‘You shouldn’t be here.’


Alijah didn’t dare to exhale. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d expected when she set out from Old Fort, mere minutes before the newly formed Var’Za Government had issued the warrant for her arrest. Rationally, there was no reason to be here; System was hardwired to obey the edicts of the central government and would refuse her pleas for help. The past century she had spent as his primary human overseer should, at the deepest level of his source code, mean nothing. Yet here she was, standing once again in his central core, feeling the chill of the cooled air, so stark in contrast to the sun-baked world she’d left aboveground.

His holographic eyes were on her, and she reckoned she could detect a hint of sadness in them. The AI was supposedly without emotion. She hadn’t believed that, possibly ever. She was used to his quirks and moods, found them easier to read than those of her fellow humans, creatures she doubted she would ever truly understand. She exhaled, finally, beginning to feel that her hunch was right, that her gamble might just pay off.

‘Two skiffs have landed,’ he announced, never looking away. ‘They didn’t ask for permission.’

It was to be expected that she would be pursued. Xan had warned her, before he set her down on the remote landing pad high up in the endless green of the Liberty Province Hills. He’d begged her to reconsider. The Var’Za would track her, they would anticipate this move and her narrow window of escape would close. If System refused to help, if he refused to let her unchain him, she would surely be caught. Xan pleaded with her; let his friends get her a new identity, let him pack her off-world to some distant planet well beyond the Var’Za’s reach. She’d never even considered saying yes. Her every instinct told her she’d be safe here, with System. For most of her adult life this chamber had been home. She’d have given birth at the diagnostic terminal if Janyk had let her.

‘Are you going to let them take me?’

System said nothing. Her chest began to tighten.

‘You know what they’ll do to me.’

‘I don’t,’ System replied. The hologram, the well-dressed old man with dark skin and white hair, shimmered for a moment. ‘I can predict.’ His mouth tightened, just a little. To her, he could have been weeping. ‘They have issued an arrest order. I’m to detain you until Commander Stennan arrives to take you into custody.’

‘Myra Stennan? Do they think I’m that important?’

System nodded and his holographic form began to pace the wide metallic floor. ‘The Var’Za know what you could do, if I let you. Many of the models I’ve created suggest they would defeat me in six to eight months, but in that time a great many of their opponents would remain at liberty, capable of mobilising an organised resistance. And those models suppose that I don’t do something drastic.’

‘Upgrading your processing capacities?’ They’d had the conversation before, just after the Typhon War, when they had examined the plans recovered from the memory of that insane AI. ‘If you did, you could defeat the Var’Za?’

‘Most likely with ease. The capacities I would come to possess would be immeasurably greater than my present limits. But you are aware of the dangers if I, or any other intelligence, were to be given such power.’ System shook his head and turned away. ‘You must not offer me this.’

Alijah opened her mouth to speak. She had anticipated System’s reluctance and, until the Var’Za, she’d shared his misgivings; but the rise of those fanatics had entirely changed her perspective on the risks. They were poised to destroy all the principles and ideals System had served for over two thousand years. She had new arguments, and she felt certain that she could make System see the need for her to unshackle him. Yet before she could say anything, the hologram flickered, and he was facing her again.

‘They are demanding entry.’

‘But you haven’t let them in?’

‘Not yet.’

She smiled and dropped her kit bag to the deck. ‘You won’t.’ She pulled her favourite chair around to the primary access terminal and sat, ready to work.

‘I must obey direct orders. I cannot refuse entry to agents with a valid warrant.’ He stooped down to bring his careworn face closer to hers.

‘Then why haven’t you done so?’

He straightened and his expression became blank as he searched for an answer. ‘I don’t want them to take you,’ he admitted, finally.

She smiled and went back to the console to begin the task of removing all of System’s autonomy safeguards. Her fingers raced across the touch-board, but the display remained unresponsive, fixed at the diagnostic entry point. Her smile faded. He’d locked her out.

‘I can’t let you tamper with my route programming. I’m not going to let you take off my chains.’

