Hardwired

Prologue

Dear journal,

I’ve got to admit, just writing that feels stupid.

Dear journal? Like this has a life of its own? Like it cares what I have to say?

It may have been every little girl’s desire to keep a diary of her inner most thoughts and experiences, but it was never mine.

I don’t even remember my childhood. It had to have happened, yet I don’t remember one bit of it. Like Weena, one moment I was nothing, then suddenly I was there. Though, I’m quite sure it didn’t happen in quite the same way. I had parents, I know that much, but they are lost to time.

Funny—that.

Lost to time?

Like I couldn’t go directly to the day of my birth and watch myself get ripped from my mother’s womb? Like I couldn’t watch myself get taken home, wherever that was, and placed in my crib? My parents are as lost to me as a book on your shelf. You may not remember exactly where you put it, but it’s there should you wish to look.

I never have, and I don’t expect that to change.

Blake seems to think that writing in this thing will be good for me. I think he’s full of shit! He thinks it’ll help me process, to work things out. Do it for the therapeutic value.

Whatever.

I could just as easily do a video diary, but apparently it matters that I write this shit out. I had to write enough reports during my tenure at Skylark that I had nightmares on more than one occasion of being buried up to my chin in them. I hated every second of that part of the job.

Nothing has changed.

Well, one thing has.

Terry contacted Blake today, as my ignoring his messages didn’t send a clear enough message. He wants me to come in. Says it’s important. It’s been six months since I walked away, and I am not the least bit interested in returning. I gave the majority of my life to the company, I think I’ve done my part. Let someone else take up the mantle of saving the world for once. If I keep doing it for them no one else will ever learn.

I know how that sounds, but who the fuck cares? This is for me, and I sure as hell don’t.

I love the man, but Blake is wrong about this. I’m going to hold my ground, I just don’t want to be involved, not anymore. For the first time in my life, I am happy. Our little Arizona hideaway has been good for us. Sure, it’s hot as hell at times during the summer, even more frigid during the winter, but it’s peaceful in ways that I have never known in my life.

We’ve finally had the time to be an actual family and have grown closer because of it. Why would I want to go back to the way things were? One of us constantly running off, barely dodging death, leaving our daughter with a robotic nanny and a breath away from being orphaned? I’ve seen what happens should that come to pass, and I swore it would never be. I can’t keep that promise if I head off on another foolish crusade.

Julie is getting bigger every day. I don’t know how I never really noticed before, but maybe I’m just hypersensitive to it now that there is literally nothing else to do around here. Not that I’m complaining. I swear I’m not. Going from a non-stop rapid pace to a turtle step was hard at first, but that last brush with death brought it home hard; you can change time, you can cheat death, but you can’t run forever. Sooner or later, that black robed bastard collects his due, and I am not ready to meet whatever awaits us upon Death’s final embrace.

Nowhere close.

I’m sitting here on the porch watching my daughter chase a rooster around an open yard and find that I really have no need to do anything else. Why can’t I take the time to enjoy the life I’ve created? To enjoy being a mother, a wife? Why must I always be the one to put things back together, to fix the fuck ups other people make?

Why can’t someone else fucking do it?

I’m not special. I’m human. I’ve made mistakes just like everyone else. What is it that I’ve got that the dead haven’t? Luck. Plain and simple. And guess what? Luck eventually runs out. I’m not stupid enough to think I can keep flinging dice and avoid rolling snake-eyes forever. Sooner or later, it’d take a turn for the worse; that’s just how life is. The trick is knowing when to hold them, when to fold them.

Now I’ve got that song stuck in my head. FFS.

He just gave me the eye before heading back into the house. Nice of him to bring me a lemonade, but it’s lacking the Jack to give it kick. As far as a bribe goes, it sucks ass, and it’s not going to make me reconsider.

Maybe he’s restless. Maybe he’s the one that feels the need to get involved. Well, he’s a grown ass man. If that’s what he wants, I’m not stopping him. He’s got a device attached to his thigh and can take off in an instant, without me even knowing about it. That doesn’t mean I have to follow.

Am I curious?

