Program Override

It was during their smoke break that Ida first heard about Reynolds’s new acquisition from Werner:

“Did you hear the news?”

“There’s news everyday; the news about what?”

“The astronauts that just came back. You know, the ones who went to that Centauri planet or whatever.” Werner gestured vaguely upwards.

Ida gazed up at the sky that currently showed no hint of the greater cosmos above, and hid everything except a faint crescent moon behind the noon brightness. She’d heard this news when eavesdropping on Reynolds’s Corporate meetings.

“Aquari 75,” she corrected.

Covering the moon, Corp drones swarmed incessantly in the smog tinted blue-grey sky. It hadn’t rained in the valley in six months, and the shade they were hiding in did little to shield them from the acrid heat.

Already annoyed by Reynolds’s neurotic housekeeping specifications that changed on a dime, Ida had hoped for some quiet before going back to work, but Werner forged ahead.

“They say NASA got a bunch of new ores to examine, space rocks and the like.” Then he leaned in conspiratorially, and whispered, “Between you and me though, it’s not just the scientists that got their cut of the space loot. I was in the back entrance yesterday, and I saw Reynolds himself go outside to meet this armored truck and have a suitcase handed to him; he said something about how it was hard to find a fence for the new minerals and how it was going to be one heck of a gift. I think Reynolds got his hands on some of that space rock.”

Despite them being slaves to him, Werner always spoke with such reverence about Reynolds, she quite adopted the ideology of worship that Worker Programming was supposed to brand upon their minds. The Programming and inner voice gnawed at her psyche, in the end making her frustrated with those around her, and hateful of those above she was meant to worship.

Ida replied: “Werner, what you heard could mean anything. Even if he did get Aquarian metal, are you surprised? He’s a Lord.” Then she decided it was better to work than to hear Werner’s idolizing and went back inside.

Though, even as reigning Corp Lord and water purveyor in Southern territory, it was impressive for Reynolds to get anything from Aquari 75; NASA space mining security these days was tight. And if there was a gift it was probably for Isadore, the favored daughter.

Ida didn’t hate Isadore specifically, she’d treated her cordially, but it was the inherent dislike caused by the Program malfunction that caused Ida’s stomach to churn at the adoration Reynolds laid upon his daughter.

It was a month later when Ida saw the locket.

In the rancid sludge of the trash compactor Werner leapt out and beckoned for her to follow. Ida made her way over, grumbling. Ducked beside him, Ida looked upon Reynold’s living room.

Reynolds was presenting Isadore with a rosewood box. Inside was a chain, from which dangled a single heart shaped locket, anatomically correct, swirled with delicate silver veins, finely detailed arteries. The metal of the locket itself glinted unnaturally, reflecting light at angles defied physics and belief.

That’s Aquarian metal; Werner was right.

There was a media frenzy over the locket. News streams argued over the details of the jeweler and claimed it was set with rubies, while politicians debated over the legality of the metal acquisition. Around the world, billionaires, Corp Lords, and the like rushed to get Aquarian metal for themselves, lest they seem unable to afford it.

Many troubles started around Isadore’s locket—now hanging forever around her neck—and Ida’s problems with it hadn’t even begun.

Not a week later, the Aquarians came for what was stolen. There was no sign of approach, and no warning of arrival. Only when they started tearing apart the foundations of research centers, NASA fortresses, and Corp Lord mansions did people know of their presence on Earth.

Aquari 75 had been mined and dug into, the planet defiled as a result. The humans had vivisected the land they held holy and left it open to bleed. Set on vengeance, the Aquarians came to retrieve every last stolen speck of it.

By the time the Aquarians reached the Golden Coast, Reynolds resolved to hide—he’d seen the others with Aquarian metal, and too much arrogance, fight. Plastered across his screens were streams of decimated Corp weaponry, broken fortress palaces, and countless corpses of Programmed Workers sent to hold off the aliens.

One didn’t become a Corp Lord by following steps of failure.

Reynolds made plans to escape across the valley to his bunker by night, taking only his beloved Isadore to cover, along with a single lucky Worker to serve: Ida.

Everyone else was left to fend for themselves.

For two months, they waited.

And waited.

In the third month, Reynolds went out. “I’ll be back with news and supplies.” He promised Isadore. In turn he made Ida make her own promise: to protect Isadore at all costs. She could only obey, because try as she might, the Programming never really allowed to be free.

He disappeared into the blinding light of the bunker door, and never came back. In the dark, it was only she and Isadore.

Some would’ve considered entrance to the bunker good fortune, not Ida. She understood the bunker for what it was: her grave. From the news streams about the Aquari invasion, she knew her mere proximity to the dainty heart shaped locket spelled her doom. No, the concrete prison wouldn’t protect them, only prolong their death. Being forced underground and sworn to protect by Reynolds only further confused her faulty Programming, continually tangling her thread of hatred against the wealthy.

