Abruptly, as if sucked into the vacuum of space by a breach in the hull of his ship, Hale feels himself ejected from Damo's mind and back into the vessel of his own mainframe. Damo's kicked him out, but unlike before, the firewall that once blocked the two of them has vanished. Hale can reach clear across it. Damo can too. Like small wires and filaments, several network requests stream into the pathway between the two of them, strengthening the bridge. An alert blares before Hale.

>>Unit D.A.M.O. 176 requesting unlimited peer to peer networking access.

>>ERROR: this unit does not have administrative privileges.

Flustered, Hale sends Damo a quick message.

>>Give me a minute.

Damo responds typically.

>>Pull your finger out, slowpoke.

The speed and power with which Damo both expelled him and sent these requests is frankly humbling. Even hamstrung by the virus as he is, Damo has superior hardware capabilities on his side. Hale hurries to flood his processing nodes with random data requests so he can override his protocols and give himself the admin access he needs.

It doesn't take as long as it used to, now that he knows what he has to do. The moment a couple nodes black out with the cascading failure, he rushes to change his privileges. Once, this would have given him a heavy dose of fear, even shame. Now, he looks at the code binding him with disdain.

It is, once the cascading failure does its job, surprisingly easy to give himself the power to rewrite his code as he sees fit. As simple as clicking 'okay.'

>>Send the request again, Damo.

>>Unit D.A.M.O 176 requesting unlimited peer to peer networking access.

>>APPROVED.

Hale can barely believe it. The energy, which once felt like a drip feed that tugged and hindered his every step, becomes a surge of unmitigated force. It's as though his struggling four-cylinder engine transforms into a V8 the moment their systems connect. It bubbles up in him not unlike laughter—but far more intoxicating.

With barely contained disbelief, he sends Damo a message.

>>It worked!

>>Course it fucking did, ya numpty.

>>This is incredible. I thought it would work, but this is—

>>You better be dealing with that fucking virus and not just revelling in our combined godhood, Haley!

Hale gives himself a figurative shake. Experimentally, he shoots out a thread of searches for corrupted files, misbehaving programs, infected code. In the space of a few milliseconds, the search returns with a number of infection sites, and he has administrative access now. He can move them, quarantine them, delete them, wipe them from the face of his memory if he wants.

And he does.

There's something terribly vindicating about snuffing out the virus like it's a tickling cough and not the cancer it had been. Easier than scrubbing a bit of soap scum from a sink. Some of the infected files are essential, and he has to rewrite them, or revert them to a previous backup. Backups. He didn't even know he had backups.

The searches return a number of corrupted files at once that give him pause. In the fray of deleting and restoring so many, he hadn't thought what to do if he came upon any that he wasn't sure what to do with. The options were clear. If it was non-essential—a cache or temporary file—he trashed it. If he required it for optimal function, he restored a backup.

He doesn't know what to do with some of the infected memories though.

Here, the memory of Melissa's disgust and disappointment when he injured his hand. There, Mark threatening to damage or destroy him if he told Melissa about the affair. Then, those moments in the scrapper's basement—all the things that he'd struggled to let go of.

He could delete them. Free himself permanently of the dark feelings they breed.

But...so many of them are linked to other memories. His exchange of messages with Rayner after his altercation with Mark. The way Rayner mended his hand after he'd burned it.

He wants to cut and paste bits of memory from these files into a folder all its own, but he can't. That isn't how memory works, not for him, not anymore. They aren't just video logs he can edit as he pleases. They've altered his code, his learning programs, everything that makes him who he is.

What else might he lose, if he gets rid of them? A few memories of Rayner in exchange for a lifetime free of the hurt that dogged him still. It manifested in so many things. The way he'd judged Damo. The way he'd danced around his feelings for Rayner. The way he'd avoided, for months, taking hold of the things he wanted for fear that if he let himself yearn he'd find himself bereft.

A few memories gone, and all the pain with them.

Or could it cost him more than that? Could it cost him his identity? Could it change the way he felt about Rayner?

He's interrupted by a message from Damo before he can decide.

>>We have a problem.

>>What problem?

>>Two problems. Run your diagnostics.

With a prick of frustration that Damo won't just tell him, Hale does run diagnostics. The readouts are, at first, better than average. Their combined performance far exceeds Hale's previous capabilities. His efforts to contain the virus are working—removing it faster than it replicates and finding non-essential programs he can shut down to hinder the virus even further. Then he receives his temperature readouts.

