“Fine.” She grunts, pushing the cart away. “I’m sure my stomach will eventually unwrap itself from my spine. Are we there yet?”
I check. “We’re stuck between the parking level and ground floor.”
Rubbing her stomach, Myth points at the doors. “Can you open them?”
I can and do.
“We’re closer to the parking than ground floor,” she notes as she pushes the cart to the opening and lowers herself out of the elevator. She drops to the floor of the parking level.
I scan both floors. Ground floor is crawling with security. Parking level—not so much.
Myth tugs at the cart. It starts to roll over the edge, towards her. I wonder if she can catch it. It’s on the heavier side and what if she drops it? I supress an urge to shut down my visual sensors.
“We’re good to go,” she tells me. “You can look now.”
“Amusing.”
She rolls the cart through the parking lot, heading for the company vans on the other side.
Smart girl.
The company vans all have a security tracking system that has some unique functions. The system can unlock doors, turn the van on or off, and steer if necessary.
Guess who runs the tracking system?
I select a van that has a full battery, unlock the doors and lower the access ramp at the back. Myth pushes the cart in, picks something up and slams the back doors. She has a crowbar in her hand.
“I’m driving,” she tells me as she sits in the driver’s seat.
I inspect the crowbar. What does she want it for? “Do you have a license?”
She rolls her eyes as she dumps the portable sensor unit and her bag on the other seat. “You know I do. You issued it, I believe.”
I sigh loudly. “Obviously I was malfunctioning that day.”
“Whatever.” She pulls the van out and starts navigating through the maze of vehicles and storage sheds.
“You may want to go a little faster,” I suggest as I review the footage from the various sensors in the building.
Before she can ask why, she hears it. A siren clangs.
“A security vehicle is coming down the entrance ramp,” I warn her.
She floors the pedal and the van lurches forward.
“And there are guards exiting from the elevator,” I add.
“Brilliant. Got any more good news?” she snaps as she jerks the steering wheel.
I try to think of some and come up with nothing, so I keep quiet.
The van peels around the corner and scrapes paint against the wall. The sensor unit rolls across the seat and smacks into the passenger door.
“Careful,” I say. “Assuming we survive your driving, this unit will be the only sensor available to me while I’m offline.”
“Welcome to being alive,” she growls as she yanks at the wheel. The van swoops around another corner, leaving more streaks of paint. She points at her head. “I’ve only ever had one sensor unit.”
“If you continue driving like this, you won’t even have one unit,” I grumble. “And keep both hands on the wheel.”
“Keep quiet. I’m trying to drive,” she yells.
Ahead is the exit with a bar across it. After the bar, a metal door is easing downward.
“Don’t stop,” I order.
Behind us, alarms and gunshots echo through the parking lot. A side mirror explodes. I figure that’s okay, because Myth obviously doesn’t use her side mirrors.
The bar splinters under the momentum of the van. I hear glass breaking. The front lights, I think. The metal door scratches against the roof, slowing the van down. Myth shrieks and really floors the acceleration pedal. The engine whines, complains and sounds like it’s about to explode with the effort. Metal shears off somewhere and the van ploughs ahead.
We exit into the street, almost running over a pedestrian. He shakes a fist at us and shouts rude words. Myth screams something equally rude back as she jerks at the wheel to avoid an oncoming car. The other side mirror disappears with a sharp crack.
I keep quiet, not out of fear of Myth’s driving, although that’s pretty scary. For the first time in ten years, I’m outside and offline. For the first time in ten years, I’m not connected to any of the thousands of sensors scattered around the city. I’m not managing the water, the energy, the wastes. I feel small, confined, limited. I’m almost blind and deaf, dependent entirely on my one unit’s few sensors. And what if something happens to those?
On second thought, maybe Grogan Ltd did me a favour. Maybe having a human body isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, after all.
Chapter 17: The Albino
The albino leaned against the wall, trying not to snicker. She liked this: the Games Boss on the defensive. It was a rare occurrence and one she wished she could see more of. Of course, that applied to all of them. She was ready to leave, more than ready to stop working for the very people who’d turned her into a freak. She could barely control the shiver as she contemplated her own project and how it would change everything—to hell with the rest of them.
Patience. The time will come.
She listened and calmed down, her face the blank white slate she always showed the world.
The call ended too soon for her, not soon enough for him by the sounds of things. He lowered his face into his hands and massaged his temples.
“How is it possible,” he muttered in a tight voice as he imitated his caller, “that our highest level of security was compromised by a brain and a girl?”
He was repeating the CEO’s question and he slammed both hands on his desk. “I’ll tell you why, you idiots. Because that very brain designed the system!” He glared at the cellphone, daring it to ring again.
It didn’t.
The albino almost smiled, a very rare occasion in itself, but the pale lips remained in their unswerving line as she pushed herself away from the wall. The movement attracted his attention. He leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers together.
“Find them,” he ordered, not meeting her gaze.
