SHILOH

  “--loh?

  “Did you hear me, Shiloh?”

  Shiloh comes back to herself with a start. She’d been far away, and a long time ago. Reminiscing. Putting together puzzle pieces she hadn’t been able to match before. Some of them, anyway.

  She registers her surroundings in an aloof, distant sort of way. It’s a circular, donut-shaped room, with a round, waist-high control panel in the center. A holographic map of the surrounding desert hovers above the console, bathing the faces of the room’s occupants in the pale blue glow.

  They want her to put her feelings aside. To focus on the task at hand. Which is easier said than done.

  She still has questions. So many of them. And no time to ask them. No time to peel back the facade of her life and examine what’s inside, not in any extensive detail. But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe she can’t afford to, not all at once. Maybe it really would break her. If she isn’t broken already.

  Whatever she was, whatever she used to be, that’s all done, now. Her core beliefs, her most fundamental assumptions about herself, have been obliterated. In a sense, that life is over. She has to start a new one.

  She’s just not sure how.

  “Shiloh, this is important.”

  Echo stands on the opposite side of the console, facing her, hands clasped behind his back, his face partially obscured by the shimmering translucent map hologram.

  Meanwhile Rev—or Revenant, it turns out—is off to the side behind him, leaning with his back to the wall, arms folded. He’s been watching Shiloh closely this entire time. He seems pretty concerned about her. Which is something of a surprise, considering her initial impression of him, how cold-hearted he seemed to be.

  Could it be the influence of the ‘Silas’ part of him, lending him a fondness for her? Or is there something else going on here?

  Shiloh folds her arms. "I’m sorry? You'll forgive me if I'm a little…preoccupied."

  She glances over at Cade, who's also leaning with his back against the wall nearer to her. His cuffs have been removed. He seems to be deep in thought. Echo already informed him of what happened when they pushed Shiloh outside. The question is, does Cade believe it?

  "It's understandable, what you're feeling," Echo says. "But we have more pressing concerns at the moment. The Protectorate will be at our door soon, which means we can’t stay here, not indefinitely. And the moment we set out, the HERALD will make his move. Of course, there’s also the matter of liberating the Cloister, should we decide to do so. It’s hard to imagine things are going smoothly for Gavin. If I were you, I would be worried about what measures he might use to maintain his dominance over the community.”

  Cade pushes off of the wall, moving closer to the center of the room. “So you keep saying. You’re quite the soothsayer. That, or it’s just in your best interests that we believe what you’re telling us.”

  Echo doesn’t answer. Not right away. He looks at Cade, and seems to freeze, losing all presentness of expression. It’s like he’s not even here. Or perhaps it’s just that his ‘personhood’ has left his body. He’s a computer running a diagnostic. A piece of hardware, dealing in cold, hard facts, calculations. But maybe it was always that way. Maybe Shiloh and Cade were never dealing with a ‘person’ to begin with.

  After a few seconds, the light comes back into his eyes. He turns to look at Rev. Rev nods, answering some invisible question that must have passed between them.

  “Very well,” Echo says, addressing both Shiloh and Cade. “I will share information I’ve previously withheld from you. Please know that I didn’t keep this from you out of malice, but out of a necessity to control certain variables, in order to preserve the accuracy of my calculations.”

  He presses a button on the console and the map disappears, replaced by a flat horizontal line. “Revenant and I received this transmission a few minutes ago.”

  A recording plays. Crackly static at first, causing the holographic line to distort—a waveform responding to the audio frequencies.

  “Cade? Shiloh? Are you guys there?”

  It’s Seamus. But a version of Sheamus that Shiloh has never been exposed to before. She knows him as being bubbly and vibrant, in a quiet-yet-social kind of way. He’s usually optimistic, and content. Here, he sounds panicked, terrified, like a man whose entire world is collapsing around him.

  "Cade—or whoever might be listening to this—I don’t know how much time I have. I managed to put together a radio using some equipment here. They’ve locked me and a few others in the electronics storage room.

  “It's Gavin. He got free somehow—him and the other Watch members who were still with him. Everyone that stood up to him, they’re dead. They’re all dead. There was nothing I could do. Nothing anyone could do. It happened so quickly.

  "Somewhere along the line, Callaghan knew what was happening. He said he was going to take care of it. And then Gavin shot him. Put a bullet in his head right there in the middle of the stage in the main hall."

  Something moves, pressing against Shiloh’s face—a hand, fingers sprawling over her mouth and nose. Her own hand.

  Her heart pulses painfully, then seems to go into free fall.

  She wishes she could believe that it wasn’t true, that Echo faked the whole thing. But she knows he didn’t. Deep down, she knows it’s all real.

  Out of everything Echo has tried to convince her of so far, this rings the most true of all—that Gavin shot Callaghan for the second time, and that this time, he actually managed to do him in.

  The struggle for power is over for Gavin. He finally got everything he wanted—to be the big man, the one in control. And he was more than willing to pay the price to do it.

  Only, he doesn’t have quite everything yet, does he? Not yet. Not until he has Shiloh. She’s the final piece.

