She shook her head. “No, not even then, I don't think. I believe that rather than frequently asserting direct control, in most cases the brainwashing indirectly manipulated her with strong impulses and urges, ones she might not've agreed with or understood the source of.
“It would explain her insistence on visiting Midpoint Station without accompaniment, even though that was a very foolish decision . . . she was probably being urged to put herself in a position where she could report in. If that's the case, then when the brainwashing urged her to do something she already wanted to do, such as spend time with you flying, she would've gone along with it even more easily.”
Another uncomfortable thought occurred to Aiden. “We've been pretty much cut off from the allnet and other forms of communication ever since Brastos 4, when I assume it was her who sent that transmission to the Deeks. If we hadn't been, she probably would've done something to screw us over sooner, wouldn't she?”
“Likely. The task force hunting us managed to predict our movements with surprising accuracy based on whatever information she gave in that first report on Midpoint. With further updates it's almost certain they would've found us sooner, and with more than just the Vindicator. Which, if Elyssa is to be trusted, was in this galaxy for an entirely different reason.”
“Defeating that cruiser while Lana was wreaking havoc in my ship was a miracle on its own,” Aiden said heavily. “If this task force has more surprises to throw at us, we're in trouble.”
He could almost see the AI straining with the desire to mention joining HAE and the Caretakers again. Thankfully, she didn't, simply rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We've pulled through every challenge we've encountered yet,” she said.
“The last one has a way of getting you,” he shot back, trying for wry but coming closer to bitter. He looked through the window again, blinking as his eyes blurred. Sweat, probably, or bleariness from being up so long. Had to be.
Void, he wasn't sure when he'd ever been this tired. Not just of body and mind, but of soul. Maybe when he got the news that the Preservationists had surrendered, and were calling for all their troops to throw down their weapons and turn themselves in.
That had been a dark day. And yet somehow, it didn't cut as personally as today. “How did they win?” he whispered, staring at Lana's heavily shackled, unconscious form.
“The war?” Ali asked gently.
He nodded, bitterness churning in him. “I've met enough Deeks to know their strength of character. Or lack of it. Most of them are petty, selfish, treacherous, with no loyalty even to others within their Movement. Many have no loyalty to the Movement itself, simply use it for personal gain.”
Gesturing angrily at the young woman in front of them, he raised his voice. “Not only that, but everyone knows they're the sort of monsters who do things like this to innocent people. Who twist human compassion and mercy and friendship and love into weapons to use against their enemies. And yet even so, they get to win. The roll forward unopposed. Why? Is their ideology that strong?”
The Caretaker shook her head sadly. “It's the exact opposite, my love. It tells people what some part of them desperately wants to hear. That the responsibility isn't theirs. That they don't have to work hard, don't have to strive with every ounce of strength to excel and grow. That their basest, most selfish desires are not only not shameful, but admirable and something to strive towards. That being helpless and blaming others for their failures makes them heroes to be sympathized with and celebrated.”
She looked at Lana as well, and her ravaged features hardened into an ugly mask of disgust. “Deconstructionism is the worship of weakness. It caters to the failures, the lazy, the corrupt, tells them that they're already as good as they need to be, that they ever could be. That humanity has already progressed to its apex, and they don't need to strive for any more.
“It fills its ranks with everyone who's ever tried and failed, every person who's ever looked at the unforgiving place the universe can be and despaired at ever succeeding through their own merit. Everyone who would rather take the easiest course, enjoy the bare minimum given to them by the fruits of other people's labor. It will fail, like such belief systems always do. But not until it's dragged the rest of society down with it. Like its predecessors have countless times in the past.”
“This time into humanity's extinction, the way things are going.” Aiden snorted, clenching his fists in helpless rage. “And yet we never seem to learn.”
“One of the Movement's first acts was destroying historical records of “inferior” belief systems,” Ali pointed out grimly. “But I could point out that the Caretakers would never forget, or let ourselves repeat the same mistakes.”
“You could,” he muttered. “But don't. Not right now.”
“I know, my love, I'm sorry,” she whispered. Then she pressed against him from behind. Aiden flinched as if burned by that comforting contact, but in spite of his reaction she still wrapped her arms around him and rested his head against his shoulder.
He had to push her arms aside and step away, unable to look at her and his eyes skittering away from Lana's bound and comatose form on the medical cot. It was too much. Just, just too much. “No, Ali.”
The once-beautiful woman hovered at arm's length as if she wanted to approach again, voice measured. “Is it because of the damage I've suffered marring my appearance?”
That certainly didn't help. But even if she'd still looked like the old Ali, before she synced, before she betrayed him, before she became someone completely different that he couldn't bring himself to trust, he wouldn't have cared. “What do you think?” he snapped.
The Caretaker misunderstood him. “I can do more to repair myself. Enough that you don't recoil