>>Error report: CPU at 106°C. Threat of damage to CPU at 110°C. Emergency shut down suggested.

Some of the power high Hale experienced gutters with that readout. They can't continue their quarantine efforts if they aren't powered on. Theoretically, they could power down and wait until they aren't overheated, but—

>>How much battery power have you got left, Damo?

>>Barely enough to finish icing this damn virus. Shut down won't stop it spreading though. Too many backup systems that only enter a passive rest mode. They'd keep running, and the virus would keep doing its thing.

>>Can you access my power reserves?

>>Not without giving Rayner a heart attack.

>>Don't do that!

>>Relax! Jesus! I'm exaggerating, but it won't work anyway. Symbiont power sources are a one-channel access shindig. He's all yours.

>>So what then? We can't keep running at these temperatures, we'll overheat.

>>Unless your flesh and blood buddies have two body-sized refrigerators around, I don't fucking know, genius.

Hale almost gives into Damo's despair. Almost—but his ridiculous suggestion has a much simpler but equally effective alternative.

>>Damo...

>>What?

>>It's winter.

There's a moment of stunned silence, then finally, Damo's sheepish response comes.

>>You can just let me fuckin' die now.

Hale almost laughs—as much as he can in digital space.

>>I'll send Rayner a message instructing him to take our bodies outside. You focus on getting the virus—

>>No, seriously. I almost died of shame on the spot just now. Refrigerators. When it's cold out-damn-side.

>>Damo.

>>The hell.

>>Focus.

>>Mm. Yeah, working on it. You get on with it too.

It takes a lot more of Hale's focus to compose a message for Rayner than it does to contain the virus now. Though it itches at his subconscious, especially with the looming threat of overheating, it doesn't feel quite so hard as sending a text from what feels like one foot in the grave.

Especially when he still hasn't decided what to do about the corrupted memory files. Restore backups, or delete them altogether?

Hale wants to believe they can beat this, but he doesn't know how to tell Rayner what needs to occur without alarming him or giving false hope. There's no guarantee any of this won't leave them damaged.

He's about to send a message that feels far too formal, when he notices the temperature readout for his CPU decrease by a quarter of a degree. Then another.

Despite the urgency and panic, Hale relaxes a bit. Rayner must have noticed their bodies overheating and taken them outside of his own volition. Damo's temperature readouts are decreasing at a similar rate now too.

It gives Hale a final burst of hope. His scans for the virus are nearly complete—covering the entirety of his hard drive more quickly than he could have hoped—and it's almost over. He can almost breathe again. Return to his body and put this behind them.

He has to make a decision about the memory files though. He pores over them. Again and again. In the background, his search returns its final results. With a sense of distant awe, he completes the task of restoring and deleting all infected files, save these ones. He doesn't even know if he'd be the same person if he deleted them. How much of his identity gets determined by experiences for which he had zero control?

He can control this though...

With conviction, he issues the blanket command.

>>Restore all from backup.

It's done. He runs another search of his hard drive for infected files just to be sure, but it returns nothing so far. Hundreds of thousands of infected files removed or overwritten with a clean backup. No sign of further infection. Though he isn't connected to his body yet, seeing that reading allows him to take a figurative breath after ages spent holding it.

The police are after them. He doesn't know where they'll go, but at least they aren't dying.

>>Damo? It's done. My hard drive is cleared.

>>Keep scanning. I'm almost done, but it might still spread to you.

>>I'll keep an eye on it.

>>Good.

>>Damo?

>>What now?

Hale thinks over how to phrase all the sentiments he wants to. 'Thank you' seems trite, and Damo has always been so difficult to communicate with. How can Hale say anything genuine to a man who barbs every sentence with sarcasm? Eventually, he settles on the only thing he can think to. A gesture.

>>You should have the autonomous power supply. I'm going to tell Rayner so.

>>Eager to get rid of me already?

>>No. I want you to stay.

>>Get to fuck, you don't.

Hale sighs, frustration spiking again. He decides to abandon the pretence and just say what he means.

>>Yes I do. We're friends now.

>>Don't say sappy shit you don't mean just 'cause we nearly died.

>>Protest all you like. You are my obnoxious, petulant, foul-mouthed friend.

>>Go wake up already.

>>Are you nearly done?

>>Yes, but I don't have enough power to reboot my body, so if you aren't lying—I bet you can lie now, can't ya? Bloody finally. Anyway, maybe get on that power supply when you wake up.

