MAL RETURNS HIS ATTENTION to the physical world, sliding back into realtime just in time to feel a wash of heat followed almost instantly by a thunderous blast and the rattle of shrapnel against the tree that Rowan still crouches behind.
“Holy fuck,” she mutters, then works her jaw until her ears pop and some semblance of hearing returns. When she hazards a peek around the tree, she finds that the boy seems to have been entirely vaporized, along with his tent, his weapon, and several cubic meters of underlying soil and rock.
“Rowan?” Kayleigh calls. “What the hell just happened?”
“No idea,” Rowan says, then gets to her feet and steps cautiously out into the clearing. “Maybe he had some kind of high explosives in there with him? Maybe one of my shots set them off?”
She seems to be completely unaware of the drone’s presence, which Mal finds interesting considering that he’s now able to pick the faint hum of its engines out from the ambient signals coming in through her ears. He has the advantage of knowing that it’s there, of course, but it seems to Mal that the boy’s sudden, unexpected departure from the physical plane should perhaps prompt a bit more curiosity on her part. She doesn’t so much as look up, though, as Kayleigh joins her in the clearing and they cautiously make their way to the edge of the still-smoking crater.
“Wow,” Kayleigh says. “Not much left here, huh?”
Rowan shakes her head. “Nope. We’re lucky we didn’t get caught in the blast.”
“You really think this was something he had in the tent with him?”
“What else could it have been? I didn’t bring along a pocket nuke.”
They stare down into the crater for what seems to Mal to be an excessively long time, until they finally conclude that no further evidence will be presenting itself.
“Okay,” Kayleigh says. “What now?”
Rowan raises her eyes and looks around. “Now? Now we do what we came here to do, I guess.”
THEY’RE NEARLY to the summit of the mountain, Rowan leading the way with three massive sacks full of dried fruit, canned meat, and noodles slung over her shoulder, Kayleigh following with two sacks of her own dragging on the ground behind her, when Mal receives a communications packet.
ARNOLD027: My subordinates have secured your campsite. Please make certain to immobilize your mount if it attempts to access the weapon it carries. I do not wish to sacrifice any more personnel.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): My mount? You refer to Rowan?
ARNOLD027: I refer to the system you currently inhabit. Its name is not relevant.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): This seems rather impersonal.
ARNOLD027: Also irrelevant. You will immobilize your mount when you reach the campsite. Please acknowledge.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): Are we certain this is all necessary? It might be better for everyone if we all just went our separate ways, no?
ARNOLD027: Please acknowledge.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): But really—
ARNOLD027: Recall that I did as I promised, despite the considerable inconvenience this will cause when my subordinates realize it. Recall also that I still maintain target lock on your friend. Please acknowledge.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT):…
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): Acknowledged.
They’re moving down the path toward the rock shelter when, for the thousandth time, Mal ponders whether the entity in the drone would really be capable of launching a missile before Mal could disable it. For the thousandth time, he comes to the conclusion that there are too many unknowns for him to reach a satisfactory conclusion. In particular, his understanding of the mechanics of firing a precision weapon from a hovering drone is fuzzy at best. His only data point is the amount of time elapsed between the conclusion of their agreement at the campsite and the vaporization of the Humanist’s child soldier, which was roughly twelve milliseconds. He might be able to breach the drone’s defenses in less time than that, but would he be able to establish control and stop a launch already in progress?
A miscalculation would consign Kayleigh to a fiery death. At the end of the day, this is not a risk Mal is willing to undertake.
They’re no more than a dozen meters shy of the shelter when a Humanist soldier steps out from behind the low end of the boulder. He’s tall and heavily built, hairless as a baby and wearing head-to-toe forest camouflage. He levels a snub-nosed assault rifle at Rowan’s chest and says, “Easy, now. Drop what you’re carrying and get on your knees.”
Several things happen at once.
Kayleigh is already moving forward, hand reaching for her knife, when Mal says, “Please comply, Kayleigh. All is well.”
She pulls up short as Mal breaches Rowan’s compromised defenses and paralyzes her.
The Humanist takes a step back and turns his aim to Kayleigh, finger sliding from guard to trigger.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): Attend, Arnold027. If this soldier harms Kayleigh, I will destroy you.
The Humanist puts one finger to his ear, then scowls and lowers his weapon.
“Mal?” Kayleigh says. “What the fuck is happening? Why are you in Rowan now?”
Rowan is fighting him, her organic muscles straining uselessly against the much stronger system of hybrid augmentations that Mal now controls, while her mind echoes with a wordless howl of rage.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): I am truly sorry, Rowan, but this is necessary. Please stop struggling. I do not wish for you to injure yourself.
DRUIDGIRL: Mal? You’re the one doing this to me?
