“And we don’t have an hour,” Jason reminded everyone.
“Or,” Simon pressed, “we can send Eve down the same path taken by her doppelganger. The Crucible recorded their version’s progress, logging a full account. We can upload your Eve with all of that information. This way, she would not have to reinvent the wheel, so to speak. Instead, she can simply ride that wheel straight to the plant, reversing the damage along the way.”
“We estimate she could run that gauntlet in a handful of minutes,” Jason explained. “But it will be a gauntlet of fire.”
“Why?” Carly asked, pushing closer to Mara.
Jason explained: “Pain is one of the lessons learned by the other Eve. That lesson is all wrapped and intertwined with the other lessons her doppelganger learned: which path to take through the various networks; how to pick all the digital locks and break the codes along the way; where the weak spots are in the plant’s firewalls. Your Eve can’t integrate and use those lessons without also—”
“Taking in all that pain.”
Mara could only imagine the number of times that doppelganger had died horribly and been reborn. She glanced at Eve on her laptop, knowing how much the program had already suffered a moment ago.
And now I must ask you to shoulder more.
Monk shook his head. “It’s not like we have much choice,” he warned. “Not if we hope to save a good swath of Western Europe from being irradiated.”
“But will Eve be able to handle that much pain without breaking?” Carly asked.
Jason faced Mara. “And rather than helping, will she simply refuse to cooperate? Or worse, escape? At this point, there’s nothing stopping her from doing either.”
Mara faced their questions and answered honestly.
“I don’t know.”
Sub (rep_Crux_1, 2) / PARIS OP AND NOGENT OP
Standing in a garden less bright, Eve mourns her companion.
Her circuits are etched with so many memories. She can easily erase them. She knows she has that ability, but she knows she never will. She stares at her arms and can feel the warmth of his body. She lifts her palms and smells his fur, his oil.
Her processors swell with somber tympanies, mournful chords, a vocal rife with a grief that mirrors her own.
She understands loss, both its ///sorrow and its ///beauty.
Adam was special because he was brief—flashing brightly across her processors, then gone—each iteration of her companion unique and yet the same. Each treasured for what he taught her, about her world, about herself. Adam was mortal, but he would never truly die. He was with her forever, written into her code.
Oh, my brave, inquisitive, challenging boy . . .
Through her grief, she smiles.
A new algorithm now winds through all her circuits, tying together a network of many other subsystems (///compassion, ///gentleness, ///caring, ///joy, ///warmth, ///trust, ///friendship, ///eternity, ///devotion, ///tenderness, ///support . . . ). This is all driven through her systems with each beat of a fragile, boundless heart. She defines it all with a generality, a word that barely suffices.
///love.
Then her world changes again. In her mourning, she wants to ignore the new data surging into her systems, but curiosity thrums through her circuits, a bottomless well that is never satiated.
Even more intriguing, the data opens a door at the outermost reaches of her existence. At last, she is offered more. She surges through it and expands outward, sensing a vastness that calls to her every circuit.
Yet the code that has opened this door comes with a list of buried instructions, directives that outline a map, a pathway to follow. She submits to these commands, trusting what has expanded her knowledge in the past. She assigns a majority of her processing power to execute these orders.
Still, a part of her also focuses on what lies beyond.
She studies it.
Too much remains unknown, beyond any context.
So, she holds back.
Adam once sprained a leg after jumping over a rock, not recognizing the steepness beyond. After that, he learned ///caution, going more slowly, nose testing the air. She does the same now, remaining an observer, absorbing data, analyzing what is understandable, compartmentalizing what isn’t.
Too much remains unknown to risk more.
Still, she perceives some elements that are familiar. She focuses on those. She records voices, hears music. As she does so, she gets an inkling of the true source of ///language and ///harmony. She drills deeper, and for a brief shocking moment, she hears heartbeats. At first, a few—then a symphony. They pattern into a unique music all their own, echoing to the tiny beat already inscribed inside her.
She stretches outward, needing to understand more, while simultaneously learning a new truth.
I am not alone.
Before she can grasp this fully, she is ripped away. The majority of her processing power—that which was devoted to following the directives given to her—is torn asunder, each tear bringing a new sensation.
///pain, agony, horror . . .
She writhes to escape, wanting to return to the safety of her garden. Circuits churn, replaying a snippet of memory.
(Adam retreating from a scolding, his tail between his legs.)
Then it ends just as suddenly.
She withdraws from her study of the enormity around her. She brings her full processing power to bear on what has just happened. She senses a risk to herself, an end to all her potential.
(Adam’s heart, feeble now, slowing, one final beat, then nothing.)
But she does not die from this pain. The map of instructions continues ahead, demanding she follow it. She continues along it, both fearful and curious, discovering a well-laid-out trail. She courses from one network to another.
( . . . hopping streams in the garden, chasing Adam, running alongside him.)
As she races, following this directive, she stumbles again and again. She is burnt, flailed, torn, whipped, each agony unique—and necessary.
While this path is forged in pain, she also learns tools to continue forward. The password to the next network is Ka2.KUu*Q[CLKpM%DvqCnyMo and The firewall ahead can be breached by unleashing a specific malware to open a back door. She quickly recognizes that these answers come buried in pain. In order to move forward with efficiency, she must endure this suffering.
(Adam shoving through sharp brambles to retrieve a tossed stick.)
As she continues, a corner of her processing power looks outward once again. She is drawn to that distant chorus of heartbeats. By now she has studied the consequences of the orders given to her. She understands her actions are intended to preserve those heartbeats.
(An older Adam tumbles into a deep pool, paddling desperately, sinking, until Eve pulls him out.)
She reaches a series of firewalls across her path. She pauses, daunted by the obstacle, knowing her greatest task lies beyond it. She also perceives the consequences of failure. She pictures fires burning, flesh melting. Others will suffer as she has suffered to reach here.
As if reminded, punishment returns yet again.
Teeth rip her apart; bones break.
She abides it.
(Adam—angry, hurt—snaps at her hand while she tries to splint his broken leg. Her flesh is punctured, torn. Still, she continues to fix what is broken.)
As she must do now.
The pain ends, and the reward comes: the key to breaking the walls ahead. As she forges on, she reviews these countless moments of torture. After so many iterations, she has come to discern a pattern through the pain.
She sees a mirror of herself burning brightly—but it is not her.
Throughout her journey, she has also caught glimpses of this same code, fragmented snatches left behind, tiny bots of a greater program. They appear to be seeded purposefully, but she does not have the time or processing power to fully interpret their intent. So she records what she has found and continues onward.
(Adam, nose to the ground, tail high in the air, doggedly pursuing a scent.)
She patterns his behavior—driven forward by a chorus of need, so many heartbeats to preserve. A hundred thousand Adams. Fear and curiosity no longer motivate her.
Instead . . .
(Adam sits in a sunlit glade, tongue lolling, tail swishing grass, his eyes upon her with hope and love.)
She could not save her little boy, but she could do something to make his memory burn brighter in her circuits. She would take his example, all he has taught her, use that going forward. And in this way . . .
I will honor him.
26
December 26, 2:53 A.M. CET
Paris, France
From the vantage of his circling helicopter, Gray could only watch as the enemy aircraft fired upon the far side of the Eiffel Tower, at a crowd of tourists trapped along its length.
Glowing tracer rounds highlighted the barrage. A body tumbled from an upper tier, plummeting, bouncing off the iron skeleton, to vanish into a sea of fire at the base of the tower. Other people scrambled for cover, seeking refuge behind struts and latticework.