Kriegspiel [Sequel to The Turing Test]

17. Define Humanity

Hours pass. Maybe days. I lose track of the time, sitting there and holding Davis's clammy hand, only letting go to retrieve ice and wet towels to place across his burning forehead. The only sounds are small clinks as Ada works, taking samples, slipping a slide into place on a microscope, tinkering with test tubes. I hate that this ghost of a building has turned into a lab where we experiment on humans.

The quiet presses on me, but I know that if I break it, it will only be to ask about Ada's progress. She made it clear the tenth time that she didn't really appreciate it; she'd finish when she finished, and asking wasn't going to speed her up.

I refuse to leave Davis's side. He doesn't wake, and beside him, Ayo has slipped back into sleep as well. Every once in a while, Davis's fingers twitch against mine, and I look up with my heart in my throat—but he never wakes. I know he's too weak from the malnutrition he endured underground, and watching him waste away even further before my eyes gives me an unbearable urge to move. To run. Anywhere, it doesn't matter, as long as I'm not here.

But it wouldn't be fair to leave, so I stay.

I watch a bead of sweat tremble at his hairline and reach out to wipe it away, his hot skin burning my fingers. His words echo in my head like God's voice from the end of whatever tunnel we cross as we die.

I wrote this.

Three words.

I wrote this.

Not I love you.

I wrote this.

I hate that it's overwritten everything else. I hate that the colossal mistake of my existence isn't entirely Sven's fault anymore. Because it doesn't feel like as much of a mistake if Davis had a hand, too, even without his knowledge. The idea of a piece of him as a piece of me, his code in my system, gives me a tiny, unexplainable thrill that raises goosebumps along my spine. That connection—something I previously thought I only shared with Sven—it's like a man to his God.

I shiver. I've loved a god once, been loved by a god once, and it almost destroyed my world.

I look over my shoulder as Ada curses under her breath. It's only one word, but it makes my stomach sink through the floor.

I gently extricate my hand from Davis's and stand, stretching. A tiny shuffle from across the room draws my attention, and I peer around Ayo's bed to find Alan, huddled on the floor with his knees tucked up to his chest.

He peers up at me through auburn bangs as I sit down beside him and ask, "Where's Linus?" The two have been inseparable since he woke up.

I receive no answer. I haven't heard Alan speak once. He only hugs himself tighter, turning his face away.

No response. I guess I wasn't really expecting one.

"I'm Ronnie." I don't bother holding out a hand that I know he won't take. I just smile, even though he's not looking at me.

"I know how you feel," I venture after a few long moments. Then I laugh inwardly at myself. "Well, I guess I don't. That whole...computer thing."

Again, he's silent. If it weren't for his even breaths I would think he was—what? Off? Dead? I don't even know what to call it.

"I was Sven's—"

I stop, because I don't know what to call that, either. Were we engaged, or was I just an elaborate doll for his pleasure?

"I was with Sven," I finally conclude. "But all that's behind us. We don't have to answer to him anymore. Better things are ahead, that's what we have to believe."

One of his breaths comes slightly less stable than the others, and it's different enough from his unchanging muteness to startle me.

"You think it's better without Sven," he says quietly, and I almost hear faint, sardonic amusement in his voice. "We are nothing. Without Sven, I am nothing."

My heart—not that I have one—sinks. with every word he says, I recognize a piece of myself—the old me. The one who truly thought that without Sven the world would end. That it revolved around him, and that it was healthy to think so. And some days I still wake up believing it, because he's that far into my head, but I have to keep remembering...we all have to keep remembering that he was just perpetuating an abusive cycle.

"Sven is a monster," I say fiercely, and for a second I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince.

"Sven is my light in the dark," he whispers as if from far away. "How can I ever make up for what I've done to him?"

"You did not do anything," I argue, "anything that would justify what's been done to you."

"None of us have."

Startled, I crick my neck as I twist to stare at Ada. I'd assumed her silence meant she was too focused on her work to listen to us, but her dark, upturned eyes flicker as they meet mine.

"I was a med student. On my residency. He was a patient. The most charming one I'd ever treated. At least, that was what I thought."

With a deep sigh, she shakes her head. "It was all lies. And then at the end, I'm a 'marvel of engineering' and all that. You've heard the speech. I was the next generation of surgical advancement. We don't even need humans anymore."

"Of course we do," I snap before I can stop myself.

"Oh, I didn't say that. Sven did."

"But Sven is—"

"Human?" she asks, then nods once, the corners of her lips pulling down. "I guess that depends how you define 'humanity.'"

I shiver, as if an ice cube has slipped down my spine. I remember the dreams I used to have—Darwin's memories—of Sven leaning over him, over me, his humanity disappearing into the soulless pits of his eyes as his evil shines through.

"Look, I studied a little psychology in school." Ada sighs, turning back to her work. "Which is ironic considering I saw none of his red flags. He's a manipulator at its finest, and the only thing I can't quite figure out is if he created us because humans were too unpredictable, or because he can't understand them. We were all made to believe everything he says. And we did. Is that our fault?"

"The others in the storage room," I mutter. "We weren't just fun. He wanted to make a profit."

My eyes cut to Ayo. She'd wanted that, too. Did she really regret it like she claimed? Surely she wouldn't have woken Darwin, knowing what he's capable of, if she was only interested in controlling us?

Darwin. I gently squeeze the bruise on my arm, still left from when he threw me around. He's almost as frightening as Sven, and if I have to choose to throw my support behind one of them, I think I'd rather fall victim to Ayo's Antarctic plague.

"Well," Ada says, making both Alan and me jump out of our thoughts. "Call me whatever you want. I'll take 'marvel of engineering.' Because how else do you explain this?"

She holds up a slide, tainted pink at the center where a single drop of blood has been squeezed between the glass. It looks no different from the twenty other slides littered around her microscope, discarded during heat-of-the-moment tirades.

"Um...the same way I'd explain all that?" I gesture toward the mess.

"No," she says. "Those are failures. This is not."

I lurch to my feet. "Wait, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"If you think I'm saying I found a cure, then yes."