Vick is trapped.
AFTER ALMOST two and a half weeks of mirror maze attempts, Vick has managed to get two-thirds of the way through the conference room without collapsing. She’s changed tactics. I watch her face the reflective surfaces head-on rather than casting her eyes down in an attempt to avoid them. She locks her jaw so tight the muscles are visible beneath her pale skin. She never breaks eye contact with the image in the mirror, regardless of what she sees there. It’s a dare, both to herself and the woman in the glass. I can almost hear her thinking, “You will not take me down forever.”
While she does this, I monitor her both through the technology in the green room and through my own empathic senses. The monitors continue to register her vitals in the low red zones, but that’s better than they were at the beginning. On her first few attempts at this new strategy, she had her emotion suppressors set to their highest capability. I put a stop to that. She discarded that crutch over a year ago. I won’t have her overly leaning on it now.
Not to say I’ve forbidden their use entirely. She will need those assistive devices for the rest of her life. But not on full, not high enough that she becomes the robot she sees in the mirrors, devoid of all emotion whatsoever. Inhuman to everyone except me.
I always feel what she feels.
Not to the extent that I used to, thank goodness, or I’d be on the tile floor with her after every collapse, but enough to know she’s very, very human, always.
On the screens before me, Vick takes another couple of rigid steps toward the far door. She’s in full tactical gear, black bodysuit overlaid with black Storm armor, her most powerful attire that she had shipped to her from Girard Moon Base. When she dressed this morning, she had a new, heightened determination that today she would succeed.
She won’t. Her raspy breath echoes over the speakers in the small green room. I’m on the edge of the couch, fists clenched, my own breathing faster than it should be, in synch with hers. I’ll have to provide lots of extra encouragement when they bring her out.
Beside me, Dr. Nuzzi taps my knee. I jump a little. She’s been so quiet, I almost forgot she was there. “She’s about done. I’ll go get her. Five more feet. Not the victory she wants, but a victory still.” No anger or disappointment. The woman has infinite patience.
I move to stand with her, but she halts me with a raised hand.
“Stay put. Robert and I can handle her. We’ll bring her in here. You look like you didn’t get any sleep last night.”
“I didn’t,” I admit, stifling a yawn. “Thanks.” I reach for my cooling cup of coffee on the end table as she leaves the room to join Robert in the hallway. I turn off the screens and speakers, returning the green room to a more comfortable silence.
Ever since Carl and Robert and the other members of the Storm team on Earth detected VC2’s presence, Robert has taken up position right outside the conference space doors, just in case Vick’s cloned twin makes it through the facility’s security and tries to take advantage of Vick’s most weakened state. Knowing she’s out there somewhere, testing the defenses, searching for a way to attack, has had a negative effect on my sleeping habits. There’ve been multiple breaches now, with our technology specialist helping the Klenar staff to plug each incursion into the electronic systems. Even Vick’s strong arms around me all night long haven’t kept the nightmares away.
VC2 is nearby. She’s coming. If the teams don’t locate and capture her soon, she’ll find a way in.
Suppressing a shiver, I stare at the green room door, willing them to hurry. Even at her lowest, I feel safer when Vick is near me.
There’s a bit of a commotion in the hallway, carrying through the closed door. Robert and Nuzzi must be having more trouble helping Vick than usual. I sigh, knowing this will weigh heavily on Vick’s self-doubt for the next several hours. Any miniscule loss of ground for her has a massive impact. I’m tempted to go and assist, but that makes things worse for her. She hates for me to see her during her initial collapse. Giving her a few moments in the hall to compose herself before I get involved has become our routine.
The door opens, and Vick steps in, eyes wild and darting around the room before settling on me.
All the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Something is very, very wrong.
“Where are Robert and Dr. Nuzzi?” I ask, craning my neck to look past her into the hall. There’s no sign of them, no sounds coming from the corridor. Just her harsh, ragged breathing. I lower my empathic shields just a bit. The flare of anguish, pain, and frustration knocks me back against the far armrest of the couch. I raise my shields as fast as I can, blocking the worst of it, but the residual energy leaves me panting.
“They had an emergency to deal with,” Vick says with no inflection. My insides ice over. No, not Vick. And not VC1 speaking through her, either, because under the current circumstances, the AI would be using as much inflection as she is capable of so she doesn’t scare me. Because the artificial intelligence… cares… about me.
No. This is VC2.