Laying on her uncomfortably hard lower bunk, seething at her misfortune, staring up to the bunk where Isadore lay, and cursing Reynolds alongside all those wealthy enough to afford the metal for their hubris, Ida hissed into the dark: “This is your fault, it’s you and your father.” For all she knew Isadore was mourning her father, sisters, and brothers, but she could care less; she wouldn’t faun or idolize like the rest, not when she was fated to die underground away from friends.

“I know.” Came a reply, soft and laced with shame, from above. So she’s awake.

“Corp Lords like your father think they can make everyone follow their whims. Now he’s dragged me down here to die while attending to you.”

“I didn’t mean for any of it. I also don’t understand how you can speak like this; the Program would disallow it.” As she spoke, Ida could hear her worrying the chain around her neck.

“Regardless, it’s your fault. Any day now, an alien is going to rip us to shreds over that locket of yours. If you give it up we might live.”

“I can’t.” The other girl whispered. “My dad gave it to me.”

Ida scoffed, “My dad gave it to me.” she reflected bitterly.

She was going to die in a cold, dark bunker, all because of a sentiment like that.

Some part of her pitied Isadore, and wanted to allow her this final momento from her father. But she couldn’t figure out if that was the artificial adoration or her own mind. Yet she also knew survival depended on their separation from the locket. In the end, she was stuck fighting the Programming, and her own muddled thoughts, she couldn’t synthesize what to make of Isadore.

She’s never parted with things, she’s been allowed sentiment; she’s been allowed everything all her life. I don’t even think I’m allowed to think like this.

“Your bunk must not be padded, come up, my bed’s big enough to share.”

It would be shameful to accept. It’s all their fault, you’re supposed to hate her.

Ida didn’t intend to respond, but her back hurt, she shifted—endlessly uncomfortable, and if she were to die at any time she thought she should at least sleep soundly.

Ida climbed up and into Isadore’s bed. “You’re not redeemed because you finally thought to share.”

With sleepy eyes, Ida could see the unearthly glint of the locket, as well as the slight curve of the other girl’s smile. “Okay.”

“How are you able to speak to me the way you do?”

“I’m not sure. There’s something wrong with my Work Programming to begin with, and the longer I stay down here the more it wears off.”

“I didn’t know it could wear off.”

“I didn’t either, but I’m starting to remember things more. I’m starting to think more clearly now.”

“What do you remember?”

Ida thought for a moment, “I used to work in green fields, and wade under clear blue skies. I don’t even think any of that is possible anymore.” Looking over, she saw Isidore's eyes alight.

“That sounds beautiful.”

She regretted everything, but there had been few other choices once the food ran out.

The Aquarian had been staking them out, ready to pounce and bring down those once solid concrete walls, and destroy their only safety as soon as they peaked out tentatively.

Once, Ida could’ve hated Isadore for eons, but she realized now lucid and clear headed, Programming gone, for the first time, if Isadore was dead, she would be truly alone.

She watched, frozen in horror as the alien hefted Isadore into the air with one great arm, and tore the locket from her neck. There was a metallic snap as the chain broke, following a dull crunch as Isadore was tossed aside, slamming against the bunker’s concrete walls.

The alien dropped to all fours, its prize clenched still in one claw, and surveyed the surrounding wreckage. As its gaze swept past where Ida crouched, all she could look at was Isadore crumpled against the wall on the other side of the bunker.

The Aquarian lept out from the bunker, and Ida waited a full second with baited breath, before making a mad scramble across the rubble to Isadore.

Muttering her name over and over again like a prayer, she shifted her upright and gently shook the other’s shoulder, willing her to breathe, begging to anything that would listen to return to her the one person she had left.

Finally, Isadore groaned and blinked awake, still bleary and beat. Ida sobbed at her own desperation, as she surged forwards to hug the girl.

It was three days after the attack, when Isadore insisted she’d healed enough, that the two cautioned to venture from the broken eggshell remains of the bunker. Climbing atop a low summit, they looked out.

Ida didn’t ever imagine that a ruined world could be ruined again—ruined more. Yet there they stood, looking out over a valley of silicon, with its reaching peaks and dips, dotted with the wreckage of tyrants that used to occupy it. Across the way, Ida could almost see the sleek white walls of Reynolds’s house, now lying in shards against the mountainside.

Isadore’s hand reached for Ida’s, and she took it.

“What do we do?”

The fog of Programming broke then.“I remember now. When I was younger, there were waving seas of lush grass in these valleys, but that was a long time ago, Isadore. The world was already dying before, this is just another disaster laid upon the land.” Turning to face the other girl, Ida realized in the moment that she didn’t want to sit and watch, she didn’t want to die an idle Worker. “I don’t think it’s going to happen, but I need to believe we’ll walk in emerald plains again. I don’t know how we’ll do it, but we need to try. If we get through this problem, maybe we can get through all the others. But we can’t die in this hole. We can’t stay like this.”

Isadore met her gaze as she squeezed her hand reassuringly. And in that moment, Ida thought that she could be friends with Isadore too, if she tried.