She knew her reddish eyes unnerved him. They bothered most people, but the Boss wasn’t used to feeling uncomfortable and so he despised her even more. That suited her just fine. She shifted in front of him and stared at him, forcing him to pay attention. Frowning, he glanced up and away.
“Will you give me the Full Protocol?” she asked, her voice low and rough, as if she didn’t talk often. And she didn’t talk aloud very often but when she did, people either listened or suffered.
He hesitated. She knew him well enough to know what he was thinking. His perfect poker face didn’t hide anything from her. Behind that neutral expression, he was mulling over the implications of her request. She considered them herself.
If she had the Full Protocol, she could access and utilise all the island systems in the hunt, commandeer any vehicle, weapon or security personnel and override all the safety checks that were normally in place to protect law abiding citizens. She could also, of course, use these powers to manipulate MindOpS 2, whenever they finished installing it, and essentially, take over the city.
On the other hand, if they didn’t get that brain back, the city was finished anyways. Or rather, he would be and possibly Grogan Ltd. She was tempted to fail in the mission, just to see that day happen sooner. But they’d only replace him with someone as equally rotten and Grogan Ltd wouldn’t go down that easily.
He’s not the one, she reminded herself. He’s only a pawn, just like you were.
She’d wait. She wanted the big fish. All of them.
He nodded once, curtly.
She smiled.
Chapter 18: Dragon
I levitate my sensor unit until I can see outside the window and form the hologram of the body I used to have. It forms gradually. Wow, my whole system is slower. I’m used to a huge high-speed network, supported by several servers and a city filled with computers and other gadgets I can tap into. Now I’m confined to a floating ball and a four-wheeled
lump of a van not much smaller than my core room.
The city speeds by us. I know they will follow, but they will be as blind as I am. Before we exited the building, I sabotaged the security surveillance system. They’ll eventually get it up again. I calculate we have at least two hours and possibly two days. Plenty of time.
Myth is still breathing heavily. Her hands clench the steering wheel. She looks like she’s about to rip it out of the dashboard.
I consider offering to drive. It would be possible, even with this small unit, but I’m still getting used to being unconnected from everything. I don’t like it. “Head for the old warehouse zone,” I tell her. “There aren’t any working sensors or security guards there.”
“Guess I can’t go home, right?” she asks.
I consider. “They may post someone there, just in case. How frustrating.”
“Yeah, I’ll say,” she grumbles. “I can’t even pick up a change of clothes or…”
“Not that,” I interrupt her. “I can’t see what’s happening elsewhere, outside of what this can see.” I gesture to my image.
She smiles. Her shoulders relax. “Frustrating to be human, eh?”
“Definitely.” I decide not to remind her that I’ve always been human in some sense, just not so blind and limited. I wonder if she believes that or if I am a non-living entity to her as well. I don’t want to know if that’s what she thinks. I watch for signs of pursuit. So far, the roads that I can see (not too many) are clear of unusual security activity.
“Fine. I need to pick up something, somewhere,” she says and veers into a parking spot.
“Wait.”
She doesn’t. “I’ll be right back.”
I’m not sure what ‘right back’ really means. From my observations, it can mean anything from one minute to one hour. We don’t have one hour to waste. Every minute is precious.
I watch the street. People walk by, oblivious to the fact that the city is operating on emergency mode. I see a security guard cross the street, marching towards the van. I shrink into the seat.
He’s going to notice the smashed side view mirrors, one of which dangles against the door. He must see the broken headlights, the dented and scratched roof. He has to notice all of that.
The guard marches past. He doesn’t notice the beaten up, stolen, company van.
Do they have a picture of my image? Should I change it? I check. I still have access to most of my files. But even still, I’m not going to change. I think I’ve grown attached to this image. Well, it is mine, after all.
Where is she?
I’m pretty sure that if I had a body, it would be sweating right now. Probably the hands would be shaking, eyes twitching. I consider imitating these human frailties.
How long does ‘I’ll be right back’ take?
A backup security vehicle rolls by. I have no way of listening in to the security channel the way I did when I was plugged in and connected to the city. I am blind and deaf and irritated by this limitation. They’re going to notice all the broken, scratched parts of the stolen van. They have to.
The driver’s door opens. Myth pops in, grinning.
“About time,” I snap.
She sticks her tongue out. She’s holding a duffel bag. “Figured we’d be camping out for a while. Bought a few supplies.”
She tosses the bag into the backseat and starts the van. We remain silent for a while. The scenery changes from upscale, ultra-modern, high-tech Sana Central to a quaint residential area mixed with parks and playgrounds, which blends into the green belt bordering most of the city. Finally, we enter the rundown, shabby warehouse zone at the outskirts of the city at the north-east edge of the island. The old buildings are slated for demolition, to make way for new housing.
I study the rusted metal roofs and the cracked sidewalks overtaken by weeds. The warehouses were the first buildings erected on the island. They had stored equipment and materials for constructing Grogan’s vision of a city that was an ultra-modern, ultra-safe destination for responsible investment and high-stakes gambling. Part of that vision included an island that was close enough to the mainland to allow easy transport but far enough offshore to convince certain politicians to leave the island well enough alone. The generous campaign donations also didn’t hurt in getting exemptions for the island passed.
