MILA 2.0: Redemption (4 page)

I opened my eyes to see that my arm was extended. Like I’d been reaching for that tree trunk in the distance. I summoned it back to my side. Weird. And not in a good way. I was relieved when a new flashing green light registered.

Activate voice reproduction software?

The prompt blinked behind my eyes, awaiting a response. This was a new one for me, so I hesitated. Then I decided, why not? Accepting myself meant becoming familiar with all of my functionality.

Activate.

The next thing I knew, Daniel’s voice filled every crevice inside my head.

“Hey Nicole—”

The deep pitch resonated and stirred more memories, both programmed and real. Thanks to recollections of sitting on his lap at baseball games as a girl, playing cards in our house in Philly, and walking the beach hand in hand, this was the man I thought of as “Father,” even before I’d ever met him. Only, those memories belonged to Sarah, his real daughter. I was just the imitation. The multibillion-dollar mutant version he and his wife created from scraps. I never lived any of those moments myself.

Dad—Daniel—had feigned true feelings for me, back when Hunter and I had broken into his house in search of information about my past. But then he’d captured us, handed us over to Quinn, and abandoned us at her lab.

Abandoned. . . .

The word triggered a heaviness across my neck, a leaden dread that something didn’t quite add up. I shrugged the feeling off and turned my attention back to the emails.

Voice reproduction: Resume.

Daniel’s voice.

“—I’m sorry this weekend was so rough, for both of us. I won’t lie, though. I continue to struggle with this decision.

“Sarah wasn’t a nameless, faceless number from one of your double-blind experiments. She was our daughter. A miraculous, flesh-and-blood person that we raised together. I understand the part of you that doesn’t want her life to be in vain, because a part of me feels the same way. But I wrestle with the realities of what we’re considering.

“Should we be doing this? Is it something we can live with?

“I don’t give a damn about what the military thinks, or Holland, for that matter. What I give a damn about is you, and Sarah.

“She’s gone, Nicole. You hanging on to her battered body is killing me.

“I know I failed her in the end. I couldn’t save her. Hate me all you want, but you have to let her go.

“Come home.”

The words washed over me, conjuring those same memories that had plagued me back at the ranch in Clearwater. Hot air, blistering across my skin. Acrid smoke, curling down my throat, choking me. Beams, collapsing all around, trapping me in a living sea of red flames.

Just before I’d lost consciousness, I remembered a glimpse of a man.

My father.

Sarah’s father.

Real memories, salvaged from another girl’s brain and implanted into mine.

“You didn’t let her down,” I whispered to the empty clearing. “You did the best you could.”

I wish I could have told him how the terror had faded fast, once the smoke inhalation took over. How grogginess had overcome Sarah and eventually her body just gave in.

I wish I could have told him, but now it was too late. . . .

Last I’d heard, Daniel had fled from Quinn’s. The sight
of me, his daughter’s android replica, had been too much for him to handle. It hurt when she told me; I couldn’t lie. The pain still lingered. But now, I understood.

I traced the seams of my jeans with my fingers, trying to distract myself from acknowledging that Lucas’s plan was working. Maybe my mind really was slowly unlocking the door to my memory vault. Was I ready to know the secrets that were stored there?

I closed my eyes, inhaled a calming breath full of pine and frost. Anxiety was understandable under these circumstances. Time to focus and move on.

Voice activation: Resume.

With that simple command, Mom’s soft, clear voice enveloped me.

“Dear Daniel—

“I know this is hard for you, and if there was some way I could ease your pain, I would in a heartbeat. But I can’t even ease my own.

“Yes, our daughter is gone, and sometimes, I wish I’d gone with her. It’s in those moments that I know, without a doubt, that we need to ensure her life doesn’t end in that fire. Sarah was special—you knew it, I knew it. Even Holland knew it. We’d be doing science a disservice if we didn’t take this opportunity. Even worse—we’d be doing Sarah a disservice.

“I’m begging you, please—I need this. I’m not ready to let her go. Maybe that makes me selfish, but I can live with that. What I
can’t live without, right now, is a chance to see Sarah’s face again, alive.

“If you can’t do it for me, think of the others. General Holland says Sarah’s contribution might be the first step in helping them, and we can’t turn our backs, can we?

“I won’t leave her here by herself. You should come, if only to say good-bye. Sarah needs us to make this decision quickly. Her body won’t hold out much longer, even on life support.

“This is the right choice. I have to believe that. I am lost without this glimmer of a chance. Please, Dan.

