The Rescue of Icarus

It had all gone so wrong.

He'd joined Sarif because protecting a corporate CEO and his scientists was better than taking orders to shoot a kid. He'd gone after Megan because those that attacked Sarif needed to be found, needed to be stopped, and he had spent enough time in SWAT to realize the police weren't going to be the ones to do it. He'd endured torture and injury and exhaustion to find and free her and her scientists, only to realize he was the lab rat in her plan all along. She hadn't seen him that way, not really. But that's what he'd ended up being. Megan's rat, David's soldier.

And then Panchaea put more on his shoulders than he'd ever imagined, ever wanted. How was he supposed to decide the fate for six billion? He didn't. He couldn't. For the briefest moment he considered ending it all. Finishing what Namir had started—burying the conspiracy, laying his body to the rest it should have gone to six months before. His work was done, after all. He'd accomplished what he'd set out to do. He'd given Mrs. Reed her daughter back. He'd rescued the scientists that were left. Those that were on Panchaea with him were either crazy or dead from the implants. There were so few innocents left to save it almost didn't matter who he took with him. So many more innocent would be free from the fear a broadcast would cause. He knew that.

Malik had died protecting him, and he hadn't even been able to retrieve her body. She was still in her beloved bird, massacred by mercenary soldiers. Pritchard must have lost nights of sleep waiting for him to come back onto the grid after his incident on the boat. The only two people he could probably consider friends were out of reach.

But he couldn't do it. When it came down to it, something inside him wanted to live. Maybe it was linked with the same gene that embraced the augments that saved him like a drowning man—maybe it was simply not in his soul to give up like that. He breathed in the filtered air a hundred spans below the ocean, almost sensed the way it infused his blood, cleared his head, focused his thoughts. He closed his eyes, felt life pulse through his chest, and he wanted to live. His metal fingers clicked against one another as he closed his hand, opening his eyes and shifting his gaze to the button in the middle.

The button that would tell everything. No filter. No augmented truth.

Just flesh and blood and fear. He stepped forward, barely heard Eliza warn him of the consequences of giving the public everything. He knew them. He was simply so tired of being in the dark, of being part of the lies. He pressed the button, felt the click as data shot out across the ocean, and he turned his back on the whole affair.

Others did not have the same idea. Panchaea was rigged to collapse. No matter which broadcast, no matter what, the whole structure shuddered under the weight of the water, and Adam had to throw himself against a wall, bracing his feet wide to stay upright as the floor lurched.

"I'm sorry Adam. I couldn't tell you. This was her plan all along. To destroy the evidence of the signal, to erase this branch of the illuminati so that the next branch may rise free of association with this attack. All Panchaea will be submerged and destroyed in minutes. I have relayed your GPL signal across a protected network that may reach far enough to signal distress to your allies, but you must survive until then. Goodbye, Adam. I have not known you long, and we have little time left, but may I say, it has been a pleasure. I wish you luck."

Though the AI was as calm as she always was, Adam heard a regret, even the hint of what might be grief in her voice. She was genuinely sorry that he was in this position, and she just as genuinely did not expect him to survive. As he sprinted down the hallway, dodging falling rafters and leaping cracked consoles, Adam wasn't sure he would either.

"Malik, it's encoded but I'm getting a signal!"

A shot of adrenaline went through her as Faridah's headset relayed Pritchard's message. Her hands clamped down on the VTOL's control system, a sense of urgency filling her to the brim. "Where is he?"

"Middle of the ocean, but his signal's jumping everywhere. It blinks in and out. One moment he's in one place, the next he's twenty feet away from that. I don't get it."

"Is he running?"

"Maybe."

Faridah's throat closed. Even Pritchard sounded worried. "We'll get him. Keep me posted. And put his marker up on my flight plan, I'll track him as best I can."

There was no response from Francis, but she knew that meant he was focusing on his work in a way he had never focused before. If it was up to them, Adam was coming back to Detroit, and he was coming back alive.

When she saw the smoke everything in her went cold. Debris floated on the water, traces of ships and supplies and people undulated eerily with the waves, catching falling rays of sunset in a splay of gold. It was like she was flying over the quiet dead of a war zone. The oppressive silence that falls post battle pressed in on her and she took the VTOL lower, straining her eyes past the view screen where Adam's fading GPL flickered as a white point among so much dark.

"Do you see him?" Pritchard's voice made no attempt at hiding the worry this time. "He's stopped moving forward, though his signal is still in motion."

"I'm over a war zone right now Francis, I think he's in the water." She didn't want to say it, but she forced the words out with as much steadiness as she could muster.

"I'll keep trying to steady his signal."

There wasn't much good that would do, but she knew he needed to feel like he was helping.

She put the VTOL on a slow autopilot cruise and leaned out of the side, squinting across the water. The first body part she saw was no longer attached to its owner, and she swallowed back bile and covered her mouth, blinking away tears and reminding herself that at least it hadn't been Adam's.

A dark shape bobbed slowly about twenty feet from her and she leaned forward, throwing herself suddenly back into the captain's seat and braking hard. She put the VTOL down in the water as gently as she could, rushing to the back and throwing the side door open. "Pritchard!" She gasped, breathless as she dropped to her knees and reached into the water. "I found him!"

He was in one piece, but he was floating face-down, not a twitch animating his body. She gripped his forearms and hauled back with everything she had, her breathing bordering on panicky as she desperately tried to keep hold of him. She managed to get one of his arms over her shoulder and then scrambled to wrap her arms around his chest. One more mighty heave of her heels against the VTOL floor and she fell back heavily, his wet form laying on top of her. Adrenaline shot through her muscles and she flipped him over with much more ease than she should have been able to normally, his body thudding sickeningly against the metal floor. She bent over him, breathless, one hand carding the hair back from his forehead, the other working fingers in under his wet collar in search of a pulse. He wasn't breathing.