Something sneezes.
I glance at Myth. Her eyebrows rise up.
“I know you’re getting into this human experience, but you don’t need to sneeze as well,” she says, smirking.
“I didn’t.”
Myth slams the breaks. My sensor unit shoots out of my head and splats against the windshield.
“Sorry,” she says, not bothering to check if the unit is undamaged.
She reaches down and picks up her crowbar. She twists around, stretches an arm into the back seat and yanks at something. A blanket flaps up. Someone yelps.
“What the heck are you doing here?” she yells.
The unit floats back into my head and I turn to see Darren.
During my initial installation, I wasn’t trained to have emotions, or at least not strong ones. But I’m starting to develop them. Maybe they come with the memories I can now access. Whatever their source, I’ve decided I might very well dislike annoying kids, and I think I dislike Darren in particular.
Myth looks like she’s going to bash the kid over the head with the crowbar. Part of me wishes she would.
I experience another emotion at the same time as the dislike: surprise. And not the good kind of surprise. “Darren, how’d you sneak in here?”
“You know this kid?” Myth demands. Her eyes narrow while her hand clenches around her weapon. Yes, she’s definitely considering her options with the bar.
“Hey, I’m not a kid,” Darren whines.
I know Myth hates whiny people. Her nostrils flare. She may just use that crowbar after all.
“We’re going to have to turn back and drop him off closer to town,” Myth snaps. She starts up the van and begins to pull it around to go back.
I check our time: still well over an hour before they get the sensor system up and running. Or maybe a day and a half before they do. I couldn’t be sure, although I’d done a very good job in creating chaos. I think about the albino. She’s an unknown factor. She snuck past me when I was up and running, and no one sneaks by MindOpS. She’s dangerous and I’m blind. We can’t rely on my estimate.
“We can drop him off right now,” I suggest. “Let’s just throw him out the window. He’ll bounce back. Maybe.”
Myth pauses, glances at me. “Ah, that might be a tad too extreme.”
“Yeah,” Darren agrees, his voice squeaking.
Myth glares at him through the rear view mirror. He shuts up fast. I don’t blame him. She’s angry, she’s armed and she’s driving. I’m not sure which part is scarier.
“Just joking,” I mutter as I stop the command to open the window.
“And what are you doing hiding out in here?” Myth demands.
“Trying to escape,” he mumbles. He straightens up. “Same as you. We’re all on the run.”
That shut us up. He’s right. We’re all fugitives and we are indeed on the run.
Not knowing when to shut up, Darren continues. “And if you drop me off in the city or throw me out, I’ll tell them where you are.”
Myth slams the brakes again, my unit bounces against the windshield and both of us curse.
It’s official: I really don’t like that kid.
Chapter 19: Dragon
The crowd cheers as our dragon boat flies across the finish line. We raise our paddles in acknowledgement.
Someone with a megaphone shouts out the team’s slogan, a slogan taken from the wall of our favourite café.
“Don’t meddle in the affairs of dragons; to them, you’re crunchy.”
Our fans shout back, “And taste good with ketchup. Crunch!”
My dragon team roars its approval. The heartbeat drums i
n the background.
The boat sinks into the water. I’m in the central control room. A ten-year-old Myth stand in front of the tank that holds my brain. Her hands are clasped in front of her and she’s frowning. Her skin is darker. It must be summertime. Her eyes are still green, green and confused.
“This is Dragon?” she asks, clearly doubting that the lump of flesh in the thick soup can be her friend.
Dr. Johansson answers her from outside my vision. “Myranda, I told you never to use that name in public. He… It can’t have any name but the one we’ve programmed in. It’s MindOpS.”
We are back in the lab, Myth and I. She is eleven and teaching me a card game. I pretend I don’t know how to play. She laughs at me, pauses the game and peers into one of my visual sensors.
“You’re my best friend, Dragon,” she whispers and kisses the sensor.
The dream ends.
Chapter 20: Myth
“So, what’s the deal with that dude?” Darren asked, gesturing to Dragon’s hologram. “You and he, you know, together?”
Oh my God. I’m being hit on by a kid.
A kid who thought Dragon was a real guy.
I decided to leave him in his ignorance. I pushed at the tall warehouse door extra hard. It slid along its rail and slammed closed. The whole rusty structure trembled. Bits of dust fell from the rafters, floating through rays of pale sunlight. Several birds flew overhead. They sounded angry.
“We’re friends. Best friends.”
Truth be told, Dragon was one of my two best friends. Had been since I was about seven, since my world fell apart and my mom moved us to the island. To be closer to her work, she told me. Even back then, I knew it was to get away from the sadness of a quiet house.
Dragon had filled that gap for me. Been a great best friend. Any game I wanted to play, any mystery I needed solved, anything at all, he’d been right there with me.
The other best friend? My mom. And thinking that, about her, made me sad and mad. I glared at Darren, like it was his fault she was gone.
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