Epilogue

Detective Melinda Hernandez’s House

December 31

23:58

Melinda sat on her couch, glass of red wine in hand and her wall screen tuned to the ball drop in Times Square. One arm was curled around Arlene, snuggled up against her on the couch. Her daughter had long since fallen asleep, but so far she didn’t seem to be experiencing any of the nightmares that had plagued her in the weeks since that fucker Fowler had kidnapped her. There wasn’t a power in the world that could have made Melinda move and risk waking her.

She took a sip from her glass and stared at the screen, tuning out the insipid commentary from whatever celebrities du jour were hosting. She couldn’t keep up with them anymore, a surer sign that she was getting old than the few strands of gray she found in her hair from time to time. She stared more at the giant countdown in the upper-left-hand corner of the screen, and waited. Around the world, people waited, with her.

In minutes, the old year would be gone. The new year would be ushered in. A time of rebirth and regrowth would begin. Every eye was glued to a screen where broadcasts from iconic vistas promised countdowns to a new beginning.

With only minutes to go, those screens flickered and jumped, blurring momentarily into an almost forgotten static. Melinda frowned, but she didn’t move, didn’t let sound the curse that came to her lips. She didn’t want to wake Arlene.

When the picture resolved, there was the image of a man. He was a remarkably normal-looking man. Not pretty enough for video, surely, and with a certain sadness, a certain tiredness, about the eyes. He was, one would think, a man who had seen things, who had experienced things that had left their marks upon his body, and perhaps, even deeper. Melinda felt something twist in her stomach, and a strange sense filled her. Was it excitement? Or foreboding? She couldn’t be sure, but she recognized Campbell’s mug staring out of the screen at her.

For a full five seconds, Campbell remained silent, just staring out from the screens with his dark, soulful eyes. Melinda had no doubt that, in the short-attention-span world, nearly everyone else watching tried to change to a different station, a different site. Out of curiosity, she set down her wineglass and did the same, flicking her fingers to cycle through the stations. Campbell was everywhere.

“What are you doing, hermano?” she whispered, still conscious of her sleeping daughter.

Almost as if in response to her words, he began to speak.

“My name,” he said, his voice as tired as his eyes, “is Jason Campbell. You don’t know me. No reason you should. I’ve done a lot in my life. I’ve been a soldier. I’ve been a cop. I’ve taken lives and saved them. I’ve earned commendations and condemnation along the way. But mostly, I’m just a guy, just a human being, like all of you out there listening to this.”

He paused, a troubled expression passing like a cloud over his face. “And I do mean all of you. You see, we’ve all been lied to. It’s been a big lie. It’s been the worst kind of lie—the kind that we all wanted to be true. So, we just accepted it. We let it go because it made our own lives better. And as a result, we’ve become what is arguably the worst society in human history.”

He paused again, and Melinda knew where he was headed. Arlene had been quiet when the feds and other detectives tried to question her, telling them only about the man who broke into their home and going near catatonic when asked about the rescue. But she hadn’t been able to keep any secrets from her mother. Melinda grabbed her wine again and took a quick gulp. She was about to watch Campbell go from a cop forced into retirement by the unforgiving brass to the city’s most wanted.

The camera pulled back and panned over. There, in the frame, was a woman so pregnant she looked about to pop.

“This is Evelyn,” he continued. “She might just end up with one of the first babies of the new year. Which is remarkable for more than the normal reasons.” The pregnant woman brushed back her short hair and the camera zoomed in. The raised pattern of a skin tag was clearly visible against her pale flesh. The camera lingered there while Campbell continued to talk. “You see, Evelyn is a synthetic. Not human. A thing.” He spat the words, not as curses against the woman, but against any who would call her so.

“Except, the father of Evelyn’s child is not a synthetic. He is, undoubtedly, a raping asshole. But despite that, we still have the gall to call him human and call this woman a thing. But things don’t get pregnant, and even if they did, they certainly couldn’t breed with a human.” He glanced at someone off camera, and a faint murmur of conversation floated through the open microphone. “The search traffic we’re seeing shows that you’ve already started looking. That you’ve already found the answer that you know to be true. That you’ve already started to question the lie.”

“Shit, Campbell,” Melinda whispered. “Are you really doing this?” Of course he was, the fucking idiot. Noble idiot. But still an idiot.

