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vN The First Machine Dynasty(15)

By:Madeline Ashby




"That was sweet," she said, her voice a perversion of Amy's mother's.



Relax, the voice within said. She's harmless.



"I know who you are now, Granny," Amy whispered.



Took you long enough. That boy is right. You're very slow.



"Did you want them to get me, all along?"



No. They want to kill you. I want you to live.



Amy watched a crowd of copies steadily advancing on her. They wore her face – her mother's face, Granny's face, the model's face – but their walk was different, wary. They circled her uncertainly. They looked at each other as though wondering what to do next. Weak, Granny said. Scared. Slow. A distinct chill frosted over Amy's skin. It stiffened her jaw and hardened her fists. Her body ran, now, fists out and mouth open, barrelling straight for the nearest aunt. Her vision darkened. She heard screaming. Didn't know whose it was.



Don't worry, darling. Granny's here.





3



Every Little Last Bone and Tooth





You're roadkill; I should have let them eat you.



Amy could almost feel her graphene layers dancing to the algorithms that would retrieve her ability to scream for food. Her repair modules worked to patch damages with resources her body didn't have. They shifted carbon, pushed silicon, redirected lithium, frantically covering the holes, the rips, the gashes. They hollowed her steadily from the inside, unravelling nanoscale threads of minerals from her hair and skin (what was left) and bone (what they could find). She heard feet, felt warmth–



Bite! Now!



She lurched, burning the last of her food-carbons on this gamble, her mouth snapping open and clamping down. Something rough and dry filled it before being crunched away. Her body sang, every molecule clambering for more, chorusing need. She was sucking something. It was rich, a wealth of carbon and sugar, wet and warm and a little pulpy where her tongue washed over it.



Tasty, Granny said. But the amniotic sac would be better.



Amy opened her eyes. All grayscale. Someone with dark hair knelt over her, clutching a smoking hand. The left thumb was gone. She willed her eyes to examine the wound, up the detail. Colour flashed briefly. Gray. Not red. Not human.



"Do you know me?" he asked.



Hungry, she wanted to say. More.



He entered a vehicle and brought out a blanket, then laid her on it. Amy's memories showed her P-I-C-N-I-C.



"Come on." He picked her up. What had damaged all those trees?



"Gonna make a burrito out of you," he said, ferrying her over to the blanket. She examined her left hand. It had no skin left. Black spines poked out instead, like twigs. "No biting."



No biting, Granny concurred.



He laid her on the blanket with her other pieces. He rolled the blanket up and her appendages slid together; she felt her foot near her eyes. He carried the bundle away and put it somewhere – her memory showed her images of C-A-R-S – and they drove off. As the trees rolled by, she saw other bodies: skin and skeletons stretched across the branches and boughs, heads hanging by their hair.



Those are your clademates, Granny said. Those are your aunts.



He found a place called a "campsite" and opened the "trunk" so light could come in. Then he opened the blanket and knelt over her again. He pinched her wounded skin together and laughed about a long-ago woman who taught him to how fold dumplings. A Zen thing, he said, after a while. Fill. Wet. Pinch. Over and over and over. Plate after plate of food he would never eat. Then he hummed a song about bones. Her memory had it tagged with the word "kindergarten". The memory version was missing a verse: Now hear the Word of the Lord! He ripped open a packet of foil. "Feeding time."

Her mouth opened automatically. He squirted something in there, held her down when her whole body lunged upward just to get more. He gave her more packets. Then his body moved and the sun peeked from around him; the space filled with light and her senses caught fire: her repair mods shrieked delight and got to work immediately. Warmth flooded her limbs. Colour bled into her vision. Words fell into place.



"Javier."



His shoulders slumped like he'd put down something heavy. "You're OK."



"It was the sun," Amy said. "The sun sped everything up."



Javier sat back on his knees. He gave her a measuring glance, top to bottom and back up. "What's it feel like?"



She considered. "…Fizzy. Like my skin is made of bubbles. It burns, but it feels good at the same time."



Javier beamed. "Like a flood of energy, right?"



Amy nodded. "That's right." She winced. "Is this just another thing my mom never told me about?"