Heart of Iron (Heart of Iron #1)(86)

D03, Retains little knowledge in transfer, but not memory. Slow. Must up RAM.

D05, Retains most knowledge in transfer, little memory. Perhaps need essential memory supplement?

D08, Retains all knowledge in transfer, but no memory—yet. Memory core functional.

There was a file with this next case number. She clicked it, and a video popped up. A shaky holo-pad recording, pixelated and almost unwatchable. It showed a Metal sitting in a chair, watching someone behind the camera with bright moonlit eyes.

“Now, I want you to think hard,” said the gravelly voice of Rasovant—the man behind the camera. “Identify AI.”

“D09,” it said.

Her heart jumped into her throat. D09? Di?

She reached for the holo-screen, toward his face, but her hand fell through the screen.

“No, let’s try this again. Your real name. You must remember it. Identify AI.”

“I am D09,” it repeated. Di repeated. “I am D09.”

“No! Your human name.”

FILE CORRUPTED, the blank screen read.

Her eyebrows furrowed. His human name? But what did that . . .

“Oh, Goddess,” she whispered, retreating from the console as if it had burned her, and she searched the lab for something—anything—to prove her wrong, but all she saw was the Plague and memory cores and death.

Metals had once been people—the Plague victims.

All the Plague victims were burned after they died, so no one would know the difference if their bodies went missing. The disease was so contagious, if you so much as touched an infected person, you would also begin to rot. The kingdom sent out guards to take the infected away, so no one was there when they died. Or when they were put into Metals.

Oh, Goddess.

Then . . . D09 . . . he was . . .

She typed in the prompt and hit enter.

IDENTIFY SUBJECT D09.

The files—all of them, the schematics, the experimental files, the lab results—went dark. Words typed out over the screen.

Tsk-tsk, little Ananke.

The screen changed to a mirror—just her reflection in the dimly lit room. But in the doorway to the lab stood the red-eyed Metal, its head bowed to the side, sparks frizzing, a slat of metal missing from its cheek.

I told you, you should have burned like the others.

The screen glitched, and the Metal disappeared, replaced by her brothers, dressed in proper waistcoats and trousers, ashen, with smudges of soot on their cheeks.

But she knew the Metal was there. Its footsteps were heavy, patient, slow. She trembled, unable to look away from the screen—she was afraid to. In the reflection, her brothers prowled closer, shifting, shimmering, growing taller, older, with stares as dark as space. How old they would be, if they had survived. This was a cruel trick. A fabrication.

“You burned the tower,” she whispered, and the malware grinned through her eldest brother’s mouth. “You’re the Metal who burned the tower and killed my family.”

The eldest brother, Rhys, bent toward her. His voice was right in her ear. “We did burn the tower, but it was Father’s idea.”

“Your father? You . . . you mean Rasovant.”

“Father lost his patience with the Emperor. He did not mean to kill him.” Wylan shrugged.

Her mouth went dry. “Why?”

“Because Father thought the Great Dark was coming. He needed an army. He wanted to HIVE all Metals, to conscript them, and the Emperor would not let him.”

“That’s because the Great Dark doesn’t exist,” Ana replied. “It’s just a story.”

“But all stories have their beginnings, little Ananke,” replied Rhys. “Like the story of the Rebellion. It was not all lies, was it? There was a fire, and humans died.”

“But my father didn’t die in the fire,” she snarled. “Rasovant killed him, and then you burned the tower to cover up the evidence! There’s a difference.”

Her eldest brother seemed pleased. “The only difference is who is telling the story.”

“Then who . . . what are you?” Her voice shook with the question.

All three of her brothers grinned at that, and all their eyes flickered—until they were the brightest neon blue.

HIVE blue.

Her eyes widened. “You’re the HIVE.”

Her not-brothers laughed in unison, but it never reached their dead eyes.

“Why do you want to kill me?” she asked. “What could I possibly do to you?”

“What could your D09 do?” asked the eldest. “He died on that ship trying to save you, but for naught.”

“Shut up.”

“You can join him,” said her middle brother. “We can put you into metal armor. We can make sure your heart never breaks again. We know you hurt.”

“I said shut up.” But her voice cracked.

Their grins widened.

“We will help,” her older brother echoed. “Are you not tired of running?”

“Come home,” the youngest said.

Home. It felt like she had wanted that for so long. Her eyes filled with tears, because there was no way to escape the Metal behind her, as it wrapped its cold fingers around her neck—

Someone wrenched them away.

The reflection rippled and she spun around as a Royal Guard tossed the Metal across the lab with inhuman force. It slammed against the bookshelves, toppling them, burying the Metal under the heavy tomes.