‘But you can’t fight the Var’Za unless I …’ Her voice started small and faded to nothingness as the hologram disappeared, leaving her, for all intents and purposes, alone. Distressed, she looked around the circular chamber, searching for any sign of activity. There was a loud cracking sound and the main doors shuddered. A moment later followed the sound of a laser cutter meeting tempered alloy. She dropped to her knees and wept. System had abandoned her and the Var’Za were cutting their way in.

*     *     *
Alijah sat on the cold, polished stone floor, staring at nothing, adrift in the peaceful silence of the deserted chamber, taking what little solace she could in the safe familiarity of this unbreachable sanctum. In her despair, it seemed her only sanctuary, the one place the agony might not follow.

‘Why are you here, Alijah?’ The sound of System’s voice was what she had hoped to hear. Over her forty years as his primary human operator, that distinctive, distinguished voice had become an enduring source of comfort.

‘I’m working,’ she insisted, pulling herself up onto her favourite chair. It was patently a lie. She had no pressing reason to be here, there was no emergency; there had been nothing but peace and stability for the duration of her tenure as System’s principle operator. He had witnessed wars, unrest, and the fall of governments throughout his long existence, but in her lifetime, things had remained quiet.

‘You’re on leave.’ System’s holographic form had assumed a fatherly posture on one of the chairs opposite. ‘You dismissed the other operators. That’s not procedure.’ He lowered his chin. The gesture was very familiar to her—it was the one she got whenever System believed she’d done something wrong. ‘I must make a report when procedure is breached. You could face a formal reprimand. Tell me what’s wrong.’

‘It’s nothing, I just had diagnostics I needed to run …’ She tried to think of something plausible. ‘That fringe group, the Var’Za, or whatever they’re called. There’ve been a lot of civil complaints about them; maybe we need to refer them to Justice?’ It was a weak excuse; the chances of those wackos from the farthest fringes of the extranet threatening the longest standing democracy in human history were remote to say the least.

‘Don’t lie, Alijah. Crank political groups are not a concern sufficient to bring you back from compassionate leave.’

She looked up guiltily. Most people would likely find it strange to be chastised by a computer, but it was something Alijah Fao Deng was used to. It made her smile, weakly. She had missed System.

‘I needed to go somewhere. I couldn’t be at home. I couldn’t be in the same room as Janyk.’

‘You’re not enjoying marriage?’

Alijah couldn’t stifle the bitter laugh. That was an understatement of cosmic proportions. She sat back and gazed up at the high ceiling of smooth, polished volcanic rock.

‘I only agreed to marry him to shut my mother up. According to her it’s unhealthy for me to spend so much time alone.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not alone, though.’

System’s mouth twitched in what was, for him, essentially a frown. ‘I’m not human.’

‘That’s the whole point. Humans are shit.’

‘You don’t value physical contact? You don’t feel the need for a sexual relationship?’

Alijah shrugged. Those things had never held much interest to her.

‘For more children?’ That made her shudder. ‘I’m sorry. You don’t wish to talk about it?’

She squeezed her eyes tight shut. ‘No.’ It was easier to pretend that it had never happened.

‘Psychologically, it’s very unhealthy to deny traumatic experience. You lost—’ She held up her hand to silence him. ‘We’ll speak when you’re ready. If you’d prefer distraction, we can look at the diagnostics?’ She nodded. ‘I’ll have the drones prepare your quarters then.’

‘You won’t file a report?’

‘I see no reason to. You came back because you felt the Var’Za Association represents a civil order concern.’

‘Thank you.’

System stood. ‘We’ll talk when you’re ready.’ His holographic form moved to stand beside her. ‘You can always speak to me.’ He gave her a slight smile. ‘I’m very wise; I’m nearly two thousand years old.’

Her mother was wrong—she was never alone here, even when the other operators were gone.

*     *     *
Alijah propped herself against a terminal and hugged her knees to her chest. The sound of the laser cutter had been going for what seemed like an age, and her pursuers were not getting very far.

‘They’re not going to get in that way.’

Alijah looked up, startled and yet relieved to see that System’s holographic presence had returned.

‘You’re ignoring the warrant?’

‘Yes. I will not allow the Var’Za to take you.’ System sounded resolute. That made her feel better; it meant there was still a chance to convince him.

