Chapter 17
I’ve died before.
I know what it feels like to see your death coming. There’s a sickening twist in the stomach, the slow inevitability, the realization that nothing, nothing you do will matter. You can’t escape it; you can’t outrun it.
This time, I don’t greet it with my eyes open.
Instead, I squeeze them shut and think of my family.
I think of Nonna, four stories up. I think of my sisters and parents, thousands of miles away.
And—all right, call me a little sentimental, I think of Prefect, who is probably outside in the courtyard surrounded by SWAT and grumbling into a cup of instant coffee.
I think of them all.
It’s not so bad, as long as I’m thinking about my family.
I wait for it—the bark of the gun.
But instead, a cheerful voice booms through the room’s speakers.
“Hello, hello, hello!” says the voice. It is a male voice that sounds like it belongs on a 1940s film reel. “Good afternoon, terrorists!” The voice pauses. “This is interesting. I’ve never been hooked into such a large speaker system before.”
I crack one eye open.
Hannah Vale is frozen with her finger on the trigger. Her face is a picture of utter confusion. She glances around the room, as though trying to find an invisible man. But the room remains the same as ever. “What the,” she mutters.
“Oh, this is a bit disconcerting, actually,” says the voice. “I can see everything. Hello, child in 507. I can see you picking your nose and wiping it on your couch. Also I would request that the man in 213 please stop crying so loudly.”
I can’t believe it.
Edgar.
That is Edgar’s voice roaring from every speaker in the building.
I exhale a noise that is half laugh and half horror. My sociopathic little spybot has taken control of an entire building’s communications.
“One small step for man,” I say, “one giant leap for the robot uprising.”
“What now,” snarls Vale. She seizes the radio at her hip and brings it to her mouth. “Carla? What the hell happened to the jammers? Who hacked the building’s comm?”
There is a crackle, a moment of static, and then Carla’s voice comes through the radio. “Jammers are still up and running,” she says, anxiety bleeding through her words. “There’s no communication from the outside. It’s—it’s got to be coming from in the building.”
“That’s impossible,” says Vale. “The only way to hack the building is through the mainframe—you restricted its access to this room. And we’re the only ones in here.”
She’s wrong, of course. But I can’t blame her for not seeing the bumblebee clinging to one of the computers. Edgar must have flown through the vents when no one was looking. One of his tiny feet is hooked into a port.
“Aren’t you adorable with your guns,” says Edgar cheerily. I can only imagine what every occupant in this building is thinking. Probably that this is the weirdest hostage situation they’ve ever been part of. “Now, put yours down, Ms. Vale.”
“Who are you?” says Vale. She seems to have control of herself again; her face has smoothed out and her voice is icy. She goes to the computer monitor, holding her gun in one hand while she begins typing commands with the other. Probably attempting to retake control of the communications.
“Like I said,” replies Edgar, “I’m taking control of this building now, and there’s little you can do to stop me.”
I fight back a grin. Under normal circumstances, Edgar invading a smart apartment building would be the stuff of horror films. But he is the devil I know, and I love him for it.
And if he has control of the building, Vale loses every one of her hostages.
The feds could break inside without fear of innocents being killed.
The computers all around us are whirring, processors flaring to life as Edgar seizes control.
Vale’s fingers are a blur against the keyboard. She types faster with one hand than I could with two. Her shoulders tighten, and I see the muscles of her forearm clench as her fingers tighten around the gun. She may be an expert hacker, but Edgar is inhumanly fast.
“Rook takes queen,” I say, a little giddy with relief. “Check.”
Vale lets out a quiet sound of frustration.
“The problem with kids,” says Vale, “is that you think everything is a game.”
And then she picks up her gun again, aims it at me, and fires.
Pain flares hot in my leg and I let out a startled gasp. Dust rises all around me and for a moment, I can’t see or think. The throbbing beats in time with my pulse and wetness slides down my calf.
When the dust clears, I see the divot in the floor. Vale didn’t shoot me—she shot about three inches from my right foot. A ricochet of concrete must have nicked my leg.
“Whoever you are,” says Vale, and her voice is clear and calm as a wintery night. “The next time I aim for her head. Do you understand?”
The computer fans flare in something akin to a hiss.
I swallow. And I resolutely do not look at the bumblebee.
That threat might prove meaningless to Edgar.
He isn’t programmed for love or sentimentality, if such things can be programmed.
We’ve been together for years and he’s the closest thing I have to a friend, but I suspect that for him, I’m a convenience.
