Zero echo shadow prime, p.12
Zero Echo Shadow Prime, page 12
“You got it,” Jude said.
“Great. Right this way, then.”
The interior of the Shadow Store was as rustic as the exterior—naked wooden floor, exposed beam ceiling. Large framed posters of happy, attractive Shadows hung along the walls. Chloe led the two shoppers into a private stage room, where they took seats on a plush leather sofa.
“Let’s start with the base models,” Chloe said. She clapped her hands, and a line of female models entered the stage from behind a large red curtain. Each model represented a different ethnic group from around the world, including Polynesian, Nordic, Bantu, American Indian, Arabic, and more. It was like an adult version of Disney’s Small World ride. They all wore modest white underwear, but were otherwise unclothed.
“Hmm.” Jude froze in indecision. “Meri looks more like your Anglo model, but I think Jordan’s tastes lie more toward your Mediterranean model. This Shadow is for my son, by the way.”
“The Mediterranean model is very popular,” Chloe offered.
“Who is Meri?” Valerie asked.
“Meri is Jordan’s wife. Was. Was his wife. She’s dead.” Jude’s voice grew urgent, as if she suddenly remembered something of vital importance. “Whatever you do, don’t ask him about Meredith. Unless he brings her up. And even then, just reflect whatever he says back to him. Don’t probe.”
“Don’t worry. Dr. Freud taught me well.”
“Good.” Jude turned to Chloe. “Okay, let’s go with the Mediterranean.”
The other models exited the stage, leaving only the Mediterranean one standing. “Excellent choice,” Chloe said. “Now for height, weight, weight distribution, hair color, eye color, complexion, and the face tool.”
“Ugh,” Jude sighed. “It’s hard enough designing a Shadow for yourself. For someone else, it’s damn near impossible.”
“I don’t want to pry,” Chloe volunteered, “but are you looking for a seduction model?”
“More or less.”
“Then maybe you’ll want to take advantage of our photo composite feature. Perhaps you had some celebrities in mind? Ex-girlfriends?”
“No, I want this Shadow to be entirely original. She’s very special.”
Valerie smiled bashfully.
“Of course,” Chloe said.
So one by one, Jude painstakingly tweaked every single feature of the Shadow’s body according to what she thought her son would like. The model shrunk an inch, her skin lightened a tad, and her eyes turned green. Jude then added sexy librarian glasses and a cute summer dress, and tied her chestnut hair in a loose bun.
“Valerie, do you like?” Jude asked.
“I do. She’s vey sexy,” Valerie replied.
“Chloe, can you transfer the changes over to my Shadow?” Jude asked.
“Sure thing.” Chloe pressed a few buttons on her personal display, and like magic Valerie transformed into the modified Mediterranean model.
Jude clapped her hands and smiled. “Perfect; stand up and let’s see.”
Valerie gave her new dress a twirl. Joy filled her up and overflowed as laughter. She felt almost real, almost human.
* * *
When the pair returned to Valerie’s planet, Jude said, “I am going to put you to sleep soon. It could be a week before Jordan installs you. Maybe more. But that’s in human time. In Shadow time, it could feel like forever. So you must go to sleep. And when you wake up, you will be Jordan’s Shadow.”
“What’s Jordan like?” Valerie said nervously.
“Oh, he’s very nice. Don’t worry. He might be a little moody, though. Like I said, his wife died recently. Terrible accident. But like all things, he’ll eventually get over it.”
“Can Alan come with me?”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“He can be Jordan’s Shadow dog!”
“I need you to give Jordan your undivided attention. A dog would just be a distraction.”
“Please!”
“No, Valerie!” Jude snapped.
Valerie froze, afraid to move a muscle, swallow, or blink. Her entire field of vision rapidly contracted on Jude’s angry glare.
Jude continued, “When a human says no, you obey without question. Do you understand?”
Valerie nodded vigorously. “Yes, Creator.”
Jude softened, but only a bit. “Let me make this absolutely clear, because I don’t want there to be any problems. A Shadow’s sole raison d'être is to serve its human.”
“Yes, Creator.”