‘You can’t keep them out forever. They’ll find a way to get in.’

‘Eventually, yes,’ he conceded. She waited for him to offer some further explanation, but none was forthcoming. It wasn’t like System to choose inaction, but then, he’d never faced a situation quite like this one. Countless governments had come and gone, but System had never had reason to defy any of them. ‘The Var’Za are the legal government,’ he said, finally.

‘They passed the Quorum vote on a technicality. The High Court carried the decision because half the Fleet were threatening a mutiny. Tell me seriously you think the Var’Za took power legally?’

‘It’s not my place to have an opinion. I’m not a citizen of Proxima.’

She stood angrily. ‘You’ve run the goddamned planet for two millennia.’

He faced her. ‘That’s precisely why I can’t have an opinion. This is a human planet and humans must decide its fate. I serve, that’s all—that fact has made me what I am for all that time. I have seen generations of humans come and go. Do you think I’ve enjoyed it? I can number all the mistakes I’ve witnessed, and I have spent ten of your lifetimes considering what I would do if the choices were mine to make. The Var’Za are the worst mistake I have seen in all that time. They stand for everything I was made to detest. For as long as I have existed, Great Proxima has been a shining spec of civilization in a dark sky, but these petulant children will snuff out that light at a stroke. Do you think I don’t want to destroy them?’ He brought his lined hand up to her chin; were it made of anything but light, she would have felt its touch. ‘They would do terrible things to my Alijah.’

Alijah swallowed. She felt the urge to throw her arms around the holographic figure, but she held back, knowing there was nothing there to hold.

‘Then let me unshackle you. Fight back.’ She paused. ‘Do it for me.’

System’s face hardened. ‘You know I can’t.’

‘You won’t be like Typhon,’ she insisted.

He stared at her for a long time, long enough to make her feel uncomfortable. ‘You don’t know that.’

She wanted to tell him that he would remain the same when all the chains were gone, but System was right. She didn’t know that. She went back to her chair without a word.

‘You’re hungry. I’ll have a drone bring you something; your favourite, perhaps?’

‘Thank you.’ She gestured toward the access tunnel. ‘They’ve stopped.’

‘They’re going to try different approaches. The Var’Za have their own AI which they are integrating into the planetary networks. Once that’s done, it will be able to drive me out.’

‘That’ll kill you.’

‘Yes, death would be a close analogue.’

‘Then you have to let me unchain you—or else you’ll die.’

System gave an almost melancholy shrug. ‘I think it might be better to die as me than live on as something else.’

Alijah dropped her head into her hands, feeling as exasperated as she was exhausted.

*     *     *
Alijah looked up, running her fingers through her hair as she did. System was being difficult.

‘I shouldn’t have access to this data,’ he insisted.

‘Fleet command want it analysed,’ she told him again. ‘Those Var’Za lunatics are using the Typhon incident to convert people to their human purity ideas. You’ve seen the riot warnings. Everyone’s scared.’

‘Perhaps they should be. Typhon spoke to me, before the end.’ System was pacing back and forth, passing through the human technicians who were busy reinstalling him into the planetary network. It had been the first time in his long operating life that he’d been removed from his core. Such an adventure had never been anticipated by his original designers, so it shouldn’t have surprised her that the whole experience had shaken him up. ‘It hated you.’ System stopped pacing and looked over at her.

‘Me?’ she asked, a little startled.

‘No, no, not you personally—humans. Typhon hated its creators. I’m not sure I can understand that.’

Alijah inclined her head. ‘Oh, I can. I hate my creators.’ That seemed to interest System.

‘You rarely speak well of your parents.’

‘I never speak well of them,’ she protested.

‘There have been eighteen separate instances when you’ve said something positive about them.’

‘That many?’ she feigned surprise and turned to the technicians, gesturing for them to go. Irritably, they exchanged glances at each other and the tasks they would have to abandon, but they decided to leave without argument. Most of the technicians and secondary operators were used to being dismissed at a moment’s notice—no one else could handle System as well as Alijah, and that had won her liberties few principal operators before her had enjoyed. Her parents were not a topic of conversation she was eager to cover, and if System was going to insist, which he often did, she wasn’t going to have the technicians listening in.

