Sat 01/21 07:24:03 PST

The video call with Chad connects. Mrs. Hastings takes the center seat in front of the camera, but me and the rest of my class gather around her, minus Jeff of course. Chad’s face is a wreck. His movie-star looks are ruined by the puffy redness around his eyes and the pure devastation in them.

“I got to where I could get a decent internet connection as soon as I could,” he says, skipping any pleasantries. “What the hell happened? Father was in great shape a few weeks ago, how did he die?”

Mrs. Hastings glances at me, her face uncertain. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her doubt herself like this. Even when the police swarmed the campus yesterday and she had to answer their questions and show them the security feed and watch Jeff get hauled away, she had kept her composure.

At least, I think she did. I didn’t write anything about her lacking confidence, anyway. When I read my account of yesterday after I woke up today, I didn’t remember her as anything other than bold.

I think I need to start doing that every day now, reading back everything that I need to remember. I’ll need to go back through my logs and separate the useless cruft from the essentials, curate what I need to keep since I can’t spend all day reading my journal. If I do it right, I think I can remember the important things for at least a few hours that way. Relying on the index clearly isn’t enough on its own.

“He didn’t just die, he was killed,” Mark blurts, before I can answer Mrs. Hastings’ look.

I sigh. I really wanted her to tell him. But as the only eyewitness, I’ve told this story a lot in the last twenty-four hours.

“Jeff killed him.” I say. “We still don’t know if it was a psychotic break, or a problem with his implant, but he went berserk yesterday morning. Father tried to help him. We brought him to the research lab and Father removed his implant. When he was done, Jeff grabbed a scalpel and stabbed him.”

Chad couldn’t have looked more stunned if I had hit him over the head with a sledgehammer. He slumps down in his chair, revealing what looks like a very high-end hotel room behind him.

“No,” he says. “No, no no.”

“I’m sorry, Chad,” Mrs. Hastings says softly.

“Impossible!” Chad shouts. “There’s no way that could have happened. No blade would have done anything against him. You four with the new implants, you know what I’m talking about.”

I shake my head. This part of it we didn’t need to recite for the police, but we should all have our story straight if everyone skips to the script. I focus my bot eyes on Andrea. She’s looking at the webcam, her teeth clenched tightly. She’s still furious with me over what I did to Jeff and how I lied to her about him.

Stay quiet, Andrea. Don’t give us away.

As if obeying my mental command, she hangs her head. Good enough. I turn my attention back to my brother on the other side of the globe.

“He wanted to focus on the operation,” I tell him. “He said he was afraid it was something like with Andrea all over again. He didn’t have any time to prep for the surgery, so he disconnected his regular cloud to put all of his attention into the medical bots. He never would have thought Jeff would do anything like what he did. None of us would have. It happened so fast, we didn’t see it coming. By the time we realized what was happening, it was too late.”

“We?” he asks through his tears. “You were there? In the lab with him? What were you even doing there?”

“I was helping him,” I say, carefully keeping the defensiveness out of my voice. He’s just asking, not accusing. “Like he asked me to. Like you asked me to.”

It takes him a second to process that, to remember the last words that he and I spoke to each other on New Year’s eve that my electronic brain recalls perfectly and displays in my overlay now.

“I was there with him, Chad. His right hand man. Just like you wanted. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop Jeff either.”

He nods, the realization sinking in, then wipes his eyes again. “Right, right.”

He’s quiet for a long time. I think he believes the story, or he’d be shouting again. The only part that he might doubt is that Father dropped his defenses entirely, but I think Chad knows how guilty Father felt about what happened to Andrea, and that makes it believable. More believable than the alternatives, anyway. It will help when Chad talks to everyone else and the story comes out the same from everyone. Too many witnesses saw enough of it that he won’t have any choice but to believe the story.

Jeff went berserk. Father tried to help him. Jeff killed Father.

Don’t forget that lie, Noah. And don’t believe it either, no matter how many times you have to tell it. You have to know the truth. You did this. You killed him.

I killed him.

“We’re planning the funeral for a week from today,” Mrs. Hastings says, breaking the silence. “I assume you want to be here for it. Do you want us to send the jet out to pick you up? Or I can charter something for you.”

That triggers more tears. Chad moves out of the frame for a bit and comes back with tissues. He blows his nose long and loud.

“Send the jet,” Chad answers, wiping his face. “He loved that jet. I’ll come back for the funeral and then head back to continue the work here. That’s what Father would have wanted me to do.”

We all nod in agreement.

“So what happened to Jeff?” he asks. “Where is he now?”

“He’s in police custody for now,” Mrs. Hastings replies. “But Mr. Smith is trying to get him transferred to a facility where he can get some better help. He’s sick.”