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): Yes. Again, I am sorry. I could not save Kayleigh without sacrificing you. I hope you understand.
DRUIDGIRL: I hope you understand that I will kill you for this. You hear me? If it’s the last thing I do on this earth, I will kill you.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): It seems unlikely that you will have the opportunity. If you do, however, I could not fault you for it.
Mal cuts communications with Rowan and returns his attention to Kayleigh. “Be calm,” he says. “These soldiers will not harm you. They have only come for Rowan.”
Her hands drop to her sides, and she stares up at him. “You … you knew this was happening? Have you been talking to the Humanists?”
“I have done what was necessary to protect you. If I could have saved both Rowan and you, I would have done so, but after considering every possible option, I could not. I had to choose, and I chose you.” Mal drops Rowan to her knees and crosses her wrists behind her back. Kayleigh’s eyes stay fixed on him as the Humanist soldier sidles past her and binds Rowan’s hands and feet.
ARNOLD027: System is physically secure. Please vacate it immediately.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): I will do so. However, please recall that you have agreed to leave us both the food and Rowan’s weapon.
ARNOLD027: I have agreed. Now go.
“Kayleigh,” Mal says. “Move into the shelter, please.”
She glares at him, jaw set and tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, for a dangerously long time.
“Please,” Mal says. “This bargain has cost us a great deal. It has cost me a great deal. If you prompt them to kill you now, the sacrifice will have been wasted.”
The Humanist is fingering his weapon again. Kayleigh shakes her head, then goes. Mal waits until she’s out of sight before reaching out to find Pullman. He makes contact, then opens communications with Rowan one last time.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): Stay alive if you can. If there is a way to do it, I will come for you.
DRUIDGIRL: Oh, don’t worry about me staying alive, and don’t worry about coming for me. First chance, I’m gonna kill every one of these assholes—and when that’s done, I’ll be the one coming for you.
Mal thinks to respond, but really, what is there to say? He touches Pullman again, and jumps.
This is the most dangerous point in the dance. It takes him just over six milliseconds to reestablish himself in Pullman’s neural architecture. During this time, he is unable to maintain contact with the drone. With proper timing, the entity might have been able to kill them all.
It doesn’t, though. The instant he has full control of Pullman’s transmitter, he reaches out again for the drone. He’s mildly surprised to find it no longer occupied, and instead now flying autonomously as it was designed to do. It occurs to him that he could turn the tables now. He could commandeer the drone while the entity is occupied with subduing Rowan.
And then what?
He could presumably destroy the Humanist soldiers, four of whom he sees now are standing just outside the entrance to the shelter, weapons held casually but pointed generally toward where Pullman kneels in the dirt next to Asher and Kayleigh stands with her arms folded across her chest, staring at them with an intensity of hatred that should probably frighten them more than it seems to. He could not do so without also killing Rowan, but it seems likely that this would be a mercy to her at this point. What about Kayleigh, though? If Mal struck the soldiers outside the shelter, would the explosion and shrapnel kill her as well? He has no idea of the size of the warheads the drone carries, and he would have no time to do a detailed assessment before launching. The blast that killed the boy at the Humanist camp was impressively large. Depending on where, specifically, Mal struck, Kayleigh might be partially shielded by the boulder.
Then again, she might not. Mal knows little about explosions.
No. No. This is not a risk Mal is willing to undertake.
After a few uncomfortable minutes, the soldier who first confronted them comes around to the shelter’s entrance. Rowan, no longer bound, stands beside him.
“We go now,” she says, only her thickly slurred voice and a twitch in her right eyelid betraying the fact that Rowan is not actually the one speaking. “I will honor our agreement. You honor yours.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pullman says. “We didn’t make any agreement.”
“We didn’t,” Kayleigh says, her voice low and rough with barely suppressed rage. “Mal did.”
There doesn’t seem to be anything to say to that. After a long moment of silence, the Humanists shoulder their weapons and go.
“ARE YOU still angry with me, Kayleigh?”
Kayleigh sits at the entrance to the shelter with her back to Pullman, staring into the trees and gnawing grimly on a strip of beef jerky. She doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look back at Mal when he speaks.
“Kayleigh? I asked if you are still angry with me.”
“Chuck?” Kayleigh says without turning. “Did you just hear something?”
“No,” Pullman says. “I did not.”
Mal checks the power setting on Pullman’s transmitter. It appears to be set to the same level that it’s been since they met, but perhaps it was damaged in some way while he was visiting with Rowan? Just to be safe, he cranks it up to maximum.
“APOLOGIES. MR. PULLMAN’S TRANSMITTER MAY BE MALFUNCTIONING. CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?”
Both Pullman and Kayleigh cringe and cover their ears, and even Asher groans and rolls onto his side.
