Architect (Last Resistance Book 3), page 32
He hurries to the instruments now, just as others come into the room.
“Someone’s here,” Rhona croaks in a voice that’s rusty with disuse.
Camus stumbles backwards, nearly falling down. It’s the first time in more than a month she’s said anything, and the dam against his grief nearly collapses at the sound.
“Rhona?” he whispers, touching her hand gently.
But her face remains placid and she does not speak again.
“She’s right,” says Elle, entering with Dhruv. Both elected to stay behind and guard the facility out of loyalty to Rhona. The young man calling himself Dunk has also stayed, though Camus has no illusions about his reasons. He stays for Elle. “We’ve got visitors.”
“Who?” It’s too soon for Samuel to have gotten back from Portland, and no one else outside of Jo’s crew knows what Rhona is sacrificing here to keep the machines safely operational and inside humanity’s control. They were right to keep this a secret. If others found out they would either kill Rhona or try to take control of the machines from her. The surviving New Soviet divisions have already proven they will seize any opportunity to gain an upper hand.
“I think it’s Zelda Lefevre,” Dhruv says.
Ulrich’s attention spikes, and he launches to his feet. “Zelda? You are sure?” But he doesn’t wait for further confirmation before charging out of the room. He doubles back to assist Lefevre, acting as a secondary crutch as the latter limps along.
“Is she alone?” Camus asks Dhruv.
“No. Hanna Moore is with her.”
Camus feels his mouth spread into a broad, disbelieving smile. He almost laughs at the immeasurable miracle of it all. “Hanna?” Now he’s running for the exit as well.
He and Hanna don’t hug so much as catch each other and for a long moment stand there, hanging on to one another, anchored against the tide of sorrow that washes against their ankles.
“I thought you died in McKinley,” he says. It feels like she’s come back to life, and the relief is so powerful, the tears he has been holding back for Rhona’s sake suddenly burst forth. He doesn’t want to let Hanna go, but he pulls back so he can tell her, “I’m so glad you weren’t there. Zelda, too. Did anyone else survive?”
“Prim stayed back to look for them,” Hanna says. “One of Rhona’s clones,” she clarifies.
From between Ulrich and Lefevre’s broad shoulders, embraced by the two men she adores most in the world, Zelda adds, “We didn’t exactly stick around to watch the recovery efforts. After seeing this place… I think it’s possible the lower levels remained intact, but Command level has to be gone.” And without Command, there goes comms, Camus thinks. Hence the base’s silence. “I can’t believe we found you.” Zelda grabs her brother back into another close hug, and when she speaks her voice is strained, like she might cry with relief. “These past few months have been a nightmare, and it was a hell of a trek down here.”
“How did you find us?” Lefevre asks, eyes wet. His expression as he looks at his twin sister is packed with so much love, Camus’s heart aches a little. He never had siblings. All he had were the few bonds he formed himself. And Rhona.
“Credit where credit’s due,” Zelda says, sounding only a little put out. “Dopey insisted.”
“Dopey?” Camus nearly staggers as the doppelganger machine steps into the room. “Impossible,” he murmurs.
“Renee helped us get out before the bombardment,” Zelda says. “Prim told us she thought Rhona was headed south to Portland. But by the time we got there the city was a mess. Nothing left alive for miles around the downtown area. We were at a loss until Dopey started receiving this strange ass signal. We decided to follow it here. I mean, not like we had anyplace better to try.”
There’s plenty to discuss, including delivering the news of Lefevre’s survival, but before he can start Hanna, looking around, asks, “Where’s Rhona?”
That’s a long and complicated story. Camus gives them the abridged version.
“Shit,” Zelda says, the spirit of brevity, capturing everything about this situation in that single word. “So that’s why the machines didn’t attack us on the way here.”
“That’s why,” Camus agrees. “She’s why.”
“And she’s stuck like that?”
“As far as we know. If she releases control, the machines will be susceptible to other programming. It’s possible the higher echelon still has some hidden pocket somewhere or the New Soviets could take control. It’s better this way.”
“Doesn’t seem better for her,” Zelda remarks. She nudges Rhona’s leg with her foot experimentally, and Lefevre grabs her shoulder to stop her from doing more. She raises her hands. “Just checking.”
While they’re stood there, discussing what comes next, Dopey steps away from the group and approaches Rhona. Camus starts to intervene, but Hanna stops him. “Wait,” she says. “Dopey led us here. She must have a connection to Rhona.”
“You think Rhona might be controlling it?”
“I think right now they might be one in the same. Rhona’s consciousness in a machine, and the machine’s consciousness in Rhona.”
Dopey doesn’t reach for Rhona, but instead comes and takes a seat beside her, pulling down a second neural link from the wall. Camus hears someone—he’s not sure if it’s the machine or Rhona—say, “It’s okay. You’ve done enough. I’ve got it from here.”
Dopey’s digital face disappears.
Breathless silence floods the room, all eyes shifting to Rhona.
Camus is first to her side. This time when he calls softly to his beloved wife, her eyes shift underneath the lids. Her fingers begin to open and close, seeking. He lays his hand in hers, waiting as in the next moment, against all odds, Rhona finally makes good on the first promise she made to him all those years ago.
She opens her eyes.
And she comes back to him.
Acknowledgments
Let me begin by thanking the good folks at Aethon, Rhett Bruno and Steve Beaulieu, for giving me the opportunity to finish Rhona’s story. Without your support, this book would not exist.
To my friend and editor Erin: I owe you, big time. Thank for being my first reader and pointing out everything I got wrong in a helpful way. This book is far, far better for having had your eyes on it.
Writing during a pandemic is not easy, and I am grateful to have an amazing network of friends to commiserate with. A huge thank you to Sarah, Kate, Maiga, Karen, Lee, Kelsey, Sandra, Jace, and everyone else who kept me from falling into that black hole of doubt whenever it opened. You inspire me every day.
A huge shout-out to my beloved fiancé, Jasper, who has had to listen to me rant about this book for the better part of two years now. Thank you for always making me feel heard and seen and understood.
To Mom and Dad, thank you for nurturing my passion for storytelling.
To Jan and Gary, thank you for all the wisdom and encouragement. You always encourage me to be bold and brave in my art. I hope that shows in this novel.
And as always, a heartfelt thank you to my readers. This final installment is for you.
FROM THE PUBLISHER
Thank you for reading Architect, book three in Last Resistance.
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ALSO IN THE SERIES
Machinations
Counterpart
Architect
About the Author
HAYLEY STONE is a writer, editor, and poet from California.
Hayley loves to hear from readers and writers. Find her at www.hayleystone.com and on Twitter @hayley_stone.
Hayley Stone, Architect (Last Resistance Book 3)
