by C. E. Wilson
“No, I don’t.”
“You have a whole life ahead of you. You don’t want to give up everything—”
“I want what I can get with you.”
“Then this may be it,” Verity said. Another spark. I winced back from a jolt of electricity. Realization dawned on me slowly: the reason she didn’t cry about Flynn breaking her leg; the reason she couldn’t trust her memories; the reason she was so desperate for me to see her as a person. All programmed. She was a robot, lonely and desperate to validate her own existence. She had never been a person, never been a human.
Despite all of this new information, I felt as though I was losing a person… a best friend. A future. Verity was turning into a mass of sparks and liquid in my hands.
“I’m sorry I’m not real—”
“I told you, Verity…you’re real to me,” I managed to choke out. “No matter what anyone else says… you’re always real. It took me a while to realize it, but you’re real, Verity.” I brushed a few traces of clear liquid away from her cheeks. She looked so broken, so unsure. “You’re real, Verity.”
“I can’t—”
“You’re real,” I said again as I brought the tiny girl up to my face and pressed my lips gently to her hot forehead. “You’re real,” I repeated. “Don’t ever forget that…” I trailed off as the glow left Verity’s vibrant blue eyes and her little body became stiff in my arms.
Still holding her in my hands, I turned around to face Janet. She looked confused… by which part, I wasn’t sure. Her hand holding the gun was slack by her side, and even Flynn was quiet. He must have observed the whole thing. Verity might not have been real, but what I felt for her sure as hell was, and I think everyone who watched us had seen it.
“She…she’s gone?” Janet asked finally, breaking the silence.
I could only nod…keeping Verity pressed to my chest. “What the hell was she, Janet? You said she’s not alive, but she…” my eyes lowered to the lump in my arms that was beginning to cool, “…she was to me.”
Janet swallowed, eyeing the lifeless bundle in my arms. “I honestly don’t know, Mr. Davenport. According to my husband, the processor appears to be complex enough to be a real AI.”
“And you really think…”—my eyes flipped down to Verity—“you really believe she’s not alive?”
“Alive is a vague term if you actually think about it. Truly, I don’t know what she was,” Janet admitted at last. “I do know whatever it was…whatever life she had inside of her…seems to be gone now.” She reached into her pocket with her free hand and pulled out a cell phone. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now,” she muttered.
“About what?”
“About him,” Janet said, motioning down at Milo’s bleeding body. “I don’t know if there’s any way I can get you out of this,” she said sorrowfully. “You did assault him, Mr. Davenport.”
“I know I did,” I admitted. “And it didn’t even change anything. Verity’s still…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word dead. That would imply life. Even though Verity truly was alive to me, as a reasonable man, I couldn’t ignore the liquid on my fingers.
“Perhaps we could mention something about it—er—I mean, her,” Janet offered. “Everyone knows Milo is a tool for the new elect. And I’m sure the new elect didn’t want to see their little project destroyed while being captured.”
A glimmer of hope flickered across my wet eyes. “Yes,” I said, sniffing heavily. “They wouldn’t have wanted her dead.”
“It’s an idea that’s just crazy enough to work,” Janet said. “Everyone was told not to damage the creature, as was stated on the political radio.” She dared to smile. “You were simply doing the right thing, Mr. Davenport. The new elect may appreciate it.”
“Screw the new elect,” I couldn’t help blurting out. “Screw him, too.” I looked down at Milo. He’d killed her. Whatever life Verity had had in her, Milo had taken it away. “What do I need to do?” I asked Janet.
“Hide her,” Janet said. “Hide her…bury her…”
“Bury her? Are you out of your damn—”
“Do whatever you want, but all traces of her must be gone. I’ll tell the new elect that you were discovered and Milo tried to shoot her, but you acted on the new elect’s behalf to save the robot—Verity, I mean. She still escaped. The new elect might not punish you even for assaulting a warden because—this here?—it’s more important than Milo’s position.”
“And then what?”
“Mr. Davenport, I know you don’t want to hear this, but at the end of your sentencing I want you to dig up the girl. Please. We can try to power her up again, but she must remain out of sight and out of mind for at least several months. It may not be over yet.”
My eyes widened. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that even though she’s technically powered down, she’s a machine with a physical memory. There may be a way to bring her back.”
“Bring…her…back?”
Janet nodded. “You must do as I say, Mr. Davenport. We’ll say that it escaped while you struggled with Milo. I’ll come up with a very exciting description of the action.” She took a careful step forward, and I took one back. “Do as I say, Mr. Davenport, and we may be able to wake up your doll again.”
“She’s not a doll—” I stopped short. Maybe Janet was my only shot as saving Verity. I looked down at the girl in my arms and then back at Janet. It could be done. I could still protect her. I would hide her on the island for as long as it took until the situation blew over, possibly until the end of my sentence. I would say I acted on the new elect’s behalf to save her from Milo, but he had spooked Verity just the same. That might save my ass from more jail time. I hoped the new elect would see Milo’s actions as a betrayal. It could work. “I’ll do it.”