Maybe.

But it’s not enough to lure me out of my comfy chair, much less my home.

Hold on, Niko needs to be fed.

I have no idea why I wrote that. Like you knew I stepped away? God, I feel stupid.

God? Is there a God?

Is it bad if I don’t capitalize that in a journal? Would I go to hell? Now I want to do it just to find out.

I binge watched the Walking Dead recently.

Don’t ask why, try Bud Dry. Yeah, sounded stupid out loud as well as in my head.

I don’t know why I got drawn into watching it. It was just something to do. I had Sarah peruse the old archives for entertainment and it caught my eye. Maybe it was the guy on a horse which had drawn me in, reminded me of Blake and our trip to Tombstone. I don’t know, but does it really matter? If someone else ever reads this, are they really going to lose sleep trying to figure out my weird taste in ancient television shows?

There was one thing about that show though, that really hit home. This boy Carl shoots an unarmed man and it doesn’t even phase him. Then his dad spends the next who knows how long making him work the crops, trying to reach in there and fix what was broken in his son. I think that’s what the last six months have been for me, the quiet solitude, the being cut off from the rest of the world and all that we’ve known. It’s a way of reconnecting with who I am, with the part of me that cares about my actions, the part that is devastated at the loss of human life, not numb from it. I had done the job for so long that I was detached from my conscience, from my empathy and guilt. Every action I took could result in death, and I was acting with no thought other than doing what was right. I was in the right, and if someone died, then that’s the way it had to be.

I don’t regret killing Molay. I will never regret that. The man was EVIL. Whether through happenstance or conditioning, who the fuck cares? I don’t lose sleep over it. No amount of writing in a journal will change that.

No. What hits me is the lives that had been lost when that bomb exploded. Yeah, there was a few seconds when I grieved for Pris, but what of all the other souls that perished that day? It’s like it never even crossed my mind that they were gone, that they were to be grieved for as well, that I should try and change events in order to restore them to history. I didn’t think about it or care. Killing Molay brought them back, but that was just a happy consequence. Would I have gone back and stopped that bomb if it hadn’t? Or would I have called it good and walked away?

I don’t know. And that’s what scares me.

I would like to say that I would have, but now that the moment has passed, there’s no telling for sure. I know that when I walked away, I had wanted to explore the Slipstream, take in all the things I had taken for granted, maybe find some truth of life stuff that I had somehow missed to that point, but here I am, sitting on this porch instead, sipping my lemonade and watching my dog lick my daughter’s face clean of dirt.

I don’t know if I have it in me to do anything else. Maybe this is exactly where I need to be.

Sarah says Terry tried reaching me again. I may have to answer just to tell him to shove it. Yet, I can’t bring myself to accept his call. Is this fear gripping my heart? Fear that I won’t be able to say no? That I’ll once more be rushing off to protect those that will never know my name or what I’ve sacrificed to keep them safe?

I’m out. This journal shit is for the birds.

Chapter 1

I can’t believe he did it. He actually got you to write in that thing? a musical voice inquired, breaking her concentration and pulling her attention away from the journal and to the woman standing just below the porch steps. Weena’s crimson hair had been cut so it was longer in the front and short in the back, her bangs flipping across her face, causing her to swipe at it with her dainty hands. Bright green eyes peered up at her, the younger woman’s round face spreading outward as her smile grew in strength.

Weena was wearing a black trench coat over a light blue blouse and jeans, her maroon shoes already dusty and looking well-worn. There was a weapon clipped to the belt on her waist, and she wondered why she’d need it if this was just a social call? The two of them were like sisters, had been through hell and back together, and there was nothing in this world that would make her lift a finger to harm her best friend.

Or was it for the purposes of coercion? Yeah, good luck with that.

Thanks for the heads up, she snarked at her AI, then smiled at her oldest friend as if her appearance had been expected all along. Was it your idea then? Have the two of you been conspiring behind my back?

Weena grinned as she grabbed the railing and placed a foot on the bottom step. Not at all, but I can see why he suggested it. You look good, better than you have been anyway. Must help, getting all that inner turmoil out, working through those repressed feelings you never let see the light of day. Refusing to open up about it will cause it to fester and eat away at your soul.

