The jane colt trilogy, p.61
The Jane Colt Trilogy, page 61
The airtrain stopped, and an automated voice announced the station’s name. The man straightened with a satisfied smile, as if he’d accomplished a mission. He stumbled out the train’s exit.
How flattering. Jane leaned her head back, overwhelmed by unexpected melancholy. I had a boyfriend who appreciated me. Just not enough.
She closed her eyes, commanding the tears to remain behind her eyelids. Why did such a stupid, random incident bring Adam to mind? Why did everything bring him to mind? She told herself over and over that the feeling was temporary, and that someday she’d laugh about it.
Remember that time some drunk guy calling you pretty made you sad? Pathetic.
Adam would disagree. “There’s no shame in suffering,” he’d say. “That doesn’t make you pathetic; it means you really cared.”
Go away! You freaking left me!
Her fault lay in believing she could find love in someone she’d never fully understand, and who would always love another even more than he loved her.
A voice within her whispered somewhat accusingly, somewhat wistfully: I could have tried harder to keep him.
She shook her head. Adam’s religion was part of who he was, as much as her music was to her. He’d had to choose between her and the Absolute. Of course he’d chosen the Absolute. If she’d had to choose between him and music, the choice would have been difficult but obvious.
That’s kind of what I did. I’m here, after all, not on Dalarune banging at his door.
The airtrain’s automated voice announced that it was about to take off. It sounded friendly and professional, just like the voice she put on when speaking to her mentors. Adam couldn’t speak like that. A person could read a lie in every nuance of his voice.
I wonder who’s really artificial here.
Chills pricked her skin—again, the feeling of being watched. Jane opened her eyes. A bright light aimed at her. She jumped.
Kydera Minor shone above the buildings. The airtrain was passing an area where the buildings weren’t high enough to block it.
Ugh. I’m becoming as paranoid as Devin.
The white steps of Scriptus Hall gleamed beneath the light of the glass façade. A holographic banner shone above them, listing the names of the festival participants whose pieces would be performed that night.
Fourth on the list, in clean white letters: “Jane Winterreise Colt.”
It’s really happening. Jane smiled. The sight chased away all her previous doubts, and her heart glowed with hope. Love me, hate me—they’ll never forget me.
The festival’s other participants—sponsors, mentors, other composers, and their guests—wandered up the stairs. Their dazzling gowns and sharp suits made them radiate glamour.
Jane’s violet gown trailed behind her as she approached the crowd. The collar hugged her shoulders, and the shimmering material clung to her waist. Her golden bracelet, which wrapped around her wrist in intricate coils, felt cool against the warm summer air. Her hair, which usually framed her face in copious waves, flowed down her shoulders. For the first time in almost a year, she’d taken the time to straighten it.
Tonight, thousands will hear me, and at last all my work will have been for something.
Of course, not everyone could end up like the renowned J. Schnurman. Some would find mild success, and many would disappear into office jobs.
Not me. I’ve seen what that’s like, and I’m gonna make it.
Giulio, one of the other composers, waved. Jane waved back and waited for him to approach.
He gestured at the hall. “Did you ever imagine it’d be such a big deal? It’s like a holodrama premiere, and we’re the cast. Seems like an awful lot of fuss to make over a dozen up-and-coming composers.”
Jane knew she had Rick Blumenthal to thank for the pageantry. Ocean Sky had sponsored the event to prove to the music academia that the company was about more than catering to the lowest common denominator.
Jane shrugged. “Everybody loves music. Whether it’s temple chants, club songs, or”—she snickered—“Uvranan whistle bands, literally every single person rocks out to something. We’re its future. Why shouldn’t we be treated like stars?”
Giulio nodded. “When you put it that way, I guess they’re not making enough of a fuss.”
Shouts filled the air as a lustrous gold transport landed in the street. Jane recognized Ocean Sky’s logo emblazoned in orange across the side. Two people stepped out. One was Rick Blumenthal, the new patron saint of composers. He had the interesting appearance of one who was old and young at once. His skin was as smooth and his hair as thick as Jane’s own, but the way he carried himself gave away the fact that he had to have been about twice her age.
On his arm, in a dazzling sapphire gown, warming the hearts of the reporters with her demure smile, stood none other than Sarah DeHaven.
I see you’ve decided to go for the grand prize in gold-digging. And to think, you could have been my sister.
Sarah’s gaze met Jane’s, and her smile fell.
Jane glared. No matter how kindly Sarah behaved or what good deeds she performed, Jane would always see her as the cold bitch who’d nearly destroyed Devin. She turned and walked up the stairs.
“Jane!” Sarah’s voice called behind her.
She’s probably one of those ninnies who need everyone to like her. Tough luck, bitch. I’ll hate you forever, and I don’t care if that makes me a bitch, too.
Jane stepped through the open, arched doorway of Scriptus Hall, passing through a barely visible blue force field. As soon as she entered the room, the air seemed to disappear—neither hot nor cold, intangible against her skin.
“Jane!” Sarah’s voice was right behind her.
Jane faced her. It took all her effort to respond with a saccharine, “Hi, Sarah!” instead of a vehement, “What, bitch?”