Janet smiled. “Are you sure, Mr. Davenport? You won’t be able to look at her for almost a year and there’s no guarantee that she’ll wake up when we try to reactivate her.”
“I know.” The reality of actually losing her washed over me. “I know she might be gone forever. If there’s a chance…even a slight chance…I’m willing to try.”
“And if she doesn’t wake up?” Janet asked, slowly following me toward the boat with the gun raised again for effect. “I’ve called the medics,” she said in a low voice. I turned back to look at Milo. “They should be here in five minutes.”
“What about Flynn? He saw the whole thing, he’ll blab—”
“Mr. Davenport, I wouldn’t worry about Mr. Anderson. My husband has a good relationship with a certain Senator from a certain Sunshine State.” She winked at Flynn and he grew suddenly pale. “He’ll see things our way. He’s very good at that.” Flynn almost quivered as he stared at her with wide eyes.
I suddenly made a decision. A hasty decision.
“Take her for real,” I said suddenly, turning and handing her Verity. Janet looked shocked as she took the tiny doll-shaped figure into the crook of one arm.
“Huh?”
“Take her for real. I won’t chance it.”
“Mr. Davenport, I don’t know—”
“Please,” I croaked. “I don’t know what’s going to happen over the next few months, but—”
“Need I remind you, Mr. Davenport, that I was the one who called this search in the first place? I’m the last person you should trust.”
“And yet I trust you now. I don’t know why, but I do. I always tried to tell Verity how messed up I was because of Project Isolation. Take her for now.” I almost cried at the idea of no longer being able to hold her. “I’ll be less tempted to see her if she’s not around. And your husband has the best chance of saving her. She doesn’t deserve to die like this. She should have a chance.” I took a step toward Janet, and she didn’t even pretend that she was going to shoot me. I was relieved.
“I thank you for your trust, Mr. Davenport,” she said in a strained voice. “I think…I hope I won’t let you down, but I
have to agree…this is probably the best decision.”
“Right…right.” I reached over to touch Verity’s face one last time. Or maybe it was only a temporary good-bye. My thumb smoothed some hairs away from her face, and I leaned down to kiss her again on the forehead. “It’s only good-bye for a little while.”
I held back my tears until Janet’s back was turned. The idea of being alone again frightened me so much I could barely breathe. “Just a little while…” I said as a single tear finally escaped my attempt at manliness. I pulled away from Janet and quickly swiped the tear away with my hand.
“And what if she doesn’t wake up?” Janet asked again, getting dangerously close to the invisible fence.
I sniffed again. “She will. She’s too strong not to,” I said. Janet smiled, but she must have known I couldn’t hold back for much longer.
“Say nothing when they come,” Janet warned me and Flynn both. “You don’t owe them a word without a lawyer. Let them search. Let them tear the place apart if they want. There’s nothing here, and they’ll have to accept that eventually. I’ll keep it—her—safe as long as I can. No guarantees, Mr. Davenport. I suggest you both go inside now before they arrive.”
I nodded in acknowledgment as she finally turned and strode over to her boat. She brought out a few old stained garbage bags and carefully wrapped Verity in them, then placed the bundle in a box among the oil and gas for the motor. She nodded at it and then walked over to Milo’s unconscious body to wait for the medics.
Eight months…at least eight months to have even the possibility of ever seeing Verity Nine again. A possibility existed. I walked back toward my house. I didn’t look back. Looking back was the past. I had the future to worry about. Maybe Verity could be a part of that future. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but if anyone would be stubborn enough to come back to me, it was Verity. I dared to smile as the tears started to flow.
“No guarantees,” I said to myself. “That’s fine.”
I was desperate to have something to look forward to, which in any case, was a reason to keep on living each day—the chance of seeing her again.
Suddenly falling back into a routine didn’t seem so terrible.
Table of Contents
Cruel and Unusual
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
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Chapter One
The stale scent of a long night hung heavy in the air as a young woman in her midtwenties began to grumble. The sunlight wasn’t quite beaming through the window and the glow on the TV flickered quietly in the background. Cigarette smoke and booze clung to her skin like she worked at Coyote Ugly, a familiar musk that greeted her several days every week. A man remained still underneath her, his eyes closed, but not sleeping. He never slept, so the curly-haired woman didn’t even bother to keep her voice low as she stirred.
“Don’t make me get up,” the woman muttered, rubbing her face against the beautiful man beneath her. “I’m positive I could still make it to work on time if you left me alone for five more minutes.”
The body beneath her shook gently before erupting in warm but stiff laughter. “You said that five minutes ago. And five minutes before that, Chloe. You should probably wake up. If you arrive at work on time, which is seven fifteen Eastern Standard Time—”
“I know, I know,” she interrupted. “Please don’t start.”
