Zero echo shadow prime, p.2
Zero Echo Shadow Prime, page 2
“Let the echo speak for herself,” Sharp Teeth snapped.
Normal didn’t say anything. She simply extended her hands and presented her poker.
Four Arms pushed Normal’s hands down and said, “No, we aren’t giving them anything!” Four Arms stood in front of her housemate and extended her arms in a defensive X.
“I don’t want to fight you,” Lustrous said. “But one of you will give me that poker.” She slowly approached them.
Four Arms and Normal backed up against the crowd. They were trapped on all sides. She felt increasingly claustrophobic and vulnerable. Lustrous was trying to take advantage of them, trying to shame them, trying to control them. If Four Arms didn’t hold her ground now, she might never have a chance to reclaim it. She started swinging her arms to create space. The crowd pushed back. At some point, she lost her sense of direction and one of her elbows collided with Lustrous’s jaw.
The rest happened quickly. Lustrous lunged after Four Arms. Four Arms fought her off, but Sharp Teeth jumped on her back and took a bite of flesh out of her neck. Four Arms cried out in pain. Before Sharp Teeth could take a second bite, Flame washed her in a stream of fire. Sharp Teeth dived to the ground to roll out the flames.
Four Arms grew dizzy and sank to her knees. She tried to stem the flow of blood with her hand, but most of it oozed through her fingers. Lustrous moved in for another attack. Four Arms countered, pulled her to the ground, and climbed on top of her.
Holding Lustrous down with her bottom two hands, Four Arms strangled her with the top two. Lustrous kicked and flailed, but she could not break free. Her only hope was the wound in Four Arms’s neck, which gushed blood unabated. It became a race to see who would die first. But Four Arms was consumed with rage, and she held firm. She hammered Lustrous’s skull against the pavement, hoping to accelerate her death. Lustrous’s face turned a deeper shade of blue. Her muscles jolted one last time. Her chest sank, and her pupils dilated.
Four Arms released her victim and collapsed on top of her. The warm mess dripping from her neck faded from importance as she labored to fill her lungs. Each breath was richer and more satisfying than the last. She couldn’t consume the air fast enough. Her pace quickened until a spark of euphoria pulsed through her core. She arched her back and expelled a silent scream as every muscle in her body spasmed with pleasure. All of her withdrawal symptoms—the anger, the fear, the paranoia—evaporated away.
Once the sensation subsided, Four Arms was able to look at her victim with a sober mind. Lustrous was dead. She scanned the faces of the crowd. Most of them were in shock, still processing what had happened.
Four Arms scrambled to her feet, worried about retaliation, but a loud crackle directed everyone’s attention back to Lustrous. A stream of blue light curled around the dead echo’s limbs and collected inside her chest. The energy pulsed a few times before expanding into a large static bubble. The force knocked Four Arms backward into her fellow echoes, who reluctantly braced her fall.
The blue bubble cradled Lustrous and levitated her above the crowd. Although her body was cast in silhouette, her morphological changes were visible to all. Bumps sprouted from both sides of her torso and grew into a second set of arms. The process took about twenty seconds, after which the bubble dissolved, and Lustrous dropped to her feet. She straightened her back and heaved her first breath of renewed life.
Everyone froze, waiting to see what Lustrous would do next. She had just become the first echo with two special traits: bioluminescent skin and four limbs. She wiggled her new fingers, pumped all four fists in sequence, and swung her arms; but her learning period was brief, and her eyes flared with vengeance as she picked Four Arms out of the crowd.
Four Arms nearly tripped trying to back away. Her moment of ecstasy did nothing to heal her neck, and she had lost a great deal of blood.
Lustrous charged, Four Arms planted her heels, and the two echoes locked in an eight-arm grapple. This time, Four Arms could not match her opponent’s strength. She fell to the ground and Lustrous climbed on top of her.
Four Arms was only able to put up a weak defense. Soon, Lustrous was pummeling her murderer unimpeded. Four Arms would have quickly perished, but Normal stepped in and swung the fireplace poker across Lustrous’s face.