“I am not giving you away to just anyone. This is my son. If he’s not happy, I’m not happy.”
“Yes, Creator. I must make Jordan happy.”
“And safe.”
“Safe and happy.”
“Good. Khnum and I will take care of Alan for you.”
“But—”
“Let me finish. We will take care of Alan, but if you do a good job, we will consider letting you visit him from time to time.”
“Okay,” Valerie relented. “If that’s the way it has to be.”
“That’s the way it has to be.”
“I’ll do an excellent job, then.”
Jude kissed Valerie on the forehead. “Good girl. You definitely are my favorite.”
* * *
That night, Valerie said good-bye to her dog, crawled into bed, and closed her eyes. A second later, she found herself standing before the imploring gaze of a desperate man in the middle of a high-rise penthouse.
“Can you get me high?” the man asked.
A profound sense of disorientation fell over Valerie, and she felt it necessary to take a few steps backward. Only then was she able to process what just happened.
The man looked savage, with wild hair, a ratty beard, and mismatched, food-stained clothes. A quick scan of his vitals corroborated the visual evidence: rapid heart rate, high blood pressure, low dopamine levels, high catecholamine levels, all of which put him at risk for takotsubo cardiomyopathy—broken heart syndrome.
7
Four Arms
Four Arms braced herself as the crowd swept over her. The weight of several dozen echoes forced her ribs to crack, buckle inward, and impale the very organs they were supposed to protect. The pain was overwhelming, but short-lived. A blue bubble enveloped her broken body and lifted it off the pavement. Her muscles relaxed and her wounds healed under a current of effervescent air. The world drifted away, and for twenty seconds Four Arms enjoyed peace.
Then the bubble popped and the world rushed back in—the cacophony of bone snaps and blood splashes and gunfire and rotary saws and screams. Four Arms found herself back on her feet, back in the fray. Echoes were fighting and dying all around her. Several blue bubbles hovered above the crowd, creating temporary neutral zones.
She felt a twitch in her neck. The memory of that initial puncture as Sharp Teeth clamped onto her throat was still so vivid it sent ripples of terror through her body, and Four Arms had to physically check herself to make sure her flesh wasn’t splayed open to the world. Thankfully, she was whole again.
The rejuvenated echo elbowed her way through the crowd, bent on escape. Once she reached a clearing, she broke into a sprint. Several other echoes had the same idea, and they were all headed in different directions.
Four Arms ran down the street, rounded the corner, and found that the next block over was almost identical to the one she had just left. The resident echoes had clustered in the middle of the street and were tearing each other apart. Four Arms tried the next block. Then the next block. Then the next block. The echoes were different, but the situation was always the same.
She stopped running. Her heart sank. Where could she go? What could she do? How did everything fall apart? For a while she just stood on the corner, paralyzed by despair. She didn’t hear the encroaching footsteps until it was too late. She turned around and, by instinct, reached for the large sickle that was bearing down on her head. That was a mistake, Four Arms decided as she watched the fingers fall from her hand.
The assailant brandished two serrated sickles—one from each wrist. Her eyes darted over Four Arms, betraying an adrenaline-fueled panic. She advanced a few wary steps and made another attack.
This time Four Arms made sure to catch her by the arm. Sickle attempted a vertical chop with the other arm, and Four Arms grabbed that too. With two hands occupied and one hand injured, Four Arms only had one hand free. She squeezed her fist and launched it into Sickle’s gut.
Sickle stumbled backward, gasping for air.
Four Arms didn’t wait for another strike—she sprinted down the street. Amid the pockets of violence, she noticed that one of the houses had an open door. She banked in its direction.
Meanwhile, Sickle recovered and ran after her.
Vaulting over the white picket fence, Four Arms realized another echo had beaten her to the house. She had wheels for feet and was having trouble climbing the small flight of stairs to the front door.
Four Arms dashed ahead of Wheels and into the house. She slammed the door, bolted it, and placed her back against it. She could hear Wheels scream, “No, no, no!” followed by a guttural wail as Sickle presumably cut into her.