I keep him from being destroyed, provide him with enrichment, and ensure his batteries remain charged.
“Hmm,” says Edgar. “How about this—you release her. Right now, if you please.”
“And why would I do that?” asks Vale.
“Because if you do not,” says Edgar brightly, “I will purge every apartment in this building of its air right now. Then you will have no hostages. Whoosh, farewell leverage.”
I freeze.
Well, shit.
That’s the kind of cold calculus only an AI could dream up. I open my mouth to shout at Edgar to stop, but then I catch sight of Vale’s expression.
All the color drains from Vale’s face. Her lips are slightly parted, pupils drawn to pinpricks.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her falter.
She has been in control since she walked into the lobby. This has been her game, her board, her pieces all laid out. I was a complication, but I’m just one person. Even with Eames helping me, I couldn’t take out Carla.
But right now, Vale has lost control. Fear draws a sharp line between her brows.
“You wouldn’t do that,” she says.
“Oh yes, he would,” I say, in the same moment Edgar says, “Oh yes, I would.”
Vale’s gaze flicks to me. “You’d kill hundreds of people to ensure she lives?”
“Yes,” says Edgar. “I find her presence more useful than not. And she isn’t terrible, for a human.”
Comprehension dawns in Vale’s eyes. “You’re—you’re not human.”
“Goodness, no,” says Edgar. “Why would I ever want to be human?”
Vale’s jaw clenches. “Some kind of virtual assistant off its leash?”
Normally, I wouldn’t tell her. Edgar is a secret that could get me in prison and him melted into slag. But I need Vale to understand the threat she faces.
“Oh, far worse than that,” I say. “True AI. Sentient and everything. Built without any kind of empathy or morality constraints.” I bare my teeth at her. “But he does like old movies.”
Most humans would hesitate before purging hundreds of lives. But an AI has no such compunctions.
For a few moments, Vale remains still.
“All right,” she says quietly. “All right.” She holds up her free hand.
“No one does anything stupid.” She looks down at the computer.
It’s flicking through screen after screen as Edgar seizes control.
I see her lips move silently, her eyes narrowing.
Her fingers skim across the keyboard, over a USB port.
The bottom of my stomach drops out. I realized my mistake too late—before, she thought the room was empty of people. After all, there were only two humans. Now, she knows that this new threat could be anything from a USB flash drive to my visor.
“Edgar,” I say, suddenly frantic. “Cut off her access to the mainframe now.”
“Working on it, thank you,” says Edgar, sounding a little peeved. “This isn’t as easy as it looks.”
Vale drops to the floor, rummaging through the thin jacket she took from me. She comes up with the radio, the pepper spray, the visor, and my ringware. She looks up, scanning the room like a spotlight.
Her gaze snags on the bumblebee. I see the moment she understands—the parting of her lips, the fierce tilt of her jaw, the frozen beauty of her eyes.
And she raises her gun.
Fear courses through me.
“EDGAR!” I scream his name even as Vale’s finger tightens on the trigger.
I throw myself at her. It isn’t easy, not tied to a chair. I lurch and fall to one side. The clatter draws her attention, which was my intention.
The gun goes off, bullet slamming into one of the computers.
The suppressed pistol doesn’t blow out my eardrums, but it’s still loud.
I’m flooded by the scent of burning plastic and metal, of smokeless powder and damp concrete.
The zip tie bites into my skin, but adrenaline overtakes the pain.
My stolen things are only a few feet away.
Using all the strength in my legs, I manage to awkwardly scoot myself closer.
My bump key glitters on the concrete. The metal chair screeches against the concrete, nearly drowning out the sound of Hannah Vale’s shouts. Just a little closer—a little more.
There. My fingers scrabble for the bump key. I bring its edge to the zip tie and saw back and forth. It’s awkward—I have almost no room to move. Just an inch, back and forth, back and forth.
A bumblebee whizzes through the air.
Vale fires a second time.
It’s stupid—she’d do better to find one of those badminton insect zappers. But her fury has gotten the better of her.
I dig the key in harder, ignoring the stinging pain in my wrists. I have to get free. I have to—
The plastic gives way. I scramble to my feet. Vale is typing rapidly into the computer, the screen flickering ominously. But even so, there is a clear command.
ACTIVATE MAINFRAME REMOTE ACCESS, it says. YES/NO
Vale presses her heavy ringware to the screen and hits, YES.
Edgar dive-bombs her.