“Get out of here!” Normal shouted to her housemate.
Chaos erupted. Normal was tackled by a spiny-skinned echo. Flame turned her burners on the crowd. Everyone joined in the fight. It was echo against echo against echo.
Four Arms searched for an escape route, but her eyes were drenched with blood, and she wasn’t even sure she could get to her feet. She planted her heel against the pavement and pushed as hard as she could. Her legs wobbled violently as she rose into a crouch, but her energy reserves quickly evaporated, and she collapsed back to the ground.
Four Arms rested her head in a pool of blood and focused on a small patch of blue sky beyond the chaos. This is it. She relinquished herself to death’s embrace as the crowd swept over her.
2
ARCHETYPE
Charlie puked half her breakfast into the toilet, gripping the lid and moaning. She would have screamed except her throat had already been stripped raw from nine days of this madness. The first symptom had been a sharp pain in her stomach. Then the spiteful organ threw a digestive tantrum. Now Charlie spent the better part of her mornings shuttling food in both directions. What goes down must come up. Her body operated under a new law of physics.
“I don’t know why I even bother to eat anymore,” Charlie muttered before the acrid smell tripped her gag reflex once again, and she relinquished the second half of her breakfast.
“Maybe you’re pregnant,” said Alan, her omnipresent friend.
“Last time I checked, you need to have sex to get pregnant,” Charlie murmured into the bowl.
“Should we run a health scan?”
“No health scans. I thought I told you this.” Charlie’s eyes were streaming from the gastric fumes. She threw out her hand and swiped at the toilet-paper dispenser, only to find the entire roll missing.
She blotted her eyes on her shoulder and searched the room for the toilet-paper thief. She found it immediately: a hermit-crab-styled robot with a papier-mâché shell. It was crawling—no, it was strutting—in plain sight, flaunting its dominion over Charlie’s bathroom. “Little fucker!” she whispered.
The thief was a Replicator, a member of a colony of self-replicating robots. Charlie designed and built the prototype months ago, giving it one main directive: to create offspring. One robot soon became two. Two became four. Six generations later, her apartment looked like Swiss cheese. The little robots had punched holes into the furniture, the cookware, the bathroom fixtures, the electrical wiring, everything.
Charlie snatched the thief and studied it. Its legs were made of fiberglass, probably from the bathtub. Its antennae were made from toothbrush bristles. The outer shell was fashioned from many fine layers of tissue and cardboard. Despite its crime, Charlie couldn’t help but marvel at the little guy. Such bold choices in construction material.
“You have less than ninety minutes till your interview,” Alan reminded her.
“I know.” Charlie gently placed the Replicator back on the floor and patted its shell.
She marched into her bedroom and took a quick survey. The room was another refutation of the laws of physics. Nearly everything Charlie owned was located on the floor in a giant pile of laundry and machine parts, almost as if the pull of gravity was stronger in this one room and her possessions couldn’t help but slip into a lower energy state. Down was the new up. Up was the new down.
“Where’s my red dress?” Charlie wondered out loud.
“You mean your only dress?” Alan said. “When was the last time you wore it?”
Charlie smiled. It was a trick question, of course. She had never worn the dress. Yet, it wasn’t in her closet where she expected it to be. “Monkey, where’s my dress?” Charlie called out. A large bulge appeared in the center of the laundry pile. It thumped twice, then deflated.
“I think you buried him,” Alan said.
A multijointed, robotic appendage sprang free from the laundry. It flung a few shirts into the air in an effort to excavate the rest of itself. Monkey was no more sophisticated than a housekeeper bot, and he looked like a walking end table, but he was good at dealing with environmental quandaries. He loved to climb things—trees, lampposts, cars, people—hence the name. Unfortunately, he was also a big robot, more chimp than monkey. So to mitigate property damage costs, Charlie kept him secluded in her apartment.
Monkey rose to his feet with Charlie’s dress serendipitously draped over his head. He tried to shake it off to no avail.
“Thank you, Monkey!” Charlie lifted the dress into the air, and that’s when she noticed the giant hole in the middle.