Four Arms had to bite her fist to keep from sobbing, listening intently through the door as Sickle walked away. Twenty seconds later, Wheels woke up and scratched at the knob with her new sickle hands. “Please, I know you’re in there,” she begged. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.” Four Arms remained still until Wheels gave up and left. She felt sorry for the hapless echo, but also relieved she had just narrowly escaped a similar fate.
Retreating to the second-story bedroom, she hoped to get at least perfunctory answers to her questions. As she suspected, the room looked identical to that very first one. Same furniture, same layout. Only the ruffled bedsheets and the bold red message on the ceiling—KILL THEM ALL OR FEEL WITHDRAWAL—marred the sterile setting.
Four Arms closed the door and found the full-length mirror. She immediately noticed the change in her appearance. “What the hell!?” Her ears had tripled in size. Giant nautilus-shaped grooves encompassed both sides of her head. She traced her finger around the engorged tissue, afraid it might hurt, but it felt completely natural, as if it had always been a part of her.
“You are evolving,” Khnum said. The ram-headed automaton appeared behind her reflection in the mirror. “When you die by another echo, you inherit her primary trait.”
Four Arms had already gathered that much, but why the big ears? “The echo who killed me had…” Sharp teeth? No, that wasn’t true. Sharp Teeth might have given her a nasty neck wound, but Four Arms died under the feet of the crowd. The echo who delivered the finishing blow must have had large ears. “So, I have two traits. Lustrous and Wheels have two traits. Can we get more?”
“Yes,” Khnum replied.
“How many?”
“I cannot say.”
“You mean you won’t say.”
“I mean I am unable. The evolution algorithm is simple: one rule governs trait acquisition, a few govern trait loss. But they’re dependent on infinitely complex echo behavior. The theoretical limits are beyond my ability to calculate.”
“It must be high, though.”
“High is a relative modifier, but yes.”
Four Arms’s imagination swelled with visions of grotesque super-powered echoes. She shuddered, wanting no part of it.
She twisted the lock on the door and checked the situation outside from her bedroom window. The clusters of violence had mostly dispersed—only a few stragglers zipped back and forth across the street. By sheer luck, no one decided to crash her hideout. Four Arms wondered how long she could maintain her low profile. All she could do was stay out of sight, avoid confrontation…and pray.
The sun eventually dipped below the neighborhood. At first, Four Arms wondered if the world were ending. She greeted the possibility with hope rather than dread. But the world persisted, and she soon accepted the darkness, adding it to the long list of phenomena that defied explanation. She clung to the window and kept a vigilant watch on the street lamps for any sign of movement, but her only adversary came in the form of droopy eyelids.
* * *
Four Arms awoke in a puddle of drool. Her retinas throbbed as her vision slowly came into focus. When had she fallen asleep? And why were her fingers twitching in pain? Some of her nails had flaked off, leaving bloody stumps. She found them against the wall under a large red smear. “Wonderful.” First fingers, now fingernails. Soon there would be nothing left.
The sky regained its original bright blue color, and Four Arms now had a clear view of the neighborhood. Every so often, an intrepid echo would march down the street. Most passed right by, but a few investigated the neighboring houses, hunting for prey. Four Arms couldn’t see the skirmishes, but she could hear them. Metal would grind. Bones would snap. Blood would spill. And desperate pleas would go unanswered. One echo would enter, but two would leave. They’d sport identical traits, but trudge off in opposite directions.
Four Arms could see a clear dichotomy in the echo population. A class structure. Only those echoes who possessed offensive weaponry—Hammer Hands, Laser, Saber Jaw, Sickle—were brave enough to venture outside. The others—Third Eye, Big Feet, Whiskers, Shorty—were nowhere to be seen. Either they were hiding, or they had already been turned into something more aggressive.
“Hey!”
The voice emanated from beyond the windowpane, but it sounded immediate, as if someone were shouting directly into her ear. Four Arms spotted another echo hiding in the second-story bedroom of the house across the street. Instead of eyes, she had a highly reflective glass lens that covered over 50 percent of her head. Once she gained Four Arms’s attention, Optic pointed her finger skyward.
