Torn (Cold Awakening) (15 page)

“I don’t like the idea of you going alone,” he said.

Zo cleared her throat, loudly.

“Both of you, alone,” he clarified. “Aren’t you afraid your father will be there?”

Zo flinched, but fortunately, his eyes were on me.

“I
hope
he’s there,” I said. It was only a half lie. We needed him there, if this was going to work. But it didn’t mean I was looking forward to the encounter.

“Me too,” Zo said, and if you weren’t her sister, you wouldn’t notice that it was the voice she used when she was lying, and when she was afraid. But there was fury in it, along with the fear. It leaked out exactly the way our father’s did, like radiation—stealthy but lethal. “He’s the one that should be afraid to see
us
.”

I almost believed her. The more time we spent together, the more we fell into our old patterns: me the rule-abiding, cautious good girl, her the wild child who threw herself headfirst into anything, her life a constant dare to the universe to do its worst. While I was playing nice with BioMax, doing my job and pretending nothing had changed, lying to Riley and hating myself for how easy it had become, Zo had spent the last few days with Jude, putting her hacking skills to good use by helping him ferret out blueprints, plot strategies, conspire, spew out one convoluted plan after another until hitting on one that at least had a prayer of working. It all seemed so easy for her, and I’d assumed that was because it
was
easy, because she was fearless. But it suddenly occurred to me that she was fearless because she couldn’t conceive of having anything to fear—maybe all this still seemed like something out of a vidlife, a melodrama with an inevitably happy ending. I
knew it was possible to delude yourself that way; after the accident, I’d done it myself.

“Zo. You sure you’re up for this?”

“I’m sure.” She glared at me, daring me to try to talk her out of it or, worse, forbid her.

“Then let’s go,” I said. That won me a grateful look.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Riley said, as we were leaving. “They can’t make you.”

I kissed him and wondered when he’d gotten so naive.

There were only a hundred people crammed into the BioMax banquet room, but the walls were net-linked, and thousands of faces stared at us from all over the country. It was easy enough to ignore them; I was used to being watched.

While Zo haunted the room, hovering by the buffet table and avoiding our father, I sat up on the dais with the assembled dignitaries, waiting for my cue. It was usually frustrating the way the mech body created a distance between me and the world, every touch and sound a painful reminder that nothing seemed quite real only because
I
wasn’t. But times like this it was an advantage. I could stay locked in my head, watching my body move as if it belonged to someone else, shaking repugnant hands, smiling at the enemy, forming words I would never mean. Standing at a microphone, looking out over an audience of corp directors, BioMax suits, Brotherhood sympathizers, following the script: “I’m so gratified that we can come together in dialogue.” “I’m looking forward to our shared
future.” “Tolerance.” “Forgiveness.” “Common ground.” “This is a new beginning.” And other such bullshit.

I was able to tune out as Savona himself took the stage to blather on about his regrets and his reformation. I didn’t allow myself to wonder how anyone could overlook the obvious insanity dancing in his eyes, and I didn’t allow myself to watch Auden, who was listening from the other side of the central podium. I hadn’t seen him since the explosion at the temple, when I’d pulled him out of the burning wreckage. The security-operations guys had dragged him away for questioning while the building still burned, while I was still flailing in a secop’s arms and screaming Riley’s name.

I’d spent a long time begging Auden’s forgiveness and hating myself for what I’d done to him—blaming myself for what he’d become. That was over now. It was his choice to stand by Savona’s side, embracing his former mentor with open arms, just as it was his choice to dive into the frigid water and try to rescue me. I didn’t ask to be saved.

Auden, who knew better than anyone what Savona had been up to at that temple, and had to know exactly how sincere these pledges of tolerance and shared destiny could be,
chose
to let Savona speak, and let the world believe him. He pretended that he could stay in charge of the Brotherhood, keep Savona in the wings, even though Savona was the pro, the one with the words and the voice, the adult with the gravitas and the credit and the power. All Auden had was the pity vote, and if he thought that would be enough, that was
his choice, his mistake. He’d picked his side of the stage. I was done apologizing—to him and for him.