Nice. Melodramatic and dark, the perfect combination for such a beautiful afternoon in the sun. Nothing has changed since the last time you were here, I am as I’ve always been, she responded, closing her journal and tucking her pen in the pocket of the navy buttoned down she was wearing. Her long black hair was pulled back, her ice blue eyes just as piercing as ever, and though she felt naked without her own trench coat, she would not allow it show for even a second. Her black wranglers were dirty around her knees, and she absentmindedly rubbed at it as she pushed back in her rocking chair. Might as well take a seat. I am not getting up; social graces be damned.

Her best friend laughed as she came up the steps, then paused to look at Julie. She’s bigger than I remember. Used to, I’d be able to tell in an instant exactly what’s different, but now I can’t seem to put my finger on it. Did you cut her hair?

No, she responded, sipping her drink. She’s a child, she’s growing, that’s what humans do. You skipped all that, I get that, but still, basic human anatomy should have been part of your original programming. Are you sure losing that artificial brain didn’t have any lasting effects? You’re not getting old and senile early, are you? You’re all of what, two?

Weena glanced down at her, then chuckled once more as she took a seat on the swing to her right. Not that I’m aware of. I just don’t have a processor doing minute calculations down to the centimeter anymore. Got to wing it.

Poor baby, she retorted with a snort. Welcome to the human condition. Me? I think my hard life is finally starting to creep up on me. Back pains, muscle spasms, swollen joints. It’s fine when I move around, but if I sit down for more than fifteen minutes everything hurts like a mother.

It wouldn’t hurt so much if you didn’t spend all day just sitting on your ass, Weena remarked, reaching over and slapping her shoulder. Maybe if you got out more, did something more productive with your time, you wouldn’t be turning into a crotchety old bitch.

Hey now, Blake’s voice interrupted from the doorway. That’s my wife you’re talking about. Only I am allowed to call her crotchety.

Weena broke up laughing.

She shot her husband a dirty look. But the bitch part is okay?

Blake shrugged, don’t be ashamed. Own it. Her husband had been much younger when they’d met, but through their journeys in time had actually passed her by a few years, his once shiny brown hair now riddled with gray. He was clean shaven at the moment, which was rare, and he had on his favorite U of A shirt and a pair of black jeans.

That reminds me, Weena said quickly, cutting off her retort. Last time I went back, I got you something. The woman was pulling a yellow and maroon shirt from within the pocket of her trench coat and as soon as Blake’s eyes fell on it, his eyebrows drew together; he looked capable of murder. What?

Put it away, she snickered, trying to whisper, but her laughter was getting the best of her and it came out in quick bursts.

What? You said he was an Arizona fan, Weena protested, holding onto the shirt tightly, unaware of the dangerous situation she’d just stepped into.

University of Arizona, she corrected, eyeing her fuming husband. His mouth was starting to work and if it was still out in the open in the next few seconds, he’d likely blow a gasket.

Right, in the State of Arizona. You know how hard it was to find one in his size? That robotic arm of his takes a bit more sleeve width than usual, Weena continued on, oblivious.

Honey, the Wildcats, not the Sun Devils, she ventured.

Weena’s mouth clamped together, then her eyes fell to the shirt and her shoulders fell. Oh.

Blake had disappeared from the doorway, and that was enough to get her laughing so hard her sides hurt. Man, thank you for that. I needed it.

They had two colleges in Arizona? But it was so sparsely populated, Weena replied, shoving the shirt back into her coat pocket. Technology had been interwoven with the fabric, creating a space within her trench coat pockets that would hold just about anything that would fit through the opening, without ever having to worry about space. Weena could have had fifty shirts in there and you’d never know it.

He’s your father, so to speak. You knew damn well it wasn’t Arizona State, she laughed.

I did? Weena asked, then shook her head. I’m having a hard time recalling all of that. The time that I was a synthetic, the years I spent as just a computer program, it was clear to me when I first became human, but now it’s like looking through a glass of water tainted with a splash of milk. It’s fading the more time passes, and I guess I forgot that it mattered. Arizona is Arizona, right?