“I miss my baby.”

The strong woman I remembered had usually been cool and collected, but these impassioned emails reminded me of the mom who’d urged me to live with her last breaths. The sound of her voice made her feel so real, so close.

For a hopeful, wonderful second, I thought I would open my eyes, and she’d be standing in front of me, her blond hair in that messy ponytail, her eyes a pale, serious blue behind square glasses.

“Mom?”
I mouthed into the still air. The whisper of the wind was my only reply.

Of course there was no reply, because she was gone. Forever. All because of Holland. She’d trusted him, and he’d destroyed her.

I rubbed my palms across my damp eyes, drew in a shattered breath. Took a moment to compose myself. So, Mom
had wanted to be involved with the MILA project from the very start, but what did she mean by “think of the others” and “Holland says Sarah’s contribution could be the first step in helping them”? Whatever he wanted, Holland was perfectly capable of manipulating a grieving parent to get it.

But what did Holland want? Did it have to do anything with the device he’d placed inside of me? Who were these people Nicole thought she was going to help? Did they even exist, or was Holland just feeding her some lie in order to take Sarah away?

I was about to analyze some more files in search of those answers, when a heavy crunch behind the trees registered in the back of my mind.

Lucas?

Footstep analysis: Inaccurate.

Estimated weight: 240 kg.

My head shot up. 240 kilograms? The only thing that might be close to that big was a—

Likely species: Ursus arctos horriblis.

The translation was instant.

Grizzly bear.

T
he crunching came from the trees thirty yards south of me. If it followed the same trajectory, the bear would head right for our snare.

But the snare wouldn’t do anything to the bear except really piss it off.

All our traps were made to catch small game, and grizzlies didn’t qualify.

My mechanical heartbeat quickened as I sprang up from the log, took a fear-fueled step in Lucas’s direction, then froze in place, my breaths coming fast and shallow. I felt trapped. I didn’t want to draw the bear’s attention. But I wanted to be close to Lucas, just in case. I didn’t dare call out a warning.

Crunch, crunch . . . SNAP!

The snare sprang shut.

I peered toward the sound, but dense green branches blocked my view, so I listened instead. It was like the entire forest had gone still, holding its collective breath in anticipation of something terrible. Even the jays had stopped squawking.

Following nature’s lead, I went statue-still. I couldn’t give in to the impulse to move and look for Lucas, not when I was flying blind. I’d be putting us all in danger. I needed more input to formulate a plan, and maybe my android sensors would help.

Wait,
I told myself.
Any second now. . . .

There. The crunch of heavy footfalls cracking through an icy layer of snow. The bear was on the move. But I had no idea where it was going, or where Lucas was. I took a cautious step forward.

Thermographic imaging: Activated.

The snowy landscape disappeared, replaced by an explosion of color. A navy blue background, interspersed with green vertical bars. Trees, I realized.

Just beyond those, another image appeared, one that made my body go numb. A deep orange silhouette so enormous, it could only be one thing.

Image dimensions: 7 ft., 9 in. tall.

The animal was a beast. But the appearance of the much smaller red lump, about ten feet away, made me choke down panic.

Lucas.

He huddled in a ball behind a tree trunk, out of the bear’s line of sight . . . for now.

Our trap had startled the bear into rearing up onto his hind legs. His head moved this way and that. Scenting. He knew we were trespassing in his forest.

My pulse pounded in my ears, fueled by a strong dose of programmed adrenaline. The rush caught me off guard. I’d missed it, this desire to act and protect. Part of me wanted to run out and challenge the bear, but I needed to analyze first. I couldn’t take unnecessary risks with Lucas’s safety. I forced myself not to move.

Probability of targets colliding: 65%.

If I stayed put, there was a small chance the bear wouldn’t interpret Lucas’s scent as some kind of threat, and would amble off of in search of a more promising meal.

But the overwhelming odds were that it would find him. Pursue him.

My mind zipped through scenarios, like creating a distraction by throwing a rock, or sprinting past the bear and leading it away. Before I could decide, my sensors flashed.

Threat detected.

Engagement: Imminent.

The bear’s giant orange thermographic image whirled around, up on his hind legs, like he’d used some kind of superpowers to detect me. Although he didn’t roar or make any kind of sound, I could see colored breath puffing from
his mouth as though he was panting with excitement. Only two trees stood between him and me.

Crap.

Normal vision mode: Activate.

My sensors warned of the decreasing distance between us.

30 ft. until engagement.

25 ft.

