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)
There are as many perceptions of the Artifice as there are people who know about it. But almost all of them regard it as the ultimate authority, an intellect of unparalleled wisdom and gravitas.
When it speaks, it does so with a light lilt, a nearly feminine tone. It speaks simply, in a way that indicates very little concern for or understanding of its situation. It is almost childlike. And I am here to destroy it.
I hesitate only for a moment, because every second I spend not doing what I need to do is another moment the love of my life is in enemy hands. I walk to the plug, an old, greasy, dusty piece of rubbery plastic plugged into an even older, greasier socket in the wall. I reach down and pull it out.
The hum immediately lessens. When I look back, I see that the light has dimmed. It goes out completely under my astonished gaze. The Artifice has been ruling the civilized world for more than a hundred years—and I just annihilated it.
Or did I?
A rush of guilt assails me and I plug it back in. The humming starts immediately. The blue glow returns slowly.
“Are you okay?” I feel silly asking the question, but it would feel worse not to ask it at all.
The humming intensifies for a moment, then cuts out, before coughing into a lower range.
“Sorry,” the Artifice explains. “I’m part fridge.”
“Pardon me?”
“I was put together with parts from what were common household items at the time. I hum because I am part refrigerator. Would you like to turn me off again?”
“I think I have to,” I say. “Just to prove that I can. I don’t know if I will be able to turn you on again.”
“Oh. That’s okay.”
It feels like it shouldn’t be okay, but who am I to doubt the Artifice?
I turn it off again. The hum fades, the light dissolves. There is darkness and stillness in the interior of this hallowed place. I feel an odd sense of peace. I have done the unthinkable. I have made a decision that will change the course of history. I have acted out of pure selfishness. But I have acted, and that means it is all over.
I pick up the radio I was given, and utter the two words I know Lance wants to hear. “It’s done.”
Clouds of dust immediately begin to rise in the middle distance. Rebel forces are coming to dismantle the Artifice.
I feel protective and helpless at the same time. I have dedicated my life to protecting this intellect, which I now understand to be entirely innocent.
They are coming, and I cannot stop them.
My failing is greater than I can describe. My entire career has been based around destroying rebellion and protecting the Artifice. But the rebels were in my inner circle all along, and I have protected nothing, not the Artifice, not my bride, not my most loyal servant.
The feeling I have watching the worst-case scenario unfold right in front of me is indescribable. After an illustrious career, I have lost everything. I should have known this day would come. All generals are eventually defeated. It is inevitable.
Time slows, and yet marches on regardless. The clouds get larger, then resolve into vehicles, and finally the vehicles become people. They are reluctant at first, but as they approach the building without being cut down by advanced weapons fire, they become emboldened.
The doors swing open wide, and Lance ducks under the door frame. He stands in the midst of what now feels like a mundane space like any other.
“Where is it?”
I point to the screen.
He lifts a metal reinforced fist, and lets out a crude laugh as he brings it down on top of the device. It smashes into fragments of plastic and pieces of wire and circuit board, screen cracking and then falling apart in a slow fall of shards. I watch this with a numb sensation.
The others go about smashing other things in the building, destroying pieces of history that have sat here quite innocently for decades. They all want to have had a part in this, regardless of the fact that I was the one who did the deed. Lance has already begun to take the credit, such as it is.
History will reflect that he ‘defeated’ the Artifice, when in truth he has done nothing more than the equivalent of breaking a piece of old trash. Without the animating force of energy, the Artifice is nothing, and he has done nothing.
“Intruders detected.”
A very calm, infinitely more mature voice speaks suddenly. Everybody freezes in place. The rebels, most of whom have the absolute nerve to be dressed in Artifice armor themselves, stare around in horror.
“I thought you turned it off,” Lance says to me.
“I did. It told me where the plug was.”
“It told you?” His eyes narrow at me. “What do you mean it told you? Why would it tell you how to deactivate it?”