You know, he keeps that rifle of his above the fireplace in the living room, probably best to just stop there, she chuckled, then settled back and let the swaying of her chair settle her back down.

Weena nodded, I remember.

Why are you here? she asked after a long pause. Her eyes were tracking her daughter while she played, the young girl’s long blond hair tangled up and getting dirty, her clothes way past the need to be washed. Still, it was a good thing, playing outside in the sun rather than glued to her virtual world she had access to in her room. It was important to remember there was a real world out there, and it could not be controlled with algorithms and safety protocols.

I can’t just drop by? Weena protested with a raised eyebrow. Then she sighed, I guess not. Terry wanted to send a friendly face, one that you wouldn’t so casually ignore.

She didn’t bother glaring at the younger woman, the temperature drop could be felt without that added bonus of a nasty glance thrown in. If the Council has need of me, they can make an official request, she stated in a flat tone.

The Council doesn’t know I’m here. Terry’s trying to keep this quiet and hasn’t informed the others yet, Weena whispered, as if talking in a hushed tone would make her listen more intently.

All the more reason I won’t get involved. I’m done playing games with these people. Done putting my life on the line for a bunch of side seat drivers who rip you a new one for doing what they know to be right, she replied, not feeling the least bit interested. They never came out and said it, but I knew that after I killed Molay, they were ready for me to retire. They didn’t have it in them to try and Wipe me, but they also didn’t want to deal with the evolution of what I’d become if I continued on. To be honest, I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t either.

You did what you had to do and saved all of them in the process. They were grateful, they still are, Weena told her.

She shook her head, it doesn’t matter what was right. It doesn’t matter if it’s what had to be done. It’s the fallout of what happens to a person who goes through that and lives. Yes, you get to be grateful, you can even be gracious, but the wary looks and second guessing only gets worse from there on out as they wait for you to turn to the darkside as well.

You don’t understand, Weena pushed, ignoring the pop culture reference; this had to be serious. This isn’t something you can hide from in this compound of yours, where you only think you’re safe. Your life, that of your child and husband are in danger as well. Sticking your head in the sand and claiming not to hear the meteor striking the Earth, to not feel the ground shake or the heat of the flames, is not going to do you or anyone else a damned bit of good. You and yours will die along with the rest of us. Even as a time traveler, you can’t outrun this.

Weena, spare me the save the future speech. I’ve given it myself. And while your taste for dramatic flair is intact, I know the words too well to be swayed by them, she countered.

Jennifer, Reginald is dead, Weena said in a severe tone, her eyes unwavering and carrying the weight of her dreaded words.

Her breath caught briefly, but then she let it go and made off that it didn’t matter. Well, we knew that was going to happen. He told us his doctors only gave him a few months. Hell, he looked like he was at death’s door the last time I saw him, talking about going off to see if there was an afterlife to look forward to. Probably wouldn’t be too happy if there was; I’ve heard hell sucks. So, that’s your proof that the sky is falling? That’s the argument you chose to sway me with?

Weena put a hand on her arm, finally drawing her eyes in her direction and making eye contact. There was tear leaking down the woman’s cheek and her face had filled with blood. All of that over Reginald? Really? The woman’s bottom lip sucked in for a second, then let out quickly as she said, I’m here because we think it’s going to happen to you next.

Reg told me that he wasn’t contagious, she said after another silent moment passed. She had to go back to that last visit with her old mentor, replay what had taken place over in her head, and still didn’t see how Weena had come to such a conclusion. She barely had any contact with the guy.

Weena nodded in understanding, I know he did. He was told it was a genetic condition, something he was born with, and it could only be passed on through his progeny should he try to have kids. What they didn’t tell him, and they didn’t suspect at the time, was that it doesn’t have to be contagious, every human in existence besides myself already has it.

Horse shit, she growled, her eyes squinting as her anger began to rise. That’s one hell of a hook to try and wheel me in, but I’m not buying it. You just want to snatch me up, take me back to Skylark, and once there you’ll tell me the real reason for all of this and I’ll be forced to see it through. Well, pack your bags and beat it, I’m through with this conversation.

