Hollowgirl (3 page)

Q LAID IT
out in a way that probably seemed matter-of-fact to her.

“The Improvement meme was designed by Ant Wallace to select candidates from the broader population, specifically young adults between fifteen and twenty years of age . . .”

Clair thought of it as a net designed to catch a particular sort of person, one willing to try an impossible meme to illegally make themselves
better
. Using his powers as head of VIA, the regulatory body in charge of keeping d-mat safe, Wallace created Improvement in order to find new bodies for geniuses considered too valuable to die. It was later misused by lawmakers who wanted to create a secret army of illegal dupes to take over the world.

“Once Improvement found a suitable candidate,” Q said, “their pattern was modified before being put back into the world, containing a different mind. Sometimes
people who hadn't used Improvement were copied. Those secondary patterns were stored in the Yard for future retrieval, to be used as blackmail. Those secondary patterns are you.”

Clair had personally seen Zep and Jesse's father used this way, in Ant Wallace's space station. She had never thought to consider when, exactly, those patterns had been taken. The answer wasn't hard to work out now. Libby knew about Improvement but Clair 1.0 didn't. That put them in a narrow window of time just before the crashlander ball.

If Clair had any doubts about the timing of the copies, all she had to do was look at the way Clair 1.0 and Zep kept shooting glances at each other. They never stood too close but they never strayed too far away, either.

That feeling . . . of being entranced and entrapped at the same time . . . Clair 6.0 remembered it well.

Now, though, it came with a yawning sensation deep in her gut. She couldn't go looking for Jesse right now, she told herself. She had to do this first.

Clair fabbed a parka while Q brought the others up to speed, encouraging her occasionally to skip parts of the story in order to keep it simple. If her friends knew the world was a wasteland of ash, they might just give up hope on the spot.

“So Ant Wallace, the man in charge of keeping d-mat safe for everyone, tried to take over the world,” said
Ronnie. She, too, had fabbed a parka and was holding it closed around her throat with one long-fingered hand.
Real.

“That wasn't entirely Wallace,” said Kari. “He was working for the lawmakers.
Ex-
lawmakers, I should say. LM Kingdon was arrested right before the end, when her conspiracy was exposed. She'll be in here too, I expect. She'll still be trying to take over, and Wallace will still be helping her. Clair and I are committed to keeping the peace by stopping them as soon as we can.”

“Who says you're actually a peacekeeper?” asked Tash. “You don't look like one.”

Kari glanced down at her filthy armor. “Extenuating circumstances.”

“You could just be saying that,” said Clair 1.0, with a suspicious look at Clair 6.0. “You could both be dupes.”

“I'm not a dupe,” Clair snapped, irritated by the accusation.

“Just saying it doesn't help.”

“If I were a dupe there would be someone else inside me. Someone who isn't
you
.”

“Are you me, though? You don't even look like me. You look . . .”

“Older,” said Tash.

“Harder,” said Ronnie.

“Angrier,” said Zep.

“Damaged,” said Libby.

“Exactly.” Clair 1.0 came right up to Clair 6.0 and folded her arms. “So prove it. Prove you're me.”

Clair fought the urge to curl into a ball again. She knew she had changed. Like Kari, she was dirty, tired, and desperate, wearing clothes that didn't belong to her. She was covered in the ashes of friends this other version of her had never met. But could she really have changed so much?

She knew she hadn't.

Clair leaned in close and whispered into Clair 1.0's ear so no one else would hear.

“I know how you feel about Zep,” she said, grabbing at Clair 1.0's arm when she tried to pull away. “I kissed him. That was my first mistake.”

Clair 1.0 wrenched out of her grip, glancing at Libby and then back at her. There was guilt in her eyes as well as acceptance, alarm, and something that might have been jealousy.

“Do you believe me now?”

“I can't believe that there are two of you,” said Tash. She had a lock of bright blue hair wrapped around one finger and was pulling it tight, like she did when she was worried. “Isn't that supposed to be impossible?”

“You make copies of things in a fabber,” said Ronnie. “Why not people in a booth?”