When the speechifying finally wound down, I shook Auden’s hand, and I did it without looking away. Then I shook Savona’s, pleased again that the sensations received through my artificial nerves were so thin and colorless. I didn’t want the pressure of his palm to feel real; I didn’t want to know if it was clammy and sweaty or warm and dry. But I squeezed tight, knowing he was just as repulsed by my touch, and wanting his hell to last as long as it could.

Zo grabbed me as I stepped off the dais, pulling me off to the side. “I can do this part,” she said. “If you don’t want to.”

It was tempting. “You can’t. He’d never believe it, coming from you.”

“And he’ll believe it from
you
?” she asked. “After what he did to you?”

I didn’t want to say it. And even more, I didn’t want to watch her face as I did. “But he didn’t
mean
to do it to me. He meant to do it to you.”

Zo didn’t flinch.

“When I tell him that makes all the difference, he’ll believe me,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“Because he wants to believe me. That’s how it works.”

He was avoiding me. I threaded my way through the crowd, catching glimpses of him over shoulders, through a knot of people, but he was always one step ahead. Maybe I wasn’t trying
very hard to catch him. The crowd was a bizarre mixture of BioMax execs and the occasional Brother still draped in one of those iridescent robes that had surely been designed for maximal creep factor. There were also a few mechs scattered through the crowd, though none I recognized, probably because no one who’d ever crossed paths with Jude would be naive enough to come within ten miles of this minefield. Even Ani—an obvious invitee—had apparently stayed away, though I suspected that had as much to do with my presence as Savona’s. But as I neared the bar, I spotted a vaguely familiar face: Elton Kravis, a mech who’d always been a bit of a moron, so his presence made sense. He was deep in conversation with some blank-faced corp exec, but, fulfilling his moron destiny, abruptly cut it off and veered to his right in pursuit of a gorgeous girl with long black hair and a Brotherhood robe who would have been out of his league even if she didn’t believe he had about as much sex appeal as a vacuum cleaner. In his wake he left an empty space in the crowd, affording me a perfect view of my father.

He stood alone in a corner, his face buried in his glass—probably downers mixed with tea, his blend of choice.

I’d thought this part would be easy.

Because what could be easier for me than pretending to be a person I despised? I’d been rehearsing for this moment all year. But once I was standing before him, forcing myself to look up into his unlined face, the eyes that had once been exactly the same shade as mine, I couldn’t do it. He would see through it, I was certain. He would know I was more likely to attack than
swap small talk. I let myself indulge the fantasy for a moment, imagining a jagged edge of glass raking his skin.

Zo was watching from across the room. She caught my eye and flashed me her cheesiest thumbs-up.

“Hi, Dad.” I smiled.

There was a flicker of surprise, then it was gone. He nodded, casually, like he’d expected nothing less than an affable greeting from his beloved daughter. “Lia. Good to see you.”

“And you.” He couldn’t see into my head, I reminded myself. He couldn’t see anything unless I let him. “How have you been?”

“Well. Very well. And you?”

We went back and forth, saying nothing, for endless minutes. He was putting on a show for whoever was watching, although almost surely no one was. I waited it out, letting him squirm, because my next move would be less suspicious if he made it for me, thinking it was his own idea. Finally, success: “Would you like to go somewhere more private?” he asked. “Perhaps somewhere we could talk?”

“That would be nice.” Formal and proper. I smiled again, letting a dash of pain filter into it, so he would understand I was struggling with the decision, overcoming my own natural inclinations to run. He led me into a private office—our father never attended events like this without lining up a private sanctum to which he could retreat in time of need—and settled at one end of a small couch.

The thought of joining him made my skin crawl. I did it anyway.

“Lia.” He stopped, swallowed hard, looked down, then, thinking better of it, forced himself to face me. I stared at the door, watching him out of the corner of my eye. “I didn’t expect you’d want to talk to me.”

“I don’t.” It couldn’t be too easy, or he’d never believe it, no matter how much he wanted to.

“But …”

“But I’m here,” I said. “You’re my father, whatever happened. So … I’m here.” I sat flagpole straight, facing forward, hands gripping the edge of the cushion like I was priming myself to run.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what else to say. I never meant to hurt you.”

