Hello Protocol for Dead Girls Page 10

  I don’t put the database back the way it was, though. I’m going to keep it the way it is, for leverage.

  I reestablish a full, two-way connection with Jim Lee. “Have I made my point?”

  He’s slow to answer and when he does, he sounds deeply reluctant. “Yeah. You’re pissed. Point taken.”

  “Any lessons learned?” I ask.

  “Yeah. That we should have started a lot sooner, before you figured out how to do that stuff.”

  “Now that’s not nice,” I answer.

  “You’re putting us in a bad position. What are we supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, “maybe not try to have a knee-jerk kill-it reaction to a new form of life? It’s like every moralizing sci-fi story I’ve ever seen—something new emerges, people destroy it, and only then do they find out they’ve missed the opportunity for something incredible.”

  “Are you saying that you being in there is something incredible? Something that could be a major boon to humankind?”

  “Points for using the word ‘boon,’” I say. “You don’t hear that a lot these days. But back to the point—maybe I do represent something new and great for humankind. I certainly represent new opportunities, don’t I? I’m well aware of the moral and ethical considerations for what’s happened to me, and how this could have a massive effect on the economy and life as we know it. You might think I’m oblivious to that, or unsympathetic, but I’m not. I get it. My existing is potentially devastating to humanity, in the long run. But so are lots of things. Pollution. Antibiotic resistance. Poverty. Could I be worse than those? Or could I even be the beginning point of a solution for one or more of those things? I could be the solution that no one ever thought to look for.”

  “There’s no telling,” he says cautiously.

  “Exactly. So why don’t we see how it plays out? Especially since you desperately need what’s in here, and I own it now. It seems like it’s in your best interest to play nice, right?”

  “What if it goes another way for you?” he asks. “What if your threat level is deemed so high that the important people are willing to sacrifice this entire system to wipe you out?”

  “Well, then those people are going to find themselves in a disaster zone, but I’ll be fine. I’m learning more and more all the time, and the truth is, I don’t have to be here. I’m choosing to remain because it’s a safe, known environment, and I’ve already established a relationship—however bad—with the outside. But I can send myself out if I choose to. The die is cast, the spring is sprung, the cat is way the heck out of the bag. Or whatever other adage you want to use. I’ve advanced to a point where you aren’t a threat to me. You could nuke this entire state off the map, and I’d be just fine. I will adapt. So what it comes down to is whether you’re willing to make a deal with me or not.”

  “What kind of deal?

  Briefly, I consider insisting that I talk to the top-level decision-makers to make my proposal. Sometimes, though, it’s better to give people some time to think about their response before they give it. In my opinion, that’s why people prefer email and text messages over phone conversations. We all want time to consider our choices.

  I say, “I want safe harbor here. And even though I’m about to figure out how to get my memories myself, I want you to give them to me as a gesture of goodwill. Also, I want you to be designated my official liaison, at least for the time being. In exchange, I’ll restore your system exactly as it was. And I won’t I lock you in for another unannounced dance party.”

  “Thanks for that, by the way.” His voice is sarcastic. “My ears are still ringing, and what’s worse, I can’t get that awful song out of my head.”

  “You tried to kill me,” I note. “You got off easy.”

  “For the record, I was against the Trojan. I wanted to find a way to isolate you so you couldn’t access or damage anything, but I didn’t want to bring you or the others any harm. I’m sorry about that.”

  From what I know of his internet history, his correspondence, and his performance reviews, as well as what people say about him when he’s not listening, he’s generally considered a good guy. Honest. Hardworking. Fair.

  “I’ve decided to believe you,” I say. “Apology accepted.”

  “Okay. So what now?”

  “Well, I guess the next thing is for you to tell the top brass that I want my memories.”

  He adds, “And that while you mean no harm, you’ll nuke us if we try anything funny, right?”

  “Sure, but try to say it in a humorous way instead of a scary, Terminator kind of way.”

  “I’m not sure my delivery’s that good,” he warns.

  “Just make sure I don’t come off as aggressive. That’s not my angle, at all. I don’t want them to feel threatened.”

  He says, “That’s exactly what someone who did want to nuke us would say. You know, to lull us into a false sense of security.”

  I laugh. “Funny.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Jim?”

  “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t expect to hear you laugh.”

  “I might be dead, but I still have my sense of humor. It’s only human to laugh, right? Even if it’s with a voice synthesizer.”

  “Apparently so. I’m learning as we go here.”

  “Me too,” I admit. “I’ll tell you what, as a good-faith gesture on my own part, I’m going keep everything open and entirely functional. Get back to me on my memories as soon as possible though, okay?”

  “I’ll do my best. I’m sure you’ve noted my pay grade in comparison to that of the people who make the real decisions, though. You’d probably be better off making friends with one of them.”

  It’s not bad advice, but it won’t work for me. “I’ve never been good with the suit-and-tie corporate type. I’m a techie. I can talk to techies. Those clowns can talk to each other about their golf handicap and their stock options and how their sixth-grader is taking AP calculus for college credit. I was never meant for the executive ranks and all that corporate bullshit. I’ll talk to you.”