“But people aren't just the stuff they're made of.”

“Who says?” said Zep. “Otherwise d-mat wouldn't work,
and the Stainers would be right.”

He mimed a zombie attack that Tash batted away.

“If I
were
a dupe,” Clair declared, “there's no way I'd just appear to you like this. I'd try to replace my other me, not argue with her in front of you.”

Libby was watching both Clairs closely, as though trying to figure out what had passed between them a moment ago.

“How do you know
I'm
not a dupe?” she asked.

Because you're not a psychotic bitch with a death wish named Mallory,
she almost said.

“Your birthmark,” Clair said. “It's still there.”

Libby's hand came up to touch her cheek, where the purplish blotch was faintly visible under her foundation.

“Right,” she said with a decisive nod. “That's what I asked Improvement to change. Did it work?”

“Yes. It disappeared.”

“But there's no such thing as a free lunch,” said Ronnie. “We're getting that.”

“And now none of us is really real, apparently,” said Zep. “How does
that
work?”

“This simulation we occupy is accurate to the highest degree,” said Q. “If you had the right instruments, you could see the faintest stars or the tiniest particles known to humanity. The Yard's reality is not built on matter—it is built on information—but the way it is
perceived
remains the same. There's a word for this: ‘qualia.' That's
a name as well, interestingly. . . .”

“I'm getting a headache,” said Tash.”

“Q does that to you sometimes,” said Kari.

“The Yard has been active ever since Ant Wallace's unstable-matter bomb went off,” Q went on, ignoring them. “When that trap was triggered—”

By Jesse,
Clair thought with a snap in her heart so painful she was amazed the others didn't hear it.

“—the Yard . . . woke. Before, it was inert. There was no anything. Then an emergency protocol resurrected the backup of Ant Wallace, and of course Wallace needed an environment in which to exist. I am still analyzing the way the Yard did that—what makes it work, and possibly
who
—and I believe that I am close to an answer. . . .”

She wandered off into silence again, the third time Clair had noticed Q's attention drift. Clair hoped it wasn't something they should be worried about.

“Sounds like the entire world needs rescuing, inside and outside the Yard,” said Ronnie.

“We are the rescue party,” said Clair, wishing it weren't true. “What you see is what you get.”

“WELL, THE FIRST
thing we have to do,” said Libby, pushing forward, “is to decide what to call you two. Clair One and
Clair Two? Clair A and Clair B?”

“One and Two,” said Ronnie.

“All right, but who's One?”

“You can be,” Clair told the other version of herself. She was already thinking of her as Clair 1.0 anyway. “It doesn't matter to me.”

“How can it not matter to you?” Clair One asked. “This is all so wrong.”

Once it would have bothered Clair to be one of two. But, unexpectedly, talking to Clair One didn't make her feel uncomfortable. It wasn't a fundamental attack on
her
. It was just confusing, and there were more important things to worry about.

“The first thing I want to do,” she said, “is get out of the Yard before someone finds us.”

“Can't we just use d-mat, like the way you came in?” Zep asked Clair.

“What do you say, Q?” Clair asked, remembering the experiment she had thought of trying earlier. “Can we do that?”

“Impossible,” said Q. “The network is completely degraded now. The data would vanish if I tried to send you to a booth outside—if there is one.”

So much for that,
Clair thought.

“You should also know,” Q said, “that just being here, Clair, you and I are causing . . . disturbances . . . you because of the break in parity, me because I'm me.”

“What kind of disturbances?”

“Causality errors, topological defects, continuity strains . . . It's hard to explain. But it is likely our presence has been noted.”

That was an ominous thought. Wallace would do everything in his power to hunt her down if he knew she was there. She had already killed him once.

“We need to get somewhere else,” Clair said, “somewhere safe, inside the Yard. Somewhere we can think about how to escape.”

“We could go back to my place,” said Ronnie. “My olds have guns.”

“Too dangerous,” said Kari. “It's the obvious thing to do, too easy to anticipate.”

“I agree,” said Clair One. “But there's no point rushing off anywhere until we know where Wallace is. I mean, he could have a hideout anywhere.”