Her emotional rush has me failing to think straight, but I know. I know this isn’t Vick. I scan her from head to boots, needing to be sure, wanting to be wrong. Her hair sits in a messy bun at the back of her head. She always puts it up that way to keep it out of her face in the maze. These days, she wants to see her reflection. Her green-and-brown camo pants and olive-green T-shirt cling to her lanky frame, accentuating the curves of her waist and her breasts.
But… she wore her black tactical gear today. Sometimes she wears camo beneath her armor, but when would she have discarded the black coverings?
Oh God, please let that be the commotion I heard in the hall. Please let this be Vick.
I hold out my hand to her, using the identification verifier that the two of us worked out a few nights ago. Because Vick was afraid VC2 might try exactly this. Because Vick is paranoid.
And because Vick is usually right.
“Vick….” My voice trails off as she steps fully inside. I catch a glimpse of a dark mound of something on the hallway floor behind her before the door swings shut, blocking my view. I swallow hard. “Give me your heart, Vick.”
And I realize what else is wrong.
The blue line that connects us is missing.
“My heart?” She gives a soft laugh that falls flat, even taking her suppressors into account. Her head cocks to one side. She’s studying me. I can almost hear the wheels turning as she attempts to analyze where she’s going wrong. “I gave you my heart a long time ago.”
Her smile would almost be convincing. If I was actually talking about her love for me.
But I’m not. I’m referring to the tiny gold heart I gave her when I first tried to convince Vick that she wasn’t the Tin Man she believed herself to be, that she was and always will be human in my eyes.
And VC2, while she might know about it from her brief interactions with VC1, would not have one. Or so we hoped.
I know our guess was correct when the woman in front of me doesn’t reach for her wallet that she keeps in a back pocket while wearing her camo, the wallet where the heart memento would be.
“Of course you did,” I tell her, stalling. “But it’s nice to hear you say so from time to time.”
My throat tightens, preventing me from saying anything more. I’m trapped in a very small room with VC2.
To hide my reaction, I swivel back toward the console and bring my hands up to its surface.
“What are you doing?” VC2 snaps, moving to stand beside me, between the couch and the electronic surveillance system.
“I thought we’d go over your monitoring results while we wait for the others to come back.” And maybe get a message out to Carl and the rest of our people onsite in the process. But my voice wavers. I’m hoping VC2 doesn’t know me well enough to catch it.
Her hand snaps out and grabs my wrist before I can activate anything. “They aren’t coming back,” she says, low and even.
Oh God. Did she kill Dr. Nuzzi and Robert? Is that what I glimpsed in the hallway?
And what about Vick? Did VC2 kill her as well, or is she still trapped in the mirror maze, which, once she’s already collapsed, might be worse for her than death.
A rush of adrenaline hits, and I yank my arm away, making a break for the door and the hall and Vick. I’m aware of rapid movement behind me, but I manage to get the door open and rush out, stumbling over the two bodies between me and the conference room entrance. I stagger-step until I hit the wall by the doors, catching my balance with my palms on the bloodstained surface before me. The soles of my white canvas shoes stick to the tile.
A chill shivers through me as I glance back to see I’ve tracked blood across the hall, blood from an ever-growing pool around the bodies of Robert and Dr. Nuzzi. The grandmotherly doctor is definitely dead, her eyes wide and staring up at the ceiling tiles, but I’m certain I catch a twitch of Robert’s hand, still wrapped around the grip of his pistol, before it falls still once more.
I should have known, should have felt the attack, especially the death so close, but with my shields in place for Vick’s trial, I detected nothing amiss outside the green room. I’ve made tremendous progress managing my empathic abilities around traumatic events. The irony isn’t lost on me.
“Done running?” VC2 asks from her position leaning against the green room door frame.
I open my mouth to scream. In a flash too fast to follow, she’s beside me, her hand covering my mouth, the other gripping me around the chest, pulling me back against her.
“Not much point in shouting for help,” she says. “Everyone on this floor of the wing is dead. But just in case I missed someone, I’ll keep you quiet.”
Everyone? No. Not everyone. Vick is still alive. She has to be. I stare around at the hall, the walls, the ceiling, searching for the blue line, but before I can get a fix on it, VC2 drags me down the corridor, away from the conference room, toward one of the emergency exits. A quick swipe of her hand across the access panel opens the door that should only unlock itself during a fire or some other major threat.
“Where are you taking me?” I mumble against the chilled skin of her palm. Somehow she comprehends the words.
“Someplace private where we can talk and not be interrupted. I need help. You’re going to help me.”
She pauses, holding me under an awning until a security camera swings away from us on its overhead mounting. She glances into my eyes once before turning her face away, but I can see the torment and insanity there. Her grip around me tightens.
“You’re going to make me whole.”