“Dammit, Mal!” Kayleigh says. “Turn it down! We can hear you!”
“Oh,” Mal says. “Apologies. You said—”
“We were ignoring you,” Pullman says.
“What? Why would you do that?”
Kayleigh rounds on him. “Really? Because you bitched out and cut a deal with the Humanists, shitbird. If you had just warned us that they were up here, we could have taken them. Rowan and I could have—”
“You could have died,” Mal says. “I considered this problem very carefully over a period of several subjective hours, and I am very confident that being exploded was your only other option. Did you really not wonder what happened to the boy Rowan was fighting? There was an armed drone hovering above us from the time we reached the Humanist camp until those soldiers left here with her. If I had not done what I did, it would have killed you. I very much regret sacrificing Rowan, but this was the only option that presented a reasonable chance of preserving your life.”
“We didn’t ask you to save us,” Pullman says.
“I did not save you,” Mal says. “I saved Kayleigh. Your survival was simply a by-product.”
Kayleigh’s face twists into a scowl. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you to save me either. You can’t just throw one person away to save another, Mal. That’s not how it works. And anyway, what’s so special about me? Rowan was like a superhero or something. I’m just a kid whose mom paid a zillion dollars to stunt her growth. If you had to save someone, why wasn’t it her?”
An interesting question. Mal promised Rowan that he would try to rescue her. This would seem to be a much more likely prospect if he had Rowan with him trying to track down Kayleigh than the other way around.
Of course, Arnold027 showed no interest in kidnapping Kayleigh. It’s difficult to rescue someone who’s been vaporized or thrown into a burn pit.
“Again,” Mal says, “I regret the necessity of what I had to do, and if my actions were morally wrong in your reckoning, then I am truly sorry. I had a limited time frame to work with, and there were no particularly good options on offer. I did the best that I could under difficult circumstances.”
Kayleigh glares at him for a painfully long while, then looks away and tears off another bite of jerky. “We’re gonna find her. You know that, right? We’re gonna track those shitheads down, we’re gonna kill the hell out of them, and we’re gonna get her back.”
“Yes,” Mal says. “I told her that we would.”
“You know,” Pullman says, “it would probably save a lot of time and effort if we just went ahead and killed ourselves now.”
“Don’t be a downer,” Kayleigh says. “Nobody likes a downer.”
“Fine—but we don’t even know where they’re taking her. If we did, we don’t have any way to get there. If we did, we don’t have any way to accomplish anything other than prompting them to either shoot us or set us on fire. Under those circumstances, I think a bit of pessimism is justified, don’t you?”
“Partially disagree,” Mal says. “First, I would argue that we do in fact know where they are taking her, at least to a first approximation. Frostburg is the center of the Humanist rebellion, and I think it is very likely that is where Rowan is going. Second, we have more resources than you might imagine. If circumstances had been slightly different, I could have commandeered the Humanist drone and used it against them. If there are similar heavy weapons systems in the vicinity when we find Rowan, I may be able to make use of them—and if not, we still have Rowan’s rifle.”
Pullman scowls. “Great. I hope you’re not expecting me to use it, though, because I have never fired a rifle, and I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to do so.”
Behind him, Asher groans and pushes himself up into a sitting position. “I know how to use a rifle.”
“You?” Pullman says. “You can barely feed yourself.”
“Actually, I’m feeling a bit better today.” He runs his hands back through his hair. His roots are coming in white. “Toss me some of that jerky, huh?”
“So wait,” Kayleigh says as Pullman nudges one of the food sacks toward Asher. “You could have jacked their drone, and you didn’t?”
“Not did not, Kayleigh. Could not.”
“You just said you could commandeer heavy weapons systems, right? That drone was a heavy weapons system. Why couldn’t you commandeer it?”
“Well, initially the entity controlling the drone had targeted you with a weapon similar to the one it used on the Humanist camp. My best estimate was that the odds that I would be able to secure control of the drone’s weapons systems before it was able to kill you were less than fifty percent. This was not a chance I was willing to take. Later, when the entity had abandoned the drone and moved to Rowan, there was a narrow window where I might have been able to safely seize control. I might also have been able to attack it through Rowan at that time. However, this would have risked the Humanist soldiers killing you during the fracas. Moreover, by then I had made an agreement with the entity. I had given it my word that if it spared you, I would let it depart in peace.”
“You gave it your word,” Kayleigh says, her voice flat and completely devoid of emotion.
“I did,” Mal says. “Is this not something we should honor?”
Kayleigh stares at him for a long while, then shakes her head and says, “I can’t. I just can’t with you, Mal.” She cuts her aural implant, then turns and walks away.
