I, Cassandra

40 | RYAN MADDOX

They keep me busy when Blue is away training. I get parked in de Pommier's war room to work through top-level data de Pommier wants prioritised, processed and compressed for the survivors to take to Mars. I am able to work at a speed incomprehensible to humans. I see it all, every detailed bit of information that runs this place from sewage pump maintenance cycles to which porno the Prime Minister last watched. Nothing is kept from me. It's noisy as hell. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be a god. Knowing everything—whether you want to or not.

What de Pommier doesn't know is when she upgraded me, my consciousness enmeshed itself in the data that runs this place, made me a ghost among the quadrillions of pieces of data fleeting through Alpha VII's core. Not just infrastructure shit for rebuilding a new home on Mars but everything. All the dirt. All the lies. All the crimes. Everything. And it goes deep. I thought Delta Force were mercenary and ruthless, but what DF have done even at our worst is nothing compared to what the inner circle of true power has done. To keep Alpha VII running they have torn apart entire ecosystems and left billions of lives to die of starvation with nothing more than a digital signature and time stamp.

When they jacked me into the system one of the first things I looked at was my file. I am destined to be incinerated with everyone else. I found an order from de Pommier to shut me down, extract my memories into a data key and include it in the shipment to Mars one day prior to Blue's launch. I deleted it and scrubbed the data traces. Every day for the last month I have scoured the files for any new orders to replace the missing one but nothing has surfaced.

The mood in the war room is grim but professional. No one in here is unaware of what's coming. They've got a countdown timer on the system for god's sake, every monitor has it. No one can escape it. I heard a couple of them talking during a break, how they weren't going to burn, but eat lead for breakfast instead of pancakes. I would be the same, if I were one of them. If I were still me. But I am not them, I am me, or whatever I have become.

I do the work for de Pommier while I scan into the depths of the system for the answers I need to ensure my plan cannot fail. I can't leave any traces behind so all I can do is look, learn, and remember. It's going to be tight because when de Pommier expects me to be shut down is when I need to activate my plan. I try not to think about how much this could fuck up because it can't fuck up. It has to work, no matter what.

I have to be able to survive this. For her. I won't leave her alone. Not again. Never again.

It's late when one of Blue's guards comes to get me. 02:17 hours. The war room is tense with focus, of suppressed urgency, every screen relentless with the reminder of our collective slide towards the end of all things. Thirteen days, seventeen hours, forty-three minutes, twenty-eight seconds. I count the seconds in my head as we pace the length of the corridor back to Blue's apartment. We reach the door, and the guard stands aside, his data-enhanced eyes move over me, impassive, as he turns.

Thirteen days, seventeen hours, forty-two minutes, forty-nine seconds.

I open the door. In the gloom of the dimly lit space, Blue leans against the kitchen counter, a half-finished glass of water in her hand, clad in a fitted jumpsuit of pure white with dark red piping. She looks good, despite the dark circles under her eyes, the droop of her fatigue. She's gained at least five kilos, and even though she's still very thin, at least she is not skeletal anymore, every one of her bones exposed to my touch.

Miro emerges from the bedroom, blinking, slow, as if she hasn't yet woken up. After two and half months of feeding, she is a contented, sleek, gentle thing. She pads down the mirrored corridor towards Blue, her tail lifted in greeting, a little crook at the tip of her tail, like a question mark.

'Miro.' A smile lights Blue's lips. She picks her up like a mother would a toddler, settling Miro's front paws on her shoulder. She nuzzles her face against Miro's fur, and continues, 'You're going to come with me to a place very far away. I worked so hard for that. I couldn't bear to leave you behind.'

I close the door. A heavy metallic click cuts through her quiet interlude as the guard outside triggers the lock into place, the message clear. We may be living in luxury but we are de Pommier's prisoners. Blue's eyes meet mine. She doesn't know what I have the power to do. Doesn't realise we are not locked in here, or anywhere—that I am able to open every locked door in Alpha VII, can influence the data the Elites receive in their retinal implants. All I need is access to a wall panel—and they are everywhere.

Miro snuggles into Blue's neck, her throaty purr filled with pleasure as Blue strokes her, and whispers promises of a better life to the one I know kept her alive and fighting long after her hope was gone.

I go to her as she sets Miro onto the counter and feeds the cat cold slices of roast duck leftover from her dinner the night before. As Miro settles over her snack, Blue turns to me and smiles, soft and forlorn.

'Thirteen days,' she says.

'Seventeen hours.' I answer. 'Let's make it last.'

And we do.

In the morning, I tell her I love her.

And she cries.