She made as if to get up, but Weena’s grip intensified. I would not lie to you. There is no one in existence that I am closer to than you. We have bonded on a level that cannot be replicated or broken. I wouldn’t be telling you this if I hadn’t seen the proof, if I didn’t truly believe it myself. I know you’re happy here, I can see that, and I wish that I could just leave you out of this and let you have your fairytale ending, but I can’t. I love you too much. Look into my eyes, call me a liar one more time.

She did just that and froze. What she saw there turned her heart cold and made her pulse skip a beat. Weena truly believed what she was saying. How? Why?

A temporal timer has been encoded into Homo Sapien DNA, engineered in such a way that no one knew it was there, hidden between blocks as the glue holding us together. In fact, if not for Skylark and the Slipstream program, we might not have known about it until it triggered, and by then it would have been too late; all of Mankind would perish, Weena told her in a severe tone.

Temporal timer? she asked, confused. She’d been out of game for too long and the jargon was a little slow in returning. Weena, you know that temporal mechanics give me migraines, why not just spit it out as plainly as possible?

Reginald had fourteen years of service under his belt, as well as another fifteen from his prison sentence and another two after the break out. That puts his temporal age at thirty-one over what it would have been had he not stepped into the Slipstream to begin with. At our point in the Slipstream, he was the oldest of our kind, and that is why he felt the effects first, Weena paused, waving her hand.

She had twenty-two years over her temporal home, how much more would it have been had she kept working for Skylark instead of walking away? Are you saying that Reginald was the first victim of a plague intended to wipe us all out? Like a Great Flood wiping the slate clean?

Weena nodded, and of all those that have come and gone, of those working in the company now, you are ten years closer to that deadline than anyone else we know about. That’s why we need you to come in, so we can study it, see what the differences are between your genetics and those of a norm, see if we can’t isolate it before it triggers and kills us all. We need you. Not just for us, but for you and yours as well. Like I said, this is not something that you can run from, it’s within every cell of your body and when it goes off, there is no stopping it.

I guess there is a God after all, she commented, trying to force a joke.

Weena’s eyes softened as she shook her head, it’s not God, but I’m sure that’s not how they see it.

The way who sees it? You mean, you know who did this? Then why aren’t you back there right now trying to stop them? Why the hell do you need me? she blurted, unable to help it.

It’s complicated, Weena answered softly.

Then uncomplicate it! she snarled, her right fist clenching as her arm pulled away from Weena’s grasp.

The left corner of Weena’s mouth pulled up in a sympathetic motion. I can’t do that here. A lot of the information is classified, for obvious reasons, and there was just no way for Terry to allow any of it to leave Skylark. He’s out on a limb already as it is.

I’ll pack a few bags, we’ll leave as soon as I’m done, Blake stated from the doorway, making her jump. When the hell did he show back up? He saw her defiance and replied with some of his own, knock it off. We’re going. If I have to have Sarah knock you out and carry you over my shoulder, I will. I’d rather not do that in front of our daughter, but don’t force my hand.

I’d like to see you try, she countered. You dare, and I’ll have you wiped.

"You should listen to your husband and best friend. I’ve done a self-diagnostic, and there are slight variations in your medical profile. It would do you well to listen to those that love you, they are only trying to help. And remember, if you die, I cease to exist anyway, so any threats you make are nothing but empty promises of a fate assured either way," Sarah replied with the sound of finality in her voice.

Still fighting fate? she snarked, getting to her feet, her blood pumping harder as her irritation grew.

"I never stopped."

Just because he says I’m going, doesn’t mean I am, she stated as she pushed past her husband, walked into her kitchen and yanked the fridge door open. If it wasn’t for the ReAt machine and the modern dining ware, it would have looked like a 21st Century kitchen, with mahogany fixtures and white countertops. It had been a compromise on her part, as she preferred a more utilitarian look to her surroundings and Blake insisted on a homelier décor. She may have found middle ground then, but she wasn’t feeling it now; they could bite her.