"How is he?" Pritchard asked, his voice tinny and distant through the headset speakers that had fallen to rest around Malik's neck.

"I—" Malik swallowed, but the lump choked her. "I can't find a pulse," she said, her voice breaking. Her next breath came in as a sob and she covered her mouth, tears streaking down her fingers to mingle with the ocean still clinging cold to his skin. She forced herself to think, digging the heel of one hand into his breastbone and lacing the other over it. She tried to press down, but it was like compressing steel. His chest was locked, unmoving and metal under her hands. "I can't do CPR—something's wrong. I'm not strong enough to get to his heart." She sobbed, the strength bleeding out of her as realization set in. "Adam…" she cried, her fingers digging into his vest, clinging to the rough weave. She lay across his body, face pressed into his chest, her shoulders taught with grief.

There was a long span of shocked silence as Malik lay numb across his body, her lungs aching with the acrid smoke still coming up from the burning wreckage. When Pritchard spoke again, his voice was hesitant. "Faridah, did you say you couldn't get to Adam's heart? Is his chest locked up?"

She shuddered, trying to get her breathing under control as she nodded. "Yes," she whispered, swallowing as she picked up her head and slipped one hand up Adam's chest to caress his jaw. She rubbed her thumb back and forth across the stubble and couldn't help but think of the first night he'd come home after being released from surgery. He'd wanted to die then.

There were a few clicks coming from Pritchard's keyboard, and then "Breathe for him!" he exclaimed, his voice full of urgency. "Now, Malik!"

"His lungs are full of water—" she choked out, frowning and moving to kneel by Adam's head all the same. "And his chest is expanded, I can't add anything else or—" she was going to say or I'll hurt him, but her gut reminded her she couldn't hurt him anymore.

"Trust me!" Pritchard exclaimed, and without thinking another thing Malik tilted Adam's head back and pinched his nose, sealing her lips to his. At first her breath wouldn't go in. Then there was a sensation like a click and suddenly Adam jerked, dislodging her. She gasped and pulled back, gripping his shoulders to steady him as he coughed violently, taking in great, heaving breaths that showed even through his armor. She laughed, more tears streaking down her cheeks as she held onto him, trying to steady him through the painful revival.

"Did it work?" Pritchard's voice asked anxiously.

"Yes, yes, he's breathing," she said, cupping his head as he fell back, eyelids flickering with exhaustion. He was only semi-conscious, but when she pressed a hand to his chest his heart was pounding hard enough she could feel the vibration through his armor.

"Thank God," she heard him sigh.

She sniffed, running her hand through Adam's hair. "What just happened? How did you do that?"

"Adam's particular set of lung implants had a secondary, experimental system. The Siren Lock. David does like his irony."

"I don't follow."

"Sirens drowned sailors in ancient mythology. The Siren Lock, however, prevents drowning. When Adam realized he was going under he took as deep a breath as he could just on instinct. Then the Siren Lock kicked in and literally locked his airway and his chest cavity, preventing him from expelling the air. It super-infused his blood with every last trace of oxygen he'd managed to gather and then it stimulated his brain to think it was hibernating. That slowed his heart down. His heart was beating when you found him, you probably just didn't wait long enough to feel it. It kept him flush with oxygen as long as was physically possible. The catch is that this is still a prototype. It should have disengaged the second his head was free of the water. It didn't. Your breath pressing against the sensors in the back of his throat told the Lock it was safe to let him breathe again. It was like a manual override."

Malik shook her head, still smiling. "Francis, remind me that I owe you at least three rounds next time we go out."

"Don't worry, I will."

Adam was starting to come awake, but the disorientation and confusion in his eyes pricked at her heart.

"Hey, spy boy," she said softly, more tears making her eyes redder. She smiled, stroking his cheekbone. "What did I tell you about getting into trouble?"

He stared at her for several long moments, as though he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. Slowly, he raised a hand, brushing his knuckles gently along her cheekbone and back around to cup her face. His brow furrowed, and a cloud of grief dulled the green in his eyes. "Malik?"

His voice had never sounded so broken. She sniffed, covering his hand with her own. "I'm here, Adam. It's over. You're safe."

His throat worked and his jaw clenched. "I'm sorry. I tried."

Malik shook her head, stroking his temple. "What do you mean you tried? You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I couldn't save you."

The quiet confession hung in the air and suddenly it struck her. Adam thought he was dead. He thought she was dead.

"No, Adam. No. I made it out. You held them off long enough. I thought I wasn't going to make it, but you cleared everyone out. I only passed out. When I woke up I was in bad shape, but I got out and got help." She gave him a sad smile. "Being stuck in the VTOL did me some favors, actually. I didn't have time to get the new data chip before everything went haywire. But it's okay now. You're okay. I'm okay."

He continued to search her face, as though he couldn't quite understand. Slowly, his fingers trailed down the side of her neck. With more care, more tenderness than she'd ever felt from flesh fingers, the pads of his hand came to rest in the hollow of her throat and he pressed in. She knew he was feeling for a pulse. The breath he released finally turned into a choked sob, and his fingers curled into her collar as he pulled her down to him and buried his head in her shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and cried.

She hugged him back as best she could, tears marking her own cheeks, stroking his hair because she didn't know what else to do. She turned her head, breathed in his scent. She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, his jaw, to the point just beneath his ear where she could feel his pulse strong and steady, and she let the warmth of his body guard them both against the chilled ocean wind.