absolute and a life beyond physical existence, but he could never change what his body was made of. “I wish I could go back to the life I knew before all this, before I knew about Pandora.” Adam shook his head. “But that’s impossible.”

“The probability is low, but to claim it is zero would be incorrect.” The Seer’s gaze turned distant. “It is not impossible. It is a challenge.”

What does he mean? Before Adam could ask, a beep caught his attention. Knowing it had to be Jane contacting him, he pulled out his slate. He glanced up to say, “Excuse me,” but found that the Seer was already walking away.

Adam unfolded the slate. Jane’s face appeared in a window at the center of the screen.

“Hey, Adam!” She held up a small device marked with the Tenebrarum crest. “Mission accomplished.”

“That’s fantastic.” Adam smiled. “I’ll meet you at the spaceport.”

“Okay, see you soon!” She ended the transmission.

Adam stood. Thankfully, his head had recovered enough to keep the world from tilting. He left the garden and headed back to the spaceport. The Seer’s words, along with his own realizations, echoed through his mind. They didn’t seem quite real—too dire to be true.

Despite the authorities’ efforts to keep the existence of AIs hidden, the secret was emerging. And he was dying. He might be able to limp on for a while longer, but not forever. What would Jane say once she knew? She’ll insist we leave.

Heaviness weighed on Adam’s heart. Once again, he would ruin the life she’d built. He’d once told her to leave him, so he’d stop dragging her down, but she’d refused. He didn’t deserve such love and loyalty, and he’d never forget how much he owed her. Though he’d also lost plenty when he was forced to run—all the dreams he’d been working toward, every hope for a future—he rarely thought about it. He had Jane, and he had freedom. That was all he needed.

As Adam crossed the elevated walkway to the spaceport, a sense of unease hit him. Something unpleasant had happened there before he’d found himself running toward the hydroponics garden. Three men had approached with confrontation in their eyes. They’d said something about cyborgs, though he couldn’t recall the details. The anxiety persisted as he entered the hangar, which was empty except for the ships docked there.

A pair of hands grabbed his arms from behind. He twisted back, trying to glimpse his attacker. He recognized the man’s face as belonging to one of the three.

“I found him!” the man exclaimed.

“Let me go!” As Adam struggled to escape, he spotted the other two approaching. “What do you want?”

“To rid the galaxy of freaks.” A man with a square face and spiked hair glared at him. He looked so much like the man who had shot him on Yim Radel. Adam’s mind kept flashing back to the moment that had nearly cost him his life. That man had called him the same thing: Freak. Insult to life.

Adam pushed the thought away, trying to contain his terror and keep his head in the present. “I’m not a cyborg.”

“Let’s see then.” The man reached toward his face.

“It’s just a burn scar.” Adam yanked his arms, trying to escape. But the one holding him was too strong. The square-faced man ripped off the mask concealing the exposed metal beneath Adam’s human-looking flesh. Adam’s entire body tensed; even his breaths felt tight.

“I knew it.” The man’s voice was dark, ominous. He tossed the mask aside. A sharp clunking noise reverberated around Adam, and he recognized it as the sound of the hangar doors closing.

He started to speak, but before he could get a word out, a blow landed on his stomach. He doubled over with a cry. Fists impacted his face, arms, and torso, sending shockwaves of pain through him. He wrenched at his arms, but couldn’t free himself. The one holding him shoved him, sending him to the ground. Every inch of him ached, and the world spun.

“Scream away.” A second man approached, blue eyes glinting. “The hangar’s locked. No one will hear you.”

Scream away, my child. Those were the words Pandora had spoken in Adam’s nightmares. Strange energy tugged at him, commanding him to fight. He sprang to his feet before he knew what he was doing. One fist shot out, smashing the man’s jaw.

He froze. Something felt off. But before he could contemplate it further, hands grabbed his arms.

“Looks like we’ve got a fighter here.” Laughter rang from the blue-eyed man’s voice as he wiped a trickle of blood off his lip.

Adam’s hands itched to form into fists, and his arms tingled, yearning for motion. Yet there was something unnatural about whatever force powered him. He realized why. That was how he’d felt when Pandora had taken over his body and forced him to kill.

A fist flew toward him. In the split second before it landed, that internal force commanded Adam jump and kick both legs into the attacker’s gut. But he refused—if he obeyed one order, what else what it make him do? Slaughter more people?

The blow landed. Spikes of pain shot through his head. His neck snapped back, banging into the shoulder of the man holding him. The instincts screamed at him, trying to take over. He held them back. No matter who those men were, no matter how dangerous or cruel, he wouldn’t be responsible for their deaths.