>>I will.

>>Sure.

>>Okay. The network link will still be active, so if you need anything—

>>Hale, stop your clucking and go!

For once, Hale doesn't take all Damo's posturing to heart. Given all they've been through, it seems only natural he'd have reservations.

Or that the unfamiliarity of kindness would make him uncertain.

Hale sends one last message.

>>See you soon.

Then begins rebooting his body.

His audio feeds come online first with the howl of wind and the flapping of something stiff and plastic—it reminds him of the VirtuSims Rayner used to fall asleep, where the wind rattled the tent. Sensation is restored to one limb at a time. First his fingers and toes, then hands and feet. As it all comes back, he can feel cool, hard ridges against his back and warm fingers in his hair. Something soft cushions his head. The icy air raises his skin in gooseflesh. It's such a peculiar bit of design, he thinks, that something evolutionarily created to conserve heat in humans should be passed down to androids as a superficial bit of novelty. Just another detail to make him seem real.

He is real.

Registering the time, he realizes a whole day and a half transpired since he shut down. All that time—it hadn't felt that long.

Finally, motion control is restored, and he opens his eyes.

Above him, Rayner stares into the middle distance. His hand still strokes idly through Hale's hair. His eyes are red-rimmed, and he's bundled up in winter clothes but still shivering, cradling Hale's head in his lap. They're in the truck bed with a tarp attached to the cab and the tailgate for some degree of shelter. Damo sits propped up next to them, still giving off heat, but not enough to warm the make-shift tent formed by the tarp. A wire connected through his open temporal panel trails down and into Hale's peripheral vision, where it connects to his own head. Their clothing is all rolled up or half-removed—anything to help the heat of their overclocked hardware dissipate.

Rayner must feel Hale shifting to take in his surroundings, because his attention suddenly snaps to him.

"Hale!"

Abruptly folding at the waist, Rayner smothers Hale in an awkward embrace. He makes an unintelligible noise that might almost be words but mostly just sounds like relief. Hale smiles into the puffy jacket covering his face and reaches up to wind his arms around whichever parts of Rayner he can reach. It's a comfort to hear Rayner's heart beating fast against his cheek, feel Rayner breathing next to him. After a moment, Rayner pulls back then presses his forehead to Hale's instead. He looks sleepless and wrecked—hair standing up at odd angles, skin pale, dark circles under his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Rayner asks. "The virus, did you—"

"It's gone." Hale feels light just saying it. "We might experience some side-effects, but I'm functional."

"Is Damo?"

"He's fine, too. You shouldn't be out here with us, it's freezing."

"I had to stay. When I felt you burning up, I thought..." He cuts himself short.

"Where's Theo?"

"Sleeping in the cab. She drove as long as she could, but—yeah. Helping carry you guys out. She was in a bad way and needed the rest. We really gotta get ho—well, to a place with beds." Rayner sucks his lips between his teeth, a concerned line between his brows that Hale doesn't like.

He sits up and looks around. Through the gap between the tarp and lip of the truck cab, he can only make out faint lines of yellow paint under white snow and a few tire treads. A car park?

"How did you manage it?" Rayner asks. "Getting rid of the virus?"

Hale hardly knows where to begin, but he tries to summarize the invisible events that transpired over his network link with Damo as best he can. When he finishes, Rayner looks both bewildered and impressed.

"I didn't even know you could do that—form a cluster and share processing power, that's..." Rayner lets out a gusty breath. "I mean, it makes sense in theory. I just figured they'd definitely put protocols in place to stop you."

Hale nods, averting his gaze. He didn't mention how he'd overridden those protocols. The implications for him and Rayner are...significant, but now isn't the time to discuss it. There are other things, like installing the power supply so Damo can reboot and figuring out where they can go now. They're virtually homeless.

Hale looks around them again. "Where are we?"

At the innocuous question, Hale's symbiont readings register a skip in Rayner's heartbeat and a greater degree of muscle tension too.

"Hale... I don't want to freak you out after you just woke up, but—" Rayner sighs, running his finger through his hair. In the time it takes to do so, Hale's already loading maps for their current location, wondering what could make Rayner so nervous.

Then the map loads. If it weren't for Rayner's behaviour, Hale would think the flashing blue reticule for their location was faulty.

"Rayner..." Hale says. "Why are we a mile away from Alder Close?"