Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” I say to the smattering of applause. The news of Mila’s pregnancy has spread quickly. It is the subject of much excitement and speculation in New Boston society. Even the men have their bets placed as to whether it will be a boy or a girl.
I take a seat, somewhat uneasily. There is an instinct tickling the very back of my brain, a draw to be at home. It’s probably just the urge of every new father to be.
Lance smiles at me. “Are you enjoying your bride?”
It’s an odd question. He is at my home most days. He knows exactly how I feel about Mila. I assume the question is for everybody else’s benefit.
“I am, yes. She has proven to be the perfect choice. I doubted her age at first, but I should have put more faith in the Artifice to begin with.”
There’s a ripple of laughter that doesn’t quite sync up with what I said.
“You see, gentlemen?” Lance smiles at the others. A dozen ranked military men are all regarding me with shark-like expressions that I do not like in the slightest. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I realize something is happening. I am in the presence of something I do not know about, and that is dangerous.
“What would you say if I told you that you have Project Freedom to thank for her?”
“What is that? One of the new modules from the Artifice?”
The Artifice often issues new code packs for running various facets of life.
“Not exactly,” he says, looking too pleased by half. “Project Freedom is something we’ve been working on for years.”
“And who is we, exactly?”
I hate asking that question. I hate how stupid and uninformed it makes me look.
“It is a group of intelligent men of bravery and free will. I joined around the time of my injury. Others have joined for their own reasons. Whether it be when they were rewarded for their service to the Artifice with losing everything they had ever loved, or being forever physically maimed, each of us has his reason.”
Lance pushes back from the table and wheels around me. “I didn’t know how we’d get you on our side, Arthur. I thought there was no way in. You never complained about your wounds or scars. You have remained loyal even when it seemed you would not be given a match or mate.”
“I waited, and was rewarded.”
A rough chuckle ripples through the room.
“You were rewarded, but not because you waited. Tell me, Arthur, what would you do to keep your bride, now that you have known her?” He wheels a few feet away and turns to face me with a smooth rotation.
“I would do whatever I had to.”
“And what if the Artifice were to take her from you, assign her to another man?”
“That would not happen.”
“It has happened to an unfortunate few. An electronic intelligence doesn’t really weigh emotional connections the way we do, does it? The Artifice makes the most practical decisions possible, prioritizing the good of the collective over the interests of the individual.”
I let out a sigh. I can tell he is going somewhere with this, but I do not know where. What I do know is that I am unlikely to like it. There’s a particular deviously pleased look in his eye that I know does not bode well for any of us.
“Yes, we know this. Children are taught this in their classes.”
“What children are not taught is how to influence the Artifice.”
I laugh. “There’s no way to influence an all-knowing artificial intelligence.”
“There’s changing the name Maraline to the name Mila,” he says.
I stare at him as a slow horror creeps over me. My mind flashes back to the day Mila arrived. She kept talking about how they thought it was her sister who had been selected. I dismissed that as incompetence on their part. Now I am starting to wonder if it was not stupidity at all—at least, not on their part.
“You tampered with the Artifice?” The outrage in my voice makes several of Lance’s little group of insurgents lean away from me. I look around at them all, committing their faces to memory. I will arrest and execute every single one of these people. This is treason.
“You were going to marry an old woman. I changed it so you could have the sweet little thing. I wanted you to see the advantage of influencing the machine that runs our world like tyrannical clockwork.”
“Her older sister is not old. She’s twenty-seven, still too young for me, but almost a decade older. Why would you think I would want the younger one?”
“All men want the younger…”
I’ve never hit a man in a wheelchair before, but today I make an exception. The sentence is lost as his head snaps sideways, blood spurting from his nose. He takes the blow like a man, his head turned to the side for a long moment as he tries to recalibrate his rattled brain.