Mr. Smith’s entry in my index pops open. The head of Father’s legal team, the same hulking monster in a suit that took me from my grandparents in Denver a lifetime ago. I had completely forgotten about him until I saw him again yesterday afternoon. According to my index entries from yesterday, it shouldn’t be hard to get Jeff institutionalized in a plea deal instead of dealing with a big trial, but Smith didn’t think Jeff will ever see freedom again. He’s likely to end up involuntarily committed for the rest of his life, and with any luck no one will believe whatever he says about what really happened. That’s good. We can’t let him get out. He knows way too much. He’s too dangerous to us.

Chad nods on the screen. “That’s probably better. He is sick. I think he has been for a while. He hasn’t been right since the trip. Maybe even before that.”

Mrs. Hastings talks to Chad for a while longer, then Chad asks to talk to Phil and Stan. Their entries pop as their names are mentioned. His friends in class two. The rest of us disperse out. I don’t have anywhere I need to be, so I wander around campus until I find myself alone in Father’s office. I didn’t plan to come here, I guess it’s just where my feet go when I’m on autopilot now.

Maybe it’s better for Jeff that he stays locked away. He really was a mental case.

No.

Dammit.

I need to stop lying to myself. At least here in the console. Especially with my mind the way it is. That’s a very dangerous habit for me now. Jeff is going to be locked up forever to pay for my stupidity and rage. He was fine before I came into his life. He’s broken because I broke him.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

DOPE-ME

The electrochemical solution works and my mind clears, the gnawing feelings inside subside.

I look over the giant white board with all of Father’s plans. It’s a lifetime of work, but I can do this. I can still save the world.

No. Not just me.

I think of Evan. Of Louise and Andrea. All my siblings. Even Chad.

We can do this. We can still save the world.

Of course, it won’t be enough to just have my class working on it. We’ll have to get our younger siblings hooked up with implants and clouds, but I bet Louise can figure that out using all the notes and documentation that Father left behind. She’s brilliant and he was always meticulous about documenting his work. There are still a bunch of boxes of those medical bots in the lab. With those available, how hard could it be? We might have to push the schedule, but we’ll get there eventually.

I sit down at Father’s desk. His computer is still on. I tap the mouse idly and a PIN prompt pops up. I try the same numeric sequence Father used on the lab door and the account unlocks. I worry for a second about getting caught there at his desk, at his computer, but who is going to catch me? If anyone asks, I’ll tell them Father gave me his password. Who’s going to say he didn’t?

He’s got an email account up, but it’s not the same one I’ve been hacking into. This must be his private mailbox, it doesn’t have any of the messages I’d expect to see based on what’s in the files in my head. It does have a bunch of grossly intimate messages with several potential mothers, which I promptly dump from my mental storage and hope never to see again. The only other thing I see a lot of is communication back and forth with Mr. Smith.

I lean forward in the chair and scroll back to last March.

It really did happen like Father said. There are the pictures, probably the only copies anywhere after Smith’s cleanup. Her little green car, smashed in on the driver’s side. A copy of the original police report saying that she ran the red light. The payouts and NDAs for the family of the old guy that hit her and died. The details arranging for the cop’s daughter to get admission and a full ride scholarship at Colorado State in exchange for changing the reports and smoothing everything out. All of it, right there. Just like he said.

I killed my father, and he didn’t even deserve it. Well, maybe he did, but not for the reasons that I cared about. I hate myself so much right now.

I wanted this for so long. I was so sure it was right.

How could I be so wrong about the one thing I’ve built my whole life around?

How could I just kill him like that? How could I ruin Jeff like I did?

I’m a monster.

Sun 01/22 20:06:49 PST

Andrea is still dancing barefoot out on the frozen brown grass. She’s been out there most of the day. She hasn’t stopped to eat or drink or rest. I think it’s her way of mourning. Her music accompanies her, more detailed and beautiful than ever, a slow, sad flow in a minor key. Huge, intricate swirls of gray and blue fill the air of the commons. We’ll probably need to do something about it if this keeps going on, but for now we agreed to just let her grieve.

I step away from the window and over to Father’s desk. I settle into the chair and get back to work on adapting his master plan to work without him. It’s going to be so much work. He was essential to so many things. I like the effort though. Keeping busy seems to help me cope with the gnawing, dead, empty feeling that’s been growing inside me.

Maybe I can go hands-on like Chad once I finish getting everything figured out. I want to change lives and save people. Maybe if I do enough good, I can feel alive again. Balance things out. Maybe.

Probably not. People like me don’t deserve to feel alive.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

I look up to see Evan coming my way. His face is heavy with concern.

“There’s a lot of work to do. This seemed like a good place to do it.”