Grabbing a Bud Light, she twisted off the cap and immediately tipped it up, letting the booze graciously flow down her throat and into her eagerly waiting stomach. When it hit, it hit hard, and the briskness of the liquid caused her to pause for a second, lest she get a brain freeze that always hurt like hell. Wiping her chin with the crook of her elbow, she burped loudly, grabbed another, and plopped down in the askew chair at the dining room table.

Sounds like I’ve got another ten years or so to worry about this life and death shit, plenty of time to change my mind should it come to that. There’s absolutely no reason why I have to jump up and run out of here like my ass is on fire, she told them, as they hovered near the entrance to the kitchen, watching her with disbelief.

Did you not hear anything that she told you? This isn’t only about you, but all of us, Blake said with a look of shock upon his face.

She shook her head, the tip of the bottle wavering with the motion. She gulped down the last bit of the bottle, then tossed it in the trashcan on her right. Popping the lid on the other, she tipped it in his way as she responded, temporal markers in our DNA. You were born about four centuries before me, this doesn’t involve you at all. And you? You were created by a virus that transformed mechanical into the biological, you’re not infected at all. Unless this thing is airborne.

Weena was shaking her head as Blake thundered, that’s great for us, but what about your daughter, Jennifer? I know you’ll be shuffled off by then, but are you going to let me watch her die in my arms? Unable to do anything to save her?

If you’re that worried about it, then you go. I don’t understand why it has to be me, she offered as she took another drink. Her head was starting to feel heavy; a welcome feeling as chaos repeatedly tried to intervene and take command of her inner sanctum. They both stood there silently, watching her and she raised her eyebrows, widened her eyes and slightly leaned forward as she shook her head. Well? Go!

He turned and glanced at the younger woman next to him, I’ll go get my bag, I’ll be back in a second, then we can take off.

She looked away, unable to stand the judging glances he was giving her; her blood thundering through her veins as she forced herself to be quiet. If he was hot to trot, then let him run off and save the human race. There were billions of people out there, spread out from Europa to Venus who could be called upon to act, even more when considering time travel and the hundreds of thousands of years of history between Mankind’s beginning and now. It didn’t have to be her; it didn’t have to be right now.

I was wrong, you’re not doing better. In fact, you may have taken a turn for the worse, Weena remarked near a whisper.

It hurt, but she refused to show it as she snorted, you came knocking on my door, not the other way around.

I thought I knew who I would find. I guess I was wrong, Weena returned with a growl. Maybe we are better off without you.

You ready? Blake asked as he reentered the kitchen with his bag in hand. Take care of our daughter.

She could feel him hovering, wanting to say more, but after he didn’t get a response, the air in the room suddenly shifted and the sound of a banging door echoed her way a few seconds later. Bye, she muttered, taking another long drag on her beer. She needed something stronger but didn’t seem to have the energy to get up. See if I come running after you. I don’t know why it always has to be me! she yelled.

There was no one there.

She didn’t have it in her to keep doing this, running off and putting her life in danger; the shouldered responsibility was too heavy to bear and felt claustrophobic after a while. Skylark was nearly destroyed, the future disastrously altered, and she put it all on the line to set things right again. She had even killed her own daughter to protect the timeline. An older, corrupted version of her only child, but still.

That didn’t change anything.

Her finger had pulled the trigger that ended Abraham Lincoln’s life, she was the John Wilkes Booth of infamy. She’d stood by as a man was put to the torch, killed him again when he went to retrieve that fusion bomb, and had executed him a third time in order to restore the time line to what it once was. That’s not counting all that had come before she’d met Blake, which altogether was a shit show no one in their right mind could experience and stay sane.

Yet, here she was, finally starting to feel better about herself, returning to who she once was, and they were trying to rope her in again. If she went, if she plunged headfirst into the maelstrom once more, who was to say she would survive, or what would become of her even if she did? She was not ready for this; not again.

Mommy? Daddy left, Julie’s soft voice uttered, scaring the bejesus out of her.

She looked into her daughter’s innocent eyes, saw the scared look upon her face, and felt her heart break.