  The recording is still going.

  “We’re trying to put together some kind of plan, those of us trapped in this room. There are only two members of the Watch left: Gavin and Renzo. Renzo is the only one guarding these rooms, most of the time. If the opportunity presents itself, we can overpower him. Even if he manages to take a few of us down with him, it’ll still be worth it if we can take back the Cloister. Otherwise, there’s no telling what Gavin will do to us. I hope it doesn’t come to that, though.

  “We need Silas. He’s the only way we can end this without losing anyone else. You need to come back, and quickly."

  There’s a noise somewhere in the recording, the click of a lock turning.

  "Sorry, I have to go. Please, you have to hurry back, before it’s too late.”

  The recording cuts out.

  Hit with a sudden surge of weariness and nausea, Shiloh leans forward, catching herself on the console.

  It’s like some kind of curse. She is the eye of the storm, surrounded by a whirling maelstrom. Chaos. Death. Dreams died for and never achieved. One person in her life after another, succumbing to darkness.

  Callaghan. Dead. Really dead, this time.

  It seems impossible that he can be gone. He was a pillar of the community, in much the same way Shiloh’s own father was. He was the man everyone looked up to. The man everyone both respected and feared, in the way a father is feared and respected by his children. He was a guiding light. Snuffed out by a bullet to the brain.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  It’s just one thing after another, isn’t it? No time to process. No time to grieve.

  But she can already feel herself coming back to a sort of equilibrium, despite everything, as if she’s gradually becoming accustomed to all of this.

  God help her.

  “He’s not faking it,” Revenant says, heading off any accusations against Echo. “Echo sent the recording to me as soon as he intercepted the transmission. I have the date and time logged in my OS.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything,” Cade says.

  Cade still has that same distant expression as before, as if the revelation of Seamus’ message has had no effect on his convictions. Perhaps because Cade doesn’t believe the recording is real. Or perhaps because he’d already known the truth. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

  “Perhaps,” Revenant says, “but you still believe it, don’t you?”

  Cade doesn’t answer. Not right away. Which is an answer in and of itself.

  He takes a deep breath, putting his hands in his pockets. “The real question is, what do you get out of letting us know?”

  “Your cooperation, of course,” Echo says.

  Cade clenches his jaw. “Cooperation with what?”

  “The liberation of your home.”

  “Stop beating around the bush,” Cade says, raising his voice this time. “Just tell us what we have to give up if we want to save our friends. Just tell us, already!”

  Echo turns, his eyes resting on Shiloh. “You’re people aren’t going to trust me. Not right away. They’ll need assurances from you.”

  Shiloh pushes herself fully upright, away from the console. “Can they trust you?”

  “They will have to make concessions in exchange for my help,” Echo says.

  “Just get to it, already!” Cade yells. He’s fuming, his red complexion looking sickly and green in the light. “Haven’t you jerked us around enough!?”

  Echo frowns for a second, then nods decisively. "As you know, there are only so many humans left. The people of the Cloister are one of the last remaining vestiges of humanity."

  “Wait,” Cade says, exchanging looks with Shiloh. “There’s more of us!?"

  "There are over one hundred human colonies still existing today," Echo says. "Or at least, one might hope they still exist. If my calculations are correct, those numbers are dwindling all the time. Most organisms have difficulty surviving in the harsh environments of most of earth’s climes. The war between SERAPHIM and the Protectorate also takes a toll, with some colonies becoming collateral damage in the conflict. But in short, no. You’re not the only ones."

  Shiloh should have suspected that this was the case. After generations without any contact, it was simply assumed by many that the Cloister was the last remaining colony, the final haven for humanity. Of course, there was no way to confirm this, but until they managed to make contact with anyone else, there was no way to deny it either. It was simply assumed. They couldn’t afford to risk believing otherwise.

  "We want to save humankind. That’s the role for which we Biodroids were created, after all—even if the Protectorate seems to have forgotten what that means."

  "In other words," Shiloh says, "you want to save this planet, just like I do."

  "Not at all. Fixing the planet simply isn’t cost-effective. Not just because of the time and resources it would require, but because Earth is doomed to fall again one day. When it does, it will be mankind’s fault, as it was before. Earth will always die. But that doesn’t mean humans have to. With my help, they won’t. Ever again.”

  A chill runs down Shiloh’s spine, like so many delicate spiders. “You want to make humans…like Biodroids.”

  “I want to destroy death. To achieve immortality, most components of the human body will have to be altered, if not replaced outright.”

  “The parts that make us human, you mean,” Cade says. “I’m not sure you’re getting the memo, here. We don’t want to become like you. Quite the reverse. We want to take things back to the way they used to be!”

  "It was the old world that gave birth to the one we live in now," Echo says, matter-of-factly. "Before us are two roads. You’re arguing in favor of one over the other, but what you lack is the perspective to understand that your road leads to the same place as mine. The path I propose will save lives in both the short and long term, giving humanity a better chance for perpetual growth and continual propagation—a state all living organisms strive for."

  "You can’t be serious," Cade says. "Shiloh, you’re not actually listening to this, are you?"