“Q can help—”

“Q's not all-powerful, or you wouldn't be in here with us,” said Clair One.

“So how do we do this?” asked Tash. “Where do we even start?”

“One step at a time,” said Ronnie.

Clair was grateful for Ronnie's calming, levelheaded approach. She had always been the practical, science-y one among her friends.

“You're good at this,”
whispered Jesse's voice in her ear.
“You've missed your true calling.”

Clair startled out of her thoughts, her heart leaping with the hope that he had found them.

She looked behind her, but there was no one there.

“What is it?” asked Kari, noticing again.

Clair shook her head. She was certain she hadn't imagined it. But what could she say? If she tried to tell anyone that she was hearing voices, they would laugh at her for glitching. But if she didn't . . . What if this was like Devin and Trevin's whispering to each other, or if it had something to do with the disturbances to the Yard Q had mentioned?

“It's not safe here,” she said. “Let's go.”

“Why go anywhere until we know what we're doing?” asked Clair One.

“You have no idea what we're dealing with.”

“What do any of us know? Running might take us right to them.”

“She has a point, Two,” said Zep.

Of course you'd agree with her,
Clair wanted to say. But she was too worried to patiently explain it to them. Her mind was full of horrible images: dupes coming at her without care for their own disposable lives; Nobody—the worst of them—identical in appearance to Jesse's father. How could she convince someone who had never seen dupes in action that they should run while they had the chance?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a booth activating. Clair left the others to see what was going on. The door she had emerged from was shut. The other doors were shutting too.

“Shit,” she said. “Q, are you there? Can you tell who that is?”

Q's reply came immediately. “Four people, their names protected by peacekeeper protocols. I can't tell you who they are without drawing attention to myself.”

Lawmakers and peacekeepers had worked with Wallace in the real world. Anyone could be traveling under those protocols.

“I told you. We have to get out of here,” she said, turning back to the others.
“Now.”

“Whoa,” said Zep, raising his hands. “Is that necessary?”

Clair looked down and discovered that her pistol was in her hand. She didn't remember drawing it. Covering her surprise with a brusque nod, she said, “It might well be. Ronnie, check the floor plans of this place. I remember reading about an elevator somewhere, the last time I was here. If it's working, we can take it to the bottom of the mountain. There might be other booths there. Q, is there anything you can do to delay their arrival?”

“Nothing that won't alert them to my presence.”

“Don't do that. You're our only advantage.” Clair worried at her brow with her free hand, jiggling her right heel
on the spot, wanting to run but not knowing how to.

“Ronnie, how are you coming along with those floor plans?” asked Kari.

“Got them. The elevator is locked, but maybe Q can deal with that?”

“I can.”

“Great,” said Clair, relieved that they would finally be moving. “Let's go. Which way?”

“Wait up!” Clair One stood in their way. “What if I told you it wasn't Wallace or anyone who worked for him? Would that make you slow down a second?”

“Yes,” said Kari, “but how could you possibly know who it is?”

“They're using peacekeeper protocols because they're PKs,” Clair One said, her chin raised. “I know that because I called them.”

“YOU DID
WHAT
?”
asked Clair.

“This is all too weird,” Clair One said, “and you just expect us to take your word for it. I want a second opinion. That's not unreasonable.”

Clair had to bite the inside of her lip to curb an impulse to scream. No, it wasn't unreasonable at all, which only made her frustration even worse. She knew exactly why
Clair One had made that call, because the first thing she herself had tried to do on being confronted with WHOLE and Jesse's father's death was call the PKs. She couldn't blame Clair One for doing what she, too, would have done.

Only this wasn't a week ago. It wasn't even the real world. There was no way of knowing who in the Yard was actually on the end of a call to the PKs, be it people or dupes or more corrupt lawmakers. . . . She supposed they were about to find out.

So much for running.

“All right,” she said. “We stay, but the rest of you hide while I see who it is.”

“I'm with you,” said Kari.

“You're both being paranoid,” said Clair One.

“If what we're telling you is true, we have good reason to be.” Clair forced herself to moderate her tone. “And if we're wrong, I won't argue anymore.”

