Lifel1k3 (Lifelike #1)(106)

“Ana, you can’t stay here.”

“My name isn’t Ana, Ezekiel.” The flames inside her seethed, burning hotter and brighter by the second. The girl she never was only ashes on the wind. “And don’t tell me what I can’t do. For the first time in my life, I can do whatever I want.”

“And you want to stay here?”

“I want …”

The not-girl clenched her jaw. Shook her head. Trying to grasp one thought, one feeling, one word that might be her own.

Realizing she might not have any at all.

Realizing the only person who could change that was her.

An algorithm of flesh and bone, trying to predict what a dead girl would have done.

No more.

“I want to learn who I am,” she declared. “And I don’t think you can teach me.”

“Ana, I—”

“I’m not who you want me to be, Ezekiel.”

She glanced at the coin slot in his chest.

The mark of his loyalty.

The mark of his fealty.

“And somehow I don’t think you’re who I want to be, either.”

“Riotgrrl …”

She glanced up at the girl cradled in the logika’s arms. “Goodbye, Lemon.”

The girl shook her head, tears in her eyes. “Riotgrrl, I’m not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Stronger together, remember?” The tears spilled down Lemon’s cheeks, her voice cracking. “Together forever.”

“Not forever. Not anymore.”

“Riotg—”

“You’ll die if you stay here, Lemon. And Cricket isn’t forced to look after me anymore. He knows I’m not human. So he doesn’t get to choose. He has to choose you.”

She glanced at the ruined Goliaths behind her, then back up at the big logika’s eyes. His heart was relays and chips and processors. His optics were made of plastic. And she could still see the agony in them.

“I …”

“You were a good friend, Cricket.” The not-girl smiled sadly. “Take care of yourself.”

The bot shook his head. “… I’m sorry. I have to.”

“I know.”

The big bot steeled himself. It was like watching him tearing himself in two. His feelings at war with his code. He loved her. He’d always loved her. But he’d been programmed to. And despite what he’d said in the ministry, that same programming was at war with him now. Forcing him to leave her behind, no matter how he felt. His body was not his own. His mind was not his own. His life was not his own.

Maybe one day, little brother.

Cricket’s shoulders slumped. Trembling with the strain of it. Hating every second of it. But finally, he turned and began trudging toward the exit, head hung low. Lemon bucked in his grip, trying to break loose, pounding her fists against his hull.

“No, Crick, let me go!”

Cricket sighed. “A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.”

“Cricket, I’m ordering you, put me down!” Lemon yelled.

“A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law,” he replied.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Cricket! I don’t want to hurt you!”

“A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.”

“No, I want to stay! I want to stay!” Lemon turned tear-filled eyes on the not-girl who had been her bestest, stretching out her hand as she screamed. “Evie!”

“Goodbye,” the not-girl whispered.

The logika stomped away, Lemon’s cries fading as he crossed the bridge, strode out from the broken tower’s broken heart. She watched them go, feeling the girl she’d never been burning inside her. Ashes falling like feathers from a sky full of angels with broken wings.

And when they were out of sight, she turned to the almost-boy.

The boy she’d never loved.

The boy she’d never even known.

He was watching her with eyes the color of a pre-Fall sky, clouded with hurt. She could see the war inside him, too. The remnants of who he’d thought she’d been struggling with the reality of who she actually was.

But if she didn’t know, how could he?

How could he?

“I’m not leaving you here,” he said.

“And why not?”

“Because I love you.”

“Two years you searched,” she said. “Remember? Two years of empty wastes and endless roads. Of not knowing if you’d ever see her again. And when the ash rose up to choke you, it was thoughts of her that helped you breathe. When the night seemed never-ending, it was dreams of her that helped you sleep. Her. And only her.”

A soft sigh.

“Not me.”

The not-girl glanced back at Myriad, watching with its glowing blue eye.

“She’s out there somewhere, Ezekiel. Her father didn’t let her die. Gnosis had holdings all over the map. I’m sure you know where to find more than a few. But she’s not here.” The not-girl shook her head. “There’s nothing for you here.”

She heard a soft moan and looked toward Faith’s broken body. The lifelike had recovered at least partially from Cricket’s savage beating, her shattered bones starting to mend. Like a newborn, she stirred, fingers twitching, lungs rasping. It wouldn’t be long before she was moving again. And after that …