“You need approximately fifteen minutes to shower, and you need time to fix your hair—”
“I don’t want it to look like a frizz ball.”
“I need to make you some toast.”
“I don’t need toast today.”
“Are you going to get coffee for yourself?” the male asked, carefully moving the woman off him. “Or would you like me to run to the coffee shop and get the usual?”
“Do you remember what the usual is?”
“A grande skinny vanilla latte with two extra shots of espresso and no whip.”
She smirked. “Rogan, do you remember what whip is?”
The young man sat up on the couch, frowning in her direction. “I am afraid that I do not understand. Did I not say the order correctly?” For a brief moment, he thought about informing her of the importance of sleeping in a bed but reasoned that it wasn’t an appropriate time. Chloe hadn’t had her coffee yet, and without it, she was a completely different person. “If I misread your order, I am incredibly sorry. It was not my intention—”
“Rogan, it’s fine.” She smiled before cupping his face in her hand. “You said it perfectly. Whip means whipped cream. It’s loaded with calories. They’re unnecessary and I don’t need them.”
His dark eyebrows knit together, creating lines on his forehead. “Whip is whipped cream?”
“Yes.”
“Which you see as unnecessary?”
“Yes.”
“You see whip as unnecessary because it is loaded with calories which you do not need, correct?”
She smiled, pulling her hand away from his face. “Yes, Rogan. You’ve got it all down.”
“Why do you say that you do not need them?”
Chloe reached out and set his hand on her stomach. He didn’t blush, not that Chloe ever expected him to. Rogan never blushed or grew embarrassed over physical contact. His light-green eyes fell to her taut stomach as she made his hand rub the area.
“Feel this?” she asked, trying to suck in what she considered a pooch tummy. “That little bump is the reason I don’t need extra whip.”
“I am afraid that I still do not understand the logic,” he said, frowning as though upset. “I want to know.”
“You always want to know everything,” Chloe said. “Can’t you figure it out?” she asked, using her fingers so Rogan could gently pinch her tummy.
Her stomach wasn’t thick by any definition, but there was a hint of something other than washboard abs. She wanted Rogan to reach the conclusion on his own. He appeared to be deep in thought, no doubt searching his memory for the necessary answers.
“Whip,” he said softly, still allowing Chloe to guide his hand. The rings on his hand clanked quietly against each other and the words tattooed on his knuckles shifted as he tried to focus. He had to figure this out. “Whip has calories.”
“Good,” Chloe said. “Remember why I don’t like calories?”
“Extra caloric intake will make your body seem less ideal?”
“Yes!”
Rogan’s face lit up as he continued to process the information. “So, when you say that you do not need the whip, you are saying that you do not want the extra calories to detract from a physical form that you find to be ideal?”
“You got it,” Chloe said, leaping into his lap and giving him a hug. “In other words, whip makes me fat.”
“Fat?” Rogan repeated. “Chloe, you could not become fat with your activity and caloric intake at your current rate. At least not based on the pictures that you have shown me depicting fat.”
>
“You’re too nice for your or my own good.” She smiled before planting a kiss on his cheek. “I guess I do need to wake up now. The school called a few hours ago giving me my assignment, after all.”
“I recorded it,” Rogan said. “General music, ninth, tenth, and eleventh grades.”
“Yes. Good subject, tough kids.”
“The kids like you,” Rogan said. “Did you not tell me that they think you are cool?”
Chloe frowned as she shifted away from him and took her hair out of her ponytail. Dark-red curls fell around a young face the color many would describe as a perfect tan. “I did, but you don’t have to point it out.”
“I am sorry.”
“No, Rogan. Don’t be sorry… It’s all right. You’re trying your best.” She glanced away from him, trying to hide her discomfort in the moments when Rogan didn’t seem human. Acting on instinct, she reached up, pulled one of her burgundy strands free from the cluster and tentatively sucked on the end.
Rogan. He didn’t have a last name.
He was exactly what Chloe had been looking for after she’d finished college. Tall and fit, with tattoos that added interest to his otherwise pale skin. She loved him for his light-green eyes and bluish-black hair. Rogan even could dress himself thanks to Chloe, always clad in skinny, dark denim jeans and fitted button-downs with the occasional vest or V-neck sweater thrown over top. She loved his strong jaw, the way he smiled, and how little wrinkles appeared on his forehead when trying to figure things out.
Of course, she was supposed to love everything about him.
He wasn’t human, after all.
She had placed the order when her parents had asked what she wanted as a graduation gift. Rogan was everything Chloe could have ever desired because every feature, everything wonderful about him, had been handpicked by her right down to the last dimple. Rogan was her A-SIST—Anthropomorphic Sentient Individualized Servile uniT, or Asist for short, and he hadn’t been cheap. Rogan had been a friend, a roommate, a servant, a security guard, and…a few other things in the few months she had owned him. Rogan, of course, was more than ready to meet her every need, want, and demand.