Clair One hesitated, then nodded.

“Through here,” said Tash, tugging at the door leading to the next chamber, where Clair knew they would find the ladders up to the roof. “Quick, or they'll see us.”

Glad that at least one of her friends was picking up on her sense of urgency, Clair ushered the rest out of sight. When they were concealed, Clair turned back to the booth. Kari was circling it, tapping each door with the barrel of her gun.

“Which one first?” Kari asked Q.

“The one you will tap next. It will open in ten seconds. The remainder will open in the subsequent thirty seconds.”

Half a minute,
thought Clair,
and if they come out with guns blazing it could be all over. Because Clair One tried to do the right thing . . .

Kari slipped around the side of the booth, where she would be out of sight when the first person emerged. Clair stood front and center, waiting with her pistol behind her back.

The ancient booth hissed. The door opened.

Inside was a PK wearing a perfectly ordinary blue uniform. No armor. No camouflage. No weapons drawn.

Clair might have relaxed had she not recognized him. Gripping the pistol even more tightly, she pointed it at his chest and crouched behind it like she would a shield.

“Stop,” she told PK Drader, and her voice caught for an instant, “right there.”

He raised his hands. PK Drader had an open face and a relaxed manner that had always grated on her. He seemed to be trying too hard. To cover up his lies, she had learned later.

“You're Clair?” he said in a friendly voice, as though they had never met. “I don't think you called us here to shoot anyone. Tell me what's going on.”

“You betrayed us,” she said, not bothering to dissemble. He was a member of the conspiracy trying to take over the
world. “You're working for the lawmakers.”

He grinned as though she'd said something stupid. “All peacekeepers work for the lawmakers.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I'm afraid I don't.”

“LM Kingdon? The seastead? The muster?”

He tilted his head, a picture of innocence. “No idea what you're talking about, Clair. I only know your name because of the call you just made. Why don't you put down the gun and we'll talk?”

Clair bit her lip and thought fast. This could be an old copy of PK Drader, innocent of his crimes in the real world. But even if he honestly didn't know what had happened before the blue dawn, that didn't mean he was on her side. He could have been working for Kingdon all along. He could still be the enemy.

Another door hissed open, the one on the far side of the booth. There was an
oof
of surprise, and Clair's attention darted to where she had last seen Kari, but there was no one there now. When she looked back at Drader, he, too, was holding a pistol, aimed squarely at her midriff.

“It's over,” he said, all pretense gone. “You're done. Come quietly and no one will get hurt.”

Clair's heart lurched midbeat, then steadied. “No,” she said. She wasn't going to give in, not after everything she had been through. She wasn't going to fall into Wallace's or Kingdon's hands so easily, even if she had to fight them
every second she was inside the Yard. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing, she had to find them and stop them so she and her friends would be safe.

To Clair's left another door opened. She saw Kari grab the person who emerged from it—a wiry woman with close-cropped white hair, dressed in a tight black thermal camouflage suit. They scuffled, and this time it was PK Drader whose attention strayed.

Clair jerked her pistol higher so it pointed at his face.

“You're the one who's coming quietly,” she said. “You're going to put your gun down, and then you're going to tell me everything you know about the Yard and how to get out.”

He didn't flinch. His gaze remained coolly superior.

“I'm not afraid of you, Clair. You won't shoot.”

“Then you don't know me.” She didn't want to shoot anyone, but a progression of mental images undermined any reservations she had in his case: dupes dying in droves outside the muster, the failure of Devin and Trevin's plan on the seastead, the endless threats issued from the mouth of a child whose mind was no longer his own . . . All that and more could be laid at Drader's feet.

The third door opened. PK Drader's lips tightened. She could see him tensing, getting ready to move.

“Don't,” Clair said, taking a step forward, pointing the pistol as steadily as she could at the bridge of his nose.
She had seen enough dramas to know how PKs spoke in such moments, and she did her best to keep her voice steady too. “Gun on the floor. Now.”