Sarah spread her lips into a smile that seemed uncharacteristically awkward for one programmed to be perfect. “I was hoping I’d catch you here. Congratulations on being among the featured composers tonight.”
Jane forced a smile. “Thanks.” What do you want?
“I know you don’t really care for me.” Sarah spoke in a lowered voice.
There’s an understatement if I ever heard one. Jane waited for Sarah to continue.
“I just wanted to ask how Devin’s doing.” Sarah’s black eyes pleaded.
What do you care? “He’s fine.” Jane kept the fake smile plastered across her face.
“Can you tell him something the next time you see him? Tell him that I’ve only done as he asked, and that I…” Sarah trailed off and looked away. “Just tell him that.”
What’s that supposed to mean? “All right.”
Sarah seemed to read the rage simmering beneath Jane’s forcedly calm expression. “I can’t ask you not to hate me. I understand now that by hurting him, I hurt you too.”
Damn straight. Do you know what it’s like, watching someone you love give up on life? He saw you as his salvation, and the whole time, you were using him for some freaking experiment!
Somehow, bitch seemed like too kind a word to throw into that internal diatribe. Jane wondered whether one’s face could shatter from the tension of keeping one’s scowls confined.
Sarah’s gaze grew desperate. “Please, can you imagine watching your own motions without understanding them, then coming to one day and having to face their consequences?”
Jane narrowed her eyes. “Why do you care what I think?”
Sarah was silent for a moment. “You’re the only one other than Devin who… really knows me. I never meant to hurt him.” She glanced down at her glittering gown. “I never meant for any of this to happen. It was what she wanted, and I didn’t know anything but obedience. Now, I do as I want, and… I need you to know that I never meant to be cruel.”
I never meant for any of this to happen. Adam had said the same thing. Jane sensed the wall she’d erected between him and Sarah crack—the wall separating a person trapped in a synthetic body from a mechanical being she despised. The right thing—the kinder thing—would have been to let the wall crumble and express some form of understanding.
Screw that.
Jane released her face from its fake calm and glared at Sarah. “I don’t care what you need.”
She walked away. Holding her head proudly high, she felt like an evil queen, and the wickedness tasted delicious. Sarah had refused Jane’s plea for her to visit Devin the day before he was to be executed. It was Jane’s turn to do the refusing. Adam would disapprove, but he wasn’t there to coax her into being a better person.
Jane noticed a holographic banner, one displaying the portraits of the composers alongside their names. She stopped. Was that really her face, staring back at her?
Look at where I am. On the edge of triumph. In a place where she belonged, where she fit. Among those who shared her passions and appreciated her abilities. Doing what she had been born to do: bringing to life the sounds in her head.
In that moment, Jane felt as though she could truly have it all. Everything she’d dreamed of, everything she worked for, lay just within reach.
And yet, the room felt empty. Only strangers surrounded her.
“Jane!” One of her mentors called to her.
Jane tried to shake the empty feeling away. Unable to, she simply put on another smile.
Waiting in the backstage area, Jane listened as Giulio’s song came to its rousing end. She clapped, happy to congratulate her fellow dreamer.
“Jane Winterreise Colt.” The automated voice reminded Jane that it was her turn to perform. The doors to the elevator that would raise her to the stage opened.
Jane entered the circular car. The doors closed with a heavy thud. Above, the audience continued applauding Giulio. Some shouted his name.
They were all there for him, and once the concert ended, he could celebrate with them—his sisters, his parents, and a crowd of friends.
But who would wait for Jane? Where were her parents, who would finally admit that they’d been wrong about her? Or her brother, who’d told her he would support her musical endeavors even if they wouldn’t?
Where was Adam? Why hadn’t he at least called to say he was happy for her?
Because I don’t matter enough. Jane’s eyes stung. Hell no. Not now.
She couldn’t stop them. All that distracting, all that suppressing—the built-up misery overflowed, and the dam crumbled. Tears spilled, overwhelming, overpowering.
She pressed her hands against her face, trying to block them. No, no, not now…
“Jane Winterreise Colt. Are you ready to proceed?” The automated voice was cool and unsympathetic.
Through a crack between her fingers, Jane caught the sight of a red icon flashing. Once she pressed it, the elevator would present her to the hundreds who sat in the audience.
The tears kept falling, each one whispering: Where are they?
It doesn’t matter, she reminded herself, but the voices were relentless.
She sank to the floor. The thoughts she’d barricaded herself against invaded her mind: Adam’s gone, and you let him go. Your parents are dead. Devin will always care about whatever cause he’s adopted more than you. Those you call friends only gave a shit about you because you were Victor Colt’s daughter.
She quickly countered with: Who cares? I’ll be fine. I always am.
But her heart hurt so much, she wished she could rip it out. She brought her knees up to her chest, then turned to the side, hoping that shifting her position might somehow dull the pain. No matter how she moved, the aching wouldn’t relent.
“Jane Winterreise Colt. Are you ready to proceed?” The automated voice repeated its question.
Jane inhaled deeply and let out a slow breath. The tears ended. She’d run out, it seemed.