The projected time until confrontation streamed in milliseconds. Should I call for Lucas’s help, as my instincts dictated?

Suggested maneuver: Zero motion.

Stay put? I stifled a hysterical giggle.

My android logic insisted I remain reactive, not proactive. My human logic said something else.

Requesting alternate course of action.

With the bear now less than fifteen feet away, the directive remained unchanged.

Refrain from motion until otherwise notified.

I gritted my teeth against the urge to scream. Refrain from motion? Seriously?

Then I saw Lucas stumble forward.

“Hey! Over here!” he shouted, waving his hands overhead.

I stared, frozen to the ground, while my heart spasmed with fear, shock, and something else I couldn’t identify in the chaos.

“No,” I tried to warn, but the lump in my throat swallowed the word. Lucas waved his arms harder and started to clap his hands.

“Over here, you overgrown slipper!”

“Lucas, stop!”

Too late. The bear whirled and lumbered toward Lucas with more speed than I would have thought possible. I held my breath as Lucas jumped for a branch and hoisted himself into the tree. He scrambled upward, but even as I sprinted toward him, I knew I wouldn’t reach them in time.

The bear leapt. His massive paw whipped out and swatted at Lucas’s foot. I saw a blur of gray and blue when the sneaker ripped free and arced through the air.

Injury analysis: Possible minor appendage damage.

Risk of major damage: Low.

As that information flashed, I stooped and grabbed a heavy rock. The bear moved, but only to climb atop a three-foot boulder near the tree. Clever. He’d positioned himself with better leverage and access to Lucas.

Attack: Imminent.

Projected target: Abdominal region.

I threw the rock as hard as I could and yelled, just as the bear launched a massive paw at Lucas. He struck and the blow hit Lucas’s forehead. Lucas jerked back with a cry, one hand losing its grip on the branch. I watched helplessly as he dangled there, while the rock smacked the bear’s head and
bounced off. The bear reared back with an outraged roar.

Injury assessment: Negligible.

Desperation flooded me. I’d thrown that rock hard. The blow might’ve been fatal to a human, yet it barely registered with the grizzly. I scoured the ground. Weapon, where was a real weapon? For what little good it would do. Meanwhile the animal backed off the boulder and turned toward me, panting heavily.

It was almost as if the bear was stunned by the attack. Even in this wilderness, the bear had zero competitors. What kind of creature would be bold enough to challenge it?

Feral brown eyes met mine from a distance of 9.8 feet. My sensors calculated a multitude of strategies while the bear’s gaze remained transfixed on me.

He had no idea what he was dealing with.

Lucas held his sleeve to his forehead. Blood trickled from beneath the fabric and down his cheek. If the bear smelled it, he might turn on Lucas again. I watched the bear lift his head, saw his nostrils dilate. I stopped breathing. But the bear didn’t turn away. He wasn’t scenting Lucas. He was scenting me. Like he was searching for something.

Then it hit me. The bear was searching for the smell of fear.

Emotions triggered chemical reactions, which triggered different scents. Animals could smell those emotions. Did
I even have a fear scent to find? What would happen if I didn’t?

I packed away any panic and anxiety and embraced my machine nature.

Heart rate: Reducing to 60 bpm.

Respiratory rate: Minimizing.

I didn’t attack. I didn’t run. Instead, I stood there as relaxed as possible, not moving an inch. The bear took one hesitant step toward me, then another. He was so close I could smell the fetid-fish reek of his breath, the oily-fur musk of his coat.

If he reared up now and launched a paw, I was toast.

My sensors blazed to life with some choice information:

Target’s top vulnerability: Intense sound.

While the bear continued to inspect me, I performed a frantic scan of my android functions. I needed a noise, an obnoxious one that could frighten a bear. Assuming Holland had programmed me with such a thing to begin with.

I was just beginning to despair when I found it.

Select sound effect . . .

Setting octave and volume . . .

Adapting vocal cords . . .

Commence when ready . . .

The noise that erupted from my throat surprised even me. Deep, guttural, and painfully loud. The noise conjured up a demented whale song, reverberating from the bottom
of the ocean. From my peripheral vision, I saw Lucas flinch and almost lose his grip.

The bear recoiled, his ears flat. I repeated the sound, stepping forward and waving my arms. The animal shook his head, trying to clear the sound. He turned and took several stumbling steps before pausing to peer over his shoulder at me. I kicked at the ground and bellowed once more. His haunches flinched. Then, with a tiny whine, he lumbered across the clearing and plunged back into the forest.