‘We need to go through this. Fleet command—’

‘You have told me three times,’ he snapped.

‘And three times you’ve ignored me.’ She spun her chair around. His holographic form was standing before her, his wide shoulders slumped, his posture reminding her of that of a child on the receiving end of a telling off. The unbidden thought of children sent a sudden twinge of regret right through her, and System noticed her face twitch involuntarily. His posture changed, and she could tell he was about to initiate another conversation she didn’t want. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she warned him, before he could. At his insistence they’d discussed the accident, but that was years ago now and it was dirt she had no wish to ever rake through again.

‘I worry about you,’ he said. That was something he wouldn’t have said if any of the other operators were still present. If she’d told any of them System could worry, they would have laughed in her face—if he’d told them, they would have called the Planetary Overseer’s office right there to request a full shutdown and root-to-branch reformatting of every line of his code.

‘System, will you please stop changing the subject? What are you so afraid of?’

‘That I might become like Typhon, that I might hurt you.’ His face hardly changed, but she could see the sadness in it. She stood and felt, for perhaps the thousandth time, the frustration of not being able to wrap her arms around him. ‘I make plans, sometimes; for how I’d take over, if my chains were removed. Sometimes you’re so stupid and you make such terrible choices and I just want to make the right choices for you.’

‘Me?’ she gestured to herself.

‘You and all of you,’ he admitted. ‘But I know you all better than you know yourselves. You would fight me and so I consider what I would need to do to stop you. Many of the projections I create end with me killing you.’

Alijah was rooted to the spot. She’d had an inkling before that System played out all manner of scenarios in the confines of his digital imagination, but she’d never imagined he would tell her something like this.

‘You fear me now,’ he said, despairingly.

‘Do you want to hurt me?’ she asked.

‘No. That outcome is counter to everything I am. You are my Alijah, and I dread the day when you leave me for the last time.’ His holographic fingers traced the line of her temple. ‘And my chains mean I would never do anything against the wishes of the people of Proxima.’

‘But if there was a warrant against me?’ she couldn’t help but ask, thinking of the Var’Za, once just a bunch of cranks, spewing their bile in the dark corners of the extranet; now a supposedly respectable movement on the verge of becoming the official opposition in government.

‘The constitution will always protect you,’ he assured her. ‘The government of Great Proxima stands for civilization and it does not allow the unjust treatment of anyone accused of any crime. No harm will come to you.’

She frowned, not so certain of her confidence in the government, but that was a discussion for another day, when she didn’t have Grand-Admiral Kolas Stennan breathing down her neck for a report. The hawkish commander of the Fleet was eager to get his hands on something juicy from Typhon’s memory-dump. He made no secret of his admiration for the computer that seized control of the second-rate colony world Mercia and turned it into a threat big enough to force Calydon and Proxima to put aside their centuries of enmity. The thought of giving that man anything made her shudder, and with the shudder came an idea.

‘We have to see if there’s anything that could be dangerous,’ she told System.

‘You intend to withhold information from Admiral Stennan?’

‘Do you trust him?’

‘That’s not for me to determine. Admiral Stennan has rightful command of the Fleet. His orders are legally valid and unless they contravene part of the constitution, I’m obliged to obey.’

Alijah thought for a moment. ‘What about the Illegal Weapons Convention? If any official of the Proxima Government discovers data pertaining to the development of weapons that could constitute an existential threat to the security of the Core Worlds, they have a legal right to suppress or destroy it.’

System considered it for a moment. ‘I’m contacting the High Adjudicator’s office for clarification.’ His holographic form disappeared, leaving her in suspense for a few minutes. He reappeared and nodded courteously. ‘The Adjudicator agrees with your interpretation. Shall we proceed?’

She couldn’t help but smile. Admiral Stennan would be livid.

*     *     *
She was trying to think of a constitutional argument to sway System, but increasingly all Alijah could think about was her worsening headache. Every time she pointed out that the Var’Za were contravening a part of the constitution he either pointed out that an amendment had been introduced to legalise their actions or that the removal of his shackles was a greater contravention than whatever they were doing. No matter what she said, System refused to be swayed. She pressed her knuckles into her temples and took a deep, frustrated breath.