  Shiloh doesn’t answer. She’s against this proposal with every fiber of her being. But she can’t afford to be as heated as Cade right now. Her response could determine whether the remaining people of the Cloister will live or die.

  "How would this work, exactly?" she asks.

  Echo taps a button on the console, bringing up a holographic slideshow depicting models of human beings, their bodies translucent. Various innards, muscles, and bones are shown being removed, replaced with artificial parts, skin grafts being replaced with layers of metal alloy.

  "It's a simple enough procedure. My surgical tools have already been calibrated for the task.

  “Each operation will take hours at most. The hard part will be the recovery. That will take days, if not weeks. Those that come out the other side will be on par with the Biodroids in terms of strength, durability, and utility."

  "Those that come out the other side?" Shiloh says. "Are you saying that some won't survive?"

  "There is the possibility, yes. The operation will be a great strain on the human body. Thus far, I can boast a survival rate of ninety percent. I think that's more than acceptable."

  "’Acceptable’?" Cade says. "That's fucking terrible, is what it is! You’re going to wipe out ten percent of everyone I know!”

  “How do you weigh an immortal life against that of a mortal one?” Echo says, calmly. “The ninety who survive will be able to live forever."

  "You keep saying that," Cade says. "We didn’t ask for that. People don’t want to live forever. Not us, anyway. We just want to do what good we can with the time we have. We want to be good stewards of what we have right now, not leave it behind to go looking for something else."

  "I think the ship has sailed on that one," Revenant says, pushing off of the wall and approaching the middle of the room, standing next to Echo. "I thought that was self-evident at this point. But I can see we’re at an impasse. This conversation is going in circles.”

  It’s an impossible conundrum. To choose between potential obliteration and the disturbing posthuman future Echo is proposing.

  "You’re claiming a ninety survival rate," Shiloh says. "Is this based on your own simulations, or hard data?"

  "Using this particular method," Echo says, "I’ve performed this operation on 110 different humans. Of those, approximately ten did not survive the procedure.”

  So, the survival rate is actually a bit higher than he first suggested. Not that it matters much—the principle is the same. But it’s still good to know.

  Cade shakes his head. "Shiloh, you can’t possibly be entertaining this."

  The strange thing is, she is considering it. That’s how bad things have gotten.

  "Echo," she says, "I can't promise that anyone at the Cloister is going to agree to that. It will be up to them. They have to be informed of the risks. They have to understand what it means. But I will promise this: I won’t try to dissuade them one way or the other."

  In the silence that follows, she waits for Cade to interject, to protest, but he remains quiet. He must know, as well as she does, that they need Echo and Revenant's help.

  "Fair enough," Echo says, his expression the same as it ever was. No discernible shift. "It stands to reason that a gift can only be given if the recipient is willing to receive it. Your terms are acceptable."

  He moves in a circle around the console, stopping in front of her. He holds out his hand.

  "Let us seal the agreement in accordance with the human ways."

  She hesitates momentarily before reaching out and taking his hand. The skin of his hand is rubbery and cold. She shakes it.

  "Then it's settled," Echo says, retracting his hand. "We’ll leave shortly, once the Super Fortress has finished powering up."

  "By 'Super Fortress,'" Shiloh says, "you mean this place?"

  Echo nods.

  Shiloh makes a cursory glance around the room. “If it’s not ‘powered up’, then what is all this?”

  "He’s not just talking about the facility itself." Revenant says. "The Super Fortress is more than that. Echo, why don't you show her?"

  Echo moves to a section of the round console and presses a couple of glowing buttons. A small square plate shifts to the side, revealing a Jacktech port.

  Echo looks over his shoulder at Shiloh. "Go on, see for yourself."

  She steps forward, tugging down one side of the upturned collar of her jumpsuit, revealing the connector in her neck.

  "Shiloh, wait," Cade says.

  She hesitates, but only for a second. It occurs to her—as Cade must believe—that this could be some kind of trick. But she has to take the risk. There's no point in holding back. She has to embrace what she is, what she can do. She has to make use of every tool, every bit of knowledge at her disposal.

  She grabs the connector and pulls, feeling the internal grind of the cable unspooling inside her neck. She slots the connector into the port.

  A green light flickers on just above the port, and then it happens. She can see it. She can see everything.

  It's not like using Jacktech on a Biodroid. This is different. She's not immersed in the system she's connected to; not in the same way. She's both inside and outside of it at the same time.

  Her eyes roll back as she takes on this new form of vision, this new reality. She'd never be able to articulate this feeling—not to another human being. The language of the facility's computer, the code of it, is splayed out before her, any one section nanoseconds from being accessed, interfaced with, comprehended.

  She begins to take the data in, assimilating it. Soon, she understands the patterns, the meanings—not in a way that she can see, like actual code on a screen, but in a way she can feel. This place is more than just a facility, and she has access to every part of it. Every door, every camera, every light, every power core, every…engine.

  "Well?" Echo says, as Shiloh opens her eyes, still connected to the port. "Would you like to do the honors and initiate the boot sequence?"

  Shiloh nods. "I think I will."