Chapter Eleven-A

  // DATA PARAMETERS SET

  // LOADING…

  // LOADING…

  // MEMORY BANK RETRIEVAL SUCCESSFUL

  //

  // OPTICAL DISPLAY ENGAGED

  //

  // ERROR

  // ERROR

  // ERROR

  // MISMATCH DETECTED

  //

  // PREVIOUS DATA INVALID

  // ERROR

  // ERROR

  // ATTEMPTING BYPASS

  //

  // NEW USER REGISTERED

  // GATHERING PREFERENCES

  // PLEASE STAND BY…

  // PLEASE STAND BY…

  // PLEASE STAND BY…

  // FORCEFUL REINTEGRATION SUCCESSFUL

  //

  // WELCOME TO GOD’S EYE V. 1.0.342

  In the darkness, a cafeteria appeared, every table crowded but the one in the back where the sad newcomer sat. Malory’s body moved on its own to the chair beside him and traded pie for a crisp apple; her limbs were foreign and she felt the crunch, the way the flesh exploded in her mouth, and the intense satisfaction it gave kept someone else’s addiction at bay. The notebook they’d given in therapy helped to clear the thoughts of a dead friend, but it wasn’t enough. The trembling had started again, and it was a few hours before med distribution. Mal moved in a haze, a puppet ranting about the way her legs moved when she competed at nationals, the way the sand scattered beneath her feet when she finished a jump—she did not talk about the car accident on the way to the lake, all that twisted metal, the vacant eyes that seemed to ask why and the ways in which it broke her. When the sad man spoke, it was of his sister, of colony ships, of leaving forever, and there was an intense want to be his friend. In his rambling, he mentioned an algorithm that let him view other people’s memories saved to their networks, and she joked about how he had promise as a celebrity psychic.

  When she blinked, Malory found herself on a familiar rooftop, and a man struggled in her grasp. In her other hand, she held a small gun still warm from use, and had it pressed against his temple. Around them, plants glowed in holographic swirls so beautiful they almost made her doubt the plan. In the distance, the same sad man from the cafeteria approached, years older, hands raised in supplication. Mal felt her mouth move, and she spoke of a cryptic cascade, of necessary steps, and a theory that must be proven. She was afraid of herself, of the ledge where her feet perched, waiting for the conclusion. The breeze played with the fringes of her dress, and her finger twitched on the trigger. The Prophet said the role she played was too important for mistakes, and she wouldn’t let herself fail someone again. Malory reached down into the layers of her network and queued her favorite memory of a sunset over the ocean in the arms of her dead best friend. When it played, she moved the barrel to her own head and pulled the trigger. There was the retort, the falling, the sunset just out of reach, and then nothing but a high-pitched screech that consumed it all.

  When Malory woke, it was to the taste of blood and her hands cuffed behind her back. She was leaning against the alley wall, and there was a wetness below her nose and trailing from the implant in her left eye. Memories of someone else’s life clawed at her gray matter, to hell with any synapses they severed, and she felt like she’d been stuffed in a microwave. Holograms of plants and a sunset danced just out of view as if to taunt her. She wasn’t alone. On either side, a uniformed officer stood surveying the entrances of the alley for any approach. When she focused on them, she gasped at the pain. Little blue label boxes floated above their heads, categorized, judged. A foreign opinion, force-fed.

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  [ CORRUPT NDPD OFFICER ]

  [ IMMORAL NDPD LIEUTENANT ]

  “She’s awake,” the officer said. He looked at her with a mix of hatred and disgust, and yanked her to her feet.

  “What happened here?” the lieutenant asked. He had a bushy mustache, grayed with age, and questionable tattoos that reached up the side of his fat neck. King Thumb, demanding respect. Bow or be damned.

  “Ask the bodies,” Mal said. She bent over and threw up on his gaudy boots. Her consciousness flickered.