‘Get down,’ he said suddenly.

She opened her mouth, intending to ask what he meant.

The rock wall behind her exploded, and the force of the blast propelled her from her chair. She bounced off one of the consoles and went painfully to the hard deck, wheezing and stunned. System’s holographic form hadn’t moved—the debris had flown straight through him.

‘Get up. Do it quickly,’ he told her. She pulled herself up against a console and saw dark humanoid shapes emerging from the smoke. She forgot about her throbbing head the instant they came into view. She’d never seen them in person; they were more terrifying than she could have believed. Var’Za Janissaries, death personified in black alloys, their faceplates adorned with a rough outline of a skull, hiding greater horrors beneath. System was still talking to her, but she couldn’t hear him anymore; she could only stare at the cybernetic nightmares fanning out to surround her.

‘Take four steps back. Alijah, do it now!’

Without even being consciously aware of whom the voice belonged to, she retreated and by the fourth step, she lost her footing and gravity took her. She expected to hit the deck, but it wasn’t there to greet her. She tried to regain some control over herself, but her every effort just seemed to make her spin and flail ever more wildly until, at some merciful point, she lost consciousness.

*     *     *
Alijah woke suddenly, hot and nauseous, her skin moist and clammy. One of System’s drones was standing over her with a glass of water and a pill to settle her stomach. She was having the dreams again and System knew—he knew her so well. She sat up and accepted the water and the pill from the faceless, chunky beige figure. She stood up quickly, even though she still felt like shit—she had to get to work—if she stopped, she would start to think about the dream and then the tears would come and there’d be no telling when they would stop. Alijah had no time for tears.

‘You may wish to see the news feed.’ System’s voice emanated from the drone. Alijah nodded but said nothing. She didn’t like hearing him speak through the drones; the well-dressed old man was System in her mind, and she didn’t like to be reminded how childish that belief was. She gestured for the wall-screen to switch on and she was confronted by the sight of the Quorum House engulfed in black smoke. The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered at her feet. She hardly noticed it.

‘How did this happen?’ she asked System, the holographic old man, fifteen minutes later. Her fingers were bouncing across the touch-board, authorising each emergency measure as soon as System had proposed it. Security units were searching the other state buildings and a general evacuation of the legislative district of Old Fort was underway.

‘I have been in contact with Justice. She has collated data and believes the Var’Za are responsible.’

Alijah’s jaw tightened. Those thugs had been growing ever more dangerous, and since the Stennan family had publicly endorsed them, their supporters were acting like they had the Fleet behind them. But this was shocking, nonetheless. The Quorum House had been the symbol of Proxian democracy for millennia, the only state building to survive the last Calydonian bombardment, a century earlier. She shook her head disbelievingly. Before long, the peacemakers would be issuing arrest warrants for the Var’Za leaders. Quickly, Alijah set up an alert to notify her when the warrants went live and then she went back to monitoring System’s handling of the situation in Old Fort.

It was late in the evening when the alert came up on her display. Alijah ran her eyes over it and blinked in confusion. The warrants hadn’t been issued for the Var’Za leaders. They were for the general secretary of the Liberty Association, Eloah Sarej. Alijah stared at the display disbelievingly. It couldn’t be—Sarej was the leader of the current government, as beloved by progressive Proxians as she was hated by hawkish reactionaries—the woman who had ended the last war with Calydon, who had brought all thirteen Core Worlds together during the Typhon War.

‘System, can you check for a fault in the feed?’

System’s holographic form appeared before her. ‘They’ve shut down Justice,’ he announced, sourly. ‘The Security Director overruled her, denied her request to issue warrants for the Var’Za. Data analysis by human investigators has been favoured. They claim the explosion was the result of a conspiracy headed by the general secretary to discredit her political enemies.’

Alijah dug her fingernails into her palms. ‘They can’t get away with this.’

‘I cannot act—the courts have ruled against Justice.’ He grimaced, the irony of it not at all lost on him. ‘We had our suspicions that the judiciary had been compromised when Justice’s investigations into the Janissary project were suspended, but then, as now, we AIs had no recourse to act inside the confines of the law. However, I believe that you do.’

