vN The First Machine Dynasty(97)

"Faded away," Jack said.



Javier nodded. "But then…" He tried harder to say it this time. "It was like she really did have a failsafe after all, only it worked on a delayed reaction timer, or something. She kept trying to k-keep everyone safe from P-Portia, and then, she j-just…" He covered his face with both hands. "Fuck."



Jack said nothing. He didn't touch him, or move closer, or anything like that, for which Javier was profoundly grateful. He just sat there, breathing evenly, and eventually Javier calmed. Just as he was about to apologize, Jack spoke up. "I know you arranged that call between my daughter and me, before she built this place," he said. "I didn't come here to have some sort of man-to-man with you, I just came to say thanks for that. It meant more to me than you can know."



"I did it for her, not you."



Jack smiled. "I know. That's why I like you."



A knock sounded at the door. "Dad?"



"What?" both men asked.



Xavier opened the door a sliver. He grinned. "Dad, close your eyes."



Javier scowled. "The last time, this ended with a dead spider."



Xavier leaned on one foot. "Don't wuss out, Dad. Close your eyes."



Javier rolled his eyes and squeezed them shut. "Eyes are closed."



He felt his son's hands circling his wrists. Xavier tugged on them, opening his arms, then rearranging them, his left a little higher than his right. He had seen a sculpture like this somewhere, had admired the folds of drapery in the stone. Then his son placed something warm and alive in his arms, and his flesh knew its flesh before his eyes even opened. But when they did, Javier saw Matteo and Ricci standing before him, arms across each other's shoulders.



"We got stuck on the name," Ricci said. "Thought that maybe you could help."



Jack leaned over to look at the child. "Is that your grandson?"



Javier did the count: ten fingers, ten toes. The fingers of the child's left hand reached decisively for his index finger and gripped – a firm, strong grip, a grip designed for trees. "Yes," he said. "This is my grandson."



"I want one," Jack said.



"Hold your horses, old man." Amy leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, a smile at the corners of her mouth.



"You knew," Javier said to her. "You must have known."



"I wanted to keep it a surprise," she said. "I hope you like it."



I love it, he wanted to say. I love you.



But she didn't give him the chance. She ducked out of the door, saying something about a new design.



He found her on a tiny new island at the head of them all, a silhouette against the distant lights of the human world that trembled, barely visible, across the waves. Her hand hovered above the beach. She didn't look up, but she made room for him on the beach and broadened the tree behind them so they would have cover from the few errant drops of nightly rain. He sat beside her. As he did, she wiped away her work in the sand.

"He's beautiful," Javier said.



"Yours always are." She hugged her arms. "Matteo and Ricci asked me, when Ricci started feeding heavily. They wanted their son to be safe, here."



Safe. A human woman had asked him once about what he'd wanted to be, when he grew up, and he had said he'd never had enough time wonder about that. But this was what he wanted. He wanted to be safe. Secure. Not having to worry about the meal or the next human or the next iteration. Because his designers and engineers and techs had built in autonomy but not freedom, and they had built in free will but not choice, and Amy could give him all these things and more. She could give him the space he needed – not the figurative bullshit "space" but real space, room to move around, room to climb and jump and dance if the notion took him. And she wasn't giving him that room because she pitied him, or because she was generous, or because she was obligated to. She wanted to build that home for him and his boys. She worked every minute of every day keep him safe, to shield him from the world that he'd left behind, and she did the same for all the vN who arrived on their shores.



A chill wind lifted their hair from their scalps. "Storm's coming," Javier said, rubbing his arms.



Amy's gaze remained pinned to the lights of the cities beyond. "I know."



"Your dad's worried."



"I know that, too."



"He told me what you were like when you were little. Says you're not so different, now."



Amy stood and began circling the little island. "I know I'm different, Javier. She made me different. Even though she's gone, and I know you don't believe that, but even though she's gone, she changed me, she made me see things, do things–"