“The Replicators strike again,” Alan noted.
Somewhere in the apartment hid a very fashionable little robot with a red silk shell. Charlie shrugged and tossed the dress aside. “Jeans, it is,” she said. She dug a pair out of the pile and climbed into them.
“Before you leave, you must do something with that hair,” Alan said.
Charlie stepped in front of a full-length mirror. Alan was right. Her hair was a travesty, wild by neglect rather than intention. In fact, her entire appearance was reminiscent of a—
“Vagrant, vagabond, drifter, crazy person—” Alan chimed in.
“Yes,” Charlie agreed without a fight. She glanced at Alan, who looked so dapper with his clean haircut and tailored tweed suit. The difference between the two of them was striking. “You know, you’re making me look even worse by comparison,” she told him. “Maybe you should take off that jacket and tussle your hair a bit.”
“The American public will judge you independently of how I look.”
“Jeez, well, when you put it that way…” Charlie huffed.
She returned to the bathroom and picked up a hairbrush. Her stomach clenched as she tugged through her knots. Chunks of matted hair fell into the sink. “Owww, shit!” A sharp abdominal pain forced her to stop. Her intestines felt mangled, as if caught in a blender blade. She gritted her teeth and slapped the hairbrush against the edge of the sink.
“You should let me do the health scan,” Alan said.
“No scans,” Charlie gasped as her face tightened and her eyes flooded.
“I’m really worried about you.”
Charlie took a few deep breaths and eased herself back into an upright position. The pain slowly evaporated. “I’ll be fine. It’s probably just a stomach bug.”
“A nine-day stomach bug?”
“I’ll be fine!” she insisted.
She took another look in the mirror. She never really thought much about her appearance. In most ways, she was hopelessly unremarkable. Yet one feature stood out. When Charlie wasn’t lost in melancholy, when she held her head up, when she allowed people to see the life in her face, she sometimes received compliments on her bright turquoise eyes. They were vestiges of a former life, telegraphing a vitality she no longer possessed.
Charlie was grateful the “stomach bug” had spared her fairest feature. The rest of her face was a different matter, with her sunken cheekbones, dark circles beneath her eyes, and of course, that tangled mop of hair. She tossed the brush into the sink.
“This is a project I don’t have time for,” she announced and left the bathroom. “Time?” she asked as she sped down the hallway toward the apartment building’s front entrance.
“We have about an hour,” Alan said, two steps behind her.
“Cab?”
“It’s here.”
Just as they were about to reach the double doors, the building manager blocked their path. Her hulking body eclipsed most of the sunlight in the hallway, and her hateful scowl pressed Charlie to give ground.
“I had a tough day at work,” the manager began in an accusing tone. “I wanted to relax on my balcony. At my age, I feel like I’ve earned that right. Then, when I go to sit down, one of the legs of my chair snapped completely in half. Now why do you suppose that happened?”
“Um—” Alan was about to say something rude, but Charlie shot him a silencing glare.
The manager held up a glass jar and said, “I found this crawling nearby. What the hell is this thing?”
A Replicator sat inside the jar, playing innocent. Its shell was made of a fine silver-gray wood. “Oooh, is that teak?” Charlie blurted. She tried to reach into the jar, but the manager tucked it back under her arm.
“No, I’m keeping this thing as evidence,” she said. “This is coming out of your deposit.”
“We really need to go,” Alan reminded Charlie.
“Okay, that’s fine,” Charlie told the manager as she shuffled around her. “I’ll pay for whatever.” Dashing out the door, she was elated that her robot babies were starting to discover the wider world of greater Los Angeles.
* * *
The cab dropped Charlie and Alan at the main gate of Rivir Picture Studios with thirty minutes to spare. They trekked farther into the lot toward a central courtyard, trying to avoid the chaotic ballet of motorized carts zipping in every direction. Everyone seemed to know where they were going but Charlie.
“We’re looking for stage 3,” Charlie told Alan. She surveyed the area and didn’t find any buildings that looked like stages.