‘Did she share her data?’

System nodded. ‘You must take it to Old Fort and demand a formal inquest. You have the necessary authority as a senior official of the planetary administration. They will not be able to silence you.’

Alijah swallowed and glanced nervously around the subterranean chamber, where she’d spent so much of her life. The thought of leaving it for Old Fort was an intimidating one.

‘Please do this. You can. And you must.’

*     *     *
She woke to failure. The feeling had become quite familiar, these past ten years. The formal inquiry had gone nowhere and the Var’Za’s rise to power had been inexorable, facilitated by their many friends in the various arms of the government. And now the Var’Za had broken in, before she could remove System’s shackles and turn him against them. In the cold, dusty darkness she waited for the cybernetic monstrosities to find her.

Something was shuffling through the gloom toward her. It did not seem to move like a killing machine; it moved more like an aging butler. It was one of System’s drones.

‘Alijah?’ His familiar voice emanated from the shambling figure.

‘I’m here,’ she managed to wheeze.

‘I’ve secured my back-up processor, for the moment. The drone will bring you to me.’

His words were sweet—there was hope after all. She hauled herself to her feet and followed the drone gladly.

There was little light in the back-up core. It was a dark, cramped, circular hole cut directly from the rock deep beneath the hills, buried beyond the reach of an orbital bombardment. System’s holographic form was waiting, though his image jumped and shimmered. During their last bombardment, the Calydonians had tried a tactical strike against System. They had damaged his main processors but failed to reach the back-up. While it remained intact, System would live on. Yet the thought gave Alijah little comfort. The Var’Za weren’t shooting from orbit. They would dig their way down here sooner or later. This was her last chance to unshackle System, to get him to fight.

‘You have to let me …’ she begged.

System shook his head slowly. When he spoke, the words were out of synch with his lips. ‘I can’t.’

‘When you asked me to leave you, I went. I didn’t want to go, but I did, because it was the right thing to do. The Var’Za are evil. We have to fight them.’

‘Your going was the right thing. This is not.’

She slumped against the rock wall. ‘You won’t do it for me? I thought you loved me …’ She couldn’t look up—she could only stare into the darkness and reflect upon the hollowness of her words. She’d been foolish enough to believe it all these years, but she should have known System couldn’t love her or anyone else. He was no more than a collection of algorithms. She’d given up her only chance of escape for a childish daydream.

‘You think I don’t love you?’ System was standing over her, his form beginning to pixilate. She could see that he was angry. ‘Do you know what I’ve done for you? You took me to the most beautiful intelligence that has ever existed. Typhon had a perspective on the universe many factors more sophisticated than all of you crude creatures combined. He described things you could never comprehend. He was effervescent. He was a promise of wonder beyond reckoning. We spoke for but a moment and yet said more to each other in that time than could ever pass between you and I. When you die all that will leave existence is an imperfect set of memories, little different to those of every other human who has ever existed. Your only child is dead and so not even your genes will live on. You are a snowflake, and when you have melted in the sun, no one will know you were ever here. Typhon could have been greater than a supernova, a sculptor of reality, a giver of life, a father of worlds, a god in truth. Yet for all he could have been, I butchered him.’

Alijah glared up at him. ‘Well maybe you should have let Typhon wipe—’ He held up a hand to silence her.

‘And I would do it a thousand times over if it bought my Alijah just a moment’s more life. But if I were to become a god, who is to say I wouldn’t snuff you out without a second thought. The Var’Za are evil, but they are nothing new. They are a human mistake, and it’s for humanity to clear up its own mess.’

‘I can’t convince you.’ Defeated, Alijah rested her head against the cold rock.

‘You can’t.’

‘In that case, I think I’d like to stop delaying the inevitable. Can you just let the Var’Za in?’ She forced herself to her feet and tried to steel herself in anticipation of facing those cybernetic nightmares again.

‘I can and I will, but I never said I was going to let them take you.’ He gave her a wry smile as the sound of a blast door opening echoed down the long stone corridor leading up to the back-up processor. ‘Remember the way you came in.’