  “Nasty little bitch,” the lieutenant said. He pulled her back up and slapped her across the face. His wedding ring reopened the lip she had bitten in the fight. “Either you tell us what we want to know, or we take a trip down to the precinct and dig out the torture kit.

  “Like you give a shit,” she said. She forced herself to ignore the label box to focus on his face and was surprised by the rage held there. It was distinct, vicious in a way that said he often left his wife broken and bruised. She braced for another hit. Two more labels sprouted into existence.

  [ WEAKNESSES: LOWER LEFT THREE RIBS, RIGHT FOOT ]

  [ DANGER LEVEL: EXTREME ]

  // USER STATE ASSESSED: SUBOPTIMAL

  // RECONFIGURING…

  //

  // SUGGESTION FUNCTION ACTIVATED

  // ASSESSING…

  // NEW ROUTE ACQUIRED

  // RECOMMENDATION: PRESENT THE TRUTH

  “We’ll lose our bonuses if this was gang-related,” the officer said. He was counting on the extra income, and it showed. Little piggy oinking for oats—no consideration for dead kids, just his own bottom line.

  “I’ll beat the answer out if I have to,” the lieutenant said. He clenched his hand into a fist. He was well-versed in violence, and there were medical bills to prove it.

  “Hit squad,” Mal said. She was in enough pain. She spit to try and get rid of the bile on her tongue and ignored the hive of angry bees just behind her eyes that wanted out. “Probably commissioned by ZenTech.”

  “Fuck,” the officer said. He looked back toward the alley entrance and drew his pistol. “We can’t take her to the station.”

  “No shit,” the lieutenant said. He drew in a deep breath and considered the options. None of them sounded pleasant.

  “The river? With any luck, the current will drag her out of the city,” the officer asked.

  “Not worth it,” he said. A determined corpo would order a hit on a lone squad car if the result was satisfactory. He ran his fingers across his mustache.

  “Then let’s put a bullet in her and be done with it already,” the officer said. He spun around and raised the pistol.

  “No way in hell I’m doing the paperwork for that,” the lieutenant said. He dug the keys for the cuffs from his belt and reached for Malory.

  “That’s it? We just cut her loose?”

  “Why not?” he asked. He turned the key and set her free. “She’ll be a corpse by evening, anyway. Hopefully she makes it into someone else’s jurisdiction.”

  “Always doing the best to protect and serve,” Mal said. She couldn’t hold herself back with all the pain and digital noise. Always a smartass.

  “I suggest you scamper back into whatever hole you crawled out from,” the lieutenant said. He kicked her hard in the stomach and sent her sprawling into the trash before heading back inside the aquarium.

  Mal rested there for a while. She wasn’t in any condition to walk, so she explored the layers of her new network while fighting against the nausea. The controls were intuitive, and responded to her thoughts like a way better version of the VR headsets they used for classes. Every time she came across a memory that wasn’t hers, she sequestered it into the depths so they wouldn’t surface on their own—each fragment of another life, the bits and pieces of dreams and ambitions so strange, so wounded. When she found the settings menu for the implant, she dialed back the sensitivity as much as she could and tried to deactivate everything that wasn’t vision; she set the color to be the same violet as her mother’s. When she was done, she opened her eyes and struggled to her feet. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and hobbled out into the city. The drastic difference in resolution quality made her steps unsteady, and it took a moment to adjust before she walked straight. When she encountered other people, she kept her gaze down to avoid being overwhelmed with data labels. Mal wasn’t sure where to go, so she wandered. A cloud of grief trailed behind her.

  There was the headquarters and the Doc, but that came with a lecture she didn’t want. There was the satellite tower and the list of names she needed to update, but the deaths were far too raw. She thought of Spencer’s blank face, the way Martin stayed behind, and the pain overwhelmed her. She tripped on a curb and toppled into a streetlight. When she righted herself, she saw the way people looked at her. Data labels, unbidden, judged them in return.

  [ DISGUSTED CIVILIAN ]

  [ CURIOUS ONLOOKER ]

  [ SUSPICIOUS BANK TELLER ]