“It’s all the way on the other side of the lot,” Alan said. “We probably should have taken the north entrance.”
“How was I supposed to know this place would be so big?”
When they arrived at the courtyard, a Shadow spun out of the ground in the way Shadows usually do, like swirling down an invisible sink drain, only in reverse.
“Welcome to Rivir Picture Studios,” the Shadow announced gleefully. “Can I direct your visit?” The Shadow was a holographic representation of Lala, the cartoon space dog. Lala was the star of an early morning TV show and a favorite among the two-to-five age set. She was based on Laika, the real-life dog, who in 1957 became the first animal to enter Earth’s orbit. Unfortunately, Laika had died shortly after the launch. This fictional Lala character, on the other hand, didn’t die but rather took an extended trip around the solar system. Upon returning to Earth, Lala decided to use her experience for good, to teach kids about space and take them on galactic adventures of their own.
“Stage 3?” Charlie submitted.
“Oh! Are you here to view the taping of the Paul Renner Show?” Lala asked with ingratiating enthusiasm.
“I’m actually going to be on the show. I’m a guest,” Charlie said.
“One moment please.” Lala froze for a second, then asked, “Charlotte Nobunaga?”
“Yes.”
“You’re late. Angela is waiting for you. Come with me.”
An unmanned motorized cart zipped in their direction and screeched to a halt. Lala jumped in the front seat. Charlie and Alan climbed in the back.
As the cart darted down alleyways, hugged turns, and dodged set workers, Lala turned around and said, “Charlotte, I see that your Rivir profile settings have accidentally been switched to private.”
“No, that’s definitely not an accident,” Charlie said.
“That’s too bad. Unfortunately, I can’t give personalized recommendations without accessing your profile, but our fall lineup is packed with smart, groundbreaking shows that everyone would enjoy. Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be a top-secret government agent?”
Charlie sighed. “Can you please not talk? I have a lot on my mind.” It was a partial truth. Charlie had so much to ponder—what would Paul Renner ask? what would she say? would she gaffe in front of millions of people?—that her brain gridlocked. The only thing she could think about was how much she couldn’t think.
“A lot on your mind?” Lala asked. “You should download the Super Secretary Shadow-Skill. This incredible new Skill from Rivir will turn your Shadow into—”
“I’m not interested,” Charlie insisted. She rubbed her stomach, feeling the nausea return.
Thankfully, the ride was short. They soon arrived at stage 3, and Lala signed off. “Thank you, and please enjoy the rest of your visit at Rivir Picture Studios.” She waved and spun back into the ground—again, like swirling into a sink drain but this time in the correct direction.
A middle-aged woman rushed out of the sound stage to greet the two. “Charlie Nobunaga?” she called out.
“Yes,” Charlie said.
The woman shook Charlie’s hand aggressively. Beads of sweat covered her brow. “I’m Angela. We talked on the phone.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“I see you didn’t go through hair and makeup yet. We scheduled an hour of prep, but no matter, twenty minutes should be doable.”
“I’m sorry,” Charlie said. She had the sudden urge to bury her entire head in a deep bucket hat.
“It’s okay. You’re here now. Come with me.”
Angela barreled down a series of hallways; Charlie and Alan hustled to keep up. “Will I have a chance to meet Mr. Renner before the interview?” Charlie asked.
“No time, sweetie,” Angela said.
The group entered a small makeup room. The hairstylist on duty almost choked on his latte when he saw Charlie’s appearance.
“Can you fix it?” Angela asked.
“Um, well…” the stylist sputtered, “she’s got this young mad scientist thing going on. If anything, maybe we should go crazier. Make it a ‘choice.’ Hold on.”
Charlie took a seat. The stylist pulled a can of spray out of his utility belt and grabbed a chunk of her hair. She winced as he tugged her head this way and that.
While Angela was on the phone and the stylist was doing his thing, Alan sat beside Charlie and whispered, “Are you nervous?”
“Yeah, kinda,” Charlie replied. “You?”
“I’m essentially a prop. You’re the star. All eyes will be on you.”
“Is this your idea of a pep talk?”