A thump jerked my attention away from the bear’s retreat. Lucas. I turned in time to see him plummet to the ground. I raced to the spot where he sprawled in an ungainly heap, a stream of blood running down from the long scratch on his forehead. He grasped my outstretched hand, his expression dazed. The gun slipped from his other hand, which shook.

“I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t do it,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “Not yet.”

“Never mind that, you’re bleeding,” I said, trying to examine his cut.

He pulled away, fast enough to sting. “No excuses. I should have protected us. I’m so sorry.”

My head shake was brisk. “Stop. There’s no shame in not inflicting pain or death on a living creature.” I knew too well what living creatures could do to one another. Just for now, I was grateful for my android side.

He opened his mouth to protest, but I held up my hand. “Besides, you don’t have any experience firing a gun. Chances are, you’d have shot yourself in the good foot.”

Some of the tension drained from his face. “There was always that possibility.”

“Come on, let’s go back to the cabin and get you fixed up.”

He looked around, spotted his shoe, and replaced it on his foot. “Great job, by the way. Scaring the grizzly off with that . . . voice,” he said, with a bemused smile.

I smiled back. “I can sing something for you while we stitch you up.”

His eyes widened before he laughed. “Do you take requests?”

“Sure. Anything for you.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said. “I’ll get back to you on that. And, uh . . . let’s maybe not tell Tim about what actually happened. Otherwise, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“It’ll be our secret.”

He met my eyes, and I knew what he was thinking. Just another secret among the many we already shared.

We started south. Lucas’s gait was a little unsteadier than usual, but he didn’t stumble. I squatted to retrieve the gun from a patch of snow. The metal in my ungloved hand felt cold and slick.

Familiar.

Data Recovery Program: Initiated.

With the sudden zap of a data stream, everything came rushing back.

I saw Daniel first. Tied to a chair. Eyes pleading.

My arm lifted, as of its own accord.

“Mila?” I heard Lucas, but his voice sounded distant. The trees faded from my view, replaced by the inside of a room.

A TV played in the background. Voices.

Holland’s. Quinn’s.

A familiar numbness flowed through me. Quinn’s procedure, it had worked. All those depressing, upsetting emotions, gone. I’d felt . . . nothing. No fear, no love. No pain. Nothing except the bitter, acrid clutch of anger, urging me to follow Quinn’s commands.

I remembered staring into Daniel’s eyes.
Arm outstretched, finger on the trigger. Getting ready to pull . . .

But from my memory came Lucas’s voice. Calling me back. Encouraging me to think of something powerful.

Whatever you do, just try to feel. . . .

Screams. A woman’s—Hunter’s mom. I recalled their frantic, terrified pitch, but they hadn’t touched me. They’d seemed so inconsequential. Like the screams of a stranger, coming from somewhere far away.

I remembered red words, flashing inside my head.

Security breach detected.

I remembered jerking my hand away at the last possible
moment, making the bullet whiz harmlessly past Daniel’s ear.

“I —I tried to shoot Daniel?” I choked.

But there was more. The memories flooded me now, like water through a burst dam.

Hunter, trying to tell me the upgrades had been a mistake. Urgently pressing his lips to mine.

Me, pushing him away when I heard Holland’s voice, just as Quinn had planned.

Quinn, leading me to the room where Daniel and Hunter sat bound and gagged, along with Sophia and Peyton, Hunter’s parents.

Peyton . . .

I froze on the image of Hunter’s stepdad, something dark and ugly churning deep in my gut. Peyton had ambushed us at Daniel’s—he’d been working for the Vita Obscura all along. He was the one who’d convinced Hunter to approach me in the first place, back in Clearwater. Supposedly, Hunter hadn’t known what his parents were really up to, but at this point, that didn’t matter.

The image unfroze and played out in my head. I barely felt able to suck down air. I heard Quinn’s voice, droning on about what needed to be done, about government conspiracies. I saw Hunter thrash against his restraints, his eyes wide with dawning horror. I remembered the sensation of lifting my arm, and the smooth, easy feel of the gun in my hand as I aimed at Peyton.

I recalled the slight pressure of my finger on the trigger, and feeling calm and serene when the gun recoiled.

I saw the small red circle that bloomed like a flower in the center of Peyton’s forehead. Just before he jerked, his lifeless body slumping into the chair.

Realization was swift as a finger snap, sharp as a rusty spike.

I’d killed Hunter’s stepfather.

Murdered him in cold blood.