“You’re not like me and Abel,” says Simon. “You’re just a person. I don’t understand what makes people go.”
“I bet you have that information in your databanks,” she answers, keeping her tone even. “I bet Abel would be willing to help you figure out how to access it. In fact, I know he would.”
Abel’s fear for her is mingled with fierce pride.
“Let’s go see him together,” she continues. “He wants to make things better for you, I promise.”
Noemi doesn’t trust Simon. She fears him. But for Abel’s sake, she treats him with kindness and tries to give him hope. He doesn’t have to defend Simon from her any longer… which is why he can see Simon more clearly than before: The awkward way he shuffles forward, though at this point Simon’s mind should’ve adapted to the basic parameters of his new body. The slope of his shoulders, the angle of which has adjusted remarkably wider since Abel first glimpsed him—as though his inner structure hasn’t firmed enough to hold. The rawness of Simon’s skin, which had to have been even softer than a newborn’s when he emerged from his tank, and is now severely abraded with no sign of healing.
“The voices inside say so many things.” Simon’s own voice breaks up, dropping various frequencies as he speaks. “One of them says that the way you breathe and that sound I can hear in your tummy means you’re tired and hungry. That one wants me to get you to a sick bay. I don’t know what a sick bay is, but I’m supposed to take you to it.”
Tare programming, Abel realizes. Gillian didn’t just try to bring back her son; she tried to equip him with Abel’s full array of knowledge and skills. She failed. It was too much for one small child mech.
Simon continues, “This other voice says that you’re an enemy, and weakness gives me a chance to kill an enemy. I wait for you to get distracted, and then I rip your throat out.”
Probably that comes from a Charlie.
“I’d rather we went to the sick bay,” Noemi says, straight-faced. “Let’s listen to that voice.”
“No. You are an enemy, aren’t you? You told Abel not to help me.”
“I was scared. I didn’t understand. That’s when we make mistakes. Don’t make a mistake now, Simon.” She shifts her weight from foot to foot, and Abel realizes she’s trying to determine a way out. There isn’t a ready one.
The mine stretches overhead, trip wires splayed at roughly thirty-degree angles across the entire floor. In Abel’s infrared vision, the small explosive at its center glows like a red jewel. He estimates its explosive strength based on size and the materials likely to have been available to Remedy members on short notice. Then he looks at Simon again.
I’m sorry, he thinks. You might’ve been my brother. But they pushed too hard with you. They were impatient. You deserved better.
He puts his hand on the holt of his blaster.
Abel means to call a warning to Simon, to give him a chance to run. It might be best, in the end, for Gillian to make the ultimate decision about termination. But as he opens his mouth, Simon takes a staggering step closer to Noemi and says, “I know. I’ll kill you and then I’ll take you to the sick bay.”
With that, Simon holds out his own blaster. He must’ve grabbed one from a fallen Charlie or Queen, like any little boy who doesn’t yet understand the difference between a weapon and a toy. It’s too big for his tiny hand, but he knows how to fire it. Charlie programming again.
Rushing forward, Abel knocks Simon down but doesn’t pause. He grabs Noemi by the waist as he runs; she exhales sharply from the blow but hangs on to him as he runs at top speed through the service tube.
She gasps, still struggling for breath, “He’s up—he’s aiming—”
“Fire at the mine on my mark.” Abel stops short, dropping Noemi. She reacts as fast as any mech could, landing in firing position, blaster leveling. “Now!”
She fires. Point zero one three seconds later, Abel grabs the seam of the metal panel beneath them and rolls over Noemi, pulling the flooring over and around them, wrapping them both under the makeshift shield.
Light brighter than Earth’s sun flashes, forcing him to momentarily cut all visual input; compressed heated air hits their metal shield hard enough to dent it and to sear his breath. Noemi hisses in pain, but remains still for another 1.9 seconds, which is when they both smell the fire.
“Go,” she says, pushing Abel out. He glimpses the burn mark on the back of her hand, but there’s no time to do anything but run away from the burning blast area—away from what little remains of Simon Shearer.
Neither of them can run at top speed, even with wiring and walls catching flame all around them. The blaze isn’t far behind, spreading through the entire service tube at a speed even greater than he’d estimated. In front of them is only darkness; behind them is flickering firelight.
“Service hatch?” she gasps.
Abel doesn’t respond with words, instead shoving her to the side. She collides with the ladder and leaps up. He’s just behind her, pushing her although she’s going fast—he feels the air heating around his feet, heating all around them—
Noemi pushes herself through and collapses into an ashy, crooked corridor. Here, too, they can see the flame, but this must be one of the few areas of the Osiris where the anti-fire protections are intact. The sprinkler system squirts up from the floor, not down from the ceiling, but it’s enough to keep the blaze contained. Soon it will sputter out.
Simon Shearer has died a second time. Abel wonders how many times the child will be resurrected, and how many of those resurrections will fail.
The only greater punishment than death is to be asked to die over and over again.
Abel’s meditations on Simon’s fate absorb him so deeply that Noemi