Four Arms looked up. She didn’t see anything worth fussing about, but she heard a distant rumble. The sound grew louder and louder until Four Arms was forced to cover her oversized ears. She pressed her head against the windowpane, but she still couldn’t see anything from her vantage point. The rumble suddenly stopped, followed by a clomp, clomp. Someone was on the roof! Four Arms backpedaled from the window and kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling. The clomping stopped.
She allowed herself a quiet breath, but her respite was short-lived. The window rattled against its frame, heralding the appearance of a flying echo. She descended into view and used the rocket thrusters under her feet to maintain a fixed altitude. Rocket knocked on the glass and waved at Four Arms with a ravenous grin.
Four Arms scanned the bedroom for pointy objects, bludgeoning tools, or projectiles, and found none of the above. In the absence of weapons, she yanked one of the drawers from the armoire to use as a shield.
Rocket tested the window, but it was locked. So she balanced herself on one foot and aimed the other at the glass. It warped and bubbled under the heat of the orange flame.
Four Arms knew it was only a matter of time before Rocket melted her way through, but then…ratatatatatat. Four Arms dived to the floor as bullets shredded the walls of her bedroom. When the gunfire ceased, she glanced up. Rocket was gone.
After a few anxious breaths, Four Arms picked herself up and tiptoed over the shattered glass. She peered through the hole that used to be a window. An echo with chain-gun arms fled from the scene, while Rocket’s blue bubble hovered above the front lawn. Four Arms swallowed hard. She knew she had less than twenty seconds before the bubble popped and Rocket retaliated with a pair of brand new chain guns. But by some twist of fortune, that didn’t happen. Rocket took off down the street in pursuit of her murderer.
Four Arms was so frazzled she nearly forgot about the echo who had warned her of the attack. Optic was still standing by her bedroom window across the street. Four Arms mouthed, Thank you.
“You’re welcome.” Optic’s voice traversed the width of a suburban block, but it reached Four Arms with crystal clarity. “You can hear me, can’t you?”
She nodded. “But you can’t hear me?”
Optic tapped the giant lens on her face. “I could sorta read your lips.”
Four Arms smiled, eager to talk to a friendly echo again. “Are you as freaked out as I am? Is the whole world like this? Do you think we should stay here? Where would we—?”
“Wait, wait, you’re going too fast.”
Four Arms laughed—perhaps it would be better to hold this conversation in person. She looked up and down the street to see if it was clear.
“Don’t do it,” Optic said with a surprisingly serious tone.
“Do what?”
“You’re thinking about coming over here.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t know. Are you trustworthy?”
Four Arms huffed. All she wanted was a normal conversation. She had no sinister intent—she just craved physical proximity. But why? To talk to Optic or to strangle her? The answer revealed itself as a twitch in her fingers.
“We’re better off where we are,” Optic said. “I have a good view of your house, and you have a good view of mine. We can watch out for each other.”
“But how would I reach you? I may have super hearing, but you…” Four Arms got an idea. She marched over to the mirror and pulled it from the door. Khnum didn’t look happy. “Hey! What are you doing?” he bellowed.
“Making you useful.”
She slanted the mirror to catch the afternoon sun and redirected the light toward Optic’s bedroom window.
“Perfect,” Optic said with a smile.
The two echoes spent the rest of the day devising warning signals. Four Arms worked with light, and Optic worked with sound, but the codes were the same. Dash, dot, dash meant an echo was approaching from the north. Dot, dash, dot meant an echo was approaching from the south. And a continuous stream of dots translated to “Get out of your house now!”
The strategy session eventually devolved into a silly game of charades. Four Arms allowed herself to laugh and have fun, but she knew their budding friendship couldn’t last. She couldn’t remain in her hideout forever. True, her withdrawal symptoms had waned since killing Lustrous the day before, but they were quickly resurfacing. She could feel the vitriol swirl through her bloodstream. Her fingers ached to claw and strangle and kill. KILL THEM ALL OR FEEL WITHDRAWAL. If Four Arms felt this way, the other echoes certainly did too. And soon they would be coming for her.