Drader's pistol dipped. To Clair's right, Kari knocked his third accomplice down with one blow to the back of the neck. PK Drader turned, saw her, and straightened. It was clear he recognized her. For an instant, the two peacekeepers faced each other.

“Traitor,” he said, snapping his gun back up and shooting Kari square in the chest.

The big PK staggered and fell to the ground.

“No!” Clair's trigger finger tightened. Her pistol went off with a loud bang and kicked back in her hands. PK Drader dropped like a stone, his neck spraying blood in a crimson fan. Clair reeled, horrified by what he had done—and what she had done to him.

“Oh my God.” Tash rushed past her, to Kari's side. “He shot PK Sargent!”

“And he's dead now too.” Zep was staring at the blood, looking like he might be about to throw up. “Oh hell.”

Clair didn't want to look. She wanted Zep to be the strong one, to enfold her in his arms and allow her to close her eyes, just for a moment. But that was the past, before Jesse. This was the present and it was bloody and complicated. PK Drader had fired the first shot inside the Yard, and she had responded.

“Watch out!” she said, blocking Clair One from coming any closer to PK Drader's body. “They might still be dangerous.”

“Seriously?”

“You haven't seen what they can do.”

“And I don't want to.” Her eyes shifted from the body to Clair's face. Pinched and wary, her body language was conflicted. “But did you have to shoot him?”

“He shot Kari.”

“She attacked them first.”

“Do they
look
like PKs to you?”

Ronnie was checking PK Drader's three fallen companions, loosening their tight black collars so they could breathe freely. Libby hovered at her shoulder, hands clasped tightly to her chest. They had no identifying marks or patches.

“Whoever you spoke to couldn't have been a PK,” Clair went on. “Not a good one, anyway. Wallace would only copy the PKs he can trust. We can't afford to— Stop, don't open their eyelids!” Clair added hastily as Ronnie went to check the pupils of the first PK Kari had dropped. “Don't let whoever's at the other end of their lenses get a look at you.”

“Why does it matter if they see us?” asked Clair One.

“They might not know there are two of me in here.”

“So?”

“See what they did when they found out there was
one
of me here? Imagine what they'd do if they knew there were two.”

“Maybe we should plug their ears, then,” said Clair One, which was a good suggestion that Ronnie put into immediate effect, tearing strips off her party dress and wadding them into balls.

“I have cut the power to the booths,” said Q.

“Good thinking,” said Clair, even though that was bound to attract attention. “No one use the Air. It's too dangerous.”

“PK Sargent is alive,” said Tash, looking up. “Lucky she's wearing armor.”

Clair hurried to the fallen PK's side. Kari's eyes were closed. There was a round, silver indentation just below her heart, where the bullet had struck her. She was lucky also, Clair thought, that Drader hadn't aimed for her head.

“I am detecting activity in Mürren and Lauterbrunnen,” said Q. “Freshly fabbed drones are on their way.”

“How long?” asked Clair. “Who sent them?”

“They are under peacekeeper control. You can expect them in five minutes. Maybe longer: there's a storm coming, so the winds are strong.”

Really real,
Clair reminded herself. If the simulation could make people move and bullets fly, why not wind and rain too? And drones, and evil peacekeepers, and worse. All the Yard had to do was wind them up and let them go, like clockwork dolls on a tabletop. How was
she going to fight them all?

Save your friends first,
she told herself,
then the world.

“We need to get out of here before they see us and take us in.”

“The elevator connects to an underground train line,” said Ronnie. “We could get out that way.”

“And after that?” asked Clair One. “What then?”

“We'll work that out on the way.”

“On the way where?”

“I don't know, all right?” Clair rounded on her, out of patience. “Stay here if you want. I'm not going to kidnap you or threaten you or anything like that. But I'm not giving myself up and I'm not leaving the others behind. If we stay here much longer, we'll all die.”

“Are you going to shoot me, too, if I get in your way?” asked Clair One.

Zep, Ronnie, and Tash were staring at them as though they were a glowing red timer counting down to zero.

“This party sucks,” said Libby with bright decisiveness. “Let's blow this joint. Argue later. That's my suggestion. Okay, ladies?”