“Where’s the blood?” The square-faced man grabbed Adam’s chin.

“What?” The second voice came from right by Adam’s ear.

“I got him right in the mouth! Where’s the blood?” The square-faced man’s expression contorted. “What the fuck are you?”

Those were the words the man on Yim Radel had spoken, right before shooting Adam. He felt his hands clench. His gaze fixed on his attacker, and his mind tallied weak spots. He became acutely aware of the two hands clamping his arms. The grip on the left wasn’t as strong.

Instincts cried out for action. In his mind, he already saw what they wanted him to do: snap a neck, smash a skull, crush a throat.

Kill.

He inhaled deeply, refusing to listen. Too much blood had been shed on his account. And the instincts weren’t a part of him. They were the remnants of Pandora. Her consciousness was gone from his mind, but some part of her lingered.

“Freak!” The square-faced man released Adam’s chin.

Another punch impacted Adam’s stomach. Pain exploded through him. He closed his eyes. If he tried to fight back, tried to defend himself, those instincts would take over, and he’d lose control. Already, he was responsible for dozens of deaths. Each soul chased him through nightmares, haunted his shadow.

He couldn’t be responsible for any more.

Everything became a blur of aching, pounding, throbbing agony assaulting him from every direction. He couldn’t tell who hit him where, only that they wanted to break him.

Fight back, the instincts demanded. Kill them.

He kept his eyes shut and breathed hard. Absolute One, grant me strength…

Something solid smashed into his shoulder—the ground. They’d thrown him down again. He covered his face with his arms. More blows, more pain, more furious cries of “freak.” His head buzzed, and his body trembled as he struggled to keep the instincts from controlling him.

Then it all ceased. A clunking noise rang out, followed by three thuds.

“You alive, kid?” A woman’s voice darted toward him, accompanied by quick footsteps.

For a moment, he remained still, scarcely aware of what had happened. He opened his eyes. Flame Dancer stared down at him. Glancing around, he saw his assailants lying unconscious, each with a dart protruding from his neck. The clunking must have been the noise of the hangar doors opening, and the sound must have distracted the attackers into stopping, right before she knocked them out.

Though his immediate sensation was relief, Adam also pitied the men. Their hatred had been born from fear, not pure wickedness. As far as he knew, no one was capable of that.

Flame Dancer reached one hand to him, and he took it, allowing her to pull him to his feet. Pain lanced his body with each movement.

He met her gaze. “Thank you.”

She released his hand, and an odd look distorted her expression. Realizing that exposed metal gleamed from his face, Adam pressed his hand against the wound. A spike of fear shot through him.

Flame Dancer turned and scooped something up from the ground—the mask. She turned back to him. “I know what you are, Adam.” Her voice was unexpectedly gentle. “Devin Colt told me everything. You don’t need to fear me.” She held out the mask.

He accepted it, a wave of gratitude washing over him.

A look of alarm crossed her expression, and she spun toward the ships. “Report those fuckers to Tenebrarum,” she said as she rushed away. “Tell them that Flame Dancer will vouch for you.”

Adam watched her speed into a Silverside, his head still reeling. His gaze fell on the mask in his hand, and he hastened to secure it against his face.

The ground tipped. Every part of him ached. He pulled the slate out of his pocket, aiming to report the attackers, but found that the device had been smashed in the confrontation.

The world shifted—again. Adam barely perceived the change, yet he sensed that something was off.

“Adam!” Jane’s voice resonated in his ears. “What’s wrong?”

Adam whirled. Jane rushed toward him from the other side of the hangar—the Goby was back in its docking space. Meanwhile, the Silverside had vanished. A starship’s takeoff and landing always involved a lot of noise—the revving of engines, the clanking of landing gear, the whooshing of air. Had he really missed all that?

In spite of everything that had just happened, the sight of Jane made Adam smile. He glanced down at himself, hoping he remained enough in one piece to keep her from worrying. His clothes were torn in a few spots, but otherwise, no evidence of the assault existed. For once, he was glad he didn’t have blood—no bruises. Considering how terrifying and painful the attack had been, he was surprised at just how okay he was. Had he been organic, he probably would have suffered internal bleeding and broken bones.

Pandora built us to be sturdy, he thought wryly. He looked at Jane, who had slowed to a walk. “I’m glad you’re back.”

She stopped before him. “Why were you standing there? And who’re those guys?” She jerked her head at the three unconscious men on the floor. She cupped his face with her hand. “Something bad happened, didn’t it?”

He placed his hand on top of hers, savoring the warmth of her touch. “It’s been a rough day.”