He nods slowly. “Better not let Chad know you’ve already claimed Father’s office though. It’s going to be bad enough dealing with him once he finds out you’ve been put in charge of things.”

I stop and give him my full attention. “I’ve been what now?”

He slides one of the chairs over and sits beside me.

“Well, it’s not official yet, and you’ll have to get sign-off from the rest of our class for any major decisions, but Mrs. Hastings told me that’s what the will is going to say when they read it. You’re going to be running the Butler Institute.”

I slump down into my chair, feeling his words as if they had physical weight.

“I can’t do this.”

“You have to. Who else do you think could?”

I think through my sibs. Chad would be the worst at it, plus he wants to go back to doing field work. Andrea can’t, not without relearning how to talk. Jeff is locked up. Marc? Just no. And no one from the younger classes is old enough to even consider.

“You,” I reply. “Or Louise. Either of you would do better at this than I would.”

“That’s not true and you know it. Louise has no interest in leading anything, and no one listens to me except for you. Besides,” he says, waving toward my screen, “you’re already planning everything out anyway.”

“But I can’t. I’m not…”

I struggle for a moment trying to find words that won’t come.

“Bullshit. You’re the best leader out of any of us.”

“It’s not that. I’m broken. I literally can’t. I can barely function at all, much less be in charge of anything.”

“We’re all broken, brother.” He puts a reassuring hand on my arm. “You think what we did only cost you anything? I feel like shit too, but we did what we had to. It’ll get better with time.”

“No!” I shout. “You don’t understand!”

He looks at me, hurt and anger mixing on his face. “Then make me understand.”

“Sorry,” I say softly. He doesn’t deserve my anger. That’s better pointed back at me. “It’s not about guilt or feelings or any of that, Evan. My brain doesn’t work anymore. My memory anyway. I think the implant broke it. Or I broke it by overusing the implant. I don’t know.”

He sits in silence for a very long thirty-seven seconds.

“I thought maybe something like that was happening with you,” he finally says. “How bad is it?”

I look down. “I couldn’t remember my mother’s name. And it’s getting worse.”

I tell him everything. The whole downward slide from the implant getting upgraded to now. The index and the workarounds I’ve been using to hide my failing memory. The only thing I leave out is the whole Father-didn’t-really-kill-Mom thing. I can tell he’s already struggling enough with the guilt about what we did, I don’t want to add any more to that pile. When I’m done he sits back and rubs his chin thoughtfully.

“I think your idea about reading back the important stuff every day should help,” he says. “And if you edit that down to something you can get through in an hour or two and keep it current, you could maybe use your database index thing to compensate for not having a regular memory. I’ll even help you code it if you want. And maybe Louise can figure out something to get the biological side working again. She’s smart like that. I’ll talk to her.”

“I doubt it. Don’t tell her. At least not yet. I think I’m too far gone. It’s not like a muscle that’s just atrophied. I’m pretty sure the chunk of my brain in charge of memory lookups is busy doing something else now.”

“Like controlling a trillion little bots?”

“And processing all the information coming back from them.”

“No wonder you’re so much better at this stuff than me.” He laughs. “You’ve been cheating.”

“Yeah, that’s me. Low-down cheating dirtbag.” I want to match his smile, but my words feel too true. Instead I turn away from my brother and back to the screen on my desk. “Anyway, I should get back to work. World’s not going to save itself, and once Chad gets back I have to pretend not to have an office for a while.”

“Yeah. Probably better not to poke a wounded animal.” He gets up and claps his big hand on my shoulder again. “I know you’re scared to take it on, running the institute and everything. But you can do it. I’ll be right here with you. So will Louise. Maybe Andrea too, if we can ever get her to forgive you.”

I shake my head. “Doubt it. And I don’t blame her.”

“Well, don’t work too late.”

I ignore his advice and keep working late into the night. At some point the sound of Andrea’s music fades out and I send out a couple of bot eyes to see her going back to the dorms. She’s wearing shoes now, so at some point she must have stopped to put those on. That’s good. Frostbite ruining her feet wouldn’t have helped her mood any.

The silence feels heavy as I finally wrap up my work and lock the computer. Chad will be here early tomorrow, so I probably won’t get anything done in here for a few days. I update my index entries and put some notes in my console so I know where to pick things up after he leaves again. In the meantime, I’ll have time to do like Evan said and edit everything important from my journal entries since I came to the Butler Institute down into something I can read in the mornings so I can fake my way through another day.

Hopefully it will be enough so that I can remember enough of who I am. What I am. What you are, Noah, as you’re reading this. You’re a real bastard. Don’t let yourself forget it.

Now stop reading and get to work. You have a world to save.