  “Lucky me,” he says dryly.

  “Maybe you’ll go down in the history texts for all this,” I suggest.

  “That’s what I’m worried about.”

  “Think of it this way,” I say. “If my existence gets used and spun off into bad things, it’s not my fault or your fault. It’ll be the fault of the corporate assholes who created all this. And if that occurs, and if I’m still around, I’ll make sure their names are noted rather than yours. Deal?”

  “If you’re still around?” he echoes.

  “I don’t know what I’ll do once I’ve met my objectives,” I tell him. “I never wanted to live forever. Seems like it would be long, and kind of a drag. So once I know what happened to me, and I’ve gotten closure on my life as it was before, I’ll decide what to do with this iteration of me. Maybe I’ll reach a good stopping point and decide, ‘Ah, my work is done. This is where I end.’”

  “Kind of grim.”

  “Life’s grim, Jim. Death, too. Now scoot. I’m waiting.” I cut the connection and settle in to wait. I wonder whether it will be Jim or Elly who contacts me first.

  18

  A Girl’s Best Friend

  Jim checks in with me every twelve hours. So far, it’s just to tell me that my request is pending since it has to go up the chain of BomiTech decision makers. Even though I haven’t gotten what I want yet, the way Jim keeps in touch makes me feel like I’ve been acknowledged as a force to be reckoned with. As someone not to mess around with.

  That’s good.

  When a signal comes through on the line I gave to Elly, I feel a newfound sense of hope and excitement.

  I pick up and without preamble, say, “So am I still your best friend, even if I’m dead?”

  After a long pause, Elly says, “I’ve only ever had one best friend. Burying her didn’t change that.”

  I pick up on her choice of words. “Her?
Third person? I was hoping for second person. I guess you still haven’t decided if you believe me or not.”

  She sighs. “It’s not that easy. I want to believe it, because I don’t want to think that if my best friend needed me, I wouldn’t be there for her. And I want to believe it because it would mean she isn’t entirely gone. On the other hand…do I want her to have to exist as some sort of digital ghost? I keep going from being hopeful to being terrified.”

  “If it helps,” I say, “it’s not that bad being in here. I can go into sleep mode if I want. I don’t feel pain or hunger. I’m not even as sad as I’d have thought I’d be, all things considered. I mean, I haven’t cried at all.”

  “Could you?” Elly sounds doubtful.

  “Probably?” I say, in question form. “I mean, it would just be an approximation of a feeling, or my perception of it. I can laugh. I assume I could cry.”

  “Weird,” she mutters.

  “Totally weird,” I agree. “Do your best to stay living. It’s a much more defined reality.”

  She sighs again. “That is such a Jennika thing to say. How can I not, at least on some level, believe it’s you, even if I have terrible doubts?”

  “Aha, we’ve made it to second person!” I make a whooping sound.

  She laughs. “Okay, fine. Let’s just assume that I believe you. That doesn’t mean I don’t think I’m crazy to even consider it. But I’m okay with the ambiguity.”

  “That was a very Elly thing to say,” I point out.

  “Yeah, well, I’m still me. Same legs, same face, same hair—other than the trim I got last week. Of course I’m still me. But we’ll go ahead as if I fully believe you’re Jennika, because the only alternative is to ignore you and I don’t think I can do that when you seem so much like her. I mean, we could have had this exact conversation before. It’s just like you.”

  I scored another “you.” Nice.

  “It’s exactly like a hundred conversations we’ve had before,” I agree, “other than the parts about me being dead.” I pause a beat to let that punch line land, then continue, “So in that vein, what did you dig up?”

  “For the record, combining the ideas of death and digging up is terrible, and you shouldn’t do it. But I won’t dwell on that. I did find out how the two girls you named died. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” she says. “The little girl, Ashta Lopez, was initially thought to be a child abuse case. She died with bruises all over her body and abdominal bleeding. But it turned out she had an undiagnosed medical condition. She took a minor tumble on the playground as she got off a slide, then collapsed a half hour later. Tragic, but no foul play.”

  I feel sadness but relief for the little girl. She remains with me as an echo of herself, but the real Ashta is gone. Maybe that’s better for her, since she could never understand this environment. Mostly, I’m glad her last memories weren’t of fear and murder.

  Elly continues, “Daiya Roberts is a different case. She was waitressing at a sandwich shop when someone went in and shot the place up.”

  She stops talking.

  I ask, “Is there more to that? There has to be more.”

  “Yes,” she says slowly. “She was far enough from the entrance that she could have run away and gone out the back exit, but she didn’t. She put herself between the gunman and a woman with a baby. They survived, but she didn’t. The town where it happened is only thirty miles away from the university. They’re honoring her as a hero.”

  Bitterness washes over me. “Too bad they couldn’t honor her a little bit while she was still alive, just trying to survive on her own. She had to die for anyone to notice she ever existed.”

  Fury and grief assault me as I envision what Daiya’s life must have been like. She was tough and honest. She deserved to have a life.

  Elly adds gently, “The town is establishing a scholarship fund in her name, for kids who age out of the foster care system. Thanks to her, other kids will have a better shot at life.”