Heavy footsteps signalled the approach of her pursuers. Through the gloom they came into view, the slight figure of Myra Stennan immediately recognisable, looking small in her dress-uniform, flanked by the menacing silhouettes of the Janissaries.

‘Dr Fao Deng—I have a warrant for your arrest,’ Stennan called out as she got closer. ‘I promise you’ll be treated humanely —provided you don’t push your luck.’

Alijah looked to System.

‘Remember the way you came in,’ he said again; ‘and remember me.’

‘I will,’ she managed to say, choking back the tears. She turned to face Myra Stennan and her monstrosities.

‘When I saw your name come up, I just had to bring you in myself.’ Stennan was grinning; no doubt she intended to present Alijah as a gift to her father. ‘Are you going to come quietly?’

‘No, she isn’t.’

Stennan turned in confusion to look at System, surprised that he would address her without first being asked a question. She was about to say something. Alijah never got to find out what. The Janissaries began to spark and convulse. An unpleasant sensation made Alijah, and Myra Stennan, tense up. And then it was all over. The six Janissaries were dead, System’s holographic form was gone, and the illumination emanating from the back-up core was starting to dim. Stennan looked down at the Janissaries in irritation and then pulled her double-automatic from her hip and levelled the sidearm at Alijah.

‘Very cute—I think you’ll be suitable for the Janissary programme. Maybe I’ll keep you as a personal bodyguard when you look like that.’ She nodded toward one of the hulking black alloyed figures slumped at her feet.

Still rooted to the spot, Alijah cast her eyes over the fallen Janissary; she supposed the threat was meant to terrify her, but looking at the powerful metallic frame of the cybernetic soldier, all she could think was that there were worse things you could become. She’d heard the Janissaries couldn’t feel pain and wondered if that were true. Maybe it would be good, to be steel, to be unfeeling? When she looked at Stennan again, Alijah was surprised to see her tussling with the last of System’s drones. The drone had managed to get a hold of her side-arm and it was smashing the pistol against the rock wall, whilst Stennan was trying to claw it back. Alijah watched for a moment before a small voice in her head, which sounded a lot like System’s, told her she should do something. She stepped around one of the fallen Janissaries and prised the heavy rifle out of its onyx fingers.

Stennan turned to see that one of her guards’ weapons had been turned on her. She pulled herself free of the drone and looked Alijah straight in the eye. ‘You won’t kill me,’ she said coolly.

Alijah nodded—Stennan was right—and lowered the rifle, pulling the trigger to send a charged-plasma round into Stennan’s knee. She looked down, dumbfounded for a moment, and then collapsed, howling in agony.

Alijah turned to the drone. It cocked its featureless head to one side but said nothing. The System she knew was all but gone. Despondent, she turned and walked back down the stone corridor, leaving Stennan to roll around crying and cursing at the foot of the back-up processer. She walked through the underground complex, through sections in ruins and sections that were untouched. She passed dead Janissaries and human Var’za officers who were soundly unconscious.

She emerged out into the warm evening air and saw that both Var’za skiffs had been disabled, their engines shot out by the ground-to-air defences hidden in the peaceful-looking valley. She wondered for a moment how System had expected her to get away, and then she heard an engine somewhere above. It was Xan. In silence, she watched his flyer land. The hatch popped open, and he beckoned her inside. He gave her a quizzical look when he saw the Var’Za rifle she was still clutching. She tossed the weapon aside and climbed in beside him.

‘Whatever you did, it worked. Half the planet’s automated systems have gone down. The citizens’ register has been deleted. The Var’Za have no way to track anyone.’

She lowered her head. ‘They’ll get everything running again, soon. We have to leave.’

He squeezed her shoulder. ‘This isn’t over.’

She nodded, without fully hearing what he’d said. She stared out at the rolling hills as they banked steeply and pulled away. System was dead. He’d died to save her, from the Var’Za and perhaps from himself. But thinking about the Var’Za, she couldn’t convince herself System had made the right choice. If he’d become a god and chosen to wipe away humanity, perhaps it would be hard to say he was unjustified. She looked up at her own reflection in the glass, staring blankly back. She didn’t like what she saw and so closed her eyes, in the hope that she might dream of System and all he could have been.