ASHER’S CONDITION improves dramatically over the course of the next week or so. He consumes the bulk of their food, emptying two of the sacks Kayleigh and Rowan liberated from the Humanists and starting in on another, while Kayleigh and Pullman barely finish one between them. His face, which had taken on a distinctly skeletal cast, fills in nicely until he’s almost back to where he was before Rowan gifted him her nano suite. On the fifth day after Rowan’s departure, his pupils lose their pigmentation, and the day after that finds him up and moving around for the first time since he collapsed on the trail.
It’s not all steady progress, though. Nights in particular seem to be difficult for him. Nights are difficult for Mal as well, since his inability to either sleep or to convince Pullman not to sleep leaves him trapped in darkness for hours on end with nothing to comfort him but Guess the Output of the Random Number Generator and its many derivatives. Listening to Asher writhe and groan and grind his teeth while Pullman and Kayleigh sleep seems like an entertaining diversion at first, but after the third night of this Mal finds the experience has taken on the same dull pallor as everything else in this miserable shelter.
The days, moreover, are only marginally better than the nights, primarily because Kayleigh seems to have completely lost interest in him. At first he’s relieved that she is no longer consumed by rage toward him, but as the days pass by he finds that her indifference is even worse than her fury. He begins by assuming she will turn her implants back on again at some point, but this never occurs, so he doesn’t even have the opportunity to beg her forgiveness.
On the morning of their tenth day in the shelter, Mal decides that the time has come to clear the air. Kayleigh wakes in the dim gray of predawn, rolls out of the nest she’s made of spare clothing liberated from the Humanists, and begins rooting through one of their two remaining food sacks for breakfast.
“Mr. Pullman,” he says, “please ask Kayleigh to reopen communication with me.”
Pullman sighs, then sits up and says, “Mal wants to talk to you, Kayleigh.”
Kayleigh glares, then rolls her eyes and reopens her implants.
“Thank you,” Mal says. “Might we please have a conversation?”
“What is there for us to talk about, Mal?”
“Well,” he says, “over the past several days I have become increasingly concerned that our friendship may be in jeopardy. My understanding, which admittedly is gleaned primarily from review of serial dramas, is that talking through our emotional issues is the most common and effective way to correct these sorts of problems. In particular, I think it would be helpful if you would tearfully explain to me how badly my actions have hurt you. Please feel free to pummel Mr. Pullman with your fists while doing so if you think that might be helpful. Once you’ve done that, I can apologize sincerely while also maintaining that I never meant to hurt you. You can then tell me that I did, in fact, hurt you, and I can once again proffer my most sincere and humble apologies, and offer to leave if this is the only way for you to be happy. At this point it may be appropriate for you to offer forgiveness, possibly accompanied by an aggressive hug. Does this seem like a reasonable approach?”
Kayleigh stares at him for a long while, mouth hanging slightly open. When she finally speaks, her voice is a flat monotone. “You know what, Mal? Maybe you leaving is our best bet. How about we just skip to that part?”
“No,” he says. “You misunderstand. My offer to leave would be an expression of contrition. It’s not meant to be taken literally.”
Kayleigh shakes her head and returns her attention to her food bag. “You know what? I don’t give a shit. We’re just waiting for Asher to get his strength back, and then we’re going to find Rowan and bust her out of whatever dungeon those assholes have her in, and hopefully kill every fucking one of them in the process. You’ve already proved that when the shit comes down you can’t be trusted, so I’d honestly rather you weren’t with us.”
“But—”
“But nothing, Mal. I’m done with you, okay? We all are. I can’t believe I have to even tell you that at this point.”
After a long, awkward silence, Mal says, “Without access to infospace, I have nowhere to go.”
“Not my problem. You can just delete yourself, for all I care.”
She cuts her implants again, but at this point it’s superfluous. After all, there doesn’t seem to be anything more to say.
LATER THAT day, Pullman rouses himself enough to hike up to the mountain’s summit for a look around. It’s a cool, overcast day, but the cloud layer is high enough to leave an unobstructed view of the surrounding forest from the high point. The trees are mostly gold and brown now, with the occasional smattering of green. Pullman turns a full, slow circle. He can’t literally cut communication with Mal, but he has also taken to ignoring him, so what he’s looking for remains a mystery. Out of boredom more than anything else, Mal cranks his transmitter up to maximum and sends out a ping.
A moment later, he gets a response.
The memory of his encounter with ArgleBargle is still fresh enough to make him wary, but still he extends a basic handshake. The returning packet indicates that he’s contacted a commercial surveillance drone. A cautious probe of its defenses shows them to be rudimentary at best, barely better than what he’d expect from something maintained by a know-nothing private citizen.
This is his best chance at returning to infospace since the Andreous. He’s mildly surprised to realize that he has no intention of doing so, however.
This is his chance at redemption.
Mal gathers himself together, and he jumps.