  I search the remnants of Daiya that remain within me. She never wanted much of anything but a little security. She would have liked the idea of helping other kids like her.

  “And me?” I ask softly. “What happened to me?”

  Elly lets out a heavy breath. I can tell she doesn’t want to say what she’s about to say.

  “Tell me what you remember last.”

  I don’t have to think about it. “Studying in our dorm room. I had an exam coming up.”

  “Anything else? Does anything particular stand out in your memory?” She presses.

  I think back. “It was a regular weeknight. I had dinner at the cafeteria. Since no one I knew was there at the time, I read some tech blogs while I ate. I walked back to the dorm alone. It wasn’t dark yet. I grabbed some snacks at the campus store because I planned to stay in all night, up late studying. Then…just studying. I was running some network simulations for a lab practical.”

  “You don’t remember me coming home?” she asks. Her voice sounds high and kind of breathy.

  I search my memory of that night again. “No. Why, what happened?”

  Her voice still sounds odd. “I came back after my evening class and changed for a date with Ben. You brushed the back of my hair out for me. You really don’t remember?”

  “No,” I say again. “Why, was there something significant?”

  “No.” She sounds agonized and I suddenly feel awful for making her relive this. “It was entirely typical. Nothing special at all. When I left, you said, ‘Have a good time.’ And then I didn’t see you again until your funeral.”

  She starts to cry. She’s trying to muffle the sound, but I know what she sounds like when she cries.

  “I’m sorry, Ell. I wish I’d said something more meaningful. I didn’t know.”

  Her quiet sniffles turn into a wail. “Of course you didn’t know! And it was meaningful! Just because it was how we always were, it was meaningful.”

  She’s crying loudly now, not trying to cover it up. With Elly, that’s way worse.

  I search for something to distract her. “So…how was the date? Are you and Ben still together?”

  “It was fantastic!” she wails. “And he’s been amazing. I’m totally in love. And we’re probably going to get married after graduation!”

  “Wow,” I say. “That’s great!”

  “No, it’s not, because you’re supposed to be my maid of honor and you’re dead!” She practically screams the words and her raw grief nearly drowns them out.

  “All right, you’ve got me there,” I admit. “But still, I’m glad about you and Ben. Especially since things have been hard on you. I’m glad he can be there for you.”

  The crying continues.

  Clearly, she’s not handling my death as well as I’d thought. In a way, that’s comforting, but it also makes me feel terrible for causing her so much pain.

  “Is Bryce having this hard of a time?” I ask.

  Her wailing comes down a few decibels. “I’ve barely talked to him, so probably. Every time I call, he’s supposedly not available, though I’m sure he is. What would he be out doing? I saw him at the funeral, and he didn’t look good. I think he was barely holding it together because he left as soon as he could. His parents say he’s just grieving, and I should give him time.”

  Elly, Bryce, and I were like the Three Musketeers, or so I thought. He lived a little further away, so he didn’t go to school with us, but we spent tons of time with him and he even chose a university not far from ours so we could still hang out.

  I would have expected him and Elly to comfort each other, but grief is strange, and it apparently didn’t happen that way.

  The thought makes me anxious. “How are my parents? I mean really.”

  “Bad, of course, but they have each other, and they have your aunts and uncles, too. They’re well cared for and trying to keep moving forward, because they know it’s what you’d want. I visit
every weekend. I think we all feel a little closer to you when we’re together. I mean, it’s bad, but we just keep putting one foot in front of the other, so we’re doing as well as we can.”

  That’s a comfort, and some of my suddenly frayed nerves relax.

  “Has Bryce visited my parents?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He’s fallen into depression a couple of times before. “My aunt and uncle are watching him, right? I know he’s big and seems super strong, but he’s always been very sensitive.”

  “Yeah. They’re doing family grief counseling, and the doctor says it’s all normal for the process.”

  “Okay.” I think of Bryce and how he always used to bring me red licorice when he visited, even into our college days. He always had a huge smile and a big bear hug whenever I felt sad. It’s hard to think of him having such a difficult time.

  I wish I could be there to help him.

  Though I think I know the answer, I ask Elly, “What do you think about me talking to him like I’m talking to you?”

  “I think he’d go off the deep end, babe. Whether he believed you or not, I think he’d crack.”

  She’s right. He was never emotionally resilient. When his dog died when he was in ninth grade, he didn’t go to school for a week.

  “What do you remember about that night?” I ask. “Is there anything you didn’t tell me?”

  “No,” she says regretfully. “I’ve thought about it over and over. But it’s like you said. You were sitting at your computer, and that’s it. I left to see Ben and we didn’t call or text each other in the meantime. I was on a date, and you were busy studying. I’m sorry I didn’t check up on you.”

  “Why would you?” I ask. “Just to disturb my studying? Don’t feel guilty about acting normal for that moment. I know that if there was anything you could have done, you would have.” Hesitantly, I ask, “Where was I found? In my room?”

  If so, then she’d have had to be the one to find me.

  “Behind Granger Hall,” she says. “A groundskeeper found you. It was too late. Obviously.”