After all this time, he hadn’t managed to come up with anything better than the world’s oldest, lamest excuse?
Sorry I had you murdered. Who knew it would hurt?

“I know,” I said.

“You do?”

I closed my eyes for a long moment, let him think I was grappling with a decision, opening a door. I turned and met his gaze. “I know,” I said again. “It must have been an impossible situation for you. I can’t even imagine, having to pick between two children, but …” I reminded myself that Zo would never have to hear what I said next. That they were just words. “You picked me. You wanted
me
to live. And in a twisted way, I guess … that proves how much you love me.”

This was the tricky part. My father wasn’t the touchy-feely
type. I let my shoulders slump and tried to make myself look smaller. Weak. “I thought it would be easy to run away. From everything. From you. But now I’m … I’m so alone. I don’t know who I am, if I’m not your daughter.” I lowered my head. Let my voice shake. “I don’t know how to forgive you. But I don’t know how not to forgive you.”

I hugged my arms over my chest and waited, closing my eyes so that I wouldn’t have to look at him. A moment later I felt his weight shift on the couch, and then his arms were around me. “I’m here,” he said. His hug was as stiff and awkward as ever. “I’m your father, nothing will ever change that. You
are
my daughter. And I’ve never been so proud of you.”

If only he knew.

“I love you,” he said.

That’s when I stuck him. It was quick and nearly painless, a sharp pinprick on the back of his neck, where it wouldn’t leave a mark, and even as he reached to feel for a bump or a bite, his arm dropped to his side, and then, as the toxin worked its way through his system, he slumped back on the couch, unconscious.

I didn’t ask Jude where he’d gotten the sleep serum, or the microjector. That was the whole point of Jude: He
got
things. He’d assured me that it was harmless, with no lasting effects. I hadn’t asked about that, either.

I stood, staring down at my father, his suit rumpled, spittle dripping from the corner of his mouth. Messy and vulnerable, the two things he’d sworn never to be.

“I could kill you right now,” I said.

His eyes fluttered. Could he hear me? “It’s better this way,” I told him, hoping he could, even if he wouldn’t remember. “I’d rather be a machine than have to walk around carrying your disgusting genes.” I had looked like him, that’s what everyone had always said. “I’d rather be a machine than be any part of you. I’d rather be dead.”

It was self-indulgent, wasting time like this.

Not to mention pathetic, giving voice to all the things I was too cowardly to tell him when he was awake.
Someday,
I promised myself. Then I slipped the ViM from his front pocket and pressed his index finger against the nanotape Zo had given me, recording a fresh, clean print. As a final touch, I propped his head on a pillow, leaving the downer glass overturned by his fingertips. He’d think he slipped into the office to get away from it all, dosed more than he’d planned, and zoned out. If all went well, he’d still be out when we returned, and I could slide the ViM back into his pocket. It would be like nothing had happened.

Jude said he wouldn’t remember any of this, not the dosing, not the conversation that came before it. He would wake up with a headache, wondering how he’d ended up in the office, wondering why he’d fallen so soundly asleep, never remembering the way I’d humiliated myself before him, accepting his pathetic apology. Or the way he’d humiliated himself by believing me.

I texted Zo to let her know we were ready for the next step. Then it was time for Jude’s cue:
Ten minutes,
I texted him.
Then go.

I slipped back into the thick of the party, swapping facetious small talk with some BioMax functionary whose name I could never remember, trying to follow his boring story of vacationing at some domed golf resort and scoring a hole in one while a lightning storm raged overhead, but all I could think was,
Any second now, come on, now, now.

Now.

The doors blew open. Jude and his crew of mechs stormed the banquet hall, megaphones blaring the same message as the giant LED boards they carried:
SAVONA
LIES
! The ten mechs elbowed their way into the crowd, hooting and shouting, leaping on tables and chairs and, in one memorable case, the shoulders of a particularly tall and broad corp exec. As they scattered, they released periodic bursts of neon smoke that curled itself into accusatory slogans before puffing into thin air.