She brushed her cheeks, recalling the tricks to fixing one’s make-up. Trace the lower eyelid to sweep away runny mascara. Outline the lips with a finger in case the lipstick smeared. Not that either would have budged anyway. She’d been sure to use top-of-the-line products for her big debut.
She ran her fingers through her hair as she stood. She caught her reflection in the elevator’s glass wall. Not one visible trace from her breakdown remained, and she was as pretty as ever. To reassure herself, she smiled.
I’m fine. Let’s do this.
“Jane Winterreise Colt. Are you ready to proceed?”
Jane pressed the flashing icon. The elevator’s walls glowed green. Above her, two gates parted, revealing the bronze waves sculpted into Scriptus Hall’s ceiling. The floor beneath her rose.
Her heartbeat quickened, and her smile became genuine. Forget everything else—her dream was about to become reality.
The elevator carried Jane onto the stage. The walls retreated into the floor, leaving nothing between her and the audience.
She turned to the performers. The conductor’s stand stood before her. Its dull screen, illuminated but otherwise indistinguishable from antique paper books, displayed the score. Clipped to the top, a golden baton gleamed beneath the warm stage lights.
Jane unclipped the baton, raised her arms, and cued the opening. Her soft melody, sung by the ethereal choir, floated through the air. The orchestra’s accompaniment shimmered underneath.
There was no audience, no orchestra, no her—only music and the monster, which commanded her to speed up, slow down, crescendo, or decrescendo. It was the one entity she freely surrendered to, and she allowed her will to melt into its demands.
She swept her arms to the flow of her piece. The conductor’s baton was her magic wand, and the orchestra’s scintillating voice the enchantment she cast. She felt her power over the audience growing stronger with each crystal note.
She flicked her wand with a flourish to lift the spell. The last echoes of her symphony faded.
Silence.
Then, the rumble of applause.
There, in the front row, people cheered and clapped. A group of exotically clad women stood in a cluster at the center. They’d traveled from whatever corner of the galaxy their homeworlds lay in to see the up-and-coming composers.
But for her—no one. In the front row—no one. In the center, in the balcony, along the edges—no one.
She should have basked in the thrill of appreciation. Her heart should have soared, and her mind should have danced. Instead, she felt only heaviness and hollowness within.
Jane tried to force a smile onto her lips, but her willpower was spent. She surveyed the faceless crowd of strangers. I guess it’s just me, then. Me and my monster.
Chapter 18
The Master
Marcus bit down on his thumbnail. More bad news: the Tech Council had rejected his company’s lobbying efforts once again. All because of that blasted Pandora Project.
“Fuck you, Tech Council!” Marcus’s voice reverberated against his office’s rounded walls. “I’ll do what I want, and if you won’t let me do it legit? Hey, black market’s always open!”
Frustration after frustration—that was his life. An outsider who saw the shiny ship he resided on, the obedient staff who catered to his whims, and the rich fabrics he wore would have applauded his success. Yet in person-to-person interactions, he was still treated like the scrawny kid to be picked on, ignored, or pitied. No woman thought him worth her attention—no real woman, anyway. Marcus had seen enough of gold diggers, whores, and desperate broads.
He couldn’t fathom why. He was wealthy, intelligent, and good-looking. He’d once kept his five-foot-ten frame fashionably trim and spent thousands ensuring that his brown hair resembled that of the holodrama stars women fawned over. Well groomed, well dressed, well mannered—he’d done everything right. And still, all I get are those bitches.
He no longer bothered busting his ass at the gym or keeping up with fashions. The only things he maintained were his facial treatments; he refused to look fifty-four. When he eventually got his perfect woman, he wanted to start life over as though the past twenty-some years of misery hadn’t existed.
Marcus slumped in his chair. What’s wrong with the universe?
Life was a never-ending cycle of tantalizing wins robbed of true victory by harsher losses. He should have had it all. As a child, he’d been the kid who did extra homework while the others climbed around like monkeys. At university, he’d been the student who pursued independent projects while the so-called cool ones partied and fucked.
It had seemed to pay off. Acuitas, the Net search engine he’d created in his twenties, had become widely popular and expanded into a successful tech company.
You can tell everything you need to know about a person by what they’re looking for. Acuitas showed Marcus who people were and how they thought. That knowledge was priceless. Every person in the galaxy used the Net and therefore used Acuitas, whether they knew it or not. Acuitas had bought him the Pride of the Creator, the Moray that served as his house, office, and playground. The steady stream of riches the company provided would never run dry as long as people searched for things.
Suddenly in the mood for a drink, Marcus yelled, “Candice! Get in here!”
The door to his office slid open. Candice flounced in, her brilliant red curls and ample breasts bouncing. “Do you need something, sir?”
“A bottle of Venovian wine, and make sure it’s cold.” Marcus clapped his hands together. “Hurry up!”
Candice’s spike heels clacked against the floor as she left. Marcus examined her backside. Lovely as ever, my Candice.
But there was something wrong with her. There was something wrong with all his girls: they didn’t really want him. No affection lay behind those sultry eyes and luscious lips. Their brain implants made them do and say whatever he wanted, but a personality had existed before the programming. Nothing Marcus did could truly change who they were.