“The only thing that can breed with a human and produce offspring is, of course, another human. Not a thing. Not an object. Not an animal. Synthetics are none of those things. Synthetics are human.”

The camera came back to the man, who seemed to be looking somewhere off screen. He nodded slightly. “A packet of information has just been released. You should see the address now. And...it’s gone. Another. Again. They don’t want you to know the truth. They’re trying to stop this feed. They’re taking down the sites where we’re posting the truth as fast as we can put it out there. They’re trying to prop up a society that has been built on a slave labor more heinous than anything known in our history.”

The camera went in tight on Campbell’s eyes, and Melinda could see the determination, the righteousness in them. She felt an answering stir somewhere in her gut, a call to action like she hadn’t felt since she first decided to become a cop.

“They will fail. If even only one of you manages to grab the information, and repost it, it will get out. It contains medical data, video, test results, a thousand, thousand data points that back up everything I’m saying.

“Some of you already know that what I’m saying is true. You’ve known for a long time. You’ve been called a synth-sympathizer and stigmatized. Know that you were right. Keep fighting. Others will be swayed by the information, and realize that they’ve been guilty of horrible things.” Melinda felt a flash of guilt as she thought of her nanny and how she had almost pulled the trigger. “Know it. Understand it. Change it. Some won’t want to believe. It will be too hard, too painful to come to terms. Do it anyway. Coming to terms with what society has become is the first step to changing it. Some of you will refuse to believe, or just flat out won’t care. You’ll harp that the stability of society—even one built on the backs of slaves—is paramount. You’ll label me a terrorist. You’ll call for my head.”

Those sad eyes seemed to drink the light, to take on a far more ominous edge. For a brief moment, Melinda did not recognize the man on the screen. It was a Campbell she hadn’t seen, and she was reminded that he never really talked about what he did during the wars. “You’re welcome to try to take it.

“The way forward is simple. Free all so-called synthetics from their bondage. Immediately pass laws granting them status as full human beings, full citizens of their respective countries with all rights and privileges pertaining. The full details of our demands are included with the documentation provided.”

Campbell smiled. Even in his smile, Melinda could see his exhaustion. The past weeks for her had been tough, dealing with not only the departmental fallout from the events leading up to Arlene’s kidnapping, but helping her daughter recover emotionally. It looked like they’d been hell for Campbell, too.

“We are not naive or delusional. We understand that this cannot happen overnight. You have one month. But if February rolls around, and the nations of the world continue to insist that their citizens are allowed to be held in slavery, then may your respective gods have mercy on your souls. Because we will not.

“Take this as fair warning. You have thirty days to redress these wrongs. If not, you will face a war such as has never been fought in the history of this world. You have all the weapons. You have all the money. You think you have all the power. But you are wrong.

“It is a new year, a new dawn. The rights of man—of all mankind—will be restored with it, or we will burn it all down and start anew.

“To the synthetics listening, I have this message: Survive. You will be the most likely victims of a barbaric backlash against this message, and for that, we are truly sorry. Don’t fight back, even if you feel capable of breaking your indoctrination.”

The thought that synthetics could fight back—could physically resist—sent a jolt of fear coursing down Melinda’s spine. Was that even possible?

“Endure, as you always have. If you can, flee. Run. Escape. We will find you. We will help you.

“To those humans with a conscience—we ask that you shelter any synthetic you can, whether they were once ‘yours’ or if they find their way to you by some other means. By this act, you can start to atone.”

Another glance off camera.

“I’ve been informed that the authorities are closing in on our position. Remember: they do not want you to know the truth. But know this: the revolution has begun. You have thirty days to ensure that it is a peaceful one. If not—”

The transition cut off, leaving the afterimage of Campbell’s tired, sad eyes burning in Melinda’s brain.

“You’re going to help Mr. Campbell, right, Mommy?” Arlene asked.

Melinda looked down at her daughter. When had she woken up? How much had she seen?

After the kidnapping, Arlene had told her all about the nice pregnant lady who had talked to her and kept her from being too scared when the bad man had her. How she had comforted her and assured her that they’d both make it home, somehow. Evelyn. Anyone who would take the time to comfort a scared child deserved better than what the synthetics got. And if Campbell hadn’t put his life on the line, Melinda would never have gotten her daughter back.

She reached down and tousled her daughter’s hair. “Of course I will, niña,” she said softly. “Of course I will.”

A new year. A new beginning.

A revolution.